Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 187) (1883 06 12)

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\ The Cheapest and Best Library! Whe Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents! alt _ $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates, ‘ Copyright, 1883, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. June 12, 1883. 0) iu} bi vw, Mi) No487, Vou. VIIL PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST, N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS OUTWITTED BY HERSELBs «4 sonuns some BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTH, AUTHOR OF “‘A DESPERATE VENTURE,” ETC., ETC. A try ome, WANG, LIA it ; y ASH MS Ls eH, aes A “(4 PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS, MISS ERLESCOMBE.”, ; y

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tae ve {4 on , ~s fae «sf * : * } _ Wear. 8 - ?. « “a oe rz we 7 5 aL at “OUTWITTED BY HERSELF. ” Olliveisied by Herself ; i | "A MOTHER'S SCHEME. BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTH, AUTHOR OF “IS LOVE’A MOCKERY,” “ THE HAND OF FATE,” ‘‘ WHAT SHE COST HIM,” “RTC. , ETC., ETC. A PASSING STRANGER. ee afternoon sun was shining upon the - lawn, the river was running tranquilly below it, and under the great oak tree was gathered what might be taken for the happiest of family parties. The rubicund gentlemanly pater- familias, portly and good-natured, reclined in ~ his easy-chair, with a paper on his knee and a cup of tea beside him. His handsome wife, -well-dressed and smiling, sat naar him, with -. — Kensington work in her hand; while his only _ daughter, young and beautiful, presided over the pretty lunch table. with its,silver service; and near her stood a trusted friend of the ee family, a grave, middle-aged, professional-look- ; ing man, who had taken a short holiday from the whirl of city life to enjoy the country air and hospitality of Elm Grove. ~ —s Al look peaceful and bright; each one _ seemed ignorant of such a thing as care or _ -~trbuble. What a pity it is that appearances 2 cannot be relied on—that beneath the scene of - _ calmest beauty may slumber a voleano, and a skeleton’ repose in the most attractive-looking Ly _ cupboard. Nee - “Winnie, dear,” said Mrs. Erlescombe, “what are you going to do this evening?” \ Winnie started a little when spoken to, and brought her blue eyes back from a far-away, thoughtful glance across the river; the friend of the family started too, and turned his gaze Pp from the sweet girlish face it had been linger- ing upon for longer than its owner knew. Boch “T am going to drive into Blyton, I thiuk,” - gaid ~Winnie, rising. ‘ill match your silks « for you if you like, mother.” “T dare say Mr. Hampton will go and take care of you.” The lady mother smiled upon the friend of the family. ‘‘ You don’t object | | Hampton?” 5 ““T object to nothing in Miss Winnie’s so- ciety!” replied Mr. Hampton, rising with alacrity, and a labored effort at gallantry. - “T object to being called Miss Winnie,” ae outed the young lady, turning toward the Lae Ouse ; 41 have told you that ever so many age "times vs Sie “I. ld like to ait you Winnie, without ___ the formal prefix,” said he, speaking quite in he a low and impressive tone. > “ Then. I should object to you,” she laughed. a of Cruel fair one!—how am [ to please you?” > “Oh, in twenty ways, if you want to do so, -_« I never discovered your anxiety to distinguish Ne yourself in this way before.” a SS ‘ou never permit me to give vent. to.my . feelings!’—reproachfully. “You snub and __ » throw cold water u to express my heartfelt sentiments—” s,s “Tf you are trying to express your heartfelt sentiments,” interrupted she, ‘‘each time you call me Miss Winnie, I always shall snub you. I like to have my proper titls—Miss Erles- combe. Please remember, my title! Miss - Winnie reminds me of a servant!””—scornfully, “T am your servant—your humble, devoted | servant!” returned he, boldly.. “If you talk like this going up to the town, | I shall overturn you,” raising her bewitching, . saucy eyes to his face with a smile; ‘‘I shall, ~ really!’ - You have already overturned my every _ thought and resolution. You have overturned my mind, my heart, and its peace, its safety,” vagy 8 he. y body, will be of patie Compenectys: con- 2 “bow yence.” ‘to drive in a tiny pony-phaeton, do you, Mr. | n every attempt I make ‘The same treatment applied “But you won’t like it when it. comes to your body, all the same thougb. Hearts and minds, and—what is it you said?—resolutions —what are they, pray?—can stand a good many more accidents, than flesh and bones. Now I come to think of it, Mr, Hampton, Iam not at all sure that you will like my pony- phaeton. Consider the matter before you get in. Do you mind doubling up your limbs like a lobster’s?” _ “Not in the least. I-shall enjoy it.” “Tt is an awfully little carriage. There really is hardly room for two, and you are not as small.as you might be,” said she, surveying bim doubtfully. ‘*T feel as small as it is possible for a man to do always in your company, Miss Erlescombe, I assure you.” “That is all very well, but your feelings are not the point. It is the look of the thing I am considering. 1 don’t want to drive a person who hangs over the sides. He looks untidy. And then, if we do get you packed in the car- riage, it would not be fair to let you start without warning you. of the steed’s peculiari- ties, Horuns away sometimes—yes, very fast; and when he runs he falls down, and the features of the people he runs away with get smashed. Do you mind having your features disfigured?” Mr. Hampton’s grave, hard features relaxed into a smile. ‘‘ How long bave you had this animal with these dangerous proclivities? I should feel inclined to dispose of him and buy a sounder one.” She looked at him in pretty, affected indig- vation. ‘“‘How like a man! Dispose of a creature because he is unfortunate! I have not had Browny long, but I have become so insepara- bly attached to him that I am sure I am not going to dispose of him, Mr. Hampton, as you term it, just because he can’t always stand up. There may come a day when you are unfortu- nate enough to fall.” ‘* A very likely day, indeed, I should say,” he ejaculated. “Well, and shall you expect to be disposed of then?”—laughing. ‘It is hardly an analogous case, Your pony runs away, too, I thought you said.” ‘‘So I did, but that is merely his play; and he has only those two little bad points, while his good ones are innumerable. At any rate, I am so attached to the darling that I would not dispose of him, Mr. Hampton, if he smashed—all my friends’ features,” —1mis- chievously.. “ We can bear accidents to our friends pbil- osophically,” moralized her companion. ‘‘ Do you soon become attached to animals and men, Miss Erlescombe?” “T love animals at first sight, as a rule; but as for men,”—with a pretty grimace—‘‘ I have to put up with seeing them about and all that, you know; but to become attached to any of them must be an impossibility for any one, I shouldsay. There is nothing in them to become attached to—at least, as far as my experience goes,” —modestly. “ That is scarcely the colina opinion of your sex,” he returned, grimly. “T am not giving you general opinions; I am giving you only my own private and par- ticular ones,” rejoined she, saucily. He stopped her, as she would have tripped past him up the stairs. ‘You talk of ‘men,”’ said he, speaking in a compressed kind of earnestness, at which she struggled hard not to laugh; “ but if you.could form an attachment to only one member of my unfortunate sex, it- would be as much as [I should require or ask of you.” ‘¢That is very good and thoughtful of you, Iam sure. I would do a great deal to please a friend of papa’s like you, Mr. Hampton. I will try if I can do even so much as that for your sake, some day.” And she ran up- stairs, leaving ber Se sci voice ore in his eat | Nor room for it to turn. When she came down again she looked, more enchanting than ever. Over her white dress and its creamy lace trimmings she wore a fluffy lace cape, against which her golden-- brown hair shone sleek and bright. She had put on a huge Gainsborough hat, which shaded one side of her pretty face, but coquettishly exposed the broad, low brow, and soft pink cheek, and darkly-lashed eye on the other; one little rosebud peeped out from the snowy ostrich feathers, in which the hat was smothered; and she was drawing on gloves that had eight but- tons each at least. Mr. Hampton stepped forward to fasten them for her, or attempt to do so, but he proved clumsy and slow. | “ All men are clumsy and slow,” remarked she, calmly; ‘‘ at least, as far as my experience is concerned. Don’t you think so?” “JT think your experience is very imperfect in comparison with what; it will be,” said he. “What it will be! I:'wonder what it will be before we get home again?” They had started, and were skimming along a picture of a country road, he holding the reius and she finishing her gloves. “Thank you; I will take the reins now. You are sure you are all in the carriage, not trailing behind or anything? I mean you are comfortable?” “T am more than comfortable—I am happy!” —with a deep breath. “ You seid that as if you were not always so,”—with a sudden kindly glance. “Lately I have not been, I own.” ‘Why?’ Then hurriedly, ‘I beg your par- don; I did not mean to be inquisitive.” “1 wish I dare tell you why. Do you think I dare?” **T don’t know how much courage you have; but I am sure you have not time to teJl any- | thing before we get into Blyton,” returned she, coloring a little, more from his tone than from a suspicion of what he might be going to say. “ How beautifully Browny is going now, is he not?” ‘Miss Erlescombe, hear me for one mo- ment.” ‘There, Mr. Hampton! you will distract my thoughts from my business—driving, Browny was as nearly as anything on his nose just now. JI feel a sort of responsibility for your features, you know. If I broke the nose of papa’s broker, why, I should never forgive myself, even were it his own fault for distract- ing my attention needlessly.” ‘Will you allow me to get out bere fora minute?” asked he, in a deeply-offended tone, as they at that moment passed a book- -store, “J will not detain you long.” ‘Oh, pray don’t hurry yourself! Musty old stock reports is it yor are in quest of? Pil drive on and get mother’s silks, and then come back for you. You need be in no hurry, really.” ‘ She departed to’ the fancy store, and re- turned before Mr. Hampton had emerged again; but as the frisky little pony waited at the curb-stone, with his head turned home- ward, a cumbrous engine came, with unearthly noise, and a Jong train of freight cars behind it, down a side street. The smoke, the sound, the apparition, were more than Browny could stand. In an instant, before the driver was | aware of his intention, he had got his head well down from under her control, and was off, with the bit between’ his teeth, tearing as for dear life, down the quiet street and into the country, toward the stable he loved so well. Winnie sat perfectly still, though her lips grew white, aud she cast one frightened glance around, as she dashed into the narrow road. If Browny kept straight in his wild cours, and avoided the ditches of his own free will, and they met nothing, all might end well. i But, alas! as they reached the narrowest part of the pretty road, where, with nicest car? and judgment, two vehicles could only just pass between the high banks, she saw advan, ing a great old-fashioned wagon and hors _No time for anythi PO ee: Wi dirs: weAy Raa ere te iat ie ees rh

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4° “3° dee Ea eo mivew* nd ip, oh =n, ~ Vee An a rt oe Bea x ‘Tes =, > 7 7 ae rae sar v- .. ~ - .« = o« a” OR a eee che = ak ie ; ) ae de ete awe “ a te : 4 Ste : : aa * Y oe hy pom. ge Se 3 cet ae ea Fic ah Maeve Yn | VE ae ig ae - er Fr Ff a Sg ae ‘ ; : : men me del TR i ‘ ‘s oper : 4x4 ae Wi a * - m ivy ~ 148 2 mis ‘ ; Fy A (edb ue 4 wa ‘ ~ 2 ' QUT WITTED: BYCHERSEDE. a ; but a wild longing for a stronger hand than | not seek for him. Iam more worthy than he. | Winnie has driven home the young man who her own—a wild prayer, and a wild resigna- | Let me take his place.” ‘| saved her from being crushed to death. _ tion to what must happen. And Clyde Douglas spoke with the utmost | Browny bolted, and they met a wagon, and . Then from out the bushes, or from out the | confidence. this young stranger sprung out and checked bank, or from some unexpected and most happy “IT could not doubt your worthiness,’’ | the pony.” ; Spot, a stranger at that moment sprung, seized | laughed the girl. ‘‘But I believe—Browny ‘* How do you know he did not startle it at - the naughty little pony’s head in a grasp whose | and I believe—you are not one bit less heavy | first? You are but a baby in the ways of the muscle was equal to the occasion, and the dan- | than the Mr. Hampton we have lost.” world, Robert.” are ‘Ser was averted. The panting pony stopped, ‘‘ Bodily or conversationally?’ he asked, in- “Indeed? I flatter myself—” began her in-- ak Aud she stood face to face with an unknown | sinuatingly. ‘‘I ask because I noticed you | jured spouse pulling up his collar. : nian, who had undoubtedly saved her life. | driving the lost escort up to Blyton half an But the better-half went calmly on: ‘‘ Win- ¢ust for a moment she felt as if she must faint, | hour ago, and he seemed tome— He is not a | mie has driven home a young man, has she? but the color came rushing into her cheeks as | particular friend of yours, is he?” Then, pray, where is Mr. Hampton, and who she encountered the dark, handsome glance of ‘ He is my father’s broker.” isthis young man? Let me look af him’— | | the stranger, and she laughed. “Exactly. Then I may mention that his | walking to the window, and raising her eye- “‘Tam so deeply, truly thankful to you,” | companionship appeared, to a passing observer, | glasses. ay Said she, lifting two of the most grateful and | to have some weight about it—the weight of ‘“’Pon my soul! I forgot all about Hamp- bluest eyes he had ever seen. ‘But I can’t | brains, probably,”—with a smile that fasci- | ton!’ said Mr. Erlescombe. “1 should think help laughing, because it is so romantic, so odd, | nated Winnie, since it lighted up his counte- | the wagon did not go over him, or they would ; %0 book-like, that you should come forth to | nance, have mentioned it. There they are, you see, Save me at the exact instant, like this. You ‘“‘ He is heavy,” she sighed, drawing aside to | standing by the pbaeton, just below there. are just—just the exact—just the very type | make room for Mr. Douglas to enter the car- | Fine young fellow, isn’t he? I don’t know that of—” riage. ‘‘ But he is so worthy—the frietid of | I ever saw one better built; and I like bis way “Yes?” he interposed, with an interested | our whole family,”—repentantly. of speaking, too!” a bend forward as she paused. “Worth weighs. For that reason Browny “A mostimpudent young man!” said Mrs. “Type of a hero of romance,” she was going | will not find me too much. . [have no family to say; ‘‘the exact copy of the handsome | friendships intrusted to me.” knight-errant who proverbially, in romance, ‘Where did you see us as we went into Bly- appears at the critical moment to rescug a for- | ton?’ asked Miss Erlescombe, curiously. “I lorn damse]. But, somehow, as she surveyed | never noticed you, I am quite sure!”—with the stalwart figure (over six feet high), the | emphasis. Unmistakably gentlemanly appearance, the “You were too engrossed with Mr. Hamp- dark, handsome face of that knight; above all, | ton. I noticed you!” 88 she met his amused glance, the first fit of But he forbore to mention that because of Shyness her life had ever known seized Miss | that notice he had been found in this road. innie, and her ready flow of nonsense de- | Perhaps he did not think it advisable to con- Serted her. fess how .one passing glance at her had inter- “‘T mean in real life it would generally have | ested him to such an extent that he had made been an old man with a basket, or a horrid | it bis business to find out her name and place Y, or a foolish woman who would have ap- | of abode, after which he proceeded to haunt beared for my deliverance, you know,” stam-| her return path to make sure of another mered she. glimpse of the face that had charmed him “Neither of those three specimens would | strangely. But although she knew it not, it have had strength to deliver you, I fear,” | was because she was young and pretty that laughed he. “ This strong little beast nearly | Winifred Erlescombe drove a fascinating stran- Knocked me down,” patting. the wicked | ger home to her gates, and left the friend of Browny, her family to toil on foot and arrive late for “You are very strong!” said Winnie; after | dinner. Which flattering remark she went round in Some confusion and patted Browny’s other psa ane the stranger took the opportunity of CHAPTER IL. adlly regarding her. She looked up, and caught him in the act; | WHO. 1h, BHF and because of that act, or because of the un- “My dear, is not this a very extraordinary Mistakable admiration with which his eyes had thing?’—Mr. Erlescombe burst fussily into bis become filled, she blushed furiously, and got | wife’s dressing-room as her maid was putting Inte the phaeton again. the finishing touches to her toilet for dinner— “I don’t like you to drive home by. your- | ‘‘a most remarkable thing? The happiest es- Self,” said he, as if he had some suddenly-ac- | cape I ever heard of! You are aware of what quired right to direct her proceedings. ‘ This | has just happened, of course?” little brute is not to be trusted. Have you far ‘Of course you invariably jump to a wrong to go?” looking affectionately at the vacant | conclusion, Robert!” returned the lady, coldly. Seat in her carriage. ‘“ But I am aware that it is impossible to hear “ Only to Elm Grove—half a mile, perhaps,” | from you any thing in any way that any hu- replied Winnie, passing over the unkinduess of | man being can understand! How you can be ‘the titles bestowed upon her darling pony, and | so excited and incoherent at your age—” fidgeting with, the reins, “How on earth can 1 be excited and in- _ “wish you would trust me to escort you | coherent at anybody else’s age?” argued her there. My name is Clyde Douglas,” with a | better-half, annoyed. - bow, “Iam down here for a few days’ fish- “Well, well,”—leniently. ‘‘ You say some- 'ng. Iam awfully glad I just happened to be | thing has happened? You can go, Mary,” “alking down this road at the right moment!” | turning to the maid. ptt was a lucky tning,” said Winnie. “Your daughter—our daughter, Winnie, "But, Mr. Douglas, I—I don’t like to trouble | you know, has just been saved from a fearful you any further, and”—with a sudden re- | death—from being smashed to pieces by one of membrance of Mr, Hampton—‘‘I have an es- | those confounded country teams. I declare I cont Somewhere about,” looking behind her. | will stir the sheriff up about it; Ihave no ; forgot him. I wonder what has become | doubt the fellow was asleep on the seat! And of him? feeling vexed with poor, innocent Mr. | she bas driven bim home, a fine young man, a ampton. “ most taking young man, as I am sure you will M The escort I left behind me?” quoted | pronounce when you see him, Susan; and, my back ouslas amusedly, ‘May I escort you | dear,” coming meekly a little nearer, ‘‘I wish ehe to look for him? You will know him | you would invite him to dinner ! There is no a a Y OU see him, won’t you?” question about our being most deeply indebted iia He is not a laughing inatter,” smiled Win- | to him, and I would not appear inhospitable : that He is a heavy, stern reality—so heavy | for worlds!” te wie, f him I believe it was delight at getting rid of | “You would not appear intelligible, you th haugt hat made Browny play this trick of | mean! Winnie has driven home a man who - to es mess. Was not it darling, eh?” she said | was asleep on a seat and got crushed under a Epa te oS wagon? Faron can he eat any dinner?” reg Browny with tricks, let us| “My dear, you comprehend so slowly! eee ot oe ear RADE AE eee ese ee Oe - Ue a. Flic tlie dtr ae ig 6 Pe SUS SS on ge = Sead ceca sre eee Erlescombe, regarding him steadily. ‘“De- taining my daughter at her ball-door wben sho ought to be dressing for dinner! I never saw — a young man I tbhougbt more suspiciousand objectionable-looking at first sight, I must say? .,. Robert, go down and send him about his busi- ness!”—with a commanding wave of her hand. ““My dear, I—er—in fact. I have men- — tioned something about dinner,” objected Mr. Erlescombe meekly. le ‘Then I shail go down and mention some- thing not about dinner, A stranger who sprung out of a wagon!” aes ““No, my dear Susan; that is a mistake on your part. So far as I could gather, he had nothing to do with the wagon; he came out =—s_— from the bushes at the side of the road.” _ oh ‘‘ The bushes or the ditch,” returned she, in en grand contempt, “‘it is all the same! An ad- _ venturer, a horse-stealer! He is not likely to be asked to dine with me and my daughter!” Se \ exasperated. i “Thanks! I know what is wise,and pru- dent, and safe when you bave daughters under your care. Has this young man money or_ family to boast of, Robert?” mE, ‘“‘My dear, how could I ask ‘those personal questions in a two minutes’ interview?? “ You had no business to have an interview — with a man of whose position and prospects _ you knew rotbing. Men really are the most trying, unreasonable animals on the face of the earth!” pronounced tbe lady, preparing tode- scend, with fan, gloves and handkerchief in — battle array. ae ‘Except women!” muttered her better-half. — “Except some women, certainly! Tha daughter of yours is behaving now in mae trying, reprehensible manner—looking at that adventurer as if she were quite pleased with = { him, I declare! Robert, come down and sup- port me!” sweeping forward. ‘‘Remember ~~ Mr. Hampton!” raat’ ies “i ‘‘T don’t think you need much support,” sai the henpecked husband, following ber slow) and he muttered, in a lower key, -* Confoun Hampton! I nevemhave the ghost of a chance of forgetting him!” at Mrs. Erlescombe, with the bearing of a queen, and with her battle accouterments—viz., fan, handkerchief and gloves—imposingly beld, swept up to the open front door, and said, i the most affectionate of voices, ‘‘ Winnie, dear, “‘May I ask who introduced him to dear?’ the mother , gently, acknowled; | Douglas’s bow with the shade of a frozen “A happy circumstance, or ratber ee Sarr MeL et ea = , ) bux ae “ + . fice

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“taht have pear St a fatal accident to your oe “daughter!” said the young stranger, with his _ frank, charming air and manly voice. ‘J should have been killed, mother, to a - \ dead certainty!” said Winnie, in a low, intense tone, ‘ “Tut, tut! these things always get exagger- _ ated,” replied the lady, with an air of superb mes $ calmness, “ As it is growing late, I do not - oan we need detain Mr, Dunwash any longer. | ,Jam sure we are greatly obliged to him “for e being so attentive. The groom shall just drive Sirs me eae back and look for dear Mr. Hamp- ringing the stable bell. ot Mother said Winnie, in an "imploring - whisper. Ah, dear, yes; thanks for vebifadltig me. Mr. Duplex, if you care for it, you are quite ue welcome to a lift in this carriage as far as ever you wish to go. You are» living somewhers about here, I suppose?”—with an airy wave of . “Tam staying at Blyton for a few days’ fishing. You are very kind, Mrs. Erlescombe; but I won’t trouble this poor little pony any further, thank you. I like walking,” said - Douglas, rather as if he were amused at than angered by the lady’s contemptuous coldness. - “You are used to a great deal of walking, I dare say?” answered she, condescendingly. _ “Winnie, my love,” with a meaning glance at laughter, “you know your papa’s aver- ‘sion to any one’s keeping dinner waiting. Mr. Duplex, I am sure will excuse us,”—giving an- . other infinitesimal bend of her stately body. BRC cc oeeth Mother, } he saved my life !” whispered the oe irl, agitatedly. ‘ “ My love, you are excited, and so given to exaggeration. Now where can dear Mr. pton be, I wonder? He so dislikes to be burried i in dressing for dinner. Winnie, just ie bell for Marks, will you, and I will Ags orders to have the dinner put back for a rter of an hour.” Si es Erlescombe broke from her mo- ‘ther’s 1 iene hand, and going back to the stranger, eager pat her own in bis, shi ougilas,” said she, raising the sweet- — most earnest eyes he had ever s2en, ? ¥! bate you over and over again for your no- ag e and kindness this afternoon, and I shall see you soon again to say ee gratitude I feel. ‘Shall I?” “Ties in your hands,” he said, in a low eshe in her turn thought that she ever met with eyes she admired so much hes There is nothing in this world I should like so much as to see you again.” if ae a!” said her mother, in a voice i @ volumes, | | with cheeks a little pinker than usual, 3s Erlescombe followed her mother into the ; had eae you seen the view from the summer- house by moonlight?” Mrs, Erlescombe sud- y asked Mr. ampton, as they sat in the ving-room after dinner. ‘‘The moon is so ast now it reminded me of it, and I ght aps dear Winnie would like 'to take. to see it. Should you catch cold, my child, y ran there and back, do you think?” # itr, Ham ton can’t run,” observed Winnie, ‘ ly. ae proved as much by tbe length of: ai it took him this afternoon to get from that book store home. Mr! Hampton, I should have been smashed a dozen times if I had de- aded upon you as my cavalier.” . Hampton rose and approached the girl, vk no strod in a trailing mauve silk, gown, with re arms and neck, and sprays of heliotrope her hair, looking, if possible, a little prettier ae had done in the afternoon, you show me this view by moon- dad asked, in a low, eager tone. enetnly. gore you got overshoes, though, i ane Ih, €3 me, at your age O', ee knew an oa can’t be gentleman vho. oer abi ore hed t i ln wed \ : : a—”, y ‘* Winnie!” said her mother, angrily; and the girl laughed as she went into the hall. “‘Do I appear so very ancient to you?” in- quired Mr. Hampton in a suppressed manuer, as side by side they went out of the lamp-light and into the silvery world the moon was mak- ing enchanting. ‘‘Ob, very!” said she, readily. “Really, I confuse you with Mr, Methuselah, and the ‘Ancient Mariner,’ and all those good people sometimes,” “There they go, Robert,” murmured Mrs. Erlescombe, standing at the window. ‘TI ¢o hope they’ll get something settled. Really, if he does not seize this chance, it is unpardon- able: I cannot bear this suspense and planning much longer, and you are a perfect clog insteud ofabelp. Bless the man! he is asleep—asleep as if no ruin hung over his head like a hair, which his daughter may cut at any moment. He is always asleep when we have any affairs of importance to discuss,” “Tne letters, ma’am,” said a servant, open- ing the door, and approaching with a salver. “And James found this in Miss Erlescorabe’s carriage, ma’am, dnd thinks that either Mr. Hampton or the strange young gentleman must have dropped it there this afternoon. It was not there this morning.” “Give it to me,” said the lady, taking from the man an eye-glass set in gold and attached to a broken string. She turned it to the light, and there above the initials C D. was engraved on the gold acoatofarms. She took it close to the candle to make sure, and her face was a study as she turned it about and inspected it. **A coat Of arms!” she gasped, ‘Is it possi- ble? It must have dropped from that strange young man! Mr. Hampton does not wear an eye-glass, A coat of arms!” In her bewilderment she turned over the let- ters, One was for herself and one for her daughter, and she opened her daughter’s first. It was only addressed in a schoolfellow’s girlish hand; but Mrs, Erlescombe deemed it prudent to keep an eye upon her daughter’s correspond- ence. In her mental perplexity, she opened the envelope and read as follows: “DaRLING Wiynre:—Such a lark! I must tell you! There is an awful aristocratic fellow in your neighborhood, all wrapped up in disguises, travelin fi incog., you know. He is’as rich as a Rothschil and as handsome as Apollo, and his name it is Claude Dunhaven. I know him elighvy and I have ke heard that he is going to have a few days’ fish- g at Blyton under the name of somebody else— pecsending to be somebody ordinary, you know; ut you can’t mistake him—he’s so awfully hand- some! Tall. dark, splendid eyes, and a dark mus- tache! And I want you to haunt your lanes or river until you meet him, and then get introduced in some romantic way. Tumble into the river jhen ee have not your best clothes on), and let you out! He is worth the trouble. i ou know we always said at school you were to marry a millionaire, and I was to marry his r cousin and live at your gates. Well, I am in love with Mr. Dunhaven’s cousin, and that is how I know of ‘his p' He is awfully romantic, and does these .queer, mysterious, romantic little things every now and again. His object in life is to find some girl in love with him who does not care about his money or position, you know, and you are exactly the girl to suit him, ma chere. Don’t tell your mpther a word, because she is such an old maneuverer, if you don’t mind my Fe so, and would just frighten him away. I judge him by his cousin. “Don’t you pretend to know a word of this, either. Treat him as if he were just what he pretends to be; but make his acquaintance in some way, and lev me know the result. If he is anything like his cousin— and some people say he is nicer, but they are stu- pids, that think too much of f filthy lucre—oh, you will be a lucky girl! Your ever affectionate A iend, VA. ““P. 8.—He came down pour way yesterday. He may not ‘stop long, so hak e haste, dear. Find him out in ,, some way or other for the sake of matri- mony.’ Mrs. Erlescombe stood perfectly still until she had finished reading that gushing epistle three times, and had scrutinized the eye-glass in every possible way four times; then she hurriedly hid away both glass and letter deep in her pocket, and marching to the window, elevated her ‘shrill voice’ and called, “ Wini- freq: Boe eee and Sete tig shrubber ‘The sound went traveling through’ the moon 2 Winnie just ‘as Mr. Hidipben was holding ber -hand in a’ tremulous, clammy way, and saying, ‘* Miss Erlescombe, you must give me your serious attention for one moment now.” ‘*Look at the view!” said Winnie. “] prefer to look at you. You must lister to me now.” But I can’t, you see, for my mamma is — calling me. I will do the next best thing I~ can for you, Mr. Hampton—TI will raee you back to the ‘house. One, two, three, and off! If you can run, now is your time to catch me.” j She was speeding away, light and bright as a bird. “Guide me back,” he implored. “tT shal} lose my way.” “Mr. Hampton, that is trying to obtain — assistance under false pretenses. Well, come along, then, as fast as you can toddle—_I beg your pardon, I mean walk. I will sing you a touching song about the owl and the pussy-cat as soon as I get indoors,”’ She had enthralled him completely, Her — bright beauty and her winning gayety made him utterly indifferent to her carelessness of his feelings and tbe total lack of respect and deference in her manner to him. Because she cared so'little for him, he cared far more than she dreanied for her. He came in submissive and silent, the elder- ly, clever, wealthy, potential man of business, and stood at the girl’s side as she sung random songs in a sweet and well-trained voice. Mrs. Erlescombe took the opportunity to march across to her husband, whom ‘the sound. of the piano had awaked. “Robert, I have been thinking the inntter over, and it strikes me you treated that young man shamefully this afternoon—most ungrate- fully—the stranger who saved our child!” “T treated him! Well, I like that!’ gasped Mr. Erlescombe, fanning himself with his handkerchief, “and blinking under injustice and drowsiness. “Tt was yourself, my dear, par- don me, who, against my wishes—against my expressed wishes, I may say—” raising’ his tone. “Pooh! Your expressed wishes!” said she. “You came up to my room with your face— with your face—” ‘‘ How on earth could I come up without my face?’—peevishly. ‘Interruptions are in such bad taste. You came up with your face asred as a turkey’s, and you were quite incoherent through excite- _ ment. ‘You used bad language, and mixed up © sheriffs and men upon seats, and all the revolt- ing things you could think of, until really I quite mistook the true facts of the case.” “T am glad you own it,”—in aside mutter, — “T think you often mistake a good many cases. ” ; “T beg your pardon rh eeetAyty: «“ What were you observing? he asked, “ Nothing ”—hurriedly. , “You were saying, my dear—” “That when I calmly think the matter over, I fear that brave, kind, most gallant young man must have thought us singularly wanting in gratitude—nay, even in common civility.” Sweeping to her writing table, she’ said: “T4 am going to make what hasty reparation Tean, T shall send him a note saying how grieved I am that your excitability and want of com- prehension made’ you treat him in such a © seemingly uncivil way.” “My want of comprehension?—my want of manners? Well, upon my life, woman!’ in ex- © asperation, _ “ ‘“What woman are you addressing?’ de- — manded she, coolly. ‘Your life won’t be worth much to declare upon, T can assure you, — unless you put a check upon your excitability — and temper. Every day I live in the expecta- — tion, Robert—the full bie one that you , will have a fit!” G ' © You live ee comfortable pon ib” 4 Pes peed he, ° >

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Dy Se ey A enon Jeol ty eS Diy Sly SE ars . ge Rape ed Sn . ore Sage vit at - a Zyee ee WIA Ts oe te pe oe % Pah ee os ork. ‘ley eas s mg a. 0 SOUT ETT ED: BY. BERGE mA meee ee 7 ay a a eb eee Eee on _. turn to an important matter, I shall ask this | with him along the path, talking ‘to her in ** Follow you.” So o tia - young man—Mr. Douglas, I believe—charm- | jerks, and cutting off her retreat. “Then I won’t mesmerize you; you would 3 ing name—to come and stay with us during Winnie laughed. She was in the best of | be such a nuisance! Oh! the eyes are moving — a _ the time he likes to remain in this neighbor- | spirits, and did not seem to care to whom she | on now, as far as to Mr. Hampton, Now, hood; to look upon our house as his home, in | chattered. : Mr. Douglas, I fear you are not attending \ fact, and come to us as early as he can to-mor- At the circus, Mr. Hampton was one too | properly to this entertainment. You did not : Tow morning. That is the least return we can | many for Mrs. Erlescombe; be arranged him- | see how that man got himself belanced upon : take for his self-devotion—his self-sacrifice, I | self between her and her daughter. that pole up there.” +] a nay say.” , “ Sitting like patience ou a monument of red ‘“I see him, and I see how hecan veryeasily —_- “It appears to me that you may say any- | carpet and rickety planks,” laughed Winnie, | become unbalanced.” Be hs thing—nay, that you do say anything! Upon | turning to him, ‘‘smiling at clowns,” as four At that moment, Mrs, Erlescombe, who had — Ms my soul,” said the badgered man, rising and | specimens came in, and began to turn somer- | been taking a surreptitious siesta, leaned across “4 Shaking himself, “I never did hear a woman | saults and make grimaces violently, by way of | and addressed Winnie: ~P talk backward and forward like you! I de- | creating amusement. ‘This is a low affair, and I don’t meanto Clare it quite bewilders me!” ‘Iam smiling at you,” said he, with a cer- | stop another moment. I just found oneofthe | ‘Tt does not take much to do that!” replied | tain amount of sternness in his voice. common men’s eyes fixed upon me down there; she, scornfully. ‘‘But there is one thing I ‘‘ Not in that tone, I trust. Mr. Hampton, | and sitting in the same row with myself, abso- lutely upon the same plank, I see my dress- maker! I desire ‘you to get down and go out ae at once, Winifred, without an instant’s de~ ~~ lay.” nthe ‘Ob, mother, it is not balf over,and Mr. Dovglas and Mr. Hampton are enjoying them- — toes selves so much! Why should not your dress- — ig maker sit upon the same plank as you?” — oe a ‘You my child, and ask that question! A wish to impress upon you. Be civil to this | if this absurdity, that weaker brains like mine young man, Robert, when he comes, and | and Mr. Douglas’s (laugbing at the young man make much of him. ‘You can leave the rest to | with the full assurance of being welcomed with me,” \ a warm glance and return smile), ‘‘ call fun, gets too much for your temper—” CHAPTER III. ‘‘It is not the circus that is likely to be too much for my temper, thank you.” ‘¢Oh, well, I mean if all these people bob- ‘‘Moruer and I are going to the circus this | bing through hoops and things irritate you, go afternoon,” announced Winifred Erlescombe, | out; don’t wait for us, Go home and read the Seating herself gracefully at the luncheon- | stock reports. Really, now, look at those table. ‘But it is not my mother’s desire, as | ponies; are they not pretty? Mr. Hampton, I you may perhaps imagine; it is mine, Isaw | wish the fates had made you a great star ata the procession from the distance that lends en- | circus!” chantment, this morning, and I have fallen in ‘* Might I ask why?’—very stiffly. ‘‘Ihave love with every one of those sweet spotted, | no wish to shine in such capacity.” clown-driven ponies. The only question is, **Ob, because then I should have admired Can we find a gentleman to escort us?” you! You have long thin limbs that would “There is nothing I should enjoy more!’ | have been just the thing to caper in the air Said Clyde Douglas, from one side of the table, |" with; and you have a stiff stateliness of your Quickly; while from the other, Mr. Hampton | own that would have been majestic upon seven Was heard to say, ‘‘I shall be delighted, I am | ponies or three nice old steeds. Look at that sure!” man, the groom or something, who just brought - Winnie answered the last speaker first. in those delicious cream ponies; be has been “Are you sure, Mr. Hampton? Because I | looking at you for five minutes unwinkirgly. ever heard of such a thing asa broker at a | I know his sentiments agree with mine, and he Circus, Are you quite prepared, now, for | is wondering what bribe he could offer you to What it will be?. There won’t be any bulls or | change your vocation, even at this late time in ars, or stocks or bidding, or anything that | your life,” will look home like to you, you know.” ‘* He is looking at you, pardon me,” was the _“ Mr, Hampton will go to take care of me,” | grim reply. ‘‘He is thinking, perbaps, that Said the lady motber, giving him an awfully | you would look much prettier than that young Sweet smile. ; lady now making an idiot of herself upon a “Oh! shall you be home-like? At any rate, | piece of rope.” you and Mr. Hampton can sit and frown to- ‘* He is looking at Mr. Douglas,” decided Miss Sether at the clown’s jokes, can't you. But | Erlescombe. “He is thinking what a siriking 4r. Douglas will see there the exact thing he | clown he would make with a red-painted nose likes,” , and a rose-colored dress. He is lcoking at all “He is sure of it, for you will be there!” | three of us. Certainly he kesps his eyes fixed Said Douglas, using a tone too low for anybody | admiringly upon our party—evidently it is the _ but the girl herself to hear. most distinguished-looking preseat.” . She heard, and colored. “He isa striking-looking man himself,” re- } Mr, Hampton frowned horribly, in anticipa- | marked Douglas; ‘‘of foreign extraction, I tion, perhaps, of the c!own’s follies. should say, and with that air about him of “If we are all going to enjoy ourselves so | having seen better days. Don’t you thinkso?”’ tauch, I think we had better start,” said Win- | ‘‘I don’t quite know what that air is,” re- bie, rising. ‘‘ You bave all finished, I hope? | turned Miss Erlescombe. ‘‘I hope he is not a Mother, would you and Mr, Hampton like ten | detective in disguise, and going to take either Minutes’ start?” ‘ ‘ ‘of you gentlemen up. Really those folded arms «cy, it might be well,” said Mrs, Erlescombe. | and that fixed stare are becoming almost too ‘Young feet, Mr, Hampton, can trip more | much for me. Won’t somebody make him lightly than our old ones, can they not?” move on! He is like Napoleon’ at Elba, medi- ‘It is a question I have not studied,” said | tating his escape—from six ponies galloping the man addressed morosely, “I know the | round him, and three men tying themselves in Tor ities of my own, They could attend Miss | knuts above him. Oh, burrab, they are all go- Vionie’s with ease, but, of course, the quali- | ing out.” ‘ications of your feet are beyond me. They But the man came in again with the next may embrace bunions.” relay of horses, and again Tis dark, curious You are so very funpy!” said the lady, | eyes sought. that one place in the circle of yas had a bunion or two secreted, ‘If you'll | seats. ol my parasol for me, we will start tow, “He is looking at you,” whispered Douglas Shall wet Iam sure you'll amuse me all the | to Winifred, “‘ and I don’t wonder at ab. Way if you go on like this,” ‘‘ He is looking at you, and I do wonder at Hescarcely spoke a word to her all the way. | it,” retorted the young lady, smiling; ** because a whole walk along the shady lanes, and | —well, of course one bas to glance at you some- sigan the sunny field which cut off halfa mile, | times; but it is a task I should always feel. in- ny One series of strategic movements between | clined to hurry over.” he - Hampton and the lady mother, she striv-| “It is a thing you certainly always do hurry sors couninrnerzuption happen to the band- | over,” nid be weentflly. og ’ CO) wi ether; ould you like D ‘ 4 ee _ Be determined. to have some of Winifred’s at. | like that strange being’s?/ Why, I think: you | has been using this house as if i Hon, at ane hazards, and beating his ad- | would be mesmerized! What would you'do if | 0 bis he ages at the field by getting ungallantly | you were mesmerized, Mr, Douglas! Something tile first, and hurrying the girl away | extraordinary, I suppose” . apie Sie eS i) sh SD ev (Our : AN OFFER. —rising and rustling tremendously. ‘ Assist. me to descend, Mr. Hampton, if you please. — & Mr. Douglas, eecept my apologies for briuging you to such a mixed ¢ffair. lt wasthis willful puss s doing!” 224 ie Something seemed to have happened to Mr. Douglas. His brow bad darkened, hislips had ~ — contracted, bis eyes grown stern. Like a man — lost in unpleasant thcught, be allowed Winnie to step down by herself (she could do it grace- fully enough, but she frowned at his inatten- tion), and followed her out of the tent: Out- side they encountered the tall, foreign-looking as? groom bringing in newly-caparisoned steeds, _ “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” be said, touching his cap, ‘‘but it is a pity to leave just now. The best of our entertainn-ent i just about to commence.” now As he spoke, his keen eyes flashed upon ‘ 7 eam fy one of the party, avd a thin kind of suppressed. smile curved his lips, Haughtily ceigning no answer, Mr, Hampton and Mrr, Erlesco swept by the man. Dcuglas turned, with natural courtesy end charming smile, and sai ‘“ Thonks, We thirk we bave en ae our muney, and these ladies are tired.” — They walked on, and steadily, as one w intend: d it, and did what be intended. Douglas attached bimself to the Jady-mothe for the walk home, and led ber on so rapid] that ske had nut time to cast one backw glance to see what Mr. Hampton and W were doing. bres ‘* Has not the circus been just what you. pected, Miss Erlescombe?” asked Hamp looking down at ihe girl with a sneerin; of triumph. nat sty ‘I never expected anything about it; do you mean?” answered she, coldly. ‘ There is a disay pointed expression your charming face,” chuckled he, _ “Yiu must be seeing a reflecti own,” retorted she, “It is horri know that, and so dusty.” Ae “Let me Fold your sunshade over y trying to take it. ait keeping off th Tam ‘‘ What good will that be in dust? Jt is a horrid walk, this. wish I had not come.” mn “ Shall I call Mr. Douglas back? I am be will walk with you, if you ask him,” “IT wish you would goon and watk him and mother; that would be eis purpose. I could then enjoy myself “ Better than with Douglas?? “I should very decidedly think so!” she, emphatically; whereupon. his face ened. ite “ How tong is that young man g bere? He has been here six days a Ne a a a ge ss penn o f 4 aE bom te At A Pres beat ER her ie Selina S eee ashes Pict MM Bench iia te. Se ie aoe > ae * te 4 bers 5 y

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ope po ee Sh Za DENY tae er we ee “OUTWITTED. BY HERSELF, tee) a“ Wa you come on the water with me for | ankour or so when we get home, Miss Erles- ‘ i combe, please?” reer The moment I get home I am going to drink six cups of tea, Mr. Hampton.” _ “But afterward?—you have not been in a boat with me for so long.” “T can’t say what I can do until I have had that tea; after it, perhaps, if I feel refreshed.” J ix cups of tea ought to prove refreshing.” “They ought. Well, perhaps, if I do feel very much refreshed, and nothing more at- ae - tractive turns up, I may step into a boat with ne _ you, Mr. Hampton.” by ons Thanks?” he said, effusively. uae But after the tea had been partaken of, and Mr. mpton was studying the. newspaper, _ Winifred saw Clyde Douglas standing by the river, looking so handsome, so manly, so de- ‘bonair, in his cool flannel suit, with his cigar ae... in his mouth, that she went across to join him. _. “ Mr Douglas, you left something behind you in the circus.” ss ‘© What’ did I leave?” asked he, surprisedly, __,. turning to her and throwing away his cigar. oe ay ' “You left me!” she said, smiling, as she ta ed her hands demurely before him. “ Am something?” Wed sipass r YS 4 SOE - _He looked at her, as the sun gilded the hair is beneath her hat, and lighted up her azure _ Fiquid eyes, and fell searchingly upon the pure » tinted face that bore its light so well, anda : Fe eg rush of dark coloring rose into bis own sp e on the water,” he pleaded, stooping zt “to ot the fastening of the boat that was - moored against the bank. “Just for an hour or two.” «J don’t think my mother would like me to ake excursions of an hour or two with young , ee a unchaperoned,” said she, prud- 05 y. ‘Besides, unfortunately, I have half- nae promised ‘to go out in this very boat for half au hour with Mr. Hampton.” ‘With Ham ton! Unchaperoned, of course, Hampton?” “Bh, yes. ss Preterable, of course, to me. ou were’going to say.” es «Twas not going to say that; I only thought | it,”—mischievously. “What I was going to say was that he is elderly and safe.” ty uaper I am unsafe?’ asked he, eagerly, sioonaind down with his dangerous handsome You see he is elderly, and—” Don’t stop Have you any reason to think you are?” she, moving from him as she laugh- "and colored. “But don’t come so near, “(7 must come near enough tosee you. You et Iam a little short sighted. I lost my ye-gluss, too, the first day I met you and ever have’ been really able tosee you as you e, I believe "calmly regarding her. “You have sustained a very serious loss! w do I look when seen as I ‘am not?’ ed she. ‘‘Do you miid telling me?” Se You iook the most beautiful woman, save « _ that I ever beheld!” © &T se0° something about you that I have aap observed before!”’ said she, talking quick- , in confusion. ‘ That little gold locket ging just above your watch-chain! What it?” picking it up and opening it before could check ber, A lovely woman’s face was inside—a girl’s 2e smiling and bright, with golden hair and ee eyes, and ‘features sweet and win- wit j a pang she could not "account fe. and y turned her face pale. “The most beautiful woman I have ever beheld! The only woman I ever loved!’he gently taking the locket, and closing it e put it out of sight. — e was silence for a moment. Douglas zy at his companion, but ber eyes ithe hurrying, rippling stream. ne—the water and the lawn, the | changed in ‘ove: brief sriitiints The beauty of the day seemed to have gone. chilly. The girl gave a little shiver as she turned and took a step toward the house. In that moment, however, Mr..and Mrs. Erlescombe appeared; she smiling, as she al- ways smiled upon Mr. Douglas; he looking worried and anxious. ‘*Mrs, Erlescombe, I appeal to you,” said Douglas, meeting the lady; “I ain entreating Miss Erlescombe to come on the river for an hour, but she says you would not like it.” “6 Dear, dutiful child,” said the gushing mo- ther, putting her band on the girl’s s’eeve; “she is always thinking of what her parents would like or dislike. When you choose a wife, dear Mr. Douglas, take an old woman’s advice, and choose a girl who pays her parents the same deference and idolatry she. will be obliged to yield to her husband)” ‘* Mother, what a stupid remark!” cried the dutiful daughter ‘‘Mr. Douglas knows otherwise,” said the lady, with smiles and meaning looks toward her guest. ‘‘Take Winnie on the water for an hour? Yes, surely I can trust her to you. Go, dearest, and enjoy. yourself with our guest!” —stroking the lace on Winnie’s pink dress, “‘Thanks, mother; I don’t want to! I’ve half promised to go out with Mr. Hampton!” “Mr. Hampton is not of the slightest con- sequence!” said Mrs. Erlescombe, decidedly. ‘Oh! is he not?? muttered her lord and master, ‘'He will let you know whether he is not, sooner or later!” “To show you of how little consequence I consider an engagement with poor old Mr. Hampton (no doubt a well-meaning, useful per- son, Mr. Douglas, but not in our set, of course —-my husband has him here only just on busi- ness), I desire my daughter to accept your most delightful offer of rowing her for a short time on this river.’’ She spoke to the guest, and her face was wreathed with the most delightful of smiles. Winnie understood the tone used, and stepped into the boat without saying anotber word. They pulled from shore in silence. When they had got out some distance, Mr. Douglas said, with a smile on his lips, as he leaned across to his companion, ‘‘ A penny for your thoughts, Miss Erlescombe.” *“T don’t feel inclined to scll them. Take eare of your right oar, Mr. Douglas "=<ehorthy. ‘*We are going throug the bridge.” ‘Shall we go through the bridge or turn now? Up or down the stream would you pre- fer?” “T have no preference. But perbaps we had better turn and go down; it will take shorter time.” “‘T am sorry you should come out with me to be bored, Miss Erlescombe,” observed he, stiffly. “Oh, never mind; it won’t last long, and we all have disagreeable things to do at times,” answered she, pleasantly. ‘What did you think of that portrait inside my locket?” he inquired, resting upon bis oars as he fixed his eyes upon her, and the boat floated slowly down the stream. You eulogized it so highly yourself, i scarcely like to give an opinion,” replied she, turning aside and dabbling one Lease, white hand in the water. “I said what I thought—that I never saw a face to equal that in sweetness and beauty, but then I am not an unprejudiced judge. You cannot fail to see beauty in a person you have loved for a lifetime with all the depths of de- votion yovr nature is capable of. Can you?” ““T dare say not; I know nothing about that, z —coldly. “Shall you never know it?’ he asked, lean- ing forward, until his hand touched hers, and his glance thrilled her through and through. ‘“T wish you would not-try to upset the boat,” said she, leaning back. ‘‘ Little as you may believe it, Mr. Douglas, I have no fancy fora Keitel ee Lhe ier un Ka es It T upset 00; I will bring you fe ” he as- The air felt | sured her. “Thanks; you are very kind, but you could not get me ‘out before all the starch had been taken from my dress, I feel sure.” “ Did it strike you that this portrait in my locket was anything like yourself?’ he asked, ivsinuatingly. “That portrait did not strike meatall. I am very sorry; but it is my nature to speak the truth, Mr. Douglas ”’—with a little unnat- ural laugh. ‘¢You remind me so much of her ”—musing- ly. ‘ Every time I look at you I think of ber, and that is partly why. Miss Erlescombe, may T confide in you?’—he changed his sentence. ‘*Oh, do! Nothing makes me laugh like a love-story—nothing amuses me so much!” “Do you never speak seriously?” he asked, in diseppointed accents, “Usually. I am quite serious now when I say | wish you would row me in to the bank and let me land. I should much prefer to walk home, I am so cold.” ‘Ts that your only reason for leaving me?’ asked he, making no attempt to fulfill her re~ quest. ‘¢ Well, to be candid with you, I just cs ought a glimpse of Mr. Hampton’s long coat waving amid the trees, and I should like to walk home with it” When she said that, he turned without an- other word, but with an entire change of countenance, and rowing in to the bank, assist- ed her to land, with a grave severity of man- ner that might have amused a looker-on. ‘Mr. Hampton, what are you doing?” Win- nie cried, tripping after the stiff, thin figure and the professional coat. *‘ What are jou doing, Mr. Hampton, I say?” “Tam walking,” said he, turning freezing- ly. , ‘“T see that; but you are doing something else, too, or you would not be too engrossed to notice me. I saw the breeze agitating your coat-tails a moment through the trees, and [ insisted upon Mr. Douglas landing me, that I might come and join you. Now, aren’t you very pleased to see me?” She had not calculated upon the effect of that coquettish speech, that upward, mirthful glance, that touch of ber hand upon his arm, It sounds ineredible, but she did not know bow bewitching she was looking that afternoon, She was not quite aware of how well pink satine and a shepherdess bat, all covered with white lace, became her, and she had no idea that this man really cared for her, She turned, trembling and white, and hot and cold, as her two hands were gathered in his sinewy, close grasp, and his countenance, white, and earnest, and strained, told her the truth im an instant’s flash before his hoarse veice spoke. ‘¢Miss Erleseombe— Winnie, I am_ nearly crazy !” “Oh, Mr. Hampton, don't you think yay are mistaken?” ‘“‘T am mad with suspense, and anxiety, and anger! I am being most abominably treated! I was invited down here <— the express purpcse of marrying you!” ‘“‘Marrying me? You? must be mad!” “Is it the thought of a madman? Child, does it so appear to you? Is it too incredible, too revolting an idea for you to grasp?” “Tt really is, revolting; but incredible it really is. Why, you are as old as—I mean, there is nothing in you that I should ever be able to fall in love with! I mean, you are just the kind of man I Why, really you never should dream of marrying—I never — could marry, I mean,” stammered the girl, getting more hopelessly entangled at each sen- tence in her wild confusion and dismay. ny think you are entirely mistaken, Mr. Ham: I don’t know anything about The idea of: your marrying me never could | have entered anybody’s head.. You can’t. mean » it yourself, really,”—in pathe ized pleading. Uy weed i \ ] ta so al .

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ve hag _ be said, in a curious voice. tell me that you were not in your mother's ‘Unpleasant. saying all this? I don’t know Sows 6 express _ Myself,” “You know how to cut deep enough to cure,” “Do you mean to “0 then, Miss Erlescombe? Now, be truth- “T always am truthful ,”—indignantly. a me know wha you mean by my mother’s 2) oO ” “A plan, if you like the term better, to save herself and husband from ruin by your attrac- tions. I see into it easily enough. I came down here, was cajoled by her, flattered by the old man, bewitched by you. But Iam a daa- erous edged tool to play with. if thé kind of thing that has been going on—since this new Quarry, this younger rival has appeared on the scene—is carried on much further, I may prove I cannot fathom your mother’s design, or rather the sudden turn it has taken. Are you in it now, I want to know?” He had been holding her hands the whole time he spoke, and she tried in vain to free herself. “T don’t understand you,” she faltered, the thought of madness filling her with terror. “Mr. Hampton, let us walk quietly on, and talk of birds—bees—butterflies, etc. !”—in wild per- Suasiveness, “T shall talk on this subject until ‘t have ex- hausted it,” he replied, shortly,—“ until, at any rate, my mind is clear upon one point, Winifred, will you marry mo?” “No!” she sed, in low, decisive tones, And her~" s eyes met his gaze as she spoke. “Why not: State your reasons, if you have any.” “T could never marry a man unless I gave my whole heart with my hand,” she said, color- ing deeply, “To do otherwise would be to injure him as much as myself, Mr. Hampton; and I would svoner—” Then some expression in his face struck her, and instantly her own softened, and her sweet €yes filled with tears. ~ “You are fond of me, I believe,” she said, with a sob. “Oh, how wicked I have been never to guess this ’pefore! Oh, what can I do to make amends?” i : “Marry me!” he said, speaking thickly and Ow. But she turned aside, and shook her head. “You don’t believe in my love,” he con- tinued, his tones growing more impassioned with each word. ‘You think becagtse I am old and ugly, because the fire of youth and its attractions are not mine, that the power to love and cherish, the capacity for devotion and wor- Ship are gone too. Child, I’can love you better than a younger man. The fickleness of youth, the petty exactions, the tyranny of a young man’s affection are not to be expected from me. Winifred, won’t you be mine?” She felt that she would sooner die; but she did not express herself carelessly again. The unmistakable suffering in the haggard, gaunt face touched her strangely. She went up to him, and put ber soft little hand on his arm. an ‘Oh, Mr. Hampton!” she whispered—and when he met her tearful gaze he knew that it was no put on sentimentality, —“‘ I'am so sorry for the suffering I have unwittingly caused you. Believe me, I never dreamed, I never Suessed this or anything like it, whatever my Mother’s thoughts may have been, I never Then Nba “Go home, Mr. iy A and forget about me. I am not worth being in your thoughts. I am giddy, weak, stupid, young. I should be no companion for a life like yours. You would regret in one week the foolish step you had taken. I am bad-tem- pered, frivolous, vain—oh, I assure you, not half as nice asI seem! I have faults by the dozen—quite bad faults!” “Perhaps; but I love you!” he said, with head turned away, his hands fast clasped on his silk umbrella. “And I am very, very grateful for your love!” she whispered gently, the tears rising in her eyes again, as a wild mewory and a com- parison between the figure before ber and an- other one made her heart beat fast, and a re- alization of the pain she bad caused filled her mind with repentance. ‘‘I shall never forget the honor you have done me by—by thinking of me thus, and I hope you will still let me te your friend, Mr. Hampton. . Dear Mr. Hamp- ton, I would cut off my hand to save you this trouble! Oh, dear, I wish you had never come down here!’ She was too absorbed to hear an apprcach- ing footstep. Her eyes were too blinded with tears to ses a man who passed’ them just at that moment, and struck by sometbing in their attitude or demeanor, paused to give a good long stare at either as he passed. He was a tall, remarkable-looking individual —a kind of mixture between a workingmean and a jockey in dress—foreignu-looking, and ill- to-do, apparently. Mr.. Hampton was staring hard» at the ground with a fixed, stony gaze, when sudden- ly, without a word, he turned, and swifily strode away from Winnie, taking his way, ap- parently without desigu, amid the littie paths through the trees. Winnie hesitated a moment as to whether she should follow him, then saying to herself, “Tcan dono good; I can say nothing more than I have said. He does seem:a little odd in his mind just now. Perhaps quiet is the best tbing for him.” And she turned toward bome; but as she passed the tree where tbe stranger man was standing, be came out, avd raising his hat, confronted her. CHAPTER IV. THE BEGINNING OF THE STORM. “T DECLARE I am in a state of bewilder- ment!” said Mr. Erlescombe to his wife, as she sat on the lawn about half an hour after Winnie had been sent off on the river with Clyde Douglas. “I have not a single nee idea in my head!” **Do you usually have?” inquired his bebter- half, placidly doubtful. 6 Te I don’t, it is your fault. You pretend to manage my affairs, and you are bringing us all to rack and ruin as quickly as you can do it! Upon my word, I sometimes think you have taken leave of your senses!” “You do not think I have passed them on to you, [ hope?’ replied she, contemptuously. * “T insist upon knowing what you are about! We invited Hampton down here for the ex- press purpose of getting him to fall in love with Winnie—” “Which he has done,” interrupted the lady, coolly. ‘¢ And now'he bas done it, you play fast and loose with him—or, rather, only loose! You Presumed to fancy that a man like you would i insult him, treat him with contempt, bring be- think of a girl like me. Tois is the first offer have ever had,” she declared, piteously; “and if it is to cause pain like this, I hope I May never have another, that is all!” “Vain hope,” he said, slowly, ‘‘unless you marry before another man has time to see you. inifred, marry me, and be safe and at rest from the dangers and misery your beauty will Surely bring upon you. For your own sake in for mine I ask this.” ae $ brain roust surely be a little touched,” t the girl, pitifully, “if be thinks that to e from misery es isto marry Cie PERT ise ; pak 2 da ah ta a weir cit ag ay ine 8 Ye aN Pee fore him this young Douglas, a nice young fel- low enough, but, bless my soul—” “You need not trouble about that, Your blessings wont do it much good!” calmly pick- ing up her stitches. “Bless my soul, woman, you must have been sent inthe world to aggravate men! You send Winnie’ about with Douglas on purpose to vex Hampton, and there stands Hampton, with my life in bis hands, as it were.” . “Tf it were only that—” she began, scorn- fully Bat he uth cuiptods working bimeslé ue inte ab caiinte i! A phi \ Pl » Bo. prt bite | to set foot in _ house. ‘ane he - ” re ae aA 7 “Tt issomething more—at least, something that touches you, madam, more! He has in his hands the power to make us all beggars to- morrow—to turn us out. of house, and home at any moment. Every inch of land I possess is mortgaged beyond its value, and Hampton is - the mortgagee. Every stick and stone I pos- sess is his when he likes to claim it! He has a bill of sale on our very furniture. stand—” “JT wish you would sit down—standing, | brandishing your stick within an inch of my — head, and shouting at the top of your voice. I suppose you want the gardener to know that every inch of land you bave is mortgaged.” ‘« He and every one else will know it soon | enough if you go on as you propose, madam! Here I stand, in the eyes of the world Robert Erlescombe, well-to-do, and influential. In Here I \ eee reality, 1 am Hampton’s slave, and he knows ~ it!” ‘More shame for you to have acted so, and © - a x ” “ a ruined your wife and sweet, innocent child.” ‘‘T ruined you! Yourextravagance, woman, - has done more than half of it! I told you scon _ after we were married that if you OU, not retrench—” “] did not marry you to retrench. Now. Robert, keep quiet, and I will tell you that. have a plan to. lift us ont of all your diffi- culties. if only you won’t interfere.” “IT must interfere. You said Winnie should marry Hampton.” “‘ My daughter marry tbat piece of parch- ment — tbat bad, inferiorly-bred money broker!”—-the. speaker rose, with majesty, aud swept about on the lawn—“ never, Robert, I have not sunk low enough for that! Sacri- fice our sweet child's bhappiness— the life-hap- piness of ovr oply child—to.a man whom she could never love—to a mav whom really I~ don’t censider a gentleman? Once, and for ail, it sball not be! Beauty and parchment shall — not be allied; youth and vicious age shall not — be united with my consent. Pah! the very idea of that shriveled, ugly tig: for a ‘son-in- law makes me sick!” “ He will be a downright ugly, stick to turn | against you,” said the busband, fearfully. | “And be will turn sharp enough if he thinks! all is not going te be as he bas been reckoning upon. It is all very well to consider your pre- judices and Winnie's feelings, but, my love, bad cautious. Hampton—” “Leave him to me, I bappen to have diss covered a little something about Mr. Hampt just lately,” caid the lady, triumpbantly—‘“a = d i something which makes, me abhor the very idea of his claiming my daughter—a some-_ thing he little suspects any creature | knows but * himself. Ha, ba! Mr. Hampton, appearances — sre very smooth indeed, but I know a some- thing!” “ A something against him?’ asked Earles- combe, eagerly. anything against the man in any shape or w tell it to me, and I will make use of it, confide in me!” persuasively. ‘It requir man’s brain to manage these matters. You have found out something Fr nest ba Hampton?”—coming gleefully close. “Yes; which I am going to keep to myself, too, until the proper time comes for making use of it,”—coldly moving away. ; Was there ever a being so aggrava a woman?” striking his stick into the “You have got a decent card in your. band, you say, and you'll play itso badly, ali want of a little decent nave, that we, Jl lose the game,” dine, “We shall not lose the game if I don’t allow NO! ting as ' You shall be well-to-do and safe yet, | F / n bees 7 “ My dear love, if you ene Ry by you to meddle with jit,” said she, tranquilly pp counting the stitches of her pattern, “I rs got a handful of good cards, and I shall. them as I think best. I really consider, Ri ert, when I think it over, that we — ee ourselves by touching the money Hampton. He must be paid off, must be done to him—paid. off, and pyre

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tered Erlescombe. ‘‘ But how will you ar- - range the former, my dear?” work, looked all around in an impressive way, lon was too great to allow him to speak. _ “Letters whick you have read, madam!” he issed, at length. “TI thank you ‘for informing me ‘of. the way you understand the duties of a ostess—the mean, dishonorable, criminal open- ‘ing of private boxes and peering into private tors ee you indulge iu at your guest’s ex- Ye I shall know how to treat you now. for this little matter I might, by some foolish pity or leniency of thought toward you a@ woman, have mitigated some of the pun- ishment you deserve, You have done away with that risk.” » “J have found out how you treat a woman! I happily found out in time to save my own innocent, trustful child from the fate the writer f th hose ers underwent at your barbarous ands! I don’t care a scrap for you, Mr. Hampton, grand as you think yourself, and in _ arage asl know you are! [ don't carea pin for you! Bring me into court if you like, and let the whole thing be heard, and those letters read, and hear whether the court will side with -méor you! Ha, ha!” ~- «T knew ‘that Earlescombe, here, married _ considerably beneath himself when he married you ’” retorted the broker, with a little sarcasm. “et I never mistook you for a lady, and bad reason to believe you were about as low by birth as his friends accused you of being; but Re never sympathized with his friends in their ighte = tis owe fo at his mesalliance, or eres own veinke until now. Hee. ae 2a ( Mrs. Erlescombe rose, grasped her fancy That Mr. Douglas | IT am! it!” said Mr. Hampton, stepping out from the. ee DP ral ns _QUTWITTED | BY. HERSELF, — &y should like to do the latter thing,” mut- | Lae my presaee shricked the lady. ‘Go out of my hotse and grounds, Hampton, and take’ your money with you if you like! I would rather be sold out than subjected to this from a snail like you; and there you stand, coward!” (firing upon her husband), ‘‘ with no word to. say for your legal wife—no stone to hurl at the man who dares to insult her before your eyes!” ‘He will have enough to say presently upon another subj ct,” observed Hampton, quietly. ‘¢You shall have official notice, E.lescombe, of the course I mean to pursue, without any pain- ful delay, I assure you.” ‘Don’t take avy notice of ber!” Mr, Hrles- combs came round to the infuriated man and put asbaking haod on his arm. ‘‘Don’t ruin me, there’s a good. fellow, just because she is out of her senses! Upon my word, I am afraid of her often; I think she has a little lunacy about ber. I rue the day I married her, I can tell you!” in a piteous whisper. ‘ Don't ruin me and Winnie because she is a chattering vi-, rago. We have nothing to do with her plans, I swear. Wo want you to marry Winnie,” “In proof of which assertion, your daughter has just unqualifiedly refused me!” said Hamp- ton, distinctly. ‘“ My daughter refuses a low, vicious money. broker. Of course, my daughter knows what is just to her parents and her bringing up,” ob- served Mrs. Erlescombe, tranquilly. ‘* Ah, yes! I can trust my daugh‘er in eny strait!” ** You shall be in a strait presently that shall try your bringing up to the utmost, I exn promise you!” uttered Hampton, tremblicg with rage. “Take me to the house, Robert,” said the foolish woman, turving to her husband, affect- edly. ‘*This vulgarity makes me feel faint. take me to my smelling-bottle.” ““T would advise you to make the most of your house and your smelling-bottle while you bave it!’ sneered the other: ‘Yuu won’t have anything to call your own much. longer, you may rely upon that.” Just at that moment Winnie came tripping toward them. Her bat was swinging in her hand, ber brown hair ruffied by the breeze; ber eyes sparkling, her cheeks glowing; her whole air and bearing too full of some secret’ bappi- ness to allow her to notica-anything peculiar in the countenances of the group she interrupted. Catcking Mr. Hampton by the arm, she drew him just a few paces aside, and: said, eagerly, ‘‘Mc. Hamp.on, I have a message for you trom an acquaintance of yours, who asked me to give it to you without a moment’s delay. He said it was of immediate i»portance, and I was to give it you in just these words:~ ‘Your dear old friend, Mrs, Barnes, has come back from England, and would be very glad to see you if you would call upon her as early as possible at 62 Hightieth street, Harlem,’ I tock particular note of the address. The man said she did not know yours, or she would have written to you, or called on you herself; but she would be unfeignedly glad tosee you for the sake of auld lang syne. Oh! and he said thabin case you might have forgotten the old lady’s identity, it would bring her to your re- collection to remind you that she bad a niece called Rhoda. She is so anxious to see you now she has come back from England that she has employed this man to look for you. By mere chance he saw you in the circus, avd half- recognized you there. Then he saw you to- day, but you went off so suddenly that be could not overtake you, so was obliged to ask me to take the message for him. Now, was there ever a long message remembered 80 ex- actly, and delivered so correctly?” Was there ever a message received so strangely? Mr. Hampton’s features went back to the ashen green they bad taken when speak- ing to his hostess a little time ago; his eyes glared at Winnie; and he threw her from bim ere the last words had left her lips. “You did well to call yourself weak and stupid!” he muttered. ‘‘To aid and abet your mother, to provoke a lion already) roused;: to to a the taut oaae ‘on a man whose temper has broken, is weak and stupid: indeed! are in it, too! compunction bas vanished!” So you With that, he turned and_ left the astonished girl, and went straight to consult a railway guide. CHAPTER V. THROUGH THE WOOD. TBE wan came forth from bebind a tree, and confrented Miss Erlescombe as Mr, Hampton left ber. ‘‘T beg your pardon, miss,” he said, Winnie gave a little start, Well, then, my last grain of — And — She was agitated and confused, pained and © unhappy, It was excessively lonely there; and the stranger's countenance, although it brougbt some half-memory to her mind, was not ore that, seen closely, was calculated to insyire a timid mind with confidence, It was handsome, but dissipated and sinister-looking when, «s now, it tried to conjure up an agreeable smile; and the eyes—dark, keen, and peculiar ~ al- though they were noting every change in . Winnie’s countenance, were carefully avoiding her glance. “Do you want anything?’ the, girl asked, nervously. ‘*T am only bold enough to inquire, miss, if the gentlemen who bas just parted from you calls himself Diuglas, by any chance?” said the man, with a respectful tone that was quite. humble, “ Dougles:” repeated. she, coloring, and speaking withcut thought. ‘‘No; tbat is Mr, Hamptcn.” ‘“Hampton—Hampton—um! You think that is his right name, miss?’ ‘¢ Why would he be likely to call bimself by a wrong one?” she replied, surprisedly. ‘* Not at all—not at all.. I only want.to be quite sure that be is the Mr. Hampton I am wanting to find. I have something to com- munvicate to bis advantage, miss, Why, I have been leoking for him for months,” “To his advantage! Are you one of those odd advertisement ?” “Tam rot an advertisement, miss. I am an honest, plain man, as you see; but”— sud- | denly puttirg on an air of confidence—‘ I am from one.of: those offices that put advertise- ments in the papers, sure enough, such as you allude to, miss. ‘If so-and-so will communi- cate with so-and-so, he will hear of something to his advantage;’ or, ‘if H. B, will return to his disconsolate widow all will be forgiven;” and so on, You are.very discernivg, miss, to see a man’s calling so quick, It is not often folks, ladies especially, will believe in us and trust us, so we often fail by these means to do the good we might wish to do,” meekly, ‘You look so odd,” said Winnie, very pleased with her eredit for discernment, ‘I thought you must belong to something queer like that. .By-the. by, though,” becoming sud- denly suspicious, “I have seen you before. Now I recollect, were you not at the circus the other day, doing something with the horses?” she questioned, sternly. ‘-I was, miss,” be said, apologetically. ‘It was a demeaning and a lowering thivg to do, but in oux profession we often have to descend io those subterfuges in the way of business, I never stick at anything in the pursuit of busi- ness, miss. So that was Mr. Hampton sitting beside you in the reserved-seats that day. Oh, dear, if I had only gusssed it, what time it might have saved me, and what pleasure given him! I never dreamed of his being in this neighborbood, and that is the truth. Now, it is very unfortunate, here am I telegraphed for up by our chief office—on my way to the station now, miss—can’t spare a moment, and there is Mr, Hampton gone away through the — wood, we don’t know where, and here am [ holding a message for him that it will just take a load from his heart to hear, the message of eh athens that will priobien Pe fats i 4

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yas ae looked dull, I noticed. Ah! we judge expres, _ sions rapidly—obliged to, miss); quite a simple- “ordinary message, too, such as you or an __ friend could deliver.” __ “Why did you ask me first if his name was. ee interrupted Winnie, curiously, “Why, miss? Ah! I could not tell why I do a great many things. In our profession we can’t just speak as we would like. There Js a Mr. Douglas staying at your house, miss, \Pve been told, but you, of course, don’t know _- Much about his business.” He spoke in a manner which a more ex- Perienced person than Winnie might have thought too careless. Miss Eriescombe made a haughty movement Of her dainty little head. “T am not Mr. Douglas’s business agent,” ‘Said she. “Pardon,” said the man; then drawing out his watch, “I must be going; I shall have a run for this train.” Then turning as by a strik- tng thought, “ You could not, miss, I suppose (I am ashamed to trouble you like this), tell me Of a trustworthy messenger I could give my Message to take now to Mr. Hampton. When ‘We are pressed for time, we often have to em- Ploy outside hands like that.” Take a load from his mind!—brighten him Up wonderfully! Impulsive Winifred turned with only that thought in her mind. Her heart ached for Mr. Hampton, and she wished that her hands could carry him a little meed of consolation. “Tf you are sure it is a message that will Please him, I will deliver it to Mr. Hampton With the greatest willingness myself,” said she, ““T shall see him probably again in less than half an bour.” Inexperienced, trusting, nineteen-year-old ; 'Qnie! she never noticed, as the man over- ‘whelmed her with thanks and then slowly and ‘emphatically retailed the lengthy message to er, his evil smile, his tone of self-congratula- tion, his manner as though he had just gained ® very thing he wanted. It sounded a Pleasant enough message, and not until she had Tepeated it to Mr. Hampton and the storm it raised had overwhelmed her, did she doubt one word of the stranger’s plausible tale. Thexperienced Winnie, indeed! She walked slowly toward home after she had parted from the man, but ere she entered her own grounds & voice arrested her, a voice whose deep, pleas- ‘ant melody thrilled her every pulse. “So you are not traveling homa with Hamp- ton’s coat after all, Miss Erlescombe,” said Clyde Douglas, e we walked a little: way with it,” said she. re see it got on ahead, and I am following _“ You left me under false pretenses, I con- Sider,” “Oh, no! I thought you quite understood that I really left you. because 1 was tired of your society, Mr. Douglas.” _ “ Of course it is an easy thing to understand that,” he muttered. “ Miss Erlescombe, do you express yourself with this lovely candor to all your friends? You must have a great crowd of them, I should say.” “T don’t want a great crowd of false friends and flatterers,” said she, bitterly, ber head turned away so that he could not see her ©xXpression. ‘I never pretend myself to like anybody I don’t really’ care for, and I wish People that don’t care for me would be honest _ Shough to say so at once, and not consider that Politeness demands from them a whole heap of She nnineless attentions, just because they are aying in the same house!” vehemently, Are there people who, after ouce knowing : cae manage to care not a particle for big he asked, quietly; and though she would thr meet it, she felt his dark thrilling gaze ce her every nerve. tae here are certainly people who pay a lot well, Teneless attentions just because—oh, ‘the su itis because they are staying sth” S2me house with one; I can’t see any it n for it. =? } tis \ ‘ ts ay 5 Poe, ie re LARC Se hee pees Sept . 4 Ge Sa ntand 5 TS got Ath ot ai Phd ae? ae =e Ty ap. T Oe 5 sie Re et orate Pe eta ise Re te Boa A os eae ANS ____OQUTWITTED BY HERSELF. - You allude to Mr. Hampton, perhaps?” ~ “No, I most certainly do not allude to Mr. Hampton. I think he means what he says, at any rate. I like Mr. Hampton.” “That is quite an unnecessary assertion. That is one of the things that goes without saying,” returned he, stiffly. ; ‘IT mean I like hima great deal better than I do you.” His face changed a little; but he answered, sarcastically : ‘* Anybody who runs may read that, Miss Erlescombe. Don’t trouble to make conversa- tion for me in this way, thanks.” ‘‘He is always gentlemanly and considerate, and never thinks of teasing me with sarcasm!” said she, her voice trembling. ‘Suppose we agree that he is perfection, won't that simplify things?” suggested he, with a careless laugh. “He might easily be perfection in com- parison with you; for I do think, Mr, Douglas,” —turning upon him with flaming cheeks and flashing eyes—‘‘ you are the most aggravating, horrid man I ever did come across!” “Thanks, awfully. It is so nice to reflect that just now you assured me that you never said a thiug you did not mean.” ‘“‘T don’t care. You are the most irritating, disagreeable person I was ever obliged to walk with. Ideclare you are!” “You are not obliged to walk with me,” re- torted he. “TI left the boat up there because I was tired of pulling it about alone, and I thought a solitary walk might change the cur- rent of my thoughts; but Lam sure I have no wish to intrude, I will wait here until you get ten minutes’ or sostart, then I will follow with- out intruding upon your lonely ramble.” “Don’t be absurd!” “Tam hardly in good enough spirits to be absurd, I faney,”—shortly. “ Are you not in good spirits? I amsure you seem frightfully gay and loquacious.” “Loquacious one may be, and outwardly gay; but”—speaking slowly, and with a tone in his voice that she had never heard before— ‘when the person a man likes best in the world, the only person in whose good opinion he cares about standing, has, with a great deal of unnecessary candor and pains, taken the trouble to make him understand how thorough- ly she dislikes bim, he can scarcely just then be expected to be in very good spirits.” She met his quiet, earnest glance just for a moment; then, turning away, colored wildly, and plucked at the foliage as she passed it. - “J can’t understand about all these people you like best in the world, and consider loveli est, and have toved with depths of devotion for years. They get mixed up in my mind, and puzzle me, Ob, dear! I wish men could be understood!” “Tf should like to understand one woman,” he said, gently —‘“‘ only one!” “The lady in the locket, I suppose! Can’t you fathom her? That is hard, really, after depths of devotion for years!”—with a little miserable laugh, “She never puzzled me,” he answered, gravely. ‘She never scorned my devotion, nor hurt my feelings, nor willfully misunder- stood what I felt and meant. She was never sweet and kind one moment, and cold as ice and snubbing the next. She never tortured for the sake of giving pain, and laughed at suf- fering that she could not understand; and she would have sympathized and pitied, even if she could not have relieved, pain that she herself had caused!” *- Would she, indeed? perfect.” ‘<T think she was perfect.” “Then I can’t think why in the world you don’t.stay with her!” cried the girl, pricked on by the stabs of a jealousy too great to bear. ‘*T am sure perfect people are not so common that you can afford to treat one lightly when you have beén lucky enough to find her. To jeave a perfect person for a few days’ fishing I expect she must be soms to me too ungrateful; and I am sure, if I | + aks th ie ; : rhe eee ic ae a hg aS ve sae obs OAM + 7 a eee 2 ph: aM se rm *s t = , : SSeS b FW ’ a J 4 $ I should expect tobe. ‘= were the perfect person, treated with a little more consideration.” “T have not left her—she left me,” he cried, in low, grave accents, “She is dead, Miss Erlescombe !” i air pene ey “Dead! Oh, Mr. Douglas, I never thought—” — —turning swift repentant eyesfrom him, = He bent his head, and his glance met hersas he added, ‘‘She is dead, and she was my mother, Miss Erlescombe!” my, They were just passing through the shrub- — bery that adjoined the lawn at Elm Grove, — and the long shadows were really enveloping | the short green grass; but it seemed to Winnie suddenly as if a storm had swept in the black- est darkness from the sky, and the sun in its ‘tre fullest might had shone forth after a- year’s » a eclipse. \ og er Mr, and Mrs. Erlescombe and Mr. Hampton were standing on the lawn with ex} ressions ~ which Douglas saw instantly were significant = of anything but what was pleasant. Winnie ran from her companion, who would have aa avoided the lawn, and seizing Mr. Hampton’s — arm, drew him aside, as has been already said, — to tell her innocent message. But she was too : engrossed by her own gleam of blissto com- prehend what had happened. ea)? ‘““We are ruined!” said Mr. Erlescombe, sitting down and turning pale and heated, “Trust a woman te clinch matters! You have done it now, my love. We are ruined, ruined, — ruined!” Oi “Done what?—what does he mean?’ asked the girl, wondering. ae “Does he ever know what he means?’ said — the wife, who understood him. " ‘oct ee “‘ Winnie, love, pardon my asking»a home- question,” drawing the girl aside; “but your dear father is a little excited about’ your sett} ment in life. He wanted you to marry Mr. Hampton; but I—ab! dear me. I was a mai en once, and understand those blushes. T is asome one nearer and dearer, is there n sweet love?” Ree His ‘‘Ob, mother,” said the girl, hiding her fa on her mother’s shoulder, “ I don’t know. I—” i “We know nothing about him,” solile ] the mother, softly; “but there is no stamped on that countenance. Poor he be, and probably is; but there is we: mind, my child, tbat 7 can appreciate. — poor father, he is sordid and weak, but I you to let this young man speak out his and I sball not say him nay; neither will pussy, eh?’ : th tae ‘Oh, mother, I don’t know that he any nay or anything else said to him. TI know. that he cares one atom for me! Ir be bas never said—I mean—” Sar “You mean that he does not inten you to marry him?” bissed the lady, ar ‘** My dear, if he does not he isa ras deceiver! Winnie, I command you to encou age him in every way in your power to pore. If he does not within four days be be turned out of this house, and you never see him again! Now, mark that!” f ee CHAPTER VI, RUIN AND DISGRACE. vk THE dinner-table was covered with pl and glass, and flowers, and costly wines a viands. A footman and a butler, in waited upon the four diners, Ss Mrs. Erlescombe rustled in moire, and her diamonds flashed in the light. Winnie clad simply in Indian muslin, but she pearls that had cost no little sum. Insid rcom and outside, where, through th window, the gardens lay in the twili was every evidente of taste, and and wealth. Across the hall, the drawing-room was lighted by the soft, ing illumination of countless wax It was a pleasant house for a yo Clyde Douglas to stay in, and it was that Mr, Hampton had left it. ‘‘T see two men coming up ‘ Winn whos orp the, window =~ ’ ; v z fr. ae ea he is L< iS wy v

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pie tees be 4 pe r . adding to herself, with a chuckle, ‘‘ Now it is Coming out.” 4 -_ “Though I pass by the name of Clyde _ Douglas, itis not the name to which I have a Tight. It is, as you may say, a fancy one I have given myself.” “Now, how interesting!”—looking almost too radiant, and smoothing her moire flounces, innie, dearest, come hither and listen,” “ And what are you by profession, dear Mr. - Dougias? Of course now you have no secrets from your future wife and her mother. Of ' Course it is of no importance what you are ”— airily. ‘Isee you, and that is sufficient; but Still we should like to hear all about you— everything, I mean, that you care to tell.” “Tam a clerk in a merchant’s office,” said the young man, stepping forward, and leaning One hand upon a chair, looking manly, hand- 80me, and noble, more like a prince than a Clerk, “Iam a clerk with a salary of only twelve hundred a year at present; but I have ®very prospect of a rise. My employers, I be- ieve, are satisfied with me; and for Winnie ’— turning to her with a smile—‘‘I shall work harder than I could do for myself.” Winnie stole up and put a hand through his, while her mother sat smiling, thozgh the smile had become a little fixed. Douglas continued: “My father was a wealthy man and a scoun- drel. I do not know his name, and I have Never seen his face! My mother was by nature 4 lady, by occupation a dressmaker.” He paused and looked at Mrs. Erlescombe a Moment; then went on: “My father married her privately, and to Please him she kept it secret and bore the Scorn of her friends and the Joss of her home Uncomplainingly. He left her before I was rn. She had as hard a life as any a woman Could have thrust upon her. Unkindiy treated and deserted by the man she loved, and for Whom she had given up everything, looked Cown upon by ber friends, with a chiid as well 48 herself to support, she toiled night and day Uncomplaining until her body, not her spirit, fave way. She taught me what a perfect woman was, and then she died broken-hearted slain, I say” (bis deep tones growing harder and slower), “ by the scoundrel who had sworn to love and cherish her. After her death a strange thing happened for me. An unknown hand, With money in it, came forward and put me in College (at Yale, of all places, where I learned 8entlemanly tastes and associations), clothed, fed, and paid for me until I was twenty, when it suddenly disappeared, and then I stood alone 0 earn my own living and fight my own battles, _ ‘So far I have done the former honestly and the latter successfully. I have tried to dis- cover, but failed, the hand to which I am in- debted for the education I value more bighly than I should do a mint of money.” As he ceased speaking there was no sound but a kind of gasp from Mrs. Erlescombe. She was trying to speak, but could not. She stood Up, supporting herself by the table, and then . She managed to hiss forth: ¥, oung man, is this the truth?” Every syllable of it, I s.lemnly swear!” he Teplied, earnestly. ai ‘And the whole truth?’ ber voice rising to in AG ; ati Pleasant scream, reminding one of pea The whole truth as far as T know it!” é “Then,” she said, rustling suddenly in her Pockets, and bringing forth an eyeglass, __Whose is this? What is the meaning of this, Please?” y cal said he in surprise. ‘Why, I lost li ages ago—the. first day I came here, I be- ‘eve! “ , OE Ga OR os pracy Jn it? I never noticed anything. Oh, I ni ary a me Pansy se it Ireme I got it Claude | We were it Yale— t believe rightly. What is there on it, a aed TS" b s 4 are Se Oe - OUTWITTED bP ten Fm Lee peer. ee a ms Be tials? SN Git tae: ae can anit Soe < 2 ot pl ae BY HERS “And Mr. Dunhaven”—her voice was scarcely a whisper—‘‘ was not he coming here incog. for fishing?” 4 ‘Ah, he was—he was coming for a few days, but his sister’s death interfered with his plans, and I came alone.” ‘“‘Then you may go back alone!” Mrs. Erles- combe hesitating a moment whether to faint or become violent, decided upon the latter. ‘‘ You are not wanted here—I can tell you that, young man, being what you are! And if you think Iam going to allow my daughter to marry a man with antecedents like yours, you are very much mistaken, that is all! We don’t want you here any more. You are low! Perhaps you'll go!” “Mother,” ejaculated Winnie, turning a deathly face and imploring eyes, ‘‘ you said just now—” ‘Silence, miss! own house!” ‘“-You will; perhaps, permit me to remark that you contradict yourself rather flatly,” said Douglas, with lips that bad turned white, but which smiled sarcastically. ‘‘ The differ- ence between your gushing reception of me just now and your present insults, scarcely springs, I take it, from the simiple tale I have just told you.” “Never you mind what it springs from!” Mrs. Erlescombe’s manners, which had been carefully acquired, were apt to Icse their polish under strong excitement. ‘‘ You just take yourself off, and make room for your bet- ters, will you/—or I shall ring for the servant to pack you off! I will bave you taken up for pretending to be what you are net!” ‘‘Mother,” cried Winifred, boldly, “ you are forgetting that you are a lady, I think!” “Ts it possible to forget a fact never in ex- istence?’ soliloquized the young man, quietly. “Silence, minx!” shrieked the mother. ““Mr. Douglas, how you can stay in a place where you are ordered out, passes my compre- hension! It is a habit you have inherited from your low mother, the dressmaker, I supposé!” ‘‘ Woman, beware!” he hissed, facing her sternly. ‘Use what ladylike Janguage you like to me, but dare say one syllable against a woman whose name you are not worthy to breathe, and you will see what I am like when roused!” *‘T see what youare like when not roused—a pushing, common, insulting vagabond; and I wish you would be roused enough to take your- self away from folks who are sick of you!” With a silent bow, be went out of the room, and Winnie followed him. “Miss, come back!” ber mother said. But for once she did not heed. “ Clyde,” she said, clinging to his arm, and meeting his somewhat cold glance with her heart in hers, “what is going to happen I don’t know; but believe this, my darling, be- lieve this through everything—that I love you with every bit of heart I have got, and I shall love you only—you always, you alone, oh, my love, my darling!—through life, be it long or short!” ‘He did not answer, but his gaze softened as he met her eyes, and he put his hands on hers. Just then a servant was crossing the hall, and Mrs. Erlescombe came hurrying out from the drawing-room. “You can pack up my things and send them to the west-end!” I say what I please in my ing the little hand that clung to him, with an- other stately, graceful bow, he quitted the house. As he walked silently ard swiftly aiong down the road which led from Elm Grove to Blyton, he passed a man standing under a tree, appar- ently waiting for some one; a man, tall, for- and remarkable-looking, who, when he saw Douglas, gave his hata touch and approached a LD a SS Sa Se ee a ee er ee Bs pot eee “Do you want anything?” ip oa asked impatiently, presumably because the man was | stana 5 fod in bis way, and made no sign of hk EL nr eae i wey . ° s ““T want a little conversation with you, Mr. ¢ ys Douglas.” ; VOC aaa “Then you can’t have it. I amengaged just now.” i % ae “You are only engaged in walking down this road, as far as I see. I will take a turn sf with you, and we can talk as we go,” said the | man pleasantly. by X “T tell you ’—more impatiently—“I am in f Douglas turned to the servant; then, shak- | | I only do it for you because, to tell’ the no mood for gossip. I have other things to think of just now.” ‘‘ Whatever you may have to think of, 71» bet you a bundred to one that your thoughts give first place to my gossip, as you term it,” said the man impressively, ‘‘when you’ve had — the luck to hear it.” “‘Ouot with it, then, without any more pre- amble,”—irritably. { es “You'll permit, me to ask you a question first, perhaps, Mr. Douglas. When did you | nite see your father last?” 1 es Haughtily, the young man turned, and look- 5 _~ ed at him without a word. Nowise daunted, fee the stranger chuckled and said: “ Shall you | oa know me again when you see me?—have you ~ seen me before, think you?” Fang iy “Tthink I have. You were a kind of un- ai der-groom at the circus the other day.” == ‘Well, you don’t state a case as pleasanldy as might be, but I was giving my valuable ser- vices to that cireus for a day, which little in- cident proves to anybody versed in the read- ings of the times that I (being unquest onably born for higher things) must have been a little © hard up. Now, being bard up the other day, it is oniy natural to suppose that'lam notas = rich as Icould wish to be to-day, amd soif there is anything about me anybody wishes to) pee buy, now is the time to buy it cheap, About — me there is a something that you, Clyde Doug- | las, would do well to buy for any sum it is in © your power to raise—information, past, pre- : sent, and future about your father.” a ae “Prove your words,” said the young laconically, keeping his searching geze the man. a hae ‘“‘For nothing? I thank you, I am not Do. : hard up for brains as that. Foraten-dollar bill now, ridiculvus smail’sum, T'll give you enough information—genuine thing, nodecep- tion—to put you into the way of clai ee: name you’ve a right to, I'll restore you to your parent.” ts tee ‘““If you can give me such information shall esteem genuine and useful in disco my parentage, I will pay you ten dollars I have proved its worth,” said Douglas quie “Done with you!” said the man, b forth a greasy book and a knowing-lo pencil. ‘For ten dollars Pl put ycu in way of a thing that may be worth any am to you, and I'll trust to you to treat fair afterward if it turns out the g oe) thing I expect. And as it is no - good < losing time about a trifling matter ‘like this, I'll accompany you up to town to- morrow, first train (vou pay expenses, © course), and after a few preliminaries I'll jus introduce you face to face with your fat You pay after you have him proved | and right; that is all honest and , is it?’ tas, “ Tt, sour.ds business-like, at any rate.” “Tt sounds a wonderful cheap bargai dollars for information that may (if you~ your cards properly) alter your whole po in life. Ten dollars for information you spent a lifetime and a fortune you not get for yourself, Why, it is dirt I’ve got a kind of sneaking kindness f Clyde, my boy!” ; ! ; “Tt is remarkable kindness, seeing have met but once before, to my knowledge,” said Clyde, drawing coldly back from the friendly slap on his arm. — ‘OS eat “Your knowledge does not embrace ¢ thing. One always has to be waers of yp tp ne ed the sententiously. ‘I was born before y las. I don’t want to remind

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: | ied aiigiong spall; but I have seen a thing or _ two that you have not, my boy.” + JT should say you had,” replied: the afer Sei oeemme _, “T have seen your father,” laughed the man. “ Set eyes upon him only a short while ago, _ ‘which reminded me of you. I was having a ts e look for you, but I’ve been abroad almost since -_ gyou were bora, Now you would not think ; cf it,” putting on a confidential air, and drawing himself up—“ but between twenty and thirty years ago I was a very smart-looking young _ itellow.” “T would not doubt your word, Without it, Town the thought would not bave occurred AS to me.” — \ The stranger laughed. i “You area cool card, you are! ’Pon my word, now, I like you. Well, honor bright, I ‘was as smart a fellow as you would see be- _ tween here and New York—a trifle wild, per- ea just always a little fond of betting; but for for ‘the rest, just the kind a girl would fall in ae “love with, I should-have thought. However, mi SL fell in love with your mother. You need re not look like that. I did honestly and truly, . only she would not bave me, because of a a Ves x HN ‘ : ne and graces, who came into the town, for a _ month, saw her pretty face, and cut me out. : ie i He married her. Now, mind you, there ain’t ike 5s many know that; but I was in the cburch, and 2 has ‘saw it done, He married her, right enough: but afterward, like the sneak he was, got her to keep it quict, and she, poor soft creature \ (ah, she had better have bad me), thought everything he said was true, and behaved ac- cordingly. Well, the end was that she died, se uaesvorkad, over-worried, over-tired of wait- ing, and hoping, and loving, and believing, oe being deceived, and scorned, and forgot- , and deserted. "She died, and you was a ittle chap when I saw her, just before she lied, and she held you up to me, and she said: et Do him a good turn if ever you cap, Jacques nc y name’s Jacques). I said: ‘My dear, I ill;’ and it is along of that promise (I’m not ne to forget his pr omises, you see) that I offer this present information so wonderful and Jous cheap, Clyde Douglas, Another g is, Lowe that mana grudge. which you surprised to hear I’ve never had the nance of paying out yet. Now I think that by. aurling you upon him, proving the relation- ship and all that, I shall do it about as neatly it ever could. be done. But, Mr. Douglas, ao waste time in argument, ’but tale your re To-morrow will suit you—eight- in?” -ten to-morrow will suit me,” replied CHAPTER VII. “aM 1 YOUR son?” oie ia. Hampton sat in his office, with the that had accumulated during his holiday ding him; with letters unopened before with a clerk waiting for a message down- s, and a telegram that had just arrived ses ‘forgotten in his hand; and he sat with “head leaning back, his eyes fixed vacantly n the dingy opposite wall; his thoughts at _ Elm Grove. ere lady, wishing to see you, sir, is waiting w,” said a clerk, opening the door after taps had been given by him unheeded. . am engaged,” said Mr. Hampton, mov- is lips witbout any other feature. ‘‘ You ttend to her, Lucas.” 16 a light footstep sounded on the stairs, and gently walked past tho clerk. You must see me, Mr, Hampton,” said a tremulous voice. , with a glance at his master’s coun- ance, the discreet clerk withdrew, and shut rw after him, ed raised her vail, and showed her , without an atom of color in it, her a _ namby pamby man with his gentlemanly airs | __OUTWITTED } BY H “She ‘Sacked like an anliduaier beautiful child | they like, mS a ee in the face—like a graceful, stylish woman in figure, as she stood in a dark-blue dress, with cunning little glimpses of crimson silk about it, with a little poke bonnet to match, pressing down her waving hair, and a parasol held in hands that were perfectly gloved, and above which lace ruffles and bangle bracelets ap- peared. “Take a seat,” said Mr. Hampton, speaking as a poker might do if it had a voice, ‘‘To what am I indebted for this honor?’ **Oh, don’t speak to me like that!” said poor Winnie, sitting down and letting her parasol drop upon deeds and papers as she clasped her bands. ‘‘Mr. Hampton, I’ve—I’ve come to— to try what I can do for—for—to save papa— to save him from the ruin you know all about.” “Yes. act?” ‘*Do you know what has happened to us at Eim Grove?’ she questioned, desperately. “There are men in the house who do exactly as they like, go where they like, look at what Papa is just like a madman, shut up in a room wailing and crying and moaning and blaming himself, until it breaks my heart,” —the large tears gatbering in the eyes still bravely raised to the broker’s. ‘I cooked the dinner yesterday, for the cook would not, Our servants have nearly all le’t us; we could not ask them to stay, There are tickets, numbers stuck upon all our furniture, chairs, and every- thing.” ‘“BAixactly; in preparation for theirsale. And your lady mothe, my kind ard attentive host- ess. may I ask after Ler?” His thin lips pressed together, and his eyes glittering, as he turned to her with the smooth inquiry. She turned away from him impulsively. “You lock as if you did not know what mercy was,” she said, in stifled tones, ‘¢T do not boast of an intimate acquaintance with that quality. I know what revenge is!”— slowly. “And do you intend to have it to the full? Oh, Mr. Hampton!” “On, Miss Erlescombe! is fees" any reason why a should not have the money that is my right from people who have treated me as you and your two delightful, parents have done?” “You ought to have your money; you shall haye it some day. Mr. Hampton, I would see that you had it, every farthing, in time.” ‘*Thanks! You are very kind, I prefer to see after it myself at my own time.” She. rose and approached him, trembling in nervousness, and attempting to speak once or twice before words would come to her, ‘¢ You are anxious to say something more to me before you go,” he said pointedly, and us- ing a tone like ice. *‘T want to ask if—if I have brought this in any way upon my parents?” she faltered, gasp- ingly. “I mean that if when you were so kind as to want me to marry you, if I had said yes, would it have been all different?” ‘* According to usual manners and customs, a betrothal between you and me would have made an entire difference,’' be said, looking at her coldly. She burst into tears, hiding ber white face in her hands, and speaking in a broken-hearted kind of wail, ‘‘Then, Mr, Hampton, I can’t bear it to see my father like that. I promised to do any- thing I could to save him, and if—if you care to be engaged to me now—I mean, I do re- spect you, and it was awfully good of you to think of me, and—and I'll try to love you as hard as ever I can, and if you will bear with me and have a little patience, and not expect too much from me all at once ”—sbrinking as he neared her by one step—‘‘I will make you a good wife, if you WARY. me for your wife now after you know eve thing.” n hat is care neni stern- In what way do you propose to ERSELF._ “T am not going to—I won’t, indeed. I had given my heart and my promises to some- body else, Mr. Hampton; but now I think—” “Now you think you can come and give the empty kernel of your heart and your broken promises to propitiate me. Upon my word, Miss Erlescombe, you honor me, As you are telling me everything, perhaps you will inform me how my money has accomplished this de- licious change of resolution?” sneered he. ‘Your money?’ She looked up in such a flame of indignation as dried her tears and colored her cheeks. ‘‘ Your paltry, hateful money could never attract me. Mr, Hamp- — ton, the man I love has nothing but the spare pittance he earns to share with me; yet it would be happiness—oh, what do I say?— bliss, rapture, perfect happiness to work for and with him, to live like the poorest cot- tager, to toii like a galley slave with him.” And ber voice softened in ineffable tenderness that said far more than her impetuous words. * But how can I for the sake of my own happi- ness sacrifice the parents who brought me into the world, and who have cared for me for nineteen years, when by the sacrifice of myself I can save their declining days from disgrace and misery—I can lengthen their lives, and let them end in peace and pros- perity? Self-sacrifice, good men say, is the noblest quality poor humanity can strive af- ter. I don’t say I am good; I know I am bad, horrid selfish, vain. I have tried my ut- most to try and make myself think I need not do this; that if I kept true to Clyde Douglas IT ought to get my own happiness in dis- | obedience to my parents’ commands and en- treaties. But, Mr. Hampson, I dare not do it. There seems a dreadful fog round me, and I can hardly tell right from wrong ”—putting up ber bands to her head. ‘‘ But I must save my father, if in me lies the power. I must try and do what I can to save him from what be thinks a thcusand times worse than death. And, Mr. Hampton, I am not speaking nicely | —I am too wretched; but I am telling you the exact truth, and so honestly as I tell you that, so honestly ‘and earnestly do I mean to do what I know my duty will beif you—if you care to accept my terms. I mean to forget the past, and think only of you, and will strive to change gratitude and respect into what you would like better. Mr. Hampton, do you believe me?” He took her two hands closely in his, and bent his searching but not unkind gaze upon her, as he spoke in a softer tone than she had ever heard from him before. “T do believe you. I could trust a wife whose sense of duty was so strong toward her parents—I could trust her never to disgrace nor deceive her husband, never fail in one letter of her Guty toward him; but I could not trust a perverse, wayward, human heart to learn love from duty; and if ever I marry, I must have love freely aud unbought from my wife. I had it once, and I valued it not. My punish- ment to-day is that this poor substitute is of. fered me to be content with, and I decline it. I decline it; for, child, do not you see that you would do wrcng to more people than you would - do good to by this. proposal of yours? You would wrong, in the first instance, the man you really love—wrong him irreparably and cruelly, a wrong that can never be atoned to him if he loves you as I suppose he does, You would also wrong me, To give me an empty husk for a full heart would be a dangerous gift —poison hidden in nectar, a sting witbin a caress. You would wrong your parents, for surely their child’s happiness is dearer to them than their own; and lastly, you would wrong yourself.” “Myself?” she repeated, with a little, inipa- tient shrug. . “Yourself. You are a better girl, a nobler character, than I thought. Your words to-day bave touched springs in my beart that I Sebo d | had been dried up forever, tghodate made wh ) a7 4, + Rig ta a Fig Dae see

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hi ¢ nb “ no twa a ‘Te realize that there is a higher power ia the _ World than money; you have brought back to tmy remembrance—” __Atap at the door interrupted him, and the % discreet clerk spoke from outside it. — Sir, “Here is a party most anxious to see you, I told them you were engaged, but they ei they will wait any length of time to see ou, “Let them wait!” said his master, curtly. “T am detaining you,” said Winnie, rising and looking for her vail; but again, contrary to all established custom and regulation, vis- itors had followed the clerk up to the private Sanctum, and as the young lady spoke, the door Opened wider, and three persons entered unan- hounced. The first wasa man whom Winnie had seen twice before—once as under-groom at the circus, and a second time in the woods by the river, He advanced with an easy swagger and disagreeable smile, gave a little surprised familiar bow to Miss Erlescombe, and took a Seat without being asked. After him came a Stout, commonplace, rather vulgarly-dressed Woman, who stood and fanned herself with a ted handkerchief, and panted a good deal after tue steepness of the stairs. “Lord, ain’t.it close here!’ she said. _ The third person was a gentleman, tall, dis- tinguished-looking and handsome, at sight of _ Whom Winnie’s whole face flushed first deepest crimson, then went deadly pale. Mr. Hampton turned to him, as the only one Of the party whom he knew. “ Mr. Douglas,” he said, “I look to you to €Xplain this intrusion.” “There’s a pleasant and unpleasant way of Stating everything,” said the circus man face- tiously; ‘you've a knack of hitting upon the latter, ’m afraid, Mr. Hampton.” Mr. Hampton looked at him chillily. “ If you are the spokesman, sir, perhaps you _ Will state your business, as quickly (never trou- le about pleasautness) as possible.” “Then, to hit the nail gently on the head,” Said the man, rising, and striking an attitude, “this lady here—come forward, my dear ”— pushing the stout woman a little forward—“ is your old friend, Mrs. Barnes, as seut you a Message, but to which you paid no attention. She has been abroad, and Jost your address, or you would have heard from her before. ‘You know all about Ler, don’t you? She had a Niece—a sweet, fragile, lovely girl, who sewed all day, and whom you took for walks by the river on summer balmy evenings when the birds sung of love, and she listened to them and to you, and, poor trusting moth, she Smiled, and believed every word you said. And then you impulsively married her, you Know, taking good care, though, to keep it from her aunt, who led the poor girl a hardish ‘ife in consequence,” The stout lady hereupon applied the red handkerchief to her eyes, and &ave utterance to a sob. “ But, to strike the Nail hard on the head,” continued the man, Waving a hand theatrically toward Clyde uglas, ‘‘there stands your lawful son and heir—C] de Hampton, instead of Douglas. It ain’ such a pretty name, but right is right, 4nd must be attended to.” ,. . You speak falsely!” said Hampton, wit aud lips and agitated eyes, “Do I?’ laughed the man. ‘‘T know I don’t; 's. Barnes, here, knows I don’t. Your Son, here,”—touching the tall figure that stood like a marble statue—‘‘ will soon know I don't. Su don’t deny that you married Rhoda -arnes, and that you knew—altbough it was after you had basely deserted her—you know When your son was born? You know that the _ Mother died, and you never saw the boy; but You knew how it lived with people into whose _ ands you had placed it until old enough to go t0 school, Then, afterward you know, you hea: him to Yale. You know how many tS you paid for him tuere. You know that nen he left, you got bim the situation you m to think bis own hands had se- You know you did that all through xious that the eitens “a tS eee Ra eke palgs 2 © ier eke MUM ey ye tog Ge i t | be burdened ‘hap ‘boy should never | make my wife happy and prosperous, and to | tS POR rea pee he iene ar - aepe he Sepa Fee es, “* Ay" know that his father had given a thought to him, Then, once started in the world, your conscience was easy. I suppose you thought you had done enough, and you left him, never baving seen him yet, to fight his own battles and never trouble you with his presence. You are outwitted, Mr. Hampton; he stands be- fore you there to-day—the boy that called Rhoda Hampton mother; the boy that lived with the clergyman at E——; the boy that went to Yale under the name of Clyde Douglas —your son!” “Lord, ain’t it close!” ejaculated Mrs. Barnes, rolling her ‘handkerchief into a ball, with which to vigorously polish her forehead. Clyde Douglas advanced one step and faced his father. ; “Am I your son?’ he demanded in slow sternness, ‘‘Are you the man whom from babyhood I have regarded with reprobation and contempt? the man who, to gratify some whim of pride or fickle fancy, condemned his innocent wife and child to a disgrace that crushed the life out of the one and warped and imbittered the upgrowing of the other? Was it you, who by cruel neglect, and base deser- tion, tortured to death tho trustful, loving, angel heart you had promised ‘to cherish and worship? Look at her!” unfastening the locket hidden ‘behind his watch and: putting it iuto Hampton’s ‘hands. ‘‘*She never -uttered one reproachful word, never said one unkind thing of you. She would’ have taught me to rever- ence and respect you if it’ might have been, but, child as I was, I knew a true parent from a false one. I saw her daily sinking under your callous inhuman conduct, and when’ she died I was worse than orphaned. I am not ungrateful for what you have done for me since her death,” slightly raising his voice ‘as Hampton attempted to speak. ‘‘ But whas else have I to thank you for? Fora stigma and a slur upon my name under which my feelings have quivered ever since, Alone, uncared for and unloved, the lowliést child in a laborer’s cot bas bad a kindlier bringing up than I; and you who cared not whether I lived or died, whether I grew up a blessing or a curse to my country—cared for nothing but that our re- lationship should not be brought home to you —you stand before me unwillingly to-day. For the first time we meet face to face, my father and I; and I say ”—speaking with more deliberate and sterner emphasis—‘*] wish you to do me justice; [ demand of you that you acknowledge me as your son—you give me the pame that is rightly mine; and then, if we never meet again, you will regret it less than I “Tord, don’t they spesk beautiful now! Just like a play, ain’t it?’ Mrs, Barnes re- marked, filling up a little pause that occurred. “¢You are too hard on me,” said Hampton, looking up from the locket his eyes had been fixed upon, while’ Winnie’s ready, quick sym- pathy started at the change in his voice and in his altered countenance. ‘I was not wholly callous, unfeeling, heartless. I loved your mother when I gave her this locket with my likeness in it’ Tlove? her when we married. I never meant to wrong her, but I was not my own master. Circumstances were against me, and ambition proved stronger than love. I was young then, with a place to make in the world, and my future lay in the hands of an uncle to whom a mesalliance would have been an unpardonable crime, so I persuaded Rhoda to keep our martiage ‘secret, and when she wrote after I had left her, begging for the truth to be acknowledged, I, afraid to trust my own weakness, left ber letters unopened and unanswered; but I have kept them always with me, as your mother found out —turning to Winnie—“ when she pried into my private belongings. When the unexpected news ‘of my wiie’s death reached me, I suffered—doubt it if you like—only I was climbing still.. The ascent was then just ; could not wait for idle sentiment—I could not >a ‘J ; ~- at its steepest, and { y with a child. I had hoped to | “When shall I see you again hurriedly, ne bashes a wh a oy “er ant ‘ tr Re z Soni ed PWITTED “BY SHERSHLED ooo, ae go stents wee ime cae eee eee oo ee 65 atone tur ull uer sorruws when my uncle died; but she had been gone for years when that time came, when I stood a rich man and my own master, It was too late then to proclaim ~— to the world the story of years ago, I decided, and it wes better to spend movey upon you, » boy, than sentiment. I had no wish to see you, I own, for I desired to bury the past m att oes deepest. oblivion. . To-day has disinterred it "4 . agaiust my will.” aT > “It only belongs to me to say,” spoke Mrs.> _— Barnes, stepping forward with a heated face, using ber pocket handkerchief vigorously—‘‘it only becomes me to say what I was brou ; here for, and then by ycur leave Vll stop mm this close place no longer, for am stout, and = it don’t suit me. this musty old hole!’—with a > glance of disgust. “I only certify a * ss ’ hea a niece—a pretty, virtuous girl called Rb us —and I ouly wish I had known what this gen- tleman”—turning to Jacques—‘' has shown me in the register; that the gentleman (Hamp- ton) who paid ter attention married her, I am only competent to remark that she had a baby called Clyde, and that he bad a straw- berry-mark ou his arw similar, exact (and = very peculiar it was) to one on the arm of this young gentleman”—turning to Doug~ es. las—“which he bas ‘just shown me. It only becomes me to observe that when they took — the boy from me after-bis’ma died—from me — as was his natural protectcr, and who kept __ him when no pay was given—I think it was shameful to take him away after if wasl— — they put him first with a clergyman at E——, and then to school, and I went home to old © England, but I recognizs bim to-day because of bis eyes (they are like my dear girl’s pre- cisely; he favors her, bless her!) and the un-~_ doubted strawberry-mark which can’t be mis- took, as I have said. Now I’ve said my say.” “ Aud we will leave this happy family,” said _ Jacques, taking the stout lady’sarm pleasautly. ‘I shall see you again shortly, Mr. Douglas, I . suppose,” —significantly —“ having fulfilled my part of our compact.” Ure “T fulfill mine,” said the young man, dray ment ing out a twenty-dullar bill and putting it into — the other’s hand. ‘‘That is more than we. agreed on, but your service has been thorough and satisfactory than I expected,” “Have you a large income?” inquired Hampton, as the door closed upon stout Mrs. Barnes and high-spirited Mr. Jacques, ‘“‘or | you consider this such a valuable service tha you must overpay a scoundrel like that.” Winifred’s slight figure had been hidden Mrs. Barnes’s comfortable proportioas, Douglas’s glance now fell upon her for the first time. Hampton saw the change that swept over his face, and bit his own lip as |} son sprung forward eagerly. iste ‘¢ Winnie!” he said. ‘ <oh ‘*Clyde!” she faltered, half-putting her h in his, and drawing back confused and hesi ing, glancing first at one then at the other of se two men, and coloring and trembling pain- _ fully. ee ‘Are you cffended with me?’ Clyde inc aire ¥ ed'in hurt tones. ‘May I see _ tor dive minutes alone?” ¢ RORY Mae se “TI have five minutes business with Mr \— Hampton, first,” replied she, firmly, her eyes | shrinking from his, and she sat down because her limbs refused to stand. | i at Elm Grove or write to you, row. | II”. : ; iad” She stopped because something seemed risd in her throat and choke her utterance, ' Clyde regarding her fixedly, mistook her agi- — tation. ekm rs. ‘* T offer « thousand pardons for having in- truded,” he said, sarcastically, as he po himself of his hat and turned toward th “T had no idea of blundering in upon at lete when I entered here on my own I will disturb you nolonger.” - . With a cold, silent bow he would parte, but | him, pa! ane ay Va Ate ee

Page 14

ies aye i A egy ee ones, en keke” why Hoo SY geteiented any ner eaten a Un.” Oo ae? Ye sys at - Ree ae 34% ut xe ey Ay Oe ar em 2 NE TRE RE oe Z Per S : a Pa \ .. “Tf you require another interview in regard Ba to the public recognition yeu are going to make, I presume, of our relationship, I am at your .. gervice at any time. I go back to my work on a ' Thursday, but a telegram will bring me at any __, time required,” was the cold response. _ _ I did not say I was prepared for any pub- - Tie acknowledgment of relationship. Private- meee Ys Tecan and will help you, pecuniarily or in BL _ him fixedly. “ Privately I scorn your help, your money, yourself! ‘I want justice, that is all. Affec- tion, I suppose, is in vain to hope for; one can not squeeze milk out ef a flint,”—bitterly. “But justice I demand and shall have.” _, “You may as well shake hands before you go,” said Hampton, putting forth his hand | weakly and unsteadily. ‘Ihave never borne you ill-will, and for what injury I have caused you lam willing to atone and make substan- a tial amends.” vu * any other way,” said the broker, looking at ioe oe Ay “* Substantial amends!” said the young man, yefusing the offered hand. ‘‘Old as you are, Mr. Hampton, it yet remains for you to learn :: that money is not the dearest thing in this _.. world, and that there are things it cannot kuy x: _ or pay for. - Grasp it, treasure it, if you value a it so highly, but do not thrust it forward to __ stanch the wounds you have caused?” “ And you will not shake hands?” said the elder man, his voice more feeble than its wont. os 1% ef an empty form? It is waste of time.” __ “You will leave me this?” said the lawyer, ', holding up the pictured face in the locket, and _ speaking with subdued eagerness and pleading. “Yes, I will leave you that,” replied the other, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘for a couple of days.” ; Clyde,” faltered Winnie, as he reached the door, “are you not going to say good-by to me, even?’ ashe slowly went on down the dark stairs. ‘ Clyde, won’t you speak to me?—just _ one more word?” running to the stairs with outstretched hands and imploring, anguished eyes, shat he never turned to meet. ‘Oh, { ‘ _ But the steady step went on unfalteringly _ down the stairs and into the street. pay CHAPTER VIII. tops PO Ba A HAPPY ENDING, Ar the junction at which passengers change _ from New York to Blyton, two men were _- pacing up and down the platform, waiting for f ee the train. The evening twilight was falling, and the train was late. Those two were almost the only passengers upon that particular platform, and it was diffi- cult for them to avoid a rencounter sometimes, as both walked restlessly to and fro. Yet some- how, by accident or mutual design, it was avoided. They never camo near enough for a _ sign of recognition to be strictly required of either. roy “ Why did I choose this train?’ the young man, Clyde Hampton, asked angrily of him- self. ‘‘ Why am I going down at all again to b Only because I know I must see this place? her again; for the last time it will probably be. _ Though it is against my better judgment, against my resolution, against my will, I must see her again.” “Why did I choose this train of all the _ trains in the twenty-four hours?” the elder "man, Jobn Hampton, asked bitterly of bim- _ self as he paced up and down, ‘ What I am going to do when I get to this place, I know not, Yet an uncontrollable impulse urges me on. I must go, when I get there I must decide something. It is contrary to every habit I have. formed in my life to act upon ca but I cannot help myself to-day.” _ The train was late, whena bell rung sharply, and the rush of steam and wheels sounded ugh dge ward - * re Ee ed a SBS eee ee eis te Leg * > adie sive te Te 2 Pee oe OIE RED a Pea oY A before to see the advancing train. Perhaps he turned dizzy for an instant, perhaps his foot slipped, perhaps he overbalanced; but from whatever cause, he fell on the track before the express train rushing toward him, and, stunned . by the fall, lay motionless. Turning also to notice the train, Clyde saw the slip—the fall—the danger! With a leap he gained the prostrate form, and raising it as if with the strength of a Hercules, he lifted it beyond the reach of the crushing, snorting engine, with its long train behind it, that shook the station as it rushed past. Theslightest slip, and both men would have been ground to powder under the crush- ing wheels. Mrs. Erlescombe sat with her husband and daughter in her boudoir that evening as the darkness came on. The men in possession were in the drawing- room arranging the furniture for the sale that was fast approaching. Winnie sat by her father’s side with his hand in hers, and ber head on his arm. She looked pale, dejected, ill, with dark rims round her eyes, and weary, sad lines about the pretty mouth. Mrs. Erlescombe held a handkerchief to her eyes, but it did not prevent her talking. “Of course you stick up for your father, Winifred; you two always are everybody, and I nobody; but I don’t care, I shall say what I think right, and what I shall say to his dying day—but for him, all would have been differ- ent. IfI had had my way, you would have married Mr. Hampton quietly, and I should never be in this position. As to that young man Douglas, as he dared to call himself, words simply fail to express my opinion of him!” / “Don’t say anything against bim,” said Winnie, tremblingly, “for if you do I must leave the room!” “T am not going to be dictated to as to what I shall or shall not say by you, miss, A pretty pass, indeed, things have come to! That young man was a villain—I shall make you hear it—palming himself off ou us, de- ceiving us right and left, trying to get hold of you by false pretenses!” “Mother, he never pretended to be what he was not. No one was more surprised than he at your mistake. If you bad not opened a foolish letter of my schoolfellow’s—” “And what business have you to receive such letters? I shall open them as long as you continue to have them, But for that fellow Douglas to dare propose to you—to presume to ask my consent!” ‘‘ Mother, I will not let even you talk to me like this!” said Winnie, rising indignantly. But her father whispered, ‘‘ Don’t take any notice of her. You know she must. talk, and it is mostly I who have got to listen to it,” Then, more confidentially, leaning eagerly to- ward her, ‘ Did you get any concessions out of Hampton, my dear, when you went to him. yesterday? What did you say?” “He promised to write his final decision,” said the girl, sinking wearily back with a white look about her eyes and a hand pressed unconsciously upon her heart. ‘«T—I— tried my very best, father dear,” speaking more bravely. “I did everything I could for you:” “TJ am sure you did, child,” patting her head. ‘But I wish he would write. In two days it won’t be of much consequence what be decides as far as I am concerned. Do you think that if there is no letter from him to- morrow that if you went up again; little one—” ‘‘Perhaps,” said Winnie. ‘‘ Father, may rely upon it I will do what I can.” you “What are you whispering about there, you two?’ asked Mrs. Erlescombe, irritably. WAZ halk pet eo YP ie a 1 a a ag eg Ogee eet Be OE SORE ene oe aye See uid Mm» ee oe — “There’s a bell!” said Winnie, rising ner- vously. “Perhaps it is a letter, father.” “More men coming in!” exclaimed Mrs. Erlescombe, listening to the ;sounds in the hall. ‘Did you expect any more of these auction- eers, Robert? I declare they are tramping one — after the other up the stairs! No, Jane!” sharply, as the servant, after a tap, opened the — door. ‘I won’t have them in here! Take them down to join the otbers in the drawing: room. If tbat is not good enough for them I - do not know what is, The peacock velvet chairs I chose myself, and the bric-a-brac and the hangings.” “Tt is Mr. Hampton, ma’am,” said the ser- vant, quickly; and Mr. Hampton entered, Clyde walking beside him. One glance at the two faces told Winnie that some difference had taken place in their feelings toward one an- other since last she saw them. In utter aston- - ishment, that, however, did not deprive her of speech, Mrs. Erlescombe rose and advanced toward them. _ j ‘‘ Dear Mr. Hampton, this is an unexpected pleasure indeed! I have been so afraid that some little remarks of mine when we parted were misunderstood by you. I am glad in- deed to welcome you again in the character of our most welcome and honored guest.” “TY do not think I misunderstood the last remarks I heard from you, madam,” said the — lawyer, bluntly; ‘‘nordo I misunderstand you now, I fancy.” She shrunk away a little from his keen, satir- _ ical, confusing gaze, and looked virulently at Clyde Douglas. f ‘You have brought this young villain to expose him, I suppose? Mr. Hampton, it is needless. We know his deception, his plots, his lowness. We know—” “Do you know his parentage?” inquired Hampton. ‘TY know that it is the lowest of the low. I know that indeed he was no fit associate or companion for you, dear Mr. Hampton. The particulars of his low birth I care not to know,” waving her hand. grandly—‘‘ but I know enough to —” es “Show, as usual, your want of judgment . and sense!”’ finished the other quietly. ‘‘Madam, you know a little of my private affairs, thanks to your prying into my secret correspondence. . You are aware, I believe, that I had a wife and child. Permit me now to introduce the latter to you here. My son and heir, Clyde Hampton!”—puttiog his hand upon his companion’s shoulder, who smilingly bowed. For once, Mrs. Erlescombe was bereft of — speech. She simply stared and opened her mouth, ‘¢ Winnie has told you nothing of this, mad- am, I presume, from your blank look.” ‘“ Winifred tells me nothing. She never minds what shocks her poor mother has. She went up to New York, yesterday, without tell- ing me a thing she did either before or after. If she went to plan with you this miserable, absurd, incredible joke, then [can only say I think you might have been better employed, both of you.” ‘¢ Winnie had something better to do. Come here, child,”—putting out his hand to the girl, “You have no secrets from the present com-_ pany, I suppose?’ And as she shook her head, be continued, still holding her hand, ‘‘ Winnie came up to my office, to try by every means in her power to induce me to save her father, She even offered herself as my bribe, She offered, if no other price could be accepted, to agree to the proposals of marriage I had made her,” ' ‘“‘Dear, sensible, right-feeling girl!” mur- mered the mother. ‘But why was I not told — of this?”

Page 15

i furniture, - and raised dazed eyes to his, f \ ei \ . a O oe ashamed of in the truth)—to Clyde Hampton, here; and so, before I gave Winifred any definite reply, I thought it wise to come down and interview her parents, to whom, Surely, their ¢child’s happiness must be of greater importance than a house and land and I ask you both,” turning slowly to them, “do you wish your daughter to Marry the man to whom she has given the Whole of her warm, young, strong affection— & man against whom not a syllable can be breathed—a man with health and strength, anda devoted love to give the wife of his Choice?” Winnie colored, and turned away, Clyde silently looked at her. “Or do you prefer that her life shall be wrecked—warped, shadowed forever—by unit- Ing herself to a man who could, indeed, love her well, but to whom no feeling but daughter- ly kindness or gratitude could ever rise in her heart. Is she to be a wife smiling or weeping, loving or suffering? I ask you, her parents. She has shown willingness to sacrifice her whole chance of happiness for you; are you 88s generous than she?” “T married without love myself,” replied Mrs. Erlescombe, calmly. ‘I married for Position, for money, as I want Winifred to do; and I think Robert and I have jogged along Very comfortably considering. Of course, we have hot words, like all married people, but—” But Mr. Erlescombe had risen, his better feelings roused by the broker’s speech—his thought impelled to words by his wife’s last assertion. “T say, let her marry the man she loves,” he Said, speaking decidedly for once in his life. “T did not know she was fighting against her heart when she agreed to the request I made. I retract that now, for my daughter is more to Me than land or house. She is guiltless of, and She shall not suffer for, her parents’ folly and Weakness. Winnie, dear,” standing upright, and looking, as he had not done for long, a Picture of a fine old gentleman, “I give my Consent to your marriage whenever you Please.” “‘Simpleton!” breathed his wife; but before She had time to gasp any more, Hampton’s Clear, slow voice took up the story. ‘My daughter,” he said, and he drew forth & paper and put into her hand, “I give you Iny wedding-present—a present I give to your- Self, not on account of your fathers’s weakness or your mother’s duplicity, but on account of your womanly love, truth, and self-devotion. It is the mortgage I hold on your father’s Property,” he said, smiling as she opened it é “You can burn it in those candles if you choose. And for my 80n’s sake—my son who paid a debt of neglect and life-long injury by risking bis own life to save mine,” his voice thrilled and deepened as he looked at his son, and even Mrs, Erlescombe held her breath and listened to him, “I hand Over, the day he is married, property to the amount of five thousand a year. He has brains and strength; be can earn more. I am rich and have few wants, and can easily spare this much. During my life I think my son and daughter will give me a welcome when I need rest and change and affection, and at my death Clyde will have everything I possess, Well, ttle woman, what is it?” Winnie had crept to his side, and with arms twined round his bad raised a glance intense, parsul, eloquent in its gratitude and admira- on, 1 6 Oh Mr. falter, “Oh, Miss Erlescombe, are mot you going to Hampton!” was all she could destroy that paper, or must we leave you and Clyde to do it privately?” ‘Oh, Mr. Hampton, it is too much! $ Give us half—a quarter!” There came an uneasy expression into Mrs, Hrlescombe's face, and she touched the girl as Le whi; , Winni an- grate fur | vinnie, dear, you ore un- “4 cA . tT te i wn Ah Pe Re ale iny Chet! SF fy Cre + etn s OR is aN Cok lt te: ba ys UTWITITED BY HERSELF. { ° a NEB tg Spe es oh o.oo ae Dee i “T am not ungrateful! You know better, Mr. Hampton. But I have behaved so badly, so heartlessly; and now this is too much—more almost than I can bear, more than we can ever hope to repay if we live to be—” ‘“Ancient Mariners!” interposed Hampton, smiling quietly. ‘‘ You told me you looked upon me in that histrionic light once, Winnie.” ‘Don’t remind me of all the rudeness that is making me loathe myself!” she cried sob- bingly. ‘Oh, Mr. Hampton, I will try—in- deed, indeed I will try to be worthy of your generosity! If you could just only look into my heart now—’ “Suppose I depute Clyde to do that?” said the broker lightly. But Mrs, Erlescombe noticed a softening in his hard, keen eyes, as if he were about to shed tears—an unusual thing for him. ‘*Erlescombe,” said he, ‘‘ you and I will go down and dismiss these men below.” He treated the lady-wife with most sovereign contempt, but she arose in the most obsequious manner, and followed him, “Let me hold a light for you, dear Mr. Hampton! Let me run down first, and seeif the room is comfortable for you to enter! Let me give some orders for supper, may I? Is there anything you would particularly care for? Robert, you are showing our noble benefactor no attention at all. I am ashamed of you! Dear Mr. Hampton, mind that awkward turn in the stairs! Robert, can’t you hold that candle to light him better, stupid?” Clyde Hampton and Winifred stood together as the trio left them, with the light of the can- dles falling on her fair, sweet, agitated face, on her white dress and clasped hands, as she stood leaning against the chimney-piece, She did not look up to meet the earnest, thrilling. glance that she felt upon her, but she did not shrink away when he took ber hands in his and raised them to his neck. “ Winnie, so you do love me after all, little darling?” 1 ‘So your father says,” she whispered, hiding her face on his breast. “It is very refreshing to hear one’s father says so, but I should like to hear it from my wife herself.”’ “*T did not know you had got a wife, sir.” ** Don’t taunt me with what is no fault of mine, I will have one to-morrow, ornext day, if it can be managed.” “‘T havea presentiment that it cannot be. ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure,’ Mr. Hamp- ton.” ‘‘ Not if I marry you.” ** Ah, that makes a difference, certainly.” As he answered his light tone vanished,:and Wiunie felt his heart beating as he clasped her to it. ‘*Tt makes all the difference between light and darkness, bliss and misery; life and death. Winnie, my darling, my sweetheart, I know it for » fact, but I want to hear it from your own lips, that you love me!” “Oh, Clyde, it is a most unnecessary cere- mony; but if you insist ’—raising her lovely eyes, then drooping them before his ardent gaze, yet speaking with passionate intensity, a force he felt the strength of as she uttered the low words—‘‘ Clyde, my darling, I love you better than my life!” It was a gay wedding, and Blyton was en fete when the only daughter of Robert Erles- combe, of Elm Grove, married the only son of Mr. Hampton, the rich stock broker. Eva Lowrie, the schoolfellow who had writ- ten the gushing epistle about Claude Dunhaven was one of the bridemaids, in crimson satin and white lace, who followed the bride in her trailing cream moire and silk. The evening before the wedding she said to her friend, ‘‘Ob, Winnie, I never found time to write and contradict that state- ment about Claude Dunbaven coming to your neighborhood | with bis friend, my dear—the very handsomest pete iby incog., but I suppose _ it never affected you. You were too busy | a U On a eee man I ever saw, Winnie—to look about for even a millionaire. He was engaged to his cousin, after all, so yeu couid not have caught | him; but I think, my friend, you are about as Ss happy as you can be, as it is.” ' “T am,” said Winnie, with a soft glance across to where her lover stood, ‘‘as bappy as’ any human being can be; and”—rising and putting her hand on her future father-in-law s. arm as he approached her—‘‘I owe it all to © you, Mr. Hampton!” s THE END. Ass eee Brailes \ | / 3 [ 5 is, The Best Weekly of Popular, Entertain- ni = ing and Useful Literature Pub- *. lished in America! 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Seo 31 Sweet Foraet-me-Not and 55 otherSongs, 32 LreTLe Basy Minx and 53 other Songs, Pa | pa 33 Dr Banso AM DE INSTRUMENT FOR Mr and 53 others. 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. ? 4 85 Just TO PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other Songs. __ 36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others, — 37 KoLoRED Kranks and 59 other Songs. 88 Nit DespkranpuM and 53 other Songs. 29 Buve Bonnets OveR THE BorDER 41 Prerry WHILHELMINA and 60 other Songs. 42 DANCING IN THE Barn and 63 other Son TOM 43 H. M.S, Prnarore, COMPLETE, and 17 other Songs. Let Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five ce copy, or sent post-paid, to any address, on r fetes of Sit cents per orpaer tle ot BEADLE AND ADAMS, - 93Wr LIAM STR Mas od Wea tale Yat i

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_ _Him? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- _ hearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 3 The Girl Wite. | By Bartley P. Campbell ave eart; or, Startlingly Strange. - _ By Arabella Southworth’ io a at Bessic Raynor, the Work Girl. | By By Sara Claxton. Bs gt urner, M. D. ‘et Marriage. t of Eve; or, Blinded by Love, y Mary Crowell. , art to Hieart. By Arabella Southworth. ‘Alone in the World; or, The Young Man’s » Ward. By the author of ‘ Clifton,” etc. A Pair of Gray Eyes. By Rose Kennedy. Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. ‘Henrietta Thackeray. j rie 7 2 Wis Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of x _Adoption. By Mrs. ‘Ann 8. Stephane: r 13 Madcap, the Little: uakeress3 or, The Naval Cadet’s veh 2 y Corinse Cushman, is anne a M By Bare Claxton. : a aces or, Out in the World. B Bartley T. Campbell. F . By a Arabella Southworth‘ 13 or, The Ill-Starred Marriage. By Reed Crowell. \ 19 __. Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. ) Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The . Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 1 Now and Forevery or, Why Did She Mar- of “ Alone in the World,” “ Clifton,” ete. ae or, Why She Proposed. By Sara a me / | Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea- nor Blaine. P 4 aya Schoolmistress ; or, Her Untold Secret. By Avabella Southworth. Without a Heart. ss Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 28 Sypil Chase or, The Garb er’s YWite. By Ann §. Stephens. zi x Hier Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. 30 T Bouquet Girl. By Agile Penne. pl A Wad Marri ge. ByMary A. Denison fariana, the Prima Donn} or, Roses at Lilies. | By Arabella Southworth. The Three Sisters. By Alice Fleming. AL arriage f Convenience 3 or, Was ea Count? By Sara Claxton. ° | wD, st Hier. By Clara Augusta. Arabella Southworth. Southworth. _ Meiress; or, Under a Cloud. A, Denison. ; whe Loved Him; or, How Will hi Sieelt on, J tte’s Re f Herself; or, Jeannette’s Repa- MES Y t5.. Ehy herwood, " HMeart’s Mistress; or, Love at First Arabella Southworth. yam Efeiress; or, The Prisoner of fig Garis; of The Bride of , is; or, The Bride of an By Alice Fleming.’ engers or, Risking All Reed Crowell. By William ¢ 2 Lest lardt. Lone s Ms Deceit; or, The Diamond L 2 Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton. Seine \ hee. Heart, By Sara Claxton, ole Sisters. By Anna E, Porter. Wha Jealousy Did. By Alice Fleming. ri | Wife's Secre By Col. Juan Lewis. | y" | ry Him? By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 Whe Hride of an mires By the author | By Col. P. Ingraham. | a”, Coquette? or, A Strange | s Bride; or, The Queen of His | aniac Bride, By Margaret Blount . eect 1 The Masked B-ides or, Will She Marry | } { D DDD DP ORO By AAR Tage eva at) apa + i n 129 Motherless; or, The 15 Sinned hed! 66 A Brother’s Sin; or, Flora’s Forgiveness. By Rachel Bernhardt. Forbidden Bans. By Arabella Southworth. Weavers and Weft. By M. E. Braddon. Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette. By Alexandre Dumas. The Two Orphans. By D’Enery. My Young Wife. By My Young Husband. The EFwo Widows. By Annie Thomas. Rose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By Maud Hilton. Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage; or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida. The Black Lady of Duna. By J.S. Le Mrs. Rowson. Fanu. Charlotte Temple. B Christian Oakley’s Mistake. By the author of ‘‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,” etc. My Young Husbands; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. A ueen Amongst Women. By the author of ‘*‘ Dora Thorne,” ete., ete. Her Lord and Master. By Florence Marryat. ‘ Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. Playing fer High Stakes, By Annie Thomas. The Laure} Bush. “ John Halifax, Gentleman.” Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. Janet's Repentance. By George Eliot. The Romance ofa Poor Young Man. By Octave Feuiliet. A Terrible Deeds or, All for Gold. | By By the author of ‘Dora 67 68 ‘Wife's ST Td - BD ster Emma Garrison Jones. A Gilded Sin. Thorn,”’ ete, The <Author’s Daughter. Howitt. Whe Jilt. By Charles Reade. Eileen Alanna; or, the Dawning of the Day. By Dennis O’Sullivan. Love’s Victory. . By B. L, Farjeon. The Quiet Heart. . By Mrs. Oliphant. Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh. | flaunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt. Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont.. By Miss Mulock. 99 Warjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary Patrick. 100 Eprongh. Fire and Water. By Fred- ot. By Mss Mullock. erick Tal 101 Hannah, By Charles Reade. | By Erskine Boyd. 102 Peg Woffington. 103 A Desperate Deed. 104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far- jeon. 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. ‘ 106 From Dreams to Waking. By, E. Lynn Linton. 107 Poor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson. 108 The Sad Fortunes ofthe Rev Amos i 2) i] By Mary i) — Seeeese Sf SAV tom Barton. By George Eliot, ; 109 4 gs 2h cd and Kisses. By L, eon, 110 ‘The Wandering Heir. By Charles Reade, 111 The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six Weeks By Emilie Viveare Carlen. 112 A Hero. By Miss Mulock. 113 Paul and Virginia, From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. 114 °K was In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal- ter Besant and James Rice. 115 The Maid of Killeena. By Wm. Black, 116 srothhs By Henry Kingsley. eS 17 The Wayside Cross; or, The Raid of mez. By Captain E. A. an. 18 me pican of Waketield. 1 1 Goldsmith. 119 Maud Wohan. By Annie Thomas. 120 che org aso ot Warsaw. By Miss Jane j orter. 121 The King of No-Land. By B. L. Far- eon. 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- eray. : ‘ 123 Am Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. 125° Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada, By Eu- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). 126 When the Ship Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 127 One of the Family. By James Payn. 128 The Birthright. By Mrs. Gore, armer’s Sweetheart. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 130 Homeless; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. i 131 Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry c? earts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ' 132 Sold for Gold, By Mrs. M. V. Victor. _ 133 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens, 134 Did He Love Mer? By Bartley T. Camp- . Against. By Lillian Lovejoy. pe MeN tr eet io ar * hts i lee wy Jae " Ronee 4 : i ms LP sien Fas cf Th va Nd eke ful” nie ee By the author. of | By Oliver (175 Is Love a Mockery a eT ee ee ee 136 Bink! gt His Wifé? By Mrs. Mary Reed ‘rowel, 137 The Village on the, Cliff, Apaoker ay ; aleria! or, The Broken Troth. Poor By Margaret Blount. ‘Margaret Graham. . By G, P. R. James, Without Merey. By isi Pg Pre ied cir Honor Bound. By Lillian th } Fleeing from Love. By Mrs. Harriet Irving. Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman’s Work, By Rett Winwood. : OM Strange Marriage. By Lillian Lovejoy. Two Girl's Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. A Desperate, Venture; Own Sake. By Arabella Sout The War of Hearts. an. Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton. An Ambitious Girls; of; She Would Be /n Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. [i By Miss or, For Love’s hworth. By Corinne Cush- 50 Love Lord ot All. By Alice May Fleming. 51 A Wild Girl. By Corinne Cushman. 52 A Mfan’s Sacrifice. By Harriet Irving. 53 Did She Sim. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 54 He Loves Me Not. By Lillian Lovejoy. | 55 Winning Ways. By Margaret Blount. 56 What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths. By Arabella Southworth. 57 A Girls Heart. By Rett Winwood. ‘ 58 A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton, 59 Lady Helen’s Vows; or, The Mother's Secret. By the Late Mrs. &. Ir. Rllet. 60 Buying a Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy. 61 Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, Jr. A Fateful Game; or, Wedded and Parted. By Sara Claxton. . 163 The Creole Cousins} or, False as Pair. By Philip 8. Warne. 164 A Seathing Ordeal; or, May Langley’s Mad Marriage, By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens. 165 A Strange Girl. By Albert W. en. 166 A Man’s Sin. By Rett Winwocd. ‘ 167 Whe Mand of Fate; or, The Wreck of Two Lives.. By Arabella Southworth, 168 Two Fair omen. By Wm! M. Turner. 169 Tempted Through Loves or, One Woman’s Error. By an Lovejoy. 170 Blind Barbara’s Secret, By Mary Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman's Witchery; or, Through Much Tribulation. By Sara Claxton. _— 162 172 Black Eyes and Blue, By Corinne Cushman, , hla co 172 The Cost of a Folly. By Georgiana. Diekens. : ‘ 174 Khe Pretty Puritan. By A Parson’s Daughter. ‘ J 2? or, Revenge is. - Sweet. By Arabella Southworth. 176 Adria, the Adopted, By yennie Davis. ... Burton. ’ : 177 For the Woman He Loved}; ‘or, Fate- ful Links. “By Agnes Mary Shelton, 178 The Locked Heart, By Corinne Cushman, 179 Parted by Treachery. By Harriet Irving. 180 Was She a Wife? or, The Proot of Love. By Rett Winwood, 181 Under a ©louds; or. A Daughter's Sus- picion. Py Sara Claxton. 182 Am American Queen$ or, The Heart of Gold. Ey Grace Mortimer. 183 A Point cf Honor; or, Diamond Cut Diamond. Rv Lillian Lovejoy. °° 184 Pursued to the Altar. By Corinne Oushman. ; : 185 Put to a Tests or, A Fortune Hunter’s Fate. By Georgiana Dickens, tof 186 The Terrible '‘fruth 3 or, The Thornhurst Mystery. By Jennie Davis Burton, . 187 Outwitted by Herselrs or, A Mother's Scheme, By Arabella Southworth. 188 Florette, Child of ‘the Street; or, A Pearl Beyond Price. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. 189 Her Guardian's Sacrifice 5 or, A Name in the’ Balance. By SaraClaxton..9° =" 190 Pretty and Proudy or, The Gold-Bug of Frisco, By Corinne Cushman, . - ; 191 A Woman’s Maneuvers or, Purse, no Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy: 192 The Bitter Feud. By Jennie Davis Bur- ton. : : A A new issue every week, ° Posen bby thas Wavertey Liprary is for sale by all News- per copy, or sent ‘by'mail on Toe each miioer ty: * od arp rhe al’ dealers, five cents ceipt of six cents gre? a BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, $8 ‘William street, New ¥ ¥ eh ie Neae why s J }