Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 198) (1883)

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MM ei ey aN it Ally its allan ye ’ ine et I Pe: ——ey No198, Vor. VIII. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST, N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS WILMA WILDE; » rue 2iercrance or Hare. BY MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON, AUTHOR OF “ ADRIA, THE ADOPTED,” ‘‘ THE TERRIBLE TRUTH,” ETC,, ETC, | ae 2 | | iy j it wi a) i | ZA tye am ‘Ni i ty | A nian ‘YY SSN = : \ ‘ e ; a THis, 1/1 “vou ARE NOTHING TO ME—NOTHING] YOU WERE CURSED BEFORE YOU EVER SAW THE LIGHT!”

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{ “ ; ’ { Weed pad . ry EI uber | ae ra ne so, Mr. Gregory; oh, do tell me—why Wilma Wilde: THE INHERITANCE OF HATE. BY MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON, ‘ AUTHOR OF *‘ CORAL AND RUBY,”’ “ADRIA, THE ADOPTED,”’ “oH BITTER FEUD,” ‘THE FALSE WIDOW,” ETO, CHAPTER I. INTO THE SHADOW. Dye, Alone except forthe elfin-faced girl shrink- ‘ing back into the ow, awed by the presence : come closer as the minutes passed, with a greater ‘dread of the hard face outlined against the pillow “than she had experienced hitherto, and yet she had never known. any thi differing from dread and awe of that hard-featured old man, dying there in the Jate afternoon of the late October day. A chill, clouded day, with weg lights and shades chasing across the outer landscape already sere with heavy frosts. The chill and the clouds were’ dis- cee MY pt as the hours wore on, and a fine mist heavier and breaking with a dash and a burst at last against the dark old house, rattlin ' the room in which these two waited. The gray head on the pillow stirred, and two great hollow eyes opened with the vacant stare of half- unconsciousness changing toa vague comprehension as familiar objects about met his sight. “What was that?” he asked, in a voice sharp and peg A “Rain,” the girl answered. ‘A storm has been all the day gathe Me “Rain and storm,” muttered the dying man, ‘rain and storm, devastation, ruin, waste—good! Winds blow, lightnings burn, thunders crash; I can die easier with them tearing their way through the world. Curse the world and all in the world, I say!” The vehemence with which the last words were ut- tered was appalling, considering how close he was upon that verge of the world which breaks into piernity. It was exhaustive as well, and he ap eo aspingly for the breath which gurgled through oat with a harsh rattle. The girl made haste to put a cordial to his lips which he swallowed with an effort. The hollow eyes glared up at her in a way which sent a shiver curdling the blood in her veins. “You! Why is not Gerrit here? You know I never want you.” No need to tell her that with all the years of her remembrance passed in the gloomy poe and not one affectionate word which she could recall he had ‘ever addressed to her. She had been an object of aversion to him, banished from his sight sometimes for days together, but always as carefully secluded from contact with that outer world which he was cursing with his dying breath. What a morbidly un- healthy = pp for the girl-nature to expand in! One might questionif the taint of it would not cling to and corrode the entire after-life. But this girl carried a pathetic a stamped on the thin ark features, and looking out of the big, wistful eyes which must have struck a sadder chord than any the careless worldly heart often responds to, a look which might have struck a chill of apprehen- siowin a generous heart, a foreboding of an unhappy life darkling ahead, a desire to ward off the broodin tro whatever it might be, from that childis , timid and shrinking, still and self-contained with the maste She answered of habitual reserve. “Mrs. Gerrit has gone for the medicine which was is harsh words quietly. orde It is so near the doctor’s hour I think she raust be waiting for him. She had no umbrella, and itis seg fas Shall I sit by your side?—I will be et. very qu He turned his head slightly with an impatient ges- “RK 0, no. Go ig outof my sight. God knows there’s no comfort in the sight of you; no comfort t you ever came into life, and less loss than even I ‘be when you quit it.’ She drew back a step Ggeping her hands, a quick pallor sweeping across her small dark face. ‘Oh, why do you hate meso?” she cried, in alow, breat shy & ‘““Why is there no one in all the i to care for me? o am I—what am I, that the only being inthe world on whom I have any ‘claim can no comfort that I ever came into life? I must be something to you, or hating me as you do ‘ou would not have kept me here. Why amTI so ept away from other people; why do Ge dislike A p ih tint was in the harsh face upon the pillow; labored respiration was shorter and louder. With aneffort he raised himself in the stretching out one quivering hand, his difficult articulation intense with a bitterness which burned every cruel word upon the girl’s remembrance with an in ble stamp. “You are nothing to eee ee You were cursed beforé you ever saw the light. If there.be any one in all this world upon wiom you have any claim, that one of all living mortals has greatest cause for hate and dread of you. If ever you fancy you have found such a one, tear your own heart out rather , than attempt to press any such claim, if you would not call other curses upon the hour you were born, Yours is a dead life. you ever pray for anything, that you may never be the cause of a living ea He fell back again, pale, trembling, the breath wn faint upon his lips, but this time she did not stir attempting to revive him. She shrunk back into the deeper shadows, with a dull pain and terror _ called up by his words, the last of which repeated ’ / ed the atmosphere, gathering faster and | the windows of | ' those Dey ming thoughts sti mt “WILMA WILDE. — themselves again and again in her mind like some threatening danger which her comprehension could not eee “Yours is a dead life; if vou ever pray for any- thing, pray that he may never be the cause of a li death.” at could that mean? Why, oh, why had she been born at all, since her very exist- ence miust be a curse to herself and to any other | who might be allied to her? What a fate to be hers at the time when other lives would be putting forth their best buds of promise, when they would be blossoming with the hope and happiness which only young lives know! She had drawn close toa window and was pressing her forehead against a meni — t her, the rain PS; now falling heavily without, dashing at intervals against the glass and trickling down before the great, mournful, unheeding eyes. If she observed them at all it may have been with a vague fancy that even the clouds were more blessed than she since they could weep and she could not. She heard the opening door without turning her head, but a moment of silence and an advanciug step drew her gaze suddenly that way. A woman’s form was framed in the doorway, which was certainly not the form of Mrs. Gerrit. This shape was tall, and hough loosely cloaked. slender and graceful as she could jee. A falling vail concealed the face, and while ske gazed the form moved swiftly forward across the floor to the bed- side to the dying man, His eyes went up with a startled light in them to meet the woman’s eyes looking down as she put.out a small gloved hand to touch him. Some unintelligible words bubbled up to his lips, but without noticing his apparent effort to speak the unannounced visitor addressed him. *) heard that you were dying, and I have come once more to ask for those treasures of mine which you took from me long ‘ago. I could have forgiven you all your harshness and all your cruelty more readily than that, They have never been anything to you; they have done you no good; they might be turned to do me harm. For the sake of the tie which should have bound us closer once, will you not give them to me now that you are upon your deathbed?” The voice was low, clear and sweet, but of such an even intonation that it seemed incapable of convey- ing jarring emotions. The harsh, aged, wasted face upon the pillow had changed strangely. Some look had come into it which the girl by the window had never seen there before, and which seemed a strug- le even at that time between bitterness and yearn- ing, between upspringing tenderness and hard re- solve. “T told you before that I had not kept them, that they were destroyed years ago,’’ he answered, speak- ing with difficulty but quite distinctly, while his eyes never wavered from her face. ‘You would have kept them and pored over them, and, been discovered at last. I was wise in putting it out of your power to bring harm upon yourself.” “You will not give them tome? I thought if you would ever soften it might me at this hour.” * And you have no ,»” be whispered, hoarsely. “Tt is a mournful, disappointed life which will be ended soon, and its pitiful close does not touch you. Dying.alone—as much alone since you have come.” “Tt is a perverted and willfully wasted life,” said the low, steady voice. “Whatever motive may have actuated, or whatever mistaken sense of duty may have prompted, it wasa wrong, hard, unsym- pathetic life from the very first. I cannot find fault with myself for having learned my lesson too well. What Iam you made me, and [am no more ice or marble—feelingless—now than you were in the days ne by. I havecome on a fruitless mission, but I ge Fg come hopeful, and I shall not go despon- en She turned from him and a bitter spasm convulsed his features, but he made no motion, and in a second more the heavy lids dropped over his eyes, dimming already with the dead numbness creeping over him, The presence of the girl in the room had not been observed by the visitor, until in turning she caught against the a ree of the slight figure outlin dull gray outer light. At the same instant suppressed sounds became audible from without, a door opened and shut, and footsteps came nearer through the bare corridor. The girl glided silently forward to admit the new- comers to the room, while the lady, sweeping the falling vail closer over her features, stood still, await- ing a passageway. Two persons entered. A tall, thin man in advance whose keen light eyes swept the room and absorbed the situation presented there with a single glance. Following him, the ree elderly person who was the one servant of that d old house. When the chamber door closed it shut the other two out, and the lady paused to drop her hand upon the girl’s shoulder. ‘““Who are you?” she asked abruptly. “How do you come to be here?” ““T am Wilma Wilde, and I live with Mr. Gregory.” ‘* What are you to him?” “ Nothing, he said. Iam nothing to any one in the wide world, so far as I know.”’ ** Not stramge since you live here. Yours is not an entirely new experience, Wilma, What will be done with you when he is gene?” “T don’t know. I suppose I shall live on here with Mrs. Gerrit.” - ee was she?” with a glance at the closed door ** And the other?” “Was Mr, Dallas,” ‘Ah, well, Wilma; some one will probably look our bp) you. How dusk it is getting here! Good-by, r?) She touched her zloved finger-tips to the girl’s cheek, but so gently and lingeringly that the touch seemed acaress, then walked the length of the bare | tance. For a moment the rain had almost ceased, eyes were on him stilland the doctor did not move. corridor and let herself out into the starmy laté afternoon without once glancing back. ilma fol lowed after slowly, her heart swelling and throbbing from that gentle touch; and stood in the entrance way watching the shape growing dim in the dis and through a rift in the clouds a gleam of yellow gieecn gouged the meee damp earth and illuminated e upright grace gure—for a moment only, ani then the glow faded suddenly as it had come, and | the swift dusk succeeding blotted the retreating | shape from her view. “dt A dash of mist in her face gave Wilma, a chill, and | she drew back into the corridor, but held aloof from the room where the d man lay. Mrs. Gerrit came out presently, tak er way to her own more particular domain, and Wilma crept away to her cheerless chamber, feeling the awful silence of thé always silent house too oppressive to be borne. An interval of silence had reigned in the sick-room, broken only by the heavy respiration of the sufferer: A shaded lamp had been placed on a stand at the- bed’s head, and with his back to it, his face in deep | shadow, Dr. Dallas waited for the end which his | practiced eye detected to be very close. He was watching as well, those keen light eyes fixed intently upon the patient’s face, shaded also, but less ob: scured than hisown. The short heavy sleep inl which the other had fallen passed suddenly as it had come. The hollow eyes opened and the gaunt form on the bed raised itself with a spasmodic effort, “J must do my work,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘* Givé me something to keep UP my stren, for a moment —only fora moment.” The physician put a draught to his lips, but the effort to ow convulsed thé old man with a painful spasm and he pushed it back with a wild fear coming into his face. “The little desk there,” be whispered, pointing — aoe to the article he wished. ‘* Quick, bring i 1 It was brought in an instant. His hands fumbling at his breast brought forth a key suspended on 4 ribbon from his neck, but his trembling fingers re fused to fit it to the lock. The doctor’s deft ones did, however, but even thel the sharp light eyes scarcely left his patient’s face A little box within having neither lock nor key camé beneath the fumbling fingers, but he was sinkivg back, the sustaining nerve power was almost gon® — He realized this with an agony plainly apparent if the hollow, imploring eyes.” “Let me—see it—burn; let me—” he gasped brokenly. ‘My God—Quick!” Those light, steady “Ts there anything more to be done?” he asked ** Be quick if there is.” ia Yes— Wilma. Burn the box— Wilma— gual’ an— “You want to name me as Wilma’s guardian and Iam to burn the box. Yes, I see that isit. Is that ble utterances were checked D ? Some unintelli; the death-rattle in the throat; the gray head fe back; a spasm, a groan, and then utter, eternal stillness of the wasted form. CHAPTER I. WAS IT WISE? BrEAKFAST was laidin the morning room of th® Richland mansion—one of those modern ces | which lift their stately fronts upon Western avenue in the mae of Allegheny. It was a cheery, rudd. room, small rather than the opposite, with a polish’ black sideboard where silver and threw oub cold sparkles vieing with other crystal and silvet and delicate porcelain upon the snowy ori damask which dra) the round breakfast able. The table was laid for three, and at precisely th® second the little marble clock upon the mantle trembled upon the first stroke of nine, turned upon its noiseless to admit the first of these. A middle-aged man having a slight te” dency toward obesity, with a ruddy, rather heavy countenance shaved perfectly smooth, bright, calcv” lating eyes under well-arched brows, and brow?) short hair brushed smoothly across his heavy fore head. An oper honest countenance was this of th® master of the Richland mansion, the face of a mat who carried no phases of his life hidden out of sigh? of the world, one whose self-pride and self-suf” ciency were his worst faults, He stood for a moment rubbing his soft whit? hands before the ee blaze glowing in the grate for this was the first day of November, and thoug? clear there was a wintry chill in the air withou% and Mr. Richland clung with the persisten of # fixed affection to cheery — fires. He took ow his watch and wound it, glancing up at the littl@ clock whose silvery chime had ceased to face the door as he returned it to his poe This was his habitual custom, repeated as often #% nine of the — came around, and varied si ply hag the different seasons and changes Of ocation. If ever man was . in the observance 0 regular habits, Mr, Richland was open to the imp" ion. “Three minutes past, ” he said to himself. ‘ Mr* Richland is unusu s Raye this morning. Ethel nevey 6 , and is very punctual— , good-morning, my dears! was remarking it that you are almost behind ti? for an occasion, Gertrude.” ant Two ladies had entered together, and a serva, making an appearance with the coffee, the itt? rty dropped into their places after an exchange 7 he customary greetings. Mrs. Richland, rs t than her husband by a full decade, was tall, witt iB slender, graceful shape and languid carriage whic, matched the quiet repose of her striking face. bia was an oval face, the skin marble-white and smoorig eves, hair and lashes, a soft jetty black; the OP" — te

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k of color in the firm close lips. if any kindred otion rivaled Mr, Richland’s individual. self-suffi- _ Gieney it was pride of his wife’s beauty and culture. he other, a girl of eighteen, was his sister, Also 1, she lacked half a head of Mrs. Richland’s hight, nd the round supple form may have been a trifle €Ss perfect in its modulations, yet Ethel Richland’s Was nota beauty to pale even by the side of the Other matchless face. Hers was a fair sweet face, framed in by glittering yellow hair confined loosely his morning in a wide-meshéd net—the blue cash- Mere morning robe she wore bringing out the exqui- Site tints of her fine complexion. Some points of re- Sembance there were between sister and brother, but so modified that they lay rather in the intandibls Teminder one sometimes Pe dead we than in any like- Ress to be analyzed or defined. 4 solening belle of - this season searcely yet opened Miss Richland was, No less so now than when her debut, a year before, 4d created a furore not often equaled in the high- £st circles where the Richlands moved, Sitting at is breakfast-table, that bright morning, with the elicate viands for which he had an epicurean taste efore him, with the two lovely contrasting faces on fither hand, Mr. Richland felt himself a superla- tively contented man, 4 “And now what may be the newest sensation? he asked, as he broke his egg with neat dexterity. ou are generally ready with a budget, Ethel. there a new star disputing the horizon with you, or toes the reaction begin with the first outgoing of the me?” “ Nothing of the kind, brother. A dearth of news thaps, since I do not recall an item of late intelli. nce. ‘There will be plenty with next week and the atham opening.” . ; “Then, for once, fashionable intelligence is behind the times, or one of the pet votaries has dropped Voluntarily into our groove. Who do you suppose i ck in town, who, after a year’s absence, is pre- Pared to be lionized and favoritized in the way some Of you ladies lavish upon the Beau Brummel of our date? Guess, my dear?” “Really,” Mrs. Richland’s delicate brows arched ina vainly reflective way. ‘‘ There are so many late urists putting in an appearance just now thatI ®annot even hazard a guess.” \ ».. And you, Ethel; what have you to say in de- fense of intuition and pss You should ‘Surely have been warned by one or the other. It is Hetherville, Erle Hetherville, Gertrude, and_ there Ve been sly thrusts made at me already, hints of Sackcloth and ashes for us, and wedding favors at © great distance. How is it, Ethel? Have you 0) le been outreaching our knowledge of teetg pooP! affaire de ceurt ow that is hardly 8enerous when so much of it is due tome.” | ‘I assure you, Howard, this is my first intimation - that Mr, Hetherville had ‘returned. Rumor as usual | iS far too fast. I thought he was not expected until ter in the month,” Youthful impetuosity, I presume.” Mrs. Richland cast a glance of interest across at ber young sister-in-law. The fair face opposite Night have caught her own usual expression of re- Se at that moment, so far was it from telling the © she half-expected to read there, Ethel's eyes Were upon her plate, her hand idly laying with her : fe hacup. Much or little as Erle Hetherville might to her, she was ons to meeting the announce- Ment of his return with unmoved complacency, ; ou have seen him?” Mrs.‘Richland asked, Unfortunately, no. He called at the bank, yes- terday, after I had left, it a pears. Late last night ime his note of apology. e is busy with his agent: pith a duty trip out of town before he can report fre, but will make his own apology in person on the earliest possible occasion.” — ita J1¢ Will be quite an acquisition, a general fayor- #8 Of a year ago, as you recall, ve youany plans or to-day, Ethel?” . None, I believe,” buat Rave been thinking —she was addressing her USsband again—‘if you have no objection, there is *young girl in whom Ihave taken rather an inter- }S% whose services might be made available in the bese. ,She is an orphan, quite without relatives, I leve,”? She Certainly, my dear Gertrude, certainly, You Ould be assured of my Spproving any decision of wuts, and your generous philanthropy is a credit hich I am” prou to acknowledge, Any orders of Yours T shall be most happy to put into execution.” th ifteen years of wedded life had not tended to \ytke him unobservant of the. tender courtesies Which too often close with the honeymoon; but ireiet , which ferrets out more of private life than tals always pleasant to find afloat, had long ago wetily owledged that the Richland honeymoon no’ Perennial, Apparently the lady had entertained © doubt of his gracious concurrence, “§ You are very kind, but I will not trouble you. f that to have remarked that I was not proposing Sie girl’s coming here in the capacity of a servant, lap) ¥88 a ward of Mr. Gregory—Matthew Gregory, alg deceased, who resided some miles out on the Ri nchester road,” hel, listening with no personal interest in the ah: &ct, was surprised at the annoyed, impatient ha © sweeping into her brother’s face—surprised th Well at the p Mains and questioning in his eyes as £Y rested for an instant in sharp scrutiny upon his athe Her dark orbs met the gave calmly, and her ag features were not disturbed by a fluctuation 7M their habitual repose. ery well, Gertrude; do as you think best in r y Aching, of course, Your judgment is to trusted, Ks Was not often that Mrs, Richland troubled him Wo. Opinion on such a minor point, and his last tds seemed spoken as an intimation that the sub- “ “day. oe a ees. iG ads ‘, Ee i = é “ oe ; we ‘ / : i - ject dropped there. She was content to let it be so, with the added observation: -_ ’ ‘*T shall call at your solicitor’s during my drive to-day and leave the matter in his hands to be ar- ranged. There may be some legal forms to be ob- served, though I think not probable. If you care to accompany me, Ethel, you may direct the drive afterward.”’ d Ethel cared sufficiently to signify her acquies- cence as they rose from the breakfast-table. “Will you come into the library, if you are at liberty for a moment?” her brother requested. ‘I have a word for your private ear which may as well be said now as at any later time.” She cast a cue aie wees glance into his face and hesitated with a half-protest, ‘“Now, Howard? Willyou not be detained?” “My dear, no; I have fully a half-hour at my dis- posal. Unless you prefer another time, in which case I can defer to you.” She made a gesture of dissent and followed him, a@ quiver of nervousness upon her, a certain intni- aon ee what manner of interview his request pre- aced. “T think you must know what there is to be said, Ethel. You know what Erle Hetherville’s coming must mean for you, Let me be the first to give you congratulation of the fair prospect which will be speedily yours. I don’t know another man to whom I could resign you so willingly.” “But there need be no haste,” she protested, faintly. ‘‘ There is no question of resigning me yet Howard. I hope you are not wishing to do so soon,” “Only for your own sake. It is my desire and my advice that this marriage which has been’ in contemplation so long, shall be consummated at the time first named, and that time is nearly here. You are oh Niger Erle iS SIX years your senior, and Your betrothal has been of just that length of duration. My Fe, dag , and it is by the light. of my own experience that I would © you to flitter away none of the coming years that will be ae for being shared together,” Holding his head erect, and with the glow of ear- nestness shining in his honest face one could com- prehend how the man’s heart spoke in his words, and what a wealth of peaceful content his own life embraced. “Erle will come expecting it,” he continued after moment, during which she had not made a reply. Iwanted to urge you to let no coy spirit interfere h whatevér proposal he may make, There could be no more perfect fitness of things than is exempli- fied in the case of youtwo. I believe if any other union in the world can be blissfully complete .as mine has proved, yours will be that one, Young and naturally adapted to each other, no circum- stance has been wanting to perfect the mutual at- traction, nothing will be lacking to make it complete to the end. One possible flaw which I warrant you two have never considered at aly pabelt take the precaution to avoid, You have nothing in your own right, my dear Ethel; but Hetherville’s bride will have a dower of which she need not be ashamed. There, not a word! it is my privilege to do that much for you, since my litile sister was left to fill the place in my heart which must have been a void otherwise. My affection has. been fatherly as well as brotherly, 1 fancy.” “Best and dearest of brothers,” she said, softly, her fair face eloquent with love and gratitude, ‘* You would never urge me to any thing which would not forward my happiness, Iam sure. You would never ask me to sacrifice that, Howard?’’ “T would advise nothing which would not insure it, Ethel, You don’t. mean, though ’—with a wave of doubt and apprehension struggling into his face— ve you surely can’t mean—”’ : . ‘T can’t and. don’t mean to disappoint you if I can avoid it, dear brother, Iscarcely know what I do mean, except that I am not quite sure of myself or of Erle. I may become so—who knows?—when I have seen him again.” oceupied just six wee “T think I may be sure of you,” Mr. Richland | said, with a fond glance down into the fair, wistful face. ‘‘A girl's natural shyness, that is all.” Was it pees Howard Richland, wise in your own way as you may have been, but blinded by your own light of fancied secure content? A small sketch-portfolio lay upon the table by which Ethel was standing, and she turned the loose leaves absently after he had left her, a far-away look in the soft hazel eye, & closer setting than was habitual to the red lips. me of the leaves fluttered from beneath her hand to the floor. It was the merest outline of a sketch, a masculine head in pro- file, carefully begun it would appear—a fine, firm outline of feature, bold and clear as seen in even that unfinished penciling. She stooped to raise it after one glance swiftly averted, and, crossing to the hearth, paused there, the bit of paper held loosely in her fingers, undecided and wavering for a moment, Was it only girlish shyness that caused her to “Will you wait?” Mrs. Richland asked, as, obe- dient to her order, the carriage was brought toa stand ‘before the tall building, where the lawyer’s office was sandwiched in between numerous Other offices of more or less pretentious appearance. “TI will be back in five minutes, or, less perhaps.” “I shall wait here then, of course, Take your own time, Gertrude.” Ethel could not have told whether it was five min- utes merely or five times five that before her | sister-in-law’s return, She had fallen into a reverie with the sounds of the street unheeded about her when Mrs. Richland’s voice spoke at her side, _. “Twas longer than I intended, but I think I shall not need to plead an excuse. Tam fortunate in chancing upon an old friend of ours. Miss Richland, there is certainly not a possibility of your having ae ey Mr, Lenoir.” thel lifted her eyes with the slightest start, a light of surprise in their hazel depths, a soft glow coming into her cheeks as she saw in the face before her the original of that imperfect sketch which crisped on the library coals so few hours ago. CHAPTER Mi. ‘ AFTERNOON AT THE RICHLANDS. ‘**Miss RICHLAND may not have estimated the num- ber of weeks since we clambered over the mountain hights together, but I trust to her leniency to spare me the pain of utter forgetfulness.” “T should be so to claim amemory so short- reaching as that, and this meeting is an unexpected. leasure, Mr. Lenoir, And you are looking better or those wild scrambles over the rough roads, oris | it the time since has lent the improvement of that bronze and health tinge?” She leaned forward to give him her slim, gloved hand, and a bright smile, which seconded the pleas- ure she had expressed. “The entire time, I think; Iam only back from the country these past two days. You saw me first in my most spectral gauntness after a hard season of hard work and a siege of fever to follow it. Lam my natural self again, thoroughly rejuvenated. , To , drop self, are you finding it very duli in the semi-un/ settled state which prevails until the season is fairly mS Ne Dae that h faculty of mi admit ‘ e possess that happy faculty of seldom admit- ting dullness. I think owacd is careful to leave no eos! in the household for that perverter of all na- ures,’? “To guard still further against the chance, can we | not prevail upon you to favor us with your compan- ionship for the rest of the day? We are two lonely females, driftieg without aim or object just now, and it will be a pleasure to dispense with formalities by introducing you direct to our place upon Western avenue. You surely cannot refuse to return and dine with us, Mr. Lenoir?” Mrs, Richland’s invita- tion was cordially given, but it is to be questioned if Ethel’s smile and glance did. not weigh most in the — scale where his momentary indecision balanced. She almost doubted if it had been indecision he was so positive, despite the unmistakable regret of his response, “Impossible opportunities are always doubly en- titing, think, This one is too Driliant t6 be tempt- ed by any dereliction of duty, and you will pardon the necessity which demands my declining your. kindness with warmest thanks. lam back to dut again on the editorial staff of one of our dailies; have cultivated the habit of reading my own proofs and am Satisfied there are some at this momen awaiting my attention. After a season of unwortea pleasuring I must pin close to my post for a time.” | ‘** Let us see, then, if we cannot effect a compro- mise between inexorable duty and our brief expec- tations for the afternoon. Suppose we call for you an hour or two from this? We can drive, meantime, or find other amusement until you are at liberty. whe and where shall we call for you, Mr, Le- noir?” mr You are too kind, Mrs. Richland; and the trou- eo ‘Please don’t attempt to make another objection, Gertrude can be persistent when she likes, aud to change the old order of things this once, consider us at your service for the afternoon. It is not like our friend of the mountains to turn Se ey The trifle of imperiousness was that of the e who was accustomed to have her wish reco ed as law, and . said as plainly as words might have done—“ You will come because J wish it.” The glance of appeal. was all sweet and shy and a tnamey. irresistible to” | him as the soft light of those hazel eyes had been to others man: and many a time. ’ “T would a churl to refuse after such gracious | condescension. I am happy to accept, Mrs. Rich- land, and I will be at liberty within the hour. The eaueny rooms are just opposite, the reading room — elow.’ “In an hour then. And in the me&ntime, Fthel, | did you mention the Industrial Fair? As well there shrink at thought of Erle Hetherville, then? Oh, | Howard Richland, wise in your own belief, generous in your own inflexible way, was it wise and generous of you to prevail upon a child’s unreasoning assur- ance and unthinking consent to bean’ mapping out of the most important steps of her life? But she had consented, she was Erle Hetherville’s promised wife, and Erle Hetherville was doubtless here to claim the fulfilment of that sending agen The indecision and the wavering seem: O pass; the paper held so loosely dropped without any ap- Pomen ope her into the grate, where a low re smoldered, A few hours later the two ladies settled back amid the azure cushions’ of the barouche, enjoyed the fresh air and mellow sunshine of the bright fall S Gal, | suit our chief | to fall a vic as anywhere.”’ ; : The carriage rolled on, but there was a misty. pic- ture before Lenoir’s mind stfll of a pearly face and soft, appealing eyes, and tiny spirals of bright hair clinging to the temples—a ated as a hand descended is shoulder. : “ Sky-gazing, Lenoir? More profitable than sky- | larking perhaps, but not precisely the occupation to . ust now. So you are acquainted with la, belle Invincible?’ It was a reporter from his own office who had addressed him so unceremoniously, “With whom, Crayton?” ; “The Richland, tobe sure, She deserves the title if any one does. Circe herself never wove more y no means lightly upon subtle spells. I wonder if I need to tell you how |. Aatal her rola bas been?—how doubly fatal, since’ once is to exemplify the old tale | ay Rte : ee Ae ee which was dissi- ~ ; - oe asl ee —- 3 te ie ee ts ae RRL EATS eect aie Aw

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—~ ¢ “imperturbable calmness. “ : ae she had served in the famil bs of the moth and the flame; the fastinétion endures to the end, always a fatal end to the silly moth.” “You need to give me the first evidence that Miss Richland merits the character you have ascribed to her through any willful or intended trifling. It is not so hard to imagine her the worshiped among men and the envied among women.” : “My dear fellow, are you susceptible to friendly advice? I have a fancy you may need it yet—be- ware of the flame! You can never be more mis taken in life than in hanging your faith upon out- ward appearances. She is the greatest coquette, the most heartless flirt and unmerciful despot of the day, and to have that truthfully averred is to have Leia notorious celebrity among the coquettes, irts and despots, of our twin-cities, that I tell you. Better to trust yourself to the tender mercies of sharpers and knaves than to have fallen—” “Than to have fallen into the unpardonable error of discussing a lady acquaintance in the street —moreover one whose simple acquaintance is an honor conferred on a poor ig} ack with -sense enough not to presume upon it. It strikes me that these floating ‘they says,‘ from which you have gathered your opinion doubtless, have little or nothing to do with our business, Crayton.” “Mistaken again,” the reporter answered, with very thing belongs to our business, my boy, even to the private opinions and public appearances of these two fair beings just oon and all others of the same class. Bless you! enkins would be lost without them, which reminds me that our Jenkins has an item in to-day’s issue with a hope of lengthening it indefinitely, and all regarding the invincible Richland. Like this: ‘A rumor is afloat that the brave, lucky and handsome Mr. E—— H——,, lately returned from his stately country home and wide possessions in the ve heart of fertile, enticing Maryland, is soon to fulfi the expectations of his friends by blending the matrimonial honors with his otherwise already per- fect felicities. The fair lady of his choice has been a@ favorite since last season, the lovely Miss E—— R—,,’ with further reference to her charms and hints of her conquests, ad injinitum.” “And probably as correct as two-thirds of such | notices are nowadays. No wonder the fashionable ublic has decried them as intolerable nuisances,” noir answered, chillingly. Crayton gave him a ney glance, half-knowing and half-pitying. “Reserve your detestation of the nuisance for Jenkins then, or better still run in a square or so in pathetic condolence with the injured eee: That wouldn’t be consistent perhaps, but effective certainly from the pen of Justin Lenoir. Trust Jen- kins in his harmless range to make much out of little, but never give me the cold shoulder on his ac- ; count, my dear fellow.” They had walked slowly side by side across the gal and ascended the steps leading to the edito- al rooms, Crayton turned in one direction as he ke, and Lenoir passed through to his own desk. mehow all the brightness and misty glory of the gay had passed away fromhim. There was a pain- contraction in his forehead—a broad, intellec- tual forehead it was, his features firm and fine, the rather thin, dark face full of nervous power and ‘energy. Though his eyes were fixed upon the proofs of his own cles awaiting him, it was a moment before he recalled his thoughts to his task. “Ts she all the world says of her?"’ he was think- “Whether or no, why should it be anything to me? Have I forgotten myself so far as to have need of Crayton’s warning? I have had the warning at any rate and it remains for me to profit by it.” Aud there Justin Lenoir turned to his work with a will that for the time left him too absorbed to admit perplexities, There was only the softest glow roseate lingering in the Richland parlor. The light filtered over the two forms drawn close to one of the west windows, talking in softened tones together, and watching the glitter of a little gilded cross surmounting the spire of a small gray chapel, all but the dome of which already lay in the shadow. Mrs. Richland had with- drawn fora moment, Her husband had not made his appearance yet, and the cook had remarked twice to William Thompson, the footman, that inten : no three dinners spoiled through waiting for the master. The two left in the ap together had felt the | a ned silence which | ' Matthew Gregory. embarrassment of that constr may drop for aninstant upon the most self-possessed belle of the season, the most brilliant and promisi young journalist of the times; a silence which Ethe roke by rising and crossing to her present position. “T am sure you will agree with me in thi gita pity to ruin the effect of this lingering sunset b orderin hts fora few moments yet. The peacefu quiet of this time and the tinted atmosphere always remind me of the ‘dim religious light,’ as I saw it once streaming throug) ge ed windows over knee]- ing forms in St. Paul’s. I wasa very little child, but I think I shall never forget the strains of soft distant mousic swelling and rising in a grand peean, or the vivid solemnity of the chant ringing from column to _eolumn and echoing through the vast space. The music of our own churches has never seemed so complete.” He joined her, speaking of the various cathedrals of the world, their architecture and adornment, and remarking how impossible it is to point out the fine line of demarcation which separatesthe perfection of sensuous delights of a? and ear from the enthu- siastic fervor of the spirit service in religious de- votees Listening to his rich, low voice, her earnest eyes, looking perha given out to the golden SPARC of the little cross that same doubt of herself to which she had rfont uttePnsive that very morning, stirred b iy aw yn ; 1 c » Le a > ait , os is ieee) ‘" k $ . EUROS yt Bean ar tN En Ota Fer Ee ” os | ve ' “WILMA WILDE. | ddéor—they were all orderly, uncreaking doors in thé Richland mansion—nor the double footfall on the thick velvet pile, heard nothing until her brother’s voice broke suddenly audible at her back. ‘‘Ethel, are you too absorbed to welcome another friend, an unexpected friend, after my communica- tion of the morning, and I assure you I had trouble enough to secure him, unflattering as the fact may seem to you.” Ethel turned, and at the same instant the gasoliers were set ablaze with the full glare shining down upon the little group. | you can report Another gentleman who had entered with Mr. | Richland stood there; a handsome, blonde face looked down from his superior hight upon her, a pair of bold, laughing blue eyes seemed to be findi audacious amusement in the conscious guilty loo aprin, cy ated hers. “Miss Richland will believe me that the difficulty was not of my making. If she could knew how I have sacrificed my impatient inclinations to the rigid consultation of an exact conscience she would ap- plaud rather than reprove.” “With the support of that approving conscience St did quite properly to consult your own conven- ence, Mr. Hetherville. Nevertheless I am glad that the opportunity ofgiving you greeting has not been indefinitely postponed, as we were Ted to expect. And here is Gertrude ready to add her more weighty assurance to mine.”’ “First let me present Mr. Lenoir, Mr. Hetherville. According to all rules of contrast you two ought to be excellent friends.” Two minutes afterward Ethel went out to dinner on the arm of this tall, blonde young man, this scion of the old school aristocracy whose family posses- sions, coming down eke a five generations, were seized by voracious Jenkinses in furnishing sub- stance for those items of morbid interest which feed the minds of the envious hangers-on of that little central hub of society, about which the circles widen and widen until they are lost at last in the vulgar current of the masses, ‘““A frightfully demoralized scion, I am afraid,” Mr. Erle Hetherville was accustomed to say in his cheery, off-hand fashion. ‘“‘T find the family dignity a burden too mighty to be borne by these tender and inexperienced ‘shoulders ’—giving said shoulders a whimsical shrug, and looking in his six feet of well- developed manhood fully equal to the bearing of a burden of far greater eae than the old family ve ris he laughingly deplored. he gentlemen were still at table after the ladies had left them, when a card was brought to Mrs, Richland, She had sunk back in an easy-chair, and with a languid glance at the name looked across at her sister-in-law. “Have you any objection to my seeing him here, Ethel? The person is a stranger to me, a profes- sional gentlemen, Dr.—ah!—Dr. Craven Dallas — with a reference to the card, “No objection whatever, Gertrude. I was about oe ——s myself in case it was a private interview esired.”’ “Don't think of going, my dear. These strange callers are very apt to turn out bores, and I have a presentiment that this one will prove such.” The visitor bowed himself in, a tall, thin man, very sallow, with sparse sandy hair and keen, light gray eyes which swept the entire surface of his ob- servation at a glance, and fixed themselves with peculiar intentness upon Mrs. Richland’s face. She glanced up without rising. ** Will you be seated, Mr. Dallas?”—with a wave of her hand, indicating a chair—‘tand pardon me for reverting at once to the object of your visit. Iam at liberty only for a brief time.” “It is in reference to a communication I received from your solicitor, madame, when I chanced to drop in upon him this afternoon. Tam guardian to the pons girl, Wilma Wilde.” “Her guardian ! I understood she had been left without a guardian.” The keen, light eyes glanced guardedly toward Ethel, but wandered back to their subtle inspection of Mrs. Richland’s quietly unconscious attitude, of the vy pew weary face so perfect in its epee the white hands lying idly in her lap, the soft, dark orbs | finding s0 little to interest her about him that they wean Bh poet their —— surprise upon him and went k to the space before her. “TI was appointed her guardian after the late Iam most anxious to acquit my- self of the trust in a monner to satisfy my own per- | ceptions of right and to meet the confidence reposed again in er breast. She did not hear the opening | ence - - Vaden? ‘af : in me by my old friend,”’ ‘*Am Ito understand then that you object to my proposal regarding the girl?” The soft, black eyes met his fully for the first, the listlessness was stirred by a little faint bewilderment rather than any dis- appointed expression. ‘ “T am not sure that I object, Mrs, Richland; in fact it might not be wise for me to object. I hope I do not appear too zealous in assuring myself that this is the best advantage offering to Wilma before Ican give my consent. lam a bachelor, maintain- ing a bachelor’s primitive establishment, and it is uite out of the question that Ishould receive her there. I have been thinking that the child may need ra the she has not had many opportunities, poor thing! along with my friend who grew misanthropic toward the last. She has nothing at all, as Mr. Gregory, against my wishes I assure you, willed his little property tome; but no pécuniary trifle should stand between me and her best welfare,” “You are very considerate,” said the lady, quietly. “T explained to my lawyer that my‘intention was to give e girl all ordinary reasonable advantages, he will occupy no stated position in the household, though I shall expect her to hold herself in obedi- to my own and Miss Riehland’s wishes. ,The F ; CN? (eG site ; ay Aa Soe eh TOMER TOP: oe A a Or LNs ek | ment prove unsatisfactory in any | of retreating — solicitor, who is fully instructed I haye no doubt, cal fp you any satisfaction you require. You may eto think further of the matter, in which e¢7s@ our decision to him. Of course} should assume all expense in receiving her.” j “Icould not consent to relinquish my guardian” ship or occasional communication with my wa Assured of those points, I am quite willing that- Wilma shall be received into your household—quit@- positive that a i Oe Mrs. Richland’s generosity — an dliness will be nothing which is not consider/ ate toward the friendless orphan.”’ “For the time, upon those or any terms. Ibe came interested through hearing of her utter desola tion, perhaps I mentioned. Should the first arrange int, the freedom — from it may be wisely accorded, That — is sufficient, I hope.” P “ All-sufficient, my dear madame. And, by the by. ~with another glance toward Ethel, simply unob- servant of them, as he rose to go—‘‘I believe you visited my friend when he was too low to be intel’ ligibly consulted on any matter. He was intrus with considerable independent business at one time, and his papers have all reverted to me. point was left unsettled J may be able to attend 1 it ” ‘You are mistaken,” Mrs. Richland answered, her dark eyes opening in cool ge? she Some other visitor, perhaps. I had not the pleasure of any dealing with the late Mr. Gregory.” “ Ah—strange! Let me beg that you will pardo® the mistake.” With a few more words Dr. Cravei Dallas bowed himself out, and Mrs. Richland turn her quiet face toward her sister-in-law. : | “You are something of a physiognomist, I believe ; my. dear. What is your opinion of that man?” | thel gave an expressive little shudder. “He isa person I never could tolerate with any degree of composure, I fancy. He looks to have the inclination of a sycophant; he is cunning and it* — sincere, I am sure.” wa ““My impression of him was almost the samney Gertrude said, slowly, To herself she added—‘‘l6 — was like coming into contact with the slimy coil of 9 — serpent.” CHAPTER IV. TOO MUCH CONFIDENCE. * AND you will not be here for next week’s enter tainments, Mr. Hetherville! Not for Lotta, nor th? Clinton dinner, nor the Latham reception, whi¢ last will be recognized as the positive opening of the campaign, And how heroically you appear to up under the weight of disappointment that degree of sacrifice must necessarily Impose! Your mascv" line stoicism puts our little feminine logic to shame? we could not willingly turn our backs upon such alluring programme.” It was Ethelspeaking. They were grouped in th® parlor still, Mr. Richland in his easy-chair befor’ the fire had lapsed into drowsy unconsciousness ? all but the genial warmth and the low murmur ? voices that blended in with the dreams floating mistily through his mind. His wife was look at some _ stereoscopic views with Justin Lenolty while Miss Richland was engaged tete-a-ete wit ‘ the blonde young Marylander, whose blue, brig?! eyes, and rippling golden beard, and general nonchalance had worked as much havoc in his OW? — field, as Miss Richland’s feminine charms had & fected in hers. t “Tshall miss them—yes, but I am not withoU solace, The greater attraction of the three, Lottér remains, and I have my return for the sacrifice be fore itis made. But for Mr. Richland’s Me re up in Westmoreland county now, where # queer ol her abode. ene’ Greghwiie her humbler neighbors by the state oe y ht all ber es, and quite fond of me, with reason OF ne spite of it as you like, She would never forgive ve oversight if T neglected paying my respects befd launching upon the tide here, and she is sure t0 ne me off with not less than a week, by which time oi odor of my offensive cigar in the scrupulous san ty of her household precincts, my odd fowli pieces, resurrected to temporary service, my horne man’s carelessness and general ungainliness wear good old lady’s patience down to that fine edge when she is willing to see me depart with a 9& which mingles regret with sublime reconciliati’ The sacrifice, which is no very great sacrifice: all, is the delay of eg journey for a day, which tio throw my return just too late for the last attrac¥=, 7 on your list, the Latham reception. I am more ing | consoled by the thought of the hundred follow re | receptions, all likely to be as much of a jam, wh one sees the same people and hears the same oa marks, and eats the same indigestible conglomer, tion of salads and creams confections, ices an og try, and generally tops off the matter by imbi kes too freely of New Jersey chat paans an bee next morning with the identical headache, the s@”0 good resolutions which go off with the headae a all of which have been a recurring éxperience & me | cron Lon of Une dlelsea Spend upon the loss of that de prospect. “ You forfeit your sent to any commiseratio® oy viewing such a phase of it. But then it_is ch ral teristic of Mr. Hetherville to be independent ~ considerations.” j ati ; “You are too severe; I disclaim most emph: Yi ly in individual cases—yours for instance. ve can’t question that I am anxious to propitiate self in your favgr, Ethel. You don’t imagine

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“Taye been any thing put eager to break the strain of “Peserve which has been holding me afar off from my Uny lady-love of six years ago? I find it almost hard _ reconcile the noted, quoted Miss Richland now _ With the joyous little Ethie of that time; I wonder if _ You realize all the difference?” : A quick nervous dread was under all her compla- ent quiet, a dread which was touched by that change in his light, careless manner to one earnest i On nderly refiective, more nearly i poy ' , the tenor of the thoughts she felt must be dwelling . Mm his mind. ‘Ishould hope fora difference,” she answered, hastily, ‘‘from the silly little hoyden in pinafores of Ose old recollections. If you have any regard for vad feelings, pray spare those obscure reminiscences Which willnot gain in their resurrection. There, Mr, Lenoir has reached the last of those no doubt Vastly entertaining views, and Gertrude I know is Waiting to make inquiry of all our Maryland friends, ong to compare notes in disposing of the time.to me, ’? “Tam at Mrs. Richland’s service after one mo- Ment. You have not forgotten, Ethel; you wear my hg yet, the ring which was so much toolarge when ou tried it first. The time which was agreed upon Y my father and your brother, who were interested and desirous of aiding this final consummation, as come close ap last, Ihad my own reasons for remaining quite out of your society in this year Past. I wanted you, of your own unbiased judg- Ment, to determine if your woman’s heart could Wholly and freely second your childish choice. I say to you to-night because in strict honor I can not defer longer than my next visit here speaking to Our brother upon this subject, which I have cher- hed first in my thoughts—tenderly cherished it— for six years past. If you can assure me that your h g not wavered from the letter of truth Spoken in that childish betrothal, if no other love as usurped the place of that attachment of long 8g0, my happiness and my pride will be complete When I have il peina—toy wife. I want you, Ethel; and Hetherlands is sadly in need ofits future Mistress. Havel your permission to consult your rother—your assurance that no flaw will mark the Perfectness of our long-laid. plans?’’ { The blonde, manly face was handsomer in its ten- er earnestness; the flashing, mocking blue eyes had silyl still and deep, and the hand into which he drawn hers, wearing his ring, was close and firm in its Clasp—strong and tender and true as she knew is nature was; there could be no exception taken Erle Hetherville as he presented his cause in such Plain, deliberate words. More unimpassioned, one Wight have thought, than the full of his aroused £arnestness should warrant; but then this prospect had been one of daily consideration with him for Years past, and if a little folly is indispensable in ro- Mantic love-making, their folly and their romancing ad occurred six years ago, when the boy of eighteen 8nd the girl of twelve had been thrown together in 8n old Maryland homestead, and turned their whole Souls, as they fondly fancied, their silly heads and Susceptible young hearts it is very sure, to the pretty farce which in their case had been made abiding by € delighted Sppscpencn of other older heads, After one swift glance Ethel’s eyes had been per- Sistently downcast. A little pallor displaced the bright rose-flush which had lingered in her cheeks; ® little weight pressed upon her heart and seemed to Still the warm blood which had thrilled there. With ose clear, bold and tender eyes upon her, with her rother’s words of the morning—“I think I can be Sure of you, Ethel,” ringi n her hearing again What could she do, what could she say, but give that eer ean they were both confident in expecting from r She spoke, and her voice sounded to her own ears ; like a tone far off and independent of herself. Her ords did not seem of her own volition, they were S80 broken and unintelligible, until his face bent Closer and his firmer pressure of the hand he held ieipreted them to her. “You have never thought of doing other than ful- filing your part—Heaven bless you, darling! And J Hever had a real fear that you would fail, Ethel.” He loosed the little hand, and while she was still in hat mazy trance, which dowbts the reality of all “round, he had turned to speak gayly across the yom to the other two just leaving their places by he book-strewn side-table. ; Mr, Richland, waking suddenly out of his nap, hey formed ene central group after that, and at a “er hour the two ean men took their leave to- e ‘ther, They had been tempted to linger late, and “4 gas burned with a dull glare now in the silent Streets. A policeman pacing his lovely beat glanced dt way as the two descended the wide white steps uched his cap and passed on down the long line o: alternate blocks of light and shade, At the first cor- er Lenoir paused, saying: Thope you regret heartily, as Ido, the fact that ty way taken me off in this diverse direction, Do You cross the river, may I ask?”’ ola 4.78! I am staying at the Monongahela now. My d lodgings are something out of repair, with no Tospect of being ready for days yet. A bore to live Py ppartments but better than to be at the = of One's of knavish hangers-on in an establishment of own.’ whenoir, with a very correct fancy in his mind of y at aspect this luxury-loving, lavish-fortuned °ung gentleman's apartments might present in ant detail, smiled and turned back, check- ‘ay, bs {he words of good-night which had trembled upon “Second ing : a ou pirations are often the best, and if y mn far not object,I will change my route and attend 7% OS ed ae dae aes doer Mirai \ WV UME VV AO “My dear fellow, eae | do object if your way lies in that other direction. It strikes me that the long, lonely walk might be longer and lonelier by the time you made the return. It is now five min- utes of twelve,” glancing at his watch by the light of the street lamp near which they had paused, “time that honest men were in their own quarters, when thieves do walk and deeds of darkness shall be done, I don’t fancy that either are in waiting in this quiet and eminently respectable neighborhood, and I feel quite equal to the task of Pips. care of myself if they were. Take a cigar to cheer your way, Mr. Lenoir, and let me hope to welcome you to my quarters when I’m once established ere.’ Lenoir took the cigar and turned his own way, lancing back to see Hetherville still standing in e circle of light, puffing slowly at his own weed— a tall, well-built manly aivurd as defined there, his frank, open face, with its rippling luxuriant golden beard in full sight, his dark overcoat, fastened by a single button, letting the gleam of the diamond ey refract in broken darts, while a costly ring sparkled upon the hand from which he had removed his glove to reach his cigar-case, “Brave and honorable, rich and handsome,” Le- noir thought. ‘‘ What woman’s heart would fail to be won by him?” Hetherville, lacking his eulogistic attributes, was pi a something in not an utterly dissimilar strain, ‘*T fancy [am one of the luckiest among men,” he reflected. ‘‘ With such a fair, sweet bride to finish off other excellent advantages, I ought to be the happiest of men, and shall be, of course,” It is ge Fie pe that there was a qualm of doubt stirring Mr. Hetherville’s mind at that moment, Earnestly in his heart he believed that the devotion which had been nurtured and kept blossoming™ through these past six years was the one passion which could widen to complete his after life—a pas- sion grown calm long ago; but then, all passions cool, he assured himself, and this was the calm of lasting, peaceful contentment, _ It had been five minutes of twelve when he paused in that circle of light. Ata quarter past, the watch- man, returning on his beat, stopped suddénly in the block of shade lying beyond, and stooped down over a dark, moveless body stretched upon the pavement, the unconscious face turned toward the s ys a little trickle of blood dabbling the bright hair and staining the stone beneath, Erle Hetherville,shorn of his pride and his strength in that brief interval, with sparkling ring and gleam- ing diamond pin, and costly gold chronometer, with kindred valuables, géne from his person, and ominous purple: marks appearing upon his throat, from which his collar had been torn away, CHAPTER VY. THE ELF-FACE, Erte HerHERvVILLE opened his eyes with a feeling of intense languor, with a sense of pressure upon his brain, but except that, with no painful or disagree- able impression in his physical sensations—with only the laziest and pee impressions mistily apparent to hismind. His head was pressing dainty lace-ruffied pillows, his ee opened upon white filmy draperies and a blending of blue-and-gold be- hs which were surely not natural to his room at he Monongahela. Neither was this quiet chamber, with some soft, sweet perfume just perceptible in its armompbers, one of his own suite of handsome he had ordered prepared. It came to apartmen : him slowly that this was a totally unfamiliar place. He made a vague attempt to remember how he had come there, but with the effort lost sight of misty draperies and bn iyge mk iat tints beyond, faint per- fume and strange, indistinct objects about him. Then, in a dreamy way, he had found the blue-and- gold again in floating, spuds forms, and very much nearer and clearer, but looking out from them down upon him a face like no other face he had ever seen, unless, perhaps, in other dreams, : Anelf-like face, with wistful, pathetic, pitving eyes, that gave him a thrill as of something intangibly mournful about her, even in his dream. A soft, cool little hand fell upon his forehead, brushing back the clusters of thick bright hair, and with that, face and clouds vanished, but the cool, soothing touch , lingered still, When he found himself again, there was subdued lamp-light in the room. The reign of quiet was broken at his first movement, as his head turned, and his wide eyes unclosed with the vague wonder in them deepening to amazement as a stiff little rustle of silk heralded the uprising of an erect, spare form stationed by his bedside. “My dear aunt Erle!’’ said his weak, su voice. ‘Then Iam in Westmoreland, after all?” ‘Bless my dear boy, he knows meat last, And he is not going to have a fever, or a relapse, or any- thing a the sort, so there must be no agitation and no effort, Awake and sensible and hungry—I do hope you are hungry, Erle. It's the best of signs,” “Be comforted by the best of signs then, my dear aunt; I’m voracious as though I hadn’t had a mouth- ful for a week. I’m puzzled to know how I came here and how everything seems metamorphosed, and how to account for all the weird fancies I’ve been having. Did I come with an incipient fever throwing me helpless on your hands from the first? I’m just rational enough to know that I’ve had an illness of some coer 4 ion.” “But you’re not here and you didn’t come—I mean that you did come, but you are not here—we are not in Westmoreland, at all, that is. How the boy is talking, and 1 ositively cannot permit him to say another word, e is just to have some chicken- broth and go to sleep again, and have no worry in his poor brain till he has a little more strength. There, not a word; / should know. I imagine.”’ +s ail ‘7 a , 3 _—. \ e.> pa ee Oe ee PY bs it fe Z 7 { oe 2) " ' He was quite content to be silent as the stiff silk rustled away. He heard her speak at the door of. ih the room, and a moment after she came back with ) a little fray covered with a snow-white napkin, Not- withstanding his assertion of a voracious appetite, it was almost satiated by a sight of the delicate, light’ little lunch. The attempt to lift his head brought a r dizzy whirl and a sense of faintness he had not ex- perienced in his quiet state, “T insist, Erle! you must be obedient. You must sip the broth I give you, with a mouthful of bread and a little wine, but for these other things you are \ not to think of them at all. Just like the generalit; of people to send up a lot of syllabubs for a si man, as though his stomach was governed by a con- trasting rule from the vest of his body,” When the tray had been sent away again, and she resumed her seat by the bedside, his eyes, quite un- touched by any symptoms of sleepiness, came back from their interested survey of the room to rest in- quiringly upon her face. . “T’m coming back slowly, aunt Erle. I’ve got as faras a circle of light under a street-lamp, but there I'm stuck. Do give me a lift out of the mire.” _ “You were garroted and robbed, and the police-_ man who found you—poor, dear fellow!—senseless « — and helpless, brought you back here to Mrs. Rich- Atle: land’s. Hey sent word to me; I came, of course and here we have been ever since, and that’s all of it in a nutshell.” * And that ‘ever since’ has been how long?” “A week—just. And now not another word. , Somebody has been asking for you, and I shouldn’t besurprised if somebody came in to see you, if you are not tired orasleep, before she goes to the ball.” ‘* Somebody”? did come—Ethel Richland, in her rich evening dress, all white and decollete, with jewels sparkling at every turn, the purest, sweetest, © fairest vision surely to grace the Latham reception ae that night. : : “The favorable report Ihave heard of our invalid \ is all true. How rejoiced [am to know you are : fairly recovering, Erle. You ought to recover if faithful attendance and rigid observance of the bysician’s orders of seclusion and quiet can enforces ose that end. Since Miss Erle’s arriv. ou have had : the most indefatigable of nurses, and we less effi- cient ones must admit the wisdom which has ban- ished us in her favor.” : “Odd how our sick vagaries affect familiar faces, is it not, and how vivid the workings of a distem- red fancy? I could sketch out a face I saw linger- ng over me looking out of floating clouds. So Kind aunt Erle took sole possession of me? {[f should have known it through the mere fact, of finding her. here. Atleast Iam glad that I have not been a tax utterly upon the Bees consideration of your brother’s household.” “Don’t imagine that we submitted to the extreme Jetter of the law which would have banished us en- tirely. I thought you Arie the appearance of oe being half-awake and half-conscious when I was Ney) here, some three hours ago. Miss Erlehas flattered 8 me more than once by trusting you to my watchful- ed ness for a half-hour or so when she could be per- Ko suaded to leave this chamber.” r Mrs. Richland came quietly in at that, also in 4 evening dress, and with solicitous inquiry after the iny: a 4 ere ** So kind of you to five me a glimpse of par Sead ¥. ’ on magnificence,”’ he said, from his Pe de among the pillows. ‘‘Even enforced confinemen' that breeder of general discontent, does not tempt — me to quarrel with my present delightful location~ apart from the disability attending—or to envy you. A pleasant evening, ladies; a triumphant evening to you, Za belle Ethel. It is quite the proper thing for me +e ae emg - ,you, as whether or no you can not failto ~~ “Was my elf-face a dream-fancy only?” he asked § __ himself, as he watched them depart. “I could no Teiae more imagine Ethel's fair face appearing like that = thanI could fancy aunt Erle changed, young and soy strange, and with such mournful traces thebig =~ — dark eyes and weirdly sweet young face, I wonder if dreamland will conjure that fancy up again.” ix Dreamland failed to do so, either then or after- ward, except in vague, elusive ways which no fi. sooner took that form than they faded into air again, or wavered like a will-o’-the-wisp just beyond \ the power of his comprehension to grasp. F * ** And now,”’ said aunt Erle, three days days after this, “you are well enough quite to sit up in your room, You shall go down to the parlor to-morrow, Bee you conduct yourself properly mean-- me while. ry ‘You don’t know how pleasant this beinganin- —— — valid proves itself,” protested her nephew, lazily-. “Upon my word, lam not sure that I don’t owe a debt of gratitude to the unknown pee or parties | who manifested their kind regard for me in such a deucedly close-handed manner, I’m not at all sure but I can forgive them that, after experiencing y these new sensations of comfort—this having my “ wishes anticipated before they come to be wishes, eG the exercise of the whole household’s ingenuity to keep me amused. You should all be highly grati- ~~ fied by your grand success, Like all perfect pros- pects in life it has been too fair to last. Very well aunt Erle; if you insist, there can be no question of ‘ my routing out from this indolent enjoyment.” ; “t ‘Much you deserve sympathy!’ retorted aunt ; Erle, with as much impatience as she often mani-- = fested toward him; “‘much, indeed, if that is the’ hight of your consideration, Forgive the ruffians ’ for walking off with your valuables after coming within an inch of taking your life. I hope !’ma oo) Christian, but I don’t long to equal that stretch of generosity.” } ‘‘ And all because I instead of you was the sufferer. ee

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_ terpre >. ‘pleasan '~ gnd with his ’ --You would bear up with the most sublime fortitude in a merely individual case.” “Tirle,’said his aunt, facing about suddenly, the stiff silk crackling with an abrupt movement, an anxious emodtion come into her face, ‘‘ have you re- membered that the ring was among the valuables lost? It’s Baton, bad, bad sign.’ *T have remembered it, and I regret it more than all the rest. My mother’s ring—the dearest signifi- cance it could hold forme, I am not in danger of being troubled by any superstitious fancy attaching; rather, I can afford to defy such.” Miss Erle closed her lips and spoke no remon- strance, but the anxiety was not cleared out of her face. That same afternoon as Ethel sat by him, the -- book which she had been reading aloud dropped in- to her lap, the subject came to his mind again. He ore rage dernanded it, reclined upon a sofa, in dishabille of See i Ne dressing-gown and embroidered slippers, looking none the worse in his pallor and languor and general tted invalidism. He put out his hand and drew ers into it, turning a’ heavy ring she wore, having the device of a heart wrought in diamonds flaming out from an incrustation of rubies which burned \ like a sullen glow upon the taper white hand. » “Thave lost the mate to it,’ he said—‘'the ri with which the Hethervilles have been accustome to wed their brides. Have you faith in evil omen? They say—that is, tradition says, such a loss foretells the breaking of the betrothal, though where tradi- tion found authority for the same Iam at a loss to surmise, since there is no record of either ring hav- ing ever been parted from the family possession be- fore this.”’ ers pore may not be irrecoverably lost,” she sug- ge . “A happy reminder, It would be quite out of recedent, and a marriage in the family probably yoted no marriage without the Hetherville ring. Failing it, I think I can answer for our independence of old customs, and assert as emblematic a dégres of constancy in any new substitute.” _ The hazel eyes were looking at him with an intent expression, and the slim hand drew away from his clasp. There was a feeling astir in her heart, a half- impulse to confess the naisetvings which even now were not wholly at rest, a longing to cast herself Me on his peng and gain the release which would surely iven for the asking. But after all, how much better would she be for breaking this bond which had united them since distant childhood? Would she not be miserable, instead, for pringine such a misery upon him? She respected his firm, manly principles, and liked him so much; he was so unmistakably handsome as he lay there, supporting his head in his white, shapely hand, his hair gleam- ing a darker shade but almost as intensely golden as her own, and Ethel was no Sphinx among women to be insensible to such masculine beauty. How could phe endure to witness her brother’s disappointment ripe the great debt of gratitude she ow im upon er n with cesar 9 gained, would she not be miserable in her own right at reli ae the ex- pectation which had been held constantly in her sight during these six years? It was a morbid im- pulse, one which her better judgment would repudi- “ate asit had done in calm deliberation once before. Ah, Ethel, was it the better judgment which had rebelled, or was it an upspringing of that inexorable pride—the same, however, modified and unsuspect- ed under your gentler exterior, that had been the ruling power of Howard Richland’s life? Was it more a shrinking from the acknowledgment even to lf of having given unasked the heart which _ was not hers to give, and to aman who had never Spoken one word of love, who had never ventured tpon a speech of gallantry, or by any act of his in- more than in civil intercourse he would Rive to any other woman? _ “Where had you gone?” he asked, smiling, at her absorbed, perplexed expression, dissipated by a re- membrance of his immediate facing of her. “Not on a clairvoyant quest of the missing ring?” “**No, indeed,” with a little feminine shiver. ‘I Ihave a dread of those subtle powers which so far outreach our ordinary understanding. I would rather agree with you in ignoring the old supersti- tions, if for no better reason than may be found in consulting newver ones. J have a fancy I would rather not be wedded with the Hetherville ring. There, spare me that glance of sad reproach—I Anow quite well what a coveted honor it has been.” He was alone shortly after that with his thoughts ‘wandering back to the suggestive result their con- ‘versation had indirectly touched. “What reason for deferring the understanding which must be arrived at soon?” he asked himself. “Why not make haste to complete the bliss which ‘ has been so long in prospective? To-morrow aunt Erle set aside for my appearance below, but I think I shall anticipate the good old lady’s By et a by finding my way to the library now and awaiting the ‘return of my brother-in-law in jsuturo close at '. hand, (i ea his regular hour, I have Ethel’s “guthority for the treaty; so let it be brief and ey satisfactory, as it lies in the nature of the affair to be.’ He went out through the corridor where his steps fell noiselessly on the thick pile, down the stairs and upon the library door, swung it filently back, then stood as if transfixed upon the threshold—stood gazing silently down at a little that curled in one of the great library chairs, n the arm, her head lying the small elfin-face fu y in about the rather‘low eep. er hands crossed u ' against the back wit view, soft, dark hair brow, and the eyes sealed | - WILMA WILDE. CHAPTER VI. THE DOCTOR’S PATIENT. Dr. Craven Dattas lost no time in establishin himself: in the old house on the Manchester road. There was no one to dispute the bequest with him and no tedious formalities to be observed in as- suming the responsibilities of his new situation. Some might have wondered at the doctor’s taste as well as his haste in taking occupancy of the dull, rambling, shadowy place, from which the death- shadow had scarcely lifted, where ghostly, dispiri- ting shadows lurked in odd corners in the brightest weather. But Dr. Craven Dallas was not affected by morbid sentiments any more than he was superior to the collateral consideration which would have adapted him to worse quarters had any personal ad- Perhaps no more fit suc- cessor could have taken up old Matthew Gregory’s relinquished reign. 7 Alone as he had kept himself during his life, alone from all kindred pity or sympathy or affection as he had been in his dying hour, so he had been hurried from under the shadow of the roof which had sheltered him for two-score years into an obscure corner of a dark, damp old a shut in by such forbidding walls, so overhung by the shadow of the old stone church upon the one side, so crowded in by the tall tenement-houses upon the other, that none of heaven’s brightness or earth’s fairness ever straggled by any chance into that dark inclosure which was more like a spot accursed than hallow ground. A few followers there were, drawn by that insatiate craving of morbid curiosity which makes Death—the great leveler of all distinctions—so familiar a discussion with the common classes. Dr. Dallas with a fold of crape surrounding his hat, Mrs, Gerrit with a corresponding badge in the mourninge vail she wore, and the lonely orphan ward, were a in the little knot gathered near the long, narrow erat who, having any interest with the departed ife, might be supposed to experience an emotion at these last observances paid to the body. The impassive faces of the first two were stolidily undemonstrative in all expression, and the few bit- ter tears Wilma shed were more in pity for her own utter friendlessness than grief for the hard, harsh man who had repelled every advance she made to him in life, whose cruel assertion, in response to her last appeal, had fallen upon her like a parting curse, That she was not to be left friendless and destitute, that she was to be ‘transplanted to a healthier at- mosphere of kindness and care for her welfare, touched her with such unexpected ea after- ward—filled her peers chilled, starved heart with such a warmth of thankful gratitude, that, for the first time, the shadows which had burdened her. young life let through a rift of the sunshine which should be the natural allotment of all young lives, So her first glimpse of a quiet, deep joy had come to Wilma over that lonely grave in the darkened churchyard. A wood fire crackled on the hearth of Dr. Dallas’s sitting-room, as the even which closed the first week of November came down. It was cold and clear without. There had been a little rain on the previous night, and patches of ice and slippery glares upon the sidewalks were deceptive pitfalls under feet of unwary pedestrians. The house, set back from the thoroughfare, caught none but the deadened echo of noises from the surrounding streets encroaching fast upon this which had been, not long ago, beyond the extreme outskirts of the city limits. To the south, the dense smoke which St ea overhangs the twin city could be traced ike an immense heavy cloud against the clear night- sky, and the red eyes of the furnaces came out, one by one, as the darkness deepened, This sitting-room, with the cheerful flame sending a ruddy glow over its bare extent, communicated with the chamber where old Matthew Gregory had spent his last breath, just too soon to enforce that prompting which seemed suddenly to have become such a fe- verish desire. Scarcely changed in detail, it was the doctor’s sleeping apartment now, and no ghost of a broken trust haunted him there. He was smoking his pipe before the fire, his eyes fixed upon it, his thin form seeming even thinner in his dingy loose dressing-gown, his sallow face, with the scant hair giving his forehead an appearance of ater width than the reality, was inscrutable in ts repose. “‘Domiciled under a roof of my own, thanks to my skillful generalship rather than my very dear friend Gregory’s kindness,” he soliloquized. ‘*'A good ad- dition to my practice, which, though small, is toler- ably lucrative.” ‘There were some to say that the secret of Dr. Dallas’s success was not owing alone to his medical ability, but rather to the knowledge of the nature of skeletons inhabiting certain rich men’s closets than his intimate knowledge of practical skeletons strung upon wires, like the one in @ cur- tained niche of this very room, the sight of which had given Mrs. Gerrit, who remained in her capacity of housekeeper in the place, such a fright that she was hours in recovering from it. “I fancy that my legacy is not the single good fortune which comes down to me through Matthew Gregory. <A discreet man, but one who was mistaken in supposing him- self an impenetrable mystery to other men.” The fire sunk fitfully, and as he stirred himself to poke it vigorously, he lost the sound of the gate creaking on its rusty hinges and of heavy, uneven steps on the paved walk without. A loud knocking at the door, repeated almost before the first_echoes died away, bore so unmistakably the sound of an urgent summons, that, hastily lighting a lamp which stood in readiness, he went out with it in his d to himself give the required admittance. Two men stood upon the steps; one, the taller, leaning heavily upon the shoulder of the other. } { re ‘ » 5 “You are Dr. Dallas?’ he asked. “I met with: confounded accident out here by your gate, that. given me a sprain or a wrench of some sort. I ose I can come in and: have the thing attended is gentleman, who was so kind as to pick mé from my tumble in the gutter, recommended mil here. you'll kindly give me your arm a little ful ther, sir—so! Curse the awkwardness of this, to say nothing of the inconvenience! Who would havé- thought that such a two-penny bit of ice could give such a deuce of a twist? Thank you, my man, ale@ that to drink to my chance of speedy dependence up- on my own limbs. The man, who was probably a mechanic from hi§ — appearance, would have declined the coin proffered him, but, being pressed, accepted it, and thanking ~ the donor, withdrew. The doctor was already kneek ing, ma a swift examination of the injured limb, but the keen light eyes, that never let an thing escape them, had seen the golden gleam an heard the chink of coins carried loosely in other’s pockets, “A dislocated ankle,” he said. ‘It was somet! of a feat, that of limping in upon it,and I see thal the pain is having its revenge. It is badly swollen; the sooner put into place the hetter, Can you en- dure the added twinge?” **Go ahead!” was the brief reply. The doctor did go ahead, after a glance into the other’s face, a trifle pale under the deep bronze the skin, but with every muscle firm, not a quiver of anerve anywhere to manifest the acute agony he must have suffered. When the limb was fairly dressed and a placed, Dr. Dallas stood with his hand upon the chair he had lately occupied, not looking directly at his unceremonious patient, and said: “You will do very well after that, and you stood it bravely. Will you have a carriage ordered, oF may I offer you my own poor pie ames f for the night? I can find some one to take any messag@ you may desire to your friends, in that case.” If you can accommodate me for a day or 80 until I’m about again, I will be happy to square ac- counts with you for the advantage derived, Ill give you no further trouble than that. Tve no friends to communicate with—not even acquaint- ances in the city.” “In that case I'll order preparations made for your stay here. The best at my disposal is plain — enough, but we’ll endeavor to make you comforta~ . ble.” He went out to consult with his housekéeper, © cote sgai ey after a few minutes, resumed his chair. “You were smoking,” said the other, glancing at the half-filled pipe which he had put down hastily and still alight. ‘‘Take another pipe in my com- pony, and favor me with an opinion of this brand. ather fine, I consider it.” He passed a heavy silver tobacco box, and draw- ing a short meersehaum from his pocket, filled it after the other. “From the West?” the doctor asked, between his puffs. “You think so? Quite right! Odd how one car- ries the flavor of a locality about with him.” “Not so odd while you carr jingling eurrency- We don’t have many ‘yellow boys’ turned loose. about here in these days. Been in the service out there? That inference is clear enough; a military man is recognizable anywhere.” “So it would appear. I was in the frontier service not a great while since. You said something a mo- ment ago of my bearing that little operation without an ado over it, but by the time a man goes through the mill I’ve been ground in, he isn’t apt to flinch at such a trifle, Little enough to come to the fact of the accident, but a devilish inconvenience into which you are thrown for your share.” “Don’t speak of it,” said the doctor, blandly. In this new patient he was positive he would not find an illiberal debtor, Ethel’s reading of this man’s character had not been far wrong. A dozen ordi- nary men might have dislocated their ankles before his gate, and he would not have disturbed his domestic arrangements to have received one of them, But this was not an ordinary man; his first glance had shown him that and that élink of gold and silver coins in his pocket had assured him of as much more as he had cared to know at first. He was@ soldierly-looking man, erect, well built, broad- shouldered, and muscular, and with a bronzed, bearded face and curling hair, that had been chest- . nut but was turning grizzled along with his heavy military mustache and lower whiskers, Fi _ “Don’t speak of it,” the doctor said. ‘*My regret is that I have not better to offer you. Mrs. Gerrit, my housekeeper, will arrange my slee ing-room * yonder for your occupancy. I have a mec Jey iece of furniture here,” pointing to a nondescrip object at the back of the room, ‘*which can be metamor phosed into a sofa or a bed, or a table at pleasure, which will serve my turn as it has done many. a timé before, The truth is that I have very recently estab: lished myself here, and the pd remains in almost the state preserved by its late occupant, By thé way, you have not favored me with your name,” a4 An oversight. Iam Leigh Bernham, late captain in the 10th cavalry. Do you succeed a brother prac’ titioner here?” “No; the place was left me by et ater oe partly as areminder of old friendship, partly in return fot services rendered. Matthew Gregory seemed at much a fixture as the old house itself, apparently. but he was buried from here a couple of weeks Of course you are not interested in any of this.” — Captain Leigh Bernham, late of the 10th, smokin his pipe contemplatively, presented a steady | ‘of feature which one who runs might not ready which might baffle those keen bright eves. unde?

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y : A Ving no interests of my own 80 paket, with a medley i toe Which he was for the time being placed with more _ Sbiect than they yet had to look‘him through. am interested in anything,’ he answered. i am led to take Ty be those of other people. This Mr. Gregory had nc b 0od-heirs, Iam to presume; or is it possible that Tara avis has been discovered at last, a surviving sheive who is not ready tosquabble for ‘dead men’s Oes “There are no relatives. Did I understand you ta Say you kad left the service, Captain Bernham?” ome time since. I sent in my resignation when My brother, more sensible than I had been, though less gg 3 in one way, died up among the Nevada es. He had gone in with the California excite- Ment of ‘54, and never could rid himself of the Tather inexplicable fascinations of the rough mining te. Iwas his heir by law, and he left enough tc Make the change rather marked between. the poor devil of an army captain and a stock-holding nabob of the Far West.” Z For all which,” thought Dr. Dallas, during the in- terval of silence which elapsed, “there’s somethin More behind the reserve that says so little of himself. Trust Time and Craven Dallas to bring out the con- Vineing proof of that if nothing else.” CHAPTER VIL. THE DOCTOR’S COFFEE. “ Lonny? Well, no sir; I can’t say that it seems 80 to me. I’ve lived here for a matter of seventeen fcars, and now I’ve grown used to the place, just as have a sort of fancy that it has grown used to me. Teouldn’t feel quite at home anywhere else after this, and I think the old house wouldn’t be quite the Same with me out of it.” : , *There’s no doubt of that, Mrs. Gerrit. Knocking about the world as I have done, I’ve had little ®nough experience with home-comforts of any sort; but with he evidence presented before my eyes ®re, I can understand the advantages of having a anepetent person thoroughly devoted to one’s affairs as domestic manager. You look decidedly Comfortable in there now. I wonder if you would 9bject to my coming in for a little sociable chat? If You don’t find it lonely I do—confoundedly so!” Captain Leigh aachen had limped back through the long dark corridor, which stretched between the © parts of the building — one occupied by Dr. Dallas, and containing, besides the two apartments, ch already have been seen, two others, one used an office, the second fitted with the appliances of & laboratory; the other part, a fac-simile of the first, was divided into kitchen and dining-room, Mrs. Gerrit’s own room, and another not now in use, Some days had passed since his untoward ac- Cident, and Captain Bernham was about again, tak- ing the freedom of his host’s establishment ina Yery matter-of-fact fashion, and saying nothing as fet of moving his quarters. Saying no more to Dr. allas’s concealed disappointment regarding himself his experiences of the past, or his prospect of the fulure. Some subtle attempts to draw him out had n bluffly ignored, and the doctor found himself mcxpestedly, affected by an uncomfortable sense of ‘hferiority, with all his craft and cunning, matched ’gainst the quiet discipline of feature that was Proof Resins all surprises, and the simple open pndor ortified at the back by such close reserve. Ree than once in these days he had repeated that seSt conviction and half-promise made to himself: There’s more behind his reserve, Trust Time 8nd Craven Dallas to bring out the convincing proof of that, if nothing else.” His slow progress made on the ‘way noe have shaken the faith of a less jhtewa and subtle spirit, but the doctor’s was only i thtened by his own lack of success. He was out iting patients now, and Captain Bernham had the Lole morning before him to while away. i: Begging your pardon, sir, I'll take it as a great tin hess. JI overlooked inviting you in through so j28 habit to the old master’s ways. It’s a great thange since he’s gone—a great i i it’s not °r me to complain of it since I’m kept on. That pair, sir, you'll find an easy resting-place, with the assock for your lame foot. Do you find yourself “Omfortable now?” t Very comfortable, thank you, Your old master, he “ioe Mr. Gregory, must have been quite strongly ched to you.’ “Hardly that; it wasn’t his way to be attached to &ny one, He was never any thing but distant to fren them one might think would have won upon closer. He never interfered in the household 8trangement, which was a great thing fora lone an, and one so set in his own opinions. He left re & remembrance in his will, only a small matter Ut enough to show that he thought kindly of me.’ 4 Quite the proper thing to be done after seven- jee years of faithful service, I should say. My only Clination to quarrel with the late Mr. Gregory is that he did not make it more considerable, no im- h ible matter since there were no heirs-at-law in case. A woman’s tact in the house is invaluable uc you have excellent skill, Mrs. Gerrit. Upon my °rd you force me to mark the difference between Your cozy snugeery here, and my own and the dee t's speedy bachelor disarrangement over yon- e He cast an admiring qough in all reality, but with those little touches ppParent which speak loud as words of a woman's Ndiwork, A little round stand in a corner with a arse but snow-white cover holding a wicker-work of bright worsted contained flowers on the conanangN one or A-vase of dri two graceful prints in rustic frames upon t ig wie embroidered cover of the hassock, fine touches ch afte: ' curd though it may have been lance about the room, plain ° ed pride beaming in her Ld ye WILMA WILDE. _ facé, and something like a sigh Beene the hand- kerchief crossed upon her ample breast. “They’re not my doing,” she explained. ‘I haven’t any faculty that way, for all I like tosee the pretty things around, They’re all Wilma’s work and they seem more like a part of herself now tha she too is gone. had cunning fingers, and she always would put the little ornaments she made in here. Her own room yonder is nigh about as bare as the rest of the house. Poor thing! poor thing! ‘They only make my own loneliness harder,’ she used tosay. ‘Ican enjoy them out here with yon to share them along with me.’ The most affection- ate little thing,and for all that the saddest—it makes my heart ache yet, poor dear! The change was a rsd one for her, I’m sure.” “Dead?” asked the captain, changing his position before the fire, his tone quiet through sympathy, ‘Was she your daughter? “Oh, dear, no, sir; to both questions, She’s Wil- ma Wilde, Mr, Gregory’s ward that was; Dr. Dallas is her guardian now. She left here something like aweek before you came. A kind, rich lady who had heard of her took a fancy to befriend es 50 Wilma h s goneto her house for a time, though I've an idea that Dr. Dallas don’t mean to let her go en- tirely. I’ve missed her sorely, but it was far away for the child’s good. It’s not natural for a youn creature to take kindly to the sort of life she ha here. Mr. Gregory was distant to every one, as I said, but he was more than distant to her. There were those who said, and I sometimes used to thin he knew her to be something besides the little wai he brought up for charity’s sake, I’ve known him to give a crust ora penny to a beggar at his door but never a kind look ora tender word for her, And she, poor lamb! so patient under it and so nese ou would think no human heart could withstand er.’ “A waif, yousay? Thatis a) itiful lot indeed. J have an idea that bad parents are better than no parents, or what. amounts to the same thing, after the rule that certainty of any sort is always preferable to mse.” Captain Bernham kept the ball rolling’ with that sleight which betrayed no great amount of curiosity on his part, yet encouraged Mrs. Gerrit, who could wax a little voluble at times, to offer a more explicit statement. Matthew Gregory had found a quiet bed in the old corner cemetery; and, released from his influence—from the presence which had served to chill the atmosphere of the whole house—she' wag blossoming out quite a changed Mrs. Gerrit from the late master’s reign. Wilma herself would have had her full heart touched anew could she have heard the housekeeper’s tender references; she had been uniformly kind to the little waif, but she was not of a demonstrative nature, and the affectionate outbursts which had not been checked in the bud by her master’s example, were kept under effectual control by the ee order which had been issued when the child Wilma would surely otherwise have won the expression of them, That order was that no moddley-coddley display of weak sentiment should ever be lavished, beneath his roof, upon that strangeling from all kindred humanity, and it was an order to be enforced, for with it came allusion to the prompt dismissal which would follow any vio- lation of his expressed wishes. Mrs. Gerrit’s strict seclusion, too, and separation from kindred sym- pathy of her own, had turned the milk of human indness in her breast to curd and whey; sweet there was. little flavor to it until now, released from the cold, en- forced discipline, her natural good - heartedness served it up with spiced cream-and-sugar dressing. ‘‘Tt’s certain enough that she’s an orphan, on the one side at least, and if hints to thé other might be taken for truth—ah, well! the less said of that the better. It was when I was new in my place—a mat- ter of seventeen years ago almost, something later in the season, for it was bitter cold and storming without, and the Christmas fires were alight, that little Wilma came under this roof.” The captain’s lips moved after her as though he had repeated an inaudible ‘seventeen years,” but they closed in their accustomed firm line under his heavy mustache, and his quietly interested expression remained quietly interested as she told her story. ‘‘There was little enough Christmas cheer inside except for the bi blazing woodfires. I was sillier in those days than have grown to be since. It was the first Christmas I had ever passed outside a house of my own, and a wide mark between it and the last one when Tom Gerrit—as good and thrifty a husband as woman ever was blest with!—sat with me over our plum pudding and roast and great Christmas cake. He was taken down a week after that and lingered on into the summer. “We had started poor, and the long illness took | | one eye open or ; effects will tell me before this. away what little we had saved ahead, so when the housekeeper’s place was like to be vacant here I thought it a bit of rare good luck that I was the one to get it. I had the heart taken out of me by brood- ing over my sorrow, and through having no soul to | ; it te say as much asa Merry Christmas. set in as desolate a night as you’d care to see, two feet of snow on the level, and with the big flakes that had fallen all the day changing at dusk to a sharp sleet, and the wind tearing up bo Pit the hollows with the wail in it that turns one’s blvod cold. I turned timid at the sound of it and at the lonesomeness of the empty house. I went in through the corridor onder toward Mr. Gregory’s with no notion except get nearer some human presence, “But, while I stood outside, with a little chink of light through the payhole and his steady tramp, own the bare boards insid tramp, going up and there came a dull thud against the outer door an something like a cry. BeforeI could stir toward it the sitting-room door came open with a crash, and | | | tion. an trust to less slip probity if I find myself lac. . \ | i _the slightest doubt that the | thing to him,” he thought,” and fool to give a clew whick may be followed into his |. | possession, Mr. Gregory passed so close that we touched with- out his ever seeing I stood there. I’ve never sup- posed any thing but that he knew all in a second what had fallen there. He had ‘the door wide and was looking down at what was lying there, stretched across the threshold, before I had brought a thought out of my first start and surprise, “It was a woman with her head bare, and the long, black hair streaming about her face, all matted with the sleet and torn by the storm. A woman, I said, but she was no more than a gi taken her for one but for the batt undle she held at her breast that stirred and cried while the storm beat down upon them both. That roused me, and the master too, We had them into the light and the warmth, and we did what we could for them with the means we had at hand. It was the tiniest of babies I busty ne but a few days old I should have thought, but from the poor mother’s ha: strength to be out it must have been more. She poor thing! had the color of death in her face and. the chillat her heart too strong to recover. She lived through the night and into the day when it; came, and died without having a rational moment.. Mr. Grego had her buried from the house in ther very churchyard where he lies now, and little Wilma, never left here through his time, never up to the: bee week before you came. Do I weary you, sir, with such a prose?”’ “No, you have interested me in this little Wilma,, who began life im that pitiable way. Did you say there were proofs of her identity?” “Not the least, but the woman who had served here before me paid a visit to the house long after- Ww. and when I told her about it said there wasn’t irl-mother had been Mr. Gregory’s own daughter, e had come to grief pomsheiy oleae handsome, wild re ar and ran , away from home months before,’ I told that he had a daughter, orI should have known the truth from the first. Her father swore a bitter oath, so they say, that he would never forgive her, and he never did, for a harder face than his as he stood beside her dead body I never saw on mortal man. Did you give your ankle a twist, sir? I was sure you groaned.”’ “Nothing to speak of, but I begin to feel the need of limbering up again. So this little Wilma—what did you say her name was?—Wilma Wilde has been taken into a rich lady’s house? A very benevolent lady, I dare say!” ““A very kind one, Dr, Dallas said. I’ve no memory for names, and I’ve forgotten hers, but any change would bé better for Wilma. If you'd care to come in here any time again, sir, I'd be glad to make you ‘ welcome.’ Captain Leigh Bernham Ilmped back through the long corridor into the doctor's si -room, which was still empty, with the result of be his stiff joint so effectually that he dropped into ac. customed place by the side of the fire, and sat there looking steadfastly down into the coals for the next half-hour, as stirless and expressionless as a life- size cast of bronze, That evening as he sat in the same placé with Dr, Dallas, be capa smoking with hard puffs until hig ipe was in a red glow, he removed it from between is teeth to say abru tly: “You'll be glad to know, I dare say, that I consider myself so nearly recovered as to warrant.a speed return to my quo for some time past. Oblige me by making out your bill, not too light, mind you, for all the trouble and _expense of which I’ve been the occasion.” iio My dear sir, I really must protest,” the doctor an. ** Pray don’t, Dr, Dallas, I never listen to protests after P've once made up my mind—a persistency, by the way, which has brought me into many a sera before to-day. It suited my state of mind at the moment to take up my temporary abode here, and it. suits my plans now to follow up my original intent, If you are willing we will dispense with the bill and call it square on that.” He drew a handful of money from his pocket. and dropped it altogether into the other’s by nO means laggard hand. ‘ ‘A deuce of a sight easier and quite as satisfac- tory, I hope as the formality ofa bill I'll say good- by to our pleasant companionship and my own satis= factory sojourn here rather early to-morrow.” ’ “Jt suits your plans,” Dr. D contraction of those sharp, catty _eyes—“ but 1m sorry to admit it, my dear Captain Bernham, such & precipitate movement does not suit my inclination in , | the least. To defer your going or to get some ink- ling of what those plans of yours may be, are im- | portant items of consideration now, and it does not require your assurance that the first might prove no easy matter to accomplish. The fellow sleeps with — I should have discovered all his. ist tig of hie Bagh 1 und this last ni re) Ss stay. Theva Grate Py iinagraeabie gieaia fh the light ore which did Hot ees bisree erl by Fe set unobservant as he appeared—a passing gleam settled the single point of indecision He had carried in his mind, \ ves I've read that man too thoroughly to trust any uch asI No, no, Dr. Craven Dallas! he ast ord me, I might sale by the assistance you could no Let me help myself to su What did that side-look mean? Nothing 'good, as hope Rh! judged by a better record than my own meri Dr, Dallas put out his hand and reached the bel _ : ull as he njet the other’s eyes. ei tl; Ishould have { ad never been ~ prospects which have been in pte as thought, witha | ‘m not quite a) » trouble you by evenan appeal for informa- ot tmp rain rapnelt $0 euch ty aid da.

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whole strong figure shake and quiver, and . not disturb ) waked a ou will be a | will be * One of the few items of renovation and improve- ment I have added since taking possession here,’ he said, with an upward glance at the cord. ‘anc going the distance.of a quarter square to communi- cate with one’s own ki‘chen. I can’t tell you how 1 regret this sudden determination of yours, but, since you declare it incombatible, I must hold my- gelfresigned. Isit up late to-night, and I ordercd coffee for us both. Let me flavor yours with brandy in company with my own and wish you undisturbed gy for your last night here!” Y rs. Gerrit had answered his summons with two ‘coffee-cups on a tray, and, putting it down upon a little stand between them, withdrew again. Dr, Dallas rose, approached a closet at the side and came back witha flask in his hand. He poured a por- tion into each cup and turned to replace the flask, all done carelessly and with no attempt at shirking the other’s observation, but then Captain Bernham was not at the moment glancing that way. In the few seconds the doctor’s back was turned, however, he reached swiftly and turned the little tray upon the stand. The doctor came back, and, motioning his guest to non himself, took up the remaining cup, sipping the liquid with slow, apparent zest. Bern- ham drank his at a single draught and pulled out his pipe again. “To neutralize the effects of your coffee, doctor. It was deucedly bitter to my taste.” “T drink it so osely,’’ the doctor answered. oy But then, coffee is the only stimulant I allow my- “Smoke?” The captain ae his tobacco- box, always well filled, across to the other. “And by the way, in case you are not astir after your night's tee suppose I make my adieux over night.”’ ‘he doctor’s thin lips were just stirred by the slightest sneering smile, and in a moment both men were absorbed in watching the clouds of smoke wreathing hazily about their heads. Unconsciously Dr. Dallas lost sight of another intention he had- - fixed in his mind, an intention of shifting his obser- vation from the hazy mists to his companion. Pres- ently it was oo apparent to him that the other had anticipated the intention and was calmly watch- him. Then, with no wih tol of resistance, he seem- to feel a hand searching his pockets and something ‘withdrawn, but all so vague and so separated from any care of his own that, with not even an attempt to shake off his helpless languor, he slid into deep, un- broken sleep. Had he followed further the facts of those vague forerunning fancies, he would have seen Captain Leigh B am leisurely trying his keys in the desk, which had been returned to its old place in the other room—the room in which Matthew Gregory had died. He would have seen him successful after atime, and, the interior, bring forth a little box having neither lock nor key, but a spring with which his fingers seemed perfectly familiar. He would have seen the man’s head go suddenly down upon the senseless little thing, the bronzed face convulse, the | ave heard @ hoarse, unnatural voice in no more thana - wh repeat, Dead dead! Poor little Rose! Poor, poor girl!” CHAPTER VIII. SHAPES OF AIR. Erte Hetneryire stood looking down into the small, dar rat face, with a sensation new to all his previous life struggling at his heart—an in- voluntary recognition of that mournful influence which had preyed upon her life until the stamp of it was so plainly apparent in her face that it was always the first impression to strike an observer—a tender sympathy and a desire to extend protection to that little creature, who looked too childlike and | delicate to buffet with any rough fortunes of chance in our rough world. The long dark lashes quivered and the lids went wide, leaving the startled dark eyes looking up at him in turn with an uncertain, oubting expression as if his presence there was scarcely settled in her mind fora fact. His words assured her of it, after the space of a breath. '. “T beg your pardon,” he said, as ber timid eyes fell before his bright, bold, blue ones, and though it ‘was no new experience for Erle Hetherville to ave ; the eyes of woraen droop before his gaze, the shy | grace of this girl made the experience now a delight worthy of his accomplishment. ‘I would not have intruded had I suspected that the library already had an cerupent. can’t hope my appearance has you, since Iam a witness to the fact, but I can and will make such amends as lie in my wer by taking myself out of the way immediate- “Oh, no, pray don’t. Iwas asleep, I suppose, and not quite sure that I was not dreaming still when I suddenly and saw you there. I shall go right , all the same.” “TI will agree to stay only on condition—that I am not the cause of frightening you away. By the Way, it would be only according to the law of natural recompense, though a rather ou. had seen me in your dreams. I have met ou in that misty region—let me see, something like ee days or so ago,” He was lounging in the open door, with the slight form standing where she had risen first, a smile breaking over the little red mouth. “Tt would not have been so strange if I should jhave seen you in my sleep. dream of things which have made a recent im- gas on my mind, and your illness would suffice ‘for that, Mr. Hetherville. Perhaps you dreamed also I magnetized you back to slumber when you were yielding to wild fancies and going a fair way to bring on the fever which was dreaded? If nd enough to let me ; Mrs. Rich- ‘Ine before i ueer coincidence, if | IT am accustomed to | again and og gue oe with the necessity of resuming | | world within that dain y ~ WILMA WILDE, * After I thank you for the appreciated kindness, And won’t you tell me whom expecting? Tf we are dwellers beneath the same roof for a short time may we not be fricnds as well?” | There was the sweep of a dress at his back, and the maid who shared her services between Ethel and the mistress of the mansion, stood there. Mrs. Richland had sent in search of Miss Wilma, and would she see to arranging the epergne for the dinner-talle before she came up-stairs? Mr. Hether- ville made way for the little figure, and Miss Wilma disappeared from before his eyes, but leaving a vivid pig Oe of the small, dark, pathetic face, lighted anc Mi: aoe by its winning smile, lingering in his mind, He sat down in the same deep chair of purple morocco and solid oak which she had occupied, and turned the leaves of a book with a scarlet mark fluttering between, that lay on the table at his side. He was there still when Mr. Richland made his ap- pearance in the doorway, a few moments later. “Why, bless my life Hetherville, this is more of an improvement than I had hoped for. Below, and equal to Owen Meredith, a poet whom I thought men only affected when ee ae by the presence of alady. Iwonderif these favorable symptoms are to be charged in any case to Ethel’s agency? At any rate, ’m heartly glad of your rapid recovery, my dear fellow.” Not a man of fine tact, the host, but honest to the core, Erle Hetherville found himself struck with a guilty sensation as though he had been tried and ound wanting in some deplorable measure by the sice of the other’s strictly honorable principle. With Mr. Richland’s words had come his first recollection of his own mission here, the first reminder of how near he was, in all probability, to setting his seal to his own future destiny, and with the reminder came his first inclination to shirk the issue for a time—to hold to himself yet a little longer his indefinite sense of freedom. He turned his back upon the prompt- ing with the quick recollection that he was not free, that he was bound only less firmly and surely than by the marriage vow, with a sudden, fierce, angry contempt of himself that his devotion to Ethel should have wavered for the first at this supreme moment. Ee plunged into his subject almost with- out rn ee, * Thanks, Mr. Richland. There’s very much owing to Kthel, I assure you. It is with her permission that you find me here, waiting the chance of a few private words with you. You were a kindly ap- phe 8 party to our betrothal of six years ago, and trust [am correct in assuming that you have not deprecated your favor of me. The extreme limit of the time agreed upon then is now almost reached, and Iam here to urge the strict fulfillment of the old plans. Iam anxious to make Ethel my wife at as early a day as you may approve and she agree Thave not accustomed myself to this end for so long a time to urge unceremonious haste now, but I do beg that there may be no unnecessary delay.” “Spoken with the spirit I expected from you,” responded Mr. Richland, warmly. ‘I should have been immeasurably disappointed at hearing any different proposition from you. And Ethel] is of the same mind, hey? Well, then, there’s no reason, not the slightest, for any delay whatever, except the small time_necessary for preparations which must be made. Upon my word, Hetherville, I was never more rejoiced in all my life except once—when I stood upon the same ground you occupy now.” He ce the young.man’s hand with all the warmth of his own approval, and that same guilty sensation returned to Erle that he was not more elated over the smooth, fair fortune which had at- tended his wooing and win , if wooing and win- ning it could be called which had brought no exer- tion of his own into play, which had been attended by none of that ly ins gi uncertainty that hopes mueh, and is magnified a heaven of ee when certainty is sweetly and shy- ly ed. OTF ou don’t object,” said Mr. Richland, “to leave the management of the whole affair to me, I'll see that those same preparations are not drag- ged through the entire length some people consider necessary before they settle to even the contempla- tion of the final Ses it Ethel is one of the best of girls, but not utterly free from woman’s general habit of dallying, I'll give a carte blanche for the trousseau, and have it ordered from the largest im- porting house in New York. After that there'll be no difficulty in naming an early day. ps ge to part with my dear girl, but, my own. late experience to the contrary, 1 believe in early marriages. If you are to be all in all to each other, give the best Feb of your lives to your mutual happiness, I say. you have any objection to my turning such an urgent generalissimo, don’t hesitate to make the fact known.” “Not any objection in the world. On the con- trary, you must know how great the obligation on my side will be.” Yet now, as once before, his words lacked the fire, the hasty inspiration of the enthusiastic suitor who livesin the light of his in- amorata’s smile. The result of so much exertion on his part, of mental perplexity more than ig fo action, was the return of some slightly feverish symptoms that were triumphantly seized upon by Miss Erle as what might have been anticipated from the violation of her rule, as he was taken into unquestioned charge the invalided role in his own apartment for the evening, It was by no means so desirable a situa- tion to his thoughts, that night, as ithad been when the blue-ahd-gold of the walls had tangled into eloudy forms and had elfin faces limned in their midst—not so desirable as. during the later days of his convalescence, when the world without and the ainty chamber had no links of H P ‘ ‘ 5 ~ ’ ae ¢ < Tll be drape D | connection disagreeably apparent, In. fact, tél) rs. Richland will be | | 4 law. | kind of night he passed, sleepless, until the lal watches, and restless then with grotesque, disto: dream-forms haunting him, was not at all the k of night that a happy young lover, just assured the nf realization of his dearest hopes, is SUP posed to pass. Mrs. Richland broached the subject to Ethel thal very night. It was one of their very quiet evening? below stairs. There had been invitations to b and dinner parties and operas and select receptio to occupy every one of the six nights of the w but these, with the exception of two or three, hae | been declined in deference to the invalid beneath | their roof. This night with Lotta—that bright, briet star—at the New Opera House as an irresistible” magnet of attraction, and two after balls, the Rich land mansion escaped even a casual ealler during | the evening. These domestic evenings, in a hous? | hold little accustomed to the kind, are commo such tiresome affairs that no precedent is evel established sufficiently favorable to warrant th frequent repetition. This one was proving ne eX ception, although, as Ethel had asserted once, thé were seldom yielded preys to dullness even wh thrown upon their own resources, for the mem of this little group were knit in habits of companion’ ship and _ consultation of each other’s tastes mor than is often found in our so-called first families. Ethel had taken refuge at the piano and lost bs self fora moment in the mazes of “Faust,” w. her brother sat over a chess-board, matching skill against his wife’s random, absent moves. “My dear, my dear!” he remon trated, after oné of her least-guarded ventures, “I never knew you to play so badly. bir you have virtually give? the game into my hands, and you generally ma me peetoly to the end. See how easily I am going to gain the victory.” Mrs. Richland’s white jeweled hand, coming uP; struck the corner of the board, jumbling the pieces into a mass of mingling colors. ‘ “There, what a pity! I have spoiled your vic tory; but, a8_you said, the game was ali in your own hands, Iam quite willing to yield the inevitablé defeat.”’ ; “What a pity all women aren’t as sensible as Phe Gertrude! You are looking wearily; I am afrai you are not as strong as you were—you are not pearing to bear the excitement of the season as W' as heretofore.” “Tam quite well and quite strong, but a little en” nuied, Iam afraid. If you will spare my further i0” fliction, I think I shall retire early for once.” a ‘* By all means, do. Nothing like a good night's rest to bring you to yourself again, and bless mé@ q the evening has gone rapidly, after all,” glancing at his wate 1 where the hands pointed at a qua: toeleven, ‘‘Good-night, my dear! No, don’t follow for a moment, Ethel. I presume you are not in nora ‘ce of a petition which was made to me, t aiternoon.”’ a ‘‘4 petition, brother? Not—surely, not already? —her troubled gaze turned upon him and the faint flush upon her cheek paling would have been evi’ dence of her apprehension bye eyes than kindly ones, but Mr. Richland saw nothizg mor than a rather sensitive young lady’s embarrassmeD! over a dvlicate love affair, “Surely and already, and quite the proper action, just as I expected it on Hetherville’s part. He wae confiding enough to leave the whole affair of al” rangement to my dictation, with the stipulation that there should be no delay, What do you say 10 piocin as much confidence in Gerfrude? Let her ake the whole onerous burden of the trousseal) and when the preparations arrive ata state of gel” eral satisfaction, Erle and yourself can scttle th® important 5 pe of naming theday. What migh be assumed as undue haste in another case will 00 be in this, after your long engagement. Hethervillé claimed your permission to speak, so of course you are quite wil ng 20 agree. A noble fellow, Ethel, and one I shall be proud to claim as my brother-it “But I did not expect more than simply the u2° derstanding yet. Idon't want to be rushed into matter Hy ee 80 much careful consideration.” ‘*Rushed, Ethel, after six years’ standing choice What would you women call taking your own tim’ I wonder? There, there; you quite exhaust my potionce with you, If it were not for my respe¢ or Hetheryille’s feclings, to say nothing of bis rights, and if my heart hadn’t been set upon i marrying him at this time, I’d be tempted to throw up the sponge at this late date and leave you to m& neuver the affair, for the mere curiosity of seeing what turn it would take to the end,” His voice carried a nearer approach to fretfulnes? in it than Howard Richland’s general contentmen® often expressed, ‘‘ After all, it might be the sure means of bringing a quick result. Why not throw the matter of a little time on the best side of th? scale, I should like to know?”’ ‘a The matter of a little time,” Ethel echoed, in he? wind, drearily. ‘‘It is no more than that, indee¢ so why should I hesitate for the matter of a little time? And how selfish to grieve Howard, who ha been both father and brother to me!” | She passed over the space between and touched — her os et lips to Be spectepd ne # ey “Tam wuling to trust everything to yor owe Forgive me for having seemed inredotute rine spall not find meso again, with two such steadfast e* amples in Erle and yourself,” She was gone at that, before he had time to. reply aword. She paused at Mrs. Richland’s doorin x ing, but all seemed still and dark there, and she w29 turning away in the direction ot herown chambel when a thread of light still further on caught bet eye. She moved toward it, her light footstep lost? the thick carpeting of the passaze. The ty

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_ in relieving you of all responsibility, so that 1 cS Bleam came Trom: the crevice of Wilma’s door, but With he So as she ®eing only the back of the tall, graceful form ‘ sof ag with a little shaded night-lamp dispensing a _ Softened glow upon the sleeper’s face, Ethel drew back and turned away. ‘Like Gertrude,” she thought; “‘ always interested in the comfort of others.” men he would scarcely have passed the little incident 80 lightly had she caught a view of the hidden face, the features locked in their usual marble-like repose, but with all the intensity of a strong consuming ©motion concentrated in the wide eyes, dwelling With an absorbed fascination on that unconscious ad upon the pillow. é Does my heart lie, or have I gone mad in all Teality?”” was the wild thought in the soul of this Proud, emotionless woman of society, as she stood there, seeming the frozen symbolic statue of that Pride which the world both worshiped and decried, Mocked by those burning, passionful eyes. The lips Of the sleeper parted with a smile, and the woman’s and closed tightly over her heart, as if some sharp agony was tearing there, and she turned away, but With Sadie Was Othe own mouth blanched to a dead whiteness. CHAPTER IX, THE LIBRARY. Tue Richland library apparently possessed a eculiar fascination for Erle Hetherville after this me, He grew to a habit of dropping in there at °dd hours of the day, and before many days had Passed was well conversant not so much with the ows upon rows of volumes lining the walls as know- ledge of what other members of the household Visited that treasury of literature with any regular frequency for. The symptoms of the relapse which Miss Erle had Sonfidently predicted wore off during the night, and Mr, Erle Hetherville made his appearance in the Teakfast-room next morning a little thinner and a ttle paler for his illness, a handsome, blonde young Slant, in morning undress, whose eyes went over the arrangements of the room with a swift, searching lance, His aunt was there discussing general philanthro- with Mr. Richland, the stiff black silk of her ternoon wear exchanged for a soft, neutral cash- ere of the morning, Ethel, who would have looked More like a ghost of herself than the bright, fair belie of two seasons but for the rose-pink of her tailing wrapper Which reflected a color to her quiet face, gazed out upon the still, silent atmosphere; and Mrs, Richland looking as she always did, a strikingly Statuesque face and form, appeared simultaneously With himself by the opposite doorway. If he had Entertained an expectation of seeing the slender little figure and elfin face that had lingered with 8uch strange persistency in his thoughts he was not destined to be gratified. , ie et us do the honors for you, Miss You must ‘ Enle,” said Mrs. Richland during the breakfast hour, how that you are released from your faithful at- tendance in the sick-room. Iam quite at your ser- Vice, and I think Mr. Hetherville may be safely trusted to the liberty of the house during the day. No fear of a relapse now, I imagine.” “By all means, aunt Erle, provide yourself with a fun complement of tracts and bitter pills, quiet little Purses, and big bundles and papers of sugar-plums, &nd new installments of fresh logic, for those nu- €rous dependents of yours up among the West- Moreland hills. If I’m to give you a safe-conduct back into that benighted region, I stipulate to be fortified with the whole array of introductory arti- Cles needed to gain any sort of recognition’ from those calculating lambs of your village flock.” “You incorrigible Erle! Because all my efforts for the bettered condition, moral and physical, of lay poor people are not immediately recognized, it is no proof that the case will always stand so; and indeed. generally speaking, they are most grateful for my endeavors.” 4 “ Big bundles and little purses and sugar-plums, ihserted Erle. ‘Small favors thankfully received, and larger ones in proportion, I must commission Ou with my mite, all in the way of sugar-plums, OWwever.”’ “And, meantime, don’t have any fear of Hether- Ville growing melancholy in his seclusion,” said Mr. Richland, with a complacent glance across at his Sister and very satisfied good-nature beaming in his Smooth, florid face. ‘‘I shouldn’t be surprised, Miss Erle, if you were petitioned to bear a hand in other Commissions, shopping excursions and the like, af- Y we persuade you to remain on here until a cer- tain happy event has been consummated. West- Moreland and your poor people must epee ou Until after the holidays, I’m thinking. Has this hopeful nephew of yours imparted the secret of the Understanding arrived at during our interview of Yesterday?” Until after the holidays! Ethel caught her breath ith an.upward glance, quickly dropped again. So S00n, so very soon! EKvyen Erle was surprised al- Most to expression. He had stipulated for no delay, 8nd had entertained some vague thought of early Spring and a voyage across the ocean, with the Naneymoon passed in South France and Italy. “Not told you? Is it possible? Ethel, my dear, NO need of that sh It is all in the family Mong us here. uite agreed you two young people are expected to do is simply to puuse wcmiheleas in any way you like, and avoid j. coming too much absorbed in each other. Com- 'S hack to you, Miss Erle—we all hold ourselves of reserve. ertrude and I have vs yceond importance—you surely will not contemplate Paving us now?” “WILMA. WILDE. But Miss Erle, wavering for a moment between her own delight and her sense of b pic rie duty, de- cided conscientiously in favor of the latter. “T could not be of use here,” she said, ‘and I would be lost at advising for a wedding. I am wanted at home, missed I am sure, now; why, I haven't been out of Westmoreland for two consecu- tive weeks for the last ten years. Just as soon as Erle is fit to travel he shall go back with me, I'll not insist on keeping him very long, my dear, and I'll come down to the wedding with more happiness than I can express.” With that she kissed Ethel tenderly, with a smiling assertion that she was the only young inf in the whole circle of her acquaint- ance quite good enough for her own dear boy. The dear boy sauntered around the table to receive his share of the caresses, and stood with his hand on the back of Ethel’s chair, chatting gayly until the little breakfast party broke up, its members dispers- ing in their own various directions. it was three hours laterin the day, and the car- riage containing Mrs. Richland and Miss Erl: had rolled away from the door, when, in his restless wandering from — to place, he let himself un- ceremoniously into the library. Those well-ordered doors with exemplary hinges were surely a great institution in the mansion. Erle Hetherville was more than ever inclined to bestow a silent benediction upon them as he stood, unseen, looking in at the two occupants of the room. Ethel lay back in the great chair now, her fair hands holding some serap of needlework drop into her lap, her soft, hazel eyes fixed upon her companion. The latter was in a window-seat, with an open book in her hands. She turned a leaf, read- ing and glanced up with a deprecatory little motion. “7 don’t like it,’’ she said, with simple candor. “ And neither do I like it, Wilma. omen are not created so feelingless as the poet would have us think. You may leave ‘Maud’ and read something else if you like.’ But the reading was not immediately resumed. As if his proximity affected her as she had vividly impressed him with her sweet, shy timidity, her un- affected, child-like grace, her trusting, innocent candor and the reflection of the sadness and _loneli- ness which had shadowed her life heretofore, Wilma’s fine sense had detected his presence. Ethel, follow- ing the direction the (dark eyes had taken, saw him standing there. “Comein,” she said. ‘‘ No, don’t stir, Wilma; Mr. Hetherville can accommodate himself on the sofa here without interfering with your light. Miss Wilde, Mr, Hetherville!—you two are strangers, I resume, though you should not be, with almost a ortnight since you have both been inmates of the house. I hope that you understand you are admit- ted here on sufferance only, Erle; this is our course of regular discipline of late, Wilma reads to me or with me in the mornings, and I play BIGhTiesy. for her when the time comes for her music or lan e lessons. Then I teach her a little of my wonderful peecrc ge A in drawing—by the way, did you know hat I sketchy {t’s one of my accomplishments taken up since our ‘childhood days together.’ I'll give you convincing proof of the fact presently. nd in return Wilma does wonderful lace embroi- dery, and ey up all my fallen stitches so unob- trusively that I have been. actually deluding myself into the belief of late that 1am one of the most ex- em — of careful mortals.”’ np etherville, bowing his acknowledgment to ce pam sunk lazily into the place indi- ca “ On sufferance though it may be, I assure you I would suffer any penalty rather than deprive my- self willingly of so much unexpected pleasure. Don't let me, I beg of you, interfere with the usual exercise, and, inceed, you quite charm me with the par at of that mutua ly beneficial cempanion- ship.” both were thankful now for that. open discussion of the breakfast time, which divested this encounter of the embarrassment each must have felt had it been otherwise, “TI don’t mean that you shall interrupt,” Ethel averred, ‘In that case, however, you are entitled to.an equal privilege. I dare say you came in here to enjoy a cigar, and I shall certainly insist upon the indulgence,” “ With thanks for the permission, then. What an extremely sensible young lady! Did you really chance to know there isn’t a more efficient way of silencing any of us masculine bipeds than by ac- cording such a liberty? Truth, Iassure you. If Miss Wilde will favor us with anything she likes from the poet laureate, PL be happy to respond in the same way myself presently.” f The reading was resumed, and Erle, blowing fan- tastie wreathing clouds about his head, watched them rise and-fall, take form and melt away, while | he listened to the clear, vibrant, expressive voice rendering the full sentiment of. all that was to be conveyed. Watching the Shenees face between whiles and with all his own indolent sense of con- tentment come suddenly back to him. ‘‘Tt never occurred to me before this to wonder what she may be in the household,” he thought. «Miss Wilma’ of last night, I remember— Wilma Wilde. Odd little name, harmonizing admirabl with the odd little creature she seems to be. Self- possessed under all her shy reserve, fine-featured and slender-handed and musical-voiced, Wilma Wilde, whatever she may be, is no less a lady than my own unmistakably high-bred Jiancee.” le was the pleasantest of hours that ever flew on incredibly swift wings. Erle redeemed himself of his_ voluntary promise by relieving her presently; and at last, when Wilma went away to oversee the X : 7 / Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null—”’_ ‘ arrangement of their lunch, recalled Ethel’s laugh: ing reference to her sketches. pot ‘I shall surely pass the keenest of critical inde. meat,” he said, walking across to the little ske rtfolio where it lay upon a neighboring table, ‘Tremble for the result if you care,” He turned the leaves with amusing comments, and Ethel spared them Bre en half her attention from the work she had taken up again, caring little enough for the really meritorious efforts to bear his light raillery with perfect indifference, His own af- fectation of ludicrous criticism changed suddenly t- an involuntary low whistle as he tak up one of tl later pages. Glancing up, she saw what. he he. with a vivid return of the color to her cheeks, a Jittie mirthful smile breaking over her lips. It wag the cartoon of a youth, with the faintest trace of a mus-- tache over his mouth, on his knees by the side of a short-skirted, simpering little miss—the very evident - burlesque of a first love confession, But the hue morous resemblance, the surroundings faithfully executed, came up before him as something differ-- ent from burlesque; as very well remembered en thusiastic reality in fact, and a flush of annoyance’ rose to his forehead. No man cares to know that- his own earnest feeling, even when changed by the remote distance to a boy’s fay, has furnished’ amusement to any other. e sli; ¢ annoyance was — quickly passed, however, and he met her eyes with a comical expression, “JI dare say you are right. It wasa rather ludi- crous affair as seen from our standpoint now,” and folding the offending leaf, took calm possession of ft. “A warning that I shall not fail in asserting my lawful degree of authority when the proper time comes. “And be overruled by submission. That is the way it is done, I believe.” they had passed into an easy recognition of their old familiar terms, and with no further refer- ence to the future in which they were mutually ine volved, forgot for the time. the disquiet which had. separately haunted both. thel uttered an exclamation of surprise as she glanced at the little gold watch at her belt, while | they were lingering yet over the lunch-table as the bell rung a sharp, unmistakable business summons. “Your music-teacher, Wilma. How the day has one! No, Erle, in pity to this child’g, timidity, must excuse you from further attendance upon us,” - The music-lesson was over, and the excitable little French professor gone again. Wilma was above stairs now in Ethel’s company still, and in Ethel’s. room, her deft fingers looping up Ethel’s sea-green dinner-dress with knots of rose-ribbon, when a tremulous sigh escaping her lips drew the other’s observation. Ethel was always tenderly consider- ate, especially so to this heretofore neglected young r. “You are not —_— y here, IT hope, Wilma?” Wilma’s smile would have been answer enough despite the tears standing in the big, soft dark eyes. - bck 6 TI’ am_ so wonderfully. happy, iss Ethel, that it seemed _so much jo couldn’t be intended to last for me. So much kind- néss from every one in the house, I don’t know how I have ever deserved or can repay it.” “Dear child, if ever unassuming worth deserv yours is well deserving. There’s not one of us coul afford to lose you now.” Happy, happy change indeed from the loveless,. lonely life of so few weeks ago! It was no new thing for Wilma‘s eyes to be suffused with tears, or for her fi containing her present joy. There were a number of callers that evening, Lenoir and Crayton among them. The former had been at the house almost daily during first precarious week of illness, and he expressed his , pleasure now in warm terms at his recovery, very much § ier than had beeneven hoped. Crayton, one of those true Bohemians who are at home in any society, who know everybody, and whose im- méasurable impudence is counterbalaneed by real enius of a certain sort, put himself forward with is sublime unconcern, ( “My dear Hetherville, take m cone : along with the rest. I didn’t trouble myself to when you weren't in a state to appreciate the atten- tion, but I'll promise to make up the omission whem in get back to those old jovial bachelor: qua: f you ever do get back, I mayenes I ought to add, What a windpipe you must be the lucky possessor }, of to come out so little the worse from the close em-, brace it got the other night. I suppose Ei eomr they account of the affair. Our three locals dished. it up in as many different a Ss and I threw in sensation- al head-lines by the half-column, What a blessing those head-lines are, by the way! Sayes us poor flevils of pen-scratchers many a long, close column, and is a deuce more inspiring to the eye, And, by the way, I put forward a_ hypothesis—not in print out of consideration for Lenoir there, convineed, since striking it, that my proper sphere in life should have been in the detective corps rather than on the editorial staff!” Mr. Crayton was a lit- tle given to enlarging upon his own merits, and nifying the importance of his own position outside the office. “Upon my word, I wish you were-in the corps, if that fact would return my missing valuables. Pray nov ont you trap the slippery rogues, ton pery rogues. Take the case in abstract now, Two young men are walking home through the streets, One turns off and leaves the other aioe? under the glare of a street-light. “The first kills:the echo of his footstep as he goes. is lost in the darkness, 4 ‘ . - \ aes Yas s ateful heart to swell eimost Wena Hetherville’s I am quite — when Mr. Oray- t “My dear fellow I would quite slip over all slip- . oy t (

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‘book and bright stee 40 teens = “darts around the firs§ corner afterward, down one. alley and up another one, and comes out breathless j half a square ahead. There's time enough to re- ‘eover breath, however, and—the remainder can be better imagined than described. Rather a remarka- ' _blethypothesis, is it not?” /Erle’s eyes opened wide with indignant saree “Remarkable, I should say, Mr. Crayton. hope you have overlooked the fact that a breath of that sort might affect, Mr. Lenoir jet = Py ea orn I since = hope you have not referred to your hy- pothesis as a possibility?” ; * Outside, certainly not. I have quite too much * consideration for Justin as I just now remarked. But why not between ourselves?” “Why, Mr. Crayton, I would as soon suspect any ' “one—yow for instance as Lenoir.” “And with the same facts to point the case so you ‘ ht,” responded Crayton, coolly. ‘‘’Pon honor, “~ith only that much incentive I’d throttle any man “fn the universe to rid myself of a reported successful .pival.” » Henodded familiarly toward Lenoir and Ethel, at | quite the opposite end of the long room, Lenoir with. | his elbow on some convenient support, leaning to- ward her and talking animatedly, Ethel with her face raised, listening intently with a rapt. ex- pression—such an expression as he had never been the means of calling there. “And she caricatures ‘my love making,” he thought. ‘She even avoids words apart with me. It * jooks—it certainly does look—”’ Earle Hetherville’s brows contracted ever so slightly. Something more than twenty-four hours previous 10 this he had wished almost for some disturbance of the too smooth course their love had taken. With what might have been the slightest foreshadowing of a _ storm ahead, he had a grieved sense of injury astir in. an instant. He was immeasurably vexed at him- self, and more than immeasurably vexed at Cray- ton when Lenoir came back to join them a few mo- ments later. “I’ve been demonstrating my hypothesis to Heth- erville,” said the imperturbable reporter—‘‘ the same ‘ Lexplained to you as we came down, Oddly enough he turns your advoeate on the second.”’ Lenoir’s frank laugh had not a measure of appre- hension in it, “7 trust to Mr. Hetherville’s better estimation to exonerate me from all suspicion. You carry your absurdities uncomfortably close sometimes, mn. At that Mr. Richland turned about to face the | oung man, ¥ tis thisI hear of you, Lenoir? That you aren’t ne grinding —_ opts ram = & Gan newspaper, but you must go to grinding them “over nae: Sonionse ek on Sapeate economy? . How do you get along with it?” } “Slowly, Iam sorry to say. Lam in need of relia- ’ ple references and illustrative cases. The of a - really good public library is a blemish upon the fair record of our twin cities.” _ ‘Suppose you should try a private library then— mine for ert, ny ane ioe oF hg find ost anything there; I had it we y a connois- Sous lant year. * Pll be happy to place it at your free disposal.’ CHAPTER X. t ONLY A TOUCH, “ Oawn you tell me where Mr. Hetherville is, Cicely? Or if you would find him and.ask him to step here fora moment.’ Miss Erle looked a little flushed _ and slightly annoyed. There was a clear protest. in the quivering ribbons of her light little head an ntrustie of the stiff black silk, as she smoothed down its folds with a nervously impatient hand. She had gone down the stairs with a letter in her hand, on the look-out for Erle to post it. But Erle was no- where visible, and in the round she had taken she — yhad a glimpse of another view, which gave the excel- Yent o lady's rather variable temper a dissatisfied The glimpse of a very simple little view at that, . Justin Lenoir, who had availed himself of the invi- ‘- tation given by Mr. Richland, and come unceremo- | mio’ to the house these mornings, delving deep into the invaluable mine of information the li- | poy afforded him, full two hours later than his usual time this day, had surprised Ethel alone in room, s ‘Tf havn't five minutes for my pleasant work here,” he said. “I hope to have one uninterrupted ev , this one, and came for a book of statistics I find myself needing. What an unfailing resource '. you have here!” aS: “Tt is my favorite resort of the entire house. You may see evidences of our habit of frequenting it every day.” , She glanced around at the table strewn with books and magazines with a little basket of flosses and lace foundation, af ‘old thimble, dainty needle- aeons, on a corner, vases on the mantle and window-brackets where fresh-cut flowers were odorously bright, the soft glow of burning coals behind the burnished bars of the grate, | the cosiest of home rooms where every appointment '- _ sas massive and substantial without an attempt at ' display or undue ornamentation. ; | — “ And this is the first time I have had the happiness -' of finding you-here. I shall certainly curtail m r own visits if I am the means of interfering wi ‘your occupancy of the room.” “ “JT can assure you to the contrary, in all sincerity. sn _ ‘Your early hours insure you privacy. I had just meé in, and if there is any variation I am rather ‘before my usual reading hour. You are that early 1G here and gone before we idlers are roused to . gny interest in the day.” : fy C) the volume for which he had come, ‘* but still lingered, talking in that easy, familiar fash- Le ide f ; AG Cray: | “WILMA WILDE, ion which spanned the distance between them and left him forgetal, in her presence, how vast, how | unconquerable it was in all reality, Itwas probably not wisdom for him to forget. 6 had had his dan- r presented to him once and been warned against t; he had scarcely accepted the warning kindly; he had put it away in his mind and covered it with the thought that if there had been a wavering weakness | before this, the chance of it even was all done with | now. Hers had been the delicate nurturing of a life that had never known a care; his had been a strug- ple since his earliest recollection—a slow winning of Ss Own way through his own merit, Could his true democratic principle have overridden that disparity there was another consideration to place her beyond the reach of his wildest aspiration, as the bright, | calm stars are above the earth. She was betrothed, so rumor said, to one who was her equal in every respect, worthy of her as any man could be, one to- ward whom he was drawn, too, by the strongest powers of that assimilation which may exist be- tween noble, contrasting natures. Whatever tem tation might have come to him, unguarded, would surely fall powerless now, hedged in by the full | knowledge of how baseless any hope of his own must be, and by the lovalty of friendship which would never undermine the other’s right ‘be it ever 60 loosely held, ’ “Tf there be a weakness in my own mind still, I shall live it down,” he said, to himself, with a quiet steeling of his fine features, a resolute light in his dark eyes. ‘If I cannot conquer myself, what hope is there that I shall conquer the course I have marked? But I shall conquer—both,”’ And Justin Lenoir absolutely believed that he was in a fair way of doing it. Perhaps he was—who knows?. Men of his caliber have an insuperable per- sistency of purpose, and a strong, fine fiber, a reso- ete nerve, that will carry them unflinchingly over the sharpest thorns of the way where their sense of honor—is it overstrained?—bids them walk. The possibility had not presented itself to him that the very means he was taking to live. down his own ‘weakness might drag her tender steps over the same rough path. There was no egotism mingled with his own justifiable confidence in his own powers. He would as soon haveexpected fame and success to lie at his feet without an effort of his own, as have ex- | rece: great works to spring spontaneously from nexertion, or for Fortunatus’s pure to find its way into his possession, as for Ethel Richland, bound to another, with the inheritance of a pride which had wh red in the world—her world to stand her in good stead of any more substantial inheritance— as soon all that as to suppose she could let her heart waver, unasked and unsought, away from the allegiance which should have been hers, Oh, conflicting prides and purposes! How they cross each other, run counter and pierce into the sha: ny, and yet are stone-blind to the straight, clear way vind mellow harmony into which they might be merged! | Jt was the view of those two as she saw them through the nt a door communicating between music-room and library that had so disturbed the equanimity of Miss Erle. Hearing the manly tones she had started in through the former, supposing she had discovered her nephew’s whereabouts, but paused short and drew back when Lenoir’s more slender, straight figure and dark energetic face met ' her sight, strong contrast as might be to Exle Hether ville, tall and broad and blonde, easily indolent, bold to audacity, self-confident as a petted darling of | society may find apology for being. Miss Erle had | sharp, bright eyes of her own, not by any means dimmed that fine wrinkles were laced in a network about them, or that the soft hair shaded not con- cealed by the tasteful little head-dress of ribbons and lace was snow-white and thinner than its once luxurious growth, ‘‘He’s just the kind of man to make mischief, if mischief can be made between them. A meddler or a busybody never could, but if any man could rival Erle it would be one of that sort. There’s no pro- poe og of it, thank goodness! I’ve been nervous sin e ring was lost, and I seem to see danger where of course there is none. yg: a little time till | the wedding shall be over, itis the hight of folly to imagine that anything could intervene. I believe that I am glad, after all, of * conclusion to yield to their urging and remain till the wedding is over. I wouldn’t be easy in my mind away from here now.”’ Miss Erle might have gone even further and | doubted if she would be easy in her mind there with | that slightly superstitious misgiving assailing her, and her clear eyes seeing what had escaped all the rest, how wonderfully alike in temperament were her nephew and his betrothed, and recognizing, | though un ly, that contrasting rather than similar natures and dispositions have greatest depth of lasting fascination for each other, She went _ slowly back to her own room, and finding the maid there, busy over the arrangement of those soft laces which were so inseparable from the stiff black silk | and its wearer, put her question and made her re- quest in one breath. ‘*Mr, Hetherville, ma’am? He is not in yet, I be- | lieve. He went something less than an hour ago | with Miss Wilma to the florist’s. Miss Wilma has wonderful taste, and Mrs. Richland trusts her with | all the floral decorations. She'll take just a handful | of brown-looking leaves, and some bunches of grapes, | and apricots or peaches or oran, and make an | pid look as though the fairies been at work /on it. They’ve gone now to select flowers for the | dinner-party.”’ pitas With Miss Wilma! It | nephew finds occasion to with Miss Wilma Site frequently nowadays.” Miss Erle’s continued annoyance led her into that indiscretion appears to me that my ; enga: { Re which at any other time she would have been loudest condemn, encouraging the tight gossip of a hire- ling. It was very kindly gossip as com d to the usual order of servants’ observatio ut not of a sort calculated to act as balm to Miss Erle’s spirit of apprehension. _ “Oh, dear, yes! Mr. Hetherville seems very fond of Miss Wilma, and no wonder; everybody is fond of her, You have seen how they have taken to making Fare one of the family of her. It wasn’t so for the rst fortnight after she came. Ithink Mrs. Richland supposed that the master might object, for she made much of her in her quiet way even then. But, bless oy: ma’am, he no sooner takes to noticing her a little, and she falls into the way of pong down mornings before the rest and reading the paper-to him, and having his slippers ready of evenings, than he says to the mistress—‘ Why don’t you have your little protege come down among us, sometimes? Poor child! she doesn’t look to have been so indulged before this, but she might be able to bear some mark of consideration from all of us.’ Miss Ethel seemed to fall in love with her at first sight, and it’s more shame I say to any one that isn’t taken with her gentle fe ha Miss Erle closed her lips grimly. She had not been amiss in kindliness to the girl herself before this, had “‘been taken,” as Cicely expressed it, by the gentle, winning manner which charmed all, but it did not at allaccord with her present frame of mind that there should be no exception to the rule of a universal Pe ane Sart of Wilma's praises. She did not at all advocate the theory of love at sight, and rather than find any fault with her pee ective niece-at-law. was quite prepared to shift the burden of her present uneasiness upon Wilma’s shoulders. “Was it your letter you were wanting mailed, ma’am?”’ Cicely asked, folding away the last of the laces.. “I can ask Wilma Thompson to put it in the box if you wish.” “T’l not trouble William Thompson,” Miss Erle answered, “TI have changed my mind as Sov 2 Be an letter. When Mr. Hetherville docs come in, please let him know I should like to see him here.” Miss Erle’s mind had evidently undergone a decided change, She sat after the maid left her, looking forward into the fire, a troubled contraction in her forehead, her slim, wrinkled fingers tearing strip by sine through letter and envelope, droppin theth bit by bit upon the grate, She droppe ie last fragment presently as, after a warning tap, Erle let» himself into the room, “Well, my dear aunt! Have ITbeen neglecting my own old lad y that she greets me with such @ solemn visage?” He drew a chair forward and poe ce! into it, throwing his head back with a smile and an affection- ate glance of his bright blue eyes. o en will you be ready to go back with me to Westmoreland, Erle?’ she asked, abruptly, scarcely meeting his glance, “I’ve waited away much longer than Ishould.” “To Westmoreland? I thought you had given up— that you had concluded to acceyt the Richlands invitation and remain here until after the holidays? Ishould have tried my pecepacive powers before this had I not considered the matter settled,” ““T’ve quite made up my. mind that I must. return home without further delay. It was reprehen- sible on my part to hesitate at all. If it would suit you to-morrow, I will order my packing done at once. “But to-morrow is quite out of the question,” as- serted Erle, knitting his brows, and looking his per- pa full into the old lady’s face. * I’m promised or the ball to-night, my first night out, and to-mor- row there’s the dinner faces here—you can’t rush away atthe very eleventh hour before that. What oe eg you in this impatience so suddenly, aunt rle Miss Erle had no intention of explaining to him precisely what. ¢ erse | t,”> she of a woman’s thought, ‘‘and then com t with a young man of that sort; the first into absolute insignifi- cance. Give him a hint that I disapprove of the in- t he is building with Wilma. Wilde, and he would immediately conjure up the idea of injustice done to her and set himself to comforting her with added manifestations of his own interest! No, it would never do to. give him a hint, any more than it willdo to leave him here to pick @ misunderstanding with Ethel, or to run the risk of his taking any warmer li for Wilma, I think 1 can count on keeping him in Westmoreland for & fortnight, and when he re he’ll take up his old quarters again of course. d of course again he’ll devote himself to his fancee in his visits here and with the holidays so near, and Mr. Richlan to press the time of the wedding, it will all be brought through according to the programme.’? ss Erle pleaded imperative duty as the cause of her recall, and no persuasions could shake her de- termination of turning her face homeward immedi- ately. She consented, after a little hesitancy, to re- main for the dinner party, and the time for their departure was fixed for the morning following, ; Whatisort of a crotchet has aunt Erle taken up?’ mused Erle, in his own private disappointment “Something, though she is so close over it. Sol am not to escape Westmoreland and the villagers: _ after all? and I am to miss the German translations and the morning readings and the afternoon at- tendance, from this timeout! How deucedly the bachelor lodging will seem, after this!” and, os mye er te Pgs ty & insert a Ce ere felicitating himself upon change : bachelorhood goon to take ie : or early hours verging upon the \ awn. Pp: a Returning from the ball, that night, in those late _ g Al, age t, Me Riche

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. = ’ re i ‘ 4 ; . s Sa | WILMA WILDE. iy _ land found Wilma waiting for her before the bright fe in her dressing-room., “My child, you?” she said, with an accent of re- Proval, ‘* You force me to give orders that this Oifense shall not be repeated. I can not permit you to lose rest—you whose days are given to the comfort of all of us. This is Cicely’s duty, not yours.” “But Cicely has Miss Ethel to wait upon, and in- deed—indeed—I would rathergrait up for you than not, You are s0 very, very kind, and I have s0 few \Ways of thanking you, of showing how grateful I am,’ Mrs, Richland, with the red glow of the fire shim- mering over her rich party dress, looking down into the wistful, tender face, with eyes which might have en looking away through the mists of long years, . 80 absent and rapt were they, put out her hand and touched the girl's hair gently. ; Wilma shivered. That touch, so quiet as to be almost imperceptible, had sent a painfully startling ill to electrify her veins—a thrill so intensely vi- brating, she could not have told whether it was most terror or delight, except that a chilling weight at her heart seemed to point at the first. The absent look melted out of the lady’s eyes, She sat down before her ross tape and began Hab unclasping the jewels at her white, stately ‘oat. “Go to bed at once, Wilma,” she said, quietly. “You may call at Miss Richland’s door, and ask icely to come’ to me when she is done there.” “Oh, dear, dear Mrs. Richland, I trust that you are not offended with me!’’ cried Wilma, all in a Quiver of sorrow and remorse. “Indeéd, I could hot help it; I would not have angered you for the World. Oh, what have I done?” “Dear child, you have done nothing except to express your own grateful little heart. But you are hot here to take my maid’s duties into yore busy hands, I must watch that they are not overbur- dened, Kiss me if you like, and good-night, Wil- ma,” Wilma kissed the cold white cheek turned to her and went away; only half comforted. In her dreams, that night, the same painful thrill of terror Came back upon her, and she woke suddenly in the Struggling dawn, with old Matthew Gregory’s last Words to her soon in her ears. “You were cursed ore you ever saw the light. ours is a dead life; if you ever pray for any thing, Bray that you may never be the cause of a liviag eath,” CHAPTER XI THE DOCTOR’S GUEST. Dr. Craven Dauias opened his heavy eyes, and after a moment of struggling recollection, roused Up and shook off the torpor which weighed upon m. Daylight was beaming dully in at the uncur- tained windows. ‘The fire was out, and the room in its disordered state looked cheerless and barely grim even to his accustomed eyes. The little stand Containing the tray with the two empty coffee cups Upon it remained as left on the previous night, and r. Dallas himself had an uncomfortable sensation of coldness and numbness, and stiffness, after pass- ing eight hours in that dead sleep which is due to he influence.of a powerful narcotic, in his clothes, &nd in his chair. “@reat Heavens!” he gasped, as the full truth broke upon him. “How is it possible that I made Such a mistake?” He understood better when he had shaken himself from his cramped position, and crossed silently as might be to the doorway of the Other room. It was vacant, and the bed had not n slept in, as he saw at aglance, His own keys, which had been in his pocket on the previous night, ay upon aninner table. Ofhis late patient, no sin- gle trace remained. Dr. Dallas might have fancied hat the entire occurrence had been a dream, the ac- cident of a week before, Captain Leigh Bernham’s Sojourn beneath his roof, the defeated practice Which he had laid for last night’s experience, all Vague and confused, except the handful of om and Silver coin with which the captain had paid him. “Truly, a go!” said Dr. Dallas in that ill-temper Which is more dangerous than all other ill-tempers, Simple, intense quietness. ‘Verily, a guy to have Seen so readily outwitted. Well, well, Captain Leigh F ernkham, all may not yet be over between you and And meantime he had taken up his keys and un- focked the desk, and cast one eae tage glance )©Ver its contents, A silent breath of relief passed ‘his lips, Nothing had been disturbed. Numerous Packages, sealed and labeled, rolls of manuscript Crossed with faded tape, boxes of receipts and can- Celed notes of hand, all remained there as method- “al, morbidly eccentric Matthew Gregory had left them, A single glance assured him of that. Then he took up the little spring-closed casket, and with & quickness which evinced that he had mastered the pocret commanding’ it before this, threw back the 1d. His sallow thin face in its common aspect was Stolidly inexpressive, the shifting light eyes guarded hpumst_any betrayal of himself, and now only a ank dropped down upon the one and a narrowing eam coming beneath the lids of the other mani- Sted any emotion of mK or disappointment he Pd td i The ee x WAS empty ee for uple of bright gold pieces upon its bo . He took Piety up shitting them from one palm to the other, and regarding them aaiarng 2 he poy Conscientious of Captain Leigh Bernham, ify mused, ‘Rather overstrained conscientiousness i he had sufficient interest in the contents of this _ attle box to claim the ownership. But for all that a _ Souple of gold eagles will not repay me for the loss: an aren a& hand nor all youcan of your own BEY bring forw ‘perhaps, Captain Leigh Bern- . - Vax , care Ae: fee ener % ‘ Ax, «> The restless eye lit suddenly upon a little object which had been concealed within ihe shadow of the desk. He had it in his fingers in a moment, a minia- ture case he already knew which had probably been dropped there from among the contents of the box and afterward forgotten, “Very kind of him to have left me this,’ he mur- mured, springing it open in his hands. And the re- semblance is there just as I see it stronger every time, Ihave made no mistake, I am surely on the track which leads straight to the end. My good friend Gregory scarcely meant to put so much proof into my hands, that is evident. And how much more than a fool am I to let it ae away from meagain. AndI have one more to fight now be- fore the game is mine—one who will be no mean ad- versary at that.” Dr. Dallas replaced the miniature and stood look- ing down into the open desk, his face with its pro- minent features and scant sandy hair, short and straight, a study of concentrated quietude. The lit- tle case had a fascination for him, and he opened it again after a time, studying the boyish face repre- sented there, smooth and fine featured as a girl’s, dark, defiant, laughing eyes as pictured there, and a smiling mouth drooping a little at the corners—a face in which Dr. Dallas, studying it closely, traced line by line the resemblance he had marked bee fore—a resemblance to his ward, Wilma Wilde. “Upon my soul, I gain a greater sense of the im- ortance of the kindly service that my good friend atthew Gregory rendered me, with every day that asses,” he thought as he shut away the pictured ace again and locked the little desk. “‘ And this re- minds me itis quite time I pay some attention to my little protege ; I’ve neglected her with the later charge on hand, I’m afraid, And she has not seemed fond of me, which is a pity. a very great Pity considering the advantage her ikin might be, ‘ll puc in an appearance soon as the fashionable morning, which would have been old Matthew Gregory’s afternoon, comes around. Think of as- similating Matthew sak gs with any element of our fashionable world—ha, ha)” Whatever Dr, Dallas’s idea in connecting the two— the old mah six feet under ground in that damp, dark, overcrowded churchyard, and the bright, gay, giddy whirl of the fashionable world, he menrenst 4 his own whim of linking them with apparent relish. He remained good as his word and was ushered into the drawing-room of the Richland mansion dur- ing the day. He sent up his card t® Mrs. Richland wi & verbal request for an interview with his ward. ; * You had better go down at once, my dear,” said Mrs. Richland, putting out her hand for the book which Wilma had been reading aloud. The latter went slowly; a little of the old shadow came back upon her; the association of her new guardian in her mind was like the chill of the old place brought close to her. He had not gone amiss in his supposi- tion that Wilma was not very fond of him. She dreaded and disliked him nearly. as her confiding, affectionate nature permitted her to dread and dis- like any one, It had been a bitter grief to her gen- tle heart. that Matthew Gregory, harsh, cruel, and cold, had never given her one glance or word of en- couragement, never relaxed one line of his severity; but harsh and cruel, and cold, she could cherish his memory with less of a t terror than she could meet the smooth smile of Dr, Da: the cold, clammy, lingering touch of his hand, There was that in his nature from which her fine sensibilities shrunk, that in his sharp, shifting gray eyes that impelled her always with the desire to hide away from his sight. She went into his presence now with her inward reluctance concealed under her quiet manner, reserved in spite of herself; went with a resolntion to conquer such unreasoni aversion, and felt it strengthen instead under his profuse greeting, | * And how much improved the dear little girl is looking,” he said, after she had.taken the seat he had placed for her. ‘‘ Wonderfully improved. Get- ting more color and growing rounder, and looking. happier. Upon my word, growing handsomer than I a ailiciae and my expectations in that re- ard were never very moderate. And you are happy ere, Wilma—quite = “Tam ve happy, it vary ateful indeed, sir.” * So, ant he y and grateful, And they are all kind to you? . Richland now I dare say is very kind?” “They are all very kind, Mr. and Mrs. Richland and Miss Ethel—all.” **You wouldn't like to go back to the old house, I presume? And you can’t imagine how much we miss you there, and how Mrs. Gerrit keeps such re- minders of you before our eyes that it seems you must come gliding in as I’ve seen you half a hundred times.” he ced up ina startled way but did not speak, HS wan er pan Peps still, she was thinking. He had the right to remove her from all this brightness and | rmth and sympathy, which had been such nour- jahing avaanta eS the chilled, starved life she had brought bere. Would he do so? Had her joy indeed been too perfect to be lasting? ; “Yes, you must be very happy,” he continued, his keen, shifting eyes keeping their almost con- stant watch upon her face, yet comprehending as wellall the perfect details of the room. ‘And it’s natural you should be grateful for the kindness which has given you a place in such a handsome house as this.” ‘Tt is the place they have so generously in theif affections for which Iam most grateful, Dr. Dallas,” : ; ‘““Ah, of course! Pcie if pole one ould give sou a@ permanent place in such a house, and a permanen held upon such affections, you would take the kind- ness ully. \If:some one, loved you so very ? ; 1 ’ ra rd % 4N f ’ >” pizen me € $k el Sa ae ee MPN DREN ee dearly that he would consult your wélfare before ~ his own present wishes, and if he would push your interests as though they were his own, and if he should discover something which should add very greatly to those same interests, you would be happy and thankful and loving in return, would you not? Yes, I am sure of it.”” The same chill which his presence carried struck her through the medium of his voice now. “T am very gratef ‘if it is any inconvenience to you in permitting me to remain here,” “It isa sacrifice, my dear, 4 great sacrifice, but only of my selfish desires. And what was it I said of your right a moment ago? Oh, yes; what a re- markable and fortunate change it would be, if some . one should discover that you really have the right to a place in sucha stately house as this, to a nat- ural degree of kindred affection from such con- siderate, gentle hearts as you have found here. A great change, would it not be?” : Wilma, puzzled at his strange manner, under the fire of those light, restless, insincere eyes, had a little part of her wonder dissolve as it came to her suddenly that he was talking to but not at her, * Wilma has found her right to such a place, Dr, — Dallas,” said Mrs. Richland’s low, clear, sweet tones, as she came forward, ‘She has won it very fairly by_her own irresistible method.” : The doctor's light orbs turned in apparent sur- ale to meet the lady’s dark steady ones, and the octor’s smooth tones insinuated his gratification at the affectionate reception his ward had found in the . household; but, presently, the doctor drifted out of the light commonplaces with which he kept the con- versation going for a few moments, in_ spite of Praag bei monosyllabic replies he received, and he bowed himself out, away from those steady re eyes which were proof against any surprise to be flected there. He went down the steps anda ward, then turned and crossed over man. was loitering. “‘Good-day to you, Mr. Crayton, Iwas sure I re- cognized something familiar about you. And how ‘oes rs business of the reporters’ world, these ays ere enough, Doctor, Got a patient, over there, | “Not at all, Merely the matter of a friendly call. You have the same privilege, I suppose.” “Precisely the same, I suppose,” retorted Cray- ton, Gy “T fancy you and I receive about tha same degree of toleration, doctcr. We have all the cheek and they all the endurance of it. Going my way?” OTe this is your way. Refined and pleasant Mrs. Richland. Easy to detect the difference vets or two for- where a young tween high-bred culture and elevated snobbishness,’” - “T dare say. I don’t pretend to discriminate,” — “T should have given you credit for great penetration. By the way, Mrs. Nee— whom? Can you tell me? I've been impressed with something like a family resemblance since I had the pleasure of meeting her first, but can’t succeed in, getting it placed.” by tuk ‘**You’ve got hold of an impression, then, that no one else has ever succeeded in tackling, The truth is she comes of no f » iL believe. <A case of pure love; the pride and the wealth on our gentleman’s side, the beauty and inherent grace upon the lady’s, He married her abroad, or married her here and took her abroad, some rive It’s eee that: she’s Mrs. Richland, and the nee Nobody is quietly buried in our upper circles.” , - “And what it is to be conversant with the uch? $ of the same. Sorry to leave you so soon, but bi ness before pleasure, you know.” _ } “What object has old Bitter-Herbs in pump me, I wonder?” mused Crayton, loun alone, “‘ Pumping, surely as I’m an process. Hope he’s got his trouble’s my particular good-nature, this morning.” meé, the Erles, excepti have survived the blow had he disappointed mein . his choice of a wife. He is too well aware, however, — of what degree of consideration is due to the fen ily dignity, as well ‘as the fitness of the choice he kas made. I defy any one to find two more equal matched—two more delightfully mated, when it — comes tothat. Don’t you think so, Wilma?” i Wilma’s dusky little head was bent low over her ” embroidery, and the hands manipulating the snowy flosses were a trifle unsteady in their swift move- ment, Miss Erle sat back in her chair, ber hands’ idly folded in her lap, her face placid under her soft gray hair, the black silk at its last degree of stiff- ness, the delicate laces especial ing the picture of that refined old aristocracy of which she was an unyielding advocate. ei “What, Miss Erle?’ I didn’t even know that Mr, ~ Hetherville was—did you say he is engaged? I « incredible. But ah! you are in all these mat- — age- ‘- ‘theservants, . ah <3 ing to n = i ate I think I never ee a fine and soft, look- medline bs Dr, Dallas,”’ she said, quietly, . / N nd : f d ; bin ive i ee u on5 mh soy aes i. i \w ‘ 43 it: i uh

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‘ - ant household, ‘ you must familiarize as we ' mousie. I was right if that is what you mean, Miss Erle. Richland would not approve of it.” ra ig no well-bred person would approve of it.” Miss Erle said it with as much gracious conde- _scension and as utter assurance as though she had ‘never yielded to any dereliction from the rule which well-bred people should follow. Indeed, it is doubt- ful if she had ever taken the conviction of the fact home to herself. ‘‘ And you do not know how near there is a wedding upon the tapis here, in this very house; not know that my nephew has been en- gaged to Miss Richland for six years past! A ro- mantic little affair in the way of two children fall- ing in love at first sight, and of the attachment remaining and strengthening and being happily sanctioned on both sides, and now so near to a final fulfilment. It is not often that so happy a combi- nation of circumstances exists throughout, and not often that a marriage so perfect on both sides is consummated at all. Hetherlands has always been celebrated for its lovely mistresses, and the new one who will take possession there, before long, will carry the palm away from all her predecessors. I have paige of late, how fortunate it is that you are here, Wilma, to fill, ina measure, Ethel’s place. It would apeet a drearily lonely house, I haven’t a douhkt, to Mr, and Mrs. Richland, with her gone, but your presence will lighten the trial to them.” “Tam glad to know that you think so,” Wilma answered softly. ‘Ido wish to deserve their great kindness to me.” “Yoursentiments do you great credit, my dear. Indeed, I am quite sure that your correct principle would not permit you to overlook any duty to those ‘who are so deservedly attached to you. If I were not sure that your proper place is here, I should be happy to take you away as my own companion, I begin to feel the need of young companionship; it imparts the vitality we older people lack. You are so useful and tender-hearted, just the person to take an interest in my poor people, and to gain their af- fections. I suppose, though, it is quite out of the .question to suggest it, even after the wedding is over; but perhaps, when Mrs. Richland makes her arrangements for the summer, I might hope to beg | ou for a little time. That is, if you don’t object to Vestmoreland and my quiet house.” “Thank you, Miss Erle. I would not object to : either, but I hope Mrs. Richland may wish me to » main with her.” “And there’s hardly a doubt of it. Isuppose if _ there were to be any change, Ethet herself would be petitioning for you. Constancy is such a rare ele- ment in our young people nowadays that itis almost miraculous such a long engagement should have ex- isted without even a lover’s quarrel to mar it. The more extraordinary that both are so popular in turn to our first love, but Erle and Ethel never left theirs. Young men are so inclined to trifle, often, I’m afraid, with unsophisticated little hearts that believe in them too are interested have all reason to rejoice over my dear boy and the lovely girl of his choice Legian 3 preserved the first freshness of their hearts for eac other. How industrious you are, Wilma, and what wonderful work you do! Mrs. Richland was re- only this morning what an aptitude you possess for delicate needlework.” _ With the sharp, bright eyes of the old lady yon her, Wilma controlled the quiver which agitated her fingers, and bent the sensitive face closer over her work. But when Miss Erle had gone after a few words more, the white web went down and the face was hidden in the agitated hands. “Oh, cruel, cruel, to have never told me,” whis- he trembling lips behind their shelter. ‘‘ But Read supposed I could be so foolish—they never | ere I might so forget my place! They are all so kind, and it was only kindnesss from him. It is as Miss Erle says—they are perfectly matched—an I shall be happy in seeing their happiness. But, oh, Wilma—Wilma Wilde!” and that little ery of her torn heart was like her old pity of -herself which used to arise in her old, clouded, loveless days, “ Wilma, come here a moment, my dear.’ She had conquered herself, put away her pain in remembering what a happy change had come into her life through Ka geeeions efforts of this pleas- e ery and bathed her face, and started in the direc- tion of the music-room with an hour of practice in her mind, when Ethel called her from the open door of her room, : “T want you to try holed dress, Wilma. ‘You are to make one of our Boe Perey, to-day, my dear, and I have made up my min in something besides your usual blacks. Cicely altering one of my muslins, and I think she has got it to about the proper dimensions.” “But, oh, Miss Ethel—” “Tf it was mourning for any relative I would not insist. pha you have said so little, I am sure your late guardian could not have cared for you as we do now, so of course it is your duty to make yourself bright for us. You are always that in spirit, and we will make the dress ‘harmonize for once.” “Tt was not that. But to go down when stranger guests are here, if you please I would rather not. “* Tt will be a new experience, and one with which 1 yourself. Howard quite con- siders himself in the light of your guardian, if only a nominal one, and the protege of Banker Richland . must be peplind with suitable advantages, a sight of the people with whom she will mingle some day, as music and languages and .other accom- plishments. And this is to but a quiet party, ; all, nothing to frighten our demure little in laying out the muslin, Wilma. It is making you ioo tal. See!” Ae sts 4 im ‘a oe le ae oy a tS ,» and young ladies take to | flirtation so naturally, and coquetry, that we who | “oy . Us a tule y wae ey *Y * ‘your, art, Mr of the pictur i

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-_. WILMA WILDE. ce Mr. Richland sent home this morning. Ethel, my dear, you will see that Mr. Lenoir is not neglected for a moment.” t Mrs. Richland swept away with the young artist, and Justin Lenior had taken the vacant place at Ethel’s side. Crayton was alittle withdrawn, turn- ing a book of illuminated prints, morose and indif: ferent for the moment, and wholly withdrawn into imself, “What charming evenings Mrs. Richland has the faculty of making hers,” remarked Lenoir. “I think my sense of duty could not have been overruled by any less temptation than an evening here. It is the last opportunity of the kind I shall probably experi- ence for quite a long time tocome. Thanks to Mr. Richland’s kindness I am well progressed in my work now, and I have a new incentive to hasten its conclusion, I seriously contemplate giving up my position here with the first of the year, and accept- ing another which has been tendered me, more con- enial to my taste. The smoky city is endeared to me y much pleasant association, but I have not a tie to noid me here, or to force any great regret at leaving 1 ” ‘“‘-You think of leaving?” she asked. She was look. ing down, toying with the drooping ends of the gold and jeweled bracelet she wore. The fallen golden hair cast a little shadow over the pure fair face. Some wonderful blue tint and texture, rich, soft and lustrous, of which her dress was composed, lay ‘about her in billowy folds; the very chain at her round white throat, slender and plain as it looked, Would have cost three months of the rising young journalist’s salary: the rings on her slender hands, With their value realized, would have brought a moderate little fortune that would have given him the advantages of which he was stinted now. Look- ing at her, so fair and so far removed from all as- piration of his, nothing in Lenoir’s still face told of fhe short, sharp struggle — him for that in- Stant, of his impulse to question the Infinite wisdom which had so placed them, the surge of a strong de- sire to battle over all obstacles, and wrench her away in the face of opposing rivals and his own in- sufficient dependence. An impulse quickly passed, Could he have seen into the depths of her heart, how it was aching and quivering under a like agony at the thought of their separation, how in her more Yielding weakness the pain of seeing him daily and of experiencing even that greatest humiliation of knowing that unsought, unasked, she had let her love waver from the one whose right it was to him neither knowing nor re never to know and ¥ never to care even if that slow, dreary pain should linger on and eat through her life as she felt it must, would be less than this pain of parting and of know- ing that the way of their lives must widen never to Come close again. é “‘T have the offer of a positionon a New York mag- azine, quite an advance upon the one I hold at pres- ogy It will be to my interest in every way to accept “Then I presume your friends here must submit with the best grace oe me to their loss sustained, and rejoice for your sa ae — oe to offer con- 8ratulation on that much happy fortune. “Thank you most earnestly, Stiss Richland. I will take it as the ‘God-speed’ which I have so few friends to offer me. I can truly say there is not one household in the two cities of which I shall bear €@way such kindly remembrances as of this.” “You will find new friends soon—new attachments to hlot out the older lesser ones.” The hazel eyes were persistently downcast still, e fingers nervous in their idle motion, the golden head drooping more into the shadow. | i make attachments nor break them 800n,” he answered, quietly. ‘‘Ihave drawn outa lonely life for myself, but a busy one. Pardon me if I presume, Miss Richland, but the world—your world has not kept the secret of the enviable lot Which is tobe yours. Imay not have another op- Portunity to wish you joy. 1 do wish it sincerely, as My truest friendship toward both of you demands. etherville is a noble fellow, aman whom I am bet- rand prouder for having known; one nearly wor- Shy of you as any mancan be. From all my heart I Wish you the great happiness the tender devotion of Such a man cannot fail to bring.” If ever Ethel had thought tremulously that Le- Noir’s dark eyes had ee upon her with any More than a friendly light, if ever she had thrilled in the passing belief that his heart was not utterly Untouched; if ever she remembered the few quiet ‘tamer weeks when she had known him first, and ‘hey had been drawn in closer intercourse than ever ‘h that rustic little village up among the mountains, 4nd found excuse for her own alien affection in the deep enjoyment they had found there together, spought and thrill and self-pardon now had the Sight base of their support crumble from beneath them, Could he be wishing her happiness with an- Other if he had ever cared for her, wishing it so calmly, predicting it so positively? * He never cared,” her heart moaned, in its bitter ain, **And to me so soon to be another man’s ride, this parting is death! I would rather die my- pelt, or worse than that, see him die, than to know © could love another as I love him.’ a or one instant she had lifted her eyes, grown thee and dark with a dumb, anguished reproach in hem to meet his gaze; for that instant seeing how Composed and apparently indifferent to any deeper ‘Sentiment than ee had expressed, shrunk, inwardl With scorn of her own weakness, Then the soft s°8 dropped again, and the quiet, sweet voice villi m under the calm he had forced mur- tured er thanks. ts no high estimate of Erle is well merited. He also a w. friend of yours, as lam happy to_re- Was Howard speaking across to you. Mr. Lenoir? Some weighty your decision, no doubt. tle the disputed point.” Crayton closed the book of illustrated prints and approached. Had either chanced to have glanced toward him a moment before, they would have seen his eyes fixed upon Ethel’s face with moody inten- sity; would have seen his mouth harden, and his sal- low face gloom over with a fierce, dark shade; would have seen a spasm convulse it before the usual cynical curves and staical unconcern re- turned. “Ts the man blind that such a look in her eyes tells him nothing?’ thought the reporter.. ‘‘Can he not see what I see, that a word from him would tempt her to defy all the world—lose it all happily for him? Hetherlands and its master are dess to that proud beauty’s heart to-night than Justin Lenoir with his portion of hard work and un- certain fame before him. And if he knew it even, I doubt if he would utter the word which would call her to him. Somuch for that overstrained sense which men call honor! And that lovely crea- ture for whom men have pined and hearts have broken, has her retribution in like kind with that she has inflicted. She will marry the hus- band that others have chosen for her, and reign the fairest mistress who has ever graced stately Hetherlands, and_ grow reconciled at last, after.a time perhaps. Lenoir will lose his dis- appointment in the fight through life which he is sure to win, and marry when his hair is turning pray and no other fields to conquer shall leave him reathing space to remember his own loneliness. And long before that the reporter’s place wlll be a blank, with no one to remember his presumption, no one to mourn his loss—an aimless, restless Bohe- mian gone to oblivion as a true Bohemian should, done to death through his own reckless folly.” The fierce sweep had passed over his face and left it morose and still again as these thoughts went through his mind. A changeable, inscrutable na- ture was that the reporter’s generally careless as- ect covered, a character with hidden depths and arker phases than those who knew the surface life only were apt to suspect. A nature which might have been strong and steadfast and noble, a talent which yes have conquered a wider scope than opened to him in the simple reporter’s world—a na- ture perverted, and a talent wasted, a mind misap- plied, the better impulses checked and the worse passions fostered, he was that miserable being, a man bent upon wrecking himself in the face of his own knowledge of the consequences to surely come. Even that phase had succeeded to his usual careless impudence of demeanor when he stood beside Ethel as Lenoir moved away. “What a pity you object to be written up, Miss Richland. Of course you do object, and all Jenkins’s persuasions at some future hour of the night or morni shall fail to wring the faintest hint of a description from me. But you cannot well im- agine what a temptation it is to resort to a flowing pen in subscribing to your praises.” ‘Pray don’t contemplate yielding to the tempta- tion, Mr. Crayton. Descriptive items are always de- testable; anything closer t. descriptive not per- missible.” ““Your wish is law. Why could not Mrs, Rich- land have favored us all with the fine points of that icture they have been pe pagan, I haven’t a te for chiara oscura I have a cultivated talent for criticism. They are coming back, I believe, Lati- mer lost in one of his raptures, and there is Hether- ville Lege igg Pelee from the i ae direction. No eayen but must fade before a repor- anes to be deferred to oO by all means and set- “Change to the mere earth, earthy. Let me have the pleasure of affording you a glimpse of the canvas; indeed, I believe the picture is really fine.” She rose up hastily. She had caught a sight of Loop gee face, ie the eee lines, - ight, eyes res' upon her with a purpose them which gave her a maddest start and fright. “What has he read in my face to bring that look into his eyes?’ she thought, in quick alarm. ‘‘He looks as though my indecision had betrayed itself, as though he had some avenging interest in hand or as if all loss or ail gain hung in the scale of the mo- ment. I must not—will not—cannot bear a word from kim now. Itis surely enough that I shall be true to my word and to Howard's hopes.” She moved away at Crayton’s side, and the swift terror which had assailed her destroyed the oppor- tunity Erle had hoped to gain of setting right this tangle between them that neither were deceived in believing clear and smooth. If she could only have known what the steadfast purpose in the blue bright eyes meant! Ifshe could only have read the a fect understanding, clearer than her own, which had given him such confidence in her, such hope for him- self! She moved away, some one else interrupted him, and the opportunity he was seeking was not found. The picture hung in a side room, lighted but de- serted, Ethel paused before it, glad of the silence, scarcely heeding the reporter’s presence, a careless escort to whom she was giving so little considera- tion just then. Her only impulse had _ been to escape from Erle. What she feared. most, his detection of the more than disquiet which had been mbes her, or of his undisturbed trust and his oo of the bonds they wore, she could not have told. Lost in con- quering her inner self, she was not observing her companion. He had paused in appsnant silent study of the canvas; but the moody look which had been dissipated for a fan’ He was n0t unobservant of her, absorbed as he seemed, * Angel that she is, and with all my mad idolatry of her, even she could not redeem my life.” he was ‘ | fol inten: “T was born for the: end whichis not so far but Tam sure of it. Selfishness is always a char- acteristic of the lot of us, and I am selfish enough to wish for just one expression of her sympathy, for one instant to claim her compassion and her kind- ness, more than any woman has ever given me yet.”” She felt the softest of touches upon her hair, and vine up quickly, scareely knowing the changed ace looking into hers, such a changed, despairing yet softened face that her heart went out in pity and half in awe of the unsuspected depth of mourn- fulness reflected there, “Tf you will let me tell you and not be frightened or angry at knowing; if you will only think of mea little more kindly than any one else has done for many years, I shall be happier for feeling that you know how your gentleness and your sweetness have ower to touch even such a callous heart as mine. f anything could do me any good, love of you would show me the way; there is no escape from the wreck which I was born-to reach since it does not. No, don’t speak! Your eyes tell me how sorry you are; all you could say, like everything else, would be use- less now. The pity which may be felt is subtler than that which may be spoken, and it reaches me better, God bless you! One temptation which I have bad before now I think will never come up again.” It was that temptation grown powerful once had led him to instill a momentary doubt of Lenoir in Hetherville’s mind, a doubt which his varying better impulse caused him to dash away again in another instant. , That samelight touch was upon Ethel’s hair, and this time she knew his lips had caused it. More than that, a tear trembled there, moistening her hand as she put it up. But for that she might have ques- tioned if she had not dreamed the rest, for yet while her pained soft eyes were turned ne him his face looked down upon her with its careless light glance, and his voice had changed to its usual accompanying tone— “If you are through with the chiara oscura, Miss Richland! I leave all comment to Latimer. A happy motto that, and the better if it were oftener re —'Tread not upon another’s corns;’ in other words, leave every man alone to ride his own hobby.” © CHAPTER XIV, IN THE WESTMORELAND HOME. For one of the not frequent times'éf his entire indolent life, Erle Hetherville was up with the sun- rise. He was all ready for departure, furred over- coat, traveling-cap, gloves half-way on, and his cigar-case in a convenient outside bse as a maid- servant tapped at the door and entered with a litle tray in her hands. ¢ “There’s coffee served in the breakfast-room if — ou would prefer it, Mr. Hetherville. Miss Erle is king a cup in her own room, and the housekeeper sent this up to you. If you will come down to the \ t breakfast-room you can have oysters and an bid ; w and muffins or rolls and no trouble whatever, plenty of time, Miss Erle st you'll not mind that she’s not down, and would advise you to take a light breakfast at least, sir.” ; **Very good of Miss Erle, but I fancy I can endure a couple of hours’ ride by rail sustained by a cup of coffee well as she. None of the family are stitring yet, I presume?” ae He pulled off one glove and took up the eup of fragant old Java, richly creamed as he liked it, the cup a t thin globe of china. Say what you may, a draught is always sweeter for being daintily served, and Erle, who, a moment before, would have declared it an impossibility to swallow any thing, sipped the contents with lazy relish, looking at the distorted reflection of himself in miniature thrown back by the inner surface of the ie spoon. “Not yet. at is, no one but Miss Wilma; she came down to see that the coffee was made, and has taken Miss Erle’s to her room now. Miss Erle will be ready and the carriage at the door in half an hour. Will you have any thing more, sir?” “Thank fon nothing.’ He put down his cup and the girl went away with the tray. ‘* No wonder my coffee was delicious,” he thought. “A half- hour yet; well, surely something may be done in a half-hour.” . He went down the stairs three at a time a half- minute later, and out upon the frosty avenue where the leafless trees rattled stiff branches and the early sun slanted his early roseate lances. There was elixir in the air that morning, stiff, bracing, health- - and Erle squared his fine shoulders and drew in | aspirations as he hurried along the silent thoroughfare. Not silent for long. Those blessings of poor men’s travel, the street-car, rumbled near at, hand, and as he passed a corner came upon a group of gathered workmen, tin dinner-pails in hand, with others hurrying from alleys and side-streets. He took © a car along with them, and stood balancing himself upon the rear platform, glancing in at the crowded interior and the rows of plain, intelligent taces pre- sented there. “Not apparently such a frightful lot to be after all, he thought. idea that ‘up in the morning early’ was such a de- lightful maxim to ie into practice. Talk of tonje¢s in comparison with the air, or of spirit-revivers in ~ the same breath with a race down to Federal stree6 and back again under circumstances such as these,” | The half-smile about the bearded mouth, the genial | | t little time, was returning to his | | Federa glow in his cheeks might have confined his happy rat to a smaller scope still, might have summed e Alpha and Omega of all his exuberance in one word—Wilma. He = now 3 down from the car as it 1 street and crossed to the market, jostii | his way through the crowd of early buyers to one o the numerous flower-stands lining the square. The _ vender was a boy, small and spare-faced and déli- a4 r “Upon my word, 1 nel ho va turned into “5 x \. a XN * - ~

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% . t ey f rare w 4 —~t ‘ 4th 2 t fer Hae! be : “an 33 y - Jast one 4 all yet " gerve by coming down this morning for a last part- s eate-looking as any of the fragile plants over which he hovered. The boy's pale face iaphicned at sight of Hetherville, | ‘*Good-morning, Oscar, my boy! So you are at your post already, and give satisfaction, I hope.” “I hope so, sir. You're too late for the early lot of bouquets, all sold out, and the best ones not come _ over yet.”’ | WILMA WILDE. “Tm not shut off from all sense of the word, then , my dear aunt. Really, you are right; I turn long- ingly. to my dear ones left at Hetherlands.” ‘Your what, Erle?”’ “My dear ide sarin home affections, and the ' like. How poor Junius must miss me! And Jupiter “That is a pity as I have neither time to go on to the store nor to wait here. I can trust to your selec- tion, I su ee One of your handsomest moss- baskets with fragrant cut flowers not so delicate as to wither all at once—pinks and pansies and mignon- ette and the like. I'll write the address for you— Miss Wilma Wilde, No. — Western avenue, beg your pardon, sir, but it’s a deuce of a jam here.” In stepping back he had jostled a tall, soldierly- looking man who was loitering in an idle way about the market and had Pe at his elbow: his eyes after one sharp,.scrutinizing glance over the young man’s form were fixed upon the flower-stand, “No apology. A man gets used to rough passages by the time he reaches forty and knocks about over half the known globe.” . | Erle, with no time to spare and a parting caution —* Don’t neglect, Oscar, and as early as may suit your convenience ’’—was off again. The tall man pressed close to the little flower-ven- er. ‘One of your regular customers, that?’ he in- . “A gentlemanly young fellow.” “A customer at the house, sir. He got me my sit- uation here only two days ago. The young lady that I’m to take the flowers to had been kind to me when _Lhad only little roots and herbs to peddle, and when she stopped to speak to me in the street and told * him all she knew of me, he just took one good look and asked where I might be found again, That very day he comes back and gives me a written recom- mendation and says he has spoken to the florist who |' has the goat establishment on Market street, and he hopes I’ll do my best because of the young lady who was the means of getting me into the place. He ware me some money to make myself more respec- ble than I was then, and said he’d look out to or- der his bouquets of me. I like the work, and it’s do- ing me good already; I’ve been weakly-like, and u’re right in saying he’s a gentleman, Young Mr, etherville, his name is.” ‘And your young lady is Miss Wilma Wilde, of | No, — Western avenue,” glancing at the card which the boy had put down as he referred to his order- book, ‘iltake one of these sprigs of myrtle for my button-hole—so! Never mindthe change, Good- morning, my lad!’ He laid down a piece of silver and turned away with a half-embarrassed glance down at the decora- tion which was apparently novel to his tall, muscu- lar strength and soldierly bearing. “Enough sight better than peddling roots and herbs and getting kicks and cuffs about the streets,” soliloquized the pale little nay bs “*T get more ‘kind words in a morning now than I had in a month en, and blessings on the sweet young lady that’s ‘done ital!’ . _. Erle, walking rapidly back, reached the mansion with the last minute of. the half-hour to find his aunt in the hall surrounded by bundles and bags and ‘baskets, all the paraphernalia indispensable to femi- - mine travel, the carriage at the door and a frown upon her face which cleared at sight of him, “Oh, there you are, Erle. And we haven't two minutes to iw - necks. ‘ vonere down the steps, and—why, where’s your e “AN he not a minute to spare, my dear aunt,” onded Erle, catching her up and bearing her bodily to be placed in the waiting carriage. ‘And these traps—pile ’em in anyhow at all, I sup- 2, ‘ oie made a dash back into the the hall for some package left, but his hast; _hoped to obtain a parting view. Miss Erle had taken ‘ good eare of that. Her own leave-taking with Wilma been done above, and she profusely disclaimed pores the other descend at The discovery of le’s absence at the last minute gave her a thri comin changed to relief with his appearance from without, That fear of some bitter disappoint- ment was making her nervous; she was cherishing bags possibility until it began to take a Gorgon shape might have aiaplarst a trifle less indifference in giv- ing her farewe. the other guests had departed on the preceding night, that she would have sacrificed no maiden re- ‘ing word. But, at the same time, had she found her nephew lingerin. for a farewell with Wilma she = if would have most sternly resented such disloyalty as | her active fears could discover toward his betrothed. , That Erle would most willingly have exposed him- self to the reproach was fortunately not aplenee as prima facie evidence, and Miss Erle’s ruffled equani- nity grew again, - A few hours later they sat over alate breakfast in the old Erle mansion, shut in by Westmoreland hills, and overlooking the straggling Westmoreland - iy el again,” sighed the lady in thankful aspira- tion, ‘‘ It’s true as gospel, Erle: _ *Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home!’ ven Hetherlands would never have the same charm for me that clings to every corner and crevice of the old nest here. one! you are just ina fair way to . find a realization of the word. It.requires home af- fection to give that.” ~ her view, Jn her secret heart she felt that Ethel | in the presence of the family after | mpeee. You men always do wait for the | then rush off at a way fit to break your | you'll just take some of these and give me | | lance around failed to | - Frevéal the sweet, wistful little face of which he had | earnest, tender and grave, that she could scarcely | reconcile their change from then bold, laughing, of | | that word or act of hers would never turn him from | his own decision of right. | them all. | a message of your kindness to her—if I might have eile Pe Se and Pluto, and Lucifer himself, I fancy. Even poor | §P wind-blown little Gabriel, and—” ‘Erle, what on earth!’ “Only my dogs and my horses, and the little pet | niggers, dear old auntie. So fond of meas they all | are, upon my word it’s rather remarkable consider- | ing how particularly lazy Lhave managed to keep | “You are thoroughly incorrigible on that and all | actically useful heads, Ido believe, It’s a mercy ere’s to be a change, and I do hope Ethel may ex- ercise her first power in setting Gifoos to rights at Hetherlands.”’ A shadow came over Erle’s face. He rose hastily, ee his chair back, and crossed to stand on the scene old-fashioned, red-tiled hearth. A wood fire ame he looked into the leaping blaze with Aaa f absent eyes. His aunt followed and stood beside him, put- tng her fair, wrinkled hand upon his sleeve. “ There, never mind the old woman's interference my dear boy. It’s not natural that you and I should think alike, a spinster of three-score, and a fine young fellow of twenty-four, the greatest contrasts to be found in the world. Ethel will understand what is right better than I, be sure of that. And now I am going to see that the dear boy’s old room is _ in order for him. It is always kept in readiness, and Prudence has had fires there for a week, according to my instructions. Do you care to come along?” in the ample throat of the chimney, and “My dear aunt, how sorry I am to disappoint you. Poor Prudence, too, will searcely be persuaded .to forgive the cold shoulder I must give her atten- hen The truth is, Iam to return by the afternoon ain. “Erle!” screamed his aunt, aghast. “It is very important, or you should know I would not insist. I could not think of leaving you to make the trip alone, or the matter demanding my pre- sence should not have been deferred to this hour, My dear aunt, you'll never find it in your heart to forgive me, I’m afraid, but I mean to break with Ethel.” “Erlé!"’ It was not a scream this time, but the lowest and slowest of shocked utterances. “We will both be the better off for that which it is my duty to do. Iam confident Ethel never could be happy with me as she may be, as it is her lot to deserve. But I—oh! aunt Erle—can never be happy with any one, can never know any happiness r this except with Wilma. Oh, aunt Erle! thank God with me that we are not all made miserable by the discovery coming too late.”’ Miss Erle seemed turned to stone. She stood look- ing with coldly horrified eyes upon him; her fair wrinkled face turned hard, the soft white hair which had shaded her forehead, and the years of hope and pride which she had upon the fact of this projected marriage all laid waste in a moment, were like sharp pangs of remorse present with him. “Say at least you will try to pardon me this which is so great a disappointment to you, aunt Drle. It is so much the best for all of us; I can’t plead for any thing less than that. It is my worst pain seeing you bear it so.” “You don’t mean it, Erle, Erle! you surely don’t mean it. With the pride of the Hethervilles and the Erles running in your veins you can’t intend any thing go dishonorable. I’ve got a nightmare on me; | I’m surely never awake in my own senses and my | boy telling me that!” - “I'm sure of Ethel; if I were not I would sacri- fice myself rather than her. She will be happier in her restoration to freedom, and, oh, dear aunt! all the world would not weigh in the scale against my love for Wilma,” It was only the same form of words lovers have used in a million cases before, but with Erle’s rapt face before her, with his blue eyes so steadfast and defiant, she knew that every word had its echo in | his soul. Knew how strong his determination was under his remorse at causing her this grief; knew She sat down without a word, and her silence, the cold horror stamped upon her face yet, the shock of the disappointment which he knew was possessing her, struck him with keener ange} than more demonstrative grief weuld have one. “You will believe that it is for the best when you see the end,” he said, gently. ‘‘Don’t think too | harshly of your boy—your own boy the same as ever if you will let him be so,’ And the little Wilma who, God willing! shall be my own some day—you can’t | help loving for her own sake. If Icould take back. the assurance you are not changed toward me!” “Not changed? Hrle, Erle! I fear me I am so changed I shall never know my own self again.” And, indeed, that impenetrable ice of reserve dropped so suddenly about her neither melted nor moved while he remained. She was stiff and still and silent, making no attempt to check him when he talked to her, not saying much and to so little 5) e that he soon desisted and was simply quietly attentive until his hour for departure came. “One thing I ought to say, I suppose,” she re- marked then, as he stooped to kiss her withered cheek. “I always meant to make you my heir, Erle, not that Pi needed any thing more, but of kith and kin of mine you are the last. Now—"’ “Now, aunt Erle, there shall be no question of a ——— as troubled me ore this shall have gone from between us, I never want any thing but the old — love back again.” He went then more sorrowful and gloomy, and threatened by dismal forebodings, than his happy irit of the morning could have deemed possible. The ice did not break about Miss Erle even then, | Nor yet later when Prudence, the old housekeeper and confidential manager for half her life of more age s than Miss Erle’s domestic affairs, came to er with a troubled and anxious face. ““There’s symptoms of a sickness down in the } Mowe al? she said; ‘signs that I don’t like in the east. ‘It’s come among the Biffins, that at family of little children, smothered in os two close rooms together. No wonder they take every dis- — ease that’s going. You'll have to get along with- out me, Miss Erle. I’m going down there to take the matter in hand before it gets the chance of 3 sweep, and the best of us.” CHAPTER XV. A RESEMBLANOE. Ernen looked more than ever pale and distrait, was more than ever quiet and appetiteless at the breakfast table that same morning. Not one to wear her heart openly upon her sleeve, this} fair petted darling of two seasons’ favor found not her least mortification in her own self-humiliation, With that as an inward oe nog: with her woman’s pride not proof against defeat yet sustaining itself to all ex- eept her own heart, this listless, silent Ethel mere about the rooms was not at all the embodiment 0: one’s ideal belle who has reigned undisputed through ashort triumphant term and is about to end her oe ge course by the brilliant marriage expected of er, “Ethel is all right,’ thought Mr. Richland, in one of his complacently observant moods, ‘She feels the difference with Erle’s absence let me warrant, for, however little disposed our wens folks may be to turn sentimental after the popular fashion, there’s more of the true ring of the meta] under all than she has cared to acknowledge. A very long absence may conquer love, but a short oneis more apt to prove it, It has all been as I foresaw; Erle’s com- ing set'the dear girl’s misgivings at rest, and by my faith! it should require no stronger inducement than that handsome face and perfect manliness of his to overcome worse odds than simply a girl’s shy hesi- tation and distrust of herself. coming was none too soon, as even I can see; this society life is be- ginning to tell on her with a rather startling effect. shall certainly advise a long season of travel and sight-seeing before aes return to it, Ganka and hot air and late hours will ruin any woman’s looks, I suppose, if gee’ “ae in, though Gertrude stands them admira ly. But then» Gertrude is incompara- ble among women.” His complacent reflections were very comforting to Mr. Richland. The world, always d sed to treat him kindly, had for so long atime been his humble devotee that he quite overlooked the proba- bility of any different phase ever being presented to him. His own comfort had been so well assured that it was quite out of all reason to contemplate any worse disaster than the re pow annoyances which are the gnats to buzz in thé faces of the best and the greatest. His old unyielding pride and his individual satisfaction were both to receive a prop through the consummation of this alliance in every way so well calculated to gratify all concerned. Ethel, reading all this in his kindly face, was pierced more oe yet by that rambling pain with- in, as she steeled herself closer still to her own reso- lution, Come anguish to her own heart, come bitter humiliation and lasting concealed rebellious senti- ment, she would not disappoint Howard, she would keep faith with Erle Hetherville in all except her hidden inner heart. But oh, Ethel, Ethel! Had Justin Lenoir’s deep earnest eyes looked into yours, had his lips formed the word and his voice said it ever so softly— “Come,’’ what then of the firm will to override all temptation? Is ever any resolution to be trusted, which has no depth of heart for its foundation? Yet with all the knowledge that should be ours the same ‘ame of ie goes on daily and hourly, and east often with the fair, happy termination of set~ ting all straight. It was after ten when the pale little flower-vender made his appearance. “For Miss Wilde,” and the fragrant package carefully inclosed was given inta Wilma’s hands. She knew in a moment from whont it came while her fingers were hi busy with the sil- ver paper enfolding it, before the little card with her address in Erle’s writing assured her beyond.a doubt: | And conscientious little Wilma, her heart swelling with the proof of his tender remembrance, droppin, her face over the fragrant mass for the briefes space, only drew away with the quick contraction which was @ certain sign of troubled feeling appear- ing in her forehead, Ihave no right to receive them,” she was think- ing. “I would not—oh! for all the world, I would not be the cause of bringing ‘sorrow to Miss Ethel. I was wrong without knowing at the first; now that I know, I must do allI can to put the wrong niger But oh! you darlings! And he sent you to me. Wil- — Wilma! remember they should have come to er. And thus bringing herself toa reminder of he? Own strict sense of duty, Wilma detached the little eard, and, taking the moist moss basket with its bur den of bloom, went up to Ethel’s room. “From Mr. Hetherville,” she said, as she placed it quiet! ‘ : of taste, Iam afraid,” Ethel remark it. in nowise aroused from her listless 1 Sa rap 4 your disposal of any thing. At least one flaw which — f for once Mr. Hetherville has made an error | lancing 86 difference. sy j

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sf oa “Thave heard him say that the proper ete Hei choose flowers in character with their recipient. White roses and japonicas and calla lilies have char- acterized his choice for me before this, andI con- fess to rather disapproving of the change.” Her white hand went carelessly over the mass, great loving-eyed sies, sweet spice-pinks, blush rose- buds and modest mignonette, but turned away with- out removing one. “‘You may have them if you like, Wilma, In fact, Erle’s theory would suit them to you far the best, and their greenhouse fragrance gives me a headache.” A heartache more likely, as a reminder of how the “ eternal fitness of things’ was being marked the case of them two. Wilma took them away, that tremulous happi- ness at her heart as she thought what a delicate, far-reaching sympathy it was to distinguish itself so unmistakably. “Surely I may keep them now,” she thought, ae ag coming from him but as Miss Hthel’s There was another ring at the bell presently, and . Crayton was shown into the = or where the ladies had gathered, Mrs. Richland lying idly back in her chair, Ethel with some pretension of work in her hands, and Wilma reading aloud—as totally di- verse a trio as might be often found, tenderly at- tached as these three had grown to be. - “This is an inexcusable breach of etiquette, of course,” said the reporter, after the first greeting. ““Won’t you ladies show forgiveness of it by not letting my Neen disturb you in the least? I haven't the faintest shadow of an excuse for intrud- ing, I may as well tell you at first. The lawlessness of us Bohemians is our only law, though I promise not to make a repetition if this is an offense. Truth is, chancing into the neighborhood the law of at- traction did the rest.” “You are very welcome,’’ Mrs. Richland assured him, with that true courtesy which does not distin- guish between guests. ‘“ You see for yourself that Wwe accept your permission, Mr. Crayton, and re- ceive you quite without ceremony.” **You’d be amused to see what sort of receptions Ido get sometimes. I don’t suppose you have an idea of what a powerful lever our newspaper world is under your stratum of society. The reporter who is called in under the gaslight to take notes of a — glitter, a smash and a jumble to be separated to so many descriptions of toilettes and ore eee shades with plentiful interspersions of aigrettes an coronets, cluster curls an ea tip tah braids, of Magnificent parures and tasteful ornaments and drooping sprays and fair bouquets, «n deécollete trained, loo puffed and all the perplexities of your mantuamaker’s art which we are supposed to conquer—that reporter is scarcely recognizable in uncivilized Bohemianism, which may lead him to intrude after this fashion. I don’t quite class Myselt with that ilk or I would not be discussing the Variations quite so amiably.”’ ‘But what a free-and-easy world it is, that of your loved Bohemia. People say that after its fas- Cinations have once been experienced there's no enticing one of you away from it. What Paris is to a true Parisian so is your delightful world which ou eae 2 about with you everywhere—an advan- the Parisian ‘does not possess.’? Ethel looked interes up from her work—it seemed such a novel world to her, to whom such a vague compre- hension of its hidden inner life had come in that phase he had shown her lately, scarcely credible how in the bright light of day with his careless 3 8ence and unconcerned surface appearance hinting of no depths. “Les pauvres Bohemiennes| And yet this wild wide Gipsy life, which has the sky for its covering, its home all over the earth, as you say, is so very attractive that no temptation can sever a true Bohe- Mian from the vagabond existence, no amount of uence or persuasion result in transforming him to average respectability or quietude. Once come to the state which I have ved at, I assure you there is no redemption for any poor devil, and the worst or the best of it is that he rather glories in his lot than otherwise.” Saying it all with the reckless dash which gave added force to the words and was calculated to ring out the brightest tints of the picture, the froth and sparkle of the Bohemianism only was Visible, none of the despair, the miseries, the want and waste and willful misuse of a life which almost invariably goes hand in hand with it, seeming the hest of all realizations from his mind. “There are regular en among us as in all Other classes,” he continued. ‘Those on the to are not such an immense remove from civiliz eings, after all—Latimer and Lenoir, for instance. Apropos of Latimer, which suggests his art and ac- companiments: Mrs, Richland, did you ever, in the ‘auld lang syne,’ which cannot be So far gone as to ave you much changed, have a likeness taken and call it Rose? Moreover, were you ever dead 4nd buried and resurrected to life again, after the fashion of three-volume romances of three centuries ago, when that interesting experience seemed the only method taken to outwit one’s enemies?” ‘I, Mr. Crayton!” The wide, dark eyes turned Upon him slowly, their depths fathomless until a ; aemred surprise rose to them, Yourself, Mrs, Richland. I’m well aware that is & novel as well as pee mode of questioning, but thereby hangs a tale,’ which I hope may g: ™e pardon in your sight. That is, unless you abomi- nate scenes from real Iife-which run ii'the way of tnystery and dramatic effect.” You couldn’t adopt any better plan for the natural Mother ve veal eonteas to,” lauehed I answer for Gertrude, in one particu- Eek “Lean ‘r atleast. She haga morbid aversion to sitting. = WILMA WILDE. ~ and we’have never succeeded in persuading her t6 have even @ er taken.. Artists of high and low degree, of ranks, grades and pretensions, have exhausted their eloquence in vain, so E imagine it decided that Gertrude never could have lent her- self toa representation and called it Rose. For the rest I can’t take the responsibility of answering; such Phoenix-like emulation does not often appear after the actuality of ‘earth to earth, ashes to ashes,’ I believe.” * Ethel is quite right,” said Mrs. Richland, calmly indifferent, and disclaiming any show of curiosity. “Certainly I have never died or been buried or resurrected, Mr. Crayton.” ‘And yours is such a very peculiar face, if you'll | allow me to remark it. rtainly quite a singular | coincidence, a remarkable affair, to say the least.” | “ What is'‘a remarkable affair, Mr. Crayton? Don’t keep us in suspense, please; our weaker nerves are | not calculated to bear the strain, and anything to in- volve Gertrude, ever so remotely, must prove of | vital importance, I am sure,” | “ Pray don’t overwhelm me by taking it up so se- | riously. My rather absurd and unwarranted ques- | tioning sprung from a little incident which might form one of a series entitled Nights in the Streets. An incident not calculated to reilect to the credit of our twin cities, neds with a slight exception, a match-picture to Hetherville’s mischance of not long ago, occurring within our sight, Lenoirs and mine, after we left here last night. egheuy is not responsible, as perhaps you may be glad to know. We had crossed the bridge and were walking along Sixth avenue, near Penn, when a brief but decisive skirmish took pice ahead, A couple of ruffians darted out to attack a gentleman, but the. sporting gentry seemed to have reckoned without their host or once, since their selected victim proved himself more than enough for both of them. He dropped one with a back-hand sweep, and the other was glad to find his heels after a round or two. We were on the spot in a minute after the occurrence, and when the gentleman returned from the short pursuit he had made, cool as either of us, we all stood talking until the policecame up and took charge of the one villain, Something glittered on the pavement in the light of the bull’s-eye, and I picked up a little miniature wherein I would have declared it was your face painted, Mrs, Richland, Lenoir and I both remarked it, but the stranger claimed it as his prop- erty and assured us of our mistake. It had beer the keepsake of a friend of his, he said, the original a lady named Rose, who had been dead and buried for seventeen years. The resemblance was remarkable, you may imagine, since it was powerful enough to attract the attention of both Lenoir and myself,” “Rather & strange coincidence, as you say,’ as- sented Mrs. Richland, indifferent as ever, ‘‘Resem- blances are not uncommon, however.’’ “T rather congratulate myself over the interest aroused by that one, since it opens the pleasure of Captain Bernham’s future acquaintance, and I flatter myself he is one: man of the few worth culti- vating. 3 = f whom-—what name did fon say?” Mrs, Rich- land’s face was turned away, but her voice was soft | | | { ; } and clear and bell-like, a peculiar voice just as hers was a peculiar face. Captain Lela Burnham, a deuce of a handsome, strong -built, soldierly fellow. My wonder is that the others had the temerity to attack him. But, by the way, you will soon have a reputation for resem- blunces. One of our mutual friends discovered an- other, rather vague, I’m afraid—Dr. Craven Dallas, I’m meaning. The old fellow appeared so exercised over the matter that I assured him of the fact with which I chanced to become acquainted—that you have no blood-relatives to share such an honor, I believe I was right in that.”’ “ Quite right, Mr. Crayton,”” Her head came back to its former position, the face to his view, and he remarked how perfectly marble-like it was in its con- tour and coloring. “ And that reminds me! of what I had nearly for- gotten,” supplemented the reporter; “that, I am summoned to appear in the case at the alderman’s office, this afternoon.” He took his leave sooh after, and the short fall day went quietly by in the mansion. Wilma had been busy all the <p and at nearly dusk went. out to a store on a neig boring street to match the silks Ethel was ; bes © on rather go than not,” she said when the latter made a remonstrance. “I neglected my usual walk to-day, and need a trifle of freshening up.” She went and had returned to the Koby shadow of the mansion itself, when she was caught suddenly from her feet, folded close instrong masculine arms, and kissed in fierce, fond jomeen by bearded lips. Then she was put as suddenly down again, and a tall form strode rapidly away and was lost in the gloom, CHAPTER XVI. , CROSS-PURPOSBES. “Sum here, Ethel. You haven’t, been doing any such foolish thing as quarrel with Erle, 1 hope?” She was passing in the dusk but turned back with her brother’s words. _He was walking the wide upper hall, waiting for Mrs. Richland’s dinner toilette to be completed. It was to be a night out and the task of dressing was rather prolonged. Mr. Rich- | land’s natural domesticity rather inc ned toward a disfavor for the empty drawing-rooms, and after fifteen years of wedded life he was sufliciently lover — like to wait in attendance upon his wife. rtainly not, Howard.” Pet ae relieve pene Ieould nya models Fine: Bt f strange ons. : physiognomy almost aff me with some active , . Wilma, a hotter flush burning her cheeks. “ * Par fe fee Fy gin einen and he would like a private intervie you have the leisure, though he declined a seat a’ the opera and his own chances for the evening.” Aten “Erle, prea Fis — to Ph ee nae re this morn e not?—and for a week’s am Doaltive: his aunt said.” rae “So I had understood, and his unexpected return ve me my first start when I met him at the door a ew minutes ago. He is waiting below now, in the library. I believe he came here straight from the ~ train, though I remember his saying something of taking up own apartments. And, by the way, Ethel, Gertrude tells me there will be no delay on account of trousseau or other preparations. There has been a reply to her order, and the goods them- selves will be forthcoming within the month, So, if , Erle broaches naming the day, Icouldn’t find a single ., objection in the world to pay ary date, Ihavehad |. New Year’s Day inmy mind, but itis your reg cag ‘ tive to be suitedin regard to that. Shortenthetime by all means if it agrees better with Erle’s no doubt impetuous desires.’ “Oh, my dear brother, certainly not sooner than * that. Indeed, Howard, Tam half-inclined to resent this intense anxiety of yours to rid yourself of @ ~ troublesome incumbrance. . Fortunate that Lam in- ; : clined to assert my right, or you would be marrying: me out of hand whether or no.” ao “Well, well a anxious, my dear, ou.” She passed on, but not down immediately, She used at Mrs, Richland’s door and went in at find- her alone. She.was already dressed:and turning / } over the contents of a jewel-casket absently, She poms with a smile at seeing her fair yourg sister= 7 -law. ou understand- why I am. now don’t let me detain “How prompt you are, Ethel. And youareintime ~~ to settle a vexed question. Ican’t quite decide what + to wear to-night in the way of ornament.” + “Diamonds, by all means, with that ruby moire, ‘ Gertrude, Indeed you ought never to wear any thi Sue but diamonds. You have been born to them and eh, brilliant things in destiny. Iwonder if life isa fatal- ity from first to last?” “What has turned your thoughts in that strain, i Ethel? You have not found any dissatisfaction in your own, I hope?”’ - : 4 ‘Not probable, since I have always heen so manly re arded. Ihave wondered sometimes what when I~ ve been inclined to doubt myself—I su: WO" Ay never are sure of ourselves until we are put to the © test.. Take your case for example, If you had not. loved Howard as you do, if you him — out of gratitude or from asense of duty say, only, having the highest respect and appreciation rh his noble qualities, would you have been contented, have always kept your duty toward him in view, have — wn perhaps into some approach of the peace which Iam sure you must have mutually enjoyed?” _ Ethel’s face was not averted but her eyes were not z lifted to meet the scrutinizing glance of the other darker ones. Those deep, inscrutable eyes of Mrs, i Richland had a subtle power of their own which could penetrate more clearly than Ethel’s troubled mind just then would care to be probed, ». a “T fancy such cases are more common than. Oar). imagine, my dear,’ she answered, com: ers “ it had been my case as you have just put it,I am sure [ should never have suffered one of regret ... thro any lingering indecision of my own, but would have found such peace and such content in his ten- derness and his strong love as would have reconciled sacrifice and made sweet any after trialwhich might / | be bravely borne for his sake. I have little enough ' faith in that sentiment of love whichhashadno-tral and none but a fanciful existence, Ethel; I have ev- iy ery faith in the reality with the plain. knowledge of — | its strong, earnest foundation and the perfect irush = | to be reposed there. High respect and appnecaton ae of noble qualities are the truest bases upon w. an enduring trust was ever built,” ‘ Ws / Ethel’s eyes lifted now freely and smilingly. “No one could have a truer experience to z from, Gertrude. Has Howard’ spoken to, you ate ham of Erle and—and me—and; New Year’s ay?” . ren ukRow what hopes he has built upon all three, = e = 2 ‘You may tell him, if you like, that I shall be | ready then, provided Erle wishes it. He is ae. now, come unexpectedly back from Westmoreland and waiting forme. Ah, Wilma! lwasalmostumeasy, thinking von had not returned yet? hte Fe 4 Wilma had come into the reom, just eatehin ie Bs! last of Ethel’s speech, half-hesitating, on the int of PoE again, ; * Gicel oa a pect thon its on aie be t: icely was busy, an’ ought you m e - ing something. "Shall I put your jones baie ara ichland?”* } pe “If you like, Wilma.” Mrs. Richland had clasped diamonds at her throat and upon her wrists, bubshe did not move away. The woes eyes were loo Mess at her own fair semblance in the glass, me 7: and far-seeing, but, preoccupied as they seemed, they caught Wilma’s upward, anxious glance. ve ae What is it, my dear? Why, child, are you il? You look to be burning with fever.’ . fod & tues oho “Tam quite well, only flushed. Is it Mr. Hether- ville has returned unexpectedly whom Miss Ethel ~— «| has gone down to meet?’ eel VR PaH,, ag “Yes. We were mistaken regarding hisintention, ~~ evidently, or he has changed it.” soa 4 { “ And it was he, though I didnot think it,” m ped vesmesucha | would sooner . aes ~ 5 | sag eu ! < ‘ « should I do—what can Ido now? It guilt sense, though Heaven knows e than bring misery to any of ter.” eH : Searching: eyes were on’ ushing, tated | face. Mrs, Richland drew back and Ae oh (oe es Pa i / ‘ta

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v , # c? ny Z ' bonds for her. , they had been winning » with m:; ’ gaid to herself, and went into his (16 into a chair, the ruby silk draping ‘about her in — glowing folds, the diamonds fiashing back the elit. *“Gome here, Wilma,” she said, quietly. ‘‘ Some- thing is troubling you, and trouble can sometimes he beiter borne when the knowledge of it is divided. | Sobbing and nervous and distressed, I am sure the blame is not yours, whatever the matter may be! Sit here and tell me, if you can.” Wilma dropped on a low stool at her feet, her ‘slight form shaken, her hot, tearful face buried in her hands. She lifted itin a moment, more composed, wistfully deprecating. “Oh, ae a ere it —_ rind of Sb Se om coming ‘0 me, the fear of repaying all your kindness with ofroy and disappointment. I wWoeld so gladly bear all sorrow and all pain if it might be spared to any one in this dear house.”’ “Go on, Wilma. Tellme what sorrow—what pain!” The white cool hand was passed gently over the girl's forehead with a touch which was quietly soothing now, such a deep, soft light in the steady eyes that Wilma’s heart ached to its depths, * Oh, Mrs. Richland! Iam afraid that through me, unhappiness may come to Miss Ethel, disappoint- ment to allof you. Indeed, indeed, if I might undo it now by going away, I would go gladly. If I had never come there would have ‘been no change, as I fear there is, in Mr. Hetherville.” The soft, cool hand was still, the slightest change come over the marble-like calmness of the perfect eC. “Mr, Hetherville!’ The little dusky head was drawn with a sudden swiftness to the lady’s shoul- der, the quiet cheek laid against the burning, throb- bing brow. “Tell me here, Wilma. Has this change w ch has come to Mr. Hetherville also touched ‘ou A quick comprehension had come to Mrs. Richland. Ach too, had come to her, almost a relieved change it would seem, and that caressing, megnetic « touch quieted Wilma until she could tell steadily all that had passed between her and Erle on the preced- ing night. ‘_ “He promised to remain the same to her unless herown word and her own wish released him, but to- night—to-night, as I was coming in from the street, just at dusk, some one—a tall man, whom I had not seen in the shadows—caught me-in his arms and kissed me on the cheeks and lips and forehead. I turned fairly sick with fright, but he put me down and was goneina moment. I did not think of its Mr. Hetherville. I thought he was in West- | moreland, to remain for. a week.” Her sobs choked her there. Mrs, Richland’s quiet- | | now. If Lever had a temptation to waver from the hink we can trust to Mr. Hetherville,” she | said. “He is quite incapable of a dishonorable act, | ing touch was gentle as before. ‘Tt Tam sure, You are not to blamein the matter. But, Wilma, child, it may be better for — own sake if the “gs in him proves to have m but the im- ulsé of the moment, to be lost in the truth of his ve for Ethel, If it proves more than that, the dis- covery is better made now, as he said—far better than if they were bound by irrevocable ties.” The a ae of her expression startled and stilled . They sat in the same position for a -moment more, then Mr. Richland, grown impatient of his solitary march up and down the wide dim hall, be me at the door, interrupting them. lhad gone down to the library, where Erle awaited her. He had come straight here from the | train, as Mr. Richlan which had broken upon him with such powe d had surmised. The knowledge | ' halls were at a brilliant blaze, but in force would permit him no rest until his future posi- | tion was decided. He had not lost sight of his romise to Wilma; it must Le Ethel’s will, not his, at should give him liberty. He had meant it fully ‘when he declared he would sacrifice himself rather . than her. Had he believed it for Ethel’s truest hap- ‘piness now, he would have sealed his lips above ev- ery remonstrance, and given no sign. But he felt sure Of her heart as he was of his own; he had not a doubt but that, in bringing about the freedom which hhe was so sure of gaining, he would break Lateful With that settled purpose in his heart he was wait- | ing, when the door swung back and she came in, | eapieht up to him, with a brighter smile than the fair face had worn for him grace which had always Ss. Ethel’s lingering, long battle had been fought out those few minutes passed in her sister-in-law’s room. A long, lingering battle, the end of which she had marked Jong since, but not until then had she really conquered that stubborn enemy found in her- self. Her sacrifice had been promised before this, for her brother’s sake, and by the reflex of the pride 60 bitterly wounded through her own weakness; but Gertrude’s words let a new light in upon the sacrifice which changed it to an ennobling du y. With my own full knowledge of Erle’s true worth, Own earnest desire to bring him all he ex- pects m me, wifely devotion to him very soon, surely my task will not be so very hard to learn with 60 much returned for the little that is asked,” she resence with the: glow of conscious approval warming her heart and appearing in her frank greeting. What a surprise you_have given me,” she said, “a delightful rise. Idid not expect you for a week at least. ere has been no mischance, noth- ig give you apprehension, I hope.” mething in his face roused her quick alarm. He hhad taken her hands, meeting her , affectionate glance with one doubtful and searching. His confi- dence was wav for the first. Never before had she seemed so Gen ely affectionately trustful, never ae he felt so regretful of the bond between em. f i in all these later days | ether, both hands put out with that | een one of her | WILMA WILDE. ‘No mischance, nothing unfortunate in the way of actual happening, Ethel. purposely to arrive at a ae and perfect under- | standing with you, Sit here while I say what I have to say; I will not —- you long.” She rested her han eyes fixed inquiringly upon his face, that lately ained strength of hers efore him, *“We entered upon our betrothal six years ago, mere inexperienced children both of us, not even un- | derstanding the sacred nature of the trust we were taking upon ourselves. Under almost.any other cir- upon the back of the chair he | placed for her and remained standing, her hazel | caring her -unwaveriugly | but her sweet, yielding spirit would find its own re- f cumstances the old tender folly would have been | spent long ago, the remembrance nothing more than a matter for laughing comment now. We were kept to it by the ns pete the proposed alliance met upon both sides; overcome, not an obstacle which might have rough- cred cur way but was smoothed frem it by the watchful care of others. For six years the same end has been steadfastly fixed before the sight of both; we have each been impressed with a conviction that to deviate from the straight path leading to it would be such a breach of honor and good faith that we could never redeem ourselves from the stigma it would cast. We have come very close to that end at last, so close that there will be no possibility of turning back after this. Is it your wish to go on, Ethel? Has there been no outreaching or no craving for any other destiny than that linked with mine? Is there not love dearer, another lot to be shared with more promise of sweet content than ever thought of mine afforded? If any other life can hold better happiness for you, Ethel, it is due to us both that the truth should be spoken now. Don’t fear to speak it now from the inner depth of your heart, and remem- ber, it will be doing only the same justice to me as to your own life.”’ " The sweet, earnest face not drooping before his aze, the soft eyes looking wistfully into his, saw in is fixed and resolute expression only the strict rec- titude of a noble soul, the doubt of her best happi- ness being assured, the willingness to advance it at the sacrifice of his own, and never before had she felt so nearly drawn, so close to a comprehension of as a a happiness such as she was sure to find t , “Tt is like you to beso nobly considerate, so wholly disregardful of self inremembrance of me. I appre. ciate and thank you for the kindness, Erle. It is best that there shall not be even a lingering misapprehen- sion between us, If ever any obstacle existed be- tween our free trust in each other, it exists no longer first spirit of our attachment it is gone for all time. As for you, I will not wound your true heart by even a doubt. To show how thoroughly I trust ou, Erle, Iam going to do what will give all most joy, I believe, name next New Year’s Day for our wedding.” The lights danced before his eyes, the color faded from his lips and he staggered dizzily, but she never suspected that her hardly-found submission dashed all his cherished hopes and wrung his heart with as keen anguish as she had ever felt, CHAPTER XVII. A REVELATION. THE Western avenue mansion was still. Lights were turned down here and there; the - in the he cham- bers and in the drawing-rooms there were onl softened glows leaving twilight obscurity over all, and deep darkness in the corners. The party for the opera had left an hour before. Erle, who had declined Mr. Richland’s invitation so positively. changed his mind with Ethel’s solicitation, remained to dine with the family, and made one of the party for the evening. Wilma was not down at dinner. She was calmed and less weighed upon “eure ee after unburdening he to the ki nefactress who had brought such a change into her old sad life. It was not like the same life, this to which hers had pos tenderest consideration from ifference marked by word or look between this high, proud family and her lowly station. They had adopted her into their hearts, and the fullest gratitude, the deepest loving respect went out to them in return. Unconscious of the wrong it meant, Erle’s handsome face, which had appealed to her tendercst pity, first when it lay hieached and pain-wrung upon the pillow, Erle’s yoice which had a sweetness in it for her ouly that was neyer carried to another ear, Erle’s bold, bright eyes which had looked into hers with a conscious ossession of the secret her trembling heart held, a foopy light of confidence and rapture of triumph in that knowledge, and his own belief that Ethel’s bond was loosely worn as his own—Erle, in himself, had been received into that deepest tenderness of the girlish inexperienced heart whose first freshness gone out to him would never be reclaimed, would never turn with the same full faith and sweet trust- fulness to —_ other. That much had been don and then her knowledge came. Between Ethel an her must lie the misery and’ the humiliation which that knowledge brought, and she had been the usurper of Ethel’s right and Ethel’s previous reign. It was no more than just that some suffering should follow; there is never a wrong however unconscious- ly or Lprenenpor done, but is followed by retribu- ton of some sort for the moral law broken. And her willing, gentle spirit would have borne it allif she might only so avert like suffering from them, Mrs. Richland’s words had_ given her one little gan of hope that it migh be averted still. If his ove for her might peye Unt the passing impulse of turned, warmed all about her, no an hour—if this disloyalty to Ethel might prove but | b we had no test of difficulties to | le wavering indecision which, faced by the test And I have come back. Calling for the renunciation of his love of six years standing, might fail before it—if he should return to his old alle ance, forgetting her as she had begged of him to do, the unhappiness and disappointment which threatened might be safely passed. Safely passed even for her, for Wilma’s best happiness was always found in administering to the joy of others. She might be saddened, grieved, wrung to the heart, ward inthe consciousness of duty well. done. She was to have her endurance put to the test very soon. She was waiting still in Mrs, Richland’s room, where Cicely had laid out the ladies’ opera cloaks, gloves and fans, when Mrs, Richland came up from below and drew her aside out of the maid’s earing. “Dear child, no_need of reproaching yourself further, I hope. I. ane tho caingucieioana take which must have existed has come to its happiest end for all. If Erle wavered he has found strength to be firm at last. They are the same confessed lovers as before, and they have named the weddin co take place on New Year’s Day. Be thankful tha it has ended so, Wilma.”’ “Tam, dear Mrs. Richland; I am thankful with all may apart. on ‘ a meine off my mind, and a great relief. Do they look ha: as though not could come between them ie By ee re - “They will be happy. Two such noble natures, so truly assimilated, can not failto draw out the very best of mutual affections, Ethel looks it fully. ‘richter and fairer, more loving and trusting than I have seen her before. Erle is at least resigned. I can not even guess at what has passed between them, but the manner of both might point that a lover’s quarrel has just been happily terminated.” Sympathy with Wilma’s state of mind prompted her to touch so lightly upon Hrle’s demeanor—gal- lant, closely attentive, almost widly gay it appeared. With her knowledge she might have guessed what never occurred to her—that it was forced gayety. Our own individuality is so apt to influence our judgment of others, and Mrs. Richland was so ac- customed to keeping her soul-life so closely locked under that marble, unchanging exterior that her sympathy had not reached to the despair which turns reckless, and Erle’s recklessness was so tem- pered by that sterling honor which pointc-d out his course so clearly now, that his last thought of de- viating from it had departed, _ A little later the party, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Richland Ethel and Erle, quit the house. Ci went down to gossip in the housekeeper’s room,and for the first time since her coming there the great house seemed intolerably silent and lonely to Wilma. She went down the staircase presently, into the dimly- lighted drawing-room. She had taken a book wii her, but the subdued glow, the shadowy nooks and corners were in better unison with her mind just then, and she dropped into a chair without alte: any arrangement of the room. It was a sore h throbbing within her neeante although she was so truly grateful for the end of her worst apprehen- sions. She told herself again, sitting there in the dusk, that an impassable gulf must have stretched between Erle and her had he been free when: they met, All of wide, fair Hetherlands, all of the pride of the Erles and Hethervilles combined, all of the hopes based upon him and the ambition nurtured in him, must haye come between. For his sake she must have borne her own grief just the same, which was less poignant as it was through her fidelity to Ethel. ow long a time had passed she did not know, when the door-bell tinkled through the silent house, and some one was admitted into the brightly lighted hall. Some one’s hand was laid upon the door, and a voice, whose cool, even accents she knew, said very distinctly there: “The family are out, 1 am very well aware, my good fellow, In fact, knowledge of that is my reason for being in, Be kind gone” to take my compliments—compliments of Dr. Craven Dallas, you understand—to Miss Wilde, and request her to accord me the favor of an immediate interview.”’ William Thompson had no guard against the doc- tor’s smoothly-decisive enunciation, and was mov- ing away unwillingly when Wilma herself appeared upon the scene. ‘‘Tam here, you see, Dr, Dallas. You may light the room, William, before you go, if Dr. Dallas will come in.’ It was Dr. Dallas’s very evident intention to come in. He had deposited his hat and eating cian u on the rack, and his overcoat followed them. e crossed the threshold into the oh herp Rp then, sinking his feet deep into the thick, rich carpeting, and throwing himself into a seat with the compla- cent abandon and approving satisfaction of his sur- roundings, William Vhompson turned on the gas and adjusted the shades, and withdrew, with a back- ward dissatisfied glance at Wilma’s little figure, and the tall, thin form of her guardian, The man was & philosopher and a fatalist in his way, and no bad physiognomist, considering his opportunities, “ Thain’t taken any love to that Dr. Dallas,” he reflected, as he went. ‘It hain’t a good cast to that face of hisn, nor yet a good look in his eye. Show me a man that’s forever looking sideways, and for- ever squinting at you unbeknownst, and I'll show @ villain that’s on the sig 8 road to the gallows if he ets his proper deserts. at Dr. Dallas ain’t mean- g any good to our Miss Wilma, I know. Her guardian, indeed! and if he was any kind of & proper-minded guardian he would give up his pre tensions to that same, and leave her to them that'll care more for her in a minute than he'd be apt to do ina week, Idon't like his look at her—like a cat gloating over some r little helpless mouse, an¢@, she so unconscious, dear soul! Well, well what is to be will be, whether it comes. to. pass or not; apd lll give my head for a football to any one a8 wants —

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—— it if that same Dr. Craving Dallas don’t make’ a wor- ry in this house yet with his sneaking in at odd ours, and his being like a lord to us, and so smooth and oily and the-dust-ain’t-good-enough-for-me-to- ck when the master and mistress are by in the way of seeming dreadful humble before them. Take my Word for it, he’ll be the sarpint in this derelictable Paradise, than which I defy any man to show me One more so,” It is to be presumed that William Thompson meant delectable, and though his analogy may have been & little obscure, and his construction far drawn, his observations were not so very wide of the mark as they readily might have been, and his sentiments in the main were quite correct. Wilma sat down facing her guardian, trying to be 8lad for so much kindly consideration shown by him, 4S well as she was grateful for all the tenderness of the new, true friends she had found, but that dread With which the doctor’s presence always inspired er, interfered sadly with her thankfulness for the favor of this unlooked-for visit. “ How ismy dear little girl to-night?” asked the doctor’s smooth accents, as his shifting gaze wan- dered away from her into the furthest corners, “Not looking as well, I fancy. A trifle sadder, a trifle more wistful and wan than when I saw her t, A touch of the blue vapors are very unsatis- factory company. Not at all a good state of mind for one so young and so hopeful and so cheerful as you to cherish. Is there less satisfaction in your fe here than before? Has the charm of newness Worn away and the reflex of neglect already takin Place of the favor shown at first? These fair phil- &nthropists have a fashion of backsliding, I’m afraid. might have told you not to expect too much too ong, but what use of poisoning the pleasure for you while it lasted. Itis one of my principles, my dear ~a praiseworthy principle, is it not?—not to stir up the dregs of bitterness while any of the sweet raught remains at the — Take the bitter all at Once, and a fresh cup afterward, if you like, but don’t ruin the effects of the two by mixing them. Odd philosophy for a physician, perhaps, but none he Jess sound for that. And so the old life snd the hew are not cut so wide adrift but the loneliness the one may extend into the other!” “T would not wish them so widely separated that My remembrance of those experiences should not keep me constantly grateful for the great change. ou are mistaken in supposing I can have any cause for unhappiness. The grow more kind, if that be Possible, with eve ay.’ Ks Then there is am other foundation for that Sadness. I am not mistaken in regard to that; a Very strong affection is seldom mistaken in its intu- tions, Wilma. You have found somethin lacking, en. Some element is lacked to complete your Orough contentment, They are kind, very | nd, but they have their gayeties, and your seclusion is fected with loneliness, is that it?” | ; “Oh, no, indeed! I have no desire for anything More than I receive here; I hope you will believe at. There is not anything, not the least, I would have changed if I might.” } * And that is not like youth and hope. It is only Natural you should look forward to more. It is Scarcely possible you can be thoroughly content With your slight tenure upon your position here. Made’ much of just now through the uncertain . Yagary of a fine lady’s whim, the same will take an- Other turn and you will be all the worse off for hav- & been a favorite for a time. The old sequestra- ion and narrow limits and bare discomforts of the Old house on the Manchester road, with only Mrs, Gerrit’s companionship, will be the less endurable for-the glimpse of all that is luxurious and. refined.” ilma made no reply as the doctor paused. His Words did not demand one, and her heavy heart tew heavier for such ominous prediction. Coming rom him it might mean that it was his intention, S0oner or later, to remove her from this fair, rich Mansion which was so freely her home, back to the Old bare, forbidden precincts where seventeen dreary Years of her life had been passed. € was watching her as he always watched every- thing, furtively. His keen eyes read the weariness Nher face, read more closely into her peo vile- ss heart than she had any suspicion of him doing. ‘I wonder if any impulsive young lover would fake much encouragement from such complete in- difference,” he mused, “from hidden mournful- Ss, perhaps, over a loss which she may not be in- clined to eeknowledge «ven to herself. Very kinc of P ing booed and useful friend, Crayton, to give me an of how matters stood. Very sharp eyes our Careless reporter has, and uses them to advantage, Which is more than better men always do. Deuced- y Sharp and penetrating, and I might question tke tSinterested kindness which led him to call upon me {is afternoon with the result of ns observations; favight be a little inclined to keep shy of him but ae the devil’s recklessness which is taking him to gs. s'tuction and leaves him no better care than to a all others follow the same easy road. I have al- Pi ®ys found an advantage in cultivating miscellane- US acquaintances; there is always some good to be ot oui of every man if you only know how to strike Gq And really I don’t know that I could desire a ‘ferent state of mind in our little creature of con- waice here.” tha WY dear Wilma,” he said, aloud, I am afraid in comparison with the later interests which mae engrossed you, my anxiety for your happiness “y have failed in comparison. I think you cannot ands eomPrehend how entirely I am devoted to you haa to your advancement. 1 told you truly thatI Si, S2¢tificed my own desires to your welfare. bow? that, developments have been reached which as = to a different course, one to gratify my hopes "’ Rothing else could, and at the same time to estab- WILMA’ WILDE. lish’ you in the place for which nature has fitted you, to which you are entitled by right. Ihave it in my power to Insure yeur life, from this time forward, in the midst of just such surroundings as these. The power to place you on a fvoting in every way equal to that enjoyed by these people about. Better than even that—to assure you of your right to a life anda csition in the world second to none. I think you ave telt it keenly, sometimes, in knowing yourself outcast from all kindred, in doubting your right to the name you bear, in being so utterly a stranger to the secret of your own existence. It was very careful- ly keptfrom you. It was kept from all the world, and falsely represented where utter concealment was not possible. It is surely not needful to ask if it is your will to pierce the mists at last.” Wilma heard asit seemed with a sudden stoppin of all the blood in her veins. Her heart stood still. She grew faint before she seemed able to breathe again. The secret of her life, the knowledge of the hidden past which had loomed darkly over her, in this man’s hands! The intensity of her expectation had its first chill in that. That the secret which he boasted as a power was to come through him struck her quick intuition as having some sorrowful if not wicked depths of history to unfold. Her eyes, chained to his thin, sallow, unmovirg face were eagerly and painfully attentive, but her lips formed no words. “There must be something given in return for so much gained, my dear Wilma,” the smooth, low tone continued. “TI have been careful to conceal that which my mature judgment assured me was wild, hopeless folly in a man of my age—my long enduring love for you. Little Wilma, ycu never | suspected, I dare say, that the fatherly affection'I have evinced for you was more than that; you never supposed that the heart which has not bad a near | or @ dear interest for a score of years could be thrilled and freshened by your sweet, gentle influ- ence—that one seeming so absorbed and so isolated as I, could be loving—faithfully, earnestly, tenderly —you. Ah, my child! the best part of what our lives might be is very often hidden, But the neces- sity for that concealment has changed with me. It add all this that I have hinted at to your ad- vancement if our interests be identified, and to that end I ask you what I might never dared have asked otherwise, to join your life to mine, Wilma; to be mine, my wife.” She sat asif stunned. Of all words she might have expected to hear from his lipsthese were the last. Of all men in the world with whom any thought — have linked such a possibility, he was the very “IT have taken you by surprise,” he proceeded. “Thoped you might have been not wholly unpre- pared for it; I have tried to convey my loving senti- ments In a manner to give you some knowledge of the truth. Think for a moment, Wilma; think of allI tell you this offer of mine means; a place for ‘ou high and proud as these Richlands possess, and luxury to surround you, myself as your husband, and my first object always devotion to you; think of all that and give me your answer—simply yes or no, Her eyes, fascinated and horrified, fixed upon his face, had not wavered away. For once his were still holding heras if by a magnetic power. She had rallied far enough to think, however; she had gained the power of speech again. : “Tt can not! but no—no! Iam surprised, te but I think—I hope you will not much care. ou mean it as a kindness, and I thank you for that, but I could never have any different answer for you, Dr. Dallas.” : “T hope and I think you willreconsider that, Wil- ma. You donot yet know what all your refusal in- volves.” “Tf it means all of the knowledge you say, my an- swer must still be the same. I ean never be any thing more than simply grateful for your kindness, I shall be grieved to know that you are disa: pointed through me. If it is best for me to know that secret which you hold, it will come at some time in some way. ean not even ask you to tellme, Ido ‘mk you no matter what advancement might come to me, to let it remain untold, and let me remain isa own even to myself if harm should come to any one through the telling.” Matthew Gregory’s last words were in her mind, then; Matthew Gregory’s stern, abhorrent look as she remembered it, causing her to shrink with a dread of apprehension. If the choice had been put to her then and there, it is most probable she would have chosen to bury all knowledge even from her- self forever. But the choice was not to be left with r. bet If only as a duty to myself the matter should be dropped. And there is some one else involved— very deeply involved, it may turn out, unless you choose to shield her. As my wife only you will gain the power to doit. You think a great deal of our friends here, of your Miss Ethel, of Mrs. Rich- land. Suppose either of them should be threatened with worse trouble and misery than you can well imagine being visited upon hem, Suppose the choice is yours to bring degradation and sorrow upon either of them, or to avert such, which should | be sacrificed, they or you—supposing yours to bea sacrifice?” ; ‘‘Ob, I hope I may_ never be the cause of bringing vee tothem. I think I could bear anything rather han that. Surely, Dr. Dallas, no past interest of mine can reflect sorrow upon them, me “Something worse than sorrow perhaps,” an- swered the doctor, grimly. ‘My dear child, human creatures are not born into the world except of hu- man parents, and the sins of the copa may some- times be brought to recoil upon themselves instead of coming down as_heritages to the children. It | ab , be rather fond of his | thought complacent, self-satisfied Howard Richland, will notbe my fault if it is soin your case unless you will it differently. You have been told simply that your mother is dead, but I know of my own evi- dence, leap ove in person, that your mother lives to- day. She lives. Suppose I tell you more—that you have seen and know her? Suppose I tell you that the discovery of your identity to the public now would mean sorrow, humiliation, disgrace to her, that it would drag her down from a proud. hight, that it would stamp her life with a misery which all time could not efface? cation I tell you that your unknown mother is your benefactress of to-day, Mrs. Richland?” AT THE OPERA, THE es House was well filled that night. The surtain had just gone down on the first act, and luring the stir consequent, the Richland family, tashionably late, entered, and took possession 6 their own private box. The advent of the Richlands at any time was always the occasion of a flutter of attention and comment. The banker and his wite were a magnetic attraction to those moths of society that so constantly flutter their admiration about wealth and beauty. Ethel, belle of two seasons, flirt, coquette, sweet despoiler of men’s hearts, as she had a reputation for being—the world always xives that to those qualities which win irresistib y forgetting how impossible it must be to respond the many—Ethel might have counted her devotees, declared or other , by the dozen, even in that audience. And Erle, big, blonde, handsome, match- wg admirably at her side, lent a completing touch to the harmony of the, group, whatever his sags ance there may have caused in the way of jealous or envious twitches in the minds of not wholly disin- terested lookers-on. A fair, well-matched couple, certainly. So as he turned from them to bend in lover-like atten- tion toward his wife. So — half the peo there who had a knowledge of that long steeithe engagement, so romantic, so refreshing to meet wit in our prosaic age, a child-love grown up with their growth, lasting, and to be consummated at a very near date, according to Jenkins’s report, If there were rebellion and envy over this expec result in many phases of masculine feeling present, there was also relief in near approach to the imbittered hearts of less fair rivals. For the few to envy her the handsome young Marylander at her side, there were the many to rejoice at re ig allegiance of pe ng Se when convinced of the hopelessness of their r aspirations. It is inno more than or- dinary ratio that one acknowledged belle will covet the final conquest of another where a dozen will re- joice over the conquest which removes a formidable rival. Ethel Richland was sure to sooner or later from the upper stratum, so as well Erle Hether- ville as any other, and the sooner the tender folly of six years standing was merged into the real effect of the matrimonial venture, the better chance for those nie : Erle himself ‘had come out from that interview in the library should never know how nearly faithless he proved to her—how his heart was turning at that mo- ment eee roe her fair bodily presence, from the sweet, still expression her face wore to another face, small, pathetic, wistful, which had grown dearer to him in this short time past than any other one on earth. Ethel had put away the temptation which he had fancied would prove as pow with her. Nothing remained for but accept the renewed offering of her love and faith, rape = but to bring his own allegiance back, if that might be, to the old contented standard. ‘* And though dear little Wilma may care for me,”’ he ag, Se with a thrill of pain sh him— ‘* does, I know, her sense of duty and right let her waver. Her own heart would she would apie ol the slightest distress to Ethel. Oh, Wilma, Wilma! my darling—my darling for the never last time! The hardest will Se to tear out thoughts of you, as I must do now.” The musical interlude was brief. The curtain went up on the second act almost before they were fairly seated. Erle’s eyes swept the re hed went carelessly over the house and came back to upon his companion, Of all the fair young creatures there—and there were many—not one could favor- compare with her. Not one of ailthose the brilliant b of lights shone down upon who might have drawn him from her with one extra thrill of admiration, It would not seem any imp ible matter to go wild with love of so fait a face, but there was no enthusiasm, no warmth of thankful- ness present with Erle. : She glanced up to meet his steady, earnest eye, andsmiled in return—a glance and a smile which were noted by an occupant of an opposite box, It held two gentlemen, one whose attention was fixed steadily upon the scene acting before him; the | other, apparently indifferent to the stage spectacle, | had been ape | and whose careless observation had not way those to bow to the late arriv. from them since. It was the reporter, Crayto’ Me x aiee “Going as I predicted,” he thought, gloo’ i zg predicted, & tf pee! “They are actually becoming reconcil : early day; that is, as nearly reconciled as they will ' be for atime. They will foilow the usual routine, | and find a complacent sort of enjoymentin it, no doubt, when the honeymoon is once over, He erlessly fair bride, in spité o: the dark-eyed little elf who, according to all the laws of contrast, was sucha powerful attraction to bin, that te/e-a-tete so well covered by Minerva’s a in the Richland drawing-room—a tete-a-tete whi his intense expression and the little one’s pallor and ’ _ notwithstanding my own intuition of the m 47 ——< | with a set resolve at his heart that fie ; reak before | rery

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SAR aad plas el vo gee rn oe eet agitated stilmess afterward invested with a hint of more than ps ap Rhy a Seer For all that, he . will be proud of the fair mistress he will take .to therlands; he will share his best affections between her and his dogs and his horses and the thousand and one interests which are inbred as- sociations with him, And she will have her hosts of ; admirers still here and there, and wherever her . dainty presence goes, and will find in the excite- ment of her free ionable life whatever may be lacking at home. It will not be either the best or the Eappicet lot which might be hers; it is not the one I would choose for her with the purest wish I may be \ capable of turning for her happiness. Lord knows, Py my best ae isfor that. I would givethe best or nf the worst that is left of me to turn sorrow of any kind from her, and yet who is to know where this ) enterprise of mine is taking me? Who knows what it may be threatening her through them? Nothing ood nothing hopeful, nothing which can well bear () light, or that sly old fox of a Bitter-Herbs would not be upon the trail, It’s no principle of mine to go back when I have started once, and I'll not go back s. Fair and still and cold and statue-like in her unbroken repose of Se peneaien. is Mrs. Richland to- : night. [I wonder if nothing can change the statue. I wonder if the striking similarity Lenoir and my- self found in the pictured Rose who has been dead and buried for seventeen years, will make an greater impression upon my new friend and lavis back companion of the evening than a reference to it had upon her. Ah, she Fyne this way! The play isa tiresome affair,and the curtain goes down again little encouragement in the way of applause, and now is the time.” e tou his companion upon the shoulder. The latter, who had been sitting half in shadow, looking around, nodded approvingly. _ “Upon By word, it is proving rather a novel sen- ’ “gation to find myself in such a place again. Isee ‘you are over my absorption in the drama, _ but it is years since I have been in a theater, re- member. , ‘hts here better worth the see- = “We have other ing, to my mind, Captain Bernham, What have you | to ie Be all the dazzle represented here in the way ~ of diamonds and bright eyes, exquisite costumes and fair faces? There is one, two I might say, i site now. The Richland box, that is, hol he two most famed beauties our twin-cities boast, ; madame herself and the Pm gol her sister-in-law— | the sweetest, most bewildering and heart-breaking . Of all the fair ones gathered here.” ; _ “¥ou take me out of my depth when you speak . * (of fair faces. The Richlands, you say? at name 2) _ has a familiar sound—pray, where?’ He leaned - forward into the light. tall head, his bronzed, _.-' bearded face, his straight, stalwart, soldierly form, -,. eut in relief against the drapery at his side. Sud- is denly his face paled beneath the bronze, A tremor pee assed over the firm lips shaded by the heavy mili- i mustache. His hand dropped upon Crayton’s -\- arm, closed in a crushing grip that made the latter ae wince with een His eyes, dilated, were fixed in ater unwavering intensity; the whole scene of dazzling - brightness, the human sea around, the gallery, the ‘Pit, the stage, all were blotted into an unmeaning , out of which one face looked forward into } his own. yy! Mrs, Richland, leasing: back, the. ruby silk light- ing with richest effect, her snow-white opera cloak est fallen back, diamonds at her throat and on her Nhs round white arms, formed a picture well calculated Fx 7 Peeper as a stranger at first sight. The perfect ed - colorless oval of her face turned into full view, the ; ’ } hair dressed high in puffs and braids, the A long es that had been downcast raising to dis- elose the wonderful soft dark eyes beneath—that Was the sight which fascinated Captain Leigh Bern- ‘ham’s gaze. For one second the dark, fathomless eyes had looked into his; in that one second she had seen the intense eagerness, amazement and in- redulity, the powe agitation reflected in his ace; then the long lashes dropped and a mist of 4 cobwebby lace-and-cambric was swept across the Bs lady’s lips, held there for a second and dropped, ‘© but.the dark 7 did not again glance that way. j “My dear, Bernbam, what the dickens may the j _ matter be? 1 say, captain. you are drawing the no- tice of the whole house, or a good portion of it, and ae have succeeded in staring alady completely out of as countenance. Suppose you should look somewhere | jm else for a moment, or throw a little less of dramatic carer intensity into your gaze. There’s a wonder- ful resemblance, I grant, to that painted face of your miniature as we remarked, if you take the _ pains to remember, but, since the original of that is = déad and buried these seventeen years ; course there can be no question of any relative con- on nection between the two.” _.., Captain Bernham breathed adeep inspiration and _ drew back to his former position. ‘ Tt “Who did you say that lady is?’’ he asked, ina --. low, level voice. ‘You are right—the resemblance yay 3 erat startling.” . ' “That is Mrs. Richland, one of our first leaders of the first circle, the envied of all envying; the courted, flattered, eulogized wife of the richest banker whose plate-glass front decorates the av- -. enue. That is her husband beside her, the acknowl- ' edged most fortunate man, as his wife and sister are the acknowledged most beautiful women in our two cities. The e ‘ture in his life, and to be witness to his prosperity would to show it. Such men usually makea failure op suitably equalized choice matrimonial,

say he never made an unlucky ven- but his is exceptional case. They have been eSived for fifteen years—that long ago one might an ever the ast, of | | your 5 | words, spoken with not a trace of sentiment or WILMA WILDE, ' close relation which very often breeds complete in- difference they are lover-like and devoted as during the honeymoon, See him now—no, don’t look while you are blanched out to that ghostly shade, you sro would make a good personation of the pirit Avenger in that shape. Captain igh Bernham had looked, however Had seen the tender solicitude with which Mr. Rich- land was treating his wife, saw the anxiety come up | into the smooth, florid face, the slight stir in the | box, one or two leave neighboring places and make | gra their way there. Crayton went among them, He came back after a couple of minutes. Mrs. Richland had been overpowered by the heat, some one had brought her a uite recovered from her sudden faintness. ormed the body of the observation Crayton had it on his tongue to utter as he went back to his place, but he found no occasion for speaking the words. He found the shadowed seat vacated, Captain Leigh Bernham incontinently deserted. CHAPTER XIX, THE DOCTOR’S ANSWER, Witma heard with adeathlike faintness rushing over her, ** Suppose I tell you that your unksown mother is enefactress of to-day, Mrs, Richland.’ The emotion, repeated themselves over and again in her mind. A wave of awe, of pity, of dread chilled and held her still. The doctor's light, stealthy, coldly triumphant eyes, the doctor’s sallow, impassive countenance were cruelly forbidding in their un- changing expression, Even the doctor’s phlegmatic | nature was not proce against the startled, terrified } gorepenes the deepening, darkening eyes. es just then, notwithstanding the entire difference of expression, wonderfully like the soft, dark, steady ones which had looked the doctor out of countenance oefore this. “Not the only feature she has taken from her mother, Reh the doctor in the interval of si. lence which fell, ‘The oval of the face is the same, the same cut about the lips and chin, but there the resemblance ceases and is altogether so indefinite it is not wonderful that none of them bave ever de- tected it; and all the rest is a very fac-simile in a little more delicate cast of the miniature which Captain Bernham so kindly left me.” e curved fine lips he watched trembled yy the pained, wistful eyes were drawn away from him, and, in the bewildered way of one waking from a stupor, Wilma murmured: “‘Itis impossible!. That could never be even if my mother lived. Zhat could not be.” But even then in her quivering, agitated soul had. come the conviction that his. words were true. Even then she understood as she never had done before what was that strange fascinating influence which the lady’s presence never failed to exert over her—a strangely fascinating influence, so mingled with a contrasting, almost repellent sensation at times when those inscrutable dark eyes had looked upon her; as they had once or twice, with an ex- yrestion which had half-terrified her then, a sensa- ion like that thrill which Mr, Richland’s touch had once sent over her, such an uncomfortable, unde- fined feeling that she could not conquer—it came to her that it might mean the depth of we cetige be- tween parent and child, poisoned by that curse which Matthew Gregory asserted was hers before she ever came into life at all, that which must make her an object of dread and aversion to any one — whom she might find a claim, sucha claim as this she knew now his meaning must have been.” “Tt is afact rather calculated to take you by sur- the] at first, one sostrange as to well seem incredi- le Ican readily understand. A fact which I am in- clined to think might even give Mrs. Richland her- self a shock of surprise and incredulity at first. But it is a truth for all that, a truth which, as I said before, may be turned to your advantage in a way to insure your permanent welfare, to give youa station and a name equal to theirs, even the power to avert the worst of what might be brought home to her, and which could very materially alter her envied and enviable position of the present. Take it all into calm consideration, Wilma. Remember that a favorable answer to my suit will insure all that to Sipe and _ the best that can be made of a bad affair oher. There was an old idiosyncrasy which used to runin yourformer guardian’s mind, which tock the form of @ monotonous chant in some cf his flighty moments, and the burden of it was always ‘a dead life, a dead life.’ You have heard something of the sort, no doubt. Did he ever tell you whose was that dead life?” “He told me once,” said Wilma, her great solemn eyes looking their wonder and awe and dread upon him again, “that mine was a dead life, and told me to pray that I might never be the cause of a living death. I never knew what he meant by it; I pray Heaven that I never shall know.” “Upon my word, you are an exception to the rule of your sex, Wilma. With that much mystery to have fed upon, few of womankind would hold back at the chance of & sepahine. their own hidden histories; fewer still would care to resist the allurements of such accompanying fortune as I have hinted at. Yes, yours has been a dead life; you have been dead to your proper identity from the hour of your birth, dead to those who are accountable for your exist- a@ time. And yours is by far too sweet and useful a life to remain so—by far too fair a pro asit may be made to let an inex- rienced girl’s sentimental fancy mar the wonder results which may be brought out of it.” “But 1 do not understand,” said Wilma. ‘‘I can not understand how it is possible Mrs, Richland 1 . ‘ ence for as lon \ I wi, nds PPrESS4 ‘ * 4) . Pe as ees en 7m bo pte Shea s of water and she was | That | should be my mother—how it can be that I should be lost to my mother and every one, as you say.” “* Both matters which I might not find it nl nae to explain to you now. There is another part of the affair with which you uire to be familiarized at — first—the importance of letting me be your guide from this time out, and the reswlt which arefusal on ~ our may mean in effect. You can reap no | enefit except through me. You may, through the truthsI can bring to light, send your mother dis- ced out from her home here, take away her right to the Richland name, send her out to such; misery, such humiliation as one might readily fancy would prove a death in life to her proud and stub- born heart. That was my old friend Gregory’s meaning without a doubt. He knew what the fair, proud, courted Mrs. Richland may not know to this very day—that when she married her present hus- band she had another husband in the land of the living. A husband and a child by one of those ro- mantic early marriages which b: so many young fools to grief; and she not suspecting the existence of either; by my soul, little wonder if it should come as a shock to the madame of to-day. I really incline in my heart to spare it to her, but that part must re- main with your decision. You know something of what the Richland prideis, my dear; you know how it would be stung to the quick by any such revela- tion as this which I have traced for you, not in its darkest or most hopeless aspect at that. Ihave told gee what my affection for you is, Wilma. You will d it more lasting, more truly devoted to your best welfare, more trustworthy than the professions of some younger and more impulsive men might» have proved, perhaps. A certain friend of, mine, who is not wholly without an interest in you, gave me @ hint of the danger you are in, which has rather pre- cipitated this avowal of mine. No need to be secret on that score. It was that odd genius, Crayton, a sharp and observant young fellow, by the way, who for once has succeeded in putting those qualities to account. He called on me at the old place to-day, and while there I chanced to refer to my guardian- ship of you. He was surprised, and let me know it in the rather ass and not always agreeable man- ner these wild Bohemians pick up, ‘““*A deuce of a guardian you are, then,’ he said, with rather more emphasis than elegance, ‘You ought to be ashamed of owning the trust, I say. That little Wilma Wilde is teo trusting and tender a blossom, according to my idea, to be exposed to the rough chance that’s before her now. There are girls who wouldn’t be in any way hurt by it; in fact, such things go in the common experience that makes our Girl of the Period, I believe, but that child would break her tender little heart over a case of willful deception which is simply flirtation’to the generality on Were tural I tal d begged him ery na was at a loss, an 4 to paki strom per we danger could possibly menace you. “The danger of throwing her into daily compan- ionship with that already as good as married male flirt, Hetherville,’ was the reply. ‘Ill wager you @ XX. she don’t even know of his engagement whole ages ago to the Richland beauty; or if she does know that, he has insinuated in the strongest terms his in- tention of breaking from that long betrothal for sake of her—poor little innocent! He’ll not break anything except her heart, take my word for it, If I were her guardian, and had no particular interest in an untimely death or something of that sort, I'd make it a poimt to set her straight regarding the handsome young villain,’ ‘“You may fancy what a start that hint gave me, Wilma. Iseemed to see not simply my hopes shat- tered and your future devastated, but a new com- plication to make worse this pitiful Richland rela- tion. Suppose if it wére less serious to you, more serious to him, if the daughter of Mr. Richland’s supposed wife won the lover of Mr. Richland’s sister to a forgetfulness of the faith which was due from him, there would be the double blow to the Rich- land pride. Suppose it should be, as Crayton said, if a handsome, heartless yo scamp had brought a misery into your life from which you might never fully recover. It pointed out my own course too clearly for me to mistake it, Wilma. My first duty is to you, and my heart is all engaged in that duty. I don’t even press the question if there were truthin our rter’s apt surmise; I only ask you to trust to my affection, to the love which will be the more steadfast for being matured, to the judgment which has shown me how you will wish to spare any pain tothem. Your answer, Wilma, hereand now.” ~——° | What a contrast to be put vividly before her in | asking a choice! Erle Hetherville, having youth and manliness and honor and earnestness on his side; and this man, crafty, hypocritical, selfish, as her pure mind warned her; more than that, design- ing and subtly treacherous—what a, pitiful, meager chance for Dr. Craven Dallas had he based his hopes — the impulse she would derive from ‘that con- rast. What a bitter, bitter choice for Wilma, with her as Pompe lately sorely wounied heart to even con- template then a duty leading her to any relation with that man. His thin, sallow face, and cold, cal- culating eyes gone back to their shifting habit and furtive scrutiny, his narrow, retreating foreh with the scant sandy hair far back at the temple: the whole man repellent and insincere to her glanc® no wonder Wilma shrunk and shivered and put het —— up over her eyes to shut away the sight 0 He waited, leaving her the silence which would enable her to take a full comprehension of all b@ | had been saying, and of the inevitable misery which 4 would resulf from a further betrayal of his know — edge.) The two who had extended’ their bounty 8° her, not suspecting what she was tO

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a , > d ; \ LMA WILDE. { . - at ae Wag 2 en S mate 4 * f * } - \ i - . - Sica One of them, who had lived in such loving harmony or fifteen years, that their devotion had come to be & standing matter of approving reference in their World, upon those two the blight of this knowledge Ihust fall with an appalling, terrible force; it must reflect in such bitterness that, if the possibility to Cover it over and keep it concealed should remain there must inevitably be a gaunt skeleton of distrust and doubt hidden away as well. If acknowledged there would come the full horror of all his words Presented to her; that fair, stately woman—her mother—would go out into the world with such an agony of humiliation in her proud heart as would Make it worse a thousand-fold to face life than death, The silence, with the horror of all these qoughts bearing upon her, grew oppressive, unen- ‘urable, : She dropped her hands and looked at him, some hew thou ai striking her colder and stiller than she had been before. ; “My father,’ she said, her voice low and intense With ‘her strong emotion, “You said he was alive When she married again. Is he alive still? Cautious Dr. Dallas checked himself in the ready Teply which was upon histongue. Would not un- Certainty here leave her more flexible to his will than a positive knowledge of precisely what.danger Menaced might do? He answered slowly, aftera Moment: ‘ “My dear Wilma, who may say? That point, I fancy, is quite as well left at rest. I, for one, would hot willingly recommend to you an awkward inves- ation.”? , “en did that mean, she wondered apathetically. That her father really lived, or that the associations connected with him could reflect no credit to any One? His coldly cruel eyes were watching her, he was waiting with that tirdless, cold-blooded patience Which seemed anne of its prey. That knowledge Was like a goad to her despair. “What ceuaranee have I that all you tell meis true? What proof have you to offer of it? How am I to know—to know that the—the—love you have professed for me, knowing how impossible it Must be that I should give a return has not led you to work in this way upon my fears? “My dear child, it might prove sorry work to inti- mate any such charge as this of mine without proof, Thave had personal evidence, as I informed you. have a rather remarkable memory, not for faces simply, but also for forms, outlines, gestures and tones, I am not often amiss in connecting any vividimpression I may receive with whatever cir- cumstance may have given rise to it, no matter at ow remote a date, Such animpression struck me Upon the night of Matthew Gregory’s death when I entered his room and saw a strange, vailed lady Who was on the point of departing. _I watched her glide out, followed by yourself, and I knew then, Well as I have known since, that I had seen her un- der peculiar circumstances at some previous time. The lady was Mrs. Richland, as I discovered with my first sight of her here in her own house. Even your inexperienced eyes must have recognized her again, ilma,?? ; Wilma’s had. More than once that strange inter- View at Matthew Gregory's deathbed had recurred to her, but she had put it away with the thought tit was not for her to penetrate the mystery, Whatever it might be, Mrs, Richland had never by word or look referred to it, and Wilma had remained 4s strictly reserved. “The association of Matthew Gregory gave me an idea sooner than I might otherwise have gained. That recalled an incident of my early practice, Seventeen years ago; and, by the way, that very in- cident formed the beginning of pny gear friend's Patronage, which only ended with his mortal pil- grimage, and his generous remembrance of me, ®ven then. Seventeen years ago, with the differ- ence of a few weeks later in the scason, I was called forty miles out of the city to attend upon an urgent Case, Forty miles’ journey In snowy December Weather, with half the distance to be done by stage, Was by no means a small undertakin g in those days. at, however, was outweighed in the eyes of the heedy, out-of-elbow young physician, hardly estab- lished ‘in any practice yet, by the consideration of a dollar in cs for every mile, and five added for every day I might be detained. Calls were few and ‘ar between then, and the offered sum treble the I might expect by staying athome. Tocut it Short, I went, and was successful in the delicate task of ushering a new life into the world, a tiny yet erfectly healthful female infant which saw the ght first in as wild and desolate a region as Might be found forty miles out of our two cities. That task alone was not to earn me my fee, how- ®ver, I had the additional one of breaking to the mother that the little one had never drawn a breath, I don’t defend the morality of it; I simply Carried out the instructions some one else would have done had I refused. She took it hardly, poor thing} but in all of the two days I was wiih her, she kept her face so persistently concealed that I had Ut one glimpse of its proneees oval, its fine, smooth, Marble-white skin, and great black eyes matchin, the Blossy hair streaming over it. It does not nee that I should add, my patient of that time is the Mrs. Richland of to-day, yourself the child which was taken away from the house before I quitted it. terward, when that subsequent occurrence of a Geath at the old house on the Manchester road took , 1 was not deceived with all the rest. [I ©w and wrung the confession from earn that the dead woman was not the mother of the child brought Under Matthew Gregory’s roof. That much I would be wilting to swear to., More I have discovered, but with that much personal evidence and my firm Conviction aside from proof of the identity of you 2W0, you sure’ not require assev iS. Dower ; Fonte can not require asse : chair, with the slightest yawn behind his hand, fol- lowed by a deprecating gesture. “Tt is Ci late, Wilma, I really must beg of you at last the favor of a final answer.” “Oh, Dr. Dallas, can you not see that I am faint, sick with the surprise and dread of all this? I-can- not even think, Give me time; let me gain some understanding of these strange things you have | been telling me. I can decide nothing in my own mind now.” “So I see,” reflected the doctor. ‘So Isee and so Tapprove, Indeed, I would never offer a premium for any better Shae. Papers: on your part, Andas for time, my pet, this is the time upon which I hang my best hopes. For ten chances now with her worked into that nervous, bewildered state, there won't be one when she has had time to collect her- self. She will certainly see that the disaster of her mother’s discovery is inevitable either way, and conclude to save herself. I'll be left the alternative in that case to take the truth where it is apt to pay the best, and be treated to hush-money or a booting, according to whether our gentleman's pride or iras- cibility comes uppermost. And in that case the Nevada fortune will most likely remain undisturbed in the posseeies of its present owner, not at all the result I owe to your cleverness, Captain Leigh Bern- ham—not at all the result I hope to see maintained.” He said, at his smoothest and blandest: ““My dear child, yield to my decision; trust to my judgment; believe in my earnest affection.” The great, reproachful, mournful eyes were upon him, as though they would read the secret depths of his narrow, conspiring soul. “IT want to understand better what danger can come to my mother except through me,” she said. “What object would there be to bring grief and hu- miliation to her except this advantage, whatever it may be, to me? If it were not for me, Dr. Dallas, would you ever bring this knowledge of yours to work harm to her?” “How you misjudge me, Wilma! It is your wel- fare and your wishes which claim first consideration in my thoughts,” “If Lwere dead—if I really had died when I was a little child, knowing all you now know, would you use that knowledge to her detriment, would it be any gain to you?” “You are not dead, Wilma. If you were, there would not be the slightest change in the responsibil- ity of Mrs. Richland’s position.’ ith a quick movement, before he could inter- cept her, she crossed over and rung the bell. William will show you out, Dr. Dallas. No wron was ever righted by adding wrong, and it coul never be right for me to marry you with the certain- ty of never loving. For my own part, I renounce every advantage which may come through your agency out of that sorrowful past. I beg, if you mean what you have said, that your wishes are truly for my happiness, you will believe it may best be assured by sparing her.” 3 He rose ap: pale with anger, his furtive eyes glancing bafiled malice and rage, but he was con- trolled and courteous in his own oily way. . “In that case, my dear child, I must insist upon resuming my active duties of guardianship immedi- ately. Imust uest your return to your old place; for, if itis your will to renounce your right to sur- roundings such as these, there can be no object to my sacrifice of your charming presence; in fact it is more a duty to remove you from these associations, I shall e tto find you in readiness to return to- morrow, Wilma.” : There was no time for more words. William Thompson was holding the door wide; he brought forward the doctor’s overcoat and hat with cheer- ful alacrity, and bowed him out with a better grace than he had exhibited on admitting him. Wilma sunk bac!: into her chair with the stillness of intense reflection in her face. . ‘Henever would have been true to his promise of sparing her with his own object, whatever it is, weighing against. Iam sure that ay 6 own sacrifice never would have sufficed. I fear him and dread him, for my own sake and hers. There is no duty none, to urge me back to that dreadful house an him; and yet it is right that I should not stay here and by my presence, unconscious as it has been, en- danger her. If I only were buried beyond chance of being found again.” , Her brain whirled dizzily as.she rose and went up to her room. One idea surged there, filling it to the exclusion of all other thought. If she might onl hide away beyond the chance of being ever found; if she might avert the horror of the threatening conveyed in Matthew Gregory’s dying words; if she might atleast feel herself innocent of any misery visited upon those she loved! CHAPTER XX, NEW DUTIES, “TypyHorp in its most malignant form,” was the report which came back from the village to Miss Erle that same night after Erle had lefther.. ‘‘ Three of the little Biffins down with it, and my hands full there,” was the message Prudence sent, ‘Symp- toms strong in two other homes, and the woman in the Lee cottage in a bad way. Look up medicines and comforts and eatables; I'll not come back to the house while the infection is spreading.” Prudence was never more in her element than at such an emergency. An excellent nurse and @ cleanly housekeeper, she was sure to find sufficient opportunity for the exercise of all her energies in both directions at the cottages. They were a low and stubbornly ignorant class, for the most part, those people whom Miss Erle had taken under the hor protection. The t ‘ : F . : ” a e , * f : Fe f i + i a ae] md i Ay: Ke | | | } | He changed his position, leaning forward jin the | STOOVe, married ana intermarried and spgiated theme, selves from other humanity, until théy had loss the finest and best of human impulses in them- selves. Such places do exist even in our fair, free land—lingerings of the barbarous which reflect all the more brightly by way of contrast the glorious advancement which is the rule and not the excep- tion of the thousands upon thousands of growing villages, and prosperous cities and towns, and teem- ing fields of our own America. But this benighted e had been left to itself for whole generations, Its Be apeniat so closely tor as most reality composed of oné wide-reachihg | family; almost every household was related to; almost every other household by ties of either blood or marriage, until a chance new-comer to the place was a matter not only of wonder and comment, but of jealousy and resentment as well. An outside interest had reached them for the first time in generations when Miss Erle undertook to. better their condition. to encourage improvement, ° and to widen this limited sphere into which they had shut themselves, as ic were, away from the sun- shine of prosperous contentment which has placed even our humblest homes at the head of all their “ape? 7 > that it was al- j 4% f like in all the world. Miss Erle’s aig ahh il 28 og a re- - not well received. The people were inclin sent as intrusive the manner in which she w the habit of storming their domiciles, invei ‘ainst the remissness she detected at every turn, \ distributing advice, reproof, sermons, and more welcome worldly gifts as Erle had laughingly re- marked, with impartial liberality—had resented at first; but, as time passed and she continued faith- ful to her self-constituted duties, as they recognized something of her true good-heartedness and reat interest in their welfare, and reaped the advan- tages of her generosity, they grew more tolerant of her visitations, and began to display some thank- fulness here and there where the greatest favors had ' been received. But, after years of faithful adherence to her course, the people as a mass were unregenerate and stiff-necked almost as their predecessors, and any but Miss Erle must have grown disheartened long before this. ’ The evil tidings aroused heras perhaps nothing else would have done, just then. She could bury thoughts of self with this danger threatening “her |. or.”? She lost no time in busying herself, hand- fresh linen out of the closets, we packages from her well-filled store-room, diving into odorous pantries ewhere dried herbs and roots and barks were ranged on shelves or hung in great bunches, half forgetting her own disappointment in the ac- tivity of the time. ; t “Yell Prudence I shall be down with fresh sup- plies myself, in the morning,” she said to her mcs- senger, not yet been sent for. to stay with the woman in the Lee cottage; get one of them down there for bomen and we will see to having a regular nurse installed to-morrow.” ; The woman in the Lee cottage was one of those few exceptions coming latterly into the village. A quiet, respectable person, past middle age, who cultivated her little garden-plot, made the best of the products of her. single cow, which pastured with in others of the villagers tae broken waste landabout, and from her little poul Hae hoo and proved herse neat and industrious and thrifty to a degree which gained her no good-will from her already resentfu} neighbors. She proved by far too convenient a reference, too admirable a model to be held up for* their patterning, and the people had hinted among’ themselves “that for all her sanctified ways she mightn’t be so much better than them of the rest which had large families to drudge for, let alone scrubbing and scouring every day of the week.’? There was some hesitation, now, before one of the Me, women volunteered to remain with her dur- ing the night. ‘An ungrateful set!” cried Miss Evle, hotly ine dignant when she heard it." “I quite lose patience with the lot of them. They take a kindness as no favor and break over a hair at giving one. A thrift- less, unregenerate set; they deserve to be left to the | worst they would bring upon themselves.” any It was a decision Miss than once since she had entered upon her mission; but now, as before, her annoyance passed, and she was soon actively planning again for their comfort and advantage. : , She was sitiing over her late breakfast, next morn- ing, after giving her orders to. her household. Her own fastidious tastes and habits, her fine old aristo- lady was Miss Erle, one whose duty-promptings did not outweigh the just consideration which was first due to herself. , ra “What news this morning, Dorothy?” she asked, | of the maid who brought in the breakfast ¢ , “Bad news, Miss Erle. Two more cases, and Mrs, Brooke taken worse in the night and so fri the Lee woman who staid with her mutter! an ravings that not one can be found to promise ag much again. amber. do say that she has something | on her mind, awful,” : : “Oh! they say!’ cried Miss Erle, tartly. “And did you ever know them not to say when one with tolerable good sense and pew | set a ample to them? They would ‘say’ if the Gabriel was to come down among them, See: robed figure & moment ui’ & summons at the door pounden t through the ouse, ce “Some one from below, : mused during the moment Dorothy was gone, “I~ aN Fe Nis eon ‘“‘Have some one go for Dr. Joy, if he has > There’ll be some one needed le had arrived at more. ¢ Spy ex+, ea: 3! vf 7s. \ I daresay,” Miss Erle » the NE > Rat ’ rete ny is * ‘ i f * etl ees nm nite te te > 4 ete

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¢ 20 ‘wonder if Iam growing nervous. Té really"gave me a stat. thinking for the second that it looked like— absolutely, like Wilma.” She glanced up at the opening door and sat trans- fixed at seeing, ee ieor f Wilma. She threw back the vail and came forward quick- ly, with her anxious, timid eyes fixed pleadingly upon the elder lady’s countenance. “I never will give my sanction, if she has come for that; I never will approve of Erle’s course in this,” was the hardening thought which flashed hrough Miss Erle’s mind as she gave a gesture of n.ismissal to the maid, The latter went out, and ; Nilma put forth both her hands, her face eloquent { with entreaty. “Oh, dear, dear Miss Erle,” she said. ‘* Won't you befriend me—won’t you advise me, help me? There is not one in the wide world to whom I can turn unless to you.”’ Stiff and still sat Miss Erle, very sternly looked | forward into the sweet, wistful, pang face, The face, she thought, which had led her nephew away from his true allegiance, that had drawn him out of the strictly honorable course from which one of his race should never deviate. That look and -the lack jof all other ape verge was a sudden chill to ‘Wilma’s hope. She d with a sense of dreary WILMA WILDE. them; they have no care and no ena and very often they will not profit by better wisdom and kindly intention, Don’t imagine, my dear, that I wish to press M anxious you should engage in it at all. urge an tagion there may welcome here and keep you exclusively to myself in my own home,” ‘** Indeed, I shall be glad to be of use, and I am not afraid of the infection,” Wilma declared. Dear little Wilma! Life was so dreary to her just then, such a hopeless, despairing outlook, that to lay it down in a brave performance of duty and kindliness to that humanity to which she was in debted for so little would have seemed no appalling prospect. CHAPTER XXI. THE DOCTOR’S ADVANTAGE. Mr, RicHLanD, with his back to the fire, the gold watch wound and replaced in his pocket, waited with exemplary patience for minutes past the usual breakfast time that morning. Much given as he was of late to his own complacent musings the delay was | proving a source of annoyance to this model man of desolation come upon her, the expectation faded | from her face, the old weary hopelessness settled there and at her heart. “*¥ beg your pardon,” she said, quietly. ‘‘I never should have come here but for your kind solicitation afew days ago. May I ask of -you only this, that syou will not mention my having been here?” Miss Erle, brought back to herself, put out her hand and spoke not unkindly. “You gave me such a surprise, Wilma, and—I ma, ‘as well say it first as last—l received such a shoc and wappelntment through you very recently, A sense of the two came so strong], 2 ‘ that I quite forgot myself, though I don’t lay any in- tentional agency to you.” ‘A disappointment, Miss Erle? Oh, I hope and I think it may not be as you suppose. You are mis- taken, I am sure, if you thought the disappointment -was to come through Mr. Hetherville.”’ “Do you know what Erle told me before he left over me just then .; exactly regulated habits. He shifted uneasily, and glanced up at the marble clock, and growled a mild expletive in a gruff voice far down in his chest, and waited again, but the light broke through the clouds ina moment as with a soft sweep of trailing robe, a breath of faint fragrance, a fair face sweet and bright, Ethel made her appearance. “Lam unpardonably late 1 know,”’’ she said from the doorway, ‘“‘and— Isit possible that Gertrnde is not down yet? Indeed, in that case, I will not plead any excuse.” “lt is unprecedented, this delay on the part ot Gertrude. Really, Ethel, I am quite apprehensive over it. Here, William, send some one up to see what may be detaining Mrs. Richland. lam apprehen- | Sive that Gertrude is not so perfectly well as always here yesterday, Wilma? That because of his liking | foryou he meant to break with Ethel; that after | aliscovering his change of mind he would do so if he could not even have the assurance of finding a re- sponse in you. You mean, I presume, that you have not seen him and do not know how set in his pur- pose he has become.”’ J **T mean, dear Miss Erle, that there is no fear of any estrangement coming between them. If there dwas a difference, rest assured it has been safely | They have passed all misunderstanding, Sedtans decid: d that the wedding shall be on New | he aa I am glad I can tell you so beyond a ou Miss Erle’s face lighted with something very like | yg incredulity, a perceptible change of warmth her manner. She could not well understand how this happy result had come about. Erle had ap- peared very decided, and though indolence might be prey: a tion certainly was not. If he had compromised with | himself and again acknowledged fidelity to Ethel, it was no half-way compromise to be broken through with any succeeding change or discontent, she was very sure. yOu havelightened my heart of a heavy load, Wilma,” she said, with affectionate kindness. ‘‘ Come hhere my child, and let me tell you how really wel come yest are. [am truly very fond of you, Wilma, though you may have been led to doubt it just now. ‘There nothing short of my hope and pride in _ Erle to which I would not willingly admit you. I te every word when I told you how glad I would be secure you as a young companion; if any change | thas occurred for tl any dear, Iam ready to prove the sincerity of my of- A. i change /has occurred, Miss Erle. One which I can not explain fully, but I have discovered that a remaining there I was liable to bring sorrow and distress upon those who have been so kind to me and whom Iso dearly love. I came away with- out their knowledge, and I know they will be grieved to have sent you here for that purpose, , heretofore. Her slight indisposition of last evening may have been the precursor of something more serious; I thought she looked uncommonly ean and affected with lassitude after our return, thong she would have it that she was not even fatigued. His growing uneasiness was set at rest on that score as Mrs, Richland made her appearance a mo- ment later. She was her usual self; that clear, still face never changed even to those who loved her best and were with ker most. Looking into its per- fect statuesque repose one could ill-imagine any hidden inner emotion, great throes and spasms like the convulsons of those inner fires which turn silent- ly for centuries, and break out to mar fair, unsus- Poe fae with some little loosening of the power which holdsthem, She came in with an open letter in her hand, a sheet of note pe per written over in a straggling, broken, uncertain hand, growing firmer at | the last, and with the dry blistering of tears upon it. characteristic of his, lack of determina- | at what will seem such ungrateful conduct from me, | but my most urgent ance of my whereabouts. I want to go where there is no chance of their tracing me. Itis my duty, Miss le, to lose myself to them, and I came to you be- 3 I am myself so inexperienced.” “Whatever cause has sent you, dear child, you not leave me while you are free to remain. No, not a word, Zneed you and I shall keep you. Never mind what reason sent you here, I am rejoiced at our coming. Sit here and breakfast with me and et me tell you what additional cause I have for wor- riment #8 now.” ; Miss Erle’s own private conclusion, hastily arrived at, was that Wilma’s influence had persuaded Erle to a continuance of his duty, and that Wilma’s se- cret reason for leaving was to avoid the chance of her presence swerving him from the right again. oa Ri for the best, no doubt,’’ thought Miss Erle, “put there is no fear of Erle if he has made his de- ' cision firmly.’ “There is no place you could well be safer than here, my dear,”’ she said, confidently. ‘‘ There is work ready to your hand, of a kind to call out . your sympathy and brin, that delicate tact of yours Tato play, There is a sickness broken out amon my poor people here, a fever, but I think we o ee ’ health and good constitutions need ve no cause for apprehension, These foolish peo- el f have no ard for sari measures. erases athe dlasnes tp biden hanno \ toleave them in ignor- | She went close to her husband, no way changed, and et her face had gone down upon that little sheet wenty minutes before, drawn, hardened, every line strained and tense, her heart a dead, numb agony worse to bear than keen, fierce pain. “Dearest friend of all I have ever known,” ran the note, ‘‘do not think me ungrateful for all your rr kindnesses. I never can tell half how thank- ul I am and have been; if I never should see any of you again I should never fail to carry loving re- membrances of all. Ihave been very happy here, but it is my duty to go away—a duty J owe to you. Please do not try to discover me; do believe that I am not ungrateful as this must seem, and that I will be happier in being only kindly remembered than if you are distressed at my going, or make an attempt to find me. I shall go to afmend who I am sure will help and advise me for the best, and I shall never cease 7, for you and your —— ee ness, for dear Miss Ethel and for Mr. Richland—all! Heaven bless you all! Wima.”’ That was what Mr. Richland read, and looked into his wife’s eyes, perplexed and disconcerted. “Upon my word, Gertrude! Most extraordinary! What is this the child has been doing? Never— he A hever so foolishly precipitate as to have gone awey? ‘* She is certainly gone, Howard. I sent Cicely to her room to call her tome and she found only that.” ‘Wilma gone!’’ echoed Ethel, ‘Why should she go? Why in such a manner?” ‘“* And just as we had all grown fond of her,” added Mr. Richland,in my Taba ones. “T presume it is no more than we might have expected; it always is the way, but I own to being disappointed. I would not have thought it of Wilma.” “Don’t think hardly of the child now, Howard. T feel confident thatsome reason which she has not hinted must have persuaded her that this step is for the best for us and her. She is so inexperienced, so apt to be impressed very deeply by what would seem asmall matter tous. Ido not fear much difficulty in explaining ay such fancied trouble eyes of course she must have gone back to her guardian.” —— Thompson, entering, caught the last words, ; “T think, ma’am,” bowing profoundly, ‘if I may be allowed to say it, if it’s Miss Wilma, which Cicely have told me just now is found missing, I think as how she couldn’t have gone to that doctor what calls himself her guardeen. The doctor were here at a very improper time, if I may be allowed to remark it, seeing as how he knew the family were out, and Miss Wilma were in noways glad to have him as I could see, and she, poor; dear young lady! lookin sad and stunned like to touch’a heart of stone. thought more of it after, when I’d gone back to wait by the ny el and could see her face coming up in the coals looking so. And the doctor was saying | e. I shall as gladly make you | ou to unwilling service, or that I am | I would not | one to hs sega and what chance of con- | —— —— something as T answered the bell to show him cub, of coming to-day to find her ready, and Miss Wilma saying not so much as a word to answer him, I’ sooner think ske’d care togo away from him any day than to go to hm, for if ever I see dread on & human face it were on bers then,” However much William Thompson had positively seen, and how much had wakened in his mind since the news spread, his deduction was not far incor- rect, and gave a new, startled thought to one pre- sent. “Tf Dr. Dallas is exerting his influence, it means no good to either her or me. And, Wilma, Wilma! if yours should be but the fifst example of two!” o trace of the thought reflected itself, as her hus- band questioned the servant wher’ > ae en was this person here, William, Dr. Dallas, Imean? I doubt if he is amanI would care to ad- mit to the house. I have heard of him through Crayton, = dear; a charlatan, a dabbler in phar- macy and chemistry, and a sycophant who hovers about better men until he gets a hold to push him- self upon their footing. Very unfortunate that Wilma should have been left to the charge of such & person. Last evening after we left for the theater, ou say, William, atid remained for an hour? i think there is scarccly a doubt but he has had some- thing todo with this freak of your little protege, Gertrude.” **T was present when Dr. Dallas stipulated that he - should still be permitted tree communication with his ward, and considered his trust in no way yielded through allowing her to come to us,’”’ remarked Eth- el. “TI formed an unfavorable impression of (he man, but do not think he could have any object in persuading her to leave us in a manner like this.” “Of course we must not lose time in tracing her whereabouts, whether she has or has not returned to him. The first thing will be to send to the residence of this Dr, Dallas,I presume. Can some one be spared from the household for that, Gertrude?” “*T have been thinking,” she answered slowly, “whatever Wilma’s reason may be, lam sure it is one which seems sufficient to her. I would not ad- vise anything public or calculated to disturb her in any refuge she may have taken. Make quict inquiry and wait in hope that she may either return or com- municate some further assurance of her safety. am sure Wilma meant every werd that she bas written here; I am sure if it seems right to her, she will come back of her own accord. I think that we may all trust to her realization of what is right, Howard.” “Upon my word, Gertrude. ‘Any refuge she may have taken;’ but why should she take refuge from us? Why shouldn’t she trust in us if any trouble of her own has overtaken her? I would scarcely have been more surprised if Ethel here had taken such & wild freak into her mind. Iam more than grieved, disappointed at her lack of confidence in us, and after our meaning to receive her in Ethel’s place in the household, to be vacant so soon. No one ever could take your place in our hearts, little sister, bub Wilma had won a very tender place in mine for her- self. Irepeat lam pee disappointed,” In his perplexed annoyance Mr. Richland failed to see that whatever influence had 2+ apo her, ha some way found a hold thro themselves. Wil- ma’s duty to them had affected her action, and Ger- trude, looking down into the glowing coals, saw further and more than the others could even sus: ct. “Whatever Wilma’s Foes I believe it is for the best,” she was thinking, ‘She is brave, self-de- nying, heroic; bui this affair.of Erle and Ethel may have proved too great a trial. She may have found herself lacking force of nerve to keep down her ow? pain with the presence of both such constant re- minders. I feel—is it oy a fancy ?—I feel if we had her here now, if she had not gone like this, if we should find her at once even, that it would be to lose her completely forever. She ishis child—fis—and I cling to her so it would be death to give her uP now. Oh, merciful Heaven! what end to the web/ I can only pray with her that no shadow may fall to cloud the happiness of these dear ones.” “Well, Gertrude,” her hustand interrupted her silent reflection, ‘‘what is to be done? Cause the bells to ring and the tidings to go forth, or wait aS you say the simple issue‘of events? One will inflict publicity and annoyance, and the other appears tO me heartless, wrong. I should feel almost implicate now if any harm came to the rash girl.’ “Could we not make inquiry and trace her quietly, in such a manner she should not suspect we were making the attempt? You mentioned Crayton, aD I fancy he would be a good person to consult with. For to-day do nothing, at least until I have acted up” on your suggestion and sent to her guardian.” eanwhile breakfast had grown cold. Mrs, Rich- land rung for fresh coffee, and they sat down, a de- ressed party, all feeling the absence of the trim ittle figure, of the sweet, dark, small face with thé soft hair clinging lovingly about the temples, and rippling down about the slender throat—a s re and aface which had grown dear to each of them i2 these few weeks past. There proved no necessity for any messenger 2 be sent to the old house on the Manchester road that day. : ) Mr. Richland had gone to the bank; Ethel, pale and perturbed, all her own new sense.of relief and af roval of her own course a more easy before er suddenly shaken by this unaccoufttable loss 2? Wilma, had taken the advice of her brother’s wif? and kept an engagement she had made, to driv® with Mrs. Latham, whose d cpr as of a li ' more than a week ago h ned the Bay seasoD. — Outwardly the entire household moved on the same; yet scarcely one within the fair, wide walls but felty greater or Jess degree, the shock and the o

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a. i. { an which had fallen with greatest force on the one “That wi fang made least display of her emotions—Mrs, Rieh- The news, spread over the house through Cicely’s ere had created an under-buzz of excitement, kept own by means of the unchanged surface. It’s that Dr. Craving Dallas's doings, depend on it,” asserre1 William Thompson, stoutly. “If ever iny and cat-cunning were sot in human counte- Nance, them are hisn. Our Miss Wilma is too sweet and trusting to be left to that human vulture’s Clutches, as Lalways will maintain— Bless my life! I's only the door-bell, but what a start it did give e,"” Cut short in his dissertation, William Thompson hurried to the rformance of his duty, and a mo- thent later admitted the chief object of it—Dr. Craven _Yallas himself. “Which I was never so took aback,” said the ir- Tepressible William, in a snatched side-conference With the housekeeper, on the way of transmitiing his igs a I never was, as when he ups and asks for Miss Wilma, with his compliments to Mrs. Richland, and will she see him for a moment. alone, while he Waits for his ward? And what does he but walks off, Rot into the drawing-room at all, as Iwas thinking of asking him to take a hall chair, but like a lord at home, straight into the library. ‘Let your mistress ow Lam waiting here,’ says he, lofty as you please With his yellow eyes shut down and looking on all Sides of him as though he’d like to put the whole es- tablishment into his pocket, and walk off with that Same, It’s a blessing that our Mrs. Richland is of a Sort to put him down to his pone level.”’ Mrs. Richland was before her dressing-glass, com- Pleting a hasty toilet of plain outdoor wear, when the message reached her. She turned to her maid, Who was laying out mantle and gloves and vail for her, secretly wondering at the whim which was hed her mistress walking in that unassuming uise. .*You may put them back, Cicely... This interrup- tion changes my mind, 1 will not go out at all this Morning, I think.” he went down as she was, the plain dark gar- Ments sweeping about her stately form, ease and Srace in every quiet motion, the steady, unreadable €yes looking forward into the face of this early vis- tor as the door unclosed and left her standing before m. With an inclination of the head and a gesture of scoveniben, she stood silently awaiting his peec “**Pon honor, very much as a queen might do with no very well-favored subject,” thought the doctor, ‘and I can very well imagine, my high-toned mad- &me, secure in the assurance of your own insolent Superiority though you may be, that the sight of the One-time needy young physician should be no very ble one to you—by no means @ person With whom you might desire to be thrown into con- ued juxtaposition which might overrule fancied forgetfulness. : é bowed profoundly before the coldly-silent Presence, “T trust sincerely 1 do not intrude upon prior arrangements,” he said, blandly deprecating. The doctor always deprecated intrusions on his own part With a sort of Uriah Heep humbleness which proved barticularly offensive to his present listener, Favor ‘tne by being seated, madame; there will be no need to delay my d subject. Grieved as I must be to insist Pon any change which may not pany with your Wishes and most generous intentions, I have still a duty to perform that shall be faithfully executed to the furthest of my poor ability. My ward, I pre- Sume, has not left you in ignorance of a decision I Was forced to impart te her during an interview last €vening.”’ re 4g > has told me nothing, Dr. Dallas.” Mrs. Richland was non-committal regarding the cause of Buch reserve, waiting to conclude how far he might be concerned in this step of Wilma’s. ; “Ah, that makes my task the harder! I find it sary, absolutely a moral necessily, to resume My active duties as Wilma’s guardian, to request her mediate return under my own yy observa- tion, to my own individual care. I have already ap- prised my ward of the facts of the case, My house- eeper, who is extremely fond of the young lady, and who has done little but make regret ever our emporary loss of her, has put her old room into its Previous order, andI am come prepared to accom- Pany Wilma back to her home which will never Cease to be freely hers. Will you kindly permit her to be informed that Iam here for the purpose?” és hs Fae you explain to me what cause neces- Bitates this sudden change? Accept my warm in- terest in your ward as apology for asking.” “Family reasons entirely, Mrs. Richland,” he an- 8wered, with apparent carelessness, but with his light, furtive eyes ese her closely. ‘‘ The as- Surance of advantage to be derived from Wilma rough—as yet—an unacknowledged connection. Tam sure you will rejoice to know that Wilma, pre- Sumedly a in the world, has one living relative Very favorably situated in the scale of earthly pos- €ssions and honors from whom she may ques- tionabl expedi to reap some vety tolerable, benefit.” “and this relative,” queried the lady, “is recon- nad to her existence, prepared to acknowledge and ve her?” “I have every reason to beiieve, madam, that this relative does not even suspect, the girl's exist- £nce, I have my own private opinion at heart that the knowledge will be & matter of any thing but re- dolcing to the person most nearly concerned by it. re that, what? Certainly nething with ,impera- ive duty in the other scale.’ That with Dr. Dallas means what sum? _I think tand, your motive, sir, and am sufficiently . rs' c interested to submit to any fair demand rather than ee |, part with Wilma, It is dur wish—Mr. Richland’s and mine—to adopt Wilma into our household; to re eive her and cherish her and be assured of her as though she really were one of us. Every man has his price, Dr. D ; let me ask again plainly what is yours?” : ‘How the maternal heart, all unsuspecting, re- Fd Slam to nature’s thrill,” was the doctor’s sarcastic thought. “And how our fine lady’s worldly wis- dom reaches to the root of affairs! If better calcu- lations fail, my dear Madame Richland, Imay even —_ a A em cas price out of you, but not yet— not yet.” ‘My dearest lady,” he exclaimed, with a plaintive intonation of reproach and of that offensive touch of deprecation combined, ‘‘ must I assure you that my interest in Wilma has been without money and is without price? It is so,I assure you. For the sake of the child’s welfare I shall not neglect one precaution in making ber claim good; my own re- ward will be found in witnessing her prosperity. We could not wish it to one more deserving, May I trouble you—I am in some haste this morning— again to summon Wilma to attend me? Your par- don for having detained you, Mrs. Richland,” “It is unfortunately impossible to comply,” an- swered Mrs. Richland, quietly. ‘‘ You may under- stand better than we what reason Wilma had for her action, Dr. Dallas. one, some time gk] Her room was foun Wilma gone.” The doctor's jaw dropped. His eyes opened wide for once and returned her fixed faze with such a scin- tiation of angry, cruel green lights that her heart sickened, nothing disturbed though her outward composure remained, “ Wilma Botor ites oper herepeated. Then, with a sudden, tigerish fierceness, and a blindin suspicion rushing across him, breaking the smoot mask of craft and oily subterfuge—‘Are you in- strumental in that, Mrs. Richland? If you have undertaken any such underhand game, by the eee have chosen the wrong man to play it with. Her steady, calm and scornful eyes gave him an assurance of how hasty his conclusion had been, but it was an effective declaration of war between them he was in nowise inclined to retract. “You forget yourself, sir,” she answered, coldly. ‘“There need be little more said until Wilma is found again; but, meantime, Trefer you to Mr. Richland’s solicitor in the hope of reachin’: some definite a ment regarding the end we shld be happy to ef- fect, _2 have the pleasure of wishing you good-morn- ing, sir. “I beg your pardon for detaining you one moment, Mrs. Richland.” The doctor had gone back to his usual bland and courteous demeanor, but every word was underlaid with a sarcasm which grated upon her sensitive ear, ‘‘Let me hope Wilma may be found very soon. Ifyou had no interest in her disappearance, I shall hope to invest you with one to hasten her recovery—a secret, by the way, which I was favored through her hearing last evening. Tt is my duty now—how incessant is this stern Duty in her calls upon us!—it is my duty to inform you, Mrs. Richland, after a considerable lapse of time, that the child born in an isolated old house, forty miles out of the city, on a stormy December night seventeen years £50, never died; that that child lives to-day as Wilma Wilde, your own daughter, Mrs. Richland!”’ He had meant to give her a sudden shock, and succeeded admirably, though a slow moment of sheer, astonished disappointment elapsed before he was permitted a realization of the fact. That marble face had wonderful powers of svif- command; those deep, inscrutable eyes, so earnestly steady that they abashed even him, were so steeled against surprises that this one was a moment break- ing through. There seemed a slow smile of in- credulity upon her lips. as she put a hand on the arm of a chair-—she had stood all this time—wheeled it about and sunk down into it. Not a feature of the marble mask changed, but as if through a deliberate contemplation of the act, Mrs. Richland’s stately head rested back against the chair, and then and there under the doctor’s very eyes she. quietly fainted. ~ She left us unknown to any the night or early morning. vacant, her bed unslept in, CHAPTER XXIl. EIGHTEEN YEARS BEFORE, ' CapraIn LEIGH BERNHAM was walking his floor with a rapid, regular stride, that steeled bronzed face telling little. though there was a quiver at times and an unusual paleness hidden under the heavy grizzled mustache, his eyes fixed on the straight space before him, steadfast and inscrutable to a de- ree which might have rivaled Mrs. Richland’s own. ‘aptain Leigh Bernham’s strong, contained mind had grasped a refrain which was repeating itself under the disconnected jarring chords of thought that were “less a melody than pain” with him at that hour of that particular morning. That in- credible surprise of the i aigead night was thrilling him with something barder to bear than simple un- lief. me Never. dead. and never buried seventeen years ago,” sounded that refrain in the captain’s mind— ie alive, ee EE d above i oA other man’s wife—oh, Rose! oh, Rose! Dead to me, and it would be less pain to know that the grass was gro green and flowers blooming over our head—oh se! And she could see me and ow me with those cold, unanswering eyes. What did she think of the change, I wonder, and how much of it will she take home to her own proud, un- relen heart? Whatever my faults and follies then, whatever my long loneliness and my long ‘ fi. | from there, the other night, when I'inet you firsk ~ | vs ee eps P . 3 i eats mourn since, I always cherished her first an@ loved io Pes alone of been true to her memory forever, and she is glive and another man’s wife.” He paused at a turn before a inclined mir- ror which reflected back his bronzed face and gloomy, stern eyes and soldierly figure—paused and ee up his hand to run it through the close, nut- rown hair, just tinged here and there by silvery threads. The beard, more ruddily brown, with more silver streaks, and the firm mouth, the bronze gather- ed from long years’ exposure to wind and sun and storm, a different face from one which came-up ai having looked back from his mirror, somet, wt more than seventeen years before. “Little wonder if she had not recognized me,” he thought, “‘ but Rose is not one to forget, What was that she said when we spoke of this once? T¢ was when I gave her a picture of myself and got her promise of this one of hers which I have worm through all the years since—foolish, sentimentak times those, and to think how I have held to them? I asked her, would she love the giver the same when the face grew old and seamed and the hair silvered, and she said—I remember her very words . —she said: “* Through all time and all eternity the very same, ae —calling me by that name. ‘The dear face itself can never change for me, If any im- possible thing, should separate us for years and years, and if you should come back to me wrinkled: and 'gray, as you said just now would not be deceived, ~ I should and love you all the same, Ray.’ “* any impossible thing! Ah, poor girl! She could have no idea how very scon themost probable expectationI had in view should part us; end I, pi'i- fu young fool! had trusted to her love to follow me to the end of the world, if need be. Heaven pity me! my great disappointment in her love found wasting came and was Over seventeen years and more ago. I could not hold myself blameless through my too much Jove for her, and she never forgave me the deception. I pity myself yet as I think of the time when the word came that she was dead. Dead! my little Rose dead! All my faith in Heaven and earth would have been shaken first had any one whispered this—that I should fimd her liv- ing and have sooner known her dead! And yet, , ‘hee Rose! not for any temptation in life wo i reathe one word to injure you now. But the child—our child—whom you deserted for seventeen ears, Whose existence I did not even suspect, she mine; not even you can claim so good a right.” He turned and fell to walking the floor again, a deep corrugation coming into his forehead, a trick of won Sapp which was repeated in Wilma, His thoughts had gone to her, the child’ of the brief, bright romance of his youthful, foolish days, the little daughter whose existence had not wr until these later days. ** Little Wilma! know I frightened her, but so near, with her sweet, shy face just discernible — through the dusk, I could not resist taking her in my arms and giving her a father’s first caress. Poor little thing! at least I shall make her life hap- - pier than it was before,” : Some one knocked. Captain Bernham paused and gave a brush of his hand over his heavy mustache, Pallor and quiver which had been there changed to the usual close setting of the -chiseled “Come in,” said the captain, and Lenoir answered the invitation. : It was nearly noon of a clear, cool November day. A brisk walk through the bracing air had brought a flush into the young man’s cheeks, and an added brightness to his fine dark eyes, yet for all that he was thin and worn even to a casual observer, “It is better to wear out than to rust out,” says some wiseacre, and Justin Lenoir seemed to have taken it in hand to verify the maxim in as short a time as the process of wearing out could well be consum- mated. His was not a vigorous constitution at the best. These long nights of incessant drain both mental resources and B Ailey endurance, the hours required by his editorial duties, supplemented by other hours of brain labor — habitu@ly into the breaking dawn, and often until the sun was high up and busy traffic begun in the streets—all follow- ing this restless American impulse of ours which has no merey @pon bealth or life or anything except — the iron endurance that can stand firm in its own nee and be beaten and jostled on ail sides, and ake no impression from the wear and tear of the multitude about—but it all told upon Lenoir. Possibly his own reflection that the result would be the same, whatever use he made of the time, was in part cor- rect. More than overwork was proving a source of unrest to Justin Lenoir, but who ever knew a. rest- less mind to be put at ease by the extra efforts of a restless body? surely know you “T came immediately upon receipt of your note,” Lenoir said, dropping into the seat Bernham placed for him. ‘‘My landlady did not disturb me until my ' usual gol out hour. You know the reprehensible habit_to which weet ae men are necessarily ad- dicted, of turning night into day, and vice versa, and that must pardon my delay.” “T dare say I took a liberty in addressing you at nif spirit ; all, but I trust to your accommodati not to think it such,” said the captain, fr. . “Are you at liberty now, Lenoir? CanI claim you fora half- hour or 80 without interfering with duties of your own Lhd “Quite at liberty, and happy to place myself at your service,” Lenoir answered, ; ““And I want to claim a service brie sie I think ne are acquainted with an influential family here— e Richlands. Yes. I remember you had come A verv short acquaintance it has been to warrant ALAS 1 the world. I would ‘have - the eyes of love © Did 4 ae : - = ew? p Nee *

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\ this cffering of my confidence and tax upon your kindness. you have any delicacy in regard to act- ang for me, my dear fellow, don’t hesitate to say it , after I have told you how my case stands. There is S young lady staying with the Richlands—Miss Wilma ‘Wilde. Have you met her?” “Frequently. I had the liberty of the house through the kindness of its master—of the library more properly—a short time since, and became quite ; well om renee bilge Miss Wilde inmy daily com- ’ an goings. _, “Sheis made quite one of the family, then?” y “Yes, and is well-worthy the distinction, Such a sper sensitive, childlike, trustful yet pathetic ace, I never saw anywhere else, and the face is the ’ clear mirror of a pure soul. They all think and make much of her. An artist friend of mine, Lati- . mer, has done little but rave of her since our last *' . evening there. He wants to paint Wilma as Cinde- : rella, and, as Latimer is apt to have his way in all : thsaes, _ may hand Wilma down to fame in that guise yet. The concealed lines about the captain’s lips had softened during the first part of the other’s speech, | only for an instant and then were firm as before. “Cinderella must have more lasting assurance of more real pleasure,” he said, quietly. “You can fmagine how gratified I am at hearing you express yourself so oh ya en truly happy I am in an- nouncing myself Wilma’s father.” Certainly an abrupt and unexpected announce- ment. Lenoir looked the surprise it had given him, “It was a matter of astonishment even to me,” the captain continued, answering the look. ‘It is Jess than a fortnight since I discovered that I hada ., daughter, and o: yesterday that I traced her *) _ whereabouts. Will you smoke and listen to a rough WILMA WILDE. barely escaped a pauper’s ve at last. But all that was long afterward, and at the time a slight coolness had come up between my brother Ray and myself regarding this very chance of inheritance. The question of who shall heir has made worse breaches between as close friends, but Ray and I were never what we might have been to each other because of that. We were doing each other the | dearest Rappiness had been. ‘The stupor which hadi worst of injustice in those days, though we never dis- covered it until‘too late to remedy, long years of es- trangement lying between. While Il wasin the city here, galloping over the country roads, or makin the best of stolen opportunities with Rose, it wasno very well known where my brother was passing his time. Among various reportsone had come to me | that he was not so far distant as I might suppose, and a whisper came with it that he was keeping a surveillance over my actions, hoping to discover a flaw which might cut short my chances and at the same time advance his own of succeeding our grand- father. It was made plausible by my meetiag him in the street one evening, but, before a chance to accost him was given he plunged in a crowd and eluded me, doubtless thinking I would persuade myself I had been mistaken in the recogni- tion. Believing the worst, I set myself to outwit him and hold my own chance equally at least. I married Rose as Raymond Leigh and was guilty of one other piece of deception toward her, I told her nothing of own uncertain prospects. Ipermitted her to be- lieve that my release from the military academy was @ finalrelease from all accompanying regula- | tions. I did not dare to put before her the probabil- | ity of barrack life on the frontier as the wife of a sketch of rag tare eg gh My pipe has been my | } —- for so long that it is inseparable as a compan- ion now. _,. He pushed a case of Havanas across to Lenoir, but took down a beautifully colored meerschaum for himself, as ig leisurely from that heavy silver ' tobacco- m box which had arrested Dr. Craven Dallas’s covetous e - unmistakable interest awakened. drew some slow eae watching the misty blue rings curl about his head and drift off in almost im- S rienething nose cightes ” he b me near e m years ago,” he an, in that same quiet tone he | used, “I was “god tary student, let free for an interval, with an ap- 2) intment to a commission and active service under is eacuael on, I was passing the interval in the city the country roads in shootin; equipments, with very indifferent success. I had the misfortune to b down some staid old body’s pet pigeon one day, and somebody’s ‘the beyond the limit of its 2 was in great trepidation over the accident. I can eave. Nf after all this.time and after seeing women from me A parts of the globe, that the companion was the toveliest creature sun ever shone upon; nearer per- fection than any thin, ’ . tion had ever me , or that I have met with in all '. of my experience. Seeing her shrinking, I as was my duty, to explain the affair to whomever it might concern, take all the blame up- on myself, where it belonged, and consequently free her from any reproach she may have feared. Her Sere a stern manner, but, I am _ sure, a kind heart, ed to come out . ae a distur tached. _ . “Phat was the beginning, and the end was I mar- 1¢ ried the pret moripaeton a fortnight after my first -. meeting with her.. I can see what you think, that it was ‘marry in haste, to repent at leisure,’ but my fife! with my head clear as it is to-day, with the Wf » game run of circumstances to impel, but lacking the - ‘ knowledge of what was to come after, I should have married Rose as then,”’ y “Rose!” spoke Lenoir, quickly. ‘ Then the love _- Rose of your miniature was the one you married, Mie Captain Bernham?” _ “That was Rose.” There was the slightest disturb- ed inflection in the captain’s tone; it had been aslip ol of his, mentio: the nameatall, “You may won- . - der less at my infatuation now. I married Rose in geeret and under an assumed name, There were family reasons for that. You_know where family ~-. ' pride will run sometimes, and I come of one of the | '. ‘gtiffest, most overbearing and unreasonable old fam- » ‘dies that branches over Maryland to-day—a wild, » _réckless, rash-minded set of men we have been ¥ from first-to last, 1 may as well say at once, Of oy our branch there were left at that time only my _..* brother and myself—my twin brother he was—bot iy ‘worthy representatives of our race gone before, and eve an old grandfather, who was stiffer and prouder and + rasher and more unreasonable than both of us young - loods taken together, and of whom we in - wholesome awe to his face, at least whatever law- fessness we may have been guilty of behind his back , nd in defiance of his strict prohibitions. His in- fluence had put us at the military school and insured *-_ usour commissions later. In his eyes we were youn --_~_—s vandals, both of us, never taken into any very especi ‘favoritism, though it was generally understood that i .. disinterested person once broached his leaving it to ' us jointly, Gat he was stiff-necked in his intention. There uid be no division. of the property; it should go to the one who proved himself most worthy, which meant with my grandfather the one who ced to be in best favor at the latest moment. Poor old gentleman! He had lived a high life, and gear the close of it got a fever for speculation’ and / Wha cos: | -\ eompanion, who was in some way responsible for | ular haunts, | my impulsive young imagina- | yolun- | bn piers turned. out to be avery exact old lady | wi the affair, which promised | ce, with colors flying and all honors at- | _ one orthe other should inherit after him, Some | | in thé capaci ey OW, ee ey etty officer, though I believed firmly she would fol ow me there when the time came that I should ask it of her. I never believed she would let me go alone when she was once my wife. Hers had been a sad childhood, as she told me the story. She was the only child of a morbid, disappointed man. Ilearned afterward that his whole life had changed when _ his young wife—the mother of my Rose—deserted him and her little child for an early lover from whom his own duplicity had served to separate her. He had hi | always seemed to visit the sin of the mother upon Lenoir li? his cigar and settled back to listen with | a jigs he med to vii er up The captain | the child; he had been harsh and cold to her, and my poor little Rose had come up a lonely, sad-heart- ed girl, with ae ea bright spot in her life until an eccentric old lady of the neighborhood saw and took a fancy to her, and succeeded in securing her of a young companion, ““We were happy, for a little time, as only young fools can be, Only one little cloud had risen against our bright ,» and that a ese one. Rose had driven into the city with her employer, and when Isaw her again, taxed me with having passed her unnoticed in the company of a lady, a young girl and very beautiful, she said. I comprehend er mistake ina moment, She had seen my brother— we were yery much alike—and at the short distance she had not distinguished the difference. I had never spoken to Rose regarding our family, and I passed over the occurrence without an explanation now. She had no distrust of me and my simple as- surance was all that was needed to restore her perfect faith. After that I rented a little place still her out of the city, where Rose andI passed a few such blissfully happy weeks that it is like an exquisite pain now to look back at them, A ering, deli- cious time, perfect but for the thrill of one little discord which came through my consciousness of how soon it might all be abruptly ended. The end came, a shock even to me who had been expecting it. I got my commission and orders to join my division at the front in one letter. I went back wi it in my pocket, with a cowardly sinking at my heart and a sense of guilt wpon me now that there was no help for breaking the truth to Rose, “She met me—my wife who had parted from m6 loving so few hours before—frozen like a statue and hard, but with one burst of fierce reproach greet- me. **I have discovered all of your deception!’ she said, with her eyes flaming in her white face, ‘I am convinced, and yet I have refused to believe the truth until I have it from your ownlips. If you nee one word to say in your own self-defense, say now.’ ** As she spoke, there moved forward a step from the shadow at her back a shape which I had not seen before, a tall, gaunt old man, from whom Rose shrunk even then and half put out her hand to me, I heard her ery: as ***Oh, Ray, ! tell me it is not true!’ but he sopped her silenced me when I would have spoken, **You have grossly deceived ‘and misled my daughter,” he said. ‘For that you are answerable to me, If you have any explanation to make or one extenuation to plead, I am willing to hear you. My daughter goes with me now, and I will meet you —or, better perhaps—you can write me to this ad- dress anything you may wish to say.’ He thrusta card into my d, but I dropped it and sprung for- ward, with my hands clutching my wife’s mantle detaining her. I only realized that she was leaving me, that I was losing her through my own secrecy and deceit. Something like a flash went over her pale, cold face at the sight of mine, and she stop- ped, resisting her father’s efforts to draw her away. ‘“** Tt is not true, Ray?’ she breathed. **T could only drop my head in shame, ana ux- claim, brokenly: “* Forgive me, Rose! I loved you soI dared not risk the ehance of losing you.’ Isaw her grow hard and ile and cold again, I Ser ge NA rey Pb sweep of despair went over me; (= qT her ras forcibly, that I ‘pleaded for myself wit all the words I’could master, but she would not lis- ten. She put up her hand. The gesture and the blaze of her eyes silenced me. , - ¥ ' Z ‘ ‘ in ! x 3 “*T never can forgive you—never!’ she said. » ‘Then, turning to her father—‘Take me away, guick!’ “I fell back, and they were gone in a moment. I was dazed, stricken, incapable of action for what seemed hours. The full sense of my misery came upon me in the middle of darkness, the emptiness of desolation all about in the little house where my been upon me seemed to burst and fall away all ina moment. I staggered to my feet and found a light, and stood looking about at the familiar things, no one of which was not associated with her presence, It dawned upon me in a vague way that it was all unreal, that it was a great mistake which would be cleared away soon; great though my offense had been, Rose never would cast me off for that. picked up the card from where it had fallen and turned it in my hand. If I could go to her—but there I thought of her gesture, her look of mingled anger and despair and scorn, as she had declared" never can forgive you—never!’ **A clock, sep warned me. It was alm off pg my journe time to see her had somewhere within sound, ost morning, and I must be before nooh. There was no not, coward-like, shrunk from the ordeal. I sat down and scrawled a few hasty lines. I begged her if there had been any mistake, any misunderstanding, any supposition of greater em on my part than this deception, which I con- fessed, that she should come to me there, or send me at least one word of forgiveness or assurance of love,- I went out in the breaking dawn and dis- patched it by the first messenger I found. No an- swer came. I grew calmer as I waited, and in my last hour at the house I wrote again, detailing my own fault at length and imploring my wife, if she could pardon the offender for the sake of the motive urging the offense, to join me at a junction by the way. I wrote again when I was really on the way, again and again after I reached my post. I never received one word or token from Rose, but after six months there came a line in an upright, crabbed, , unknown hand and signed with her father’s name. Rose was dead—dead without forgiving me.” The slight nervous tremor and the pallor*had come back to Captain Leigh Bernham’s lips. Ex- cept that he sat bar pert Ning upright, bronzed and self-contained, an admirable example of what stern part tee may effect. “Pardon me,”’ said Lenoir, softly. “I can not . think you had cause for much self-reproach however pi you might sorrow. Your offense was s0 slight that a woman’s true love should have easily covered it.” “*T am not sure now that it was so represented to her, Only a week or so agoI came into possession of a little box which had ge ae to Rose, one I had given her, and in which she kept the old jover’s notes [had smuggled to her, They were there still, and with them my own. later letters with unbroken seals, Whether gre got them or not itis certain that Rose never read uhose a and explanations of mine. That is the story, and I don’t know oa I should have told it to you. - It has searcely a ng on what I have to ask of you. No word was sent to. me of the little daughter Rose left; I never knew the e nee of the child until accident discovered it to me. I can bring forward a witness to declare that Wilma is the child of my dead wife, and I shall sure- ly claim her as mine, I wanted to ask you to break the facts of the case to the Richlands, Can I pre- sume that far on your friendship, Lenoir?” “For much more than that, I hope, Captain Bern- ham. In any way I may be able to serve you,” Lenoir answers bran ose a though not with-. out aninward twinge. He had meant to keep aloof from Ethel, in opens aa well as reality, so far as might be possible. He had thought that he might not see her again, or forno more than the brietest moment of Spent when her hand should touch h her sweet face surrounded by its glory of brig hair look up at him, her voice murmur a simple fare- well, meaning little to her, but another cadence added to the song of his life. The captain emptied the dead ashes from his pipe, turning his face from the other’s direct view. “There is a trifle more. I have a fancy I should like you to witness the offering: up of my sacrifice. Some papers concerning this story I have told you, Rose’s letters and my own; I don’t imagine any Phoenix will rise from their ashes. A little weakness has induced me to keep them this long.” He stirred the coals in the grate until they blazed, then ed his hands to an inner .breast-pocket of the coat he wore. It stayed there, and Captain Bern- ham’s face really and perceptibly changed at last. It was startled and ghastly in its sudden alarm. A certain pocket-book to which he had transferred those foe for the purpose of having them alwa upon his own person, had completely and recen ppeared, CHAPTER XXIII, FOR THREE DAYS. Crayton, tipped back in one of the leather-covered office-chairs, his heels in eomplacent familiarity with the banker’s desk, was listening to the story of Wilma’s disappearance, interspersed as it was bY the banker’s ejaculations of regret and annoyance, 4 no means grown less after three hours dow2 wn ‘Most inexplicable occurrence to my mind and very distressing to all of us,” he said, passing his hand over his smooth face and rubbing his so white palms together, with the aimless motion of mental dissatisfactién. So much pros little disappointment in all the enterprises of all bid smooth, well-regulated life left Howard Richland at — a loss in mee even this departure from the ; way. However Mr. Richland might endure se f . \ yi Wcirags b: rity and 50 t

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. y ' Crayton had looked in at the bank with the sarq » Ri Cap Foe ie rp wo trials should they come to him, he was perplexed And disturbed to a degree over this. id belonging to his class, the assurance which gnizes no inner scroll of any man’s life sacred from intrusion. He greeted the banker with a care- less hod and a good-morning. I haven’t any one to interview,” he. said, “no terrible disaster to chronicle, and have left the com- Onplac.s to the lesser lights of our ilk. How did You Jeave the ladies this morning, Mr, Richland? t me hope Mrs. Richland’s indisposition had no later continuance.” ; “It was but a k pean faintness and did not re- Cur,” answered Mr. Richland, with his usual pre- Cision, “I left them both quite well though very Much distressed. You are the very man I want to Se, Crayton. Come in here and havea seat for a Moment.” Crayton went in, nothing loth, to the inner office With its comfortable appofnsinents, its wall fres- Coed, its woodwork carved, its furniture solid, heavy and plain, very careless over the mark of distinc- tion this attention from the banker appeared, be “Mrs. Richland suggested consulting you,” the banker went on, after making his first explanation, and I remembered that you knew something of the person who is Wilma’s guardian, Tor my part am quite bewildered. They will ascertain at the house if Wilma has returned, and upon my word! I On’t know what more you might do unless to sug- Gest the best means of following her up without Making the affair a matter of public comment.” “Oount on me proving good as an amateur de- tective,” said the reporter, confidently, “A man Who is in all sorts of places every day, and has had €xperience with all sorts of people, has a better chance of stumbling over mysteries than others who Night set to work in a more methodical way. "Pon honor, much as I appreciate the compliment con- erred, I must declare that Mrs, Richland is a lady Of decided penetration.” The two were sitting fn consultation still when Lenoir was ushered in. Crayton catching a doubt- ul glance in his direction answered it with his usual concern, “Don’t mind me,” he said, lounging across to a Window which overlooked the street, as apparently indifferent tothe world without as to the two men Within. Lenoir took him at his word. People in 8eneral had a habit of not minding Crayton so long 88 his duties did not lead him to interfere with them. esides it was not Lenoir’s mission to betray any of fhe confidence Captain Bernham had placed in im, “T have come on private business,” he said, “ re- Sarding Miss Wilde. “Regarding Wilma! Have you heard of her, Mr, noir?—what?” “IL am authorized with a message from Miss Wilde's father, Mr. Richland, An acquaintance I ave recently made, Captain Leigh Bernham, who S stopping at the St. Clair now, is prepared to au- thenticate his claim in that capacity. He will give ® best of references for your satisfaction and as- Strance of his responsibility. At his request Iunder- took to transmit his wishes, to inform you of his right, and to ayoid, if possible, the tedious formali- ties of any legal process.” ine : ‘Wilma’s father! Upon my word, this is growing to be a complex affair. My dear fellow, are you Sure there is no mistake about it? Icertainly under- Stood that Wilma was an orphan, without relatives Of any degree.” It only needed this latest phase to disturb Mr. Richland’s serenity to its greatest depths, “ Tt was the general supposition, I believe. Some €arly misunderstanding effected a separation be- tween Captain Bernham and his young wife; he was Called away to duty upon the frontier, and received hews a few months later of her death. Captain Bernham had unconsciously gained the enmity of wife’s father; their marriage had been a secret She, and he was never apprised of his daughter’s €Xistence., Accident and the testimony of an old Servant recently revealed the truthto him, If any culty is put in the way of his cla his daugh- ter he is prepared to put the matter in the hands of & lawyer, but I trust there may be no difficulty when he presents his claim in proper form. He has heard ef your extreme kindness to her, and believed it t to advise you in some such way as this, at the Same time to spare Wilma the suddenness of the Shock an abrupt statement might give her,” |.’ But there % a difficulty,” Mr. Richland asserted. Th Lenoir, don’t look as though you supposed We would throw an obstacle in the way of the child’s Rood. ’ She came to us, almost under protest from Suardian, Crayton here can tell you more o him} I know him ey name, merely, this Dr. Dallas, Whois her responsible protector. I had hoped to Succeed him if any change could be effected in re- ard to Wilma, but your strange story puts an end that expectation, I suppose, . You think the difficulty apprehended will be in °Pposition from Dr. Dallas?” IT know nothing whatever of that person, Jet me peveat. The difficulty lies in the fact that Wilma girs deserted us, gone off in the most incomprehen- Bae and inconsiderate manner. Iam quite used-up euveen the surprise, first from her action, and now © later one of this revelation of yours.” “ d there the story of Wilma's disappearance 48 repeated and discussed with even more tisfaction on the banker’s part than before, buco no newer conjecture of what motive must Drow Prompted her came the knowledge which Wmised ditional disappointment for themselves, Mestever it might portend favorably for Wilma. not selfishly have consigned Leigh Bernham and his claim to oblivion if o ~ ? Sie me AR LSS wr ws heavy a. _) 4 : eee WILMA WILDE. he readily could, but there was actual et in his thought that Wilma was lost to the place in his home and heart which the lack of any child of his own had left unfilled. Crayton, failing a little in his self-absorption, and finding nothing worthy of his attention in the fami- fiar sights of the street, lounged back to his place by the banker’s desk. He had picked up a penand was “ie Said idly over a ‘sheet of blank paper lying ere. “T haven't an idea of how my wife and Ethel will take this added surprise,” said Mr. Richland, as the young journalist rose. ‘“Can’t you spare time to come back with me, Lenoir? I am going back to the house directly. You, too, Crayton. hat a re- lief it would prove on the top of all this perplexity to find that Wilma had really gone baek to her guar- pon Why, Isay! How in theworld did that ever get here?” He had gone across to Crayton’s back, and stood staring down at the scribbled sheet torn in strips now and strewed over the desk, Crayton, pen in hand, scrawled over another line, Mr. Richland’s amazed eyes following him. ‘*Upon my word, I never would have believod it if Thad not seen for myself. It’s the very fac-simile of Gertrude’s hand, the very shade and turn she gives her letters. Improbable as such an occurrence might be at any time, and impossible as it would have been at this particular time since I haven’t been away from the place, it really struck me first that Gertrude must have been heré and left a writ- ten message. Strange how very like. What is it you have written?—‘I, Rose, take thee, Robert ’— was it Robert? No matter, of course. You must be acquainted with my wife’s chirography to imitate it so perfectly.” ‘ “Never had the pleasure of seeing it that I am aware of, but I have rather a facility for running different styles. As for ladies’ writing that always runs in the same groove, sloping and Italian, all hair lines and shades at the curves, a very little modifi- cation will suit the hand to any of the sex.” “Perhaps,” Mr. Richland admitted, doubtfully. Crayton had deftly twirled the fragments of paper together, rolled them between his palms, and tossed the ball so made into the waste-basket, ‘You are both coming?” “Sorry, but I have an engagement too near at hand, noir here can bring back any news there may be to me.” _ Lenoir, arpeed near enough to overlook the little scene fed a quick glance at the reporter’s sallow, undemonstrative face. His keener eyes had read the fragment—‘I, Rose, take thee, Raymond ” —and he had instantly connected the names with the story he had so recently heard. What could Crayton know of it? Orayton’s expression did not betray, and Lenoir very soon dismissed the specula- jon. The reporter sauntered away in his solitary direc- tion, and the other walked briskly through the streets back to the Western avenue mansion. No lessening of anxiety had occurred there during Mr, Richland’s absence. Ethel had just returned from her drive in a nervous flutter until assured that no tidings of Wilma had come. Dr. Dallas had been there and gone, so the hope they had all encouraged that she might have voluntarily returned to his care was ended, That scene in the lib had not gone beyond its four walls. Mrs. Richland had silently fainted in her chair, and Dr. pola, with his own unwearying mig 34 waited the natural course of restora- tidp. A little ee mingled with his waiting before it was quite over. His eye fell on a cut-glass filagon upon the mantle filled with some fragrant es- sence, and he took it down sprinkling the unconsci- ous face liberally from its contents. Then as he ob- served signs of returning consciousness he retreated to a window and half withdrew behind’ the falling drapery, This was through no consideration on the part of the man; it was simply the policy of supreme selfishness. “Give her a moment to come thoroughly back to herself, to fully comprehend the force of the declar- ation I made, and there will be no useless scene, no hysteria or other excess of nervous agitation. Trul, @ woman with her amount of nerve should be a mar: for the sex; I positively thought for a second that she was not going to give a sign. There’s always a tender spot with even the sternest and coldest of them, however, and I flatter myself that I have found self-sufficient Madame Richland’s vulnerable int.’ ; He turned precnay to meet the steady, dark eyes silently watching him, “Oh, recovered,” he said, advancing: from his position within the shadow of the curtain, “And no bad effects from your late shock, let me hope. I see; not even occasion for me to prescribe, Believe me, I would willingly be of service in that way, if at | all necessary. Permit me to felicitate Phe upon our wonderful powers of self-command, . Rich- and; but Ire you were noted for that rare virtue when you were not Mrs. Richland.” There was a smoldering fire in those steady ba now, a burning redness in the closed lips in vivid contrast with the still whiteness of the Eee face —a warning of surging, hidden on-fires had Dr. Dallas rightly interpreted them. She neither no- ticed these later words of his nor made any refer- ence to the weakness which had overtaken her. “Tf that is the truth,” she said, ‘why are you telling it to me now? Why are you not still keeping the secret which you have kept so well for seven years?” ef “Perhaps that very lapse of time may have re- leased ue tom the obligation of it secret; in fact, I may as well say that itis so, You were the smallest concern in my share of that out-of-the-way | \ 4 ir "a L. oo“ % Yr bit of by-play of seventeen yearsago. My patron of the occasion paid me liberally according to his means for the services rendered. Hehad hisown — 4 reasons for rp the child dead; I had discovered “ his hatred of it before it was ushered into existence; but with too much conscience to it the small ‘ life to drift out before it was fairly begun through any gross neglect. It must be rove f to you, that was { his edict. 1 was bound to obey instructions, of course, and I don’t pretend to any particular qualms in doing so. Iwas discreet in those days, and let us Safe hope not quite afool. Idid my bidding in the sim- ey, plest way, and found means to discover all I then cared to know. I discovered what relation existed between my patron saint and my pe what dis- jan torted and overstrained views of his, along with » 3h some personal anny twp a which I put down to a quite a wrong basis then, influenced the ee ter ing which he expressed and from which*he ac : ae traced up the child and kept the remembrance of ) his anxiety before me, letting you drop out of sight ) as a doomed character whose part in the play was well over. It was left me to understand that the dead life which disturbed my patron saint’s mind at a later date was to be yours from that time forth, I have not even attempted to reconcile that d ture from his plans as I understood them. You were to enter some institution of sequestered sister- | hood and be dead to all the world. Whether that was so much duplicity on his part, or if he was over- y ruled by your will afterward, I wouldu’t pretend to ; say now. I retained my knowledge, and my very Mes = friend was happy to remember my service of Aes at time at various intervals in a substantial way during the seventeen years since—reMeniuxn,. : handsomely as his circumstances would permit upon _his death-bed. And only then I suspected for the iF first how much a wider sphere gratitude should Bae have attained in the upper stratum, No more duty 1 was owing to my patron saint, so, manifestly, my eit pr myself is that to be developed next.” Papa i “You mean,” interrupted Mrs, Richland’s quiet , i voice, “that after exto bribes to insure your ee silence from him, all his life, he is no sooner Me than you betray the last confidence he reposed in you. You thnk to have gained a hold upon me which shall answer the same as the power you have | held over him.”’ “Ah, but there you mistake,” answered Dr. * Dallas, with that humbly deprecating gesture, “I | have a taste for mysteries—almost one of: ‘ regular patients can tell you so, and a faculty witch: 7, possibly may xus: into species of harmless mania. | > or following up the same. Let us call it that, and wy say I have a mania for mastering mysteries of this sort. Then there are family ma and family ~ ey honors which might be so nearly affected by the ad same; fancy the gratification of such respon i as having pride and f: honor hanging — unease le ome spoken sb me, age a : some sist’ charming, inexpressibly lightful in the thought.” : . ‘That tells me nothing of what you want or ard of me. Don’t boast or attempt indis table riumph before you have gained grounds for the peu it isin exceedingly bad taste to do so, Dr, as. : ; ‘; ‘‘ And Mrs, Richland is an oracle from whom there isno appeal. ‘Man wants but little here below,’ my dear madame, and my want is most moderate, I want Wilma Hida. epooeny found, and when found, - I want that you n terference with my ~ a ri 0° in own claim which I ine tatee forward,’ “And then you would betray all you know or. fanc, you now, to my tuepand." oe 1 ae ‘My dear madame, r ee | time you have used the word to reflect to Ey ters 5 i vantage. It is the code of the profession Ji to betray. With such family pride oak family honor 7) . as I have already made reference to hanging in the — en”? c f “You might possibly find yourself forestalledin = any disclosure you had to make, You have Shoe Pa ter mé what I may expect from you, Dr. Dallas. Take a ce that lam quite capable of that much Bh ca The flame had made a leap into the hitherto color- , Jess cheeks. Even Dr. Dallas, phlegmatic, design- ing, sing Spa a focliaie, aki oy eee at z e face answe so a astrongrese = olution, and in the nescmete he se the unwont- \ in ed — to turn cold he found himself left, the so: wn, og t of the room, Mrs. Richland’s ? clear, bell-like, vibrating tone without ringing dis- __ tinetiy in his hea ing. ante “* You will find Dr, Dallas in the library, William, waiting to be shown out, Attend to your duty at once.” “ like; eat humble-pie to your heart’s content; trust fon re- it; callup the pathetic story of the earl ee ons ’ ear marriage; gain all the ay mpathy = pit all ie e€ Towe you that much full for - © oe “Mine—my very own—Wilma mine!” were the © words her ftened whispered to herself, breath- lessly, over "and een again. “Mine and 1 never to’ - Am f rare “vat a ‘ oles 2t ie ae ah 4a) OF iy io oe ce ee

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. so very recently—W. . know it, not_to suspect it when ‘Jand’s j 4 my heart yearned over l._rto the strain of breaking.” is . She was invisible still when s.Latham’s car- riage, rolling past the door, deposited Ethel, but ten minutes later, when her husband returned with Lenoir in his company, her quiet, contained presence was the first to meet’ them. __ if it was less quiet, or less contained, as Leneir’s mission was unvailed, not one there had tion of it. - “ Gertrude’s presence always does me good,” her husband had said once, in confidence to a friend. “She is calm, with a reliance which an earthquake would not shock. I don’t believe in men who require a prop, but I’m proud to declare in my wife as pure stuff as ever shone in a Spartan mother,” That stuff, bad Mr. Richland only been aware, shone at. its ase nteat in the half-hour after his re- turn. Wilma ‘claimed by a strange father who had not suspected her existence until less than a fort- night past; Wilma, for whom the father-love and the mother-love had sprung up, and been recognized ilma gone from both; the two separated by such a chilling, dread-inspiring barrier that never in time could they be mutually drawn by the influence which was so powerful with each. There could be but one aim now as conceded b eoerel acclamation—though had they este ne . Richland was mute there—Wilma must. be found, no method must be left untried, and Lenoir carried with him authority to insert a carefully worded advertisement in each of the leading dailies. Later, Erle Hetherville came in with set white face and blue eyes stormily ablaze—came in on his fair fancee as it chanced, quite alone. “What does it mean?” he broke out, with perfect | a tmess. ‘‘ What truth is there in this Crayton pe telling me, that Wilma is gone without rovocation and without warning? What has driven at inexperienced child to such a step?” Ethel wondered at his vehemence, locking up inte his stern face. “We are all very much distressed, Erle. It is true that Wilma has gone, leaving no reason and no . trace. She said in the note she left that it was her duty to go, and that she would appeal to a friend. We are all at the greatest loss withont one trere of a clew to show us in which direction to turn with a hope of finding her.” “She must be found, she shall be!’’ declared Erle, in the same strangely vehement way. But the days wore themselves out, and Wilma’s friends were worn along with them through anxiety for her; but neither Erle’s declaration, which was followed by his earnest action, nor Captain Leigh Bernham’s widely instituted search, nor Mr, Rich- rplexed following of their two examples, resulted inany return or hint of success. .Crayton had faded out of the field almost before the others “engaged in it—faded as well from the familiar | the suffering, frightened taken _ second time that day. the same grave wo BEO, places which had known him daily before, but which now knew him not. Thus for three days, v CHAPTER XXIV. A STRICKEN VILLAGE, THREE busy, anxious days they had been, up inthe little Westmoreland M t typhoid ~ any percep- | | Brooke,” said Miss Erle. | moment later. te Pins eee ee Pe ee ae WILMA WILDE. had gone with herinto the Biffiln cottage, and.stood | "Surely you must know where my weakness lies, down at the two still little | Miss Wilma. And yetI venture to assert that you robed for burial, It seemed a happy , would never forgive me should Iconsent to ruin alk for a moment lookin, forms arene escape for them as she turned away and met the sight of the narrow house overcrowded with the liy- ing yet sharp-featured, unhealthy little faces look- ing out from all sides, another child and the mother taken down with the disease, Prudence had worked wonders in_bringi ness and order out of of the chaos which had reign- ed, but at its best, and subdued by the presence of sickness and death, such a prospect as life there offered turned Wilma sick at heart for a moment and made her glad to get back into the free air, with a chilly breeze rushing through the straggling vil- lage streets, ‘They say some one is wanted to stay with Mrs. coming out to join her a “Gases have multiplied so fast, and | the people here are so inefficient, that those who are | competent to attend are obliged to change from was Sweeping its way with anirresistible force, and | had stricken a third of the population in this short time. Scareely a family where one or more mem- — bers had not succumbed to the disease. One of the Biffin children had died, and on the morning of the third day the still little form lay in its plain casket, Before night another one had passed out of life, and uld receive them hoth, There were indefatigable workers in the midst of ple. Dr. Joy, burly and gruff, and inveighing against the willful disregard of all sanitary measures, until the shock of a mit; like this fell upon them, courting disease by their habits of living, their over-crowded, ill-ventilated houses, was doing his best to mitigate the affliction. His own re round of patients, together with this added s ae had kept him at his best effort for three days and t nights, but the doctor was one of those prickly human burrs that will bristle all over and resent as an injury any recognition of his own warm-h ess, or persistent sacrifice of his own comfort. Tf 1 care to waste any time in blowing up these ~~ foolhard villagers »” Dr. Joy would say, ‘and pun- ‘ge ish themwith p ysics and dregs ae ores to need in this healthy atmosphere, it’s their look- out, not mine. They have no business to leave the door open for the thief to walk in. If they had e advice of Miss Erle there, and drained off agmires at their back doors, three months ey pion have spared themselves the visita- tion, Talka nine cases out of a hundred the people owe such visitations to theirown folly and neglect, For the credit of human intelligence I’d like to see some the common sense brought to bear among the lot, and as long as they shirk that result of their own ac- ‘cord theyll have to take it in the homceopathic doses we can force tori them.” ‘Prudence was invaluable, and Miss Erle spent her days chiefly at the village. Even when not there in person she was in mind, laying Pie and issuing orders for the comfort of her stri went with her, the quiet little hands and gentle voice and sweet face exerting a soothing influence over the invalids until qrutt Dr. Joy, stopping her once, laugh a that her ministrations Pea to riv: own bitter draughts and caustic lectures. ' Miss Erle had driven down to the village for the ening, the wintry sun a ng in occasional cold gleams be- Wilma ’ tween gray clouds massed against the sky. s mH i { ‘ “s \ ut the hand of Providence} In ninety- , ; | tall, thin figure, with an overcoat buttoned to the place to piace as they are most needed. The Brooke woman is low, past hope of recovery the doctor says. Would you mind sitting with her, Wilma, while I visit the other places? She is both tranquil and conscious now.” “IT shall not mind in the least, except to be glad of any chance of usefulness, and if you think Mrs. Brooke will not be alarmed. She appeared so strange- ly and so strongly agitated when I was there with you first that I have never gone back.” ‘“She was wandering then, her odd conduct sim- ply the result of a delirious fancy. She will not now you, but-she does not much notice what goes onabout her. You know the house?” Wilma answered in assent and turned that way, while Miss Erle continued the course of her round. A little brown detached cottage, with a few feet of walk in front, and a gate swinging, as some careless passer-through had left it. Wilma went in, closing the gate and quietly niger, eagsare as her soft knock elicited no response, <A fire was burning in a little polished stove, a few articles of furniture were ranged about ‘the walls, a shelf of shining tinware and common delf filled a corner, but the room was empty of any presence. A door opening into a second room was ajar, and through it she had a glimpse of a narrow bed, with a gay coverlet thrown aver, and a bright rag-mat on the floor before it. She went through into the sick room quietly. No one was there except the prostrate form upon the bed. Mrs. Brooke was in a slumber, which the girl’s silent movement had not broken. Wilma sat down by the bedside, looking compassionately into the sleeping face, thin and worn and touched with age, the hair, which struggled down upon the pillow, iron gray, the hollow cheeks and wrinkled forehead and closed eyes looking deathly in their pallor and hard stillness. She was so perfectly still that with a little thrill of awe Wilma put out her hand to touch the pale forehead, Light as the touch was it aroused the sleeper, and the sunken eyes came wide with a start- led ere up into the young face bending above her. did not mean to wake you,” she said, ‘‘I came to sit with you for a little time. If you can sleep again, do so,” e woman shrunk away, her eyes, startled and staring, not leaving the girl’s face. “Who are you?” she asked, in a hollow whisper. “You touched me, didn’t you?” “* Yes; it was I that waked you. I am Wilma Wilde, ene 5 Ene with Miss Erle. Can I do anything for ou F va No, no,” the woman answered, and lay i Bike ilma’s | that same strange look still fixed upon W face. Sucha steady sort of awed gaze that Wilma grew embarrassed under it first, then restless, with something very like a dread of those fixed, staring eyes. Shé was glad when a neighboring woman came in presently to give the medicine the doctor | had left, The interruption seemed like the lifting of an incubus which had weighed upon her. “Are you staying?” the woman asked, in a whis- r. “Tllnot be then. My man is coming down with it I’m thinking, and my hands are full oe athome, It’sasore day for all that brought the scourge down upon us.” She went, and still the sick woman regarded Wilma with that same intent, curious look. The im- | pression she derived from it lingered with her after- | ward—an uncomfortable sense, a vague realization _ of some meaning or some cause underlying it which had an undefined relation to herself. The sound of a footstep anda lnock at the outer door brought a relief to her sense of i geane She arose hastily, with a desire to escape the gaze which followed her eventhen, She had not dcubted open- ing to Miss Erle, but, instead, it was a masculine fig- ure looming against the gray clouded atmosphere, which obscured all trace of the sunset, A rather chin and traveler’s cap slouched about his ears; for the first instant she did not recognize any thing fa- miliar about him. , “Miss Wilde!” exclaimed the voice belonging to the form. “I fancy I need never be tempted to rail | against unpropitious fates after this, and I should en flock. Wilma | Ae A Si ie ae Dee ats anne | of surprise. Certainly Crayton was the last as soon have thought of looking for you in Jericho! [ wonder if you have an idea of what a hue and cry has been raised after you, Miss Wilma?” His glove had come off and he was clasping her hand before she had recovered from her first start erson she could have expected to meet in the Falling loom, upon the threshold of that plain little cot- tag in the isolated little Westmoreland village, hh, Mr. Crayton, did you follow me here?” cried Wilma, having lost his words in the start her recog- nition of him had sen. “ Did they send you?, Oh, Lam sorry, sorry, if 1 have distressed them much; but indeed I cannot Ro back, If you would promise that you will not mention having seen me.” i t . 7 } neat- | | | here by our future prospects by too close observation of an pulsive young lady’s whim. bp hire you haven’t an idea even of what a service I might do you by merely mentioning our meeting here!” “Tam very sure that the very best service you can ossibly render me will be to_keep silence, Mr. Cray- on, it were possible that any prospect could made tempting enough to persuade me back to them, I should pray that I might be kept in fe apie of it. I am well cared for, and am happy. in finding myself of use here. Iam staying with Miss Erle. Oh, Mr. Crayton, promise that you will not force me to leave ‘betraying my whereabouts to them. It is | best as it is, believe me,” ’ said, wistfully. “If you certainly | Ww \ | yery mission up here by the wa “TI must promise against my better judgment, then. But then, I never could refuse a lady, espe- cially a young and pretty one. I’m not obliged to relate that I’ve seen you here—certainly not. icame on a matter of different business, and because I chance to stumble across the charming object of much solicitude on the part of certain friends of mine just now, it isn’t at all incumbent upon me to betray the knowledge which accident merely has revealed. I see that is the view you take of it. Ve well, my dear Miss Wilma; much gratification as it might afford me to report your safety and your con- tinuance of regard, I must in all gallantry submit to your wish instead.” ‘**T should like them to know,” said Wilma, ‘that Iam safe, and that Ido hold them in most grate- ful remembrance. If I should write just a line say- ing that, and iffyou would kindly mail it in the city and not mention seeing me, it would be the very greatest favor I could ask.” She had come out by his side, drawing the door close so only the faintest murmur of their voices could be distinguished in the rooms within. ‘“T would advise it,” said the reporter, earnestly. ‘Let me tell you, the Richlands are in a terrible state of anxiety regarding your disappearance, which is equivalent to a Greek puzzle to them. Do you suppose you could manage to make out witha pencil and my note-book here? I'll see that it’s put in a form for safe delivery. I rather expect to go back at midnight, and to be busy meantime.” He produced the articles which were gy eka! from an inner pocket, and whistled some discon- nected bars of an air as he Swat away through the gap between the squat little houses while she hur- riedly wrote her message. The air was a keen chill, and Wilma’s benumbed fingers produced a tremu- lous scrawl—her own love and gratitude, sorrow for their distress, an assurance of her safety, and that the course she had taken was much for the best. ‘* And Iventure that yonder is Miss Erle’s turn- out,” said Crayton, as he received the little missive. Ts she waiting there for you?” “Tf you only would promise me again,” Wilma I ill not betray seen me; if you will mail that to Mrs. Rich- will be so truly indebted.” * And as I said I can’t refuse; but remember, the concession is given against my better judgment.” “Thank you the same, however,” said Wilma, havin land, warmly, and leaving him, went down the street to meet Miss Erle, who had stop’ the to consult with Dr. Joy upon the sidewalk. *You, Wilma!’ said Miss Erle, in surprise. “I thought you understood that I meant to for yeu. Just as well, perhaps, since it is so late, and Dr. day has promised to look in on Mrs, Brooke directly, an stay, with her during the night. Did I see you speak with some one here just now?” She had nodded her parting to the doctor as Wil- ma came up, and they were turned on their home- ward way now, “Yes; it was Mr. Crayton,” Wilma answered, “He promised when I asked him to say nothing of seeing me here.” ““You can’t expect it concealed always, Wilma. Crayton! Odd that he should come to the bck, Was he going there, do you know—to the Broo woman’s house, I mean?’ Miss Erle glanced back at the step which was empty now, and the bare outlines of the little house against the gloom. The doctor did not look in there immediately as had been his intention. Another patient grown sud- denly and red per worse claimed him, and it was two hours full before he looked in at Mrs. Brooke's, and meatime Crayton had passed the time without interruption by the dying woman’s bedside, Sure. and slowly dying to her own knowledge, perceptt- bly near death to the first glance of an experienced eye. Her wide, preternaturally bright eyes had turned to meet Crayton as he entered, but fell satan with | their brightness dimmed ina single moment, He, dropped into the seat Wilma had vacated shortly be- fore and leaned forward to look into the pallid face. She glanced up ee with an awakened purpose be- fore he had spoken, perhaps wishing to ascertain her condition first. ‘“‘T don’t know who you are,” she said, in her la- bored, whispering tone, ‘‘Can you write?” “Can and will with the greatest pleasure: my , and I came pre ared with all the necessaries. You don’t know me, ut Ihave the advantage there, Mrs, Brooke, Is it something Ri wish to confess regarding an occur: rence which took place some seventeen years ago? _‘‘ Yes, yes,’ she whispered. rly. “Give me , time, let me t until it is all quite clear, His facé has haunted me, often and often, but I’ve seen it the flesh just of late, and it’s a girl's facenow. 1 know I’m dying, andi couldn’t go into the grave, with the weight upon me. Are you ready tO — (-) sea yes

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+ 4 h wished _ _Sertificate of ‘ Ue cy! i Quite ready in a second, when I put a match to the lamp here.” He did it, shading the flame care- fully from her eyes, changing his seat to one beside the little table holding the lamp, and upon which he spread his material for writing. ‘* Ready, now; £0 ahead, Mrs. Brooke.” toss **T can’t tell it as it should be put down,”’ said the Woman. ‘‘ You can do that, or it will make little difference, I dare say, so the plain truth is there. 1 hadn’t meant to ever tell it, and I don’t know that I Should now but for his face coming up before me, and that girl the very picture of him,” ; She had not much difficulty in speaking in that Whispering voice what was distinct to the reporter’s ®ar, but she was weak, and the continue effort wearied her, and her recital was made at intervals, but Crayton was patient in waiting and helped her with his quick understanding of her broken utter- ances. ‘‘She began: “Some eighteen years ago I was housekeeper for Matthew Gregory, and had been for years before that. He was a very bad man, but still not a hard master, any way not tome. I never could find the heart to blame him so much as others did. He had married a flighty young thing when he was well in his prime, and it turned out unhappily as such ill- matin s generally do. His wife ran away the 8econd year with some old lover who suited her bet- ter, leaving their baby-girlin its father’s care. All that was long enough before my time in the house, Highteen years ago the little thing had grown up to be a young lady, the loveliest creature that could have been found any where in the two cities, and yet She had scarcely been outside the walls of the old house on the Manchester road, Ses for one year She had been sent away to a school. It had been a lonely life for the child, and her father never gave er any care or liking that might be seen in those days. She had been called Gertrude after her mo- ther, but the name was dropped after the disgrace Was brought by the other Gertrude. She grew up without a name until some one who chanced to See her said she was just like a white rose, as pure and sweet, so after that she was called The Kose, and at last Rose. ‘She was seventeen or nearly when a rich lady who lived further out on the road saw and took a fancy to our Rose. Nothing would do but she must have her for a companicn, and she got her way, though the master was bitterly oppo.ed. He ha always meaut that Rose should go into a convent, and he had sent her for a year to a convent school with the understanding that she was to take the vail when she got Heat se with her studies, but she rebelled at the end of the year, and he brought her away again but without giving up his plan. 5 Go went to be companion to the fine lady, She had as much will of her own as Matthew Greg- ory himself, and she overruled him in those two things, in leaving the convent and in going from the old house to the new home that was offered her. He had been bitter hard in his censure of the mo- ther, and he had all his resentment stirred up peainst the daughter now, for all he gave way to er, “There was a worse shock to come to him soon, When Rose 2 per Yash from her employer’s house leaving word only that she had married in secre and had gone to her husband. I don’t know what Means her father took to trace her up. He did it though; he found her out, discovered more than I ew of afterward. , “He came to me one day to say he had discov- €red another person to fill my place. I was all taken aback at that. I had been with him for half a dozen years; I was a quiet body and grown used to silent ways. It struck me at last that the man ad gone mad to be thinking of a change; but he sat Own and explained to me so graciously that 1 was Proud of the confidence he was putting in me, hough his news gave me a sore heart for many a day.” Rose had b»en vilely deceived, he said, She Was living alone at a little out-of-the-way place he ad discovered, where the man she supposed was her husband visited her now and then. The mar had another wife married in secret, too. What Mr. regory wanted of me was to get a place in that man’s house, to find out whether the other wife was & lawful one or not, and which of the two he’d be apt to give up first if it came to the choice. He found that Mr. Bernham, which was the young Man’s name, was looking for a servant, ope who Could be discreet, and when I went to him with the recommendations Mr. Gregory furnished, I had no trouble in getting the place. “If Thadn’t known I never could have believed goat young Mr. Bernham was such a villain, He as so frank, seeming so fond of his wife, who was is true wife without a doubt. She was a foreigner, ® mere child, too, without a relation in the world, 8nd with some fortune in her own right which was €eping them then, The marriage was kept secret because somebody who was expected to leave a &reat deal of property to Mr. Bernham would be Sure to disinherit him if it ever found it out. It Was the very same story that had been told to Rose, 8nd which she was believing in then, My foreign Mistress fairly worshiped her husband, but she had ot temper, and she was dead jealous of him for her love. ‘She told me about their having a quar- ict Once when a very beautiful young lady had aiked so strangely at her Raymond in the street; sho bad been sure it was some other love of his, but th auite believed him, after they had made it up, wan it was all an imagination of her own. She auld trust him perfectly in every thing, she said, ioe She meant’ it, but she couldn’t help her own fe}, Poor thing! mac’, 00k me whole weeks to discover all my old Aster to know, but I did at last. I saw the their marriage by a clergyman known BE ee 10s a Wh ERY } | in the city, dated four months before the time our Rose had disappeared. I found out what I ¢ould of Mr. Bernham’s plans. He had been a military stu- dent, and was expecting his commission now daily, but he meant to resign it rather than be parted from his wife. ‘When he had learned that much, Mr. Gregory came to the house one day when ea See master was out. He had an interview with Mrs. Bernham and he must have told her the whole story. He had been with her a good hour when the bell rung and : went up, and as 1 opened the parlor door I ‘heard er say: **T will go with you and show her such proofs that she shall be convinced, but I will never see him again so long as we both live—never!’ She was dressed to go out, but she looked more like a corpse than a living woman with the glimpse I had bie her vail, She left a note with me to be given to her husband, when he should come, and went away with Mr, Gregory, and I knew then, well as I knew afterward, that she would never come back to that house. I gave the note asl was bound to do when Mr. Bernham came. I never knew what it was she wrote, but I shall never forget the awful look of despair on his face when he had read it. He was like a man gone wild foratime. He shut himself up alone and came out, hours afterward, looking ten ears older than before. He talked with me quietly or a time, not once referring to her, but of the house and what was to be done. He had got his commission, he said, and would leave next morning to join the army on the frontier. He said good-by to me, and gave me my wages, and a reminder, and left the house overnight. “[ think he couldn't bear to stay in it alone. ‘* Somehow I got a restlessness over me next morn- ing to really see him off, and to say a last word,- maybe, for I never could harden my heart agains him though I had tried. I knew what train he would take, and Iwas at the depot before the time, looking for him in the crowd there. I saw him pres- ently, but while I was studying whether or not to push through and speak, the very picture of him came up from the other side. There they stood, face to face, so much alike that I couldn’t have sworn which one was my master. They shook hands and spoke, and then I knew, for there was a differ- ence in their voices, and a change came into their faces as they talked; but I stood dumbfounded and bewildered until they had gone away together be- fore my very eyes. I wasn’ ce at understanding then, but I knew the truth erward, They were twin brothers, and the one that was my master was not the one who had married Rose. But when I was sure of the truth, Rose was gone, no one knew where, and when I taxed Mr. Gregory with having known, he_ advised me to hold my tongue on the matter. He gave me quite a sum of money as I was out of a place, he said, but it was no more thana bribe, as I knew, but I took it, and it’s that has been on my conscience ever since. “Rose died at her father’s house months after, and left a tiny babe that must have grown into the girlI saw here. She has the very face of my young master, which was the same as her father’s face, and a little look of Rose; she oust to know the truth which Matthew Gregory would never tell her, Her father was killed in a battle, I believe; at least that was the report.” That was the story as Crayton took it down from her broken telling of it. All the strength which had sustained her seemed exhausted as it was done. Joy entered at the moment, and after one searching glance at her, turned to the reporter. “Does she want to sign that?’ he asked, his eye falling upon the paper. ‘It must be done at once if at all. e is almost gone.” The dying woman rallied, while, with Crayton’s help, she affixed her name to the sheet with the two men as witnesses; and with her work complete, she drifted quietly out upon the great eternal sea. CHAPTER XXV. CRAVEN DALLAS, M. D. A sticur snow fell during the night, and the air was full of cutting, bitter, frozen sleet next day. It rattled against the plate-glass of the long windows iu the Richland drawing-room, and made a slippery coating over the snow where it was not broken up in the gutters 7 t ‘A bitter day to be out,’’ said Ethel, with a little shiver and a glance at the cheerless aspect. Mrs. Richland looked around listlessly. She had a glimpse beneath the sweep of the ruddy silken curtains within of icy pavement, where occasional forms hur- ried past; a woman, thinly-clad, and shivering, flit- ted before her eyes, a vivid contrast in suggestion of her worn, pinched, impoverished condition to this air of warmth and luxurious comfort. Homeless in the streets! There could be nothing in the thought to strike a chill to her heart, or change the ay. listlessness of her expression. Her - be went bac. to the atthe coals as she answered: was drear ay, indeed!” Observant of the ennuied face, Ethel forbore to ut- ter the thought which had been first in her mind with the sight of the bitter outdoor weather, It had been a sad wonder where Wilma might be on this freezing wintry day; while they had every luxur. about them, might she not be unsheltered, friend- less and alone, Spay . when all this abundance might have been freely hers, : ‘°T fear that Howard is more than half-right,” 1 thought, with another glance at the graceful rife lying idly back in a chair before the hearth, the white, ringed hands loosely folded, and the drooping lashes almost sweeping the fair cheeks. The ace Was like fine sculpturing, as perfect and as i Dr. | ' Studying as sHe looked, she put up her hand pres” still, ‘*Gertrude certain! Jate. She always was quiet and undemonstrative, but she has appeared like one moving ina dream for days past, ever since the day that Wilma was lost to us. ; “ She went out a few minutes later, leaving the ' other alone. Then Mrs. Richland locked up at a lit- tle object which had strangely fascinated her all the morning. It was simply a common-looking brown envelope bearing her husband’s address in stiff char- acters, only such a leiter to all outward appearance as any business-man may receive by the score every week; but common-loo and coarse, Mrs. Rich- land could not overcome an uneasy impression the | sight of it had given her. She had singled it out from the package when the mail was brought in, and when her husband passed it to her inadvertently i. along with the papers and a magazine and a letter for herself, that impression so strong led her to Jet it remain under their cover while he talked on, un- consciously making references to his own volumi- nous correspondence, i “‘ By the way,” he remarked, folding the last mis- sive with his methodical precision, ‘‘f asked Lenoir ' to bring Captain Leigh Bernham around with him if this evening. Itis only right that we, as Wilma’s friends, should extend much courtesy to Wilma’s father, though the slight, if any, has been rather on his side before this. I certainly thought he would - have taken the initiative and called upon us after , breaking the case. Lenoir reports him busy and anxious and half-disheartened at finding no trace, 1 — Lenoir himself is a fine young fellow, by the way— talented and bound to make his mark, I find my- self really attached to him.” : His gaze chancing to rest upon his sister’s face caused her a sudden embarrassment unlike her yt usual control, and making a hurried apology she left the breakfast-room where they were gathered. He turned to his wife with a slightly-troubled expres- My sion, ad “Do you suppose there can be a danger of Lenoir entertaining more than a mere friendly regard for : Ethel?” he asked. ‘The possibility occurredtome once before when something suggested it, but ’'d be ; willing to stake my own honor against his, and of . course he is aware of. the engagement. Ethel is a ‘ very lovable girl, but I should not liketo think that Lenoir is to meet with any disappointment through her.”’ “Did it ever oceur to you, Howard, that Ethel might also care for Lenoir? I have imagined before 4 now that he was even better suited to her than Erle, ty and scarcely doubt that there would have been a ; different result had that childish engagement never ji existed.” : “There might have been in that case, butitdid- > and does exist, and Ethel is too true to d from 7 her duty, no matter for what fancy. Your idea is : preposterous, Gertrude, if it reaches the extent of her wavering from Erle. Hthel is a Richland, and * we have always been good as our word, I believe, ; Why, itis one of our proudest boasts /that no dis- ‘ race has ever touched our family, and I would feel it a blot on our family honor, kept spotless for 4 gence ey, if any thing could induce her to prove aithless to Erle now. A very preposterous idea, has not seemed well of my dear!’’ ‘ ‘If she really could not love the onetowhoma childish promise bound her,” persisted Mrs, Rich- ~~ land, her earnest eyes upon her husband’s face— ~~ ‘if in spite of her own efforts to be true she found o. herself lacking, loving the other as she should the ~~ man she is to marry, could you not pardon her for fa breaking her unconsidered promise, for proving at least true to herself?’ ‘ “That doesn’t apply to Ethel in the least,"he © answered, uneasily. ‘Ethel did consider her © mone a and it is quite too late for even the remo- a, est contemplation of a ¢ . She has not the | pa, drow thought of it, I will warrant. Just as I say; ye a Richland never has been andletmehopenever — may be associated with the disgrace of broken honor, ; = h ee or act.” ft ; " was only a suppository case I was putting, Mrs. Richland said, Guldtly. me Ethel has no idea of ® . proving any thing but true to her word, I am very oy sure pe The conversation lingered with her after her hus- band had gone to his day’s business. ye That inexorable family pride an age 8 of the ; family honor, how could it stand the igh ree ge knowledge and dread of which hung so ten< 4 ingly over her? Ah, better, better far had she never known any thing different from the loneliness _ and rebellious dissatisfaction of her cheerless - ¥ hood days; better that she had borne the weight of va misery which had come to her later through all oo time alone, than that she should have taken up this a new life to result now in the shock of h tion J and er and disgrace which would reflect from her $ to the kindly, generous but proud man who been the best of indulgent husbands to her for fif- teen years. yes She had carried the letter addressed to him which —_— he had missed into the drawing-room, and placed it — in sight on the low marble mantle, and there it had __ lain like some evil tempter before her sight in‘the hours since. The stiff, legible characters of the , dress staring back at her were like a challenge. Cin: ™ cr. Sew”. eee sently and took it from its phage Spe Mrs. Rich- land seldom hesitated when she had once reached a — decision, and she did not now hesitate in mastering the contents of that a vating missive. There fell from the envelope, as she opened it, a card, printed: : Craven Datuas, M. D, and on, the reverse side was written in that stiff mn hand of the superscription: é'

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-.. “Dr, Dallas will do himself the pleasure of caf? _» ing upon Mr. Richland at six this evening,-and - hopes to be admitted to a private audience. He aa ventures to assert that the revelation which author- a>! izes, his demand will prove fully satisfactory to the pb i That was all. Mrs. Richland crushed the card in -, her hand and sat looking into the coals again with that deeply-absorbed gaze which might have been looking ache ech years which were past, or .* forward into that tening future the shadow of 4 which was upon her even now, pes? Later that day Lenoir was admitted into Captain ' Bernham’s a ment, and made known the mission with which the banker had charged him. ; “Go with you to the Richlands; J go there?’ said -. Captain Bernham, taking a turn across the floor , and pushing back the hair from his forehead in ay. vexed impatience. ‘I'll be hanged first!’ Seeing Lenoir’s quiet surprise the captain modified his tone suddenly. : - “T’m not used to polite society,” he said, shortly; ' “Tye roughed it on the frontier with little enough of ladies’ society at the barracks for the greater’ part of the last seventeen years. I’d find myself -*. wonderfully out of place in a fashionable drawing- ; room, I’m afraid. My compliments to Mrs, Rich- land, and that as my reason for declining.” **Let me hope you may conclude yet not to de- cline,” Lenoir urged. ‘‘lam very sure you will not regret it if you once go, Captain Bernham. They are so warmly attached to Wilma and so deeply in- terested in whatever may pertain to her welfare, + a the eet to receive you quite as a erid with bond between you. Let me call for , you at the time I have appointed for going this e: ev y The captain had stopped and was staring bigger out at the chill aspect the street presented. After all, why should he not go? Rose was dead to him, and he was nothing in the world to Rose. He . had thought after that mage at the opera that he should never wish to see her face again, but now an undefinable longing came over him to stand before _ her, to touch her hand perhaps, to hear her speak. an the presence of the man whom she had _ preferred to him there as a reminder, to bring the ’ conviction yet more firmly home to him that a bar- _ ‘rier impassable as the grave itself stretched between - them. A weaker man might have shrunk from such a, trial of himself, but Captain Bernham’s iron _ discipline had stood him through trials before this - and would again. “TI have reconsidered,” he said, when he turned. **You may come this way, or I will take up with you at the office if you like better.” _ Lenoir, promising to return, left him. much irregularity attendant upon the business of a sapped daily, such lack of smooth connection sometimes in its various departments and in the many composing the great whole can always be informed uandine what unexpected duty a de- __ yolye upon him at a moment’s notice. It proved so ' . in Lenoir’s case this late afternoon. Some one of _. the staff had failed in the amount of “‘ copy” which -\. should have been forthcoming at that hour, '. Lenoir make good the deficiency? It was the chief of the staff asking it in the tone which takes for ted the assent which he did not wait to hear. oir, thus appealed to, could and did, but the _ gas was flashing through the streets and the red =. glow of the furnaces was reflected over the city ; and fell like dull stains on the dark, rough surface '. promise to Captain Bernham, ' The latter had come down into the street, expect- ' ing him minutes before. He was pacing the pave- ' before this his meerschaum, his companion now, his tall, soldierly form and bronzed and ~... of the hotel. _ @ ‘The two paused in it fora moment while Lenoir _ .made his explanation, then linked arms and walked a _ away. Inthe time he had passed walking up and ’ . down there no intuition had come to Captain Leigh ’ Bernham of the watchful eyes upon him, no single = /\” quiver warned him of what wistful, longing, despair- my en plas Bey were, losing no motion of his, reading _ the changed, stern face, noting the gray which min- | led in his luxurious be‘rd and tinged the hair, cut Me: _ élose to the massive, handsome head. They followed _. him down the line of nent as the two walked together _ in the direction of the bridge. Then the tall, muffled form, which had been sta- " ~ tioned within the shadow of a doorwa; _ street. When the proprietor of the shop which 40 « YW - /took’her to a din original tenements jostled each other to make room - ' for the handsome compact blocks fast a Layee en | . them, up the steps of one that tad shabby gent “written all over its spindling hight, from the narrow windows, with their flimsy inner drapings, to the soiled white stones under her feet, with rusty balus- trades on either side. Her hand was upon the bell- ty "pull when the door was thrown open and aman ? came out from the | bare hall. She made a step Ei forward ane dropped her hand upon his arm as he ‘oes r. Crayton, I was on my way to ask for you. a's ‘No. don’t turn ) is There is so | movements of its detailed corps, that no one of the | Could | of the rivers, before he returned to redeem his | purpose, ment slowly, that consoler of many a tedious hour | aS 6: earded face | . perfectly distinct in the glare illuminating the front | back, Ionly wished to know if you | | both descended to the “WILMA WILDE. have discovered anything regarding Wilma. some way had an impression that you ee Crayton, never very readily surprised and cer- tainly never taken aback by any such simple, unex pected occurrence, took the meeting coolly, what- ever his speculations regarding her appearaxce un. seve ee at that hour and in that place may have n. “Tsaid before this that you were alady of un- usual penetration, Mrs, Richland, and this proves it. Iam most ha to inform you that 1 have news re- Setarriad Miss Wilma; in fact, it was somewhere near his time last evening that I promised not to betray the fact of iin Rib her to any of you.” “You have seen her? Surely you will not refuse to tell me where?” “Surely I will not,” Crayton answered. They had sidewalk, and he offered his arm over the way. ‘‘Rash promises are better broken than kept, you know, and, truth to tell, I hadn’t an intention of keeping this one. I left Miss Wilma up in Westmoreland with our friend Miss Erle, with abundance of employment in the way of angelic ministrations among alot of sick villagers. She gave me a little note for you, expecting, I rather believe, that I would post it from some part of the city. 1 was just starting out to deliver it in person, knowing how precious it was sure to be to you.” She gave an upward glance into his face to detect if her fancy of a pointed meaning in his words had any foundation, but he was fumbling ata pocket, from which he drew forth a little folded slip, appa- rently quite indifferent to her. Just then they came upon the stronger glare of light and the stir of the crowd which thronged Fifth avenue, ‘ “Did you have your carriage?” Crayton asked, as she paused there. ‘‘Can I take you to it, or send it to you, Mrs. Richland?” “Thanks, but I am not going back now. I will not detain you, Mr. Crayton, ks again for the service you have done in bringing tidings of Wilma, and this from her hand,” “And that cuts short es Me of aseat anda comfortable ride across,”’ soliloquized the nai oh as he watched her disappear within one of the gay bazars lining the way. ‘‘ Whew! what a wind it is. That is too bitter to face in crossing the bridge afoot, I'll be bound.” He took a car from the Sixth street terminus, settling back into a corner, and was appa- rently dozing in a moment’s time. And meanwhile ie Fo Bernham, with Lenoir, had reached the Richland mansion. A clock was striking the quarter-hour as they entered; it was a quarter past six. Precisely as the same clock had rung out six chimes, William Thompson had an- sSwered a summons and opened to Dr. Dallas. “Show me at once to your master,” commanded the doctor, loftily, ‘‘ he is expecting me. Or, stay, where is he? I'll not trouble you, my man.” Mr. Richland was at that moment in the library, and at a word the doctor turned that way. The banker glanced inquiringly at the visitor who ad- mitted himself in that unceremonious manner, and rose to draw a chair closer the fire with true cour- teous hospitality. “Be seated, sir, said the banker. ‘You wished yes. You were expect- to see me, I presume,” “Thanks, Mr. Richland ing me, of course—Dr. Dallas, Craven Dallas at your service, sir. I had the pleasure of informing you by letter this morning of my intention just now put into effect.” Dr. Dallas delighted in smooth, well-rounded sen- tences, and never more particularly than when the velvet of his words covered the inclination and the ability to use hidden power of his own to a ruthless A stiffness came into Mr. Richland’s man- ner instantly. . ““T received no such letter,” he said. ‘‘ Will Dr. Dallas kindly explain what his business may be in brief terms? I am expecting friends at any mo- ment now.’ f Any resentment the doctor may have felt at the change of tone was quickly smothered. “T explained in my missive of the morning that I have a revelation of importance to make to you. I would really rather not be precipitate in breaking it. We medical men learn to be cautious over the chance of giving sudden shocks after knowledge gained from a long course of practice. When you are fortified to hear what I fear may prove disagree- able news—” “Pray say whatever you may have to say briefly as possible,’’ Mr. Richland interrupted him, “Iam a ian of few words myself, Dr. Dallas, and prefer being dealt with after my own fashion,” “Your will is my pleasure, then,” the doctor re- plied, smoothly, but with cold gleams coming into his restless eyes. “It ismy duty to inform you, Mr. tichland, that Psy have been laboring under a mis- apprehension for the past fifteen years, which may prove both disagreeahle and embarrassing in the re- sult. The lady who kindly listened to your suit then was unfortunately not free to listen. She had a former husband alive at the date of her marriage with you; she has a daughter, the issue of that first marriage, alive to-day.” CHAPTER XXVI. WHERE THE DOCTOR MADE HIS MISTAKE, For one second Mr. Richland’s face was a blank. The'astounding impudence of the man sitting there under the glow of his own lights, by the warmth of his own fireside, and deliberately attacking him with an assertion which exceeded all limits of possibility, took his breath for a second, while his comprehension of the peels of i Ba ete slowly. ae ook on and amazement came with it, sti ling into every line of his smooth, florid face. Tnave Mr. Richland was never much given to demonstra- — tion. His was both a generous and noble spirit, but ~ it was not a quick or clever one. This accusation was the furthest from any which ht have gained eredence with him, and except for his bewilderment it had no other result than to arouse his indignant surprise. Open my word, the man is surely mad!” ejacu- lated Mr. Richland, with a half-pit half-an ‘ stare into the sallow countenance, sneering and fore bidding, with the crafty eyes not meeting his own: honest ones, but still watching furtively every change of the banker’s face. ‘You surely are mad, Dr. Dallas, to come with such a flimsy, shameless at- tempt atimposition, Understand, sir, that my wife is above all reproach,” “YT am quite as sane as yourself, Mr, Richland You might be pardoned thinking me otherwise if I had come with an unbased assertion only, but I have the pleasure of announcing myself an eye-witness, an active agent I may say, to a share of what the ac- cusation embraces. I can very positively swear to the identity of the present Mrs. Richland with a pa- tient I had under my care, seventeen years ago, She was the only daughter of my friend and patron lately deceased, Matthew Gregory.” Mr. Richland leaned forward in his chair, a quick change flashing into his face, his lips ing, but sober second thought was there in time to check the impulse which would have led him to speech. Let the man bring forward his charges, absurd and pre- sumptuous as they may be. He was very evidently determined to be heard, and it would be time enough to summon William Thompson to put him out forcibly, if need be, when he understood Ener this groundless revelation was intended to ‘“You were about to deny that,” said the doctor, drawing a quick inference from the other’s manner, ‘* You were not kept in ignorance of your wife’s re- lationship with him then, and that should be one point toward your concession of the whole truth. I certainly assure you that it 7s truth, and I can prove so much of it that I think you will not refuse to con- cede the rest. If you doubt my word you are quite at liberty to callin the lady herself and see how she will face the facts I have to tell. I had the pleasure of wringing a tacit admission of it all from her, not very long since, If Peg want perfect satisfaction, b all means let . Richland have a hearing So.” “You must know that you have made v un- qualified and preposterous charges,” said the bank- er, in the slow, heavy way of a man assured in -his own stand, but perplexed by the movement of an enemy. { could not think of subjecting Mrs. Rich- land to the simple annoyance of aierg, them. You have attempted to perpetrate a most atrocious slan- der, and my advice to you is to drop the,» matter be- fore you further commit yourself. I am witting to overlook this much of whatever malicious intention has led you so far.” “But I have no desire that you shall overlook it, Mr. Richland. I tell you in sober fact that the lady you have supposed to be your wife was the wife. of another man living when you married her, I tell you more, that she is the mother of a child who lives to-day, whom you have had in ro aay house, whom you have known as Wilma Wilde. I daresay it never occurred to you to wonder what was the strong interest your wife found in the girl. You had no reason to suspect, of course, a fact of which the lady herself was in ignorance untila short time since but the maternal perception is strong and subtle and far-reaching, as surely this proves. I repeat Lie wife has never been your wife, and Wilma Wilde is her daughter, acknowledged by her, as I shall prove Mr. Richland breathed a silent inspiration of relief. Not wayering nor convinced by 80 much as a line, such a positive unmistakable assertion necessarily resulted in the extreme of annoyance to him, but this the doctor’s last words had materially lightened. Lunatic or villainous schemer, whichever he might be, Dr. Craven Dallas had surely overreached him- self. Wilma, his own wife’s child—Wilma, the daughter of a marriage consummated before he had ever met her, and existing still when she had taken vows of closest fealty to him! Carefully as he ht have concocted the remainder of his plot, in m nA Me a eae, Dr. Dallas had surely commit imself. In that moment Mr, Richland had a grateful if pagte and incomplete comprehension of what wise orderings are those of the inscrutable Providence ruling all. Not many days since he had been in- clined to regret the chance that had resurrected to knowledge this unknown and unsuspected father of Wilma, who would claim her whenever found; it had a selfish regret springing from his own warm affec- tion for the girl, and his own intentions regarding the future. Now with this atrocious attempt to a base scandal-upon them, the very fact which had been a source of scarcely acknowledged dissatisfac- tion would serve to refute it. What better testimony, than that of Wilma’s father to offer against what+ ever cunningly-woven deceit Dr. Craven Dallas might hawe in readiness? He could almost smile in anticipation of the doctor’s entire defeat, but that | his indignation was too deeply touched to admit of it. That same indignation was very perceptibly re- paige in his face turned coolly incredulous upon the other, “You have been guilty of attempting the basest of subterfug2s, one calculated to inflict the very deepest injury, 1 presume there can be nd doubt — of your motive, and the desire to extort money never led to a.more Villainous endeavor. it haS failed as it deserved to do. I hope it will not be necessary to you in yet more unmistakable terms.”’ fi :

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ee | _« There was menace in both.voice and face, which t Dr. Dallas did not fail to note, but thefact in no way , lessened his complete serenity. ; y the powers! itis a pity to mar such perfect trust, such entife belief in that thing which never haa any existence, a woman’s good faith. You are Hot by any means alone in finding yourself a victim of long and deep deception, Mr. Richland. Iam not departing from the truth in any single statement of thine, as the result shall show—a result which I in- te, and one I fancy you will even consider worth Money to stop before the evening is over. Three years before you fellin love with the present fair ess of this fair mansion, that interesting expe- nce had its precedent in her life, and she was even your sub: ' More easily wooed and won than in ot ps Short and successful courtship. She was married to 8 wild young military student, who called himself Raymond ig Fo It was not his own name, however, but that fact does not affect the validity of the mar- Tiage, His real name was Bernham. Ah, possibly you may have received some hint which leaves my Statement perp seeming less absurd.”’ The banker had given a great start, and his ruddy face turned pale. The effect of that sallow, sneering Countenance opposite, that quietly impressive yet Mhockingly triumphant tone, and the sudden drag- ng forward of the name which had been associated With his own stronghold «f defense, combined, gave tm a start and a stunned sense of having lost some important part from his hitherto unshaken trust. Dr. Dallas had gained an advantage whieh he was Quick to follow up. ? “They married in secret, and lived in secret for a little time, but my old friend Gregory was more than €qual to the portion of caution exercised by the Young people. He had intended his daughter for a Convent lite, and it had beena clashing of two stron, ls between them, and she had first resisted an then conquered in a way Matthew Gregory was apt heither to forget nor forgive. He found them, and © found means to separate them; what means, it is Safe to infer that no living person very well knows. Oung Bernham's commission and orders came in ime to prevent an explanation and reconciliation, if Such might have been made, and a few months later Came the report of his death. She believed it, you can give your wife credit for that, Mr. Richland j but, unfortunately for your case now, instead o eeting questionable honor, death upon the battle- fleld, Lieutenant Bernham had thrown up his com: Mission, and taken himself to that Eldorado—the Mining districts of California, Life in the mines has a wonderful fascination with it, and it is not so range that he stayed there quite as good as dead to People here, so far as his own intervention was con. red.” Mr, Richland had listened with a dread and a sick, ®ning fear weighing upon him, He would have liked to throw the lie back in the man’s face; he wanted to proclaim his own unshaken belief in his wife, and he could onl sit weighted down by that chilling ap; brehension, his gaze held by the cold, crafty lights of the gray eyes turning the full of their mocking triumph upon him now. With an effort he broke the Spell upon him and arose, a purple flush coming into is face, and his voice sounding hoarse and unnat- Ural to his own ears. It is a base fabriction, all of it. How dare you &ttempt to impose it upon me?” t I have dared more with less assurance before his, Mr, Richland. Try me in regard to this if you re, I am willing to substantiate my own state- Ments, If you doubt still, or if you wish further f surance, by all means let Mrs. Richland speak or herself. I_can bring a witness to prove the of her veal husband’s death—not a willing wit- Ness, perhaps, but who will not dare to refuse his testimony.’ Mr. Richland, his hand on the back of his chair, Stood staring in a bewildered way upon Dr. Dallas, ond and confident opposite. The date of her Teal husband’s death; and if there were truth in Shy of this miserable story he had been hearing, that * er husband was alive and expected every moment here in that very house, What horrible delusion did yee, doctor labor under since he could render such a ed impression of it with all these contradictions of ww toconfuse. Mr. Richland could make nothing a it, And while he stood, not speaking, the library Sor was thrown back. f é Captain Bernham and Mr. Lenoir!’’ the footman fpoounced, and ushered them in Pore to berger ders which had been left with him an hour e. for? banker turned his pale face, and Lenoir pressed *rward, with an exclamation of alarm. Ba, What has happened, Mr. Richland? Are you ill? Ve you had any tidings?” his =: ichland, shaking off his bewilderment, gave ne sand with a negative to the questions, and ack- en edged an introduction to Captain Bernham, his ae searching the still disciplined face of the latter, wie hoting his fine, soldierly form—surely a man in 40m he could repose a trust. Rone, Seated, gentlemen,” he said, in that voice Uunding so unlike his own. ‘ You have come at an CEPortune moment, most opportune since upon you, | tobtain Bernham, rests the decision of an accusa- ; tee Which has proved to me startling.and incredible Drs extreme; an accusation made that person, iy Dallas, you, sir,” —to the doctor—‘‘ may explain © doctor’s sallow face had very slightly changed hed Sight of Caplais Bernham, but his eyenbnd taken their shi ting, uneas habit, and, self-acknowl- fo or othe the doctor inwar Ay Pa aie be- i that comman g presence, For all that, he lost eer Of his cool impudence, which also might have mingled with a dash of defiance. rae’ ee 1 n “I have just now made it my duty to reveal to Mr.’ Richland the rather disappointing misapprehension under which he has labored ape the past fifteen years. It has proved something of a shock to bim, as is simply natural that it should. You, Captain Bernham, are a witness J should have been forced to call upon sooner or later. You cannot refuse to bear me out in the assertion that the present Mrs. Rich- land was truly Raymond Bernham’s wife, and that Raymond Bernham’s death dates no further than two years back. Mrs. Richland has never had a legal claim ite the title she wears; she ig Ra mond Bernham’s widow, never Mr. Richland’s wife.” With a couple of long, swinging strides, Captain Bernham stood by the doctor’sside. His sunbrowned countenance was impenetrable as steel, but his eyes flashed menace and warning down upon the banker’s wt ¥ou, king, paltry cur!” the captai ou, you snea iP cur © captain ejac- ulated, in the tense, low voice of restrained is, ‘*You dare to bring such a false assertion to bear against that lady! You, a cowardly assassin, a thief in the night, a miserable hypocrite and sycophant, too contemptible for notice except for the powers you bring into action for the yee of mischief- making. Your charge against Mrs. Richland is false —false to the last degree, She was never my brother Raymond's wife.”” _ : Dr, Dallas, cowering under the suppressed vehe- mence of word and look, raged nevertheless at this open refutation of the charge, to which he would have sworn with the fullest belief of its truth, then or at any previous time. Dr, Dallas had madc one grand mistake in following the clew which had fallen into his hands. He sprung up now, placing the chair between them, for that Rook blazing in the other's eyes gave the doctor some chilling qualms of distrust. “Td swear to the truth of it,” he asserted, dog- gedly. “You know, Captain Bernham, and you eny it because of the fortune in your possession now which will go to his daughter and hers, Wilma Wilde. You know that you don’t dare brave out the denial. You stole the certificate and the letters, which would have been ample proef, that were left in my care, but the oe who pronounced the marriage ceremony is alive yet, and other witnesses may be found. Yow may not find it a light matter to commit a theft and to intrigue in keeping possession of an inheritance which is legally another’s, Captain Bernham.” “Have a little care, Dr. Dallas. You hired assas- sins to attack me for the purpose of recovering cer- tain papers from my possession, to which I fancy no other person living has a better right. You failed once, but you worked more subtly and more suc- cessfully another time. I demand those papers back from you, and for the sake of avoiding your equivo- pdt She and subterfuges, name your own price for em. The banker, more than ever hopelessly bewildered, more than ever —— upon by that heavy dread put back Lenoir, whose quick comprehension had grasped the vaguest idea of the truth, and who would have interposed in aiding Captain Bernham to screen the ‘‘Rose”’’ he had loved and who had died to him seventeen years before. ; “Tell me, for the sake of heaven, what does this mean? That man has declared Wilma to be my own wife’s child; you, Captain Bernham, have claimed her as your daughter. Limplore you tell me the truth! tt is too late for evasions or subterfuges now.”’ The captain turned upon him like a flash, speaking between close set teeth. ‘‘ Tf you have one consideration for your wife, Mr. Richland, do what you can to stop this matter here, Leave me to deal with this fellow, whose motive may be very readily understood. Once more, Dr. Dallas will you take the chance which is offered you, and name your price for those papers, and at the same time this wild surmise you have mistakenly derived from them? ‘You will never find a better chance of making terms. “I tell you I have no papers. You took very good care to insure that, Captain Leigh Bernham, but ou are apt to find greater odds which you cannot ny hands upon before this affair is over. Tl swear to the truth of every word I have uttered, and I'll prove it before I am through. Wilma Wilde shall come in for all that is her due, And, by heaven! if itis forno more than the leveling of all this unbend- ing pride, and in return for the scorn with which she has seen fit to to treat me before this, all here shall be convinced that Mrs. Richland has a difficulty on hand in the shape of a bigamy—that she had a liv- ing husband when she became the recognized wife of Mr, Richland,” 2 ‘ “Put it strong, you charmingly disinterested old Bitter Herbs. Say at once, why don’t you, that the husband of that time is living yet to-day? Make the | scene effective, my dear doctor. Ring up the cur- tain from the mysteries, and call up the grand tableau, but take some friendly advice along with it, and accept the terms our friend the captain is so liberal in offering.” Another spectator whose presence had been passed unobserved, advanced now with a careless nod the little group so worked upon by various strong emotions. The reporter, coming close in the others wake, had admitted himself, and waited, listening, for a favorable opportunity to discover himself, A “Make terms, by all means,” Crayton said. “TIT would advise it on both sides, And, by-the-by, Captain Bernham—speaking of papers reminds me—let me take the occasion to return the wallet, containi something of the sort, which you so kindly loan me the other night. It has served its ad Ad ad- mirably, but I have now no further use for it. Captain Leigh Bernham received the wallet with a suspicious, doubtful glance, which was auite lost to | | i Ne * upon the reporter, opéned ft with a quick Survey of its contents, and with a rapid movement, petors any one could interfere, dropped it u ing coals, where the loose papers stantly. ‘““T’ve another nm the burn- ed up in- per ee a trifling service be- fore following those,” yton continued, coolly. “But first, Dr. Dallas, disappointing though it must be after you have gone so far into the facts of the case, I am positive there will be no objection to having youretire. There isn’t a doubt but that either Ca: Bernham or Mr. Richland here will consult with you at some subsequent time regarding any claims you may wish to present. Just now, an trouble on four part samy make the locality - ily unhealthy for you, A burglar, nabbed and in the lock-up now, is only waiting an opportunity to turn state’s evidence, and, among other interesting items, is one of an instigation to pion a@ gentle which, supported the evidence of the captain ‘ove embarrassing.”’ here, might pr ¢ Dr. Dallas had not accepted his defeat, but he was wise enough to see that his chance was lost for-this occasion. He tooka i rr, Se under the blaze of Captain Bernham’s th rig or Oe bi and the re- porter, with a thin packet in his hand, dropped his careless unconcern as the door closed after ve, with a gloomy and what must have a reluctant look in any except that wild, un- the waiting trio. stood seem caring Bohemian, as he fac CHAPTER XXVI, ON AND ON, Ur in Westmoreland the snow had fallen and lay now in a white, unbroken sheet, with a ian ie 4 “ surface reflected under cold winter sunlight, Winds had drifted it in the hollows and against the fences, and a bank of it lay undisturbed under the; windows of the old Erle homestead. A depressing stillness reigned throughout the house. The scourge of the village had seized upop - its benefactress. Miss Erle was stricken down in the midst of her usefulness suddenly; fatally the whis- oer had got abroad, and the grave appearance of luff old Dr. Joy as he came and went gave no better assurance in answer to the general prea The little village had been stirred aside from its own selfishness by the tidings, and in their own" humble way these often ungrateful recipients of Miss Erle’s bounty testified to the better impulses her unweary ing efforts had aroused in them, Even those mourn py Baie some loss in their own households felt that a heavier loss was in store for them should the watchfulness and care they had resented before this be forever removed. Wilma had scarely left her bedside for thirty-six hours, and now, as Dr. Jo’ patient, he caught sight of her pale cheek and heavy eyes, He beckoned her outside the room with an attempt to look stern, but succeeded better in look- anxious. 5 ‘A pretty kettle of fish this. ’ve got upon my hands,” he said, blusteringly. ‘‘ Next we'll be hav- ing you down along with therest. Isuppose there’d be no use ordering you off to bed, the best place for you so do the next best thing and get out into this” r sh, crisp air, for an hour at least. No, not one word, and as you care to save yourself a deserved berating, don’t you dare to venture into one of those ~ village houses. There never was any sense in a mite like you into those places to get a philanthro- — pic heart-break over the shiftlessness of such miser-" able beings. Be off now, and see that you bring a — ou.”? her as she went out, hooded better color back with The doctor watche and cloaked, a few minutes later, her step listless, — her motion weary and relaxed. “That will neyer do,” the doctor growled to him- ‘ self. ‘“‘An aimless walk in that frame of mind is good as an invitation to the disease, She wants an object, and she shall have it, by George!”? ite made a dash and overtook her at the gate. “Here, Miss Wilma, make this walk of yours of. some account, can’t you? Go by way of my hou and take a ee a to my housekeeper, if you're at all inclined to be obliging: Tell her for me that Vly not be home to-night, and she may send my errand- ~ boy across to meet me at the village if I’m not home by noon to-morrow. “Not much danger of my housekeeper losing . sleep through anxiety for me,” chuckled Dr, Joy, as’ he turned back from the gateway. “A stretch of nervousness that would be which my cross-grained : old Tabitha would scarcely be apt to indulge even — without her experience of a round dozen years in ie service of that slave of all times, a country doc- « Otis duguepatent though it aed have been, Wilma re- seived the message in the best of faith, T house stood a full mile beyond the village, and the sun far down in the west warned her to make haste to accompilsh the long walk while daylight lasted. She had delivered her errand,’ and was returning more Bory as the evening set in. It was asorrow- ful heart Wilma was carrying over the homeward way. She had lost sight of her own troubles in a zreat_ measure in the task which had engrossed her here, but a new sorrow had arisen to suddenly de- or the peace she would have found in this quiet e. to Miss Erle in even this'short time. She had found her an affable companion and a true friend, and er, the tender tie between them was almost roken. The sun was down, and broad bands of yellow and red stretched across the western sky. Aonainatiee ; shrieked behind a belt of leafless trees, and rushed on around a curve into the vi C Wilma, Hage usi ea to watch it. became aware, for the first the, that if Sf ; and — \ was turning from his | he doctor’s <a Her loving, clinging nature had gone’ out — Ie Us ‘ ed e Vi ae + a ‘ " vie nu ee fee i

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74 - Ray 4 @ figure followed her, a woman cloaked and vailed, who lingered as she stood there, and followed again, keeping the same distance. She had taken little notice of the occurrence at first, but.as she observed . that whether she walked fast or slow the woman following timed to her own pace, the fact fixed itself impressively upon her attention. She had reached the pana, and a glance showed her that the at- tending shape was there still. Wilma stopped short then, vaguely uneasy, and waited, determined to let the vailed figure pass, and so rid herself of the dread nich was stealing upon her. But the other also wased, and after a moment’s hesitation turned and fy alked swiftly away in another direction. She had been gone full two hours before she reached the old mansion again, and if she had not a) ah obeyed the doctor’s instructions in bringing back a color in her cheeks, at least she had gained a firmer elasticity of step, had shaken off the worst of the weariness which had weighed upon her. light glowing within the curtained windows of the allor, another one glimmering faintly above in Miss le’s chamber. She went up the steps and let her- self into the parlor. It was a large room, and now a cheerful blaze upon the hearth and a bright flame | from the chandelier left shadowed spaces, and Wil coming from the dusk and chill without, into the light and warmth, was not aware for a moment that the room held another presence. From this lace in the shadow the former occupant watched for a moment; the small face, with saddened eyes, looking down into the fire, the soft, dark hair = ae about the low, wide forehead, and falling in Joose curls about the slender throat, just as he had her ym potographed upon his mind, except that he had loved to think of her with a happier look. She was slow in panei, the floor at her side, t she did glance around at last. Glanced about to find herself face to face with Erle Hetherville. For @ second her breath was stilled, her heart beat irregu- lar and faint through the surprise of seeing him. He ‘had expected the meeting, and was greeting her with a brother’s affectionate kindness as she re- covered from the faintness, which came and went within a brief moment. “Wi dear child, knowing you were to be found here has lifted a dreary weight from the minds of your friends. And yet you are scarcely looking well, 1 can understand that you, too, have been around asa step crossed '. , worn and weighed upon.” ' added happiness ‘ saying tt presen’ ““And you—we were not aq wae you . before ~ morning, or, at the earliest, the Joy sent a ang, only some three hours ago. diave you seen Miss Erle?” “T received no telegram, and I have not yet seen {my aunt. She was asleep when Icamein from the depot, scarcely five minutes ago. I shall go to her soon as she awakes, but first I have a surprising revelation to make to you, Wilma,” A fear was in Wilma’s eyes rather than any wonder of ae aay , afear which was not realized in this delivery of the mission with which he was ¢ . Her father alive and returned and waiting to claim her, a father’s love ig ped her, a bright future lying before her! Her father near her even then, and awaiting only for the tidings to be broken, keeping his own impatience in check, and coming within the hour! ‘I'hat was the substance of what farle told her, as they stood there together, sa near yet so far apart, with a painful remembrance of their last speaking together stirring even unde the force of the tremulous surprise, half-delight and half-terror at this revelation; the sad certainty of the change which was to come soon to Miss Erle. But still that haunting fear lingered, and she could not put it into words; and there was asubdued some- in his manner which was owing to more than his own sorrowful anxiety. _ As they stood talkin; agtieed Dorothy Seared 4n the doorway to say t Miss Erle was awake and eretered see other e bed, shocked to note the change in her in this short time. She had lain in a stupor for the most part of her two days’ illness, the uncon- vaca ells g sad varied by flashes of raging fever, and oc- vasional lucid moments. She was conscious now et xe could say but little as he sat beside per, Rerane one hardly parted right when I was here last, dear aunt Erle,” he said, holding her hand closer. “7 want to tell you at once, if it will eve you ay that the old way is the same still, J never broke with Ethel, and she has named New ‘Year’s day for our wedding.” A troubled expression disturbed the serenity of tthe wrinkled, and yet fair old face at that. * And is it truly for the best, Erle? I was wrong ‘then. I have changed since, but I knew it even then ‘inder my own stiff , bad pride. But I have realized ait prieee sice since Wilma has been with me, andI have ed to love her, and to know how worthy she is of even you, If it could come to pass again, Erle, I would never utter one word to influence ou,’ “Tt would have been the same, dear aunt. I was found to consult Ethel’s wish and happiness first. I made my mistake in supposing she would meet me more way in cance the old bonds. I shall not be unhappy with Ethel: I do tenderly and dearly care for her. It was the best assurance he had to give her, and tt did not now satisfy Miss Erle. She lay gathering stren for what she had to say, an , Slowly and a little brokenly. last breath shall be a prayer for your truegt y Ae ih aha at aa ees Ota Ke ar Pe art DS cri eR Oe Be Oa og ae nephew. He leaned over , There was | ‘ happiness, Erle. WILMA WILDE, ; There is something more. I filled out =e will that night, after you ha it ready for a long time, but something always kept me back when I meant to put inthe name of the heir, to sign and witness it. I did it that night, but now I want to have it changed. I must have it done so0on—directly !”’ “Tf you mean that you have left all away from me so much the better. I have surely enough a you as surely have disposed more wisely o “T have thought of that, and shall leave you only some simpJe remembrance and my blessing, Erle. I want to make a provision for Wilma,” ‘** And even that need no longer trouble you. Wil- ma is well provided for. 1f it is not distressing you to hear me talk, let me tell you how.” He told her then, omitting all the B pecs details, of the great good fortune which had even then come to Wilma. Even then, in the parlor below, Wilma had met her father, and between the two, thestrong, bearded and bronzed, soldierly man, and the slight little , creature, whose childhood had been so forlorn , there sprung into quick realization all the powerful , derer, upon whom we can Lever urge a claim. strength which is ever reciprocated in the love of parent and child. In the hours they were left alone together Captain Bernham told to Wilma the whole story of that early wedding, and of the rting, to which he himself had so recently obtained the key. ** And now, my child, we must find the dear . e knew that the revelation was inevitably to come, and she fied before it from her husband’s home, let me hope not entirely through fear of us. She be- lieved me false and dead, she believed our marriage | no marriage, and the child dead to her from its nking it only Dr. Joy, but ., birth, a waif of disgrace, and if power of mine can effect it she shall believe so still. She is the wife of a noble, true-hearted man, one whom she has learned to love and revere. She had poe you the daughter of my brother’s wife, whom she thought to be my wife, whose jealous delusion helped lead to that long train of misery, and who died in forward- ing a revenge upon her supposed rival in Matthew Gregory’s house. But she knows the truth at last, she knows where to find you, and she is sure to come here. She may be somewhere in the near vicinity now.” “Do you know it was in the hope of sparing my mother that I left them?’ Wilma asked. ‘‘My mo- | ther! And, oh! why did I not see before!” with a ate night train. Dr. | | | | | moughtn’t get away to fetch it then. quick catching of her breath as there rushed across her a remembrance of that vailed, muffled figure which had followed her. “My daughter, what?’ ‘She 7s here; she has been here, and she may be — before this. I know that it was my mother.” And then Wilma related the occurrence of the even- , ing which had impressed her with such strange un- easiness. ‘* And she may be gone before this,” said the cap- tain, with a groan. ‘‘ While we have been losing time— Hark! there is some one asking for you, Wilma.” A tap at the door amoment later and its opening verified the accuracy of the captain’s sharp hearing. A half-grown village lad stood there, a messenger who had come up at this late hour to make inquiry after Miss Erle. “T ha’ got summat for you, miss,” explained this appearance, staring wide-eyed at the surroundings, while his hand went in search of the pocket some- where concealed in his ed garments. ‘I wor- runt to ha’ brung it to you till the mornin’, but I I goes to the quarry now that the old man’s down.” “Tt was your mother who waited on Mrs. Brooke; I remember now,” Wilma said, encouragingly, as the boy’s embarrassment seemed evident. “Yes, miss, and it’s from the one that’s taken up after her. There it is now, and the old woman says she’d bet her eyes that this one’s a lady ‘cause she shows it and no showing off neither.” Wilma had got hold of the paper which he pro- duced at last, and Dorothy summarily hustled the lad away. The slip of paper which had come thus rematurely was a fragmentary outburst, betraying nore the burden of her anxiety had weighed upon the writer. ‘* My own dear child—mine—I may call P44 so in this way now that I know the truth. had not meant to reveal myself by so much as this, but you also have known, and so near you it is taking all my will to refrain from once seeing you, once taking you to my heart; and I dare not so tempt my own resolve. Icould not go quite away without once looking upon your face again, but when I followed you this afternoon and thought ou recognized me There followed some illegible words. Then— ** Something strange is coming over me, but I have been without rest, [have shut myself in an armor for so long that now when I lay it downI am lost. Pity your mother, little Wilma; forgive her if you find that which shall need forgiveness. As for me I shall go on and on—”’ : ae there the writing ended in a broken, waver- ine. : "Tt alarms me,” said Wilma, in quick, low tones, looking with the a Leper ay she could not put in words up into her father’s face. ‘We must £o to her at once; you may save—Hea- ven knows what!”’ But it seemed in the time after that, that no earth- ly power would suffice in bringing relief to the tem- pest-tossed soul and worn-out y whose poor e was in the cottage where so important a part been brought to light of the great mistake which had resulted in such manifold misery. She always the strick- y her burden and outahope. Onandon! She was surely going ” was again the Rose of times pe ree gg er Rose, weighted left me; I had / into the depths of the Valley of the Dark Shid6w- x ———os CHAPTER XXVIII. A HOLOCAUST, “a Tue banker sat before the fire in his own bed- — chamber, a bright dressing-robe contrasting with the purplish pallor which had come into his hithert0 — florid, contented face. It was the morning of second day after the bitter revelation of truth come to light, the morning of the second day sinc? the wife who had been his pride had taken flight be fore the consequences of that revelation, and now it was the lack of trust in his generosity which linge with him most. The blow had fallen in severe force upon Mr. Richland. He had given way before it not so much with the yielding of a weak character, as with the stun of a shock which had bewildeé: and suspended the forces by which he had regula his entire life, and failing now left him helpless 28 4 child at this emergency. Ethel had just left him for a moment, and in het absence, Crayton, admitted below, made hig wey be to the banker’s room unannounced. Mr, Richian' looked up with a start at seeing him, ‘Ts there any news?” he asked, with tie tremulous eagerness which fears disappointment, ‘Have yoU heard anything of her?” Few looking into the banker’s changed, worn fac? could have resisted a thrill of pity and sympathy, and the/reporter’s, if concealed, was none the 1es8 genuine. ‘There is news, Mr. Richland; a telegram from Captain Bernham. They have found her, as I wag sure they would, up there in Westmoreland, wheré they have gone. They heve sent the word to havé you join them there.’ What was there in the reporter’s tone to strike such quick dread to the banker’s heart? Slow realize eyen the consequences which must come himself, the scandal of publicity which could 1? well be avoided now, the humiliation of that uD compromising Richland pride, the honor of th? name tarnished, and through one he had trusted the uttermost, his perceptions were proving unusua” ly quick in all concerning her. “*She has been much troubled, the weight of 8? much dread hanging over her had worn her dow2: She has been ill up there. Captain Bernham you urgently to come at once, if eperenes and by your presence stop the rumors which may otherwis? et afloat. If you are able to go by the afternoo? rain, so much the better.” “Now—any time, Ill, and away from her ow® home? My poor Gertrude!” . ; The banker had roused himself, speaking with tremulous excitement, but with his voice breaking suddenly at the last. There was more upon mind than he had yet hin utterance to. The sub- ject he had pondered through the long hours of the night and day was struggling in his mind now. look fixed upon the reporter, and a confidence # him which had grown notwithstanding the p# Crayton had taken in raking to light these long-co® cealed facts, yee him to speak. “She has been blameless through all,’’ he said. “Sheis dearer to me than my own life, and sb® neverwas mine. He was the husband of her youth, the father of her child, and yet—oh, my God! must Lave her up? Iask you to tell me, in all truth and honor, what do you think will insure her future happiness best?” here was a huskiness in the reporter’s voice which he could not quite command, a twitchid about his inouth that betrayed the true manly feel ing which had never been wholly lost under his wil’ ful self-neglect. “On my soul, I’m sorry for you, Mr. Richlan but I do believe she has cared for him all along. do believe that the assurance she seemed to hav® of his falsity would never have prevailed upon he? to enter upon a second marriage had she not als? believed him dead, I think that since she discov’ ered him yet alive she has suffered tortures which neither you norI can understand, which would her or drive her mad to longer endure,” The banker wrung his hand, turning his face awaY to conceal the spasm which con it. “YT believe you are right, Crayton. He is a noblé tellow, Captain Bernham, and better suited, lov ber as truly aseven I. I don’t think I can mistake my own duty now. Will you kindly let Ethel kno of this? She will go with me there, of course,”’ “There is another matter to be considered, Mt Richland, that of the mischief Dr. Dallas's maliciou§ tongue would de, I really believe it will be bette” for all concerned to buy him off; while the matte! must inevitably be made a nine days’ wonder, # least let it be presented in its truthful form, with 0? zitsap prehension to reflect upon her. I am willi to undertake compromising with him, if you care leave the task to me.” “I shall be glad to have you do so. I'll give you an order for any amount you like. Or, now I re member, there’s a package of bills in my eseritoir@ there, which I intended for Ethel, if it is enoug}- Will you look?” : Crayton got out the roll of bills under the other# direction, and ran over the amount, “Enough in plenty, Mr. Richland. A thousand dollars, and trust me that the old fox doesn’t ge! more than half of it.” He met Ethel on his way out, and stopped her t? deliver her brother’s message. “TI eould not quite give him the full impressio?® ’ “Ty ee ghe I derived from the Meri Set he said. is much more seriously ill than I led him to imagin® It might be as well to prepare his mind for a gre@* change before he sees her.” —_,

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_ ,, ‘Poor Gertrude!’” Ethel sighed, tears in her eyes. “And to think we never knew the suffe She must have borne; so true, so noble at heart, 8nd believing she had been so eg hiding her Wound from that bg through all these O pee and filling her entire duty in the househol heré and to my brother, with her own passion never be- trayed. Oh, it was hard, hard! We owe much to you, Mr. Crayton, for discovering the truth which May lighten her burden for many years,” Lord knows whether it has been productive of 800d or harm,” said the reporter, toomily, “Tf Can’t lay claim to any particular g intention in -drageing the secret facts to light. There’s never Much good in anything I’ve had a hand in, Miss Ethel, and I followed the clew I got of the story With about as little aim as I’ve put into the rest of thy life. I had a curiosity to see where it might lead , and if there was anything better in my share of the affair, it was a vague a of sparing you some Shock and pain by forestalling Dr. Dallas, who was On the same track with a worse motive. Yousee you have very little to thank me for.” ton did not go directly to the old house on the Manchester road. It was near evenin : sig ‘na er he Inade his a rance there, two hours Seen eRe hers and his sister aboard the train for e Westmoreland village. The doctor met him in a sulkily defiant mood. He had expected some overture before this time—some attempt to make terms and to insure his silence, and More than ever he had fixed himself in his resolve to Maintain the stand he had taken, to hurl all the forces of his malignity against the fair, proud Woman whose unconcealed scorn had made of him & bitter enemy. Dr. Craven Dallas was eminentl, Mercenary, but there was a venom in his cold- blooded composition which could at times reach be- yond his covetous impulses. In his Pop cee! of that Right he had failed to comprehend Crayton’s de- Claration, which might have made clear to him his own mistake. ; He was in his laboratory when the reporter let him- Self in with his usual lack of observing formalities. r. Dallas met him with no very well pleased ex- een, but the reporter was there, and not to be uffed. a “A rather bed habit that af eax} oe Fone: Oor unlocked,”’ he coolly he. Chair. “Of course you are Yelighted to have me drop in unannounced, at any time, but you might Chance to have some more unwelcome visitors. You ve been very successful for a considerable time, Dr, Dallas, but mal-practice and extortion through lackmail, and instigation to assault and robbery, tIhight succeed in = ar, 3 you into even more dis- ee quarters than these. What a confounded Odor you keep here, by the way, and hot enough to ve a fellow a foretaste of what] he may expect at he end of that path which sports good intentions in Place of a Nicholson pavement.” 4 “Tt might be made a short step ‘between places,’ the doctor answered, grimly, with a glance at his Charcoal furnace and & mixture bubbling in a vessel Over it, : The reporter made known his business shortly, With no useless superfiuity of words. “You don’t deserve anything better fi+ your in- terference in the case than a trial on the charge of attempting to extort money unlawfully, but of course ou know yourself secure so far as a complaint tom them is concerned. I have been authorized to ascertain what price will secure the silence of that mnischievous tongue of yours. You know me, Dr. Dallas, and you know I could easily bring testimony to bear which might end by loading you at the State’s expense for a respectable term of years. Take my advice and name a reasonable price, and Wash Fanaa hands of all things pertaining to the affair from this time out.” “No argument and no offer of Peet Xb induce me,” the doctor answered as coolly, ‘‘If you want any result to offer in way of interviewing, Mr, Cray- ton, take this; that I mean to reassert my right to command the actions of my ward wher she is brought to light; that she shall inherit the fortune which is hers by right, and that the Richland pride Shall be brought to a lower level. You have some- thing to learn yet if you have never realized that there is sometimes more satisfaction than money fained in a grand stake of revenge.” “You are apt to find a small obstacle in the way of your estimable purpose, however. The fact_is, ou have most ously deluded yourself, Dr. allas, You will find a difficulty in assuming any Tights of guardianship to Miss Wilde, since she is at Present under her own father’s protection, Acute as you déserve to be rated, my dear doctor, I really can not comprehend how 7 so blindly exchanged the identities of the brothers Bernham. Captain Bernham is fully qualified to hold. his own against even you, I imagine.” A as he ight, Dr. Dallas found himself over- Teached, and the end was that he took up with Crayton’s offer, his good faith being assured by the Close knowledge of certain transactions of his which the reporter held, together with a self-con- Viction that Captain Leigh Bernham was not the Person he might wish to provoke to further anger or action. It was notin the doctor's nature to accepta de- feat quietly, and the bitter disappointment of this one must have blinded him. He went back to his Mixture over the charcoal furnace as the reporter left him. A shelf near was filled with bottles of Various sizes and shapes. The supposition is that 1 he took down the wrong one and added to his com- “pound, Crayton, Sr descen: the steps, felt them rock _ Under his feet, and a dl explosion. Mrs. ___Gerritt. in the opposite wing. was momentarilv Ta Sone 1 z , , t f the as ~~. ~~ ea. 2. 4 a we, i Gey 4 TP: j WILMA WILDE stunned. The reporter, rushfhg in. to burst open the door of the laboratory, was met and driven back by a sheet of flame. Out of the way as it was, and its timbers inflammable [as tinder, the old house on the Manchester road was a holocaust which still could never suffice for the misery bred within its walls. From the still smoking es was taken a shapeless mass, which was given a burial in that same crowded, shadowed churchyard where Mat- thew Gregory had been laid. CHAPTER XXIX, AS IT WAS, Tur last of the dreary November days had worn away. December followed them and the new year was ushered in, Mellow lights glowed in the parlor of the old man- sion up among the Westmoreland hills. There have been changes there since the eventful night of Wil- ma’s coming infrom her walk to the doctor’s house, An eventful night, and one when the saddening ele- ment held its supremacy, for Miss Erle, holding fast to her nephew’s hand, had passed from a light shum- ber into a sleep which knows no waking, and at the same time, in the little bare cottage in the village, the anxiety which had awakened in the hearts of the watchers chane was deepening, with how good cause they afterward knew. i Miss Erle was laid to rest beside her kindred, In a uiet spot there among her native hills, followed_ by the villagers, who, failing to appreciate all she had been to them in life, came to a recognition of the full measure of their loss with her death, Another funeral cortege at a later date, an imposing proces- sion, went out from the Western avenue mansion, where the marble remains of that dearly loved wife of two husbands had been conveyed. A white tapering shaft in the Allegheny cemetery marks her rave, and the world is none the wiser for the pain- ful drama of her life. It is Ethel who sits in the parlor of the old house up in Westmoreland, this evening of the early new ear. Miss Erle’s will, which was never changed, had left the bulk of her property to Ethel. Besides there had been some charity bequests, and Erle would not hear to the renunciation which Ethel urged. The house in the city was unbearable witha sorrowful reminder at every turn; and it was Ethel herself who had proposed returning here, Captain Bernham and Wilma were here as well, at Mr. Rich- land’s urgent solicitation. Their mutual grief had resulted in knitting those four more closely than = brightest prosperous ffiendships ever could have one. Erle had gone back to Hetherlands, and despite his sincere mourning for his aunt, he was lighter- hearted on his journey than he had been for weeks before. The cause of it had come about most unex- pectedly to himself. He had gone into Ethel’s pres- ence, one day, as the holidays were drawing close at hand, not shrinking from the duty which prompted him, but with a depression which revealed to him- self how futile had been his effort to return the full ardor of his wandering devotion to the allegiance where, in all honor, it should belong. The trousseau had arrived and been packed away from sight, in those darker days, and no reference made to their previous plans, until Erle broke the subject, a trifle abruptly, on that occasion. “It has come to a time when I must speak to you regarding our marriage, Ethel,” he had said. “‘Lleave it entirely to your decision if any change shall oc- cur in our plans, It seems ill-advised to be speaking of this so soon after the sorrow which has come to us both, but ours has been a quiet, long-standing be- trotha], and I think it is your brother's wish that there shall be little as possible deviation from our first arrangement. It is my desire as well; and if you also agree, we will still be married plainly and privately, upon New Year's Day.” There was a troubled light in the soft, hazel eyes. as Ethel heard him, but the pure fair face was quiet in its resolve. ; “There must be a change in our plans, Erle—one of which I have been wishing yet dreading to speak to you. I scarcely know how to tell you, even now. This great grief of Gertrude’s death, and the knowledge of all she had borne, has shocked me to a comprehension of the great wrong I might have done us both, I do not love you with the love I should hope to bear my husband, Erle; I know now that Inever can, I would be doing a great wrong to marry you atall. Howard is needing me, too, and my duty, the gratitude and love I owe him in return for long years of watchful tenderness, is to devote myself to him from this time forth. rle made a remonstrance, pleaded strongly even while his heart beat quick at thought of regained freedom; but Ethel remained firm. And _s0, at last, he had accepted his dismissal at her hands, and gone back to Hetherlands. Hehad spoken no word to Wilma. She was sodeeply under the cloud yet, of the sorrow which had come upon her; her first duty was owing yet to the father. who for so long a time had been bereft of wife and child. He could be content, he enought Wich this measure of ht- heartedness which had come to him—conten to wait a fitting time to tell his love again to Wilma. Ethel, eens ne the firelight playing over the somber mo ng dress she wears, the Land from the chandelier lighting the bright hair and the pearl- like face, is t sadly but not gloomily of the many changes. There will be still another one when spring opens. They have made all calculations for a trans-Atlantic journey—her brother, Captain Bern- ham, Wilma and herself, Her brother’s faili health is the first object promp the ce, a will bé better for all: of them to removed from ations of these familiar scenes. She is re- » ¢ : & as aie Se F ae mes oP ee ae, af y age? ols" aA | loved, cherished wife. calling some vague reminiscence of that other Eu- ropean tour, her brother’s wedding-tour, when she was a very little child, as the door opens end she looks up and rises with a slight cry, as, with quick step, there advances to meet her—Justin Lenoir, She has thought him gone to his new field of action before this, and his sudden appearance is a surprise from which she does not recover at once. There is something which is not embarrassment, but an ea- ger excitement i down as he holds her hand for amoment and utters those commonplaces which people always use in greeting. surprise and wonder, and he answers her. has delayed him. first assurance of its success. She always been sure that it would succeed, and says so now, and it is a truth that he finds as much delight in her simple faith as with the favorable reviews with which the critics have seen fit to receive it. “I shall be ready to go within another week,” he said; “ and this ieccrappy Dat I have met has sulted in placing me better even than 1 ho for the new work Iam to take up. I should have gone without ering Oh again except for a recent chance meeting with . Hetherville. (That chance meet had cost Erle more trouble and maneuvering th: either of them was ever to know.) Oh, Ethel, Ethel} I know sf are free of your own accord, and I dare to pl for a what your heart withheld from him. [I have loved you since we first met, u in the mountains, and I never could school myse uite to be reconciled at thought of ever losing you, is asking much now and offering so little except my love, but if you can trust to that I shall be the His boo! She remarks her, It is just out now, and he has Mista Y oh. most blessed of men; I shall strive to gain much for * your sake as I never could have striven alone for my, own advancement.”’ thel, finding her hand clasped in his again, say- ing not a word, did not resist when he drew her Pigebing, happy by er bg. shoulder. ‘“My darling, my darling!’’ he repea ti all that the concession from her Bi it onie. love, and you were my love at first sight. d you know that, Ethel? Tell me, my own, when ‘did you know first ge, Ee could care like this for me?” ““When I you first, pale and wérn by over- work, last summer among the mountains,” she an- swered, truthfully. Mr. Richland was less surprised than Ethel had expected he would be when the announcement of this result was made known to him, The old pride, which had always been his worst fault, had been humbled. In its place had come a softer, better sentiment, which shone ee bright at what might have been a little lingering, concealed Gin pointer os pes ee ner ut. he had had is lesson, bitterly hard, and he was not lacking in approval of Ethel’s choice, he marriage was fixed to take place in early spring, and the time between seemingly flew away . upon lightning wings. Lenoir was assured of ob- taining leave of absence from his new situation, whioh he retained at his ownand Ethel’s desire, notwithstanding Mr. Richland’s urgent representa- tion that such a course was unnecessary, since Hithel / and Ethel’s husband should share equally of his, —— ses oe young people were firm in declining 8 generosity. Fnstin has his own way to work out,’? Ethel said, with a glance which showed how entire her beHef was that he would make it, ‘You must not spoil his chances by depriving him of achief incen-- O Thole bata ‘hee been changed : plans en only this far, that £thel should return with her neabend after a’ brief two ges spp ons hey 78 of the tourist y to own time and their own pleasure a soph yn of the pe ? ee was a@ very quiet marriage. An in on. was dispatched to frie to be present u on tk occasion, and a half a dozen hours after the letter containing it had been mailed he came in upon them unexpectedly—almost. ; ieee oo = - or me," he A hi 3; and then with real pleasure the tidings be had crossed on @ way. s Later that same day he succeeded in Wilma alone, # i his intention he had caught the slender little form ner, close in his tego ore golden beard gt ng across her dusky hair, and his bold, blue eyes loo ing down upon her cau dark ones to fall “Mr, Hetherville, for shame! Let me go!” “You shall never, never go,”’ he answered: her, |, “never until you have pro her own shy, soft, I don’t exact any promise of your loving me,” he laughed. ‘Iam very sure of. that already. Guileless little heart, it could not con- ceal the truth from me. Ihave your father’s con- sent, Wilma. My own little love! Can you and will you be ha py with me?” ; “Dear Erle, so happy that I am frightened.” — - There was a double wedding, of course. Crayton was there and ate of the cake, and drank the health of the two young pairs, and was the wild, reckless Pherae évenunder his forced good™ behavior of e day. of impulses and habits, who, with versatile ability will never achieve a pore in life, As such, let us leave him, for there are sure to come darker _ hours and worse recklessness before he is done with life-in the true Bohemian way. THE END, m the * wer of attraction was too st: fas heard | a and before she could even ont f ed to be my own! He is that still, one of those talented men ~ | , »

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Beadle & Adams’ ine nd bra. ° i ‘ 74 se gezeunuverete > s+, | .~ Ti a 8 ee Fu VE 3 +g aoe +? DIME NOVELS. Incomparable in Merit. Unapproachabie in Price. 338. Tahle, the Trailer. . The Boy Chief. 840. Tim, the Trailer. S41. Red Ax. $42. Stella, the Spy. _ 343, The White Avenger. 344. The Indian King. . The Long Trail. . Kirk, the Guide: " The Phantom Trail. . The Apache Guide. . The Mad Miner. . Keen liye, the Ranger . Blue Belt, Guide. , On the Trail. . The Specter Spy. Old Bald Head, . Red Knife, Chief. Sib Cone, Trapper. The Bear Hunter. . Bashful Bill, Spy. The White Chief. . Cortina, Scourge. . The Squaw Spy. Scout of °76. A ater Jack. . Masked Spy. . Kirke, Renegade. . Dingle, the Outlaw. . The Green Ranger, 368. Montbars, Scourge. . Metamora. . Thornpath, Trailer. . Foul-weather Jack. . The Black Rider. . The Helpless Hand. . The Lake Rangers. . Alone on the Plains. SRE TE Winona, B08 Fg Shot, Slayer. . The Phantom Ship. .. The Red Rider. The Grizzly-Hunters. wre St ie Ship) e Specter Skipper. . The Red Coyote. The Hunchback. The Black Wizard. The Mad Horseman. The Privateer’s Bride The Jaguar Queen. Shadow Jack. Eagle Plume. The Ocean Outlaw. Slayer. . The Phantom Foe. . The Blue Anchor. . Red-Skin’s Pledge. . The Quadroon Spy. . The Black Rover, . Red-Belt, 400.. The Two Trails. SESeee 404, Sheet-Anchor Tom. 405, Old Avoirdupois. _ 406. White Gladiator. 1, an. . The Fire-Eater. 410. Blackhawk. 411, The Lost Ship. _. 412. Black Arrow. OF, ee Oh ineee ae Spree " ptain. 415, The Twin Trailers. Princess. 425, Death Trailer. 426. Crested Serpent. . Arkansas Kit, . Lhe Corsair Prince. . Ethan Allen’s Rifles. . Little Thunderbolt. . The Falcon Rover. 2: Honest Hand, . The Stone Chief, . The Gold Demon: . Eutawan, the Slayer . Masked Guide. 487, ane Conspirators, . Swiftwing. BS 2 8 ee BEEke ee abes ray p. . The Peddler Spy. . The White Canoe. ih Peters. \ The Two Hunters. BS . Phantom Horseman. | 487. Jo | 449. The Traitor Spy. 450. The Gray Hunter. . Little Moccasin. . The White Hermit. 3. The Island Bride. . The Forest Princess, . The Trail Hunters. . Backwoods Banditti. . Ruby Roland. . Laughing Eyes. . Mohegan Maiden. . The Quaker Scout.. . Sumter’s Scouts. . The Five Champions, . The Two Guards, . Quindaro. 5. Rob Ruskin, . The Rival Rovers. . Ned Starling. . Single Hand. . Tippy, the Texan. . Young Mustanger. . The Hunted Life. . The Buffalo Trapper. 3. Old Zip. . Foghorn Phil, . Mossfoot, the Brave. . Snow-Bird. - . The Dragoon’s Bride . Old Honesty. . Bald Eagle. 480, The Black Princess. 481. The White Brave. 482 Riflemen of the Miami 483. The Moose Hunter. 484, The Brigantine. 485. Put. Pomfret’s Ward. 486, Simple Phil. aviess’ Client, 488. Ruth Harland. 489. The Gulch Miners. 490, Captain Molly. 491. Wingenund. 492, The Partisan Spy. 493. The Peon Prince. 494, The Sea Captain. 495. Graybeard. 496. The Border Rivals, 497. The Unknown. 498. Sagamore of Saco. 499, The King’s Man. | 500. Afloat and Ashore. 501, The Wrong Man. 502. Rangers of Mohawk. 503. Double Hero, 504. Alice Wilde. 505. Ruth Margerie. 506. Privateer’s Cruise. 507. The Indian Queen. 508. The Wrecker’s Prize. 509. The Slave Sculptor. 510. The Backwoods Bride } 511. Chip, the Cave Child. 512. Bill Biddon,Trapper. 513. Outward Bound, 523. Pale-Face Squaw. 524, Winifred Winthrop. 525. Wrecker’s Daughter. 526. Hearts Forever. 527. The Frontier Angel. 528. Florida. f 529. The Maid of Esopus. 530. Ahmo’s Plot. 581. The Water Waif. 582. The Hunter’s Cabin. 533. Hates and Loves. 534, Oonomeo, the Huron 535. White-Faced Pacer. 536. Wetzel, the Scout. 587. The Quakeress Spy. 538. Vaiied Benefactress. 539. Uncle Ezekiel. 540. Westward Bound. 541. Wild Raven, Ranger. 542, Agnes Falk.and, 543, Nathan Todd, — 544, Myrtle, the Child of the Forest. 545. Lightning Jo. 546. The Blacksmith of epee! 547. Madge Ide. 548, The Creole Sisters. 549. Star Eyes. 550. Myra, the Child of Adoption. 551. Hawkeye Harry. 552. Dead Shot. 553. The Boy Miners, 554. Blue Dick. 555. Nat Wolfe. 556. \The White Tracker. The Outlaw’s Wife. The Tall Trapper. . The Island Pirate. The Boy Ranger, . Bess, the Trapper. The French Spy. The B’ar-Killer. Wild Nat. Indian Jo, the Guide. Old Kent, the Ranger. One-Eyed Trapper. Godbold, the Spy. The Black Ship. Single Eye. Indian Jim. The Scout, Hagle Eye. . The Mystic Canoe. The Golden Harpoon. . The Scalp King. . Old Lute, : . Rainbolt, the Ranger. . The Boy Pioneer. SSSSSNSRSELSS . Carson, the Guide. . The Heart-Eater. The Huge Hunter. . Wild Nat, the Trapper . Lynx-cap. The White Outlaw. The Dog Trailer. . The Elk oe . Adrian, the Pilot. . The Man-hunter. . The Phantom Tracker . Moceasin Bill. . The Wolf Queen. . Tom Hawk, Trailer. . The Mad @hief. . The Black Wolf, . Arkansas Jack. .. Blackbeard. . The River Rifles, . Hunter Ham. . Cloudwood. . The Texas Hawks, . Merciless Mat. . Mad Anthony’s Scouts . The Luckless Trapper . The Florida Scout. . The Island Trapper. . Wolf-Cap. . Rattling Dick. . Sharp-Eye. . Iron-Hand. . The Yellow. Hunter. . The Phantom Rider. . Delaware Tom. . Silver Rifle. . The Skeleton Scout. . Little Rifle. . The Wood Witch. . Old Ruff, the phe (fv . The Scarlet Shoulders . The Border Rifleman. Outlaw Jack. 80, Tiger Tail, Seminole, 81. peed es enton, the Ranger. Specter Horseman. The Three Trappers. Kaleolah, The Hunter Hercules. Phil Hunter. The Indian Scout The Girl Avenger. The Red Hermitess. Star-Face, the Slayer. The Antelope Boy, 93. The Phantom Hunter 94. Tom Pintle, the Pilot. . The Red Wizard. . The Rival Trappers, . The Squaw Spy. Dusky Dick. Colonel Crockett, , Old Bear Paw. . Redlaw. . Wild Rube. . The Indian Hunters. . Searred Eagle. . Nick Doyle . The Indian Spy. . Job Dean. .. . The Wood King. . Nick, the Scout. . The Texas gow . The Crossed ives. . Tiger Heart, Tracker . The Masked Avenger . The Pearl Pirates. . Black Panther. . Abdiel, the Avenger. . Cato, the Creeper, . Two-Handed Mat. . Mad Trail Hunter, . Black Nick. . Kit Bird. 123. The Specter Riders. 124, Giant Pete,’ . The Scalped Hunter. |, -| 291, Standard Dime Publications. 6563. Long Shot. Gunmaker of Border Hand, . Ben, the Trapper. . The Specter Chief, Others in Press. THE ILLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS. | 125. The Girl Captain. 126. Yankee Eph. 127. Silverspur. 128. Squatter Dick, . The Child Spy. . Mink Coat. . Red Plume. 32, Clyde, the Trailer. 33. The Lost Cache. . The Cannibal Chief, . Karaibo. . Searlet Moccasin. . Kidnapped. . Maid of the Mountain. . The Scioto Scouts . The Border Renegade . The Mute Chief. . Boone, the Hunter. . Mountain Kate. . The Red Scalper. 5. The Lone Chief. . The Silver Bugle. . Chinga the Cheyenne . The Tangled Trail. . The Unseen Hand. . The Lone Indian. . The Branded Brave. . Billy Bowlegs. . The Valley Scout. . Red Jacket. . The Jungle Scout. . The Cherokee Chief. . The Bandit Hermit. . The Patriot Scouts. . The Wood Rangers. . The Red Foe. . Beautiful Unknown. 2, Canebrake Mose. . Hank, the Guide. . The Border Scout. . Wild Nat. . Maid of Wyoming. . The Three Captives. . The Lost Hunter. . Border Law. . The Lifted Trail. . The Trader Spy. . The Forest Specter. . The Border Foes. . Border Vengeance, . Border Bessie. . The Sons of Liberty, . The Lost Bride. . Keetsea, . The Tonkawa Spy. . The Prairie Scourge. . Red Lightning. . Brave Heart. . Night-Hawk Kit, . Mustang Sam, . Hurricane Bill. . The Red Out'>w, . The Swamp it. . The Shawnee . —0e. . Mohawk Nat. . Old Jupe. . The Prairie Rifles. . Old Kyle, the Trailer. . Big Foot, the Guide. . The Red Brotherhood . The Man in Green. . Glass Hye. . The Prairie Trappers . Black John. . Keen Knife. . The Mad Skipper. . The Young Spy. . The Indian Avenger. . Rival Lieutenants. . The Swamp Rifles. . The Balloon Scouts. . Dacotah Scourge. . The Twin Scouts. . Buckskin Bill. 09. Border Avengers. 210 Tim Bumble’s Charge 211. The Shawnee Scout. . The Silent Slayer. 8. The Prairie Queen. . The Backwoodsmen, . The Prisoner of La Vintresse. . Peleg Smith. . The Witch of the Wallowish. _. . he Prairie Pirates. . The Hussar Captain. 220. The Red Spy. Dick Darling. 222, Mustang Hunters, 223. Guilty or Not Guilty. 224, The Outlaw Ranger. 225. 226. SERS Re RES SERRE SOS SESNERE CBE SERA Sa RENAS SS Schuylkill Rangers. On the Deep. ; it Aa 227, lrona. 242. Dashing Dragoons, 228, The Mountaineer. 243, Will-o’-the-Wisp. 229, The Hunter’s Escape | 244. Dashing Dick. | 230. The Golden Belt. 245. Old Crossfire. 231. The Swamp Riders. | 246. Ben Bramble. 232. Jabez Hawk. 247, The Brigand Captain 233. Massasoit’s Daughter | 248. Old Strategy. 234. The Mad Hunter. 249. Gray Hair, the Chief. 235. The Reefer of ’76. 250. The Prairie Tigers. 236. Antelope Abe. 251. The Rival Hunters. ‘237. The Hunter’s Vow. | 252. The Texan Scout. 238. The Hunter’s Pledge. | 253. Zebra Zack. 239, Rattlepate. 254. Masked Messenger. ~ 240, The Prairie Bride. 255. Brethren of the Coast 241, Old Grizzly, 256. The Boy Spy. Speakers. Each volume contains 100 large pa es, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collec- tion of Dialogues, ramas and Recitations. The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumes viz.: 1. American Speaker. 13. School Speaker. . National Speaker. 14. Tudicrous Speaker. . Patriotic Speaker, 15. Komikal Speaker. . . Comic Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker. . Eloquent Speaker. . Hail Columbia Speak- er. . Serio-Comic Speaker. Juvenile Speaker. 20. Select Speaker. Spread-Eagle Speaker . Funny Speaker. Dime Debater. 22. Jolly Speaker. Exhibition Speaker. 23, Dialect Speaker. 24. Dime Book of Recitations and Readings. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, ete, 75 to 100 Declamations and Recitations in each book, Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, em brace thirty books, viz.: . Elocutionist. Humorous Speaker. . Standard Speaker. Stump Speaker. Dialogues No, One. Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No, Seventeen, Dialogues No. Three. |Dialogues No. Kighteen, Dialogues No, Four. Dialogues No. Nineteen. Dialogues No. Five Dialogues No, Twenty, Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No. Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Seven Dialogues No. Twenty-two. |\Dialogues No, Twenty-three. |Dialogues No. Twenty-four. Dialogues No. Twenty-five. |Dialogues No. Twenty-six. 'DialoguesNo. Twenty-seven. i Dialogues No. Twenty-eight. Dialogues No. Fourteen Dialogues No. Twenty-nine. Dialogues No. Fifteen, ‘Dialogues No. Thirty. 15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book, Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents. For Schoojs, Parlors, Entertainments and the Ame ateur Stage, connate Original Minor Dramas. Comedy. Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue | and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and Readings, new snd standard, of the greatest celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell, DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. BrADLE’s Dive Hanp-Booxs ror Young PEOPLE cover a wide range of subjects, and are es adaptea to their end, Ladies’ Letter-Writer, Gents’ Letter-Writer. Book of Etiquette. Book of Verses. | Ball-room Companion. Book of Dreams. | Book of Beauty. Hand-Books of Games. Handbook ef Summer Sports. Book of Crequet. Yachting and Rowing. Dialogues No. 5. Dialogues No. N Dialogues No. Dialogues No. Dialogues No. Dialogues No. Thirteen. Book of Games. Fortune-Teller. Lovers’ Casket, Chess Tnstructor. Riding and Driving. Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism. Guide to Swimming. & ‘ Handbook of Winter Sports—Skating, ete Manuals for Housewives. 1, Cook Book, 4, Family Physician. 4 2, Recipe Book. 5. Dressmaking and Mil- 8, Housekeeper’s Guide. linery. Lives of Great Americans 1.—George Washington. | VII.—David Crockett. TI.--John Paul Jones, VIil.—Israel Putnam. Ti.—Mad Anthony Wayne X.—Tecumseh, IV.—Ethan Allen. XI.—Abrakam Lincoln, V.—Marquis de Lafay-| XII.—Pontiac. ette. XIII.—Ulysses 8. Grant. Vi.—Daniel Boone. Song Books. BrApin’s Dime Sone Boors, Nos. 1 to 88, containin8 the only pore collection of copyright songs. e odist, School Melodist, , Musie and Words. Joke Books. Pocket Joke Book. Jim Crow Joke Paddy Whack Joke Book. The above publications for sale by all newsdealery or will be sent, cat one on receipt of price, °7 BEADLE & ADAMS, 98 Wittiam St.,N.Y. | ry ty eee 4

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1 Adventures of Buffalo Bill, From Boy- hood to Manhood. Deeds of Daring and Roman- tic Incidents in the early life of William I’. Cody. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 2 The Ocean Hunters 3 or, The Chase of Leviathan. A Romance of Perilous Adven- ture. By Captain Mayne Reid. EE An Bxtra Large Number.-@e 3 Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. Remarkable career of J. B. Hikok, (known to the world as “ Wild Bill,”’) giving the true story of his adventures and acts. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam. 4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Herders. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 5 Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Thrill- ing Adventures in the Life of J. B, Omohundro, } “Texas Jack.” By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 6 Cruise of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon. By C. Dunning Clark. YT Roving Joe: The History of a Young ‘‘ Bor- der Ruffian.’’ Brief Scenes from the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post. 8 The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys *Round the World. By C. Dunning Clark. 9 Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly Adams? Boy Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 10 The Snow-Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. By T. C. Harbaugh. 11 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer}; or, The Monarch of the Mountain. By Dr. Frank Powell. 12 Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 13 A Rolling Stone: Incidents in the Career on Sea and Land as Boy and Man of Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof. Wm. R. Eyster. 14 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur Hunters on the Buffalo Range. By Oll Coomes. 15 Kit Carson, King of the Guides; or Mountain Paths and Prairie Trails. By A. W. Aiken. 16 Red River Rovers; or, Life and Adven- tures in the Northwest, By C. Dunning Clark, 17 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of “Buckskin Sam,’ (Major Sam §. Hall.) By Colonei Prentiss Ingraham. 18 Rifle and Revolvers; or, The Littleton Gun Club on the Buffalo Range. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 19 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer; or, Life in a Log Cabin. Incidents and Adven- tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett. 20 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of General George A, Custer, from West Point to the Big Horn. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 21 Deadwood Dick as a Boy; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, the New-England Farm-lad, be- came the Western Prince of the Road. By Ed- ward L. Wheeler. 22 The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or, The . Watch-Dog of Russia, By T. C. Harbaugh. 23 Paul De Lacy, The French Beast Charmer; or, New York Boys in the Jungles, <A Story of Adventure, Peril and Sport in Africa, By 0. Dunning Clark. 24 Whe Sword Prince: The Romantic Life of Colonel Monstery, (American Champion-at- arms.) By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 5 Round the Camp Fire; or, Snow-Bound at “Freeze-out Camp.” By Jos. EB. Badger, Jr. Snow-Shoe Toms; or, New York Boys in the Wilderness. A N: ANeattas of Sport and Peril 2 in Maine. By T. C. Harbaugh. 7 Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the Pawnees. The Adventurous Career of Hddie Burgess of Nebraska. By Colonel Prentiss In- graham. 28 The Chase of the Great White Stag 8nd Camp and Canoe. By C. Dunning Clark, \ 25 26 29 The Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter, By A. H. Post. 30 Walt Ferguson’s Cruise. A Tale of the Antarctic Sea. By C, Dunning Clark. 31 Whe Boy Crusader; or, How a Page anda Fool Saved a King. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 32 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chief; or, The Romantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell. By Col. Ingraham. 83 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; or, The Centipede Among the Floes. By C. Dunning Clark, 34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in the Wilds of Northern Michigan. By Morris Redwing. 35 Whe Lost Boy Whalers; or, In the Shadow of the North Pole, By T. C. Harbaugh, 86 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head. By Edward Willett. 37 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or, The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border. By Roger Starbuck, | 38 The Settler’s Sons or, Adventures in the Wilderness and Clearing. By Edward §. Ellis. 39 Night-Hawk George, and His Daring Deeds and Adventures in the Wilds of the South and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways of the Lone Coast. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 41 The Pampas Hunters; or, New York Boys in Buenos Ayres. By T. C. Harbaugh. 42 The Young Land-Lubber3; or, Prince Porter’s First Cruise. By ©. Dunning Clark. 43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 44 The Snow Hunters; Woods, By Barry De Forest. 45 Jack, Marry and Tom. The Three Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of Three Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate, By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures at the Equator. By T. C. Harbaugh. 47 The Boy Coral-Fishers; or, The Sea- Cavern Scourge. By fares Starbuck. 48 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankee Boy’s Strange Cruise. By Char es Morris. 49 Vip Tressell, the Floater; or, Fortunes and Misfortunes on the Mississippi. By Edward Willett. 50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie, (Charles E. Burgess.) By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 61 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 52 Honest Harry ; or, The Country Boy Adrift in the City. By Charles Morris. 53 Whe Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali- fornians in Shanghai. By T. C, Harbaugh. §4 California Joe, The Mysterious Plainsman, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 55 Warry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician. By 8. W. Pearce. 56 Nobody’s Boys; or, Life Among the Gipsies- By J. M. Hoffman. 57 The Menagerie Hunter; or, Fanny Ho- bart, the Animal Qneen. By Major H. Grenville. 58 Lame ‘Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines; or, Life Among the Black Diamonds. By Charles Morris. 59 Lud Bionheels, the Young Tiger Fighter. By Roger Starbuck. 60 The WYoung Trail Hunters; or, New York Boys in Grizzly Land. By T. C. Harbaugh. 61 The Young Mustangers. By ©. D. Clark. 62 The Viger Munters; or, The Colorado Boys in Tiger-Land. By Joseph HE. Badger, Jr, f f a tap or, Winter in the .75 The Border Gunmaker; or, The Hunted aes | 63 The Adventurous Life of Captain { | } i Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford, | the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ie 64 The Young Moose-Hunters; or, Trail , | and Camp-fire in the New Brunswick Woods. By aReee | Wm. H. Manning. res 65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker; or, { Two Brave Boys to the Rescue. By Roger . 1 Starbuck. . 66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid’s | Mission. By Morris Redwing. 67 °*Longshore Lije; or, How a Rough Boy Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark. eal 68 Flatboat Fred; or, The Voyage of the“ Ex- , periment.”” By Edward Willett. 69 The Deer-Hunters; or, Life inthe Ottawa Country. By John J. Marshall. | 70 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Plains; “H or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger \ Starbuck. wel 4 71 Whe Boy Pilot; or, The Island Wreckers. * Oe By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ae 72 Woung Dick Talbot. By Albert W. Aiken ait 73 Pat Mulloney’s Adventures; or, Silver’ y Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By C.L. Edwards. ; ; 74 Whe Desert Rover; or, Stowaway Dick Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris, a Maiden. By James L. Bowen. + ee 76 The Kit Carson Club; or, Young Hawke: eva eyes in the Northwest. By T. ©. Harbaugh. _ Dh: 77 Left-Handed Pete, the Double-Knifeo. By = | Jos. E. Badger, Jr. ent S 78 Whe Boy Prospector; or, The Scout ofthe % Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck. Rech 79 Minonee, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter’s Secret. By Edwin Emerson. vn 80 The Boy Cruisers; or, Joe and Jap’s Big 5 Find. By Edward Willett. aan 81 The Border Rovers ; or, Lost on the Over- ‘ land Trail. By J. Milton Hoffman. Rass | 82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen; or, TheGirty =~ f Brothers’ Double Crime. By Captain Charles Howard. t ih \ 83 Whe Young Nihilist; or, A Yankee Boy Among the Russians. By Charles Morris. k i 84 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters, By Capt. Bruin” Adams, — | rea | i 85 Fighting Fred; or, The Castaways of Grizzly Camp, By T. C. Harbaugh. eas; 86 Dr. Carver, the “Evil Spirit” of the Plains; Korn or, The Champion Shot of the World. “By Col. vee Prentiss Ingraham, : 87 Ruff Robsart and His Bear. By Capt, er) “ Bruin’? Adams, a s: 88 Eony, the Cowboy. By Major H. B, Stod- ard. ; } 89 Gaspar, the Gaucho; or, Lost on the Pampas. By Captain Mayne Reid. , a) An Betra Large Number.-@y eee 90 Texas Charlie, the Boy Ranger. By Col: i Prentiss Ingraham. ; } 91 Moscow to Siberias or, A Yankee Boy ae) to the Rescue. By Charles Morris. 2 92 Boone, the Hunter; or, The Backwoods Brothers. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, hae 93 Oregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle; or, The Young Trapper Champion. By Roger Stare = buck. / Ve Brapix’s Boy's Lrprary is for sale by all news- | _ dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail en Te- ceipt of six cents, or pene BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pusuisners, © _ 98 William street, N. ¥.. A new issue every week. — ae

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' 28 Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By . 80 The mona vet Girl. Mi 39 Plirtation; or, A Youn - 62 The Winge 60 Cecil’s Deceit, averley American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! ‘ 1 The Masked Bride; or, Will She Ma | i Rend Neb é, Marry | 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s 3 eo aie é as It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- hearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 8 The Girl Wite. | By Bartley tT. Campbell, : ave Heart; or. rtling! range, Pd Pg Southworth. A 5 Bessie aynor, the Work Girl, William Mason Turner, M.D. ian d 6 The Secret Marriage. By Sara Claxton. 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Crowell. ‘ 8S Heart to Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 9 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man’s Ward. By the author of “ Clifton,” ete. 10 A Pair of Gray Eyes. By Rose Kennedy. 41 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. y 12 age ta pa NG s Lawful Wifes; or, M the Child of Adoption, By Mrs. Aun 8. iaghsan. 13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress; or, The Naval Cadet’s Wooing. By Corinne Cushman. 14 Why i Married Him, By Sara Claxton, 15 A Wair Face. By Bartley T. Campbell. 16 Trust Mer Not; or, A True Knight. By 1 jgmpreares pemeesier. . oya over. Arabella Southworth, 18 Hfis idol. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ° 19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. 20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 21 Now and Forever} or, Why Did She Mar- | Him? By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 Khe Bride of an Actor. By the author of ‘‘ Alone in the World,” “ Clifton,” ete. 23 eae or, Why She Proposed. By Sara n. 24 Her Face Was Her Fortune, By Elea- he eet Blaine. miy a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold ' Secret. By Arabella Southworth. 26 Without a Heart. By Col. P. Ingraham. | 27 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange | Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. rs. Ann §, Stephens, 29 For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. By Agile Penne. 31 A Mad Marri»ge. ByM A. Denison 32 Mariana, the rime Donna or, Roses and Lilies. By Arabella Southworth. 33 Qhe Three Sisters. By Alice Fleming. 34 A Marriage of Convenience 3 Of Was n aa a ni a Sara er eee gains er. Clara Augusta, 36 Sir Archer’s Bride gs The Queen of His ' Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 37 The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy. 38 Mis Own Again; or, Trust Her Not. By Arabella Southworth. Girl’s Good Name, ‘ By Jacob Abarbanell, (2alph Royal. 40 re ae to-Marry. By bane chitan: 41 Blind Devotion. By Alice Fleming. 42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. ; By Arabella Southworth. 43 The Baronet’s Secret. By Sara Claxton. 44 The Only Daughter ; or, Brother against Lover. By Alice Fleming. 45 Her Hidden Foe. By A. Southworth. 46 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud, ae i Mrs. . A. Soro we : , ecause e Love m3 or, How Will It End? By Alice Fleming. tite 48 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeannette’s Repa- ration. . By 8. R. Sherwood. 49 His HMeart’s Mistress; or, Love at First Sight. By Arabella Southworth. $0 The Cuban Heiress; or, The Prisoner of La Vintresse. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, ~ Girls. By Alice Fleming. Messenger; or, Risking All - Pin a 4 ni pe! Reed Crowell. nes Hope ne Actress. By William Mason Neues. ME. dD. q a 64 One Woman’s Heart; or, Saved from the Street. By George S. Kaime. 55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to Conquer. By Arabella Southworth. 56 Love-Mad 3 or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced and ——.. By Wm., Mason Turner, M. D. 57 A Brave Girl. By Alice Fleming. le. by los Nore tied Crowe an. y Mrs. Mar ‘rowell. 59 A Widow's Wiles, By Rachel Bernhardt. By Mrs. Jennie D. Burton. 61 A Wicked Heart. By Sara Claxton. 62 The Maniac Bride. By Margaret Blount 63 The Creole. Sisters. By Anna £. Porter. 64 What Jealousy Did, By Alice Fleming. 65 The Wife’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis. 66 A Brother’s Sin. By hel Bernhardt. 67 Forbidden Bans, By Arabella Southworth 68 Weavers and Weft. By M.E. Braddon, 69 Camille. By Alexandre Dumas. 70 The f'wo Orphans, By D’Enery, 1 Young ife. By My Young Wife's Husband. | 72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomaa | 73. Rose Wichel. By Maud Hilton, 51 Two Young i | > | 112 A Hero, % eae ! t el A aS + ; Sa da, 4 v4 me RN as ae AS Beg) YO el we ae © ~ eee r] ge; or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida. 75 be om Black Lady of Duna. By J.S. Le ‘anu, 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 77 Christian Oakley's istake. By the author of ‘‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,’’ ete. 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. : 79 A Queen Amongst Women. By the author of ‘Dora Thorne,” etc., etc. 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 Young Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88 A Terrible Deeds or, All for Gold. By Emma Garrison Jones. 89 A_ Gilded Sin. . _ Thorn,’ ete. 90 The Author’s Daughter. 91 The Jilt. Howitt. 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 HMugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont,. By Miss Mulock. By the author of ‘Dora By Mary 99 Marjorie 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. L, Far- eon. 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From Dreams to Waking. By E. Lynn Linton. 107 Poor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson. 108 The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos Barton. By George Eliot. | 109 Pe ere and Kisses. By . L. Farjeon. 110 The Wandering Meir. By Charles Reade. 111 The Brother’s Bet; or, Within Six Weeks. By Emilie Piygare Carlen. , By Miss Mulock. 113 Paul and Virginia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. 114 °fwas 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 ayside Cross; or, The Raid of Gomez. By Captain E, A. an, 118 The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith, 119 Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas. 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss Jane Porter. 121 Whe King of No-Land. By B.L. Far- : eon. ' , 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- eray. 123 An Island Pearl, By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Leila; or, The ei of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). 126 When the Ship Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice: 127 One of the Family, By James Payn. 128 The Birthright. Rat Gore. : 129 Motherless 3 or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. omeless3 or, Two Orphan Girls in New York, By Albert W. Aiken. hs Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry c? Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Sold for Gold. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. 8 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens, 4 od We Love Her? By Bartley T. Canip- Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy. Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ; The Village on the Cliff. By Miss 5 6 7 Thackeray. 8 Poor Valeria, By Margaret Blount. 9 Margaret Graham. By G. P. RB. James. 0 Without Mercy. B Bartley 2 - ampbell. a Te vejoy. C 1 Honor Bound. By ! 2 Biting from Love. Mrs. Harriet rving. . ' 3 Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman’s Work. 4 Wsirange Marria By Lillian Lovejoy range Marriage. By Lillian Lovejoy. 5 A lg rls Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed well, ‘The Cheapest Library Ever Published! 146 A Desperate Venture Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth. : 147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush- man. 148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton, 149 An Ambitious Girl; or, She Would Be An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. 150 Love Lord of All, By Alice May Fleming. 151 A Wild Girl. By 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 Girls Heart, By Rett Winwood. 158 A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton. 159 Lady Helen’s Vows; or, The Mother's Secret, By the Late Mrs. &. F, 'Bllet. 160 Buying a Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy. 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 S. Warne. 164 A Seathing Ordeal; or, May Langley'’s Mad Marriage. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens, 165 A Strange Girl, By Albert W. Aiken, 166 A Man’s Sim. By Rett Wimwood. 167 The Hand of Fate; or, The Wreck of Two Lives. By Arabella Southworth. 168 Two Fair Women, By Wm. M, Turner. 169 Tempted Through Love; or, One Woman’s Error. By Lillian Lovejoy. 170 Blind Barbara’s Secret. By Mary Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman’s Witchery. By 5S. Claxton. 172 Black Eyes and Blue. By Corinne By Georgiana Cushman, 173 The Cost of a Folly. By A Parson’s Dickens, 174 The Pretty Puritan. Daughter. 1175 Is Lovwe*a Mockery? or, Revenge is Sweet. By Arabella Southworth. 176, Adria, the Adopted: By Jennie Davis’ Burton. 177 For the Woman He Loved3; or, Fate- ful Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton. 178 The Locked Heart. By Corinne Cushman. 179 Parted by Treachery. By Harriet Irving. 180 Was She a Wife? By Rett Winwood 181 Under a Cloud, By Sara Claxton. 182 An American Queen. By G. Mortimer. 183 A Point of Honor. By Lillian Lovejoy: 184 Pursued to the Altar. By Corinne Cushman. 185 Put to a Test. By Georgiana Dickens. 186 The Terrible Truth 3 or, The Thornhurst _ Mystery. By Jennie Davis Burton, ‘ 187 Outwitted by Herself; or, A Mother's Scheme, By Arabella Southworth. 188 Flerette, Child of the Street; or, A Peart Beyond Price. By Col. Prentiss raham. 189 Mer Guardian’s Sacrifice; or, A Nam? in the Balance. By Sara Claxton. 190 Pretty and Proud. By Corinne Cushman: 191 A Woman’s Maneuver; or, Purse, 20% - Heart, ‘By Lilliah. Lovejoy. ' 192 The Bitter Feud, By Jennie D. Ba rsh 190 Beenie uncinia Sie Pe or, Little 194 The Mysterious Guardian; Claire, the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cushma” 195 In the Balance; or, A Shadowed Lov’ By Arabella Southworth. 196 Jule, the Jewess; or, the Miser Millio™ aire. ‘By Dr. Noel Dunbar. 197 A Sister’s Orime. By Agnes Mary shel ton, r 198 Wilma Wilde; or, The Inheritance % Hate. By Jennie Davis Burton. 199 The Beautiful Demon, By France? Helen Davenport. and 200 Morle eeches 3 or, Girlish Charms B Golden Sesnses: By Corinne Cushman. A new issue every week. ews” Tun WaverLey Liprary is for sale by all New, dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on ceipt of six cents each. a, BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers 98 William street, New York 4 “ i b ; ; ; 5h or, For Love's ~