Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 197) (1883 08 21)
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The Cheapest and Best Library! The Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents! —— fi ‘e 82.509 Feet Entered. at the Post Office at New York, N., Y., at Pere Class Mail Rates. Copyright, 1 1883, Pe: BEADLE AND ADAMS, August 21, 1883. (Sein, — — a -_-— ———~— | No “ame VoL. \ VIL “Payee WHERE BY BEADLE AND > ADAMS, 98 Wi oe Sr. N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS A A SISTER'S. GRIME; » ae BY AGNES MARY SHELTON, AUTHOR OF ‘‘A BITTER MISTAKE,” ‘‘ FOR THE WOMAN HE LOVED,” ETC., ETC. , 7 7 >) Mi ANS SA ‘ fe saa — 4 he ' SHE ACCEPTED HIS PROFFERED ARM, AND MOVED HAUGHTILY AWAY. tz \
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PA sek? pt ‘peal. Q ' A Sister’s Crime; #) We. e _ OR, a ‘Which Loved Him Best? BY AGNES MARY SHELTON, ‘AUTHOR OF ‘A BITTER MISTAKE,” ““¥OR THE WOMAN HE LOVED,” ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. WHEY WERE TWO DAUGHTERS OF ONE RACE, “On, dear, I hate these lonely evenings! Don’t you, Irene?” “Then papa is not able to join us,” said ’ Yrene, looking wistfully at an empty chair she had drawn to its old familiar place. They were sisters, those two girls, as unlike fin disposition as they were in appearance, yet each lovely in her wey. Maud, the elder, was the more beautiful, of the classic type; the other, impetuous, warm-hearted, faulty Irene, was altogether a type of her own. e@ room was spacious and luxurious; the lavish hand of wealth had made life smooth ' for each; they basked in Fortune’s sunshine, its only cloud, which had shifted not far out of « sight, to mingle with the shadows of the past, ‘was their mother’s death. Maud seldom missed her; but Irene had never ceased to feel the aching void, even when the tender love of her father strove to fill it. _ And now that father, whose every mood she studied, could not come to that meal, which he liked best because it brought the sweet home atmosphere more about him than any other. Irene rose from her crouching .position on the sofa-rug, where she had been reading by the firelight, her soul-lit face paling, and her dark hair escaping from its fastenings. ‘*T know you hate to take tea alone with me, Maud, dear,” she continued, still looking at the seat ber father usually occupied, ‘and it is lonely for you; but Iam quite sure some one will call by-and-by, and then you can spare me to papa. Can’t you, Maudy?” “‘T don’t know who you mean by some one, Trene, and I don’t think father is at all in need of either of us.” “Some one means Captain Creswick, and I think papa would like me to chat or read to him. May I, Maudy, or would you be afraid to be left without a chaperon?”’ r “T never interfere with you, child,” returned the stately Maud, repressing a smile, for ‘the child * had assumed a grave dignity, and looked for an instant so terrible that it was impossible notto be drawn into ber moods, which were as variable as they were startling. But those moods were not at all times com- ‘prehensible to her sister. mm “Tnterfere is not the word, Maudy. You know I would like to please you in all things, and I do please you sometimes, don’t I?’ | “Of course you do; but you are so often wayward and capricious.” “‘T wish I could be otherwise, then. I try hard to change myself, but always fail, Every one has a nature of her own, I suppose, and as T had not the chance of casting my own flesh and blood into a perfect mold, the way you can turn out that lovely shape of jelly, Maud, I don’t think I should be altogether responsible for my shortcomings. By the way, that same jelly is so tempting, I shall have a morsel if you will kindly help me.” Miss Emerson, serenely ignoring what she did not understand, drew the table nearer the fire, and after taking her place at it, ruthlessly — drove a spoon into the very heart. of the coveted. ty. a “Papa told me he was quite able to come down-stairs this evening,” replied Irene, with an anxious expression on her young face. ‘‘He thought so; but a violent fit of cough- ng left him so exhausted that he sent word not to wait for him.” _ “Why did you not tell me this before?” / A SISTER’S. CRIME. ‘ +. eS eeeeeeeooeoooeooooooEoEoE—E—EO — — — — ——"—XXS_ : —————————————————— -: “‘You were rambling, as usual, out of doors | when the message came.” “But Ihave been in ever so long, and ex- pecting him. I do feel disappointed, Maudy, dear, and—just let me run up for one second.” “Stay! you are too impulsive, You would only disturb him now.” i ‘He must be weak indeed, or he would have joined us; he delights in your little tea-table, you always please him with such elegant de- vices to tempt the appetite. Poor papa, how I should love to'see him eat up a thick slice of bread, like one of his workingmen, I do be- lieve it would be the grandest sight to me I ever saw,” “What are you talking about? A grand sight to see our father such a savage!” ‘* Yes, Maudy; but, as I was saying, you know how he loves our pleasant little evenings, and it is as great a privation for him not to be with us, as for us to do without him. So, if you don’t mind I shall go to him as soon as you will spare me.” ‘You are not eating your jelly.” “T-shall have some tea first.” And Irene, curbing her impatience to escape from her sister’s thralldom, simply because she longed to be beside the invalid who was dearer to her than all the world, took her place at the table and lifted the dainty cup to her lips. “It is pleasant,” she remarked, ‘‘ to look around this big room and feel oneself so nice and warm be- fore the fire, is it not, Maudy? And then to look at Ponsey curled up like a white ball be- foreit. Ah! you dear old dog. I should like to roll myself up like you and bask in the fire- light.” Following the bent of her inclinations, the girl threw herself beside the dog, who stood up to wag his tail the moment he heard his name; but Ponsey was not so easily deceived; he adored his young mistress, and although he neither saw or felt a tear on his woolly coat, he detected something in her look and voice which made him lay his head quietly on her lap and look wistfully up at her, ‘‘ Will you never be anything better than a child, Irene?” asked Maud. ‘‘ Ponsey has more sense than you. Come, have your tea like a reasonable mortal, if you can.” But it was evident that poor Irene could not do anything in reason this evening; her tea was too strong, her, toast tasteless, and she pushed aside her cup just as the door opened to admit Captain Creswick. A welcome guest was this young gentleman, although the sisters were not very demonstra- tive in showing it, particularly Maud, whose manner became somewhat restrained; while Trene’s, although affable enough, lost some of its former freedom. Francis Creswick, frank, manly and sincere, a general favorite, and courted in the highest circles of society, was proud, reserved and haughty, sometimes satirical, but never severe or arrogant, “T quite ‘expected to see Major Emerson this evening,” ho said, after the usual greeting, ‘fand have brought the books I promised him, Tam also the bearer of a message from Mrs, Huntley. She proposes changing charades for a regular comedy, in which she requests your valuable aid, Miss Emerson.” “TI fear my aid would not be very valuable; Mrs. Huntley knows I have no taste for act- ing.” “You were splendid in the tableaux vivants on Thursday night.” ‘‘T had not to speak, Irene can remember a speech, be it ever solong, It is too much trouble for me. I suppose Mrs. Huntley has enlisted you in her service?” “Unfortunately for me, any plan of that kind is impossible. My regiment has been or- dered West, and we start two weeks from to- day. The intervening time will be only too filled up. I should not have been here this evening only that I wished to say farewell in case accident prevented me from seeing you again—I could not leave without that, you know. I start for my father’s place by the last train to-night, where I sball spend a week, and then duty claims me.” te A cold feeling crept over the heart of Maud as the young man announced this last unwel- come tidings; but not the faintest trace of © emotion was betrayed by her manner or ap- pearance. NotsoIrene, It was fortunate for her that they were too much occupied with their conversation to notice the crimson that dyed her cheeks, while her lips quivered like 4 grieved child’s. Neither sister would acknowledge even to her own heart that she loved Francis Creswick, yet both knew it. Maud loved him with all the exacting pas- sion of a selfish nature; while Irene, earnest, — pure hearted Irene, loved him without ever dreaming of requital, and hating herself for what she deemed a passion worse than folly. ; | That the love of one of the sisters was. re- turned, Creswick’s frequent visits seemed t0 imply, for scarcely an evening passed witb- out him, and the little family circle seemed incomplete if that favorite guest was not in its | midst, , 4 Major Emerson watched the young man’s attentions with no little pleasure, for he hoped to get his girls settled in life before he left ity | but which daughter attracted him most was 4 question he often asked himself, but could never answer. Toward Maud, perhaps, those attentions were more marked; but then she was the elder, and precedence had its claims, It seemed to him that the sisters were in the balance—one to be chosen and the other left. But proud Major Emerson ignored the fact except to his own conscience, His girls were very dear to him, and as his life was precarious, and his fortune more 80, the sooner he got them married to men worthy of them the better. For the major, being a man of the world, studied well the “main point,” which in bis vocabulary meant money and position; and | finding it without a flaw, encouraged his young | friend so openly that the result was as we hav® seen, “Where is your regiment now?” asked Maud, in so careless a tone that her father, he had been present, would have been mor? baffled than ever. “Oh, in the city,” answered Frank, glancing at Irene. “Then there is nothing to prevent you! going to Mrs, Huntley’s ball except want of inclination, although it might not be com venient for you to join the theatrical project.” ““No; that project would be altogether im” | possible, but I will come for the ball, if yoU | will promise to give me the first dance.” Frank rose, and placed himself on th? hearthrug as he spoke, Tall and manly b? looked, one to command respect as well as lov? | and admiration. Irene stole a sly glance at him. Their ey? met; hers were hastily withdrawn, but b lingered with an expression that set the jealov? heart of Maud beating angrily. |. Irene rose tu quit the room. “You will return, if you find your fatbe asleep?” asked Francis, following her to th? | door. “Did I say I was going to my father?’ sb? laughingly questioned. / ; “T know you are, but please retura, as the! is a matter upon which [ must speak to you b& | fore Lleave. Yet—stay. The evening of th?) ball will be a more auspicious time, and tT | member, I shall claim your hand for the se& ond waltz.” Maud heard the whispered words, and sa¥ | the look which accompanied them, Her peat! | told her what it was that Francis Creswi% | wished to say to her sister, and with flush | cheek and bated breath, she inwardly vowed that the chance he wished for to declare bis love, should never come; by fair means foul she would prevent it, and trust to fate do tho rest for her. Marry her sister—ma'
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~Trene! never! But she would bring him to f ‘feet sooner or, later, and as for Irene, she Must get over her fancy as best she could, '“ Well, Miss Emerson,” resumed Francis, turning to Maud when they were alone, “ you ave not answered. my question, Am I to have the first waltz? Miss Irene has promised Me the second.” _ “Indeed! Well, I shall tell you when the Ime arrives!” ajor Emerson did not interfere with his aughters’ enjoyment that evening. He was sleeping tranquilly when Irene went ‘to him, soshe returned to the drawing-room, 8nd the hours passed swiftly, That night Captain Creswick left for his ather’s country seat. ‘*Have you promised. what Captain Cres- _ Wick asked you, Maudy?” questioned Irene, _ When that young gentleman had taken his de- -Parture. “T shall tell him when the time arrives!” , @nswered Maud, shortly. | : CHAPTER II. A WOMAN'S. WILES, __ Mrs. Hunruey’s ball was fixed for ten days | €nce; but within that space, short as it was, @ great sorrow fell on the life of the sisters; _ nd her doors were closed in sympathy or con- dolence for them. The morning after the last visit of Francis Creswick, Major Emerson’s bell was hastily Tung. The girls knew his valet was in atten- ce, and for a moment could not understand 80 loud a peal, but Irene ran up-stairs and found her father pale and haggard, lying in the arms of his faithful servant. “Oh, fatber, you are worse!” she- cried, Sently putting herself in the man’s place. «._t am dying, my darling!” he murmured. ‘No need to fetch a doctor this time; but I Stould like to see—to see Captain Creswick 8nd my poor Maud. Listen, Irene, my love; do not be too hard on your poor old father When he.is gone, for—for—ob, my child, I Ve done youa great wrong. I have left you —left you both—botl beggars! This is the eaviest—” The sentence was never finished, The day of the funeral had come and gone, the last sad rites were over, and together the Wo girls, now doubly orphaned, sat in the Sathering twilight in the same room which held | 8Uch happy memories for them, Their family lawyer bad just gone, leaving them almost stunned by the double shock of their father’s death and the crushing intelli- &enee that they were beggars! that they were °ne in the world almost without a roof to Shelter them. Their father had to the last kept the truth °m them, hoping that by a brilliant mar- “488 either one or both would be provided for. Ut now it was too late; the handsome pro- Panty which they had never dreamed could be- hi to any one but them had been mortgaged ®f more than its market value and would be, / a the week was over, in the hands of credi- +‘°rs. All, all. was gone, swallowed up in the Speculations of Major Emerson, who, once hav- cs -begua, kept on in the vain hope of retriev- ae his fortune, until all was gone! the lit- hi Personal property of each girl was literally ! they had to face the world,with; when that %8 gone what then was to be done—where Could they turn? ‘Tom her own sad thoughts Irene turned to her sister, ho ‘Oh, I would not care, I would not mind MY Poor we are if we only had papa here. willl? What shall we do without him? how all We ever fight the battle of life alone?” bat He should never have left us to fight tke ttle you speak of, Irene,” hi on’t say that, Maud—you shall not blame ce ™.. The world was too much for hin—cir- he stances were against him; he could not 2 it, ana youknowit. Darling sister, do not Feel 50 we % hoe , _ “Hush! you must not try to soften me, _A SISTER'S Pe ot ‘e. oo ve > gpscilente Saree pond | i You are too young to understand our position, | and the terrible wrong that has been done us. Here we are, two girls, both under twenty, haying been reared in luxury, refinement aud love, driven from all three by the rashness of a thoughtless father. Oh, it is cruel!’ * But, Maud, we have friends—good, kind friends, who will do all in their power to ren- der our life endurable to us, Mrs, Huntley, I am sure, will do her best, and Captain Cres- wick—” Here Irene hesitated and blushed crimson. Maud saw the blush and marked the hesita- tion, A cold, cruel look, mingled with tri- umph, came into her eyes, which gentle Irene would have wondered much at had she noticed it. “ Shall I tell you. something, Irene?” she said suddenly, ‘I would not grieve you willingly, but it is best you should know the truth. Captain Creswick is a scoundrel, and no gentleman!” ‘Maud! explain yourself!” “T will, You thought you had won the love of Francis Creswick, didn’t you? Nay, you needn’t blush—long ago I knew your secret—and that you thought yourself beloved in return. But, Irene, what if I tell you that he has made love to me—has won my affec- tions also—has shown himself to be a heartless villain—winning my heart, but to cast it aside when it suited his pleasure?” ‘Maud, my poor darling! is it possible that you love him? And I never guessed it. Ah! how blind I have been—and to have imagined myself for one minute preferred to you, by him. It wasasad mistake of mine, dear. I know it.. How could. he for a minute have fancied me when you were by? My vanity must have strangely carried me away, that I should so have misconstrued his kindness, Maud, do not look at me so—it is true! he has never spoken one word to me but what a brother might. And of course he loves you. Now I think of it. Ihave been blind not to guess it long ago. And you really care for him, Maud—my cold, pale sister! I cannot realize it—yet Iam glad, He will make you a charming husband, and all will go as merry as a marriage-bell.” So Irene rattled on, bravely disguising the shock such news had been to her, and deter- mining in her heart of hearts that never should her sister know what her supposed mistake had cost her, “ But you, Irene?” s¢]? Ohitis nothing. Never mind me. It was only a fancy, which soon will be thought no more of, He is so good, so noble and brave, I really couldn’t help making a little of a hero of him; but as your busband, I will be awfully fond of him, Matidy, and he will make me such a nice brother!” ‘‘ He will never be your brother, Irene, My mind is made up. Your eyes are blinded and you do not see him in the true light. He is fickle, inconstant, untrue. TI will tear his im- age from my heart before I will let him know for a single instant what a fool I have been to give my love unsought.” “Maud, dear, you are wrong. He cannot be untrue—and to you /—oh, never. It is your imagination—you have misconstrued his ac- tions, as you wil! find when he has made it all right with you.” ‘“¢ Which I shall never give him the chance to do, No, Irene, he is false, Why has he not called since our father’s death? Why! I can tell you. He has heard that we are poor now, and bas made up his mind to gracefully back out before itis too late.” Irene gazed piteously at her sister. “Maud, I cannot believe it! he would not have left us in that ‘heartless manner—there must be some mistake—some misunderstand- in ve a f There is none, We are poor; that is all, Irene. ‘You will now have the esi Rael seeing what our friends are made of. They will all follow the same course; we are be- neatb them in our poverty!” ‘‘ But surely Mrs, Huntley will not desert us,” “Mrs, Huntley would be just as bad as the rest. Perhaps not so openly—she would con- , dole with us, and may be suggest some in- feasible plan for our future, all the time wish- ing she could wash her hands of us, No; we will go to none of them for help; they shall not even know where we are or what doing. Our lawyer has proved our only friend in time of need. He has written to Mr. Veitcher, a personal friend of his,a clergyman in Chat- hum, who has procured a little house for us, and will use his influence in our behalf to get us pupils—” “Then we are to be schoolmistresses,” int rupted Irene. ‘Oh, that is delightful! Ilove little children and—” , “T wish you would not interrupt me 60,” re~ sumed Miss Emerson. ‘ Yes; we are to be- come school-teachers—how I shudder at the thought! But it may not last long, for I sup-— pose like other girls, wé shall marry, who knows? However, we will not speculate on that now. Mr. Veitcher expects us on Thurs- day, and I wish you would write bim a note, telling him bis directions shall be carried out, and letting him know by what train we will arrive.” “Thursday! so soon? But, Maud, surely you cannot mean we will go away without Iéaving any word as to our whereabouts? Surely that would not be right, for our friends, or those who were our friends t take some interest in us yet, and I have promised Miss Huntley—” " “Never mind your promises. My plan shall be carried out. Neither she, nor least of all, tell, shall know what bas become of us. We. will begin a new life in a strange place, and let us hope all will go well. Now, will you go and write the note as I requested?” Trene knew she could do nothing but comply with her sister’s commands, for having alas submitted to what sbe had considered Maude’s- superior judgment, it would now do no good to attempt to combat her orders. Neverthe- and her thoughts were sad enough—not the less sad that she could not understand the eon- duct of Captain Creswick, whom she lo and who, she felt sure, would not desert them because of their fallen fortunes, even though she could not but own to herself that appear- ances were very much against him. Why, ob, why,’ had he not come, or at least writ- ten and explained the reason of bis absence, If he would but come and make Maud happy, she could bear her own suffering; but to go away, never to look upon his face again, to have her sister pining away in a strange place— oh, it was too much! how could sbe ever stand an honorable man. If she had thought he loved her, that was her mistake, and was all over now. However, she knew how useless it would be to try to change Matd’s plans, and’ she could only pray that it would all come right in time, and every cloud be cleared away. When Trene had left the room Maud sprung to her feet and gave way to a fit of passion, which one would almost deem impossible in a girl so young, so fair and refined. = “Go to your room, my dainty little sister,” out over ycur broken hopes and the grave of your first love! Take it out in crying, for if my plans go right, you have looked your last upon the face of him you love, So, Francis Creswick! You would overlook my love, my beauty and talents, to fall in love with the milk and water pretliness of my baby sis- ter. Well, we shall see who triumphs. You will fly to the arms of your beloved Irene, will you? for so your note, hidden in the depths of | my pocket, says, You will fly, but find ber not, ‘Your friend and confidante, Mrs, Hunt- lips are sealed at my request; fortunate that sc oieate | : Ls me j ; ‘ 4 rar a ' Boas 4 ‘ tee Wee 7 F gi eine tin ie, 4 Tee Lane banat Pile bole 4 @ ’ . ' ‘ eg a ’ i Captain Creswick, whom she would be sure to \ less, as she left the room her heart was heavy it? And she knew that Captain Creswick was ) she hissed, “there to sob and weep your eyes _ Wek ley, will not be able to give you information, | either. Noone will but our lawyer, and his | be i gi pe ‘~ A EER eae here meee a> Pa Le i
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you had not before this had the opportunity for an explanation with Irene, or I would have ; been foiled, As it is, the cards are mine, Let | him laugh who wins!” ia CHAPTER III. A NEW LIFE, Tue clergyman and his wife were true friends to the orpban. girls. Many crooked paths were made straight for them, and deli- Bi cate little attentions shown which could not hurt even tha sensitive pride of Maud. Highly remunerative pupils flocked in upon them, and Irene took to her new position won- derfully; but Maud could not hide her misery -, \ «nd discontent. " | Mrs, Veitcher saw but ignored it, trusting to time for that which it would never bring _ forth—a woman strong in her heart and Rs strength; and sco weeks grew into months. — _Irene was the idol of the little school—or, rather, day pupils, as they were respectably called; and Maud, seeing her sister in a fair way of getting on without her, quietly drew out a line of action for herself. : She hated the dull routine of their every- i day life and saw no way of escaping it as long as she stayed in Chatham, so one day she aroused all Irene’s fears by telling her that her health was gradually fading and that unless e0 she could have a change she would not be an- swerable for the consequences—that she had thought the matter over and decided that if she could get a situation in some nice city fe family as companion or governess, where her duties would be comparatively light, and where she could procure the best medical aid if needed, that her health might gradually be . restored. So Irene set at once about procuring a sit- uation as governess for her through Mr, Veitcher. _ After many difficulties and disappointments, Maud entered the family of a wealthy mer- - ehant, principally residing in New York, on the terms stipulated—that she should, be treated as a member of the family, and with sole charge of one little girl, who was petted and spoiled by her parents—where Maud felt so happy that she wondered why she had re- - mained so long at the school; besides, she was to return to a little of the gayety of city sife, Mr. Kirwan was a man of quiet, homely habits. His fondness for his little girl, whona be looked upon with a species of idolatry, and an over-admiration for his pretty young wife, were among the strongest feelings he pos- His wife was twenty years younger than himself, and a gooi and charitable woman, and in beart and mind an honest, upright little _ At all events, they were much beloved by _ the poor, and never censured by the rich. How they managed to steer their course so clearly between two such opposite courses was - @ mystery to many, yet they went on from day to day in peace and safety. wep ~ GA . ae Maud was not long in noticing the attach- Bee of this couple, contrasting it with what Bowes = had seen between her own parents. Here -- there was nothing but peace, a calm joy, a pas steady, beautiful happivess that spread its __~ beneficence to every bosom that came within ___ its influence, _ So Maud could not help being comfortable with those whose delight it was to make every _ one happy. _ Among the few intimate friends of the family was a gentleman of about forty-five, who, since the addition of Miss Emerson to the _. household circle, had become a more constant visitor than before, and whose undisguised ad- miration of the governess was not only sanc- tioned, but encouraged, by the two heads of the establishment. lai : ___ Jasper Warrington soon learned to love Miss rs ‘Emerson, but was held from openly avowing the fosting bx her coldness, and more particu- y Seer Ne » 7 “ein e ’ ae ey ae ou ES i - « + Tarly b; oe é Site Ae" TO og ROS ANON a | Oe ie ene apnea e ee pegeson te ATA eu geht eB et et har Se Se Es Re es PE rei a yn eth na Le Se eid Se | e disparity of their ages. Wealthy, « dx Ail’ ¥ he cee PL j ‘ et and, better still, rich in every noble quality, the generous man shrunk from the fear of de- tection by the poor but proud beauty, who had warmed his heart with a true passion, because his years more than doubled the number of those that had rolled over the life of the beautiful lady of his heart. Miss Emerson had been more than six months in the family of Mr. Kirwan when his wife one morning entered the apartment specially allotted to the governess, It was a cosey little sitting-room, hung rich- ly with crimson drapery, which, added to the ruddy glow of the cheerful fire, formed a com- fortable contrast to the snow-clad prospect out- side the window, The lady, holding a letter in her hand, tap- red gently before turning the handle of the door, and not receiving a reply, ventured for- ward. She stood irresolute for a few moments, gaz- ing upon Maud, who was seated upon a couch by the fire, reading a newspaper six weeks old. Even as Mrs. Kirwan stood beside her, she read and re-read one paragraph with fixed at- tention:— “Latest departure from —— Hotel, Washington, Captain Francis Creswick, of the —— Regiment, for his father’s residence in Cambridge, where rumor asserts he will shortly be married to the beautiful Jane Crompton, the accomplished daughter of,” etc., etc, Mrs, Kirwan stood gazing upon her in amazement, for she had hardly thought that the pale governess could look so lovely, The one want of those classic features was now supplied, the cold void filled up, for the colors of life and animation were spread over her face; heart and soul were breathing in those fine features, and her beauty for the time was perfect. The couch on which she sat was covered with crimson damask, which relieved the sable costume that fitted Maud’s elegant figure to perfection. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from agitation, and her countenance was lus- trous with inward light, but its reflection wus that of hate or anger, rather than any kind or womanly feeling. She started when the hand of the merchant’s wife was laid upon her shoulder, and as she turned, the light faded from her countenance, leaving it as placid as before. ‘“My dear Miss Hmerson,” began Mrs. Kir- wan, “I regret having disturbed you, for you look so different now that you know I am here to what you did when you thought yourself alone. Something in that newspaper has moved you strangely.” “Nothing,” she replied, “ unless the news of the convalescence of one who was a friend in former years,” “That,” remarked Mrs. Kirwan, “ must surely be a happiness.” ‘“‘Yes, if the friend be true,” replied the girl. ‘My dear, a friend could not be false; for if by circumstances he should appear so, time would prove the contrary. Should, unhap- pily, temptation make him waver in his feel- ings or purpose, then, indeed, he is no longer worthy of the name, but when we can rejoice in the restoration of a mere acquaintance from a couch of suffering to health and enjoyment, how much more happiness can bring the con- valescence of one who was deeply prized in the ‘long ago,’ that time which ever brings a sweet reminiscence to every heart, however cold it may appear externally.” ‘‘Some good-natured people,” answered the other, abruptly, “feel 4 satisfaction in the welfare of their acquaintance, I feel in- difference, if indifference can be called a feel- ing.” Maud frowned darkly; then, with an energy that startled her companion, said: ‘‘Oh, Mrs. Kirwan, imagine a young girl, true and confiding; imagine your own little daughter grown up to womanhood, her love sued for, won, prized for awhile, then cast A SISTER’S CRIME, eo rin Te ae 7 # I ee ee Pe) Walaa ae Vit of aside, scorned and rejected for some new pas- sion! What would you say to him who broke her heart? How would she feel who was the victim of his falsehuod? Would she pine away in silence, and obligingly die to give place to & — rival? Would she act the generous heroine by crowning their happiness with ber forgive- — ness? Well, I would not do so, It would bet sweeter to me—it would be balm to my wounded pride—to see him—bim the loved but false one, stricken by the hand of judgment; to watch him writhe in pain and torture, goaded by remorse, or to see him dead!” The governess had risen to her feet, under the influence of strong excitement; but on per- ceiving Mrs. Kirwan shrinking from her, made a hurried apology, adding, with a sickly smile, ‘¢T—JI have not been speaking of myself. But | you know that some natures are more revenge- — ful than others.” A strange fire now burned in the eyes of the — governess, which made the other recoil from her. Maud, seeing Mrs. Kirwan’s startled expres- — sion, laughed lightly, and the elder lady gladly turned her thoughts to the subject of the let- ter. “This is an invitation from an old friend, Miss Emerson,” she said; “and as it is impos- sible for my husband to accompany me, I have come to beg that you will confer a favor by doing so. It will be quite a family dinner- party, with the exception, perhaps, of Mr. Jas- per Warrington. I’ know Mrs, Crompton will be delighted to welcome you.” Maud, concealing her secret satisfaction, murmured a polite acquiescence, and Mrs. Kirwan, with more friendliness of manner than she had ever before shown, added: “Lily is very much attached to you, Miss Emerson, and in her name pray accept a Jittle present from me. It will look well with your black dress, and relieve its monotony, A jet necklet, studded with seed pearls, is not un- seemly in your present mourning. By the way, dear, when did you hear last from your sister? Mr. Veitcher is rapturous in praise of her,” : “T heard this morning. Irene is most grateful for Mr. Veitcher’s kindness, She spends much of her time at the Rectory; and it is a great relief to my mind to have her so safely placed.” “Your sister is a most winning girl, I hear?” “‘- Yes; every one loves Iney.” “She is your junior?” ‘‘ By two years; but she is still like a child at times. Our father’s death sobered her 4 good deal; but generally she is light-hearted and happy, as though she had never known & care.” “‘Would you not like her to be with you during the Christmas holidays?” | “Oh, Mrs. Kirwan, I shall be glad—s? happy!” “Then it shall be so, my dear. The truth is, I am longing to see this bright Irene.” Mrs. Kirwan took a chaste and costly orna’ ment from a casket as she spoke, and, after fastening it on the neck of the governess, hur ried from the room to avoid thanks. i “Goto Mrs. Crompton’s!” muttered Maud, when she found herself alone, ‘Yes, yeS, Mrs, Kirwan, I will go to Mrs. Crompton’s and wear this necklace, too.” 4 CHAPTER IV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, “T nave taken the liberty of bringing # friend with me,” said Mrs. Kirwan, intro” ducing Maud. f “ Dear Georgina,” answered Mrs. Crompto®, holding the young girl’s hand in her ae 4) —— ‘‘ any friend of yours must be a welcome gu! of mine.” She drew Maud toward the fire, where 5 a gentleman, who began a lively con’ with Mrs. K during which she found ! gaze resting on | somewhat rudely, rs 5 ’ Crompton summoned him to her side. %y)" A ee he
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+ attentive to you this evening. I quite envied you at dinner, he is so delightful to converse with, He—he is coming this way.” So Mr. Warrington joined them, and the con- versation becoming general, both ladies had ample opportunity of judging for themselves as to his capabilities, of which, perhaps, their ap- preciation was best shown by their reluctance to depart even when Mr. Huntley had declared for the third time that it was very late. As they drove home, Mrs. Kirwan, pleading fatigue, sunk back ih the soft cishicns of b carriage and remained silent, giving Maud ¢ ple opportunity to revelve in her wind the’ cidents of that, to her, eventful evening; how she had misinterpreted Mrs, Huntley’s coldr and misunderstood her loyal nature; how a terrible despair had come over her heart at the news of Major Creswick going to be wedde to a stranger; and how Jasper Warrington singled her out for his attentions, making the envied of the envious. re This latter feeling was vf i. en | 88, * OF jn Are you — e , ae a ee + oh. “ee Te * See a ee a Oia e 2 % b a ¥ fi wy 15 Si > Aas? iv “pre bf? w, yi / —=™ ‘rather congenial ta Sica
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he, * Sh a! kaha ee. Pa |e Wise Qos i + ve Tate. ait se es aS Se. FAIR SP ete ne =, Via - ri 7, b+ r, hs ; A ‘’ ~ : C ‘ ‘ . ee ee Te A SISTER'S CRIME. seated herself before the ruddy fire in hor cosey mainder of our lives. I prefer the former, I chamber, ‘No thought of her young sister disturbed her peace; yet at that moment Irene’s bright head was tossing restlessly on her pillow, unable to court sleep with thoughts of Maud. CHAPTER V. - A SISTER’S ENVY, “Anp this is Irene!” said Mrs. Kirwan, drawing the muffled figure toward her, and _ looking at the laughing, bright young girl. One scrutinizing glance was enough to satis- fy her heart. Sbe drew the girl nearer, and kissed her. Mr. Kirwan was rather astonished at such a proceeding on the part of his unde- monstrative wife, and passed a cheerful remark about it. “T could not help it,” said the lady, quietly, “‘Trene and I are friends already. My dear, will you go to your room, or take off your wraps here?” cine ‘She chose the former, and soon she and Maud _ were alone, _ “QO , how comfortable you are, Maudy, dear!’ exclaimed Irene, looking around the elegant apartment which had been appropriated , to her use, ‘ What a darling little lady Mrs, Kirwan is! The child is a dear pet, I know. And Mr, Kirwan—what a delightful old gen- tleman! I declare I could have kissed him, _ too, with all my heart.” _ © Still the same childish Irene,” laughed Miss Emerson, giving the fire a stir that sent the glowing sparks over the steel fender. “Still the same loving sister.” She came to the mantile-piece asshe spoke. ‘‘ Let me look at you. Maudy; bow you have improved; grown ‘handsomer than ever, I declare! Ob, my dear, - J cannot tell you how happy I am to be with zp again! It was so kind, so very kind of Mrs, Kirwin to ask me up for the holidays! 1 have poor little Ponsey still to keep me com- pany, of course; but I am always very lonely ‘without you, Maud.” _ “The Veitchers have been attentive to you?” Indeed, yes, more than attentive. I al- most live at the parsonage. I think it will come to that in time, for Mrs, Veitcher has al- ready asked—what do you think she has asked me, Maudy?” - “9 jive with her, I suppose,” “To be a daughter to her—to let them adopt me—fancy that; and now I am begin- ning to know how wrong we were to run away _ from our friends, for when strangers can be so _kind, why not they?” my “We shall not speak of that now. Do you think the Veitchers really meant to take you as ‘their own child?” - “YT am sure of it; they are old, and have no | oe children of their own. Besides, they knew our dear father long ago. But, Maudy, it is very lonely, even at the parsonage; and—and I miss bi ; a 4 so much —more than ever, I think!” fe). wT ne’s tears were falling now, but she _ ebecked them as she encountered Maud’s stony e, # “ Repining is a weakness I have no sym- - pathy with,” said Miss Emerson. “ Better for- , if youcan. We have each stern duties to _ perform—duties foreign to our natures, incon- sistent with our birth, and at variance with what we expected. We must steel ourselves _ to the task, Irene, and the only way to do that is to forget what we have been, and think of “what we are—two young girls, thrown on a _ pitiless world to scramble for a living!” JT do not think the world is pitiless.” “Because you do not knowit. So far on Ra _our way through it, taking it from the turning _ peint of our father’s death, we have been for- _tunate, you with the Veitchers, I with the ls They are both pillars of the Church, , aad for that reason, I suppose, are better than . other people. However, be that as it may, _ you and I know what we have to do, and do it CRA eh t \ S \ “ Lege CLA eae ea * SA eee ee ae ct ak Eas ad pendent position, or go on slaving for the re- admit.” “By marriage?” ‘“‘Of course. How else?” ‘But you—I think you still love Captain Creswick, Maudy.” ~ What! after his contemptible desertion of us?’ ‘“‘There must have been some misunder- standing.” “He is nothing to me; Iam nothing to him,” You could not convince me of that.” if Why 2? ** Because he came to us so often, and I be- lieve that you were the attraction. I know he loved papa very dearly; no one could doubt that, for he showed it inevery way, and papa loved him, His last word was to see you both; I don’t know what he had in his mind, only he wanted to see you both.” Irene again drew the check-string of her emotion, and stood so coldly by the mantle- piece, that she might have been the reflection of Miss Emerson herself, “Tt was only to say good-by,” remarked Maud, “I don’t believe in a death-bed re- morse or repentance. Major Emerson’s daugh- ters should never have been cast adrift .almost penniless, and without a home,” “But we have both of us found friends and a bome, and it. will be our own fault if we are not happy.” Miss Emerson looked at her sister rather as- tonished; the child could become a woman at times, it seemed, “Tam happy enough, and you will soon be accustomed to the seclusion of the parsonage, if you accept Mr. Veitcher’s offer. They are very rich, and you would inherit a large for- tune at their death.” Irene shuddered, but replied, pleasantly: “I trust that will be a long way off. Have you seen Major Creswick since bis return, Maudy?” “How did you know he had returned at all?” ‘‘ Newspapers inform us of such events.” “Of course, No, Ihave not seen him; but we are talking here too long; we may expect the first dinner-bell at any moment. I see your trunks are open and some of your dresses al- ready in the wardrobe. What are you going to wear? Something nice, I hope.” ; ‘‘ This black net dress.” “ What ornaments?” “That beautiful white rose I see on my dressing-table,” ‘* Nonsense, Irene! ‘‘ You know I—” “Dear Iney,” Maud interrupted, “I quite forgot that you have no jewels. Well, nover mind, you will look nice enough without them. And now, dear, I will leave you to dress, or shall I do your hair? No? Well, I shall be back before you are ready, and we can go down together.” Miss Emerson left the room, and Irene has- tened to array herself, bravely combating the affectionate longings of her heart, which wero cruelly disappointed. She had pictured to herself a very different meeting with her sister. Trene’s visit had not extended many days when Maud’s manner to her assumed a puzzling coldness. Free from petty meanness herself, she could not understand it in others, and the idea of Maud being jealous never entered her mind, ‘Yet such was, in truth, the fact. Little Lily, the pet and darling of the house- hold, had whispered in confidence to her maid that she wished Miss Emerson would go away and leave Miss Irene,in her stead; and of course that whispered confidence soon became public property. Mrs. Kirwan’s preference was marked from the first evening, her hus- band’s also; in short, the young girl had won without an effort where the elder bad failed with all her endeavors. Maud knew this, and could not forgive it. With her usual géntle forbearance Irene, sought to break down the barrier which she felt was rising between them; but the attempt I mean jewels?” ae t Ga aN ‘ f ca Ane > ‘ee \ a] . in De Ba vae ee ‘ e 5 et, eens fee ee: 5 SPR Wr te 8 Ae ay te Ree hm a Aude ahr het ee hn Rp ig te es was fruitless, and at last pride came to her alé and enabled her to bear with seeming calmnes? that which in secret chafed’‘and pained her. Still, despite little drawbacks, the visit was pleasant one. Mrs. Kirwan took care that thé girls should be well supplied with amusements, and as she could not participate in them her- self, good Mrs. Huntley was always invited # take her place, Theaters, concerts, dinnel and evening parties came in quick succes sion, and, by some means or other, Jasper War- rington managed to be always present. Irene had supplanted Maud in other affections; it was quite clear that she had not done so it his, for that enamored gentleman still paié undiminished court to “the beautiful Miss Bm- erson,” a name by which Maud was fast becom ing known in fashionable society. “Do you admire Mr. Warrington?’ asked | Trene, unfastening her latest purchase, a plait gold bracelet. ‘Every one does,” remarked Maud, calmly: “He is the great man of the day. On@ thing is certain; he is immensely rich, and that makes people perfect sometimes, I only wish he would not make you so conspicuous | with his attentions; it looks so absurd for ad old beau to be always at a young girl’s elbow, as if there were not another man in the wor that. she would take the trouble of speaking to,”’ “T had no idea that you were jealous, Trene.” “ Jealous—of Jasper Warrington’s admira- tion!” . A soft peal of laughter issued from Irene’ red lips, and she threw the bracelet on thé dressing-table in delight. “ Envious, then?” a The laughter ceased, and Jrene looked gravely at the beautiful girl before her, the? laughed again. ‘You are only jesting, Maudy; you know me too well to believe that. But, dear, I tell you what I think about that old gentle man’s devotion. It may do you barm in thié way—when Major Creswick comes up to NeW York he may hear something of it; and yoU know how proud he is, He {s sure to meeé you at Mrs. Crompton’s ball.” “T have told you already that Major Cres wick and I are nothing to each other—nothi0g in that way, at least. Old habits and ass0- ciations may make us friends or acquaintance; whichever suits. Mr, Warrington is attentiv® now; but most likely that will all vanish befor® long. I only hope that I may have an oppor tunity of rejecting or accepting himself a fortune.” “T am sure it would be impossible to a0 cept,” said Irene, ; ‘‘Nothing is impossible to some people, if only opportunity be afforded.” “That little word ‘if’ is full contradictio® to your a.sertion; but let us not argue point, Maudy. I fully believed that you and Francis Creswick were attached to each othet so I naturally resented any interfereno® between you. Is it late or early—whbicb Dear me, what dreadful ladies of fashion W% have become! I am growing tired of it, and ? think I shall be a little glad to get back to WY quiet home again.” “Yes; that kind of thing suits you best.” Irene did not answer. She drew a chair the fire, having removed her evening dress f° a white wrapper while they were talking, a0? leaned back in the soft cushions wearily. § Maud had accompanied her to the apartme? she liked better than her own—another cat’ — of offense, which was little suspected. ‘‘T was happier in my little cottage, JonelS as it was, Mrs, Veitcher is such a friend, # iH Mr. Veitcher is so kind—just like Mr. 22° Mrs. Kirwan; but somehow it is diff be there, Perhaps Ponsey’s affection bridges OY, a gap; for, you know, even a dog’s affectioD ” pleasant, Maudy.” rf ‘‘Trene, you are dreaming.” pat ‘Don’t mind me; I often get intc th moods since—since father’s death, I mis¢
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Lg a ee : "i “Rail nly ‘$0 much. He was always thinking of me— Always so loving and so gentle—always want- to have me near him. Now no one wants that except Mrs. Veitcher and Ponsey; you don’t, Maudy.” “Tt would be very absurd if I did. ‘You &re a sentimental child, I, a woman of the World, and the sooner you become one also, ® better for your own comfort.” “T think you are right,” said Irene. Maud bade Irene a cold good-night; and she, When the door was sharply shut, looked wist- lly into the ruddy fire, growing pale with rs for her sister. CHAPTER VI. AT THE BALL, PREPARATIONS were progressing for the ball to be given by Mrs. Crompton in honor of Major Creswick’s return from Indian service. t was to be of unusual magnificence, and sure to occupy a large paragraph in fashionable Newspapers, which would not know that Major reswick, who objected to be lionized, had Spent the last month quietly with his family, and had accepted Mrs. Crompton’s invitation Most reluctantly. The auspicious night arrived, and the festive halls were brilliant in the extreme, various Suites of apartments being lighted up with ling splendor, reflected on every side by Gilded mirrors, The fragrant flowers, fes- ned in wreaths upon the richly tapestried Walls, the waxen floors and velvet couches, the Cool shades of the conservatory, were all per- fection in their way, and the hostess looked 8round with an air of satisfaction as her guests an to arrive. Major Creswick, as a matter of course, was @ lion of the night, and his coming was \oked forward to impatiently, not only by the Tich matrons who had marriageable daughters dispose of, but by the fair candidates them- Selves, who, having beard much of this fas- Cinating individual, fluttered about decked in $ and featbers, fragile and sylph-like, and Wanting only the gossamer wings to personate Spirits of the air. ; Maud, the beantiful but cold-hearted belle, looked bright on this particular occasion ia her lack net and pearls, while her luxuriant hair, arranged by Irene, was never more becomiog, 8nd more than all, the flush of exvitement on €r fair cheeks adds to her great. beauty. the guests grew numerous she forgot -SYerythiug in the nervous trepidation of again Meeting Major Creswick. She had furtively Watched the door, longing for a look of recog- Nition, and to feel her hand once more within clasp. He comes at Jast; his name is breathed be- Side her; the crowd parts, and he is before her. She dares not look up, a faintness seizes her. Soft hand is laid upon her own; she starts: t it is Mrs. Huntley, whose voice in kind ®oncern asks if she is ill, Maud makes a vio- bt effort at self-control, and assures her that ti is quite well, and looks again in the direc- ©n where she felt, rather than saw, that he Still was, ne es, it was the same noble-looking soldier, Bur comer and more fascinating than ever. t there is another person, one who leans lov- “8 and confidingly upon bis arm, a lovely girl, lant with happiness, and calling him Francis eS Say, laughing creature, upon whose brow tr bade of sorrow seemed never to have in- uded, ves this Miss Crompton, his bride-elect? fo eeht Maud, turning white, as the question Tmed itself within her mind. lata roductions, or, as Maud thinks, congratu- tons are thronging round them. bi the lady bows gracefully and receives every Jone POCch of those about her with polite care- @ss, At length they move down the bright vista they are lost to the aching sight of the Salons watcher, “My dear,” said a voice, “that lady is the h Sister of Major Creswick! She has just come out, and is to be one of the reigning belles of the season!” Was it an angel that breathed the words into her ear? Yes; surely Mrs, Huntley was an angel for once in her life! A look of gratitude was the only answer Maud could make. She felt that if her secret had been guessed by her companion it would be in safe keeping. When she recovered her habitual self-posses- sion, she began to examine the guests more minutely, and found, as usual, Jasper War- rington among them. Dancing commenced, but Major Creswick sought her not, although she was surrounded by gentlemen soliciting her hand for the quad- rille then forming, through which she movad mechanically, until she found herself standing opposite to Miss Creswick, whose gaze was riv- eted upon her. She returned the scrutiny, and the other smiled; but when the set was ended Maud re- sumed her place beside Mrs, Huntley, almost repellent in her coldness, ‘“‘ Frank,” said Grace Creswick, ‘yonder is a lady, very beautiful, but so like a statue, that, in truth, I fear she has as little heart as” one!” ‘Yes, near the window,” returned the major, smiling; “‘but you are mistaken, for she is all soul and sentiment! Yes, a very lovely girl indeed!” “Nonsense, Frank! That is a disappointed belle of renowned repute—a ridiculous little creature; I mean she, sitting beside Mrs. Hunt- ley just at the door of the conservatory, dressed in second mourning, which suits her style ex- actly, and from the recollection of a likeness you once showed me of Miss Emerson, I believe it to be her.” ‘Tt is so!” replied her brother, ‘And Iam glad to find my pencil as faithful as your mem- ory, for she is the most classically-beautiful creature I have ever beheld; but still you are mistaken as to heart, for she has plenty of it.” “Yes,” said Grace, ‘for herself!” “ Tll-natured critic!” returned Frank. “ What a wicked reader of character you have become already!” “Oh, Frank, I should never Jike my sister if Maud Emerson were to be your wife!” “ Silly child!” answered Frank. ‘‘ What has given birth to such a thought? Surely if a yoang man sketches a very fine head, and places it in bis portfolio, among what he con- siders to be his best specimens of art, it is no proof that be is in love with the original, stiil jess that he means to marry her.” Miss Creswick could not reply, for, at the moment, one gentleman more favored than A SISTER’S CRIME. _ a Le any other of her admirers, claimed her hand | for the next. dance, Francis gazed after her with brotherly pride, then made his way toward the conservatory with the intention of addressing Miss Emerson, but turned aside on finding her engaged in conversation with Mrs, Huntley and Mr. Jasper Warrington, who was not only .famous for his wealth, but for a fascination lacked by many | younger men. Both combined rendered him an attractive prize to most luminaries of fash- ion, who envied the young girl the admiration he lavished upon her, If Francis were disappointed in his design of speaking to Miss Emerson, bis countenance did not show it. His looks bad been wandering more or less all the evening to a young girl whose earnestness was a remarkable contrast to those around her. Trene, clad in deeper mourning than her sister, with white camellias in her hair and bosom, stood a little apart from the dancers, carrying on an animated conversation with young Mr. Massey. Major Creswick had approached her on two or three occasions, but being, like every brave man, a coward in love, not deeming that love reciprocated, had not ventured to address her. k Now their looks met, and Irene, blushing and took this means of hd ie @ t ‘ and smiling, held out her hand. In an instanb it was pressed within his own, and her former partner withdrew. “Met at last! murmured Francis. i “Tam so glad to see you!” replied Irene, like a commonplace girl, which she was “i not. A “Tf you but knew the pain you caused me by that unnatural disappearance! But we shall not speak of it here. You will allow me to call on you?’ ’ ‘¢ Maud will be delighted to welome you. Of course, you know we live with Mrs. Kirwan?” *« So I have learned to-night.” Irene was looking into the impassioned eyes, but did not fancy their light was warmed by any admiration for herself. Maud was beau- tiful, and Francis loved her. She concluded that because of this he was elated at making 7 the appointment for the morrow. They were not left long together. Irene’s hand was claimed by the owner of the next name on her tablet, and she was whirled away from the envious Francis. “Where will you rest?’ asked Miss Cres- wick’s partner, as he was about to lead her to a seat. Grace had watched Irene gliding gracefully through the waltz, then lost her among the exotics, , ‘(In the conservatory,” she answered. “It | : is so delightfully cool; besides, I'wanttoseea flower there in which I take an interest.” They passed on, and Maud, still chatting with Mrs. Huntley and’ her elderly admirer did not appear to notice them; while Mr. War- rington, enchanted by her attention, launched into a florid description of his India life and travels round the world, which, fluent and in- “ teresting as they were, fell now npon unbeed- t ing ears. tos Mrs. Huntley, who had overheard the playful reply of Miss Creswick, which she construed into a challenge for an introduction to her companion, laid her hand upon Miss Emerson’s vA arm, and, while bowing an apology to Mr. Pee, Warrington, asked her to accompany her to the ze conservatory. Pt z “My dear,” said she, ‘‘I verily believe be- fore this hight is over you will have a \ proposal from that gentleman. If you accept ‘ him, he will make you not only the most ’ fashionable, but the most envied lady in New ie York.” th 4 CHAPTER VIL - BOUND BY HONOR, wast “ WHat a lovely flower!” said a musical voice beside Irene. LS ee She turned, and Grace Creswick smilingly | be bowed to her. cote ‘Excuse me,” added Grace, blushing, “I mistook you for my partner, who, I think, must bave deserted me. No, here he is; and ~ as we are all supposed to know each other in a friendly assembly like the present, I shall take __ the liberty of introducing myself. “You, ce madam,” she said, bowing to Mrs. Huntley, ‘‘imow me alittle already.” 2 ees They were standing in a group under a spreading palm, and made a pretty picture, There was a mischievous twinkle in the lilac | eyes of the merry girl, which told that the mistake was a hoax; for Grace was ¢ - Ay terested in any acquaintance of her bro er’s, ee f knowing the Emer- sons,
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on _ Mrs. Huntley greeted her cordially, and thus Irene was formally introduced to Miss Creswick. j Grace was a fascinating creature, fresh, trusting, and sincere; a child in innocence and mirth, a woman in affection and unselfish de- votion, looking on the glitter of society al- most as an infant would upon a gilded toy, never dreaming of its little worth. ‘* T see you have not waited for me to pre- sent you, Grace,” said Major Creswick, join- - ing them. The girls turned quickly, Maud extremely pale and trembling visibly, while Irene crim- soned. And how she hated herself for those blushes! “Tt is long since we met,” resumed the major, clasping the hand of Miss Emerson, and earnestly gazing on the features he had so long admired. ** Tt is so long since we met!” The words were nothing in themselves, but ; might.convey a volume of meaning if spoken C by one whose heart went with them; but uttered as they were now, they struck despair ‘to the breast of her who loved so well, who had hoped against hope, and trusted despite all reason. _ Alas! Maud’s day-dreams vanished like dew- drops swept from off a flower; and when she _ looked again into his eyes, she too plainly read that. love for her was not there. It was no fault of Major Creswick’s if a = beautiful girl had given her heart to him un- sought. He cared not for it; he knew not of ) _it; and would have regretted the fact if he had “= wokmovwar it, aye _So Maud stifled every throb that might have a brovght a flush to ber cheek, and calmly con- er versed with him. Yet it was a hard task to 3 be in torture and seem so gay; to tear from her ; _ heart the thought that had illumined ber path, bik, _had cheered her solitude, that until now had been the great hope of her existence; to feel . that she had been rearing up a fabric of her own imagining, which now crumbled to dust. _ Her brain was on a rack, until at last, as she turned, her look fell on Jasper Warrington. . He joined her in a second, noticing that he was welcomed with a smile, and that she made —. a gesture of relief at his presence; so bowing _ to Grace, she accepted his proffered arm, and _ moved haughtily away. _ Major Creswick was astonished. _. Why had she so summarily dismissed him, her old friend? How had he given her of- _ fense?” _ Ashe asked himself this, a soft hand stole _.__ duto his, and his sister’s voice whispered, ‘‘ Dear if Frank, I am weary. Will you return bome _ with me soon?’ e _“ What!” said Frank, “is the sprightly ms Grace tired of her second ball at the early hour x3 rpbspaact What say you to that, Mrs. Hunt- Bee 7" "ato (hee “‘T say that all people who go out six nights a in a week ought to follow her example.” Tam to call on Mrs, Kirwan with you to- morrow,” said Grace, glancing at Irene, who - looked well pleased. ** Ob, I see; an arrangement between you kabel, spaapinaey in the camp.” ; e held Irene’s hand longer than was neces- (rae oeeey An saying good-night, then he drew bis ___ sister’s within his arm, and led her away. _ “Francis,” said Grace, as the carriage star- ted homeward and he settled the rugs about her feet—“ Francis, I am relieved of a weight _ that lay heavily upon my heart all the early part of this night. Do not smile, for I am more thoughtful than you fancy; and rejoice that you are so indifferent to that beautiful ___ ‘gtatue as I now believe you to be.” oh _ . “§$till harping on the old subject of the like- ness,” laughed the major; “but shall I show _you a more beautiful picture still?” _ _ * Yes,” she answered; “ provided it be not my own face in a looking-glass,” ae “Vanity of vanities!” returned Frank, gaz- ing on the sweet countenance before him. ‘‘ No, ar; not your features, though they are very lovely, but a miniature of one rich in every charm except gold!” ‘‘ Do you think wealth a charm, then?” “Yes. Why not? My father does!” ‘Poor papa!” said Grace. ‘‘If every one valued it as little, there would be more happi- ness in the worid, I think. But the likeness, Frank; it is of a stranger. Shall I ever see the original?” ‘¢ Perhaps yes; “That is vague, indeed! now, my brother.” ‘Well, I shall laugh again to please you.” ‘““No; that is foreed gayety, and I do not like it, There is something about that picture to make you sad.” “Yes, Grace; because it is so vague.” ‘¢ Which—the picture?” ‘* You will know when you seo it, dear.” ‘* But when shall that be?? “When? I don’t know; perhaps to-mor- row.” **No, to-night; else I could not rest. here we are, at home! Iam so glad!” She ran up the staircase to her own room, and taking a silyer lamp from the maid’s hand, dismissed her, “Poor Frank!” she thought; “‘ I knew he had some secret trouble, Yet what can it be? If he loves, why should it be in sorrow? Surely, to him, if must be a glory and a joy, for he could never love in vain. Whatis it? Who is it? Thank Heaven not that haughty beauty of to-night’s ball-room! Who is it? I must see the picture this night—now, this instant!” She was advancing to the door, when, sudden- ly stopping, she exclaimed, aloud, ‘Oh, I un- derstand his sorrow now. I had forgotten his betrothal to Jane Crompton.” She listened in the corridor, where all was still; then, shading the lamp, lest she should disturb her parent, whose apartment she had to pass, made her way to her brother's. The door was fast, but not locked, so she tapped; and not receiving a reply, went in quietly. Frank’s head was bowed on one hand, while the other rested on a table, near which he sat, holding anivory case. His eyes were riveted upon it so intently that he did not perceive his sister until she leaned over him, not to look upon the case, however, for she placed her hand between it and her sight, but to press her lips upon bis forehead, thus silently assuring him of her sympathy. He started, shutting the clasp hastily, and drawing her to a seat beside him, placed the case in her band, which trembled as she un- fastened the spring. Was it a face that she had seen before, or was it a stranger’s? She opened it, her eyes turned upon the features, and an exclamation escaped her lips. She bad seen that face for the first time to- night. *Trene!” she murmured, gladly. ** Yes; Irene, my lost love!”’ “ How lost? She must return your devotion. What woman would not?” “Platterer! “You forget that I am in honor bound!” ‘Jane Crompton shall not stand between you!” ‘My affianced!” “Father will release you from that engage- ment.” ““He could not, even if he would,” returned Francis. “ And now, Grace, that your curi- osity has been gratified by a peep at my picture, you must retire. You look more jaded than ever, and some one will be calling me to account for the roses he will miss to- morrow.” “I do feel tired,” said Grace, while the blushes on her cheeks seemed to belie her words, “But, ah, Frank! how can I sleep when you are thus? Does not that thoughtful brow of yours betray a mind but ill at ease?” “T am agitated and unhappy,” he answered, ‘which you cannot lessen or amend; so think no more about me, sister, but go to your room, Good-night!” ‘I cannot leave you yet,” she murmured. perhaps no.” But you are sad But : _A SISTER'S CRIME. _ Mia . ; at ego é Z ae Br es eae: aera 5 oir Men git para DE ak te ae AGN YAP rl = 3% “Tell me more about the picture. Where di you get it?” ' “Tt is a sketch from memory, painted | my own hand, and sadly deficient in expres sion and coloring, as you can judge for your self,” “She is the most charming girl I ever met.” “Thank you, dear. Good-night!” If Maud bad got a glimpse of that minia- ture, she would have found it in her heart i wish that the lovely head on which she gazed that night could never rise again with life fro® the pillow where it lay so quietly. It was late next morning when Miss Emet- son stood beside her still sleeping sister; and, placing her band on the coverlet, said: ‘“‘T have some news to tell you. Wake up! —such news!” In an instant Irene was sitting up in bed; looking at Maud’s excited features in amaze ment, ‘*T trust the news is good,” she said. “Yes,” added the elder girl, with a wild look in her eyes; “ good and brilliant. Oh, 60 good and brilliant!” “What is it? Major Creswick, perhaps has—” “No; not that!—not that!” almost screamed Maud. ‘Tam to be married in the summer? How funny!” “Are you mad?” said Irene, rising and dressing hastily, “Married, and not to him?” “No; not to him—not to Creswick, whom] never cared for. No; I shall be a millionaires wife when I marry! How brilliant!—how fashionable!” She laughed strangely as she spoke; and ib was some time before Irene could understané- from her incoherent explanation tbat Jaspet Warrington had formally proposed for het hand through the medium of the post that morning. Mr. and Mrs. Kirwan were well pleased a! the account which greeted them at luncheods and when the holidays were over did their ut most to induce Irene to stay with them, Bul Trene was steadfast to her first friends, and ré turned to the Rectory and her little school, # await the summer and Maud’s marriage, CHAPTER VIII. TO LOVE, HONOR AND OBEY, Tr Trene Emerson had entertained any mis givings of Maud’s happiness, her present cot” duct and aclose observance of Mr. Warringto™ baffled them so completely that she was a9 tonished how a suspicion of her sister’s cot tinued attachment to Major Creswick had eve! entered her mind; for, dazzled by her brilliant’ future, Maud appeared entirely different from the discontented being who had once cast 4 gloom over the humble dwelling, of which th? great man had never heard, for meeting Emerson first in the family of Mr. Kirwa?; then at Mrs. Crompton’s, he had not thougb! it necessary either to inquire into her circum stances or to learn more about her than tha’ she was the danghter of a gentleman whos? standing in society he knew by repute, and that he loved her. Mrs. Huntley proposed that the ceremony should take place at her house, she being th? oldest friend of the bride, and this propositio? | was warmly acquiesced in by Maud. Mr. Warrington, although a votary of fasb ion, was above its slavery. He was very rich, and had no tie or kindred to claim a right to property at his death, whi? enhanced bis value in the matrimonial marke” considerably. Generous and unspoiled by the world or the adulation that ever hovers abov the wealthy, he was proud of his ima conquest over the heart of a young beauty, at whom he lavished the most costly presents; ee Maud bade fair to become what many wives young husbands would exchange theix lot for— “an old man’s darling.” ° : 13 But appearance deceives, for Maud was! + ck smarting under the shock of Major Creswi rhe pe Pe See st nh eee
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¥ an = Sige indifference, and wounded by the disappoint- tment of a slighted passion. She accepted Warrington’s homage with a passiveness that grieved Irene to witness. Still, Miss Emerson was apparently bappy, and never wavered for a second in her purpose of making the best of her future husband’s for- tune. / She experienced one disappointment on her wedding morning, and that was the non-ap- earance of Grace Creswick, who was confined to her room by a severe cold, Why such a trifling incident should ruffle the temper of the bride was a mystery to Trene, who never suspected that the proud girl had set her heart on displaying her brilliant fortune not only to the major, but his sister. The remainder of the guests were assembled and an avenue of expectant faces was opened to receive che Oride among them. At last a footstep descended the stairs, and many eyes turned eagerly toward the door, while a young girl in a pale blue silk entered and smilingly greeted the assembly. . Very beautiful, very fascinating she was. Even the bride was forgotten in the admira- tion Irene excited. Buta crowd of gentlemen took their places by the door, and Irene pressed back until she stood beside a tall figure near the mantle-piece—it was Major Creswick. She perceived the sudden pallor of his face after meeting her, and felt a deeper interest than she had doné before in wondcring to herself if this could be a fatal mistake, after all. What if Maud had acted too hastily in accepting her present position, by which she might have thrown aside a love once coveted? Yes, it must beso. See how his lip trembles as he returns a bow of recognition from her who is so near a relative of the as yet Miss Emerson, how his voice falters when he addresses her! What will she do?—how act? Should she fly to the bride and forbid these unnatural nup- tials? No; it is too late, for Maud enters, fol- lowed by Mrs. Huntley, as calm and self- Possessed as ever. Trene turns from her with a shudder at what she fears to be her loveless condition, then looks again upon the young soldier. Their eyes meet, timidly, eagerly, wistfully, while the blood mounts to the brows of both. Murmurs of admiration follow Maud, but she has no time to listen, for she hurries to the echurch, where the bridegroom awaits impa- tiently—impatient to call the splendid creature all his own. They kneel, and the fatal .cere- Mony begins, while, distinct and slowly, the inister pronounces those solemn words which fall, alas! too frequently upon unheeding ears, and are often as meaningless as they are now to her who kneels so proudly, with a falsehood ‘on her lip, repeating the sacred vow, which, Once over, is forgotten in the congratulations which gather fast about her. Irene turns to mark if Major Creswick will Offer his, and finds that he is one of the first to do so. He advanced to the vailed fig- Ure with a calm but kindly look, and she heard his voice speak the unceremonious words as Steadily as if they were spoken to a stranger. But Maud passes abruptly from him, and . Francis did not see the expression on her face, Which the vail concealed, or he would not be So light of heart as he made his way to the Side of Irene. It was not a very joyous wedding, after all, or an uncomfortable restraint bad taken pos- Session of the guests, which lasted until the bride and groom drove off in their splendid Vehicle, as the first move on their wedding tour. Then a cloud seemed to have been re- Moved from the fashionable atmosphere; and ‘gentlemen grew merry after the dejeuner, and the ladies coquetted prettily with those Whom they thought worthy of the honor. _Trene and Major Creswick bad often met be- ‘ore, but never at a meeting like the present, Where she saw him in a new light. Although *steeming him always, he never appeared to ad vaititags as on the day of Maud’s nup- te ce al _ Wials, whore he seemed to be beloved and re- OA SISTERnS CHIME, spected by all who knew him, If a thought of the young soldier’s love had ever before entered a heart endeavoring to be faithful to a sister, it was dismissed as a sacrilege; but that night, when the head of Irene pressed a sleepless pil- low, it was with the conviction of a long- dreaded truth. She asked herself the reason of her joy at her sister’s marriage, or what was the cause of the rapturous delight that shot like ray from heaven into her soul when she remarked Fran- cis Creswick’s calm indifference as to the choice of Maud. Did she love him herself? At the answer to her own question she blushed—because she knew she had given her heart unsought, CHAPTER IX, A HONEYMOON. JASPER WARRINGTON, proud of his young wife, lost no opportunity in gratifying her ex- travagant tastes and exacting wishes; yet Maud scorned his love, Much to her chagrin, they were obliged to visit Canada relative to the disposal of some property before they started for Washington, where Mr. Warrington owned a most costly and elegant residence, and where he would bring his beautiful bride to pass their honey- moon. They would spend the season there, and Maud would be the queen of society—could drink to the brim of the cup of flattery and adulation. Then they would return to their New York home and setile down, and have their friends and relatives around them. Maud should have her sister to live with her, and everything would be so happy. So thought the indulgent bridegroom, little dreaming of what in the future really was instore for them. After transacting the business which called him to Canada, Mr. Warrington took his wife to the Thousand Isles, thinking she could not but enjoy the bracing air, magnificent scenery and novelty. But Maud was strangely unen- thusiastic—so much so that her husband would often look on her in silent wonder, conjuring his brain with speculations as to what could be the matter. Then perhaps her mood would change, and she would again become the gay, fascinating girl who had first attracted his imagination. They had been at the Islands for about a week when one day Mr. Warrington, as they were returning toward their hotel, stopped at the post-office, where he observed a fashionable- looking gentleman asking for letters. Some- thing about the stranger’s appearance so at- tracted him that, forgetting the usages of society, he stared long and almost rudely, until the other, looking up from the missive he had been perusing, their glances met, and Mr. Warrington turned in some confusion to in- quire for his letters. Scarcely had he mentioned bis name when the stranger left abruptly, and the next mo- ment was standing at the carriage-door, talk- ing familiarly with Mrs, Warrington. : ‘Major Creswick!” he heard her say; “‘ who could have thought of meeting you here?” Major Creswick! He did not remember hear - ing of him before, and again scrutinized the countenance of the gentleman with redoubled interest. He pocketed his letters without opening one of them, and joined his wife with a slightly troubled brow. A formal introduction took place, and, after a lively conversation, during which the major mentioned that he was merely on a pleasuré excursion with some friends, each took a Jaugh- ing adieu, and the carriage drove away. “My dear,” remarked Jasper, ‘‘ I had never seen that young man before.” “Yes, often. You met him at Mrs. Hunt- ley’s and at Mrs. Crompton’s also.” “Never, my dear. I am quite sure I could not forget such a fine face as his.” Mrs. Warrington smiled at her husband’s obstinacy, but did not deem the matter worthy discussion, or, perhaps, guessed something of the truth—that he had been too enamored of _ ee eS ee il 4 her beauty to take notice of any man’s counte- nance at the time they spoke of. ss e That evening Mrs. SWarrtigton startled her husband by another change of plans. On this enchanting island her ladyship’s humor changed from souw’-east to nor’-east. Sbe declared her- self weary of the whole place, and that she would start for New York on the ensuing day. So the dutiful husband digested his mortifi- cation at this announcement as he digested his dinner-—in obedient silence; and thus this most ~~ beautiful spot, a casket filled with nature's : gems, was thrust aside, not half looked over or appreciated, as many other delightful plac were destined to be by the restless, miserable bride of the millionaire. Xe aoa Arriving in New York, Maud longed, im what she thought her weakness, to see Ire: but put the desire from her and started for Washington on the following morning; and there was nota throb of regret inher breast ~ for those she left behind—except, perhaps, for one—for Francis Creswick, the sound of whose name she fled from as delicious poison. _ Ya oe eae * ae an eee ee Meanwhile, Irene had returned to her trust, where Mrs. Veitcher, headed by the pupils, — whose eagerness to be. first was Baers ei welcomed her back with delight; and so things continued to go on smoothly enough until one — day Major Cresw‘ck and his sister stood in the midst of her astonished pupils, She felt her hand clasped in his, and a throb of rapturous joy leap to her heart, but she concealed it all. Irene smilingly told her visitors that they — had startled her little flock, and led the way to _ another spartment; but Grace, declared that — the garden, looking so tempting through the — glass door at the end of the little hall, was irresistible, and proposed adjourning thither — an arrangement gladly acquiesced in by the ting-room. Ai So At the end of the garden was Irene’s fay ie covered inside with moss and s; and to this they went, while some of the childre: made themselves busy in gathering fruit and placing it on a green table before them, : d “This is positively delightful,” cried Grace, ‘‘ Enchanting,” laughed Francis, =. And £0 the conversation flowed freely on be- tween the happy trio—that is, as long tee ae bore the burden of it; but when sbe desisted, __ the other two became conscious of iebteint: ; % and were silent. + oh tee ee “These are very fine,” resumed Francis, — 4 studying a strawberry as closely as if be had never seen a specimen of the kind before. . oe “Yes; and flourishes splendidly in this lit- ies tle garden,” answered Irene, with wonderful — Sad interest. saa ast “Those school duties of yours are very “ls arduous,” said Grace, honestly speaking her thoughts. ha he A ae “Tam very fond of my pupils, and they do x not give me as much trouble as one might sup- ose. PI “‘T shall go and make a vaintance with ? them if you have no objection, Miss Ex ‘ho ber, when she was laughingly forbidden, ‘‘ Please let me introduce myself; children and I get along very well together. Do you stay and talk to Francis.” ema eS oO This was a terrible situation for Irene. If . +e “Maud! how?”
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Saal Ao es ES rity Me) A ae eee NR a * wae ne i 14 Sos 2 ae + ; > a berg s Cybak’ AGP q i) Ay ty : SS: nt : Vie my aA = " a i 4, Pas Zh, , toes ecw ae _ place for which she would have been willing to re Rives pai * - Fo Pal ‘ part ie og _ so truly, and Grace was not long in detecting how matters stood, but wisely kept her own vty = «te ; ae brought Mrs. Warrington tidings of A SISTER'S CRIME, “Oh, you are roused to interest at last, I saw Mrs. Warrington at the Thousands Isles, where I went with some friends of Mrs, Cromp- ton’s, She was looking charming, but rather wearied, I thought.” “Poor Maud!” “Rich Maud, you mean-—one of the richest ‘women in New York; but I did not come here to talk about her. I came on quite another matter.” Irene dropped a skein of silk, which Francis picked up and began twisting to its utter de- “struction, both looking very silly, it must be confessed. Trene spread her work on her lap to exam- imed a rose-bud. Her hand was imprisoned, “and the young man’s voice was trembling as fhe said, “Irene, dearest Irene, you know what brought me here. Ob, I have so much to say '—so much to explain! You must know that I Yoved you all along; but you do not know how _ deeply and with what sincerity. I am wrong, perhaps, in telling you this; but I cannot help it. Ican keep silent no longer, situated as I am. Iam acting almost like a madman; but you will forgive me, Ilove you, yet I dare not ask you to be my wife. I love you, and we are separated by a wider space than land or ocean could devise. Ah, Irene! I wou!d “not have told you this if I could have helped it; but my silent worsbip was preying so heavily on my heart, that I listened only to “my own selfish passion, which prompted me to come here to-day and tell you everything.” “His” voice faltered, and he looked into her Pc a It was glowing with a new light, was r eon with the unspeakable bliss of feeling herself beloved by him by whom alone of all others she desired to be loved. oe mek that, not that,” she murmured. ‘TI ‘ean but feel what your lips have uttered—that you love me!” She stopped, and there was a short but urous silence, during which her head bent until it rested on bis shoulder. ayy And you love me, Irene—do you love Se mean? He faltered out the question, and waited for es ‘a reply but it came not, for in that mute act of confid Yes, she loved him, or she had not been _ thus; neither would she have listened to every ence he was already answered. word that had fallen from bis lips as though Bec: each tone had sounded in her heart witha strange a delightful music. Yes, she loved him, and alas! he was bound every tie of honor to another. He told her ; he explained the compact that had been entered into relative to engagements, settle- ments, etc, between Jane Crompton’s father ‘and his own. It was a bitter trial; an ordeal in which the woman proved the stronger.. was now to take a final leave of her he loved | sels. Francis went away from Irene, determined = never to grieve his aged father by any dishon- conduct of his own; he was gone to eep his promise to his plighted bride, which rave Irene urged him to do. Bag hehe her was enough of happiness ‘illumine the present; more she thought not ne ef eife teh 22" erp x, | A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. Far off in her beautiful home a simple, lov- sister’s happiness; of Irene receiving that renounce all the pomp and show of her present correspondence had heen regular, and ‘following the old habit of disguising _ r ¢ a fe ‘ ait fi ag : f ‘ te Pe os “re Fide ‘ by : 3 - vevgt b ss & Susie te hie Me ag Mies ep ere ee ey ep Oe em ae nothing from Maud, told all that had occurred in that momentous visit.. Mrs. Warrington did her best that day to forget the contents of that unwelcome letter, and went on her way, admired, flattered, and envied, but many persons wondered why the beautiful Northern belle looked so much more statuesque than usual, Hiding the tumult of envy and revenge which was raging in her bosom, Mrs. Warring- ton informed her husband of her determina- tion to leave Washington and return to New York. “ But, my dear,” suggested he, “now that the season is at its hight, and you the center of attraction, would it not be better to remain until it slackens a little? Besides, you have nvt seen enough of thuse foreign embassadors with whom you once seemed so anxious to be acquainted.” **T don’t choose to prolong my stay,” Maud said, looking up at the gentleman with an un- mistakable expression of ‘‘ How dare you ques- tion my will, sir?” Mr. Warrington was wisely silent. “She is whimsical as the weathercock,” he mused, as he watched her placidly bending over a book where she was seated near the window. ‘‘Not more than two days since she expressed herself delighted with Washing- ton and its society, and now, forsooth, we are to bundle North without having had our visit to Florida, or any place else. Of one thing I am glad—that we shall escape the abomina- tion of any sea-traveling; that is, if she does not regret having left those scenes after her, for then she will give me marching orders to bundle back again. THeigho! Well, it is hard to deny her anything, so young, so bewitching as she is. How I am envied in the possession of such a wife! And how she snubs those young fellows, who doubtless believe the old husband jealous of their attentions! No, I could not disappoint her—never.” ‘My dear,” he said, after revolving all these thoughts in his mind, “ your will is my law, and we shall return to New York when it is your pleasure.” ‘Thank you, Jasper,” she replied, without looking up from her book. The gentleman coughed dryly, for, faultless as he imagined his wife to be, he would gladly have had a little warmth in ber manner, which seemed more like indifference than gratification at his acquiescence. She went on quietly reading for half an hour, and then as quietly left the apartment. Having given her maid directions to pack her jewels in a traveling case which she pointed out, Maud cast 4 short glance upon a magnificent set of diamonds, ber husband’s latest gift, and felt that for such booty she had not only bartered her peace of mind, but sold herself to one whose noble nature alone kept her from aborring him. ; Within the security of her own cham- yen When Grace agaiv joined them, ber brother | ber her ladyship’s calmness deserted her, and felt a hopeless sorrow, because he feared he | pacing the floor, she gave herself up to bitter thoughts. ‘‘For what reason am I returning to the scene of her happiness? What urges me back with a power I have no strength to resist? Ob, that my busband had held out against me— had for once thwarted my wishes, had kept me back from the abyss into which I feel myself tottering since I heard of tbat fatal love-con- fession! It would be better, wiser, to fly to the furthest part of the earth, that a greater distance might be between us. Could Irene really have fathomed the secret of my idolatry for that cold and senseless idol, while winning him for herself?” As she asked herself this question her fea- tures were distorted by evil passion. ‘* No,” she reasoned to herself, as she grew calmer, ‘‘she has not the spirit to scheme for herself, nor the tact to read the feelings that my pride concealed. Fool—fool, that you are, Francis Creswick, to put aside my passionate devotion for her puny preference! Sbe could never love as I loved you—as still I love, for \ Meath sig ey at this moment you are dearer to me than life and honor!” Weeping hysterically, she exclaimed: * Ob, save me from temptation!” But her heart more fervently pleaded, ‘‘Grant me revenge!” But she stood before a mirror, twisting the massive bracelets round and round on her slender wrists. ‘* Why,”—she continued—“ oh! why did he prefer her, when this head has been the model of America’s greatest sculptor—these features transferred to canvas as the most perfect that ever came before an artist! I am surrounded by worshipers—why did he not feel a spark of admiration of this glorious beauty? I could have fanned that spark into avery flame of love by the fervor of my own heart; but he shut out the vision of my charms to pay homage at another shrine, and now both, both shall feel that the pallid girl, so calm and quiet in her sorrow, has still life and energy sufficient to rouse her crushed spirit, and sting most sharply where she herself has been most deeply stung.” Maud turned from the mirror with a gesture of impatience, and unlocking a cabinet for the purpose of thrusting away some jewels that lay upon the toilet since the previous night, she started back with a low cry the moment the lid flew open. Lying on its velvet cushion was a simple bit of ivory, from whose surface three pair of eyes looked out upon her with life-like vivid- ness, It was a group that had been painted a few months before her father’s death. There was Irene, her young sister, with her sunny smile and rippling hair, her tiny hand clasped in that of the darkly-beautiful Maud, who stood beside her. Both looked almost childish —so happy, so trusting. No revengeful thought had come to mar the serene features of that grave brunette. No cloud of sorrow had then passed over the head of that sweet blonde; and the noble figure of Major Emer- son, partially leaning over the chair on which they were seated, was strongly defined in the background, and seemed to look out with a sad reproach to meet the eyes now riveted upon it. ‘‘And thus I was once,” she murmured, passing her fingers over the features of the dark. girl, ‘‘so innocent and loving. How often since has this hand been clasped in hers with the same affeciion that then beamed on her countenance? May Heaven forgive me for the cruel thoughts which possessed me toward her! Oh, my father, would that those mute lips could chide me from the senseless ivory, that I might crave the pardon you so often accorded to my willful childhood! No, I would not harm her if 1 could; and badly as I have used your memory in neglecting the child of your best. love, I promise now that I will.do her no fur- ther ill.” Pressing her hand against the cold miniature, the miserable woman sunk beside the cabinet powerless and weeping bitterly. When she awoke to consciousness she was lying on a couch in a state of complete exbaustion. . She saw her husband sitting beside her, but too weak to make any effort at conversation, she closed her eyes and fell into a heavy slumber. It was nearly midnight when she again looked round, and found bim stijl in the same place, almost in the same attitude, and her heart smote her that she was so unworthy of his af- fection. She raised her head higher on the pillows, and saw, by the muffled light of a sil- ver lamp, the cabinet opened as she had left it, with the miniature still lying on its velvet cushion. A little further off were one or two trunks, strapped and ready for the journey. ‘You bave been very ill, darling,” said Jas- per, bending over her. ‘‘Thave I?” she replied. ‘‘ No, only a passing weakness, See, 1 am quite well now.” She endeavored to rise, but finding herself unable to do so, added, ‘‘Have I fainted? have I been thus?” EEE how long — “A long time—for hours,” he said, “We ‘e could not recall you to consciousness for seemed to me an age.”
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__ “Nay, my lady,” said her maid, stepping bd forward, ‘‘your swoon did not continue for ‘such a length as master imagined, ‘You first Would faint and come to, and faint again for about two hours, that is all,” For a whole month Maud lay upon a sick- bed, suffering from iutermittent fever, while all that wealth and love could do to alleviate ber sufferings was lavished upon her, until at last She was pronounced out of danger, When Maui was able to recline upon an easy couch, her husband’s greatest happiness Was to win asmile of thanks from her pallid lips, after be had read to her till he was hoarse or had otherwise endeavored to amuse her, Thus days went on, but still she continued weak and dispirited, yet endeavored not to appear ungrateful to Jasper, whose every act of kindness augmented her secret misery, until, seeing no other remedy so available, her Medical attendants advised an immediate re- moval, back to the North and her friends. Thus warned, Jasper, for the first during his wedded bliss, did not consult the wishes of his wife; but acted as he thought proper, regard- less of that and every other obstacle. The invalid, knowing what was going for- ward, felt like one who was driven to some horrible fate by an unseen agency, over which she had no control; and when her husband lingered. beside her, with no prying menial nigh, she urged him tearfully, but vainly, to renounce his purpose, and take her to some other country, leaving it to his own option, no thatter how tedious the journey might be, so that she were not forced to New York; but treating this as the caprice of a most capricious invalid, Jasper was inexorable. “Oh, keep me from temptation—keep me from temptation!” Maud prayed silently, as she Looked upon the preparations going forward in earrying out her husband’s directions. CHAPTER XI. MAUD'S CONFESSION. A wreExK after the physician’s mandate, Jasper stood at the window of his Washington house, looking at the removal of some valuable tic-a-brac. ‘There they go,” he said. ‘‘ Quietly, lads. tis a beavy burden; but all will be safe since My faithful Blanchard is with them. Is he not a surly-looking fellow, with his great brows and heavy lips? Just like my old blood- hound, Tramp, who is as faithful as he is Morese,” ‘*Like him in appearance, certainly,” an- 8wered his wife; ‘‘ but I confess I never thought Much of your valet; bis eyes never yet met Mine with an honest, open look, Poor Tramp, he cannot beautify his shaggy coat except by his proofs of devotion.” “Which are many,” added Jasper; ‘and Perhaps Blanchard will yet manage to beautify imself in your opinion by his steady habits and faithful services to me. You know in Most cases he acts as my secretary, and I have Never known bim to take advantage of his trust in any way.” “He is certainly much attached to you, Jasper, and it would be strange were it otber- wise, for what kinder or more indulgent master Could a servant have than you always prove Yourself to be.” “My darling,” murmured he in return, tak- ing one of her thin hands and pressing it to his lips, “my beautiful Maud, it is very good of you to say so. If I were a kind master to them, am I a good husband to you? Yes? Well, then, why cannot I make you more con- tent, more cheerful, darling? Wouid that I Could see you bappy!” He bent over her, and she laid ber head upon shoulder, her cheeks wet with tears that 8he almost unconsciously was shedding. "Had you not better rest until the moment of our departure?” he urged. ‘ You are weak 8nd tired; hut when you have bad an hour's os J Z Tepose you will feel stronger.” He arranged he pillows, and in a short time ‘ sala A Fe saw her in a deep sleep, after which the effects of her excitement vanished, and, having taken some refreshments, they bade farewell to Washington never more to return to it. Mrs. Warrington, who without regret had parted from home, looked out from her car- riage window to view for the last time the scene of her many triumphs. She did so with a feeling as new as it was unaccountable to herself, until her attention was awakened by her husband remarking that her look bespoke something like regret for her departure. ** Not only because I depart,” she said, ‘but because I am returning to my former home.” “Tn that, as in everything else,” he ob- served, ‘‘ you are not like other people, which, perhaps, is the charm that most endears you to me. You are an original, and that to a man like me is a never failing source of interest. There are few who do not return to their home with renewed pleasure, after months of travel, When first I left my country, buoyant and happy in the prospect of a pleas- ant tour, well supplied with funds and with gay companions, before our intended cir- cuit had been half performed, there was not one, including myself, who had not become so homesick that we retraced our footsteps; and never shall I forget the thrill of happiness that warmed my breast the first moment my- sight fell again upon my old home.” “Yet you bave traveled so much, and so often crossed the ocean?’ urged his wife. “Yes; in my young days.” Mrs. Warrington made no reply, but sighing deeply, leaned back upon the pillows, They were traveling by short, easy stages. Fatigue was as much as possible spared the in- valid, and she found herself at her journey’s end without once having felt that fatigue which is the terror of invalids. But in this Maud also was not like most people, and the night of their arrival in New York, when seated in the drawing-room of her own mag- nificent mansion, she expressed regret at hav- ing reached her journey’s end. “You are improved by the change already, dear,” said her husband. ‘As for me, I hope never again to encounter such a trip.” “You did not dislike it when you were go- ing?” “T was a bridegroom then.” ‘Which means that you were happier?” ‘“Yes, Maud,” said he, seriously; “‘ for then I hoped that my untiring devotion might,some time win, if not your love, at least your affec- tion; but now gratitude, for what you call my kindness, and a cold regard is all that I receive from you.” “You wrong me—indeed you wrong me!” said Maud. ‘True, Iam cold, for such is my nature; but gratitude, once awakened toward the only being on earth who ever loved me, soon ripened into affection as warm as it is sincere, but which you never seemed to believe in,” Jasper would have clasped her in his arms, so great was his rapture at these words. “Stay,” she said; “you do not know—you could not guess that at the moment I became your wife my heart was wasting itself upon another. Nay, do not shrink away; bear with me while yet I have courage to reveal all to you. I loved where my love was unwelcome, yet I believed that, when once I became yours, I could conquer my feelings, and I thought I had succeeded until a short time before we left Washington.” ‘‘ Before we left Washington?” repeated her astonished husband, shading her eyes with bis trembling hand. “Yes,” went on Maud. “ When hearing of his love for another, I determined to return for the purpose of poisoning his mind against her, his chosen one; or, in fact, to take any revenge I could, Alas! then I knew that I loved him still.” “Oh, Maud, stop! I cannot listen to this.” “You must, My illness succeeded; a vail seered to be torn from my eyes, and I re- pented of the wrong I had contemplated; while now—now I turn to the comfort and sup- port of your love, as all that I on earth de- sire.” i “And it shall never fail you!” he mur- mured, But Jasper knew she was reserved even in this confession, and unconscious though he was of his rival’s name, he did not venture to agi- tate her further by what to both was a painful subject; but it had been better for his and her peace that this very tenderness had not peraer up a bar between them. anes” “And now, dear,” be added, “I shall leave , you, for you look ill and weary.” He spread a velvet wrap over her, and kiss- ing her forehead, left her. ie Then starting from the couch, she stood in the center of the room with flashing eyes, — “Oh!” she exclaimed, “‘why did I confess my hateful meanness—mine, whom he believed i. had no such failing! Now he knows me as I am—a spiritless creature; his wife, yet loving another, and that other, oné who scorned me, — Oh, bad I the power to erush you, Francis, make your proud spirit bow to mine, to win your love from Irene, if only for one hour|!— then I could return scorn for séorn, and! the reward of my triumph’ at my husband's feet, my self-esteem thus proving to him that I was not unworthy of his trust nor of the name I bear!” ; dia) a sen CHAPTER XII. Bi: lia FREE AT LAST. — , PAREN in JASPER WARRINGTON, alarmed at his wife not regaining health on her return to her na- me tive air, called in bis own pbysician,in whom | he felt the utmost configence. He had ceased to consult the invalid, sparing her every effort of thought, and in this instance he pursued _ entirely his own judgment. YAM Toe physician, looking somewhat puzzled, or rather pretending to do so, for he did not care to encounter too close an examination fromhis old friend about this young wife, whose case — was critical, recommended extreme , time, cE and patience. He would not pe meister i. that he had detected heart-disease in the beau- — tiful young woman whom he secretly con- * demned Mr. Warrington for marrying, = = Under this gentleman’s care Maud a onl but with returning bealth, the strength of an __ ill-governed mind was again aroused, and she felt determined to do or dare any for vengeance. She knew that Major Creswick had never treated her dishonorably, nor in tho slightest bad he encouraged her passion, = she loved him, and he dared to bestow all ve) treasure of his heart upon another, In that — lay not her own folly, but his crime; not ‘ truth but her wrong, a wrong for which : demon that pcsvessed her now called loudly for — atonement. 3 “eg 4 Mrs. Warrington was fast becoming an enigma to herself. Throughout bbe A 5 "is. j U- feelings which bad taken possession of from the moment she had received Irene’s last letter in Washington. At one time she would - vow vengeance for her imagined w1 , and the next moment weep that she hati well tated: such wickedness. She had falien into a bitter reverie, i ibhaet |e Mr. Warrington, his voice quivering weit | emotion, startled her by saying, “You are weary of your old husband; he who loves and _ trusts you so completely.” — a Ws" “You are too kind, too good to me, Jasper, she returned, with agitation. ‘Shall I or luncheon? And as the rain is clearing off wa — foreboding that bas baunted me forthe past week will meit like the snow bef york aid a shine!” te fo Joeen phe’: es } “ Foreboding of what? You surely are not: oy superstiticus? Why, Jasper, how pale you are] What is the matter? Are youill?? ~ bans cpl his side, her arms wero around hi her lips were pressed to his, Were these the pis sr faittnées witet. ee
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oo led ga ABS a SS tiie ais oA poor 3h cycles Saat ie oe edi In gee oes & _-bélieved not, and with a strong effort recov- «red his composure. — &Myidearest, what a silly old fool I am to = scare you thus!” Then rising, and parting the yaa doair on -her forehead, gazed at her tenderly, as he continued, ‘‘I dreamed last night that you were dead—dead.. to me, at least; that I | saw you trembling on the edge of a precipice; cS Mr Penal But it was only a dream, my ve! A week after her visit to Irene Emerson, _ Grace made up-her mind that, at any risk, she _ wonld confess to her father all about. the young BS people’s attachment. Sho admired and liked _ Zrene, adored her brother; and Miss Creswick ‘was not one to shrink from doing what she | thought was right. * Qld Mr, Creswick had returned to. his cham- ‘ ‘ber, and was seated, wrapped up in his fur _- -dressing-gown, on an easy-chair by the fire. ne _ Agentle tap came to the door, and he stretched forth his arms to receive his favorite child _ within them, She D '“ Papa,” said Grace, ‘‘I have come for my eenlakt kiss,” ‘You have had it already.” “ Yes; but I want another now,” said Miss “Oreawick, drawing a low footstool to her father’s side, and seating herself upon it. “Father,” she continued, “I never yet bave is asked a favor of youin vain, I do believe you pie? could not refuse. me anything consistent with ___Bonor and principle.” he _. “1 could not, my child.”. - > fu SPetber, has it never occurred to you that >. _ Frank is far from happy in the engagement . : which others have forced upon him?” ae “ Grace, Grace!” cried Mr. Creswick, endeav- oring to hide a covert smile ina semblance of sternness; ‘‘ you are speaking at random, child, and needlessly alarming me. Francis is willing ,to fulfill his pligbted word. . The good lad who _ hever yet caused me a moment’s pain will not _ dosonow. Listen, here is his footstep. He, too, comes to wish me good-night. Bless him eS bless you both, my children!” soo Not-asleep, sir?” remarked Francis, epter- ing. “ But what is this? Gracein tears? Si:- _ ter, you have broken faith with me, Ireadit on i father’s brow. I see it in your downcast As this your promise?” wa es told me, but little,” said Mr. Cres- -_wiek, gravely. *¢ Speak for yourself, Francis, and fear not to reveal the truth; but if it be ~cimplasivate your engagement with Jane Cromp: ou. know my word is passed.” know it, sir, and am prepared to do as _ you. would have me,” fa * Oh, dear father!” cried Grace, ‘do not You do not know the struggles he shad. If will out, although he bound me : @ promise not to reveal the secret of bis for another; but I cannot be silent. , if this marriage be insisted. on, it will dee to "the destruction of your. son’s well- 3 being.” oo “gglnala ‘man raised his handkerchief to. his wy @ person in extreme agitation. Yet : minds bad not been so preoccupied, bey hag have found him laughing slyly Fj f ~ gbehind it. ra te girl!” be said at length, ‘‘ Your 2p ih ai for your brother has proved stronger Bey your rectitude.” Then addressing Francis, to had turned from what he thought was his - father’s grief, the old man added, in the same an rete te tone: “ What say you for. yourself, my gon? Shall your father’s word be forfeited, ee for, it may 1 be, a blind passion for an unwor- i a ag pei ae _, “Never, sir, never! Best, and kindest that neers hg have ever been to me, the greatest sacri- ae my power would be but a poor acknowl- nent of all I owe you,” to Grace, her father opened his a half-astonished, she sprung into itianerou heart,” he murmured, “ ever ; to pain itself for other’s weal. I have 1 both, my children, One was want: Jy gt pene ek Te - SISTER'S ‘CRIME. ing, and the otha has reseed all that in believed he would be. But you are forgiven, dear, on condition that you never break faith with—” Grace placed her hand over his lips, as a vivid blush mounted to her brow, for she knew he meant her betrothed husband. ‘“‘ Father,” she said, ‘‘ what does this mean? Something has occurred to release you and Francis from what has lately been distasteful even to yourself?’ ‘Nothing has occurred, except that Francis has been simply jilted by his bride-elect, who no doubt bas made a better choice, and as the wife of a fashionable but used-up youth has forgotten her tardy betrothed, Here is a hewspaper with an account of bridesmaids’ dress and all the rest of it; and here a letter from ber mother, begging our pardon in the most finished style of a woman of the world.” ** Why have you not told us of this before, sir?” asked Francis, joyously. “* Because I only received the tidings myself to-day, and as I saw, from sundry signs and tokens, that the tie I bad formed was fetter- ing and worrying you— In a word, boy, I tested your obedience, and proved the fragil- ity of a woman’s vow, which shall be duly reported to—” , Again the little hand was on his lips, and again the cheeks were rosy red. “Now,” said Mr, Creswick, pleasantly drawing his chair closer to the fire, and signing the others to a seat at either side of him, ‘‘now tell me who the divinity may be that is to sup- ply the place of Grace as a daughter when she leaves my roof-tree,” “One whom you have not seen, sir,” replied Grace; ‘‘but who is so good and beautiful that you will love her dearly. Her name is Irene Emerson.” “‘Trene Emerson? A pretty name,” “Francis has her Jikeness.” Mr. Creswick adjusted his spectacles and looked at the miniature. ‘¢It is a noble countenance, and I shall like Trene Emerson,” he said. CHAPTER XIII, WITHIN THE MAZE. Tur happy day was named; Irene and Fran- cis were to be married on old Mr. Creswick’s birthday. Francis would have it sooner, but as the time for obedience had not yet arrived, the bride-elect had her way. The ancient gen- tleman, who was deeply in love, and who had made repeated attempts to out-rival his son, was delighted at tbe compact, and kissed the fair one’s blushing cheeks with a great deal more boldness than the would-be Benedict had ever dared to do, They were engaged, and Grace Creswick’s wish was realized. She knew now one who was worthy of her brother. Irene was that fault- less personage, for, in the estimation of Miss Creswick, to be worthy of him was to be per- fection. Mrs. Veitcher insisted on Irene living at the Rectory until her marriage, and with this in- tention she took a final farewell of her little pupils, who, to testify their love and respect, presented her with a handsome set of jewels. But a letter from Mrs. Warrington upset good Mrs, Veitcher’s arrangements. Maud wrote, warmly congratulating Irene on her engagement, and inviting her to visit her. Indeed, the invitation was little less than a command. Maud said that her home must be her sister’s until Irene’s own was ready to re- ceive her, ~ Trene, although sorry to part from such true friends as the rector and his wife had always been, was delighted at the prospect of living once more with Maud, so she took a tender farewell of them and many other people to whom she had endeared herself during her short stay in Chatham. Jasper’s welcome of his sister-in-law was courteous and kind’ in the extreme. He ad- mired the young girl herself, and hoped great ¥ cears ara Min ye ae ee OP te eee x things for Maud out of her enlivening compan: ionsbip. . ‘After dinner, in the drawing-room, the first day of her arrival, Irene looked at her sister with an earnestness that she strove in vain to. hideunder her usual gayety. Was Maud happy, she wondered. She was — more beautiful a; Mrs. Warrington than she had ever been as Miss Emerson; but something — about her now struck a chill on Irene’s loving heart, and made her sad as she noted the mag- — nificent diamonds flung on her neck and arms, © certainly not so rounded as they used to be. “Do you like my home, dear?” asked her — sister, avoiding her anxious gaze by a careless glance round the spacious apartment. “Tt is very grand, Maudy.” Mrs. Warrington started, then laughed, “The old familiar name is so strange to me,” she explained. ‘It is such a long time since I heard any one say Maudy. Go on with what you were saying—you like the room. To- morrow I shall take you over the house, for the next day I expect it will be full of vis- itors. Jasper and I made up a list of those whom we considered would make a pleasant party—your intended is among them.” “Oh, how kind of you! And Grace—did you invite Grace too, Maudy?” “You forget that I don’t know much of Miss Creswick,” ‘But under the circumstances—I mean that as we shall shortly become one family, could you, or would it be right—I—lI should so like you to invite her!” ‘Tt is impossible—it would be a breach of etiquette; besides, I have no rootn for her. Our party will consist chiefly of Jasper’s rela- tives—old-fishioned people, who seldom come to New York, and would never come at all ex- cept to oblige him. I expect our principal amusement will be cards, which the young people of course can escape from if inclined for the theater. Jasper is very fond of little tours quite in a rural way. Last week we went to Passaic Falls, and were charmed; it will bear a repetition.” “*T should so love to go there! Strange that we never went during papa’s time!” “Tt is very beautiful.” Maud abruptly ceased speaking, for on the moment they were joined by Mr, Warring- ton, It appeared to Irene that her sister did not wish her husband to know what they were conversing about; if so, the wish was frus- trated. ‘You were telling Irene about our day at Passaic Falls?” he said, drawing a chair near his wife. “Oh, no! I merely said that we should take sunédry little tours to places she has never seen |” Irene grew crimson, and bent over an elab- Grately-bound volume of Shakespeare, won: dering if her sister really intended to imply a falsehood. “Because,” continued Jasper, ‘if you have not, I shall!” “T ‘don’t know what there fs to tell, except that it is most charming!” “Certainly, my love; but I forgot all the charms in fright and "anxiety! Just fancy, Irene, when we got out of the carriage Maud insisted on walking such a distance along the bank of the water—below the falls, I mean, until we came to one particular spot. Tt was lovely enough, I must admit; but what she saw there to cause, first extreme agitation, then 4 death-like pallor, as if she would faint—and you know, Irene, the physicians all preach against that kind of thing—and I positively had to shake her in my arms and speak roughly to her to arouse and save her trom what dreaded! We returned home quietly enoug? after that, Tcan assure you. That was my ex: perience of a day at Passaic Falls, : Maud laughed merrily. “Well,” she said, “ your next will bea pap: P pier one. Come, Irene, run your fingers ove _ that old grand. "Tvs tone is perfect.” — eae ar ; shite ne Sea
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~ But Miss Emerson’s thoughts were sad on eS of Maud. She wondered if her sister S really so enchanted with, her marriage as She would have every one believe. Next day the guests arrived—all but Major Teswick, whose invitation had not so soon een sent out from the family conclave, Mr. rrington wishing to have a few hours to devote exclusively to bis relatives. Trene felt the interval tedions indeed, for, like a true woman, she lived in her love alone, enjoying nothing and finding no pleasure in the _8Qsence of the man who henceforth was to Make the fullness of her life. He came at last, and Irene lived again. She looked beautiful in her evening costume, Before the second dinner-bell had rung she Stood before a cheval glass in wonder at her Own appearance. What had worked the change? Not the dress, faultless though it was. She forgot that happiness is a great beautifier—the : Pecteak of .all, perhaps. Her eyes were as bright as the diamonds on her neck; her cheeks Wore a richer blush than the roses in her hair. Yes, she was beautiful to-night, the first night of Frank's arrival, and she tripped gayly from the room, singing lightly, until she found her- ‘Self on the grand staircase, where she remem- bered that she had to act the part of a staid, &rown-up young lady about to be married, forgetting all the child and childish ways. Mrs. Warrington had not yet left her room, although ber toilet, which was even more Slaborate than usual, was completed, and she had dismissed her maid. She leaned heavily °na table, looking fixedly into the mirror be- fore her. Could she have seen into her heart 88 easily, she might have turned in Joathing from its reflection; but she saw only ber, outer Self, more beautiful than Irene, and smiled in iumphant gladness. ‘Her happiness, should it continue, would drive. me mad,” she thought, while the vindic- ® expression on those perfect features grew More intense; ‘‘ would spur me on, perhaps, to Commit some crime; but I know it will not She trusts her ‘lover; but no man can be trusted if greater beauty tempt him, I came too hastily to the conclusion that he did not love me, and a thousand times too hasty in ac- Cepting the hand and fortune of Mr. Warring- On. I was dazzled at the spleador offered me, 8nd lost my chance of bappivess forever.” _A footstep sounded in the corridor, and Mrs, arringten turned from the table with a Smile upon her lips; but the step passed on, ag she seated. herself calmly to think again. one looking on that placid countenance would believe the working of that stony heart. “T have matured my plan of action,” she muttered. ‘Once an explanation takes place tween us, he shall know me—not as the Proud, cold girl who ounce repelled him; but as 6 passionate, adoring woman, who, even she flees from him, leaves all her. happi- in his keeping. He must do, justice at least to the wretched being whose. ambition been her ruin. They. say that ‘man for- 8ets, but woman never;’ and shall I, .Maud, Warrington, be less than woman? No: time and courage shall befriend me!” When Mrs, Warrington entered the draw- ‘}Dg-room, her lips were gayly wreathed in es, and her manner was less haughty than Uual. The guests, for the most. part, were jlready assembled. She saw Irene and her Ver chatting pleasantly together, and no one uld detect that the pretty picture they made _ Was hateful to their hostess, immer was aunounced, and so the general Toutine of fashionable life began—dinners, , theaters, concerts, etc., until systematic rig te eovered by the refinement. of hypoc- Pi brought about a sort of rural luncheon to Partaken of at the falls. Even Mr. War- ‘Tington was thrown off his guard, and forget- i ting b is watch over the health of bis wife, «Fea to the arrangement. iva ber experience of wealth and fasbion, ud never gave such mtion to any enter- . atte’ Re anment as she did to this rural luncheon. A SISTER’S CRIME, Whether it was to be rural in its real sehse, or of unusual magnificence, no one knew but her- self, Maud met with only one little incident to shake her confidence in herself or in whatever she meant that little pleasure trip to be. The night before it was to take place, Jasper lovingly drew her hand within his arm, and brought her out to the balcony. The scene was tranquil, the moon teemed in bright splen- dor, and gave a charm to everything, that even Mrs. Warrington, unimpressionable as she was, felt as well as saw. “Maud,” said Jasper, is there anything more calm and holy than a moonlight night, reposing in the deathlike silence of a living world? Do not those silvery beams, stream- ing from their azure bed, remind us of some- thing purer and brighter even than themselves —of the unknown world beyond, where but a breath might sweep us—the space of great eternity !” Maud did not reply; but gazing upon the lovely sky, pressed her hand upon her loudly throbbing heart. CHAPTER XIV. A LAST APPEAL, THE bright sun of balmy, soft September fell full upon a_gay party that tripped lightly over the velvet sward and tbrough the shady trees near the banks of the Passaic river. Never before bad Maud Warrington looked so haudsome, The want of animation which generally marred the effect of her beauty was now supplied; her eyes flashed with a new light, her cheeks glowed with unusual color, and her gayety was sparkling and fascinating: all this, combined with a faultless toilet, made Mr. Warrington prouder than ever ‘of his beautiful young wife. Irene looked lovely; her pure and earnest beauty being a restful contrast to the brilliance of her sister, and her simple girlish grace ob- taining unsought the admiration which the other courted. It was a gay party. Some of the ladies pro- posed a fishing pastime, but the gentlemen de- clared that luncheon should be first, and this being pleasantly agreed to, they returned to their carriages, which, although hired, were | | self, for there was an expression upon” her comfortable enough for once. They drove to a spot which Mrs, Warrington declared was the most retired and convenient, so the servants were set to work, and after a short time the rural repast, as her ladyship was pleased to call amo>t sumptuous banquet, was spread be- fore her hungry guests, After the rarest dainties of the season bad been partaken of, and even the gentlemen: felt that enough of sparkling Moselle was better than a feast of it, they followed the ladies; aud, whether by design or not, Mrs. Warring- ton and Major Creswick strolled off together among the trees. “Yes,” said Major Creswick, resuming a conversation they had begun, while Maud’s white fingers toyed with the luscious grapes she flung aside untasted; ‘‘I partly agree with you that flowers may be used as a language of the heart, but only when the lips have lost their eloquence, cr perhaps where one is not certain of reciprocal affection; but that sort of thing is generally resorted to in coquetry. How- ever, I do not agree with you that flowers should be preserved in the case you mentioned, for no man, unless he were a fool, could think it only carelessness on @ lady’s part if she threw away the flowers when withered that he had given her when blooming. Surely it would be ab- surd to preserve every bouquet he thinks fit to offer. In that case, a lady’s rooms would soon be filled with dead leaves.” Mrs, Warrington shook her head incredt- lously, and looked down to a drooping rose fastened in her bosom by a diamond-studded brooch. Francis Creswick flushed as he followed her gaze, for he recognized a flower he had laugh- ingly presented her with on the previous even- ing. His iets flew from it to her face; but no — ees. t be Sr eet ed $a ty Star 4 _ Francis accusing his vanity for misconstruing | the innocence of Mrs. Warrington; but ‘hap-» trace of emotion revealed her meaning, and he» thought her innocent of knowing what stem it was that lay beside the glittering ornament. “Tt is a romantic principle to cherish a withered blossom because it was given by a particular person. I venture to say that Irene has never kept one of mine. That reminds me; she is fond of wild violets, and here isa bunch challenging me to cull them for her.” He stooped to gather the violets, but was. arrested by the strange look of bis companion, A fierce fire burned in her eyes, and her lips were curved with a bitter smile. “Stop!’ she cried. “If she would prize them only for their bloom, it were a pity to ~/ disturb their living beauty!” ‘She will like them for my sake as well,” » said he, breaking the stems and arranging them in a bouquet. 5 “Give them to me, Francis,” cried Maud, as her hand rested upon his with a gentle os sure, Astonishment held him powerless to resist, and he released them, murmuring in, a Te- proachful tone: 3 yy “Mrs, Warrington!” Her eyes met his. She was deadly pale, but no other sign indicated the venture she had ~ made, and the overture of a proud woman to — one she loved remained concealed ‘beneath a guise of friendship. “You have such a fondness for: flowers,” be said, ‘‘that you grudge them to‘one who per- — haps does not value them so highly.” “43 * You are satirical, Major Creswick.” ) “ She returned the bouquet, and Francis held it tremulously in his hand aed he a <.otes spoke. “Tf you wish this,” holding? it for her * ares ceptance, ‘‘T can gather more for Irene.” _— 2m She refused, and the young man, peste. ee conceal his annoyance, added quietly: | “Tf agreeable to you, had we not ‘better i oe 4 ; lag quicken our pace?” ws Yes, certainly; it was ridiculous ot us to a loiter here.” wi fe They hastened on without uttering. andebar: word until they stood on the bank of the tiver, pening to glance toward her, he acquitted bhim-» fixed features that he was unwilling to inter- ke pret. He was neither dull nor obtuse in toheters? of the heart; but he was taken by : eS when he saw her stoop to gather some Bog oe at soms inan agitated manner, quite out of — . ing with the occasion. “ Look at these,” she said, and her yer flashed, although her face Was ‘white to ghastli- ness, "a Do they not bear as soft an azure ag the sky above us‘—do they not plead with a gentle assurance of constan¢y? They aré the — forget-me-not.” Re: , aed “The sky changes; but these ier nn seat grow uncultivated amid your should be an emblem of wo said, carelessly, a «Because they waste their swestasld on the se desert air.” Francis laughed, for he was secretly catistinea: at the childish and romantic tone of peep versation. “ And how often is the essence of a faithful Joye wafted near one who has but little care — for it?” she added. hy “Seldom, indeed. I almost faney it is not in human nature to be completely indiffer to one who truly loves us. Does not they est belle censure the gentleman who bears to. another shrine a heart she herself had semene im If his attention were really indifferent to ker, — why should she notice this?” yaya * “Perhaps from the vanity of our oe . unfortunately, the lords of creation take it a | their prerogative—their eo , ote COL 7 % She hesitated. a OE wean Aa oe “Right to what?” ; SM Os, LEME es She did not answer for a moment, but looked _ with an expression that made bis Roe /
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hi J aie and esteem are still true to Mrs, Warring- ton; and, could she forgive my past thought- ne ~ Tessness, the events of the last hour shall be - engbrined in heart forever—shall be a sacred and silen’ memory.” hank you for this,” she answered, Blamable, vile, and unworthy as my con- ‘duct is, ona ares would almost make ; br sa Leave me now, for I am best 7 ye re but for a second, while he asked, d, faltering manner: bay om I send Irene to you?” : ae meant; he repeated his question, looked at him as if not comprehend- she answered, with strange vehemence, ! _. CHAPTER XV. & SISTER’S CRIME, se aa ” by her own request, Maud looked ; picture of the little word; alone, in the. ane world of her woman’s life, from hich shut out all sympathy; alone, be- eosin in her self-assurance, she deemed her absolute; alone, because the sweetest, holiest treasures on earth were “To forget AvSISTER’S CRIME, _ Alone! Irene knew it, felt it; for she had sad misgivings of her sister’s moral strength since their father’s death. Maud, missing the luxuries to which she was accustomed, took refuge ?n the family of Mr. Kirwan, then mar- ried Jasper Warrington. But in both instances Trene saw that her sister was not happy; and Irene, made wise by experience and following the promptings of her heart, broke upon rn solitude with a playful caress. ‘What is wrong, Maudy?’ she asked, vr daring to show too much anxiety. ‘‘ Why are you in this lonely spot, like a forlorn maid of romance? Shall I gather you some of this lovely clematis? or shall we sit here like old cronies and talk?” Mrs. Warrington looked at her sister as if she did not comprehend one word she said. Alone! Qh, surely not alone when that bright, loving soul was near to bear her company? Was Maud so thoroughly incased in self- conceit that she could not realize the feelings which beamed upon her from the anxious looks of Irene? It seemed so, for she turned away and laughed. “Fate has brought her here.” Maud felt only those words beating into her brain, and so she laughed again as only a woman whose love ‘is scorned can laugh before revenge is satis- fied. “Maudy, dear,” murmured Irene, bending nearer to her, ‘‘shall we talk as we used to do long ago, or will you tell me what is troub- ling you?” * Nothing is troubling me,” Maud answered, Tt is so strange to see you here with only me, while so many people would be glad of a word or smile from you.” Maud smiled bitterly. ‘Oh, no,” she said; “you overrate my in- fluence altogether. Where is Jasper?” “Yonder, where we had luncheon; expect- ing you every moment, I fancy.” “What is Mrs, Huntley doing?” “ Beguiling the time with any young fop who comes within her reach; her husband thoroughly enjoying tho game as usual.” ‘* Where is Major Creswick?’ “ Why, Imade quite sure of finding him with you, Maudy, as I saw you pass through the trees together, I don’t know where he is now, dear, unless he is smoking a cigar with Mr, ‘Warrington. ? “We will join them.” Mrs. Warrington walked forward. Irene followed, choking back the tears thet fought for utterance, for surely tears can speak a lan- guage of their own. “‘ How lonely it is here!’’ she ventured to re- mark. ‘Is this the spot Mr. Warrington spoke of that made you faint the day you and he were here together, Maudy?” ‘6-Yes; a few paces further on,’ Irere, ignoring the short answer, looked up at the blue sky, while she shaded her eyes from the sun. “T think,” she said, laughing at her own conceit, “if I could envy anything, it would be the eagle’s power of looking at that golden light.” She spoke cheerfully, but could not win the smile she sought. Maud was grave and pre- occupied, but she stopped for her sister to come to her side; then they walked along to- gether. Only a few paces further, then Maud paused and caught Irene by the arm, looking wildly at her, Was it really Maud’s visage or a demon’s that peered into her own? Those glowing eyes, those white, parched lips, seemed not. to belong to the sister she loved. Irene strove to speak. She was nearest the river. She felt herself presséd backward, and endeavored to keep her footing, but with a mighty effort, in which all her strength was wy Maud pushed her suddenly, and Irene precipitated into the water, ven then Irene’s presence of mind did not desert her. She fought kaos against her terror, one idea uppermost— that aud was we ~ *4 ay ee Tee Jie BP Digits Be See Soe ee Ee aA ee. Coe DD re mad. She could swim well, and keeping her- self afloat, she looked quickly toward the bank. Maud was lying flat upon it, and remembering even then the precaution the physicians had given against these fainting-fits, she screamed loudly. Again and again that long sound of agony — reverberated through the air. Ob, how lonely — it seemed! Would no one come to save'them — both? Quick footsteps approached at last.) — She beard an exclamation of alarm, and knew — that Francis Creswick leaped “into the water. She felt his clutch, and Irene remembered no more until she found herself upon the bank, looking with horror on a paler face than her own, which lay quietly on Jasper Warring- ton’s breast. She asked what had happened; but before Francis could reply, she recollected all. ‘“* My darling,” be whispered, “‘ you must go now with this good woman, who is waiting to take you to her cottage for dry clothes,” He made her swallow a few drops of brandy, placing himself so as to intercept the view of her sister. “Maud has fainted; let me go to her,” murmured Irene, trembling and anxious, “ You must go with this woman first, They have sent for a physician, and Maud will be all right presently.” “* Why does Jasper look so frightened?’ “You know how he dreads to see her faint.” "Ves, yess ting him aside. I know,” answered Irene, put- “T know there must be dan- © ger. He was warned against this even in Washington. Ob, can it be possible that Maud is dead?” “ Hush!—have pity on that poor man, and think of yourself, for my sake!” But Irene did not heed him, tottered to her sister’s side, How deathlike seemed those perfect features! Would those eyes, whose last look was so awful, never again open with a more tender light?—never again beam into hers with answering affection? She called upon her name, entreating her to speak, but Maud was deaf to all entreaties, for Jasper had also called wildly and vainly. The physician was not long in coming, al- though it seemed an age to the anxious throng gathered around the sisters. It was an unusually long fainting-fit, but at length Maud revived, and was borne to the cottage where the good-natured country woman had almost forced Irene on the first sign of Maud’s recovery, and where she now sat before a cheerful fire, dressed in a showy calico gown yards too wide for her, and her little feet thrust into slippers that would have been too big for Major Creswick himself, CHAPTER XVI. THE WAGES OF SIN, WEEKS passed, and Irene, nothing the worse’ of her ducking, went about happy and content in that big city house, her wedding-day ap- proaching, and nothing in the world to trouble her except Maud’s looks and manner, Maud never appeared to her to be the same aftere that never-to-be-forgotten day at the falls, She was more haughty than ever, and seemed always to avoid being alone with her sister. Worse than this, she seemed to droop and fade despite the anxious love and care that surrounded her, Once Irene remonstrated, but was met with such cold contempt that she burst into tears. Then Maud was softened, “You must never speak to me thus again,” she said; “ for although you mean kindly, Irene, I do not wish any one to interfere with what concerns me alone.” ‘‘ But, Maudy, whatever touches you must reach those who love you,” reassured poor Irene, ‘Indeed, it is very miserable to see — you taking no interest in all your epee ; devotion, and—and mine, and Francis’s—” “ Your devotion !—Francis’s!” Maud’s made her sister shrink ‘and: tremblers, i fs is 2 ‘ A Petent rei She rose and
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Anxious for your marriage to be hurried on, is he not?” “Yes, dear.” ** Did he tell you the reason?” _ “ There is no reason, except that Mr. War- Tington wants to take you abroad, and wishes tohave the wedding here instead of in Chat- ham.” “No other reason?” “No; there could be no other.” “ He does not want to,get. you from under my protection?” “No. Why should he? Oh, darling Maudy, .do not think anything bad of. Francis, who ooks upon you as the very queen of women! y should he want to get me away from you?” “Because he doubts me, perhaps, But there, dear Irene, not another word! I am illand weary. My headaches, and lam very cold.” It was not cold that made Irene shiver, but & dread of something wrong, as she drew a Crimson shawl round Maud’s shoulders and Silently took a seat beside the window. - “You are willing to trust yourself to me?” Tesumed Mrs. Warrington after a short silence. “Certainly, Maudy. It seems so queer for You to speak so to me!” “Did Blanchard ever tell you anything about that day at Passaic river?” “Blanchard?” “Yes; Jasper’s trusted servant.” Irene was alarmed. She thought Maud’s Mind must be wandering, and did not answer. “Blanchard knew that I pushed you into the water on purpose— Hush, you need not look so startled, child. I offered Blanchard a bribe to give you Aladdin to ride in the park the first week of your visit here, but he would Not do it. I always hated that man, and Would not have taken him into my confidence but that nothing could be done in the stables _ Without his consent. He knew I wanted Alad- in to kill you, as most assuredly he would | have done!” “Maud, Maud! you do not know the dread- ful things you are saying!” Miss Emerson hastened to the door for the Purpose of calling Mr, Warrington, but Maud Sprung forward and prevented her. “T know quite well what I am saying,” she Continued, her hands restlessly tightening the Shawl about her, “‘and you must listen. You Say that Francis Creswick has uo reason for urrying on your marriage, but I know better; he is afraid that I should do you further harm.” Maud paused, and went back to her Couch. ‘‘But I think he may trust me now. tam dying, Irene, None can doubt that, at | events!” “Maudy,”—Miss Emerson was kneeling be- fore her sister, now clasping her hands, and Ooking at her searchingly—“I know you are Very weak and ill, dear, but you are not dying; do not say that—do not think it!” “T loved Francis Creswick from the begin- Ring, and hated you because you were the Chosen one!” : Trene leaped to her feet, her eyes flashing, 8nd her breath coming quickly, ' “Tt is false!” she said, in an agitated tone. ou do yourself a great injustice! It is too terrible to believe—it is impossible!’ She struggled for calmness, for she saw aud lean back helplessly, her visage marble White, against the velvet couch, her lips pur- Ple, and drawn in with an expression of suffer- Quick to act in emergency, Irene went to the Mantle-piece, and laid her trembling fingers on the bell-handle, but Maud, prevented her, _, “Stop, 1 command you! What I want to ‘Sell let it be now, or it will not be at all, Oh, ! can you have compassion on me? lam _ Very, very miserable!” 7 ‘Dear Maudy!” said Irene, now kneeling be- Side the couch, “lie back quietly and rest.” ats. Warrington looked wildly at her sister. __ Rest!” she repeated, with something of the look that she had in Washington when , >. - i SNe eee ee Pe eet A arise Se mee OE eS alae ot eee 2 ae...* - A.SISTER’S CRIME,» first she heard of Irene’s betrotbal to Francis Creswick; ‘‘I do not want rest; I want to tell you all the truth before it is too late!” Too late! Irene clasped Maud to her heart and kissed her, and thus showed that she for- gave, which was well, for Maud never spoke again. Weeks went slowly by, and still she lay suf- fering patiently, never complaining, but dying, despite her husband’s care and the skill of the best physicians, When it came to the last, she quietly moved her head nearer to Irene, who sat with fast-falling tears beside her pillow, and died! Two winters came and went, and when the spring buds began to open again, and the birds to sing their glad song for approaching summer, the little Rectory.in Chatham pre- sented a most wonderful appearance, for it was thronged with guests. It had been Irene’s principal abode for those two years, for no entreaties could prevail on her to remain longer than a week at a time with either old Mr. Creswick or Jasper War- rington. Once or twice she. broke her rule in favor of Grace, who was now the happy wife of that lover to whom her father always mys- teriously alluded when he required an extia kiss, or wanted to admire her blushes; but now, as this bright summertime approached, the quiet Rectory was thrown into a state of excitement, while Mr. and Mrs. Veiicher bus- tled about in delighted anticipation of their daughter’s wedding. For Irene was the daughter. of their love; and it must be confessed that they were not at all obliged to Major Francis, Creswick for claiming his bride’ at their hands. However, Francis compromised the matter by promising sundry visits, and so they were tolerably con- tent on this auspicious occasion, particularly when the guests, including old Mr. Creswick, who was young again in his son’s happiness, were seated around the magnificent breakfast after the ceremony which made Irene and Francis one; and from the little church the wedding-bells rung out joyously. 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‘averley Library. a American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! © Ana The Cheapest — Ever Published! w t e Masked B: ide; or, Will She Marry | 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage } | 3 or, The Sto 146 A Desperate Venture}; or, For Love’s : @ ‘an Mog Spe “reps Reed Crowell. of a Broidered Shield. Ouida. M Own 8 Sake. By Arabella Sou sect’ ¥ ee ove os . ret aha Sweet- | 75 The Black Lady of Duna, By J. 8S. Le | 147 he War of Hearts, By Goriune Cush- earts. ‘anu. : i a. Wife, By Bartley T. Cam mapbell 76, Charlotte Temple, By Mrs. Rowson. 148 Which Was the Woman? or, Strangely a3 bane + were = tar, Startlingly Strange. | 77 Christian Oak ey’s istake. By the Misjudged. By Sara Claxton author of “ John Halifax, Gentleman,” ete. 149 An Anibitious Girl or; She Would Be Be 5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Gir ec ee in cco, e Secre arriage. By Sara Claxton. ; TA ag tp a of Eve; or, Blinded he o. By — Mai oe ee d Crowell.’ ee 2 eart to Heart. Arabella Southwort 9 5 in the World ; or, The Y Young Man's ard. By the author of ‘Qlifton,”’ etc. oa. a pea of pe Eyes. By Rose Kennedy. terre cee oF, A Dangerous Game. y eray. winl: Wits or, Myra, the Child of option. By Mrs. en 8. Ste Sehtne. 13 otaneer » the Little Quakeress}; Vi Bes 7 1} Bab Married Him, 16 Brust Her Not; as es, ee icester. ee 17 A Loyal ponens * ay Ara Southworth. 18 His 1. Reed Crowell. olen | _ Betrothals or, Love versus Grace Halpine. ‘phan Nell the Orange Girl; or, The 5 eir, By Agile Penne. ia 2 re and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar- Ste ashes Him? By Henrietta Thackeray. a “22 eS Bride of an Actor, By the author ‘Alone in the World,” ‘“ Clifton,” etc. » Wears or, Why She Proposed. By Sara at ; ary Was Her Fortune. By Elea- P, 25 only a Schoolmistress ; or, Her Untold . i or, The ushman. 6 Knight. ” By Sead Secret. By Arabella Southworth. Sef ie Without a Heart, 7 we as e &, fos! urtship. By Henrietta Thackera: Beh i ybil Aare). oF The Gambler’ °s Wife. 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By William sm rcart 3 3 on, Saved from the orge S Hin: or, Stooping to oe Genthworthe 3 or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced Win. urner, M.D rit ee. Fleming, or, The Mysterious Br Crowell. ¥ Rachel Bernhardt. ¥ gepuie R.. D. Burton, ag ¥ Claxton. Pa argaret Blount Pea Anew E. Porter. Alice Fleming. by Col. Juan Lewis. Me y el Bernhardt. Brother ans. B _ ney eal vers = ert. x Ons. Alexandre Dumas. hens: Pipe ife. By | My Yo Wife's ‘he , ‘og 0 Widows. By Annie Thomas, ban Heir 883 or, The Prisoner of . ‘ wou Messenger; or, Risking All. 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. WO A ueen Amongst Women. By the author of “Dora Thorne,” ete., ete. 80 Her Lord and Master.’ By Florence Marryat. 81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Age, By Meta Orred. 83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas. 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. 87 The Romance ofa Poor Youre Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88 A Terrible Deeds; or, AU for Gold. By Emma Garrison Jones. 89 A cueed Sim. By the author of ‘‘ Dora ete. "a eaumons Daughter. By Mary ow 91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. 92 Eileen Alanna. By Dennis O’Sullivan. 93 Love’s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon. 94 The Quiet Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh, 96 Haunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt. 97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont, By Miss Mulock: 99 Miarjorie Bruce’s Lovers, By Mary Patrick. 100 Through Fire and Water. By Fred- erick Talbot. 101 Hannah. By Mss Mullock. 102 Peg Woffington, By Charles Reade. 103 A Desperate Deed. By Erskine Boyd. 104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond, By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From Dreams to Waking. By E. n Linton. 107 teas meus By F. W. Robinson, 108 The Sad Fortunes of the Rey. Amos Barton. By George Eliot. 109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By B, L. Farjeon. 110 Lonel Wandering Heir. By Charles 111 The Broshors Bet; or, Within. Six Weeks: By Emilie Fivgare ¢ Carlen, 112 A ero. By Miss \ 118 Paul and Vir Bernardin De St. . Par- nia. From the French of ierre. 114 °f was In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal- ter Besant and James Rice, 115 The Maid of Killeena. By Wm. Black. 116 Hetty. By Henry Kingsley. 117 The Wayside ‘Cross3 ae i Raid of Gomez. By Captain E. A. Miim 118.\8he Vicar of Waketield. By Oliver Goldsmith. 119 Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas. 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter. 121 Eth King of No-Land, By B. L. Far- 122 Lovel, the Widower, By W. M. Thack- 123 yi Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). 126 When the Ship Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice 127 One of the ES ed Oe By James Payn, 128 The Birthright. ome 129 Motherless 3 or, The fabened pin es By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 130 Homeless: or, gre, Orphan Girls in New York. Athert W. Ai 131 Sister agalnat aiatex ; or, The ‘wel cf earts. Mary Reed Crowell 132 Sold for Gold. By Mrs, M. V. Victor. 3 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens. 134 eae He Ke Hier? By Bartley T. Camip- 35 Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy. 136 Mb ah. wae is Wife? By Mrs. Mary ro 137 The “Village on the Cliff, -_ wo int Reed By Miss Thacker: 138 Poor Valeria, By Mar; oa Blount. 139 Margaret Graham, G. P. R. James. Poe Without Mercy. Be Barley 7. sor, 141 Honor Bound, ~~ ve Pa ap tea 142 Fleeing from Lene Irving. 143 Abducted; or) A Wicked Woman’s Work, =e Crowell. es. By Mrs. Mary Re . ie ary Dj by le ie See be pest, eaten Soa Paar : larriage. By Lillian mmresoy. An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. 150 Love Lord of All. By Alice May Fleming, 151 A Wild Girl. Corinne Cushman, 152 A Man’s Sacrifice, By Harriet Irving. 153 Did She Sin. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, 154 He Loves Me Not. By Lillian Lovejoy. 155 Winning Ways. By Margaret Blount. 156 What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths, By Arabella Southworth. 157 A-Girl’s Heart. By Rett Winwood, 158 A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton. 159 Lady Helen’s Vows or, hea Mother’s: Secret. By the Late Mrs. &. F. Elle 160 Buying a Heart. By Lillian yee: 161 Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, Jr. 162 A Fateful Game. By Sara Claxton. 163 The Creole Cousins} or, False as Fair, By Philip 8. Warne. 164 A Scathing Ordeal; or, May Langley's Mad Marriage. By Mrs. ‘Georgiana Dickens, 165 A Strange Girl. By Albert W. Aiken, 166 A Mans Sin. By Rett Winwood. 167 The Mand of Fate; or, The Wreck of Two Lives. By Arabella Southworth, 168 Two Kair Women. By Wm, M, Turner, 169 ‘Tempted Through Love; or, One Woman’s Error. By Lillian Lovejoy, , 170 Blind Barbara’s Secret, Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman’s Witchery. By §S. Claxton. 172 Black Eyes and Blue. By Corinne Cushman. 178 The Cost of a Folly. Dickens. 174 The nob pe Puritan. Daughte 175 Is rove a Mockery? or, Revenge is Sweet. By Arabella Southworth. 176 eerie the Adopted. By Jennie Davis ua" By Mary By Georgiana By A Parson’s 177 Kor the Woman He Loved; or, Fate- © ful Links, By Agnes Mary Shelton. 178 ‘Khe Locked Heart, By Corinne Cushman. 179 Parted by Treachery. By Harriet Irving. 180 Was She a Wiic? By Rett Winwood, 181 Under a Cloud, By Sara Claxton. 182 An American Queen. By G. Mortimer. 183 A P.int of Honor. By Lillian Lovejoy. 184 Pursued to the Altar. Cushman. 185 Put to a Test. By Georgiana Dickens, 186 The Terrible BOAR 5-0F) grith ibe Thornhurst Mystery. By Jennie 187 Outwitted by Herself; “of ‘A Mother’s- Scheme, By Arabella Southwort 188 Florette, Child of the Street; or, A Pearl | Beyond Price. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham 189 Her Guardian’s Sacrifice 3 or, A Name in the Balance. By Sara Claxton, 190 Pretty and Proud. By Corinne Cushman, . 191 A Woman’s Maneuver; or, Purse, not Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy. 192 The Bitter Feud. By Jennie D. Burton. 193 Breaking the Fetters; or, The Gypsy’s, Secret. . By Georgiana Dickens. 194 The Mysterious Guardian} or, Little Claire, the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cushman. 195 a ne Balance; or, A Shadowed Love. | bella Southworth. : 196 re the Jewess , the Miser Million: aire. “By Dr. Noel Dunbar. 197 ya Sistex’s Crime, By Agnes Mary Shel- 198 lk Wilde; or, The Inheritance ot Hate. By Jennie “Bavis Burto 199 The Beautiful Dene Helen Davenport. 200 Morte’ Beeches 3 he Girlish Charms al Golden Dowers. By Oo rinne Cushman, A new issue every week. By Frances ers, five cents id sent b: iuxieaate lt a" copy, BEADLE AND ADAMS, ‘ub ia 98 William stree aes ork. — ceipt tof six tos, Wavertey Lrprary is for sale by all all News: { i 2 ———— _ . * . By Corinne _