Annie
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] Price 25 Cents; ANNIE, A Story of New York Life. BY HENRY EDWARDS, Esq., AUTHOR OF "A TREBBLE TEMPTATION," AND OTHER TALES. One of the sweetest, most charming stories ever published. A true literary gem. "-Atlantic Monthly. NEW YORK: MANHATTAN PUBLISHNG COMPANY. page: 0[View Page 0] ANNIE CHAPTER I. A QUESTIONABLE LODGER. MANY great men and fast woman have written recollections of their lives; and although I am compara- tively insignificant I have determined to follow so excellent an example. It may be objected that mine is a book of the antechamber, but let the cavilers remember that in order to reach the boudoir it is necessary to pass through the hall and the corridor; while occasionally those whose position entitles them to use the grand staircase do not disdain the accommodation afforded them by the back stairs. I believe I resemble in every respect the traditional lady's maid. I am fond of dress and of spectacu- lar displays, rather inclined to good living, clever at repartee, always coquettish, and inquisitive beyond all things. I keep my conscience as clear as I am able, and profit by the faults of my mistresses. Few of my equals can say more than that. My father was a brewer, living near Newport. My childhood was passed in the same way as that of most of my associates. I learnt to read without knowing how. My only fut' was to marry a decent working man or perhaps a small tradesman; but I was am- bitious in spite of my surroundings and the narrow-minded way in which I was brought up. The bonnet of the Newport girls seemed to me much less pretty and graceful than the coquettish New York hats. I was beginning to dis- criminate. Whenever I had an opportunity I got into conversation with the ladies' maids of the strangers who passed the summer with us. I found that they were often hap- pier than their mistresses; that they had nothing to do but to dress them and arrange their hair. That they went to the theatre while the ladies passed the night at a ball, and that while the ladies ran into debt the ladies' maids made a for- tune out of their extravagancies. In listening to all this idle ehat- ter I became metamorphosed, and the sin which beset me was that of ambition. I longed to change my lot, and only waited for an oppor- tunity. Happily-do I speak ad- visedly?-it was not long before it came. The two rooms that we let in the summer, without being eagantly furnished, were neverthels the prettiest in the village; we had muslin curtains, a handsome carpet, substantial chairs, tables, and sofas, although not. of the most reent manufacture, a beautiful view of page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] the bay, and flowers everywhere. What more could the most exacting require. It was certainly as much as could be expected in a country place where no one expects to meet with the luxurious accommodation of a city. One day-how well I remember it! (is not every incident indelibly impressed upon my nemory, at all times tenacious, but then wonder- fully susceptible of new ilmpres- sions?)-a lady, dressed in a most elegant manner, stopped at our door --a carriazge followed at a little dis- tance. I can see her now; her silk dress of the llost charlning mauve color trailing uplon tlhe ground; her lovely hair just peep- ing out from beneath the curtain of her bonnet; her tiny feet encased in such marvels of the bootmaker's art making me blush for the rude canoes I was wearing; they were just- a little bit, covered with the dust, owing to the state of the roadl; her lace shawl was so slenderly constructed and delicate thhat it re- sembled gossamer. Slhe asked for a cup of milk; we had some in tle house, and I instantly filled a glass and handed it to her withl a11 ll e def- erence I considered so fascinating a being entitled to. She drank it with a languid 'air, as if she were making an involun- tary concession to natural exigen- ciesp and handed me a dollar in payment. I was going into thle house to get change, when she ex- claimed- "You can keep the money." "Thank you kindly, ma'amn, I replied, a little awkwardly. A gentleman whom I had not be- fore noticed, probably owingll to his being ensconced in the carriage, now came up and joined the lady. He was remarkably good looking, and impressed me favourably. The lady turned to him, and said- !"Do you not think this little girl is very genteel?" ' SShe is not bad-:" he replied. "Wouldn't she make a good ladys imaid?" "You should cngage her- at once." Are you making fun of her?" demanded the lady. "No, I am praising her." u That decides ime.? The lady faced me, anI exclaim- ed- "What is your occupation?" "I work a little to help my father, who is a brewer in a small way," "What do you make a day " Nothing worth speaking about?. How much?" she reiterated. Sometimes a shilling and some- times two shillings." "Do you hear that, Charles?" said the lady. Don't bother yourself with suela "O"SO,1 s eey A^ e lnever rruemember thlse , things whec tlhey are over.' ;' You are rillit, mlly dear." There was a pause, which the lady broke bv saying- el Charles!7 Hie sarted. u I lave taken a fancy. " That's nothing. new," he repli- ed with a sarcastic smile, "Well, all you have to do is to gratify it." "It is my duty." "This fancy is to stop a fortnight at Newport." The young lady's companion did not seeml at all pleased al this dec- laration. Hie wore an air of clsalr'in and looked annoyed. u4 You must not be alarmned/9 she continued; I1 shall let you comae :and see me. But now I am here I ,cannot tealr myself away. I find that there is everything here tlat I could possibly desire. I am zick and tired of a city. It is very well for you to be there constantly be- cause political business det ains you, but I sihll for the trees and the fl'esh air, and the country, and the flow- ers, and tlhe--anld the butterflies, and the singming-lbirds." "I Have you done?' interrupted Chiarles withl a smile. "Oh! no. I am only just begin- ning. I declare I feel quite nmad when I think of it.'7 Charles was a sensible mnan, and he knew that whcn a woman once takes a fancy for anything in par- ticular it would be better to endeav- or to arrest the progress of a torna- do than to thwart her wishes. t I ought to go on," she resumed, ":but I shall stop here."' "When you say emphatically I want to do so and so,7 77 remarked Charles, ' all that remains for me is to imitate the parish clerk when uttering the response, and lamurmur in a tone of resigration the word 'amen,' which being interpreted means so be it." "It is well you translated it, for I do not understand Latin."' Charles laughed. "Come here, little one, " added the lady; "I see a card in your house." "Yes, ma am, we have two rooms to let," I replied, "and they will just do for you, I think." "I hope so; come, Charles." The lady and gentleman entered the house and walked up stairs. They were charmed with the rooms, and the lady went into ecstasies over the prospect, descanting in elo- quent terms upon the ,magnificent rie.', ; I rearly think I shall turn shep- herdess,'7 she said; ICit would be so nice to look after those pretty sheep I see croppmin the grass in the field down there."' Tle genCtleman bent down to the lady's car and whspere sonmething to lher in a low voice. Slhe shllrucd lher sh oulders, and replied, "l ut you w-ill comie and see me again?" The lady, who wVas of a volatile disposition, toolk another glance round the room and espying a couclh, thrcw erself upon it with a licglt laug,l, saying : "This is where I shall sleep in the afternoon. Oh I how comfortable it is. I shall think of those pretty lines of yours when you are away- 'He woke her with kisses While sleepinlg she lay; She moved on her pillow In drowsy dismay. You have stolen a kiss,' She chidingly said, "'Tis ufair to attack me While shnmb'ring in bed.' " "As you are not asleep now, I sup- pose I nmay venture?" he exclaimed. "Only if you are good," she re- plied with an affectation of child- ishness. He advanced towards her and kissed her lovingly. He appeared sad, and he made her promise not to remain longer than a fortnight at Newport. "Drop me one line over even- ing," he said. She promised to do so. "I would not leave you " he continued, " if I were not obliged. to, but you know one thing----- " She raised her eyes inquiringly. "I have only you. I only go away because the world, my affairs, a thousand little things--- The lady made no answer. She gave herself all the airs of a spoilt child. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 'Take care of this lady," he said to me. Hr enforced his request by the present of a dollar. He squeezed her hand, and left the room. The sound of the car- riage wheels taking him away from the village was soon afterwards heard, and I was alone with the lady. I ventured to ask the lady her name; she replied, Beesey. I looked at',her in astonishment. She burst out laughing. "You do not understand nmy name," she said. I confessed I did not. "Do you not know a saint by that name?" "No, madam." ' Look for it." I took. down a calendar which hung over the chimney piece. "It is useless looking there for it," she said. "Where shall I search, then?" "In the Gospel." "And where in the Gospel?" : "Amongst the number of the ] foolish virgins." I did not understand her. The E lady perceived that I was at a loss, and she was more amused than ever. t "The child is killing," she said.. I slipped away from the apart- a ment and began to prepare a sup- per for the lady. I exerted all the I culinary talent of which I was possessed, and flattered myself that I had succeeded in my endeavors. t Woodruff, a hunter, happened to look in, and he brought me a couple i: of pigeons as a present. He was fond of me, and my father looked favorably upon his suit. It was easy to see that if I did not exert r myself I should gradually fall into n the trap. o e A year ago, when I had first known Woodruff, I smiled upon e him, but since then I had imbibed mc- - exalted ideas, and when con- t templating an alliance with the -forest hunter, I said to myself, Am a I a rustic simpleton that I should 3 do this thing? I stewed a brace of : pigeons with some peas and boiled a small trout that my father had * caught early in the morning before he went to his work.. This, with some bottled beer Iobtained from mine host of the village inn, I took up stairs to our new lodger. Shle was mnuch pleased with my gastronomic efforts, and did more execution amongst the viands than I should have believed so fairy-like a Jheing capable of unless I had witnessed it with my own eyes. After I had cleared the things away I made haste to relate every- thing to my father. He Ihad not yet returned from his place of business, and I met him on the road. He caught me in his arms in a kindly manner and gave me two or threew hearty kisses upon each cheek, and seeing that I was in unusually goodtI spirits, he said- Ah! you have at last consented to do what that poor fellow, Wood- ruff, has been so long thinking of' asking you to consent to!" "He knows all about that," I re- plied, A' but I have news for you." "News! of what kind V" "Something you will be pleaded to hear." "In that case do not keep me in suspense." "I will not." "Speak, then." "I have found lodgers for ounr rooms, but when I say lodgers I make a mistake, for there is only- one. Mrs. Beesey is alone, hejX husband has gone back to the city. I heard him say that he should come and see her. He is a gener- ous man, and not a bit proud. They have between them given me the money I hold in my hand. I can't tell you how pleased I am. I would much rather wait upon city people than- I would run about after fire wood." "What is all that you are say- ing!" replied my father. I showed him the money. He scratched his head thought- fully. "I don't hf like it," he said, at last. ' Like what? The money', good enough. It rings all right.7' "Yes, yes," he exclaimed, SI dare say the money's good enough. I am -only a poor man, but I have my own idea of right and wrong. People who throw dollars about in that reckless manner are not good for much generally. A young lady who takes a set of rooms without making any inquiries; a gentleman who leaves her in the middle of the wood-h'm; I can only say I don't half like it." ' The lady is very pretty." "That makes it worse. " "And her husband looks like a gentleman. ' "Her husband! did he call her his wife before you?" "No, he did not; perhaps he did not think it good taste to do so." "That's doubtful." I am sorry if I have done wrong, but I thought you would be so well satisfied." "As far as profit goes I am; but I am put out on your account. Young girls are like the blossom of a flower-- a frost, a gust of wind, a heavy rain, and it is done for." "Oh! do leave off grumbling," I said impatiently. "After all, a fortnight is soon gone." I went into the house after this, leaving my father to walk up and down our garden near the young lady's window. I think he wanted to have a look at her. She lost no time in opening the window. My father bowed politely, and pretended to busy himself with a creeper, whose delicate tendrils had fallen dn the ground and were get- ting rather soiled with the damp. earth. "My good man!" she exclaimed. "Your servant, Miss,7' he repli- ed. "Is this your house?" "It is; but it is very much at your service. What can I do for you?" it Send your daughter to me." My fathr went to find me. A"Miss wants you," he said. "Misses you mean,.9" ' Missis! I know what I am talk- ing about. Slle has no ring on her finger. I wasn't born yesterday, and Newport isn't such a great way from the city, and you meet , these ladies there occasionally. What did you say her name was?" "Beesey.,' :What a name! No decent Christian would be called Beesey. Well, my girl, you must keep your eyes open. But the beer is brewed. Drink it as quick as you can, and mind it don'tsget in your head." I threw my arms round. him, and dashed up the staircase at my best pace. I did not quite understand what he meant, but I could see that he wished to prejudice me against Alrs. Beesey, as she called herself; his words, strange to say, however, page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] had prstrJ', toe 'pposite edict. I only began to take a greater'inter- ast in her. She was so lovely that I could not bring myself to believe that she had ever done anything very wrong. / She told me to get her bed ready; bring her a sperm candle, because the odor of tallow was offensive, and asked me if I had any books. We had in the- house a Bible, a Prayer Book, an illuminated Missal, and the Pilgrim's Progress. I brought them all up. She looked at the titles, throwing them one by one a little contemptuously on one side. "Are these all you have?" "Every one, ma'am. I never had any others." "Very well. Go and fetch the candle." When I returned, the shades of night were falling, and the-lady said she should go to bed, asking me to assist her to undress. I had never seen anything but linen of the coarsest description, and I was literally ravished with delight when -I beheld the delicate texture of Mrs. Beesey's chemise, and the beautiful lace which adorned it. I folded up her dress with as much care as if it had been something consecrated by the hand of a priest. I brushed her long hair, and placed her stockings on a chair, with an air of veneration and respect. She got into bed, and ordered me to draw the curtains, advising me to hide the candle behind a vase of flowers, as the light was not good for the eyes, and she com- plained a little of the coarseness of our sheets. "Do yout want me any more, inaa'am?"I demanded. "I should like to know your name t" ,v) i Annie." "It is pretty. Have you a lover?' I blushed, and stammered out spmething about not being fond of Wos , rituih ed. A Woodruff," I replie "And in wliat position of life has it pleased God to place Mr; Woodruff?" "He is a hunter. He loves me, but I hate him." "That is always the way. Now, I. will wager anything that your father likes Mr. Woodruff." "Oh! he does." "And would like you to marry him?" "I believe so. He has a cottage in the woods, and gets plenty of fish and game. That trout and those birds you had for supper were brought here by him." ' "Indeed! Then I am more be. holden to Mr. Woodruff then I im- agined. Cultivate him, my child, aa long as I stay here, for the trout was excellent, and the birds in good con- dition. Good night, Annie." "Good night, ma'am." As I was going to shut the door she called me back, and said- "What will you give me for breakfast?" "Some ham, honey, eggs, cold fowl, and salad." "' That will do." 4 When will you have your breakfast, ma'am V" ' When I get up. About twelve o'clock. I went away, wondering what pleasure could possible be derived from lying in bed till td,e middle of the day, when the forest is so allur- ing beneath the morning dew, when the birds are all aliva; and the nimy ble squirrels running from tree to tree. I blrought down the books that Mrs. Beesey had turned up her nose at. I found my father in the sitting room kicking his heels as if he wore angry. I did not say a word to himl about our new lodger, because I saw it was on that sub- ject that he was brooding. I could not dismiss her from my thoughts, which were full of her. I compared the great people of the village with her, and, like Nebuchadnezzar, when weighed in the balance, they werecfound wanting. The money I had received afford- ed me considerable gratification. I made subtle and manifold calcula- tions, and proposed to buy a num- 'ber of things, contemplating my appearance next Sunday in church with a sense of actual triumph. In the country people go to bed early. My father was up with the lark, and he required a certain num- ber of hours' sleep, so he rose from his chair, kissed me on each cheek rather more tenderly than usual, I thought, and said-- You are a good girl; mind you remain so." At that time I had every inten- tion of doing so. I returned his caresses with affection, and went up stairs to my garret. It is not of- ten that I dream, but that night my rest was disturbed by the most fan- tastic visions. I fancied I saw a river, composed almost entirely of silken waves, varied occasionally by billows of lace and velvet, while precious stones glittered here and there. The arrival of Mrs. Beesey was An epoch in my life. CHAPTER II. TELLSON. TImE next day) about twelve, I knocked at Mrs. Becsey's door. She was already awake and sit- ting lup in bed. Hcr arrms, white as alabaster, were uncovered, for her low, embroidered chemise had fallen down over her shoulders. It seemed to me to be very wicked, indeed, for any one to re- main half naked as she was. I blushed a little, opened the shutters and the window, and let the glad and golden sunshine into the room in a glittering, gleaming shower. The joyous sunbeams danced about the floor in mad hilarity. The lady told me that she would breakfast in bed, so I went down stairs to get everything ready. . When I returned I found her smiling, and apparently enchanted with everything. I set down the tray upon the bed, and was respect- fully withdrawing when she cried- "You are going to breakfast with me." "I should not like to, ma'am," I replied, timidly. "Nonsense! I am not an ogreas, my little Annie. Sit down, and eat some breakfast; if you do not, I will not touch a thing."' What could I do but obey? During breakfast she told me all sorts of funny stories, the drift and the point of which I did not alto- gether understand, but they amused me very much, nevertheless, and I wished that my father were better disposed towards her. I waq preparing to dress her, when a large box arrived. A man brought it up, and put it down out-. side the door, after w]ich I dragged page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] it into the room. At the sight of it, the lady uttered a cry of joy. Charles," she exclaimed must have gone direct to my maid. It has come quicker than I expected." She opened it in haste, throwing silk and muslin dresses upon the bed, the chairs, and even the floor. At that moment I almost realized my dream, as I looked upon the del- icate lace and the glossy silk. She was amused at my astonishment. She searched amongst a number of dresses until she found a blue one, which to me appeared charming. She exclaimed-- "Fanny is a fool. She ought to haw kept this dress. You shall have it." "This dress for me:"I cried; i u but I am not yet married, ma'ami, ] and even when I do marry old Woodruff his means would not al- low me to wear such elegant things." a "Who told you to marry Wood- a ruff? Take thi dress and try it on; i it will help yoa to captivate some c one else.' ]' ' I don't cam e about pleasing any- , body else." s "How old are you 5"? u Sixteen." c "There is plenty of time for you. A It will come safe enough, that you b may be positive about. Why should s you stop in a stupid village all your h life This place is pretty enough t] for a fortnight, but to stay here for s: an existence would be as bad as be- a ing shut up in prison, or' being com- a pelled to vegetate in the deserts of sc Arabia Petra, with no bed to lie o: on but the hot sand, and nothing to to speak to but a hump-backed camel w or two. Is your mother alive?" "No, ma'am, my mother's dead. " in I Is your father strict with you?' cl of He is kindness itself." "Not kind enough to let you , come to the city?V ; I How can he do that, when he i wants me down here?" "Perhaps he would think it dan- r gerous. Dress me now. I shall B put on this violet silk dress, and this lace -shawl. We will go for a I walk. You shall show me the for- - est, if your father will not mind." "I am entirely at your service, maam a F An hour afterwards we went out. Mrs. Beesey did not much care about walking. She defended her- self from a sunstroke by an umbrel- la made of green silk, and of tiny I dimensions, for the briin of her hat was not wide enough to keep the rays of the scorching sun away from her tender sklin. The beech trees, slender and drooping5; the huge oaks, stately and majestic; the towering elms and quivering poplars ;, the mighty firs and the thick-leafed chestnuts, extracted cries of astonishment from her, not unmixed with admiration. She declared that she had never seen the country before. The blue- bells and violets, the primroses and cowslips, engaged her attention. With childish eagerness she plucked bouquets of an enormous size, until she had so many that they fatigued her hands. She would walk a lit- tle way, then she would run-now- she laid down at the foot of a tree, a moment afterwards she got up and set off in chase of a long-tailed squirrel, which was up a tree and out of sight before she could get within ten yards of it, She was charmed with everything. We did not stop until we arrived in the middle of a magnificent clearing. I was perfectly well acquainted 'with the spot. I had been there several times to hold flowers and strawherries for a young lady whose vocation was that of an artist. She had a spiritual face, a sweet smile, and captivated me by her graceful manner. Ah! how splendidly she produced the immense trunks of the old oaks upon the senseless canvas ; their. curving branches their green or yello5v leaves. What an air of reality ran through the whole!- the moss at the foot, the blue sky above, and the sun making fantas- tic shadows upon the grass. She afterwards bought a house at Newport. I shall not have oc- casion to mention her in these me- moirs, but I shall ever remember the kind speeches she made me. I bought a photograph long after- wards which represented her sketch- ing in front of a stately tower, with a quickly rushing river rt her feet. She loved the country, working men, and cattle. At the present time, while I am writing, I don't care a straw for either, of them. Her place, as we came upon the glade, was occupied by two young men. One was finishing a picture, the other just beginning a cigar. The one who was painting had bright red hair, a white color, and large blue eyes.' His -friend was very pale, his black hair fell down upon the neck of his coat, which, to tell the truth, was rather shabby but well made; his eyes were dark, deep, and mag- nificent. The two men turned round when I they heard the rustling of a silk dress upon the grass. The artist i Ieolked hard at Mrs. Beesey; his i companion saluted her with his eyes. She made a movement as if she wished to get behind the oaks and place herself in such a position that she could compare the tree with the picture. The man with the red hair got up from his campstool, and said- "Excuse me, but will you be good enough to place yourself ac- cording to my fancy in preference to your own!" She laughed aloud at the impru, dence of the request. "How original he is!" she mur- mured to me. He overheard the remark andl replied- "I am so in everything I do. If you stand behind me you will force me to turn round in order to have the pleasure of contemplating you. If you would like to change your position you can do so. Lean against that tree, and then my oak will have its wood-nymph." I thought this gentleman rather bold, but Mrs. Beesey did not seem in the least annoyed, and I had no right to make a remark. She reclined against the tree with one arm, with the other she played with her sun-shade. The pale young man kept his eyes fixed immovably upon her. She appeared to have consented to lean against the tree to please the painter, but in reality she only looked at his friend,; and seemed to place herself for him alone. During all this I amused myself by making a daisy chain. 'Are you fond of studying na- ture in its primitive state!" asked Mrs. Beesey of the young artist ' He laid down his brush, and bow- ing profoundly, as if he were being introduced, said-- page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] "My name is Herbert Wantage. I am a pupil of Hunt's." "You seem to have profited by your maaster'1 lessons." "I have only been with him ten months, and lodge at Mrs. Gayne's. Do you know the place?" "Not at all; I arrived at New- port yesterday, and I am stopping there." "Oh! indeed. Her house is a colony of painters, of which Mrs. Gayne is the ruling providence. We decorate the walls with frescoes. The other day I painted in -the -club-room a lamp-post with a nig- ger suspended by the neck-a re- collection of the days when the rioters in New York had their own way. It was a great success. I was all alone until my friend here came down to join me." "Does that gentleman paint?" "Tellson! He applies himself to the study of the law in his se- rious moments, but when he is a little deranged he writes verses." "To whom " "To the moon." Mrs. Beesey laughed. "Stop a moment," exclaimed the artist; "you said a moment agol that I was original. You deceive yourself; my friend is original, I am not. I don't know whether you like stories, but you are sit- ting to me, and that is fatiguing. Just imagine that boy coming into the country. What is his excuse? He believes in God, in angels, and in women; he drinks nothing but water, and never goes into a public house, and he has only been once or twice to the theatre. He lives up five flights of stairs, and gets along upon twenty-five dollars a month without running into debt. Ie has only one fault-he smokes; but no one can be perfect, and ye; it is not a fault in him, because of his tastes and pursuits." "d Does not this life tire you, Mr. Tellson?" demanded Mrs. Beesey, in a sweet voice. ' I am unable to alter it," he re- plied. "I have no fortune; but the sacrifices I undergo will not last more than a year; then I shall have a position of my own. You see now, do you not, why I never go to a public house, seldom to a theatre, and write verses to the moon 9 C A cloudy divinity," replied Mrs. Beesey. ^ The artist laid his pallette upon the grass. "This is the sort of adven- ture I like," he said.. "I work away with a sort of mute savagery at the mossy trunk of a tree. You happen to pass by-I suppose be- cause my star is in the ascendant. You lean against the rough bark and show your white arm, and I have a dash of human nature thrown into my landscape. I don't know your name, I don't even wish to know it. I take advantage of good luck when the fickle goddess smiles upon me, and when the Genius of Poetry intrudes herself upon my prosaic existence I entertain her to the best of my ability. YoI have taken comrassion upon me. Many thanks for your kindness." "You have nothing to thank me for," replied Mrs. Beesey, in a low tone. She bowed to the two young men. The light-haired one made an incli- nation of the head which almost brought him into contact with his mother earth. The other one for- got the amenities of civilization, but in return for his remissness he cast a look towards us which I shall never forget as long as I live-it was so earnest, so passionate, so full of expression. The manner of the first was conventional and Pla- tonic, that of the other fierce, fiery, semi-insane, indicative of love at first sight in all its tremendous, ab- sorbing, overwhelming intensity. I asked the lady if she wished to continue her walk. She said she would rather go home. During our journey she did not cease to ask me questions about the inn which Mrs. Gayne kept, and the artists who lodged at her house. I gave her all the information that I possessed. She appeared pre-occupied, and did not speak until we entered the road which led to my father's house. While we were going along she picked flowers every now and then, but only to pluck them to pieces and to fling their pretty pe- tals to the w anton wind. When she did speak, it was in a low and agi- tated voice. At an angle of the road I saw the pale young man; when he noticed that my regards were fixed upon him, he darted behind a wall and was lost to sight. "One of those gentlemen has fol- lowed us, ma'am," I exclaimed. "The artist?" 'No, the other one.." She did not turn round. When we reached her room I no- ticed that she had lost her nosegay. I ventured to call her attention to the fact. "Oh! I must have dropped it," she said innocently. That evening I once or twice ,thought I saw a shadow sketched upon the whitewashed walls. I told her of it, but she said I was a little coward, that 1 was fright- ened by the recollections of nursery tales, and that the shadow I saw was Woodruff's. I wished her good night, and re- tired. The next morning she received a letter and a roll of paper. They were directed to Mrs. Bccscy, and the postman laugied in a significant manner as he grve' them to me. She threw the letter on one side after looking at it, and took up the paper, which was a playbill. She glanced at it, and uttered a cry of joy. "Annie,' she cried, ' you havegno idea how happy I am. I have a part -a charming part. I am going to act in a play. Charles has arranged it for ne. He has paid five hun- dred dollars to the manager and half that to the author, and between them they have managed everything capitally. "I shall be a peasant. I shall have short petticoats like yours, and great big boots. Isn't it delight- ful? There isn't such a man in the world as Charles. I really ought to do what I can to make him hap- py. You must lend me that striped petticoat of yours and your stays. I want to see how shall look. Will you " ' I took them off in a moment. She' put them on, and laughed, clapped her hands, .and looked at herself in a small glass; finding that it did not gratify her vanity sufficicntly, she jumped on a chair to admire herself in the glass over the chim- ney-piece, which was a little bigger, and exclaimed- I shall be perfection!" When she had admired herself sufficiently, she gave me back my page: 30[View Page 30] village garb and took up the play- bill once more. You forget your letter, I think," remarked. U You arc right." She snatched it up and read it. Then she said, ' How tire- some!" "Bad news, ma'am t7 "Charles is coming." "To-morrow?" "Yes, to-morrow." ' What shall you do, ma'am?" 'I shall be ill. Charles is the reverse of the medal; but pleasure is always followed by a re-action." He appears to love you, ma'am ." "There is no doubt about that." "Does it worry you to be loved?" "Occasionally." ' "What ought to be done to please you? "There should be reciprocity. I must love, too. "Always 7" "We cannot make a Paradise without it." "I thought we never realized that until the end of our days." "The catechism tells you so; but nevertheless life has its romantic side." "Have you experienced it, ma- "Fate has obliged me to do so." "And what is it like 7" "Did you ever look on while you were dying of thirst and other peo- ple were drinking from a stream? At this moment I'pitied her. I did not like to leave the room, but I did not know what to say. The pause that ensued was embarrassing. A moment afterwards she con- tinued- Tellson! It is a pretty name, is it not " "Yes, ma'am, it ib, And he is a good-looking fellow, too." "Ali! you remember him t? "More than that, I have seen him." "Did he see you?" "Yes. He asked me where you lived." She seized my hand. -I don't know Mr. Tellson," she exulaimed. ' ' don't even know his baptismal name. I don't want to see him again. Anne, listen to me: you must never let him come here. I will never forgive you if he even so much as crosses your father's threshold. Above all things, Charles must not see him. You un- derstand?" I hope so, ma'am," I replied;. "and I will attend most strictly to your wishes." She kissed me and said, "You. are a treasure, for you wait upon me and are fond of me at the same time, which is more than Fanny does." "Is she your lady's maid?" "Yes." "What does Fanny do?" "She steals my dresses. She robs me of my money, and she scandalizes me with the servants." The lady dressed herself. She had some trouble to find the things she wanted. We overhauled her wardrobe a second time, and she had scarcely finished doing her hair when Charles made his appearance. He seemed very happy, and kissed her over and over again. 'Are you satisfied?" he asked her. 4 Very nmch,7' she replied "only I want a diamond necklace." "What for? You surely can have nouse for such a thing if you are go- ing to take the part of a peasant." page: -31[View Page -31] "That does not matter; I want the diamonds. You cannot refuse me, because--- "I refuse you nothing, my dear child; I was only going to say-- " "I want it; that's enough. My hair is finished now. You can go, Annie, I don't want you any more. I went away. Charles dined with the lady, and I waited upon them in spite of my father's ill-temper, who did nothing but curse and swear; he kicked his foot on the ground until he broke the ground up, and I heard him soliloquize- "The idea of honest girls wait- ing upon people like that, when they ought not to touch thelr dresses without a shudder! Fancy their standing upon ceremony2 and lmak- ing a parade of their virtue! I don't understand it-.'ll be shot if I do. If Annie objected, they would' say, 'If you don't like to do it, I'll find plenty who will; they will be glad enough to put il their pockets the money you disdain.' What worries me is, that Annie is so ig- norant-such a little fool. One word from a fine lady turns her head. Thank God, the fortnight will soon pass. The money will be hardly earned. Wish I may die if I don't think it will be dearly bought." What's all that about? I asked, taking his pipe away. "What's all that about? You are grumbling and going on any how. What has the young lady done to you? Charles is well-bred and generous. He has never so much as looked at me." "I dare say not; the danger is not always on the side of the men." "Where does it come from, then?" From the women. They get over you with their blarney. Their cleverness seduces poor girls like you. A silk gown las turned many a girl's head; the larger the bait, the more complete the demoraliza- tion. I am affraid you are too fond of frippery and dressing, and tog- ging yourself out; brown holland is not good enough for yon. A cot- ton dress would send you into a fit, wouldn't it." "I don't despise anything that my mother wore." Charles left just before evening. The lady accompanied him as far as the bottom of the staircase. "Good-bye," he said; "you won't stop here longer than you have fixed, because if you stay an hour over the time you will not be able to study your part sufficient- ly." "Don't be alarmed," she replied. I shall be punctual." The next day, at nine o'clock, she camne into the yard. I was surprised to see her up so early." How far is the inn from here?" she asked. I Is it a great dis- tance?" "It is and it isn't, ma'am." "How do you mean? It is and it isn't?" "It is for you, but it is not for' me." ' Never mind; I want to go there." "I shall be happy to show yao the way, ma'am." "Come along, then." "Now? "Yes, at once." We set out at once for the village, and I remarked that Mrs. Beesey appeared anxious to get there. It was not much of a village, page: 32[View Page 32] tiere was only one street. She looked at all the windows as if she expected to see some one behind the frames. After traversing the best part of the street, we arrived at Mrs. Gayne's inn. There was no one there except the old woman, who was looking after her house- hold, and throwing from time to time a grain or two of corn to the fowls which strutted about the yard. The lady was ready for brealk- fast. Mrs. Gayne, on receiving orders to do so, laid a coarse cloth upon the table. It was torn in some places, and patched in others. The lady looked around her and admired the designs upon the walls. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "look there! That's the lamp-post thatj fr. Herbert painted." Just by the side of it, remarka- bly well executed, was the face of a woman which bore an exact resem- blance to Mrs. Beesey. Below it t was written, "What Tellson is sarching for." The lady said d nothing, but kept on looking at the M wade' sketch, and conning over the n inscription. All at once she heard a voice, the sound of which quickly made A her leave the part of the room in a, which she was standing. Some one li was saying,- - "Bring some beer and cutlets fr and toast for three! There are only two of us, but we can eat as much 01 as four." The aitist and the student entered d( together. hi CHAPTER III. AN UNEXPECTED EVENT. WHEN Mrs. Beesey saw the stu- dents enter the room she blushed. Mr. Tellson turned pale as if over- - come by some sudden emotion. It was a trying moment for both of e them. The lady was very pretty, e and Mr. Tellson was unquestionably very handsome. One was worthy of - the other. Mrs. Beesey appeared full of em, s barrassment; Mr. Tellson was ab stracted. Fortunately, Mrs. Gayne brought in the two breakfasts at the same time, and set them down on the table a very little distance apart from one another. Herbert Wantage, in his jovial way, smiledl and mischievously jumbled the plates, dishes, and glasses promiscuously, in order to make us breakfast together. My appetite was always good, and the walk had sharpened it, but of all the men I ever met with, Mr. Her- bert was the most vigorous. He distanced me completely; lie eat with the zest of a shipwrecked mariner. I may say he did not eat -he devoured. The lady hardly eat anything. Mr. Tellson and Mrs. Beesey looked at one another, and feasted with their eyes; their lips trembled, and tears stood upon their eye-lashes, making a pearly fringe. When the repast was over, every one got up. My mistress walked towards the door. "Allow me the honor," ex- claimed Mr. Herbert, offering her his arm. She took it. "I cannot permit you to see me page: -33[View Page -33] honme'- she said; "I have Annie for a guide, and I can trust to her discretion and knowledge of the neighborhood." ' Will you let us escort you as far as the end of the village?" "Yes, I don't mind that," she answered, with a gracious smile. We walked along together for some distance. A flower growing by the side of the path caught my eye. I stooped down to gather it, but as I did so I saw Mr. Tellson pick up s(mething white which was lying in the road. He concealed it the moment afterwards in his breast. He undid some buttons of his waist- coat, and I thought he put it next his skin. A short time afterwards Mrs. Beesey discovered that she had lost her pocket-handkerchief. "Your handkerchief?" cried Herbert Wantage; " you must have left it at the inn. I will run back and retch it; I shall not be long. 'You can walk slowly on." "I shall be much obliged," she replied; "although I, hardly like to give you the trouble." He murmured something about its being a pleasure, and started off at a tolerable pace in the direction of Mrs. Gayne's. When he was nearly out of sight Mr. Tellson took his place by her side. He slided up to her with a suppliant air, and, blushing deeply, took the handker- chief out of his bosom and handed it to her. She comprehended every thing m a moment. Snatching it hastily from him, she said- "This is very wrong of you." This was all I could hear. In reply he spoke to her in a low tone. His face reddened more than ever, and the words fluttered- upon his lips in an impalpable manner. He appeared sublimated. The lady made no answer. She hung on his arm as if she felt faint. When he had finished speaking she took the handkerchief in both hands and tore it in half, and gave one of the pieces to the young man. He raised the fragment to his lips and appeared intoxicated with joy. Just then Mr. Herbert returned? and said that his search had been unsuccessful; he could find the handkerchief nowhere. "Oh! thanks. It don't matter. It's a trifling loss," replied the lady, calmly. The students took their depar- ture. As they did so, I noticed Mr. Tell- son slip something into the lady's hand. Both bowed to her, and my mistress said to Herbert Wantage-. "Shall you exhibit your picture of the tree and the wood-nymph?" "I hope so." "If so, I shall be very glad to see it again," she added. After this they parted. The young men to go back- to the inn; the lady and myself to return home. When I was putting the room to rights the next day, the lady, in order to avoid the dust and get out of the way of the inevitable con- fusion, took a turn in the garden. I was madly curious to know what the lady had done with the half of the handkerchief which she had kept for herself after giving its counterpart to the impressible stu- dent. It was an excellent oppor- tunity for me to gratify my childih curiosity. I hadseen her the night before, as I lighted the candles, puat something in a card-case. It struok page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] me that the muslin would be found there; but I was mistaken, I only found a photograph under which was written, "Cecil Tellson." I quickly shut up the card-case after reading this, for I was afraid of being detected in the act of pry- ng into my mistress' secrets; for, after all, what Mrs. Beesey did had nothing to do with me. She did not seem to care about going into the forest now. She spent most of her time in the gar- den. She had written to Lacy, who had sent her a book of the play, and she applied herself dil- igently to learning her part, and she made me follow her as she re- cited, and correct her when she made a mistake. The time, she had arranged to stay with us soon slipped away, and she told us she was going to leave. I She paid us well for the accom- modation we had afforded, expressed herself satisfied in every way, gave me a couple of five dollar bills to put in my money box, and made 1 me a present of a mantle and va- 1 rious other little things which, al- though of trifling value to her, j were very precious to me. In say- ] ing good-bye to me, she said- "My dear, I don't wish to tempt a youi or unsettle your mind in any I way. You are a minor, and depend- v ant on your father; but Recollect ( that if you ever find yourself in X want of a friend, you may make c sure of a welcome at my house. I will take you into my, service, and U tu:n Fanny out, or any one who e ialy happen to be in her place." s "You are very kind, ma'am," I t. arnmured in reply. d I'll give you my address. Mind that you don't lose it. Imprint it on your memory-West 28th "fi' ." "I will never forget it, ma'am,o' r I said, emphatically. 1 The same day she left. After her departure I felt lonely and desolate. I was discontented I with everything, and pined for the delights of the city. As the carriage which Charles had sent for her car- ried her away, I experienced a sense of inexpressible sadness. I took pains to conceal my melan choly from my father, because he would have been mortally offended at the least symptom of anything of the sort. I grew to hate my daily work. Dusting chairs and polishing tin had no longer any charms for me. I complained of the heat when I was watering the garden, and I sighed with fatigue when I was cleaning boots indoors. Every- thing wearied me; I took umbrage at the least thing. My father was astonished' at the change in me. With Woodruff I was disagreea ble beyond all precedent. Owing to the visit 6f Mrs. Beesey, I be. 'came totally changed. I was S different person. My mind was (filled with extravagant ideas, and I continually regretted the absenoe of my kind mistress, in whose ser- vice I had been such a short time, but whom I could have waited upon with pleasure for an eternity. I contrasted the country people wia whom I came in contact, and was obliged to associate with more or leos with Herbert Wantage and Coee Tellson. To my inexperienced eyes, they were so accomplished, so gentlemanly and so far superior to anything I had even thought w dreamt of before. The idea of set- tling down as the wife of a laboring man, and living a quiet, hum-dnrw sort of life, unevetful, proai dunl as a perpetual Scotch Sabbath, was so distasteful to me that I would rather have run away and thrown myself upon the wings of chance to bear me to some harbor of safety. I feit inclined to discard ease and re- spectability for wealth and excite- ment. The months rolled on, and the dreary winter season commenced. The leaves fell from the trees, and the forest was bleak and desolate. The mice and the squirrels retired into the hollows of the trees and hybernated within the moss-grown trunks, having laid up a store of nuts and good things their souls de- ighted in. The wind howled shrilly through the leafless branches, whose only covering was soon to be a snowy vestment. My only consolation was derived from retiring to my own bedroom, and unpacking my trunk, in which I had sedulously concealed the rich resses and handsome shawls which Mrs. Beesey had kindly given me. I used to get angry with my look- img-glass for not being big enough to relect my full form. When I was fully dressed in silks and satins, I walked up and down the room ad- miring myself like a peacock in all the gorgeous array of his gaudy and glossy plumage. Every now and then I would turn my head to catch a glimpse of my train trailing upon the ground with a rustling sound Mry grateful to my senses. Once while engaged in this innocent amusement, a hand was laid roughly upon the handle of the door, and my father's voice exclaimed, "Annie." I started and turned pale. I felt like t criminal who has committed some reat fault, and is on the point of being detected and dragged before the authorities, who, he feels assured, will not deal leniently with his of- fence. In another instant, before I had time to utter the words, "Come in," my father stood before me. "So," he hissed between his teeth, "this is how your leisure moments are passed. This is how you waste and fritter away your time when not with me. I have had my suspicions for some time; at last I can no long- er doubt." "What have I done, father, that you should speak to me like that P" I replied, whilst the tears sprang un- bidden to my eyes. "Done I You ask what you have done?" * I lowered my eyes before his angry gaze. "Are the thing you have on the things a respectable girl ought to wear? You are not a lady, or, thank heaven, something worse, and please God, while I live to prevent it, you never shall be. Curses on that woman for coming here and polluting the purity of my house- hold! She has filled your head and mind with nonsensical ideas. She is bad herself, and she wishes to make you bad. She is infected with a leprous taint, and she carries conta- gion about with her. What have I done that fate shouldsend her to my house?" I begged my father not to excite himself, -but the sound of my voice seemed to stimulate him to greater fury. "Off with them, girl," he ex- claimed, "or I shall tear them from your back-the very sight of them maddens me. There was a time when you attached some importance to a common linen dress, but now " He ran from the room like one possessed. I comprehended that he intended to return in a short time, so in order to allay his rage I took of my finery and laid it in a heap on tX floor. He had always been aa ew- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] lent father to me, and I did not wish to irritate or annoy him. I sighed, however, as I put on my old things, and my tears flowed quickly, but I did not try to stop them. I experi- enced a great relief in seing them fall on the floor, drop by drop, like summer rain. Presently my father again came to the door ; he knocked, I admitted him. There was an air of penitence about him. He ap- peared to be sorry for what he had said, and to regret his violence. He caught me in his arms and imprinted a kiss upon my forehead. "Now," he said, "you are once more my daughter, but with those meretricious garments on, you did not seem worthy of the paternal caress." I was surprised at this proof of his affection, for I had not anticipated it. I had worked myself up into a rtate of mind which may be express- ed in. a supplementary beatitude, "Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed." My father's calmness had a directly opposite effect upon me. He had stormed, so I considered it my turn to get into a rage. I took no notice of his blandishments, and I cried in a lond voice- "I have not deserved the treat- ment I just now received from you; I would rather run away from you altogether than--" "And where would you go?" he asked, in a stormy voice. "To New York," I replied, with a forced laugh. "Shall I tell you what would be- come of you there?" "Nothing could be worse than my' present existence." "Yes, there is an alternative a thousand times worse." "What is that?" "The utter loss of character aandi reputation. I never expected to hea& my daughter talk to me like this. It is heart-breaking; it will kill me. My health is infirm already, and it does not require much to lay me. under the turf. I am only a com- mon fellow, and no one will think4 much of me when I'm gone. Yet I have my own idea of right and wrong, and I should not like, in the pride of my heart, to see people raise their finger at you as you pass them, and point and say, There goes a-a dis- grace to her sex. I believe I should rise in my grave and haunt you while flaunting in the sickly glare of gas lamps-haunt you in the saloon and the chamber-haunt you in private and haunt you in public!" "Oh! father, "I said, in my turn, " on't, don't; for Heaven's sake, don't. It is too dreadful." "Nothing is too bad for you, my child, if you despise the advice of your father, and abandon yourself to civil counsels. They talk of a short life and a merry one. Ha! They little know the living death they consign themselves to. It is ever drink, drink; give me drink I What are they without it? worse than use- less. Can their tongues wag glibly? Can they sit up night after night dissipating health and strength for the loathsome wages of sin which slip through their unchaste fingers like so much water, and are no more use to them than dried leaves. Oh I Annie, be warned in time. Down on your knees, child, and pray for help and guidance, for indeed you need protection from above." I had never seen my father so pro- foundly excited before. He was never ostentatiously religious, but I knew there was ever a silent current of devotional feeling flowing through his mind. It now found-vent. Conscience- stricken I followed his directions, and 4bedient to his command fell upon lay bended knees by the bedside. He itood by me with his head inclined uad his arms folded. I could not see his lips move, but I knew that he was not silent in his heart. I buried my face, now suffused with scarlet blushes, in my hands, and poured forth my soul in prayer with such reverential fervor as I never remem- ber having had at my command be- fore or since. I implored celestial aid and intercession to drive away the devil that possessed me, and when I arose from my supplicatory position I firmly believed that the demon was exorcised. My father took me by the hand, and pointing to the drezses that lay apon the floor, said- "Are those all?" There were a few more insignificant things in my box. They were links that bound me to the past and to MErs. Beesey, but I ruthlessly tore them from their hiding-place and threw them on the top of the heap. "Take them in your arms, " my iather exclaimed. I did so. They were as much as I could carry. He bade me convey them into a small yard we ha d at the back of our premises. I cast them on the stones, and my father putting some straw and some sticks underneath them, set light to the pyre, and burnt them to ashes. While the work of destruction wasl going on, I was tempted more than once to cry, but the solemn scene I had just passed through restrained me, and made me think that it was all for the best. When the last bit of silk had succumbed to the fiery ordeal, my father put his arm' within mine and drew me into the house. We entered the sitting-room of our umble abode together. "Come, Annie," he said, "com- fort your poor old father, who kas ao one but you to look to in his old age." I pressed his hand tenderly. "I sometimes think I shal aot live long," he continued. "I do mot know exactly, but I have a foreboding that I shall never see threescore and ten. I should feel a pleasure in seeiag you well mated before I go." I sighed. "Why do you sigh? "Because your words make me miserable." "How so?" "I am sad to-night." "Why, do you not think of your future, Annie?" "I do sometimes; but you know women are always silly little thiags, living more in the present than in any other time?" "Better do that than dwell upon the past; but I should feel easier in my mind if you were married. Per- haps I nmig]t dandle a grandchild on my knee ; eh! Annie," he said, pinching my cheek, which instantly became as hot as fire. "Now," he contiuned, "tlve's Woodruff." I shivered i He's a worthy fellow, and loves you." "Don't talk about Woodruff; fit ther," I said. "Don you dislike him?" "Yes; and more than that." "Speak out." ' I hate him." "You do?" ] I have good reason to." ' Let me hear your reason?" "In the first place he is ugly*" "Well, he is honest, that ip a set-off." "He is a fool." "But he works hard." "He is awkward, and has notlhii to say fob himself . "He will make yon a hoeiae. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] MusAt- repeat I detest him?" "' The fact is, my poor child, you are ashamed to marry a working man." If so--" a If so, you are very foolish." e I cannot help it," I replied sul- lenly. 6"You refuse him, then." "' Yes, I refise him." "I am sorry for it. You have knocked away the only prop which could have prolonged my life." Oh! no; do not say that." It is so, my child. But we will talk no more to-night. It is time to go to bed." He shook, me by the hand in his usual way, and we went to our apart- ments. The next day my father came home to his dinner, looking agitated and discontented. Woodruff disap- peared. He paid me no more visits. Although I occasionally received a present, it came in a mysterious manner. In a short time my father's pre- dictions were realized in an extraor- ordinary manner. He 'was found dead in his bed. My astonishment and dipair may be imagined. On discovering the melancholy fact I roused the neighbors, and they sym- pathized and condoled with me, but I refused to be comforted. He was buried in the churchyard; I attended him to the grave. On leaving the sacred enclosure I met Woodruff. He also had paid a trib- ute of respect to the memory of my oor father. A thought came in my had, Woodruff might be useful to me in managing the small property my father had left me. "Good morning, Miss Annie," he! aid, in his sheepish way. r "Thank you for following my fa- X fher." I exclaimed, in a sad voice. ; - "He was always kind to me.*- u "They say you have left homet" ; "They are quite right. The as- sociations are painful to me. If I did not please you, it was my fault; but let me tell you one thing, I stil -love you, and if at any time yoi have occasion for my services you have only to send for Woodruff, and Woodruff will come to you." "How shall I know whoe you are?" "Just send a message or a line i Mr. Benson." "If I want you to do anything, you will?" "I swear I will." We parted. '.He followed me at a distance, but he did not dare to en- ter my house. When I found myself alone in my house 'I was overwhelmed with de- pressing reflections. I looked at the chair in which my father used to re- cline, and as I missed his genial face, and thought that I should never see him again, I burst into a flood of tears and sobbed as if my heart would break. I remained all that night onr an old horse-hair sofa. The next day I walked over the house. As I entered the best rcom I thought of Mrs. Beesey. What had I to gain by stopping at home? My mind was quickly made up. I wrote a note to Woodruff. enclosing the ke3 of my house. I asked him to take care of it, and to look after the pre mises. Then I ran over to Mr. IBenr son and left it there. The few things I had were soon packed in a small trunk, and a friend carried it for me to the station. On my arrival in New York, a carriage conveyed to West 28th Street. I inquired for Mrs. Beesey.. They ushered me into a drawing- room which was, as I ibonuht, sumptuously furnished. She ro o meet me; shaking me kindly by the hand, saying- "Is it you, Annie? You have come almost sooner than I ex- pected." CHAPTER IV. MY FIRST PLACE. [ DISCOVERED to my great delight that Mrs. Beesey had not forgotten all the kind promises which she had made to me during the brief space she stayed at my father's house. She did not allow much time to elapse before she gave me a substantial proof of her good-will. She had ta- ken me into her bedroom, and she exclaimed- "So you have made up your mind, little one, to be a lady's maid?" "Why not, ma'am? What bet- ter can I do? Indeed, I may say, what else is there before me? And since you are so kind " "Not at all ; the obligation is mutual. It seems to me that perq)lc misunderstand the relations which exist between a servant and a mis- tress. It's a matter of barter-of exchange; one gives money, and the other does work for the sum so given." All this was lost upon me. I was thinl&ng of Fanny, who was now lady's maid to Mr. Beesey, and won- dernng whether she would be ejected to make room for me. "Fanny," said Mrs. Beesey, "shall go, my child. I am tired of Fanny; she robs me, and does it a little too openly. She does it with impunity, because she knows I would rather lose all my dresses than take the trouble to scold her. And then she is impertinent; she answers me. Go down stairs and tell Fannv I want her, and ask the cook to give you something to eat. You must be famished." In fact I was tolerably hungry, and I should have liked nothing bet- ter than to go down to the kitchen and do as Mrs. Beesey told me, but I did not care about sending Fanny to the parlor to receive her dismissal, so I said, deprecatingly- "I should not wish to turn Fanny out of her situation, ma'aml." "Don't worry yourself about that, Annie. Fanny has saved money, and she has been th,eatening me for months with the baker, whom she says she is going to marry. Go, and i don't argue with nke; nothing fa- tigues me more. If 1r tell you to do a thing, you must do it; understand that." "I am very sory," I began. "It is the first time, so it does not matter. You are inexperienced, and don't understand my ways. Run along." As I left the room, I made a curtsey after the fashion of Sundayr school children, In a tone of ineffable disgust Mrs. Beesey called me back, and said- "For goodness sake, don't do that, child. Who ever heard of people making curtsies now-a -days. You will be thought a phenomenon." As I went down stairs, I wondered what a phenomenon was. I had no difficulty in finding the kitchen stairs, and descended them with my rough, creaking country boots. I reached the bottom, and stood on the threshold of tne kitchen. Fanny and the cook war e seated near the kitchen fire, drinking bottled beer and readjng novels. A pack of cards lay on the ;table. They had proba- bly been telling one another's for- tunes-a pastime much in vogue amongst the gay community and page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] those who minister to their wants. They both looked up lazily from their books. Fanny was the first to speak. "Well, young woman," she ex- claimed, " and what may your busi- ness be?" I replied boldly enough, "Mrs. Beesey sent me down to say she wants you, and I am to ask cook for something to eat." "Mrs. Beesey 'll have to wait then," replied Fanny, impudently. "My name aint cook, it's Mrs. Parsons," exclaimed the cook; "and there aint nothing to eat in the house, so you'd better go round the corner to the baker's and get a penny bun. It's better than nothing if you're hungry." This unkind speech roused my temper a little, and I answered- "Oh! I shouldn't mirrd doing that, only Fanny's young man might object to it." "What do you know about my young man?" fiercely demanded Fanny. "Nothing much ; but people will talk-even about lady's maids." Fanny and the cook looked at one another in astonishment, and then exclaimed simultaneously-:' Well, I never!" "You forget that Mrs. Beesey's waiting for you," I said, determined to follow up the advantage I had gained. "Tell her she may wait. But look here, young person, we don't want none of your sauce down here; so if you can't behave yourself civil, your room will be more 'preciated than your company." Suddenly a bell rang violently. 'he cook said nastily- "You'd better go, Fan. She'll be in one of her tantrums else." With a coquettish toss of her rather pretty head and face, Fanny 1 got up and ;went to her mistress. ) Presently the sound of loud speak- ing was heard, as if an altercation was going on, and Mrs. Parsons, who grew rather alarmed, began to put i something to eat on the table. Five minutes elapsed, and then Fanny came down with her eyes full of * i tears of rage and vexation: For fill half a minute she could not speak for passion. Then she said, "To be sent packing for such a dirty little trollop as that!" "You, Fanny?" asked the cook. "Yes, I've got to go. She give mne a month's wages, because I hadn't no warning. It all comes of serving such people. It a honest girl goes into a respectable house, she isn't treated as I've been ; but the scenes that go on here is awftil. It just serves me right for being such a fool. The next time I go to service it i wont be to a woman who's no better than she should be-if she has got nm,ney, and an old man to keel---" Before she could finish the sen- tence she received a violent blow upon the face. Mrs. Beesey had noiselessly descended the stairs, and had' over- heard the concluding dart of her maid's insubordinate speech. Being of a hasty disposition, and unable to curb her temper, which was at, at times difficult to govern, she had done so far as to strike Fanny, who was too well acquainted with the hasty character of' her mistress to dare to make any reply or to resent the indignity which lihd just been offered her. "Put on your bonnet!" said Mrs. Beesey sternly. She did so. "Your shawl." She habited herself in that also. "Now be off. You can send for your things to-morrow." "I want them now," said Fanny, 1 sullenly. "Would you like me to give you t in charge to the first policeman for I robbing me. If not, you had better ] to go at once, for it would not take i me long to do it." Without a word Fanny walked to ] the basement door and opened it. Whe she felt herself safe, she said- "Good-bye, Mrs. Parsons; it'll be your turn next, I suppose. I shan't i be sorry for you if you do get the sack. Twenty-eighth street is not much to talk about. " She slammed to the door and was gone. Mrs. Beesey went to the table and gazed critically upon the fare the ] cook had put before me. It con- sisted of some bread and cheese, and a few Spanish onions. "'What is the meaning of this?" ahe exclaimed. Mrs. Parsons made no reply. Snatching up the end of the table- cloth, Mrs. Beesey jerked everything upon the floor. The plates and dishes fell with a dull crash, and the bread roiled into a corner. "Let this happen again," she added, ( and you shall follow the wo- man who has just left." Turning to me, she said, "Annie, I give you full authoiity to help yourself. If you are annoyed or insulted in any way, come to me." She walked haughtily out of the kitchen. The cook went to the larder, and brought out the remains of a roast chicken and a salad ; this, with two or three other dishes of minor attraction, she placed before me. She spoke civilly when she had occa- sion to address me, but I could see well enough that in her heart she hated me. This fact did not distress me, as I was not likely to be thrown, much in her society. rs. Beesey had always told me that she wanted me as much for a companion as any- thing else. I did not require much penetration to discover that Mrs Beesey was being robbed by the cook in a wholesale manner. The wo- man's extravagance was prodigious. More than that, it was positively sinful. If she wished to fry a pair of birds she would put half a pound of butter in the pan: There was a marine store dealer round the cor- ner of a small street at the back of our house, and I am sure that she supplied nearly the whole of its stock-in-trade. She conducted her wholesale depredations with brazen effrontervy, as if everything she could lay her hands on was her lawful per- quisite, and she had a right to do what she liked with it. I felt it my duty to make certain revelations to Mrs. Beesey respecting what went on below stairs, and she so alarmed the. cook by threatening her with legal pains and penalties, that at last she desisted from the systematic course of plunder she had for a long time derived so large an income firon This circumstance made her hate me more than ever, but I took very little notice of her, and when she said any- thing to me I always made it a rule to give her as goodas she brought. I was a little anxious to know at what theatre Mrs. Beesey acted. With the quick perceptions of a woman I soon learnt the names of the different theatres, and the esti- mation in which they were held by the public. So lwhen I heard my mistress talk about Barnum's theatre, I cameto the conclusion that she was not a theatrical celebrity, nor likely to become one. When I had gained a little exps'ience I found that gay i women are always stagestruck at 1. some Heriod of their lives. They will give anything in the world to be page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] allowed to appear ipon the boards, if only in the most insignificant parts. They do not dream of receiv- ing a salary; they are only too pleased to pay a large sum for the privilege of appearing at all. When there is no native talent, it does not answer the purpose of the superior theatres, such as Wallack's, Niblo's the Broadway and Winter Garden to employ those ladies unless thev have a fancy for the light fantastic figures of the ballet. The Museum, some years ago, used to be the paradise of loose women. Charles Sebley, who protected Mrs. Beesey, was passion- ately fond of her. It was his wish that she should forget that she ever had any other name. She consented to be called Beesey, and was hence- forth. known to her little world as Mrs. Beesey. Charles always ad- dressed her as his darling Beesey. It is impossible generally to find out the original meaning-the etymon-of pet names, and I never could discover the original signification of Beesey. I knew very well that Charles was wasting his affection upon Beesey, because although she pretended to be epris d'amourwhen he was with her, i she did not care an atom for him in i reality. Why was this? Because he was an old man, and she was a young women, and human nature will speak out on such occasions. i Whenever I think of the days in l which I was Mrs. Beesey's maid, I s cannot help recalling the old story of s the Egyptian who was chained to a n corpse. For the association of Jan- v uary and May is very repugnant to v the mind ofa woman. Those women o who have experienced it at home n know what life with an old man is h like. It resembles at one moment c the passion of a maniac, at others it tl is the maudlin sentimentality and cc affection of a child. h s, jWhen in her presence, Charoe at seemed quite intoxicated with love - He could think of nothing, see noth. ,o ing, and could talk of nothing but ie his fancies. She was all the world n to him. Poor fellow I how he loved t her. He doted upon her. There r was nothing she could not make him B, do, so great was her power over him. o When I say absolutely nothing, I e am mistaken. He would ndt marry s her, but he made up for his remiss e ness in this respect by his prodigality and his lavish expenditure. ) I was very much pleased with - my place. I found my mistress i captious and arbitrary at times, but r she gave me my own way in almost I everything. If I wanted to go to -the theatre, permission was free- s ly acceded me at once. .And so - generous was she that I soon had a little stock of nloneyj and a perfect 3 wardrobe of left-oir dresses, which were worth something even if sold to a Jew clothier. I liked my mistress and I did not regret leaving home and not having married the gruff old Woodruff. Mrs. Beesey used to ride and drive in the Park nearly every afternoon. She contented herself with a modest. looking carriage, but of the most ex- pensive manufacture; although her pony was a little wee thing, it cost Iher a great deal more than ponies are usually sold for. She had a certain society. She was in a "set" con- sisting chiefly of gay women, and men whom they were acquainted with, who found it amusing to study what was after all, not a very good parody on good society. She numbered some men connected with the press amongst her friends, and she had one theatri- cal critic upon her visiting list. To this gentleman she paid assiduous court. She was eternally entreating him to give her a few lines in bs paper. At last he began to lookl upon himself as a persecuted being, and talked about being a man with a grievance. He told the aspirant for dramatic fame that if she was at any other theatre he could perhaps notice her performance. Everylbody seemed to like Mrs. Besey. She was not only charm- ingly pretty, but there was a charm inl her manner which took you by stormi. Flattered and caressed by every one, it was not wonderful that hc was spoilt. She was at times t(pevish, fretful, irritable, and did not know what she wanted. Her only c(nsolation in these moments was to ab1se and find fault with me; a pastime in which, in justice to her, I must say she excelled. Yet with all this, she was not proud. There was nothing of the nova fcenina about her. She waq not hau(gty, simply because she haid everythng that she culd wish fMr. When her little passing pettishness was over, she wolldl talk to me in the most friendly way, as if I were her sister. When- ever she went to ride she took me with her in her carriage. She said she wished to talk with me, and I was '-comwpanyy" for her coming home. Charles Seblev had carried on his intrigueo with Beesey for more than three years, and he appeared to be quite as fond of her as ws hen he first met her. He was a'ways happy when in her society, which was the more remarkable because she was pas- sionate and headstrong, and not generally very amiable. Let us sup- pose Beesey seated upon the soft, eating sugar-lllms or conning over some play which she is ambitious ,f making her appearance in. Charles enters. She looks up with a smiile of welcome, holds out hex pretty hand, allowing him to press the tips of her fingers, and continuing t deivour her preserved fruits with the same placid equanimity. Charles places himself by her side, and puts his irm round her waist. She moves away ; he attempts to kiss her ; she objects more strongly, but he holds her in a senile grasp until she breaks away, throwing the bonbons at him, and saying-"Oh! dear me, what a life' you do lead me, to be sure!" If Charles Sebley was happy he bought his' happiness dearly, for he was Beesey's banker, and she was al- waS drawing upon him for checks and bank-notes. Her favorite amuse- ment was emptying his poockets, whichl she often did, not leaving a single thing in them. Letters, money, everything was rolled out upon the sofa, and he would watch the work of spoliation with an imbecelic smile. The money, of course, he would never see again ; she would leave enough to pay his fare, and he would love her more than before for her playfulness." After I had been a day or two in my first place, I discovered that Mrs. Beesey paid clandestine vists to soime ine. I used to dress her before she went out, and on these occasions her attire was simplicity itself. She wore a plain cotton dress, like that of a servant or a poor milliner, and a common black shawl, together with a straw bonnet, ornamented with an unassuming piece of ribbon. She left all her beautiful silk and her gloves at home. The third time she went out dressed in this extraordi- nary nmanner, she took rme with her. She had previously asked me if I could keep' a secret, and if I were sufficiently devoted to her to be ac- quainted with her inner life and not betray her. I declared that I was. Who would not have done so? I was dying of curiosity, and I would page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] have sworn anything. Yet I was sin- cere in my declaration of allegiance. ,She informed me that she never con- fided in Fanny, because she knew that she was treacherous and a traitress, and she would not put herself in her power; a very wise discrimination on her part; for Fanny would at the first provocation have sought Charles and have made him a communication which would have caused him to open his eyes. We walked out of the house together. We halted at length, to my great delight and to the relief of my aching legs, at a door evidently at the top of the house. It was heavily made of oakO -no knocker, no bell. Over the top was painted in large letter, "Mr. Cecil Tellson." "Oh 1"I thought, "here then is the clue to the misery. It isTellson -it is the student-the pale-faced student of the forest. The friend of the artist; the man of the hand- kerchief and the breakfast at the inn ;" and I ceased to wonder. There are some women who cannot live un- less in an atmosphere of intrig(ue. Was Beesey one of those? It looked very much like it. "How will she ever get in?" was my next puzzle She drew a key from her pocket and placed it in the lock. I learnt afterwards that Tell- son had given her this key as a proof of his intense and passionate love for her "Come," he said, "come, my own, my darling Beesey, when- ever you like ; come in the fill glare of noonday, come in the dead of night, and if you finld me untrue to you, kill me on the sjpot." She had t sought him out on her arrival in I town, and' made him believe that she 1 was a lady in redullced circumstances, that she worked for her livinr land 1 made a small sum every wetk by her needle. She had gro;ne into the - country to visit her fi indls whhn 4t, met her in the forest. Sho assurd him that she was passionately at- t tached to him, and she succeeded in ,stealing the poor fellow's heart from him. He believed all she said, anid when together they were like two love birds. This was how Beesey amused herself in her leisure mo- Iments. The huge "oak" swung open, revealing an inner door with a knock- er. The key opened this also. We entered on tip-toe; a passage con- ducted us into a poorly furnished room, filled with books; a few pic- Ptures of eminent judges and lawyers hung on the walls, a slender fire burned in the grate, Tellson himself, was fast asleep in an arm-chair. A book which he had been reading was upon his knee; I took it "p and found that it was called ' Chitty on Contracts." It occurred tc mal that matrimonial contracts mlighf have occupied the mind of the compiler, -and thus tne book had found an in- terest in the ;yes of the studa-nt but the ignorance of women on pi - found and intricate subjects is pr)o- verbial. Cecil looked very handsome as he leant back in the chair utterly un- conscious of our Dresence. Perhaps dreaming of his loved Beesey, but never dreaming that she was standing before him. "Is he not beautiful?" whispered Beesey to me "Yes, indeed," I replied. She raised her veil and bending forward kissed limn lovingly upoa the lips. He started up ; he opened his eyes. lIe stared wildly, about him for a second, and then threw his arms around her and Ipressed to his Dreast, cvrinl(r ller with caresses. ' You work too 1ard, Cecil," she excl;ained rleprloachlflt!ly "How can I work too hard when ti is for you I work. You are worth working for, my dearest Beesey?" "But your health- " ' Is excellent," he returned with a smile. "I cannot think how I came to drop off to sleep. I had my as- safcetida by my side, and that gen- erally keeps me awake. Beesey introduced me as her cousin, with whom she had been stopping, and the lovers talked un- restrainedly before me. I did not wonder at Mrs. Beesey's loving Tell- son, he was so quiet, so handsome, so *gentlemanly, and so unassuming. From the little i had seen of his ,character I could tell that he would not approve at all of a woman who led the life that she did. An actress at an insignificant theatre, living under the protection of an old man! He would have cast her from him because he would have thought her unworthy of his great love. She was wise to invent a pleasing fiction with which she could throw dust in his eyes. He was a willing horse, and she drove him in blinders. She had two lives. One was de- voted to gaiety, to pleasure, the theatre, suppers, illicit love, and Charles Sebley. The other was made up of pure materials. She acted her part of milliner to admiration, simply because her heart and soul went along with it. She felt it. There was nothing artificial about it; it was all real. The pale student breathing the sweet incense of his undying love in her ears-love not to be quenched by poverty or those external circumstances that so often choke it and reduce it to a state of ruin, desolation, and despair. She 'lived in a dream when visiting Cecil Tellson. If she had thought, she 'would have dreaded the awakening frmm this dream; but when did a woman so devoted to pleasure ever think? The experience of a life- time replies, never. She lived in the present-the past and the future were alike dead letters to her. The future she shrank front contempla- ting, because of its dim and shadowy uncertainty. The past was full of gloomy recollections, and the hollow caves of her memory were filled with ghastly skeletons, around which she was only too glad to throw a veil of concealment. As for Cecil, it was his first love. Is it necessary to say more? I think not. Who does not remember the first sweet hour when his heart beat in unison with that of another-- when the earth seemed fashioned on purpose to give him pleasure and al- low him to wander upon its surface with the object of his adoration. He was drunk with love. - e thought of nothing but Beesey; she wassiis pole star ; she engrossed his thoughts by day, and in his broken slumber he would throw his arms about some fitting shadow, and in imagination glue his lips to its, and murmur softly, "Beesey!" What had he done that he should be made the dupe of a woman for whom he was infinitely too good, too pure, too no- ble. Alas! it was his fate. What use to moralize, or to battle against the stern decree which shapes oiur ends, no matter how we settle and arrange them? Mrs. Beesey's visits although fre- quent were not of very long dura- tion, because she was unable to spare the time. Tellson could have knelt upon the floor at her fee/t and wor- shipped her all day long as if she had been an idol, but when she said she must go, it never occurred to him to dispute her wish or gainsay her intention. She thought nothing, of deceiving Charles Sebley, because page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] he was ah old man. Women look upon, old men itas fair gme--as their legitimate prey, and to steal a march upon them, and to play them false is a virtue in their eyes; but had any one proposed to her to sully her love for Tellson,. she would have recoiled it horror from the proposition, as if the arch-fiend had appeared in per- son before her, and instigated her to the grossest wickedness. I amused myself while the lovers were engaged in conversation as well as I could by looking at the books on the table. Sterne's "Sentimen- tal Journey " was my favorite, and I read a feF pages every time we went with much pleasure. All at once a rumbling noise was 1 heard and Mrs. BIeesey exclaimed1-- "Ceeil, what is that?" "Only the horn which tells us to get ready for dinner. It is a very old custom. We dine at half-past a five, so it is now five. It is a strange r old custom, but I like it for that very reaSon." 1 "Then I will run away. I must a not keep you." V "I don't care about dining, my own," he replied, "when I have you with me." She' would not stay, however, and having kissed him tenderly on each cheek, and once, twice, three times on the lips, in an amorous manner e see took herdeparture. Cecil openec. 1 the door for us, and stood gazing af- a ter us like one moonstruck. The t: woman of the world had turned his h head. a "I love that boy," exclaimed w Beesey, when we arrived at the bot- a torm of the staircase. I "He is worthy of it," I replied. rt We took a stage home, and my. 1 mistress did not utter a sound or a T syllable during the whole of thel q journey. She Wau plunged in deep k meditation. It was apparently a happiy reverie, for her face was wreathed in smiles every now and then, as if the visions she conjured up pleased her. The next day she began to work an antimacassar. I ventured to ask- her what it was for, and she respon- ded simply, "Towards housekeel- ing." Ah I who would wake one fond- ly dreaming, madly grasping fleet- ing joy. Puppet of fate, man is ever twisting with sand a fragile rope. I was surprised to see the energy with which she worked at what she had undertaken; I had lio idea that she possessed so much la- tent power. Her character seemed th develop under the pressure of this new love. I began to admire Mrs. Beesey, whom before I had merely esteemed as a kind mistress and a good friend. In two days the anti- maca8ssar was half finished. "Look, Annie," she cried; "wiill not that dear pet be pleased?" and away went the busy needles with untiring pertinacity. CHAPTER t AT THE "AY. FORTUNATELY for the antima cassar, it was finished just before Mrs. Beesey's industry began to flag; another hour would have seen il thrown over to me for completion. I had- it carefully washed and ironed, and then wrapping it up in paper- with as much care as if it had btec, a bank-note for a thousand dollars, I took it to my mistress's love. Ceci received me with op(n arms when 1f learnt the purport of my mission. Tears came into his eyes and he wav- quite affected at this proof of Beeseyg ' afflcXtiOQ "Tell her, Annie," he said, c that de has made me hupremely happy by her thoughtfulness. I am de- lighted beyond measure." I had some difficulty in under- tanding how Mrs. Beesey could love one man and belong to another; it was an enigma of the affections. As fir me, had I loved Cecil Tellson to distraction, as she undoubtedly did, I have no hesitation in saying that the caresses of Charles Sebley would have stifled me; I should have ex- nired in his arms. Why did she not leave the antiquated roue, and revel in the young and fresh affection that thlrew itse+' at her feet on every oc- casion? I suppose her only reason for not doing so was, that she was wedded to a gay life and could not divorce herself from it without a! struggle. She was not stronfg-minded enough to give up her diamonds, her theatre, her ponies, her house, and all ithe luxuries by which she was surrounded. To her mind, pam- pered vice was better and preferable to neglected poverty. Some weeks elapsed, and every- thing went on in the same way. Beesey spent her time now with Charles, now with Cecil. The stu- dent lived inca fool's paradise. Mrs. Beesey was to play in a new piece which a young dramatic author had written expressly for her. She had paid him well for his industry. The money she gave him set him up for aH'ear. She ordered the most superb. resses, and resolved to wear her own oinaments, which were of the most costly description. The -worn and tawdry costumes of. the theatre were tout at all to her mind. It w'as the fashion for a few nen, perhaps a emcple of dozen men to frequent the theare, and penetr Ate behind -the ecenes for the purpose of intriguing dtth the actresses, whose moral were well known to be accomodatinbg. Mrs. Beesey, whose theatrical name was Agnes Fitzallan, was very pop- ular with these loungers. She, how- ever, gave them no encouragemndiht. When she played they invariably mustered in force, and showered flowers and notes upon her. 3Irs. Beesey bowed and smiled, and picked up the votive offerings with a grace peculiar to herself. When she ar- rived at her house Charles was al- ways waiting for her, if he had not accompanied her to the theatre, i which he could not do at all times. iA letter arrived during a visit of i Charles. It purported to come from Ithe manager of a theatre, offering her an engagement the terms of which were so very advantageous that they would have excitei sus- plicion in any mind ;aut that of Charles Sebley. She handed it to him; his face clouded as he read it. She exclaimed in a loud voice, ^"An- nie,"-I was at her side in a rnlo)mn: --"Brin-g me a pen and ik-ell--cvr:- thing for writing." I did so. Charles trembled; he was afri',;,l that she was about to accept th( offer. Writl a rapid dash of the pen sht wrote, "Declined, with thanks;" showed it to her protector, folded it, sealed it up, and said to me- "To the post-office--quick!" I understood the part I had t.* play, and quickly walled into :l. mistress's bedrooum. Charles Sebley was so overcome at this proof of what he was pleased to consider "her magnanimity and preference for him that he could scarcely speak. From that hour the silly old man was i:i(:1r, her slave than ever. Yet in thel l;,- litical world he was accounted crafty and artful, and no one would have thought of amcusing him of imbe- page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] ecility; but like the unfortunate Ce- oil, he was Beesey's plaything and her catspaw. Her victory over these two men made me experience two different sensations. I was proud of my sex-the next moment I blushed for it. We dined early on the day of the first representation of "Love and Passion," as the drama in which she was to play was called. Charles had agreed to come down to the theatre, where he had a private box. Mrs. Beesey dressed herself at homle be- cause she wished to be sure of the effect. "How do I look?" she said to me, while surveying herself in a glass. 1' Charming, ma'am." 'And my dress?" 6 Fits you splendidly." "Isn't it too full behind?" "I ca;n take it in a little." "Never mind--it will do, I dare- say; but I am anxious to look nice to-nirghlt." "You could not positively look better, ma'am." "Does my hair shine nicely?" "Like floss silk." "And my. crinoline, is it large enough?" "It is the biggest we have." "How many yards did the woman say she put in the dress?" 'Thirty, I think, mla'am." *' That seems eno-ug4h, doesn't it?" This was the frivolous sort of con- versation in which she indulged for an hour. After making me flatter her about her attire, she appealed to me respecting herself. "Shall I be a success to-night, Annie?" ' There is no doubt of it, ma'am." "I thirnk I -am clever?" "You only require to be known." : "I muse advertise a little more, wd go to some other theatre. There I ls not scope enough for me." "Not nearly, ma'am." "The men will go mad about me to-night, Annie?" "Sure to, ma'am, they always do." "It is charming to think of it." She clapped her hands together child- ishly. "Get me some absintho." She always drank absinthe when she wished to excite herself. I accompanied her to the theatre, and we got out at the stage-door, aftierwards penetrating to the stage. The manager and lessee of the thea- tre was p:rowling about as was his custom, and he complimented Mrs. Beesey very highly upon her ex- qulisite attire. "Peep through the curtain, Annie," she said, "and-see if Charles is in his box." he was there, and I replied in the taffirmative. I kept my eye at the hole fior some time, as it amllused me. to lookl at the audience. All at once I turned pale, two yountg men entered the theatre, and took up their po- sition in the pit. I recognized both of them in an instant. One was Herbert Wantage, the other Cecil Tellson. Tellson at the theatrc! Tellson about to witness Beesey's performance in "Love and Passion!" Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been more surprised. I continued to gaze at the young men in a fascinated manner. I fe4reL there would be catastrophe; I did not see how it was to be avoided. Beesey was called Agnes Fitzallan in the play-bills, but the keen eyes of a lover were sure to penetrate throughl the flimsy disguise of a theatrical nomenclature and a stage costume. I was hesitating as to whether it would be better to tell my mistress, and so put her on her guard, 01o r whether it would be better to allow her to make the discovery herself. Before I Could decide, thO tinkling ef a baell was heard, strangers were warned off the stage, and the oppor- tunity was lost. Mrs. Beesey had to commence the first act and say a few words, but it was in the second that she was to shine. The ctirtain drew up, and she began brilliantly, but before she had proceeded far her eyes wandered about the theatre, and she encountered first of all those of Charles fixed admiringly upon her; secondly, those of Cecil Tellson, inl which there was an expression Nwhhll she waws at a loss to interpret. Th , unexpected spectacle of the student- at-law in the pit of the theatre coni-! pletely upset her, and it was very lucky that the part she had under- taken to play was not one which re- quired her presence on the stage for -any length of time in the first act Her voice trembled, quavered, and then sunk almost below a whisper. Feeling inclined to sink through the floor like a fairy in an extravaganza, nhe retired to the wings. She was oudlly applaiuded. Her agitation was ascribed to nervousness, and passed over as a venial fault in so charming a creature. I caught her in my arms, or she would have fallen. I gave her a three-legged stool to sit down upon-it was the first article of furniture upon which I could lay my predatory hands. ' Oh! my God, Annie!" she ex- claimed, "I have seen him!" ' Whlo, ma'am?"I inquired, as if I did not not know to whom she was alluding. "He is here-Tellson." "What a misfortune! but per- haps he did not see'you." "' I hope sincerely he did not. Get me something-some wine; some brandy. I shall have to go on again presently, and I am now ready to drop." Some brandy invigorated her. She made a heroic effort when she was again called on the stage, and roused by the stimulant she had imbibed, gave some point to the words of the play. "Bravo!" cried Charles, leaning out of his box. Cecil Tellson stood up, and ex- claimend in a loud voice, audible half over the theatre-"Well done, Bee- sey!"The comion people laughed. Charles Sebley seemed petrified. My mistress instantly ceased speaking. There was a dead silence, amidst which Cecil again cried--"Well done, Beesey!" She could not bear up against these repeated attacks. Uttering a cry of pain, of anguish, of despair, she fell upon the boards as lifeless as a corpse. The curtain was instantly lowered. The utnlost confusion prevailed; Charles left his box, and sought the wings of the theatre. A doctor was sent fobr, and still Mrs. Beesey continued in a jtrance-like state. "For Heaven's sake, doctor," ex- clainled Charles, who was thoroughly alarmed, " do something oir her." The doctor felt her pulse and re- plied-- "There is nothing serious the matter with her. Give her rest, and do not let her be excited. It is the agitation she has gone through con- sequent upon the introduction of a new piece. Keep her quiet, and she will be well in a few days." He administered some restoratives, which had the effect of bringing her to herself again, but she no sooner realized her position and remembered what had occurred than she burst into such a fit of sobbing and crying that it was pitiable to see her. In this hysterical state she was carried to her carriage. In the meanfime nothing 'was heard or seen of?Tellson., The page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] manager of the theatre had taken the precaution to have the piece " under- read," so that the play went on as usual. Charles Sebley and myself' accom- panied the actress to her llouse. She was too ill to walk up stairs without assistance. I felt quite concerned for her. Charles was at his wits' end-- not a very long journey in an emer- gency of Ithe kind. We laid her gently upon a sofa; where she had not reclined more than half a minute before she again went off into a state of insensibility. The poor thing really appeared more dead than alive CHAPTER VI. JANUARY AND MAY AFTER Mrs. -Beesey fainted away a second timle, a scene of great con- fusion took place. No one seemed to. know exactly what was best to be done, or imost advisable under the cirduimstances. The cook was sent for a medical man, and in her hurry she happened to leave the street- door open. This was an imprudent thing to do, and an evidence of gross carelessness on her part. , It was productive of serious consequeDces for the very man of all others wlhom I should have done all in lmy power to keep away from the place, finding the door o^;... 1 in, and with the eoolest fE.)-ier, and most un- aba;-d,.A impl7do:ce%, . ralked up stairs and enteredItkee drawing-room, where Charles Sebley and myself were bend- ing, over the i'anisate forl of my unfortunate mistress. This man was Cecil Tellson. How he had contrived to follow the car- riage, and track us as he hd, done, I was unable to -disc=,ver, '.:-l dil not know until soime little timne after- wards. At last, owing to our inde- fatigable exertions, Mrs. Beesey opened her eyes and cast a restless glance around the room. 'uOh!" 'she cried, as her regarlds fell upon the student. Charles and myself turned round at the sound of her voice, and for the first time notict,( the intruder. I waved him back with my hand, but he stood as motionless as a brick wall. Mrs. Beesey hd hler faice i, her hands, as if the si1ght of Cecil Tellson was too ipaillhl. 1 kne1w how dearly she loved him, and lpitiedl her misery fi'orm the bottom of my, heart. The young 111an was ghastly white. There was not imuch to choose between' his complexion and that of my mnistress. His lips were screwed fimnlly togetlher, which indi- cated that he was a lmanl of stron1,f purpose, and tlhat all the latent en, ergy of his nature was aroused. ' Cecil again! and here!"I heard Mrs. Beesey murmlur out. Charles looked indignantly at th0^ studenl.-at-law, and exclaimlted- "Who arc you, sir?" Pelrhaps the lady who is!yin:g upon the sofa will answer your quCs- tion. S1he is filly collmpetent to do so," iplied TCllson, cailaily and sar- castically. " "The lady you speak of,"' aretuyod he, "happens to be half dead, and utterly unable to carry on a convers a- tion, so you must excuse lme for re- peating my question." Cecil Tellson folded his arrls, and looked straight at Beesey, who cow- ered upon the pillow as if trying to creep into some place of refuge where those great blue searching eyes could not possibly find her! Oh, the nlisery of that night! All at once Charles Sebley struck ! his forehead, and exclaimed- " Now I rim elneik-:',. You were at *lheat(, I t'llnk, tl'lis evening?" "Yes," wais the stodid reply. "And: it was your exclamation twico rp('lea. tcl, which threw c this lady I:1to sto lamenbIl e and se:inous a state { f comlllotion." t Yes." "Yo cried out- -TWell done. ;ccsey?" "I didl ; tiat is the only name 1y ;'-,lich I know her ." T'here is stuch a thingl as a the- -,rical lba)'Lismn, which, peltrhaps, you I,ave heard of. ow, Beesey is notU a theatrical name, .Land I .should like t lDnow in lwh-at w:a you became ac- quainrted with it?" Cecil made no reply. "I see that you are not inclin- ed to be communicative to-night. You see how ill the lady is, and how desirable it is that she be kept quiet. I shall find a means of making you speak to me to-morrow." "Make 1O! repeatedl Cecil, with a curl of the lips. "At present I allow you to go, and do nmore than that-I ask, I en- treat you to go away, because your presence evidently distresses the in- valid. It was you who excited her at the theatre, and it is you who are continuing a vexatious annoyance in al house which does not belong to you. "Excuse me," said Ctcil, with a firezin(r calmnelss whi..clt made nme trceiblinog. "Are you the father of ----- of Beese l?" ' I am not.^ "Her husband?" "Not at all." "Neither!" cried Cecil. "What &re you, then? Her guardian? Her uncle? Her brother? h er cousin? In what relation do you sland to her? What gives you the right to protect her whikh you arro- ,gate to yourself?" "!' 'cthy, the way in which you I con(:ct your cross-exlamination is so 1 point 1).:::k, an d narlcx by ouch scant. col:ri.'s, that- ." " I lknow tit it is strangc--.pro- ])alnl offensive," said Tellson., n a tone of extenuatio n ; " but. you will, I ho11l, believe ime whon I s:ay that I hlave not the rcmitoltest intention of ofiendin 1y:." -1 Chtrlll(s Selley, moved by the earnesne'll ss of' ilt young man's n man- i nI', an t wishing to bring the inter- \view to :l 'llnd, and the conve,'s,:tion i to a close, detenllined to gratify his icurliosity, but th- way in which Iris r eply was to be iln,:de and in what il(-I;u',re i' was t) 1, couclted, was a qulstilon of solme difficulty. He i wislhed to satisfyi Cecil without hurt- ing the fieling-. of my mlistress, hllich he klnew to , verly suscepti- ble. So hte saild- "I answer your inmpetuousl qu(e- tions fia lil]-y. I do not stand to- waxrds lthis lady in any of the rel1a- tions you have mel(ntioned." "And yet you are here, and have a ricght t( be here," exclaimedl Cecil, while all exprlesl'sionm of' the mllost un- utterable anguish covered his exples- sive 1)but pafllid feratures. Charlets 1struged his shoulders as if he deprecalted a repetition of his relllarks. "And rwhat do you suppose I am?" cried Cecil Tellson, fierxely. "I ati this woniman's lover-her af- fitced. Myv God! it is 'enough to drive iei out of mlly senses. Why, air, we were (tlbolt to lbe marriedcl." At this Beesey raised her head, and in a touching tone supplicated tlhe young man to be silent. "If you lave an atom of lingering regard for me, " she breathed, rafer than spoke, " do not say any mow." page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] A cruel look flashed frolll Cecil's eyes, as he re plieed, almost triumph- Mtly-- I will speak, and you shllan listen to nme. It is a pcart of your punish- ment." A cloud of profound grief settledl upon Oharles. He at once perceived how my Inistress had trifled with his feelings, iand how, when she pre- telnded to love him most, she was in- triguling, to the best of her ability, witlh a poor law-student, to a certain extent artless, lunqushtionabl y inno- cent, and never suiq)eoting for one instantt, as i'e pored over fins books;, that he w1as boing lmade 1t llicitillI (rall I too harsh?) of a clever actrcss i}1d 1n accolmplished 'courtesan. Charles saw that. Cecil wished to speak. So, actiuated by a desire to hteat the whole of the circumlstalnlcces ttten(mant upon the strange stoi-, he sat down in a chair, 1ad lighting a cigar, sloked with all the dignity lie posse ssxl. He took the trouble to place the chair upon. whicl le was. sitting between the stulldenllt an Mrs. Beesey, as if he considered that loe had still the right to protect her I against all who were hostilely dlis- posed towards her. Cecil opened his lips and said, in a voie which trelmbled oc(ctsionally from emotion- "c I hope you will find wlhat I amn going to say not only amlusing, but to a certain extent instructive. I mfet this woman quite by accident. She happened to be staying there. I -w\as in the klzbit of going to a seo1ces- tered' ghuie with a friend, who-t is Dy professionanartist. Whilehe slt tul;-" ed and painted, I smoked and tallk- ed to hilnm One day she came sud- denly upon us. I was much struck ly her .beauty, fimcinated by the grace of her m'anner, and fell-deeply in lov1Y with ler. You may imagine ; that she is well versed in the art of' seduction. I gave her my addaress (and she called upon mle. She pro- i fessed the most ardent affection for i me, and I considered nyself happiy t and fortunate in finding so good andl i true a healt as the one I fondly ima- rined her to possess. I do not lnow h(ow to tell alie myself . I am not in the hablit of deceivingr any one, so I did no,()t dream that I was being play1ed and trifled with. She cime to lme as La milliner, who hladt to w-ork for her Ilivin. 81lShe always said she couldT not stpare 11much tinlme, and her visit were brief - I am not well off, lmut I manalge to r)ub along with what little money I I make 1)y writinog for ra weelv- papier, land with the sluall .sums rnly jlnother occasionally s('edds me. It order to illcreasie ily slender incomela I beg(an to read veiy 1 1. 'rd. My olb- ject ill doiig this was to be all;le ,to !llari'y 1Ler sooller tlian I otherwise ! could haveo hoped to do. I worla, like a sltave night and day, I l:a'y : zllost'say I scarcely went out, andlt when I did, it was onlyl to take ex(er- cise I found absolutely necessary' . I1 aln free to confess thllt duringr tfl;t time I was raiptl urouslyl hIl'ap'py. D( you remellber your fi st love? You, are comlllaractivelv an old man, Mau the recollection of it must ,ild the? p)ast and nlake retrospection a plea- surec. I had never loved before, antl when I staw her como( to 1my rto)ol$, looking, clcharlningly modest, and a]i- parcntly so siilmille .1 and confidlilng, I could have? fallen dowlon and hlave made myself an idol. I could hlave kissed her Ilinds and fcet and wor- s;ilpp)ed tLr, but thea you must re- collect that, like Saul of Tarsus th re were scales over nmy eyes, which ( lid not fall down until I Iound my- self in the pit of the theatre. You must also bear in mind that owing to the strict life I led, and the sanest way in which I pursued my studies, that I was very little thrown amongst the society of women ; and at my age one is very susceptible and likely to receive impressions. The admiration I felt for this woman ex- tended itself to every thing she wore. I would hlave treasured up a lock of her hair, and a piece of her dress would have been in my eyes as a holy relic. She worked me an antimacas- sar one day, 'towards housekeeping,' she said. What do you suppose I did with it? Did I throw it over my sofa or nmy chair in a vulgar manner? Not at all. I wrapped it round my body, and wore it next to my skin, as if I had been a Fran- ciscan friar, and that piece of work my shirt of hair." As he spoke, Cecil tore open his waistcoat, opened his shirt, and displayed the antimacassar folded round his body and coming across his breast. Charles uttered ah exclamation of ,surprise. My mistress sat up and gazed at him in wonderment. I,.who was nearest to her, heard her murmur very feebly, "IGreat God! how he loved me!" This remark did not reach the ears of the two men. During all this time it was worthy of notice that Cecil had not once called my mistress by her name. He had once been passionately enamored of it; now perhaps it would- have choked him. Such are some of the phases through which the human heart has to pass. "This is the way in which I loved her,' resumed Cecil. "It is a melan- choly thing for me to think that I have thrown my love away upon an actress, and wasted my affection upon an outcast of her sex. I was in the habit of waiting at home nearly al- ways in the hope of seeing her, for eo invariably left me in doubt as to when she intended to come. A day or two ago I asked her if she would call upon me this evening. She re- plied that she woi I not be able to do so, because a relf tion of hers was ill, and it was absol.,tely necessarn that she should run into the country for a couple of days and nurse her. Looking upon her as a good Sama- ritan, I blessed her and loved her more than ever for her goodness, which it appeared to me in my blind- ness was developing itself more and more every day. I was at liberty, and my fiiend the artist, Herbert Wantage, happened to look in late in the afternoon. When I heard a knock at my door my heart began to beat, and all my efforts were unavail- ing to still it. I was foolish enough to think that she had changed her mind. When I saw Herbert I was slightly disappointed. He had two tickets for the theatre; he knew the author of a new play, and he. had been asked to go to the house in a friendly way "' What are you going to do this evening?' he ask me. "Nothing.' "' You don't intend to work F ' No.' "' Will you come to the theatre P I have hadl some tickets given me.' "' What a place to go to I' I re- marked. "'Oh! I don't know. It's great fun to the actresses.' "My face clouded over at this. I thought it would be little less than higTh treason to her to look at any other woman. So I replied- "C You know that Niblo's is the only theatre I ever go to.' "'I tell you why I want to go. The author is a very nice fellow, and he likes to have his pieces applaud- ed. So he relies upon his friends. You need not 10ok'at the wowmea page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] If yonl want to be, austere, be so by all means. To the pinre all things are yli're. ' ' '(Would it really oblige you?' "' I tw ould indeed.' "Finding that he had set his heart on my rgoing, and as I always sacrifice myself for my friends, I put on my hat, and we descended the stairs together. We arrived in very good time, and the curtain soon af- terwards drew up. I did not pay particular attention to the I)lay, be- cause I wcas thinking of helr and ac- cusing 1myself of beincg a )beast to enjoy myself at the theatre while she was sitting by the bedside of a sick relation. And while the actual drama was goingr on, another one, ideal and visionar3y, took place in mvy mind. The dcranmatis . '2cr-,soncd were two. I fanilcied a bed'loom, an invll- lid around wh.-lose couch she wlas flit- ting, giving the patient cooling drinks and reading good books to her. Suddenly I looked up, and tl-he im- tpulse was so irresistible that I could not help uttering a cry. ' Herbert turned towards me in the utmost astonishment, and ex- claimed- "'hat is the matter with yon?' "' Who is that actress?' "He took up) the playbill, looked at it, and returned- "' Agnes Fitzallan.' "' Impossible.' ' Well, look. for yourself.' I did so, and there was the name, Agnes Fitzallan. Either the bill was misprinted or I was going silly, and I said as much to Herbert, who replied, with a laugh- "tI know which is the most like- Iy.' "I turned round to him and said- , "' It may seem so to you, but you do not know that' I am in love with: that woman.' ' Agnes?' "'Noh, Beesey. That is the only name I :llnow her by.' CAt this mnoment the lpublic ap- plauded her, and I in turn got pt) and shouted- "C Well don%, Beesey!' "It did not occur to me that I was guilty of any thing wrong, al- though I was much startled -when I saw her faint away and fl:!l dlown dead, as it were, upon the hard board s of the stage. They carried hler off, and unable to resist the impulse, i ran out of the theatre and waited at the stage( door. After some timehadl elap):,ed she was put in a carriage, which I followed at a quick pace. I was determined to fined out the truth, and to confront this most detestable woman amidst the meretricious trap- pings with which T had no doubt he- halortry had surrounded her. I don't think I have ever hated any one iL my life before to-night. G od knows I Cam not wicked, but this woman is, an inftlnous wretch, a viper, whom one ought 'to ,put under one's heel to crush the life out of it." Mrs. Beesey, towards the latter part of the student's speech, -had thrown herself into my arms, but she never ceased looking at. Cecil. lWhen Cecil had brought his ex- planation to a close, he turned to Chllarles Sebley, and said- "'I have had the misfortune to love the same woman as yourself. If you think that your honor or yonr caprice demand satisfaction, I shall be glad to give it you." "Certainly not," replied Charles. "C You are in no way to blame, nor can I find any fault with you. The sin lies at the door of another." "In that case I have to apologias for my intrusion, which you are ged. clOenoughl to t CUSC UsCntder iti' circuIm- I stances. I wish you good night " ij }He movedl towards the door after this valediction, without so much as lookling at Mrs. Beesey. When she perceived this shle appeared to me to sulmmon up all her strength for a final effort, and there was something I grand about the courage with which I she did so. I felt her delicate fralme t Hem)!le in my arms, and the throb- )ing seasation produced by the pul- sation of the heart struck against my left hand, and so excessive were the palpitations, that I wished I had4 somee dicitalis with which to calln "O ' Charles." she cried, may I tres- iass on 0your kindness and good na- t Ire? I wish to speak to this gen- ; tle man alone. That is, Annie may ,'c -ll'n." C/thir'les walked out of the room :.-ith stately courtesy'. Tellson tlurned to my lmlistress, and " hat is it you have to say? tle ;i r of this rool stifles me." ' Don't be too hard upon me, Cc- *sil," she, said plaintively. I owe a duty to Smy3self." "But that dutl does not conqpel yp,u to kill mle." " You h.:ve grossly deceived nme." ' What could I do? The situation I was placed in was such ll difficult (one. I never lovedl anly one in lmy libf till I llmet yolu." "s Women lilke your:self invarilably say thltt, I he rejoined, with a bitter, i nsu lat n1ugh. "Oh! ho' will kill lme, I'm sure he will," she exclained, writhingc about in my arms in a paroxysim of mentlal agony. "That declaration coming from you has no weight with me." 'lWhy not?" she asked, looling up "Benausecyou-aareanac ress. What is the use of continuinug the, farce with a man whose eyes are open? The comedy ought to end here." "Forget the past, Cecil. Will you not? Under another name and in another dress I was in reality another wolman." "No, no," he replied, slakincg his head, "you were merely a whited sepulchre." "Think of the present, Cecil." '"The present," he said, sternly, "Ibelongs to the man who is keeping yolu in luxury." '" Oh! you accuse me of that, do you? Very well. Forgive me, and I will leave the luxury, leave thle man, leave cverything, and share your "isery. On hearing this the fLce of the student lighted up with a glow of I conscious pride, insulted honor, (and righteous indignattion. "M1y misery!" he repeated, in a low but painfully distinct voice; a, wo man sucl as -you are is not vorl t y to 1:1ention it. Youir footsteps woutld I pol lute, h ave polluted, n y poor roomlls, i which constitute a heaven inl com par- lison to the house in which I find I myself." "'It is all over/,' cried Beeseyt, in ; accents of despair. ! " (Iave you. antything more to say to nme? because I am going," said Tcllson, brulsquely. "I have only +^ say that I shall die if you leave ; e l-.e this." "Die then," Ihe cried, sawagely; Ilit is only fit-tJug that the draimn should end in m aragic manner ; only God knows, if ,17. ncue is to de it will not be yo "He is pitavrn), tie murmured, L and fainted again. W Without so much as looling at her, I the student left the room. I called Charles, and was rather slurprLsed to page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] see that he treated her with the great- eat kindness and consideration. He chafed her hands and bathed her forehead, now with eau de Cologne, and now with vinegar. It was im- possible that he should have alto- gether forgotten the painful scene of that evening. We could not restore my mistrem, to consciousness for any length of time, for she had no sooner recovered from one fit than she re- lapsed into anothier we put her to bed, and at length had the extreme satisfaction of ee-r'-e her go to sleep. Charles went away and left me in charge of her. She did not wake until late the next morning; before she had opened her eyes, Charles re- appeared and sat on a chair by her bedside. His eyes were swollen, and I could see that he had been much perturbed; possibly he had not slept all night. When Mrs. Beesey awoke she thought, doubtlessly, that she had been the victim of a bad dream, for she said, with a sigh of relief- "What a horrible sight! I mulst have eaten something that disagreed me." Her eyes fell upon Charles. "You--" she cried. Yes, is there anything wonderful in that?" "Oh, it's all true, then!" "Do not think of it." "I remember," she cried, excited- ly, "the theatre, Cecil, the scene afterwards, and yet you are here. You are too kind. I don't deserve it. I am very' wicked, and very un- fortunate; I make every one mis- erable; I make romances; I ought to live with a novel writer." "Have some tea, my dear child, and you will feel better. Annie will soon get some ready?" "No, no." "Do it will give me pleasure." 1 "Ifso--" -1 "We can talk afterwards." e I had the tea ready and she drank r a cup) and eat a small piece of toast which refreshed her and invigorated -! her for the frying ordeal she had yet - to go through. As a matter of course, Charles l Sebley accused Beesey of deceiving him; he wondered what heliad done ' to cause her to cease to love him. - He was sorry for it, but lie told her 1 if she would only tell him what would make her love him, he would do it with pleasure, if it involved a L journey to the other end of the world. He forgot that he was an old man and Cecil Tellson a young one. His only fault was his age. Perhaps his excessive devotion had something to do with it. I could see that there was every chance of his forgivina Beesey. She had not committed the unpardonable sin; she had only yielded to a weakness which, what-, ever else it might be was not crimi, nal. But if she were forgiven, and once more taken to the senile bosonb the case would be very different wit- me. I had attached myself to my mis- i tress, and I was the partner of her deceit. My fault was simply that I had not informed Charles of the "escapade," of which his "woman" had been guilty; consequently he would at once demand my dismissal. I was rather alarmed lest Tellson Ishould commit suicide or do some- Ithing rash. Beesey had warped his young affection forever, and sent him forth into the world forlorn and blighted; it was a cruel thing to do, but from what I knew of th( ir connecton, I firmly believe Beesey was prepared to throw up everything for the stu- dent. In his passion lie did not consider that she could make any sacrifices; he did not stop in his hasty reasoning to think that sh4 would feel the change trom a life of Inlxury and ease to one of poverty ( and comparative solitude. When 1 you have been wearing silks all your lifetime, it is trying to the feelings i to descend to serge, anld brown hol- I land and cotton. If a man who is l engaged all day in the city and else- where, can give his wife carriages, I dresses, and money, sh e does not feel i the loneliness of her position ; but for a woman married to a poor stu- dent who is at his books all day and sometimes the best part of the night, whose whole time is spent in reading and writing, lwhen there is a difficulty to get money enough to pay for lodg- ings, and to obtain necessary articles of food, and those of the commonest description, some allowance ought to be lmade. But the fact was, Cecil Tedsen was one of those men who have an extraordinary idea of them- selves, who pride themselves upon their birth and their famiily because they know if they go back fifty years they will find a grandfather, a dry- alter, and an ancestress, a washer- woman, or an uncle a barbei) and if they are rash enough to go fifty years further, they come to a flll stop, be- cause in those days the mushroom had not sprung up. Those are men who give themselves airs and talk about "disgracing their family."' I considered that Cecil Tellson behaved very cruelly to my, mistress. If he were determined to leave her, he might have done so in a more gentle manner; and the harsh words he made use of, could only have been employed to give pain. If he were not a mushroom himself, he was a descendant of a very inferior sort of fungus; having a dash of the toadstool in it. As far as birth, oducation, and blood went, Charles Sebley was worth a dozen of him, and a dozen more on the top of that. Beesey had wound herself round Charles Sebley's heart, and twined herself in such a manner round his affection, theat he found it utterly impossible to give her conge without rendering himself one of the most miserable men that ever existed. I knew the state of her heart well; she did not love himn; in point of fact she had never loved him. Sho even went so far as to love another. She had deceived Charles once, what ,guarantee had he that she would not do it again? None! Yet he was so infatuated as to be rash enough to trust her. He talked to her for a long time, and did all he could to make- her understand how silly she had been to deceive him; he dilated upon his munificence, upon what he had done for her, and what he was ready to do She p)reserved a discreet silence. By so doing, she reserved to herself the right of acting as she pleasec Finding that he softened down and was willing to forgive her providing she made a show of submission, she was very sorry fob what she had done, and hoped he would forgive her. "I have been very foolish," she said, '"1ut I tsulppose I must take the consequ, nces. It serves me right. You have been too kind to me ; one never knows when one is well off un- til one loses one's fortune. Never mind, I don't blame you., I must try and get my living somehow; per- haps I shall succeed in doing so be- tween the theatre and---?" Here she burst into tears, mur- muring- The thought of leaving you for the arms of another suffocates me. How could I ever allow any- hand but yours to wander about my bosom, or any lips but yours to press my lips? I feel that I am yours; every page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] pulse in my body throbs for you alone ; you may do what you like to bme, except tell mle to leazvee you. There is not a bit of mle, dearest Charles, which does not belong to you." This enaDled Charles to pronounce the word whichll he had been burning for some .timle to unburden himself of. ' Forget everything.' "If I can." "Why not?" ' There is one thing I can never for(get." "And that is--- but surely you do not love him still?" "Certainly not. On the contrary I hate him." "Tell me, then." "It is your kindness." "Oh!" lhe said, with a snmile of' congratulationa , "lhat is not-ling. j We will not dwell upon that.; let u1s talk aboutt something else " "Shall I silrise oil?" I "You 11 a-e al;rcat3-y C'(1le I,.o iC I 1t most agreeaile ilanri:er'." ' There is somnething I shlould 1": '(2 to do fb3 y(oul." Sh:e ltoo1:' up, in I r inIl,-n 'There is t co;ntl" s;' t /7 XCA col:nt'y satlt!' "Yes, tlu1 Ican waul,: A,COfr0 i L"It is a lz]:i'g s I1I." "Y-es amltl I(. Y(es, Lo soilet peo- pie; 1no, becallse it is notliill t!) I "You areI Cr(,tsus in dlisl' 'l,;" she remarked. " But who is tlhi; s-eat for?" 1 "Foryou!" he relIied, gazing at" 1 her affectionately. "For me ? nonsense, dear 1 Chaxles!" ! "I assure you I mean wlhat I am 1, saying."' ' You will really do this for nb, ) aftcr what has taken pl'ace?" "I give you mily word." "Then you are the best fiIacIw. ) that ever lived, and I have been .a fool," she replied, feelingly, and g(t-, ting nup, she coveredl"t kin1 with k;isses., and gave him the m:lost forc ible and convincing plroofs of h1cr rcsuscit;lted aflfction. Soon afterwards Charles Sebley went away. TakLin:g advantage of the opplortunit, I fladvlanced to Imy mistress, an(d ased hder if sh(e wanteI me. I had overheard the conver':SZ- tion which had j ust ta;.keln 1plhc througlh-the exce(.llent and accoznmma,- datinrg inedium of the keyhole, an l I thlou-l:ht it was. ju;et the time t: look allter my i;itcresfts;. Owinv -,8 the mnilificent offer the b)laronet h::, jutst made Beesey, it - was rmy opi; r- ionll tit", ' shl, would be in a rgoo' tempDer, wldiich is equivhlent to bein- ,ge:,nero:; i: ,oe instances, among wl:1.h h,111-rs wa-s not an except 1fion1 1 C"om(' hbere, Annie," she , xclainm- dl, "I u:"t to s(e -you. I aI:o . wth :is'-f ed with you, because you nay,? , ' ( ved v.-,d ;,::d:, I shC C ,l S y )lursl fI' ":b've, fo:r: ou hav: -,.Il alog, plossess,.c : ::c:'nfi!.:(c,,. C,'C'il wV,s "i ...t ....t" ",O'h. I ithew dlu,-' in Iis I y, ani. ,o (a ceu'lain cxte::I I, mad? a fot of i: . I fsaid I hold k i' -tDl mse '- uto after t kio rn aff a'i:'s 'l^:ve taken, I haven't the :remotest idea now of (dLinilc ainything suicidal. 1 mrlst :niwledg)', though, thhat if Cecil 1::-d tohl mi lo follow him, ind( said Ice wo)11'.l Il1a rry meo, I shoul,[d have lft Chia'les ; he h1as not done so, 1,1nd I rather think I shoull congra- tiilate myself on the fact-for who Ianld what is 1he, after all? Only a law student ; perlha)ps better off now than lie wifl be llen he is call-ed to the bar. I have heard of the struggles s that young men have to go through before they get any practice. I should not have had any carriages or horses i or dresses, or anything worth living for. It is .n narrow escape. Why should I, after all, sacrifice my posi- tion and my prospects for a stupid I: boy who is fool enough to fill over! headz and ears in love with the first woman who goes out of ler w-ay to i be a little civil to him? Is it; not ridicnlous when,you come to think of it? I did something for him. He; i3 very ungrateful. Did I tell you whtat Charles has done, or rather i-s going to do for me? No .- Well, then, you will be a little surprised. Hle is going to buy me a coulntry seat on the banl;ks of the Hudson, andl it is to cost him $50,000, and I am- not to go on the stage any more. I Isn't that magnificent--Cspccially af- tPr what has occurred? I might have worked my fingers to the bone, and slaved mry life out for tho lawyer, aneld have got nothing inl te end but llhat I could get -fi'omn a hundlred imen any da y in tho week-arn overwhehl- ing quantity of' weak., silly, senti- mental love ; upon my honor, Annie, I begin to think I am well out of it." "But you, my poor child," she added after a pause, "I cannot take you with me. I'll tell you what I can do. Youn shall have five hundred dollars to console you for your disap- pointment-and I know you are fond of mir.--nrl I will give you the whole of my wardrobe, which will be of some value to you-. I would willing- ly keep you in my service, but as you were a party to the Cecil-Beesey- Sebley row, I don't see how it is to be done. Charles would object; and all the spooning over in the world, perhaps; wouldn't make him ta1e yon. He would think you a link to bind me to the past, and perhaps suspect that you carried letters an(d things to and fro between. I.' When I say you shall have all my wardrole, of course I don't include the silks and the cashmneres, and one or two shawls, but you -will have a pretty good boxful nevertheless;. As ifor ine, I amr once more like a snakn in spring. That felloiw called me a viper, didn't lie? I shall change my slkin onco more. It must be abou, my fifteenth incarnation." She burst into a loud laugh, in which I joined'; afterwards, she re- sumed- ' "What strange creatures women are, Annie! I was abusing the stu- dent a moment ago, and now I feel s"dl, and have a d sile to know what 1t: 's doing, where l0o is, andi all. that. IYou mi1ust go and find out for fle, and I scnd me all the news at my placc, i Write to the post-office, to be left till call for. What, crying? that will never do. I know you are Cat- tached to me, but it can't bo lhlped ; these things will happen. Pack up your traps, and go and try on some of the dresses; if they don't revive you, go and talk to your sweetheart ." ' I haven't got one, ma'am," I re- pli'ed half crying. c No! How long have you been in New York?" '; Goingr on three months, llma'am." -' Threeo months, and not got a i sweetleart?--well, I' never hteard su1ch a thing. The sooner you im- 1 prove on thait state of affairs the b etter. I abuse the men solmetimes, Annie, and play theml all sorts of Ltricks, but, after all, I don't think I could do without them. They wait I upon one, and work, and make money, land take off their hats so nicely when , they' meet you, and keep you in 3 gloves, and make you presents, and )! go with you to theatres and operas,. 3 I and pay for everything. Oh I by all page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] means get a sweetheart, Annle ; but if he attempts any familiarity, keep -him at a respectable distance." "Who--where am I to go?"I sobbed. "Oh! I forgot all abouat that. Now look here, my child. ,Which would you rather do? Go in what they call a reputable house, or enter the service of some jolly woman like myself." "Do the last," I replied. "Very well; if that's your choice, I can be of service to you and give you a character. In the first instance I could not, as there unfortunately (for them) happens to be a misunder- standing and an estrangement be- tween modest (how I hate the word!) women and myself. My friend will take you in, even if she does not en- gage you." I thanked Mrs. Beesey as well as I was able, but I did not say much, as I found articulation difficult, owing to a choking lump in my throat, arising from a wish to cry. I was really much attached to Mrs. Beesey, and it caused me considerable pain to leave her. The dresses con- soled me a little, and the five hun- dred dollars seemed a fortune with which I could defy the world and all its inhabitants. BMrs. Beesey left New York the next day, and went to her place on, the Hudson. The letter she gavee me before her departure was address- ed to Marian Willis. i CHAPTER VII. : TOUCH AND GO. C "THOSE women," as it is the cus- I tomr to call ladies who are "Fie! i fie i" usually take names which do 5 not in any way belong them. I never t took the trouble to inquire into the s history of Marian Willis, but I have f I little doubt that she was not an ex- ception to the rule. I knew perfect- ly well that Marian Willis was no better than my mistress in point of respectability, but I did not hesitate to enter her service, because I knew tliat I should experience the utmost difficulty in getting a place in a de- cent family. What had I been to commence with? A servant in the house of a very third-rate actress, who. in order to elevate her income to the pitch she desired, united other than creditable amusements with the legitimate business of her profession; perhaps being of the opinion that there should be free-trade in every- thing. I saw little chance of ever being anything else than the servant of a loose woman, without I leaped over the barriers, kicked over the traces, and set up on my own ae- count. This, however, I had no in- clination to do. I was thrown into my present position by accident and the force of circumstances. To live, it is necessary to work ; and, to .tell the truth, I rather feared that re- spectable families would not be half so kind to me, half so liberal, or give me half so much liberty as Mrs. Beesev had done, and as I hoped Marian Willis might. I presented myself at her house about twelve o'clock, but she was not at home. The servant told me that there was little chance of seeing her until din-* ner time. I resolved to call after dinner. I slowly descended the steps, and wondered what I should do with my- self until the evening, when I thought ot Mrs. Beesey's. commis- sion. I was anxious to know what had become of Cecil; so I made up my mind to stroll down and pay the young student a visit. I walked up the terrible stairs which led to the student's chambers. With thank- fulnss in my heart I arrived at the stop, and was surprised to find the door locked." I endeavored to look through the keyhole. It was appa- rently stopped up with paper, for I could not see through it. I tapped gently against the door with my par- asol ; there was no answer. I knocked with my hand and kciked with my foo ; still no response. Per- haps he is out, I thought; but I fancied that I perceived a smell of smoke, very laint but vet palpable. j I could not be mistaken, it was like the first rush of wind down the -chimney in the morning when you light the fire, and before the cold shaft has time to warm and " draw." I grew alarmed, and loolked around! m. There was another door oppo-j site me, belongtingc to Mr. Jacksoni Drew. I was well supIlied with presence of mind, and I ran to this, door, and commfenced a furious at-I tack upon it. I continued this for the space of half a plinute. Then I hea, d footsteps inside. The door opened, and I saw a man, apparent- ly about five-and-twenty, with a three clays' beard upon his chin ; his hair rather shaggy and Shetland ponyish than otherwise, dressed in a dressing-gown, carrying a long pipe in one hand -and a volume of Black- stone in the other. When he saw me lie uttered a cry such a priest of old might have done when he had occa- sion to exclaim "-Retro Sathanas."' He was about to shut the door again, when I exclaimed-' "For Heaven's sake, come and break the door down ; there is a nan dying in the next chambers!" This was a bold assertion, but I really did think that Tellson was in a critical state. I hardly knew what I feared, but I was afraid of some- thing vague and dreadful. "I have a great objection to be disturbed when I am reading," said Mr. Drew ; ,t but if, as you say, ther- is some one in a bad way in there, why we' mayv as well investig'ate it." "Will you break the door down?" "That is impossible." "' But you are strong." "Possibly ; yet I am not Sam- son.1" He camne out of his door, and looked from the window in the pas- sage .which gave him a view of the court bclow. "' The laundress ought to be mov- ing ; it's one o'clocl," he muttered. He continued looking out of the window for some time, much to my disgust and annoyance. "Why do you wait for any one?" I cried. "Break the door down ; he will hle dead else." "In the first place, my child," he replied, "I wait because the laun- dress is the only person who can give one admission, except the ownet of' the chambers. If I sent you after her you would be an hour finding her whereabouts and have your trou- ble for nothing, which would be any- thing but agreeable. In the second. ],lace I am not aware who 'he' is. !Do you mean a man called Tell- son 2?" "Cecil Tellson." "Ah! I know him by name-a 'reading, man. If he is iii any way up a tree. it is an opportunity for thte jexercise of one's magnanimity andl heroism." Suddenly he threw unp the window, I and shouted "Mrs. Brown." An old woman, very much like a bundle of rages galvanized int.0 ani- mation, toddled up the stairs." "That is fortunate," he said "that's the laundress." I thought Mr. Jackson Drew's re, marks very tedious and unfeelinu, but I said nothing. The old womza4 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] "ide her appearance in due time at the top of the staircase, puffing like a steamn-engine and blowing like a grampus. We made her understand the nature of the case, and she quickly opened the door with her key. The inner door was also closed ; when that was opened a perfect cloud of smoke rushed out upon us. The asthmatic laundress recoiled in terror half choked. Jackson Drew, how- ever, was a practical man, and hle at once gave e his pipe to hold, and dashed through the impeding vapor; he reached the windows, and without a moment's hesitation drove his fist throug'h half a dozen panes, makingli ' the glass fall with a dull crasl upon the pavement of the court. This let in a little air. The bedroom door was shut; a kick forced it open, and Mr. Drew perceived Cecil Tellson lying upon the bed. He caughlt lhim in his arms as if he had been an in- fant, and carried hirm out of the hamlbers to the passage window, from which there was a free current of air. The laundress in Ihe! ('eanttime hav- ing recovered herself, opened all the doors and windows in the chambers, and threw some water on two pans or braziers which contained charcoal. When the atmosphere was sufficient- ly purified we carried in Tellson, who was nearly asphyxiated, and laid hiul on a sofa. He had not, as yet, spoken, although his eyes were open. "A letter lay upon the table. I read the address. It was to Mrs l Tellson, Worcester. "What is that?" exclaimeq Mr. Drew, taking it fomn my hand. "A letter to his mother, I imag- ine." E "Most likely. Break the seal and ) read it. In times and emergencies ] like this, one must not stand upon 1 ceremony. Read it, and tell me the i wontents." I I He gave it back to me, and I did e as he directed. i ' The best thin you can do," he I added, "is to burn it, if it is really for his mother. Write her another of a totally different nature, and tell her to come here as soon as she can. Be quick." Thle letter was written in a broken- lhearted manner. Tellson accused himself of ingratitude and poltroon- cry in taling the course he was pur- suing, but he had been unfortunate in love, and now he had nothing left fr him, for he was miserably un- happy, and preferred death to life. He wrote touchingly about the sac- rifices in money matters his mother hadn made for him, and it grieved him to think that they should prove to useless. He concluded by saying- "When I am lying in my tomb, pray do not curse me. Let this be my epitaph- "One by the gods abhorred, condemned ab Jove, t Long with distress and dire risfortule strove; Fortune against him set her shameless face, Nor blushed to send him barefoot to the race. Spurned fiem the first and hated to the last, He cursed the age in which his lot was cast; Deemed it virtue from present ills to fly, And held it grand to prematurely die. Let rich religion, fattening in its stall. Reflect a moment on his mournful fall; Forbear, ye critics, nor pronounce him mac, His end was violent, but his fate was sad. Let justice slumber o'er his blood-stained tomb, And rise beside him Qn the day of doom." The tears came to my eyes as I read these melancholy lines, which he must have written when upon the verge of despair. I would not de- stroy the letter, because the poetay struck me so much that I thought it worthy of preservation. It was the photograph of a mind abandoned to misery and the abyss of grief. How- ever, I wrote to his mother, a&a said- f regret to inform you that your I -on has been taken suddenly ill. He Is in no immediate danger, but he wants you to come at once. He is in excellent hands. His illness is, I think, the result of overworking him- self." I gave the letter to the laundress mnd told her to post it at once. By the time she came back, Cecil was able to converse with those about him. "Who are you," he said to Mr. Drew. "Oh! I think I know you. You live in the same building, do, you not?" "Exactly. Very happy to make your acquaintance, only I wish it was under more lively circumstances," implied Mr. Drew. Cecil at once recognized me, and said- "Did shle send you?" Yes." ' How is she?" "She has left town.' ' Indeed!" "Poor thing! she wept, and asked m to colle to you." "Tlhat was kind of her. I feel now that I have been a fool. She loved me, and I drove her away. I shall blame myself for my conduct on that occasion as long as I live. I shall waste away and die of inac- tion if I do not hear from her soon. Will you fly to her and entreat her formiveness. She was so lovely." iurning to Mr. Drew, he said- "If you only knew what a charm- ing creature the lady about whom I am talking was, you would pity me instead of blaming me, which you are perhaps inclined to do at pres- enit." Mr. Drew had, from a feeling of delicacy, withdrawn into a corner, ad was looking out of the window. Since you have spoken to me," he replied, "'I will with pleasure give you my opinion. A man may love a woman as much as lie likes, but I cannot approve of his com- mitting a crime for her." "A crime!" echoed l'ellson. "Why, yes; what else can you call it? You are well enough to talk now, and I will give you my view of the question. A lman who buys charcoal and lights it in his bedroom, with the openly expressed intention of killing himself, is noth- ing more or less than a coward. He is a bankrupt of heaven ; and that is the most mlelauncholy condition to which a man can be reduced. I do not preach against women, or advise men not to love ; on the contrary, I say follow the dictates of nature, but in the name of'justice and of commllon sense, do not go mad about her and destroy yourself whilst you are en- tete. Nothing in the world delights me so much as a girl just budding into womanhood-a pretty little thing with peach-blossom cheeks, and the airy manner of a fairy. The;se affairs of the heart are often essentially transitory in their nature. I myself have had half a dozen of them, but I am alive and ready for another to-morrow if a beneficent Providence should throw one in my way. I mean I should feel deeply grateful for any trifling consideration of the sort. Women are flowers, and men are butterflies. They sip and sip, but then they should take care that the floral essence does not in- toxicate them. I have saved three men who were fortunate enough to possess my acquaintance. They one and all came to me and said they would "incontinently drown them- selves." One was disappointed in his marital aspirations ; another ha4 written a book which, instead of be- ing a success, fell flat upon tke page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] town ; and the third,-what was the cause of the third one's being au dese spoir I? le was in love; and what was mnore ridicilous than any- thing I ever lheard of, he was ena- moured of a wonmarn of eas;y virtue. Can you fancy canything more ab- surd, my dear fiellow? It is a use- less question, for I am sure you can- not. All these men were really clever, but they wanted the patient endurance which makes men famous. They wished to aellieve their objects in too great a hu'ly. It is a youth- ffil dream. Only one here and there s fortune ernotgh to get to the top cf thie tree. 1 shall be perfectly con- te-ht. to fall into the second or thirdl tplace, or lower still, so long as I ob- tain a place. The 'dearest friend IV have on earth has been ten times jilted by -wmen-disinherited by WIis flthler-lost six thortunes, and iserved an applrenticeship) to fourteen diflerent trades-yet he is the hap- piest, the most industrious, 0nd in tnanv senses the best of men ; but the the idea of killing himself for a woman would make b m laugh so much that he would 1)e ill for a week afterwards. Take my word for it, old fellow, that you will make great filn of this freak ,f yours when a few more years htve passed overyour head.'" 1 agree with you tC a certain ex- tent," repliel Cecil, in a low voice. "I can assure you that I shall never be guilty of such folly again, but I don't. se how I can laugh at it." "You are not alone in the world? To1! -have some one to. crve for?" "A mother and a sister." * Do you owe them no duty?" :: H-1, began Cecil, ln a stam- nerlng nmanner which showed that I.; \\:ils ashamed of' himself. 1* 5x;tctvl YoutI hetslaton fhowsi ,;.,itt umy I'tnlUlLk wasi a nome thrust. t Your mother will be here to-mto row."' "How?" "This youngi lady and mvyself," replied Mr. Jackson Drew, " took the liberty of opening a letter we found on your table, and we slubstitued another one for it, redles-illg your mother to come up at once, as you: I were not very well. In a case of this sort, such a coulrse, is justifiable." Cecil was not in the least annoyed. I-e expressed llis gratitude. We sent the laundress for a doctor, who, when he arrived, prescribed certain remedies hch he said would be ef- ficacious. Cccii was )lt to bed, an4l "I arrancge( his p)illows and mrade hinl as comfbrltable as I could. Mhr. ! Drew took hs leave, and after light- ing his ipqI)e in his Unsal philosphical mncnnler, )egan to smole, and soon ifterw'lals resuimed his reading. Cecil apI)leared much relieved 'by my 1)rese'ce(. I was a link between himn self and Beesey, whom I could s,.: he still loved passionately. Broken esxclamations escape him occasion- al!y, which showed me that he bit- terly reproaclhed himself for his folly in replfsinlf lher advances and trea[- ing gher with the harshness she had feblt so lucl. He looked at me as if he would ask me with his eyes not to desert lhim in his hour of -misery and of trial. I interpreted his elo- quent glance, and said- "I told you, Mr. Tellson, that I have left Mrs. Beesey's service, anl I aIm now going after a new plce." "Then you will leave me to tht tender mercies of my laundress, who ;i the most unconscionable old hag ir Christendom." "For anl hour only. I am goi ng to arrange the preliminaries with rIy new mistress, and I shall ask fboi $ week to put mny affair in order." ' I amt muchl obliged t'o you, An- ^ Perhaps it will b, in my pow- I er to repay your kinduess someI i dy." "Don't talk of that, Mr. Tellson. I shall ble well repaid if I see you ] looking well and happy once more." "Ah!" he said, with a deep- I drawn sigh, " we must hope for the I best." It was getting late, and I hurried along until I arrived at Mrs. Willis's. She had returned, dinner was over, I and she said she would see me. She l wad my letter of introduction, and aid- 4' So you want to enter my service, my child! You have been living with an intimate friend of im-ine, which is a recommendation, but you must be fully aware that one cannot discharge one's servants all at once to please another." ' Certainly not, ma'am." "Very well. Rose, who is at present my Abigail, shall go, to make room for you, but it will take me sometime, perhaps a week, to find a pretext for her dismissal. I have a shrewd suspicion that she steals my chemises. I shall en- deavor to prove the fact. You un- derstand that at the end of a week I engage you." "Yes, ma'am." C6 And now let me give yoa^ a few words of advice. A good servant ught to be like those worthy people mentioned in Scripture, who have eyes, but they see not, ears, but they hear not,' and know how to hold their tongues. If you answer my purpose, and do as I tell you, you will have nothing to grumble at. I shall feed. you like an alderman, and let you go out once a month, and have your Sunday evenings. I don't mind your having a sweetheart, but lhe must never come inside, the house. Your love affairs must be conducted ,at a dIscreet distance. Will that do for you?" "I Excellentl-y, ma'am." "I have now Beesey's letter in my. hand," she continued, " and in it she says she does not send you away be- cause she has any fault to find with you, but circumstances compel her to part with you much against her will. have heard something about that affair. Did not somebody who was half mad cry out and alarm her, and the ittle fool fainted? What is it?" "I don't know ma'am ; I was not there, and I have heard nothing." "They say she went home after- wards?" "I have every reason to believe she did, ma'arm." "But you must know, little stupid." "Indeed ma'am, I am totally ig- norant or everything." "Oh! that is nonsense," she cried, impetuously ; " you undressed her, I suppose, and put her to bed?" "'I did what Mrs. Beesey required me to do." "I heard she has left town?" "It is likely." "Who has she gone with?" "I have not the -least idea, ma'am." "You are not a fool. Come, an- swer me. Is it not Charles Seb- ley?" "I cannot venture to say.' "What! you are very impudent," "I hope not ma'am., I do not iu. tend to be so." "Do you mean to stand there and tell me that you know absolutely nothing of what occurred after Bee-) sey fainted at the theatre?" "Positively nothing." "You are either excessive4l pertinent, or a born idiot." page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 'Tshis is the first time, ma'am, aat I have been accused of being either one or the other. If yea will be good enough to remember what you said just now, you will excuse "Well!" she said bitting her lips. "A lady's maid who is really worthy of the name, should neither hmar, see, nor speak." "Very good," cried Mrs. Willis; X a clever retort. Beesey was right when she said she had given me a treasure. But one thing astonishes me." "' What is that, ma'am, if you will allow me to ask?" "Simply this. You are good-look-; ing, you can talk, and you are un- questionablyclever; why then should you wait upon others when you could get others to wait upon you, if you ihose to set yourself to work." "Oh!' I replied with a laugh, "it amuses me. There is quite as much sport and more fun in watching a play than in acting in it." "Capital! , What are you going to do during the week I have allowed you?" "I am going, ma'am, on a charit- able mission." "A Sister of Mercy! What is the object of your solicitude? Has it moustaches?" "I will not deny that it has. A young man in whom a friend of mine is interested has endeavored to kill himself. I am going ,to nurse him until his recovery." "Well, Annie, your time will not ] be hst," replied Marian Willis, kind- n ly. "Can I help you in any way? ] Does he want money?" i "He is too proud to accept any- ( 1Oh I upon my word I feel inter- 1 &ted. Is he handome?" aVOeyf "What is he P" "A law student." "It is quite romantic. Go to hin/ by all means, and don't forget to I come at- the end of the week. I shall look out for you." When I returned, I found Cecil Tellson expecting me with feverish anxiety. "Well," he exclaimed, " have they given you the holiday you wished for?" "Yes. One week; during which I can nurse you." "Will you, really?" "With pleasure." "That is very kind of you," he replied, with tears in his eyes. "It will help to save my life." I talked to the student about va- rious things; now giving him an anectode of the private life of Mra Beesey, the next half-hour telling him all about Newport and Wood- ruff. I think he felt some compas- sion for Woodruff. He knew what it was to be disappointed in love. The next day Mrs. Tellson arrived, and was so pleased to find her boy in a state of convalescence, that she could not scold him for the wicked attempt he had made on his life. He was glad to see his mother, who had all through his life been his best friend. The fact of his being alive, and heartily sorry and repe- tant, was so pleasing to Mrs. Telsou that she could think of nothing else. She felt sure that he would not try to kill himself a second time. fin heart had passed through the fire which had strengthened and purified him. He was in experience, in fed- ing, and thinking, at least ten year older. Mrs. Tellson took a room at a hotel close by, where she p ed the night, but the day was spent by her in the chambers of the ivali, who began to recover rapidly. Bi lungs were not affected. On the fourth day he was so much better that he could get -up, and take a short stroll. Ars. Tellson treated me with the utmost consideration, and consulted roe about various matters. She seemed ia great perplexity about what she should do with Cecil when he was well enough to go about as usual. She feared that there was a canker at his theart, which might eat into the core y slow degrees and, sap his strength. fer surprise was unlimited when she found that the woman upon whom he had set his heart was a woman of the town. She could not understand his falling so desperately in love with a creature she looked upon as worth- less as well as vicious. .She was bigoted, like most silly, ignorant country people. She could make no allowance for strong passions which will not allow their possessor to think or to reason. A lovely creature, ac- complished, well dressed, fascinating, crosses your path. Some power or some instinct, over which you have no control, says to you "Bow down aad worship." In vain you strive against the imperious command; your struggles are unavailing j you are forced by the. inevitable will to do as you are told, and the conse- quence is that you are, as chance has it the slave of a duchess or the ser- vant of an oyster-wench. This sudden rush of affection towards one object iA more remarkable in young men. At eighteen a woman is a thing to admire at a distance; at nineteen you long for her society and wish to be 4iways tied to the skirts of her rust- ling silk dress; at twenty you talk about your female acquaintances and boast of conquests; and this con- tates till you are five-and-twenty, ] mhen you look about with a view to I Itlfing down. But should you have X -e mr- th your facied ideal at the 1 * earliest age, the passion is so ab-. sorbing, so engrossing, so engulfing' that although a life-long ruin stares you in the face, not one man in a thousand is able to resist the tempta- tion. And the more generous, brav,. and clever the man, the easier victim! he proves himself. When Mrs. Tlel-' son declared that she was in a di- lemma, it occurred to me that if Cecil were to go into the country lmd take his books with him, it would do him all the good in the world. The fresh air would revive and invigorate him. The atmosphere of town, be- sides being unhealthy, teemed with painful recollections. It was certain that he could not go away without' some one assisted him, for both him-' self and family were too poor. I' thought of my house at Newport,' and I knew that if I wrote a letter to Woodruff he would, at once get the place ready, and do all in power for any fiiend of mine, wihth" er male or female, whom I chose to send down there. There wa one objection to my plan, and that was the student had first of all met Beesey in the woods. That, how- ever, would, I hoped, bei pleasant rather than an unpleasant reminis- cence. At Newport he could work hard for the short time that had to elapsebefore the examination. Mrs Tellsoli approved very highly of my plan, and thanked me over and em again. "It isi a pity that he should die. of grief," I remarked to -hie poor mother; a he is so handsome andiso- good." "Yes, is he not r' replied 11.: Tellson. "Every one thinks so, m Mdt myself; and although I am orny a ladys maid, I am not a bad judge of men. If we can once get him to i- terest himself in "i books and Ib page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] studies, the wound which is at pres- eat gaping may cicatrize and heal. I have written a letter to Woodruff; there it is." Mrs. Tellson took it, and I shook her warmly by the hand, afterwards taking leave of the student. Our parting was quite affecting; his grat- it ide knew no bounds. Mr. Drew, kearing from the laundress that I was gling, came in to pay his respects. "We shall meet again," exclaimed Mrs. Tellson. "I hope so; you have my ad- U Have you nothing to say to me?" exclaimed Mr. Drew. "Am I the only one who is to be left disconso- late?" "d No; if you have need of me, I will promise to come to you also." 8 That is right ; now I shall sleep asier," he replied. As I descfded the old wooden stairs I am sure my eyes were filled with water, which wished very much to rum over, and the lids were a little swollen when I arrived at Mrs. Willis. CHAPTER VIII. A RERSE OF FORTUNE. MARIAN WILLIS was one of the best-known and most famous women in New York. She was sought after fly every man who had the slightest pretension to the title of "about townm" The style in which she lived was recklessly extravagant, and my mental remark was, as I went from one splendidly-furnished room to another, " it is impossible that it can last." It had, however, lasted long enough to render her celebrated and talked about as the most luxurious woman of her class at that time in existence. She was very glad to see mee, nor was I long in discovering the reason. She was in pecuniary dimff culties. What woman is there who, is not? Their expenditure always exceeds their income, and in somne cases that is enormous. Some gentle- man with whom she was acquainted had sent her a diamond necklace. I found her looking admiringly at it. "Were you ever in service before you lived with Beesey, Annie?"Xr exclaimed. "No, ma'am," I replied. "Don't call me ma'am when we're alone," she said; "that is only necessary when there is any one in the room. I suppose you learnt something though, when you were with her." "In what way?" "Well, the fact is, I want you to go to the pawn-shop for me and put this necklace up the spout. A Rus- sian swell who met me at the ball, made me a present of it. Is it not lovely? What do you think they will lend on it?" "They never lend more than a third of the value, and I am not a judge of diamonds." "It must be worth nearly twenty- ' five hundred or three thousand dol- lars. Ask for twelve hundred." "Yes. Shall I go at once?" a' I think you may as well, befoia you take your bonnet off." I obtained one thousand dollars for her, and she was very well satis- fied. At five o'clock I gave her the money and the ticket; at six o'clock she hadn't a farthing left, so rapa- cious were her creditors. At half- j past six she sent for me. "Annie," she said, "I want some more money. I am hard up again." "Have you anything else?'"I r- plied. "Nothing but what I wear, and -which it would be absolute ruin to part with." X 4 What can we do, then?" " I think I can suggest a way of saEsing the wind," she said. "There a 3 a place where thev buy 'tickets ;' i take this voucher of the diamonds a and show it them. They will have i to pay no interest to look at them, as they haven't been in long enough. See what you can get for it." "6 What is the lowest you will be ) satisfied with?" "I think I ought to have five , hundred dollars." "Will you take three?"I asked, with a smile." If you can't get any more." I went to the place she told me af, and sold the ticket of the dia- monds for four hundred dollars, with which Mrs. Willis was much pleased. This was a strange introduction to my now place, but I was of an accommodating disposition, and could adapt myself to circumstances. I was not long discovering that Marian was in the hands of the Jews, who were making a golden harvest out of her. Mrs. Willis had different apart- 'mients in her house, which were all fitted up- in a diverse manner. There was nothing, in New York which could rival them. The floors were of marble., Here and there wonderful patterns were worked in mosaic. Flowers were to be seen everywhere. In various parts were the statues of tigers, lions and bears -some black, some white. The -bath was entirely of silver. Two swans made of gold were placed at the foot, and through their bills the water, hot and cold, fell into the basin below. Little vases filled .vith various perfumes were placed here and there. The atmosphere was cun- mingly regulated. Sofas were placed around in profusion. The'evening papers were in every room, and so were the liatest te- grams of the progress of the- war wherever it happened to be raging, for there is always a war somewhere; mankind not being able 'to exist without periodically burning pow- der. How could men help paying a woman well when she lived in a palace? The worst of Mrs. Wlllis, how- ever, was, that she was utterly ig- norant of the art of economy. She had no more idea of it than a baby. I have observed and remarked it with astonishment that " these wo- men" take no thought for the future. If they begin to reduce their estab- lishments, they sign the warrant for their ruin and extinction. Men will not give a poor woman, or one who looks poverty-stricken, a tithe of what they will one who seems as if she wanted nothing. 1 When I came to live with Marian she was in great difficulties. Her L creditors pressed her for money, and her servants were even insolent to her, because she had not paid them their wages. , She told me that she had wasted : a great deal of time over a man 3 whom she wasj unfortunate enough : to love, but nio did not reciprocate i the passionate affection which she i lavished upon him. Her lovers were e lovers of passage, like certain birds. s For a courtesan to put down her D carriage and sell off her furniture is a ruinous .undertaking. What can t she do after that, and where can she e go to? Men rarely speak to women e i who walk about the streets ; that is i to say, men who are worth the trouble e of speaking to. Men who keep - women in luxury, who supplyithem 1 with carriages, houses, horses, and everything the capricious minds of y the feminime gender can wiAsh Al, t page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] aot picked up in the manner in which eaegers pick up dirt. Mrs. Willis sold everything which she could legally send to market, and she satisfied her servants to the best of her ability by calculating her re- sources keeping a certain sum for himself, and dividing the rest among them. She tendered me what she owed me, but I refused to accept it. I had taken a liking for her, and I was one of those who do not care about deserting a. sinking ship. I resolved to stick to her until For- tune's wheel revolved in her favor again. I was young then, and young people are generous and impulsive. '"You had better take what you Tan get," she said, with a sad smile. ' I don't really want it," I replied. "It is your only chance." c' I have a little money of my own, and 1 don't stand in need of what you propose to give me.' If you send every one away from you, I have "made up my mind to stay if you will Hermit me." A flush mantled Marian's pale cheeks, and she exclaimed-- "I cannot have fallen so very low if one human being speaks kindly to me, and offers to share niy fortunes with- out a hlpze of reward. Are you in earnest?" "s Perfectly so ; I mean every word t I say. If you only have a crust of bread I will share it with you, and ] give you whatever service I can in re- turn." ' Why, do youexpect I shall ever I again get my head above this pool of water that is drowning me?" f "I do believe so; but that is not, s mIy motfive." V "Wh'at is the inducement then?"A "Devotion to you." f "My dear Annie," she cried, Cis it possible that I have anything about me that can inspire so much t: h devotion? Don't trifle with me: The thought that what you t Ay is h true will comfort me more than you i are aware of just now." t "I swear it is. There are many - trait's in your character which are r admirable to me." She pressed my hand; then she ) fell back in her chair, murmuring-- "I wish I knew what to do." "If I might presume--." "By all means; suggest some- thing; my mind seems a blaDk to- day. I suppose my misfortunes have paralyzed its action. What is ,t you * have to say?" "I should live quietly for a time." "How?" she replied, on hearing my diffident proposal. "Oh, take a quiet floor." "But I hate floors!" she excaim- ed impatiently. "Possibly you hate a good many things." "It will be so dull." "Yes, but then you are not per- secuted by duns. It's easier to pay your way, and you can go about in a muslin dress and a light shawl as if you were the most modest woman in the world." This made her laugh. "Shall I find a place?" "What I child you are!" she said, astonished at my energy. ' I like to strike the nail on the head, and the iron while it is hot." I found three rooms, for which they wanted one month's rent in ad- vance, or a reference. It was more convenient to give the former than the latter. I bought several things such as a milliner would have about her, and took lMrs. Willis to the nest I had improvised for her. "How ao you like it?"I said. "a Oh, it will do. It is not the first time I have been out of luck," sdu replied, with a careless laugh. I must go and consult Dr. Broughton, the astrologist, and find out when my luck is going to turn." For a time we lived badly enough, bu't after a week had elapsed Marian mot an old friend who lent her a hun- dred dollars. The spring came, and the city was gay again. She never took any one home with her. In the house she preserved the highest re- spectability. I had several opportunities of vis- itinrg Mrs. Tellson, who had taken -up her abode in the city to be near son, who had partially recovered his grief, and had been admitted to the ar. -He had gained the studentship for which he had toiled, and from which he had hoped so much. In consequence he was very highly spoken of. Mrs. Tellson knew that, I was in the service of .a " gay lady," but she dicd not dislike me on that account. The kindness I had shown to her son in those terrible days was sufficient to induce her to give me absolution. I found the only peace I enjoyed in the Tellson's house. I helped them to cook sometimes; I hemined and marked linen for them. The sisters were pretty girls, and economized as much as their brothers. Poor things, they were obliged to. I compared them to a colony of ants. They sold their work, which was chiefly embroidery. These girls laughed at AVoodruff, about whom Cecil had told them, and asked me in a jocose manner why I did not marry him. Herbert Wantage had a sletch of Woodruff, and it was suspended over the first-place of this quiet family; but in pointfof fact I had nothing to complain of in Wood- ruffs conduct. He looked after my little place for me, and whatever money he made, he put away in a bank for my use and benefit. Cecil told me that he believed I should come to my senses some day, when I should return to Newport, make up my estrangement with him, and, in obedience to my father's commands, consent to be taken to church by him. I was rather surprised that Cecil never once asked me what had be- come of Beesey. The truth was that I was utterly and completely igno- rant of what had become of her. I had not received a line or a message, and her present condition was a per- fect mystery to me. According to my promise I had written, giving her news of Cecil. One day, during a walk, I met Charles Sebley in the street. He did not notice Ime, but I remarked that he looked worn and haggard. Perhaps from over good- nature. Cecil obtained a small practice, and resided at home, and gave every- thing he earned to his mother. He was not in the habit of spending money, anc! he did not by any chance go into the society of women, with the exception of those who compos- ed his own family. The adoration which his mother enfcrtained and gave way to for him was remarkable. He might have been very happy had he never met Beesey, but now his life--that is, his inner life-was a blank. He loved no one, and it was a pity, because he was so hand- soue, so young, and so gentlemanly. The time passed on. Mrs. Willis and myself lived a dull sort of life, and it seemed as if her sun had set for ever.. Already some fair star in the galaxy of beauty had taken her place, and those who had kissed the lips and pressed hand of Marian were quite content to sigh upon 'the breast of her successor in popular favor. Aj I wondered that Cecil Tellson did not amuse himself by a passing flir- page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] Ration with some one, because I saw so much of what people called 'Clove," and I knew it to be fleeting and evansecent in its nature. Beesey had deceived him by passing herself off as an honest woman, but that was no reason why he should vow eternal vengeance against the whole 9ex. He was just the sort of man who would, had he chosen to do so, have made a woman happy. When I spoke about it to his mother, she gravely shook her head and said- "We must have patience. My ean is getting steadier. He will never again imbibe a fondness for a mistress. When he falls in love with a woman, it will be to make her his Wife." On leaving the orderly ancld we conducted home of the Tellsons, I experienced a sort of a shudder as I entered Marian's lodgings. She was so careless and so untidy. It was in- deed no sinecure to be her maid. It took me the best part of the day to put it in order. Her wardrobe was not so extensive now as it had been, for she had been obliged to part with the most valuable articles which had formerly been her delight and her pride. As well as I can recollect, the following is a faithful inventory of ] her stock of wearing apparel:- l Four chemises, trimmed with val- 1 enciennes. s Six petticoats, half of them em- t broidered. t One black silk'dress flounced at 1 the bottom. I One do. plain. I One Paisley shawl. r One Algerine bournous. 1 Three bonnets. . Every now and then I was obliged a to put a stitch here and stop a hole r there. a My satisfaction was great when i] Marian spoke to me in a decided tl r manner one morning about twelve I o'clock, when I brought her her ; breakfast on a tray, consisting of an regg, a piece of toast, and a cup of tea. "I'll tell you what it is, Annie," she began, "I have had enough of this. We must turn over a new leaf." "I think it is time," I replied with a sickly smile. "That remark, child, does credit to you infant perceptions. A woman may have good points about her, but she can make no use of them. There is nothing hike the stage after alL" "How? The stage!"I asked. "I don't mean that I intend turn- ing actress, because I have not the talent for it, and besides it would re- quire a long apprenticeship, which would not answer my book at all; but at theatres like Niblo's they us- ually have a ballet, in which a woman like myself can shine. There are some men who are captivated by ' points' in a woman in the same way that they admire points in a horse or a dog. Now I flatter myself that I have several good ' points.' The piece in which one plays is nothing. All the managers want, is in the first place, pretty girls; in the second place, pretty girls ; in the third place, pretty girls. It is only an exhibition shoulders and of breasts. I have the best foot, the best ankloe, and the best figure in , New York. I have 'been hiding them under a bushel, my dear Annie ; but I will not do so any longer. I could not speak in public to save my life. Fortunately that is unnecessary. All I shall have to do is to walk about and throw myself into luxu- riouspostures to inflame the minds and passions of those who are watch- ing every movement I make through their opera-glasses. I only want to hold of a few such old men like seesey had, and my fortune is made. Will you help me, Annie?" * I? in what way can I be of ser- ,tee?"I replied. r, Oh I in many ways. Every lion ss its mouse ; will you be mine?" Wlave I not held that dignified PMoition for some time?" * Your are right. Hell me to rms myself, and I will make both I wr fortunes." "Will they not supply you with fangs, and pay you?" Certainly not. I shall not be- long to the artistic part of the com- pany who receive large salaries." What then?" "On the other hand, I shall pay a ,osiderable sum for the privilege of appeaing upon the boards, and I shall have to find myself in every- thing. I must appear welldressed, or else what chance have I?" "Will you get employment, do you think?"I ventured to ask. Without doubt. All you have to do when you go to the managers and ask for an engagement, is to give them a kiss, and the thing is done, but once be rash enough to stand up- an the high predestal of your unas- sailable virtue, and your chance is re- markably slender ; the corps will be fall You must call atgain. Profes- sion is so overstocked, supply exceeds the demand, etc." "I understand," I replied, smiling. I dressed her as well and becoming- ly as I could. I went out and bought her a new pair of strings for her bonnet, aad a new pair of gloves, mended her dress in one or two trifling places where it had torn from the gathers by clumsy men stepping upon it the aight before, and' exclaimed as she left the house, sparkling with anima- tio and anticipation, "You look mmo charming than ever, ma'am." "Wait a bit," she replied, "and then you will see." During her absence 1 welt tr ' ;ep in an arm-chair, and dreamed tahu a good fairy visited us in our poverty- stricken home, and turned us into white swans, which afterwards bo- came princesses. I woke up with a start as I heard my mistress's voice exclaimnincg- C"Annie I Annie!" c Well," I said, rubbing my eyes, "what luck have you had?" "It's all rioht.' "In what way?" "They have engaged me." "Are you pleased with the part they have given you?" "Tolerably so. It is not a pas seul.' "Will they provide the dresses?: "No," she replied. "Have you to pay much?" "More than I like or expected*. "How long before you make your appearance on the stage?" "One month, I think they said." "And what do you come out as P" "A fog," she replied. (A fog? You are joking." "No; I am not. You know what sort of thing one sees early in the morning when the. dew is rising and evaporating before the rays of the SUll?" "Yes. That is a mist." "Well, a mist, if you like. They call it a fog. There are to be forty fo)gs. There will be a lot of clouds and tfhings as well. The great mCait will 'consist in being as vapory as possible." "Oh! I see," I exclaimed; that will be very pretty. I tlhink I should wear a pale rose silk, and wash your hair in gold water." "Capital. I will do so." "During the month you must live quietly, ma'anm I have a little page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] money, which I put by for a rainy day. Part, or indeed the whole of it, is very much at your disposal. Sleep well and eat well for a few weeks, and you will once more be the prettiest woman in New York." She followed my advice in every respect, and the effect was soon ap- parent in a beneficial way. She went to sleep that night dream- ing that she was a fog. I was, to a certain extent, in a fog, but that was as to our fortune. CHAPTER IX. WHTE MOUSTACHE. MRts. WILLIS was punctual in her aitendance at the theatre. She did not miss a single rehearsal, because( she wished to make herself as perfect ,it she could. On nearly every oc- casion I accompanied her, and life behind the scenes pleased me beyond nme asure. The time appointed for the first representation arrived at last. Mrs. Willis's dress cost a great deal of - mnKey in the then state of our re- i soUrces. She looked ravishingly a beautiful, and I relied confidently o upon her creating a sensation. The house was well filled, and the ballet 1 scene went off admirably. Towards X the close of the piece a carpenter brought Marian a bouquet which ' maust have cost a couple of dollars; 1 with the flowers was a letter written d in pencil. Marian cast her eyes care- leasly over it, and after reading it re it in pieces, and gave the bits h back to the messenger, who was as- tunished beyond measure at this de- cided action. 'With a tragic air she a said, "That is my only answer." cc We were not able to afford a cab, b eowe walked back from the theatre, a aftr my mistress had changed her m $ iy I gauzy garments for something wmama ,f er and more substantial. She walke ;1. slowly along without once turnid w her head. I spoke to her casua3y, ie and she gave me a monosyllabic re. sponse. When we had gone some y little distance she exclaimed, in a Iow I- voice- "Look and see whether we are fob. - lowed." aI I turned my head, bnt coulnd w s no one. "I don't see any one," I replied. "In that case he will be at the theatre to-morrow." "Who? The person who wrote the note?" ," What did he say in the letter? r "You are curious." I "It is natural at my age." k "The note was short, but to the point. 'I have a hundred thousand dollars. It's yours if you wish it. I can refuse nothing to a woman I love.-White Moustache.'" "What an odd signature!" "Yes, is it not? The words are tolerably expressive, though. A hun- ,dred thousand, Annie; that is a great deal of money. I don't think we should object to get hold of some of it." "Not at all. I think we should, know what to do with it," I replied, with a significant look. "I rather like the name, Annie- 'White Moustache.' It looks as if he was a jolly fellow, eh? What do you say?" "I quite agree with you." "Shall we make a nest and let him be the bird to feather it?" "I am willing, if you are." "In that case the thing is as good as done; for together we form a combination which will be irresisti- ble. I have an idea that we shall be able to make something out of this man' who has a hundred thousan dolgars, always provided that what he says is the fact. I am inclined to believe his statement, for there is something about him that is reassui:- ing, I like his style. That is every- thing in a man." 6 "Yet it is sometimes deceptive," I ventured to remark. Not often. In the present in- stance the case. is very simple. My laIc brings me in contact with a mmn who has a hundred thousand dollars." Marian repeated this over and over again, as if the phrase pleased her. "I want solme of it. It is sinfiIl of me, I know, to be so covetous; but when was a woman perfect?" Let us hope it is your only fault," I remarked. 6 Let us hoDe so. Well, we have found a nice little bird with beautiffil plumage ; its feathers are so many hank-notes. We are going to pluck him. but the" task must be acconm- plished. so delicately that he shall not feel any pain while we are at work." "Capital. But -will it take log?" Possibly a month. I don't ca; if it takes two." "In the meantime- " "We must grin and bear it, my dear Annie. Bread and water is not the nicest fare in the world, but it is worth enduring when we go in for a man who hlas a hundred thou- sand." "Millionaires somimes object to part with their money," I sugcsted. ' Yes; this one, however, who euphoniously calls himself White Moustache, shall have no excuse for being a miser. I will manage him. Leave all that to me. I have known a man promise one all the stars that spole the vault of heaven (that's how they put it in their spoony let- ters), and end by giving one a browa holland dress, or a small shawl." I made a face when Mrs. Wildis talked about living on bread and water. She perceived it and said-. "Never mind Annie; we will soon change it to turtle and venison, if you are fond of those aldermanic luxuries. White Moustache shall pay for it in the end. Can I rely on you? because I shall need your assistance. If you are not discreet, you may spoil all." I assured her that she could trwt me inore implicitly than her own sister. The next day the little episode of the letter and the boquet was re- peated. Marian handed back the flowers and tore up the letter as be- fore. That night. I ventured to ask my mistress what her plan was. She told me briefly that she intended to make herself out a virtuous and mod- est girl. "I shall pretend to be shocked at White Moustache's overtures. I shall for some time repel all his ad- vances, and drive him to the verge of despair." o "Are you not afraid of discourag- ing hinm?" "My dear child, I shall watch every hair of his white moustache with the utmost care. If I perceive the slightest symptoms of coolness in his manner, I shall in some way or other make the scent lie stronger than before. I shall call your talents into requisition. Oh, no! he shall not slip through my fingers ; I have too much regard for a man with a hundred thousanud to allow him to do that. Not a bit of it, Annie; I am too good a judge." ' I had, a place in the boxes, from. which J;iwas enabled to have a good view of-^White Moustache. He was. a handsome man, certainly not more page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] ian twenty years old. The more I looked at him, the more charming I thought him. There was something asmple and innocent about him which made me think that he was the sort of man that could love Marian pas- sionately and devotedly. At present, of course, he was only following the eustom of young men who have a fancy for getting up a flirtation with an actress. He had been told that there was not such a thing as a mod- est dancer on the stage, and he was not a little astonished at being re- pelled, and at having his munificent offer treated with disdain. We lived very quietly, the effect of which was soon perceptible upon my mistress; late hours and the worry and annoyance she had expe- rienced in going to places of resort bor those who, like owls, love the night, had made her pale and haggard. She now went to bed early and lived plainly; the color came back to her cheeks, her limbs were once more round and plump. The change was so great, I hardly knew her again. White Moustache next attacked me finding that Marian would have nothing to say to himR, he thought that I might be less incorruptible. He had no difficulty in discovering that I was Marian's maid, because I was at the theatre every night, and he could not fail to see me ; besides, le could have found me out through any one attached to the place. He spoke kindly to me, and offered to make my fortune, but I gravely shook my head and pretended to be so devoted to my mistress that I would not shock her tender suscep- tibilities by repeating an offer to her which would, I felt sure, wound her deeply. I handed him back the let- ter. and contented myself with say- g- I "That is the only answer whichI am able to give you.' He was about to beseech meto listen to him, when I slipped quiet- ly away and rejoined Mrs. Willis, who approved of what I had doue, and complimented me on my sagaci- ty. I began to fear that Marian's repeated refusals would have the ef- fect of driving Mr White Moustache away from us. There were hundreds of women who would be only glad to consent to anything, even the crowning favor with which women bless men they love, when they ekew that he had a hundred thousand. ][ imparted my apprehensions to. my mistress, but she laughed at me, saying that she "knew what sht, was about." During the day I saw a carriage standing outside our door; at first I thought it was waiting for some one, but as the hours flew by I was at a loss to understand why it remained stationary for so long a period of time. There was some mystery about it, and I determined to solve it. I made an excuse to go out to obtain something of which we stood in reed I had no sooner shut the door behind me, than a hand beckon- ed to me from out of the carriage window. I approached, and was con- fronted with White Moustache. He began to speak to me timidly. "I think you are the servant of Miss Marian Willis?" "Yes, sir,' I replied. "You remember speaking to me at the theatre?" "Perfectly." "Are you more prepared now to do what I asked you than you were then?" "Not in the least." I said firmly. "'The fact is, I am in love with your mistress-you must have re- marked it." S "In that case, I am sorry for you, Asr. "How so? Can I not see her?" "Certainly not. Miss Willis is a virtuous young lady, and she could. not with propriety receive gentlemen in her house. What would people think and say of her? She would at once lose her character. You surely do not wish to injure her?" i' Not for the world." 't If you love her as you say you do, have some consideration for her, and cease your persecutions." "But, my dear child, I love her; what more can I say? It is always an excuse for any eccentricity, and I love Mclan like a madman-I hard- ly know what I am saying, I call her by her Christian name already. Will you not let me see her?" "You wish to see her?" I would give anything .- " "Then go to the theatre." Let me speak to her. I will never get your kindness." "Impossible. She would dismiss me instantly." There was a pause, which I broke by saying- "Excuse me, sir, but my mistress will wonder why I am so long gone." "Stop," he cried, "will nothing tempt you? You cannot be so very well off; no one would serve another if they were independent. I can give you any sum of money you like to ask for." "Thank you, I do not want money; since I have known Miss Willis I have conceived such a liking for her that I would serve her for nothing, even if my life were wasted in the endeavor." "Money, however, is always use- fal; I will make your fortune " "Must I repeat my refusal, sir? Like my mistress, I am disinter- ed." "By Jove!" he muttered, thea women are wonders." I took compassion upon the young man, because as he was evidently distressed beyond the power of en- durance, I was afraid that he might commit some rash act, so I said- "If I were in your place, sir, and really loved my mistress, I should act very differently from the course you are pursuing." "What would you do?" he eager- ly demanded. "In the first place, I should not offer her money." "And why not? Is it not a pow- erful inducement?" "To most women it would be au alluring bait, but to her it is simply an insult. It is odd that this view of the case should not have occurred to you." "How is it an insult? I did not intend it as such." "I don't suppose you did, but it is an insult. Youoffer a virtuous wo- man money; very well, what do men offer women money for? why, for some shameful purpose. My only surprise is that my mistress has not applied to some of her relations to protect her from your insulting be- havior; there is Mr. Charles now, if he only know how you have treated his sister, he would follow you to the end of the world. They are a proud family, I can tell you, sir, and ML Charles, who is my mistress's only brother, would not allow his favorite sister, who has been his pet ever since she was born, to; be insulted with impunity." "I am afraid I am a great blun- derer." "There can be little doubt about that, sir." / "Can you not advise me. Yoi; spoke about doing so just now?" "I will tell you in what powitian page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] liss Willis is, sir;- The family is a good one, but they are all poor. Mr. C 'harles is in the office of a merchant nm the city, but he is; notwithstand- mig, a gentleman. Miss abrian has gained a certain position as a dancer. What do you suppose her ultimate intentions are? She is not rich, but you may go all over the world and not find a prettier woman. She expects to marry. It is her only hope. She is working now to make herself a position which will give her peace and quietness in after life. It is your offer of money which has spoilt everything, because my mis- tress th;nks that a man who makes approaches to a woman in that way must be a gay deceiver." "She's very particular." "Do you blame her? She tas nothing but her virtue, and she guards that like a d-ragon." I am very sorry. Do you think: tiere is any chance of obtaining her forgiveness?" * - "Are you sure you repent?' "I do, really." he cried. ] "I will tell her, but I cannot talk to you any longer now; I am, going to buy our dinner." I tripped away, and presently re- ( turned with some bread and cheese. f He was still there. He beckoned to You will not forget your pro- I mise to intercede with your mistress o ir me?" 1 "I always keep my word." s "What is that you have?" he t mclaimed, catching sight of the bread sad cheese. "Did you not say you I were going to buy something for dinner?" "'That is our dinner," I replied, o with dignity. "God bless my soul!" he said; "are you in earnest?" " We live very simply, for Miss Willis does not earn much. and I have nothing.' it "You are two paragons of virtue, My friends told me there was not - s virtuous actress. They were mis- taken, for there is one, and I have found her." I left him, and the carriage pres- ently drove off. What I had said e about the bread and cheese was staict- y ly true. We were reduced to the e melancholy necessity of living upon r that very primitive and humie fare. t Sometimes we went so far as to s patronize a coffee shop where women - out of luck were in the habit of going. Here we dined sumptuostdy r for a smiilling apiece, and were made happy for days afterwards by 'the recollection of the feast. When I 3 b-oug,1ht the bread and cheese up- ' sthails , Marian said- ' "Annie, I should like an onion. I think I could eat an onion." "I would not if I were you, mal'ani." "Why not? I am not going to kiss any one." "I know that; but still - "Oh! don't talk to me," she said impatiently; "'run and get me e onion, and let us have a pint of be4 for once in a way. I am getting pretty well tired of t sort of fare. I must bring our friend with the White Moustache to the point soon, or else I shall die. I declare living like this makes one feel so low an4 so dull that I am fit to cut my throat." "I have just seen Mr. Moustadae, I remarked. "Seen him! Where?" " In the street. He was waiag outside in a carriage." "What did you say to him?' "Anything I could think of." "Did you tell him I wated to marr, and aWU that" oeve me alone I I managed it aqmtaily." D'id he bite A' OLike a fish." tYou are worth your weight in gid, Annie," she said, rapturously. I did as my mistress told me, al- Ohough I could see' that we should be obliged to dine off an egg before Sunday. In point of fact everything pro- veased as well as we could wish. White Moustache was more and wore eager day by day. He entreated me over and over again to gain him admittance to our house, bati I stead- fastly refused him. He regretted his inability to meet with some mutual friend who could give him an intro- iotrion. I consoled him with a sort of half promise that I would do my test to prevail upon my mistress to forgive him, and look more favorably upon his suit. Marian had attracted. so much attention at the theatre that a photographer asked permission to take her portrait. She consented, , and he made her a present of three dozen very handsome cartes de visite. One of these I showed to White Zoustache, who fell into such ec- ,tasies over it that he snatched it from me, fearing that I sLtuld refuse th give it him, and instantly left When he was gone I found he had gFen me a bank-bill for one hundred dollars. I didn't take the trouble to run after him ; I considered it was a ludky chance, and gave it to Marian, Uxpecting that she would tell me to got it changed. She, however, didr aothing of the sort. She instantly put on her bonnet and shawl, and tok the note with her, and saying 1 the should not be gone more than an w, ent out for a walk. i 3 I CHAPTER X. THE USE OF PHOTOGRAPHY, I DID not learn until the next doay why my mistress had taken so iuFl- den a fancy for pedestrian exercise, to which she was generally averse. She sent me to the shop of a photo- grapher, and told me to ask for a packet which he promised to have in readiness at a certain time. I thought that I was to bring home some new photographs, but when Mrs. Willis tore open the envelope, I was sur- prised to see a roll of bank-notes fth to the ground. "Has the photograph-man fallen in love with us," I cried, '"tat he should send all that money?" "No, you little goose. Pick up the notes, and look at them well.' I did so, and to my unpractied eyes, they seemed perfect, although they were really nothing more or l"s than photographic represenrations. "Look at the good one now," Faid Marian, giving itto me; "those uar only copies." "They are wonderfully well done." "Is it not surprising?" "If they were only good----" "Ah! they will be useful, never- theless." "In what way?-we are not going to pass bad money 1" "Not at all; wait patiently, wnd you will know." "But tell me." "Not now. Put the false notes in your pocket; I will keep the good one." "What shall I do with Wite Moustache; he worries my life out F' "He wishes to see me-does he r" "He would give ten years of his life to do so." "I think the time has come for it," she replied, thoughtfully. " If you see him to-night, tell him tlht- you will introduce him to me Ia- page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] moTOw , but that you will not be answerable for the consequences of his temerity." ' Shall I bring him to our rooms?" "Yes; you know what to say to him. I leave it all to your judg- ment." I did exactly as I was directed, and, at his urgent solicitation, brought him to our poor abode. His hand- some face was very pale, and he trembled slightly. Marian received him with kindness, but her manner was tinged with sadness, as if she, like himself, were cherishing a hopeless passion.. We had taken care to dis- play our penury. Marian was lunch- mg upon a piece of dry bread, tlhree days old, and a glass of water. This, df course, was affectation, for we were not so badly off as all that." "I am afraid that I have been guilty of an unpardonable liberty," exclaimed the young man, on entor- ing the room. "I have consented to see you be- eause I wish this interview to put an end to the annoyance which you have caused me for s6me time past," re- plied my mistress ; " and, before we go any farther, I should like to know who and what you are?" "You wish to know my name?" "That, amongst other things." He handed her a tiny card, upon which was written Edmund Hard- wicke. The edges of the card were gilt, which struck me as being rather uncommon. "By profession, I am nothing," he said; "my fortune, which I in- herited from my father, is sufficiently large to live on, without the necessity of working. I called myself White Moustachewhen I first wrote to you, because one does not usually give one's real name in affairs of the kind." Marian's eyes flashed, and she said, a little bitterly- ' "Affairs of what kind, Mr. Harb wicke?" He looked confused, and said- "I am afraid I have been injnu cious in the selection of the words I - made use of." "Oh, no! not at all." "Allow me to retract." ; "Pray do not trouble yourself to do anything of the kind." There was a pause. "As you seem to be so wel ist formed about ' affairs of the kind,' AI presume you have had some expe- rience in such matters?" "I? Not the slightest." "Indeed. Then how is it that yo speak ao confidently upon the sub- ject?" "I hear my friends talk," he re- *plied. "Are your friends libertines?" s/X asked, searchingly. "'Not more so than most young men." "Is libertinism a failing amongst young men?" "I reply frankly, I am afraid it is." "Do you class yourself in that catefdory?" "Which?" he demanded, feeling uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking. "That of libertines.' "I, hope not." "Yet you are the associate of such men, and you preach the same ddo- \ trine that they profess and practised "Excuse me, I did not say so." "You are trifling with me, e. Haidwicke," cried, Marian, severely. "It is clear that you have come here to insult me. May I beg of your to withdraw at once?"' "A thousand pardons!" ho w claimed. "I do not give you one," she plied ; " and I tell yore wace for ]TV^ 1 am not to be made an 'affair of the kind. " "Allow me- " "When I have ended; until then listen to me. I aml only an actress; I am poor, as you may see by the re- mains of my dinner." "Your dinner!" he exclaimed, in astonishment, looking first at the scrap of hard bread, and then pity- ingly at Marian. "Yes; such as it is. My virtue, however, is all that I have to trust to. Since I have been on the stage I have earned for lmyself a slight rep- utation, which I intend to make a means to an end. Can you not guess -what that end is?" He was silent. ' As your silence indicates your inatility to answer my question, I will tell you. I hope to marry some one, and if you have followed me so persistently for some time, pursuing me almost to the verge of indignity, with the expectation of macking me the victim of an ' affair of the kind,' you never'made a greater mistake in sour life. You are young, handsome, good-looking, rich. No woman, how- ever fastidious, could require more than that. Perhaps you rely upon your manifold attractions to capti- vate me, but I place my trust upon a rock which has endured for ages, and I believe that I am proof against temptation." This artfully worded address was not without its effect upon Mr. Hard- wicke. I could not help admiring the talent displayed by my mistress, although I trembled for the young man, who was evidently madly in love with her. It was clear that be- tween us we commanded a fair share of talent. I foresaw that nothing but a miracle could save Mr, Hardwicke. "If you only knew how I love I you!" he exclaimed. She shook her head sadly, as if she would like to believe his declara- tion, but her reason, militating against such a belief, refused to al- low her to dlo so. "I do, indeed," he continued; "and more since this interview than before." "Am I to look upon that speech as a confession of weakness?" "At least the weakness is amiable, since you inspire it." "' All these professions must mean solnething," she said thoughtfully. "They mean everythilng," he re- plied passionately. She looked up. "Amongst other things they mean this," he cried, puttting his hand in his waistcoat pocket and taking out a roll of bank-notes, which he put in her hand, making her fingers close over' the crisp tissue paper, afterwards' stooping down and covering those pink tipped fingers wilk fond kisses. Mrs. Willis had no sooner obtained A good hold of the notes than she bounded from her chair, and glaring at the young man like a tigress said in a tragic voice- "This is the calumniating insult. You think that you can buy me as you would some wretch lost to all shame and self-respect with whom chance brings you in contact in the public streets. : Oh!" she added, softening down and forcing tears firom her eyes; "Oh! what have I done that I should be so shockingly hu- miliated?" I ran towards her and caught her in my arms, for she looked as if she was going to faint. I felt her hands glide furtively into my pocket, stay there on instant, and then remnbve itself; then she exclaimed- "Leave me, Annie, leave me I I have something' to say to this gen- tleman." page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] I retreated a few paces, and looked on wondering what the next act in this domestic drama would be. Ma- rian held the notes in her hand, and said, in a voice that was touching on account of the condensed grief there seemed to be in every accent- "A heart like mine, Mr. Hard- wicke, is not to be bought with money." "' I am very stupid," he replied "I am afraid I am taking leave of my senses." "You shall see how much I care for what the world esteems so high- ly." She moved towards the fire, he fol- lowed her, crying-- What are you going to do?'9 She waved him off with her left hand, while with her right she threw the roll of notes into the fire. They cracked and blazed for the space of a minute, and then were reduced to a heap to ashes. "Do you know what you havf done?" he said, terror-stricken. "Perfectly." "You must be mad." "Why?" she asked. "Because you have destroyed five thousand dollars," was the emphatic reply. "If it was a punishment to you to see your money burnt," she said, "it is one you well deserve. You will, perhaps, bear in mind in future, that women are not to be insulted in their own houses, simply because they have the misfortune to be poor, and happen to be driven to the stage to pick up a meagre subsistence." I give you my word that I hadn't the slightest intention of insulting you. Cannot you believe me when I say that I love you?" cried Mr. lardwicke. "You do not love me." ' Why do you say so?" ( "Because love is always prepared to make sacrifices." "And I 2" "Well, you have seen five thou- sand dollars sacrificed, but what then?" "I will do anything." "Except one thing, I suppose.' "I make no exception." "None?" "Not one." "If you love me, marry me," aid Marian in a decisive voice. Hardwicke passed his hand across his face, as if in mute despair, and said in a low tone. "Impossible!" "Oh! what did I tell you?P "I cannot go as far as that." "Why?" "Because I am not a free agent." ' You mean you are not of age?" "That is one thing-but my af- fairs are in such a condition that to marry you would be absolute ruin." "It is easy to find excuses," re plied Mrs. Willis, with a sigh. '"You overwhelm me." "And Hhave I no right to re- proach you?" "I I begin to, think," said Edmund Hardwicke, '" that I was born under an unlucky star." "Leave me!" exclaimed Marian. "Say anything but that; if you only knew -" "I know quite enough." "I can't leave you." Be courageous, Mr. Hardwice,' said Marian, with dignity. "Yox have no right in this room after the confession you have just made." "What have I said?" he e m claimed, starting like a man in dream." "Quite sufficient to banish yw for ever from my society." "Can I retract?" "Nothing. You have admie i. :yar inability to marry me, and I cannot listen to any other proposi- tion." " Let me know one thing, Marian," he said; "if I am really to leave you for ever? Your answer may comfort me in after-life." "Question me," she replied calmly. Am I altogether indifferent to you?" On hearing this, Marian began to X ) violently, exclaiming in a broken v'iAce-- "It is unfair-it is. unkind-I have a secret, and he wishes to drag it from me." Hardwicke drew his chair close to Marian's, and seized one of her hands, which he held in one of his. "Tell me, my child, tell me!" he said. "Oh, I wish I had never met you -never seen you!" "Try and be calm," he said, en- deavoring to soothe her. "He knows I love-love him, and yet he makes me ha-hate myself for telling him," she sobbed. He covered her with kisses. She gently repulsed him. He wiped her eyes with a cambric handkerchief, and kissed her red and rosy lips over and over again. 'Go--go; will'you go?" she said. 'If you will forgive me." "Oh yes, I will say anything so long as he will go." "You forgive me?" "Yes-yes." One thing more." "Will he never go?" she said, in cents of despair. I stood by, watching the comedy idth the greatest interest. At times I would not divest myself of the idea that I was at a theatre, and that some charming love-scene was being *e through. I had on several oc- casions the greatest difficulty to pro- vent myself from clapping my rhiatds in token of applause. , Say that you love me," murmur- ed Edmund Hardwicke, "He knows it, and yet he ks me i" He pressed her for an answer to his impassioned query. "You want to know if I love you?" she asked, with a fresh burst of tears. "Do you? Oh, if you only knew how much depens upon your e- Ply. " She stopped her tears by an ef. fort; and looking up in his fe in a hazy sort of way, said- "I love you-I do love you 1I Then she buried her face i her hands, and sobbed louder than ever. "You say so-you admit it',"cried Hardwicke. "Why make us both miserable by your obduracy, then 7r "I forgive you," she said. "Entirely?" "Yes." "Then we may yet be happy "Ah! it is possible that you rma achieve happiness, but my exitAece is blighted." "Oh, how you talk F "Will you go now? if not, I Ada leave you by yourself I have br- given you, and you have by dint of vulgar pertinacity extracted my 0e- cret from me. You not only know that I forgive you, but you know that I love you. May the coneciouaesr of the latter fact make you as tw, as it makes me wretched 17 "You wish me to leave youa te cried, in suspense. "At once!" "Not to see you again fr "Never!" "And you call that foigi xm "Good-bye." "Marian!" "Good-bye." *( X C page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] ' Do you want to kill me?" Do ayou .think that I wish to ive?" The effect of this speech on Ed- mund Hardwicke was very marked. *He;walked about the room, and his tears fell down upon the carpet. He was coln)letely prostrated by the power of love. He almost forgot that he was a man. His grief and the desolation of his heart ought to have moved a woman of stone; but dur- ing the little comedy that my mis- tress was playing with her lover, she wa not stone, she was ada- mant. Mrs. Willis rose from her chair, followed him round the room, placed her hand upon his shoulder, and said- ' You are excited now ; you will be calm in a few hours' time. You will go away from me and enter into society, and marry some woman who is worthy of you. It will not be difficult for you to forget the poor actress. Hardwicke could not repress his choking sobs. He .was too much agitated for utterance; he ceased his agitated walk and leant against the wall with his head hanging down and his hands clenched. "Our. meeting has done me good," she continued; "because I have loved once, and I am not likely to be guilty of the same folly again. Every one must have an affair of the heart some time or other, but that is over with me. Now I shall be bet- ter able to. encounter the world. I 'shallz stand a stronger chance of mak- ing my fortune." He siched profoundly. "One ' triing more," exclaimed Marian. f dHe made an tinclination of the bead. i "bo not follow me again to ihe theatre." You deprive me of my only c00 fort." "It will be best for both of us." "You think so?" "I am sure of it." "You have made me reckless," he said. "Why?' "Because I am without hope.* "Nonsense," she replied. "You will soon get over it. In a short time you will look upon it as a dreamt "I wish I could think so." "Take my word for it." "Have you anything else to say to me?" "Nothing." As she spoke, she covered her fee with her hands. "Good-bye!" he exclaimed, in a melancholy voice resembling the sound which might be produced by striking a harp deprived of it strings. The young man left the room, and I followed to let him out of the house. As he passed over the threshold he slipped into my hand a hundred dollar bill saying- "Are you, too, a model of virtue?" I took the money, and as it an- swered my purpose, kept it. In another moment he had depart- ed. I hastened back to my mistreas who was smiling. "Come here, Annie," she said I did so. "Now, feel in your pocket." I had altogether forgotten Marian' rapid movement when she was about to faint, and so I was unprepared for what followed. I extracted a bundle of bank-notes. "Give them to me," she said, lay- ing hold of them with the eagernss of a cat. "We are rich!" she cried. Ar we?e How can that be?; &Well, considering we have five thousand dollars, I don't see how we an be poor." But you burned--" Two dollar's worth of photo- gamphy, my little goose." CHAPTER XI. ACCEPTED. MP. HARDWICKE was passionately enamored of Marian, and so self- evident and so patent was this fact, that I wondered my mistress treated him so curtly and repelled his ad- vances at every turn. She was un- doubtedly a skilful general, and one well qualified to command a division in the wars of Venus. The young man never omitted an opportunity of meeting me; whenever he did so he inquired tenderly after Mrs. Willis, and went away sighing when I told him that she was indifferently well. I felt some compunction in deceiv- ing Mr. Hardwioke. I never objected to the practice of deception with those men who do not entertain a genuine passion for a woman, but only wish to be amused for a brief space with the object of their tem- porary passion. These I alway re- gard as fair game; but Edmund Hardwicke was so good, so young, so innocent, and, as far as I could judge, so pure, that it was a sort of sacri- lege to throw dust in his eyes and make him the victim of an accom- plished but unprincipled courtesan. I was tempted on more than one occasion to go to him and make a full confession of Marian's duplicity and my own complicity therein; but prudence restrained me. I knew that I should gain nothing by so doing. Probably Edmund Hardwicke would refine to believe one word I said. Marian was sufficiently clever to con- 'aea my allegations and make her lover believe her an angel of: yl ' who had been basely and in'famaw calumniated by a disappointed ar- vant who had taken umbrage tl! summary dismissal, which her dis. honesty had provoked. So, on oon- sideration, I held my tongue, although I longed to turn the young man from the precipice which I saw he was fully bent upon descending. Marian Wsli- was a gulf, and she was perfectly prepared to swallow up Edmund Hardwicke and his hundred thousad dollars. Hardwicke used to pester me with a thousand questions about my mis- tress, and at last I used to get irrita- ted at his perpetual and trival inter- rogations. This is an example of our conversation. "Good morning, Annie 1" "Good morning, sir!" "How is Miss Willis this morn- ing?" "Very poorly." "What is the matter with her?" "I am airaid she has an incurable disease." "Nonsense; you are joking." "On the contrary, I am in sober earnest." "What is the nature of her com- plaint '" Disease of the heart." "Ah!" he exclaimed, sighing pro- I foundly, "I am afraid I am similarly affected." A pause would ensue; then he would say- "Does she sleep well " ' "Very badly." "She should take an opiate." "That affects the nerves." "I can recommend something which is quite new; will you- giv her the prescription?" "With pleasure." "It is homide of potassium." "How is it to be administerW ' page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] "Three times a day in small quan- its. The Lancet says it will even Care a man who, has incipient D. T." But that is not the, case with my misrfess,"' I remarked, with a smile. , Of. course not." ', Have you no other remedy?" W' ell, H think I have." aNtow you have turned doctor, you had better give me the full ben- sfitof your advice." "You will not have courage enough to tell her," he replied. P Oh yes, I have courage enough fip anythin'." ' Let her know that the atmos- phere of Saratoga is salubrious." '4 Yes." And that there is a very nice house in that direction very much at he service." ' She would not listen to that." "You think not?" " I am certain." Another pause. i JShall I prescribe in my turn?" I said. ' If you like." 9 "Well, in a certain street in New York there is a churlch." I will not be so rash as to con- tradict you.' "Take Miss Willis there, and you will see that the ecclesiastical sur- roundings will prove beneficial to her health." "Oh! you are making fun of me," he replied with a faint smile. c Not at all. If you love her, why not make her your wife?" 4;At is out of the question, Annie.' "Then you do not love her?" GC od knows I do. " W' I shook my head as if I did not believe him. O You want her to sacrifice every- I thing for you in order to secure a x dubtiful future. You don't know what a demand your makin, mpmO her goodnature." "She shall never have cause o rep. pent it." "You can't say that with anywer- tainty. Men are fickle."' "I am not." "TrWhy should you be an excep- tion?" "It is my first love." "First loves fades as well as seo- ond ones. Suppose in a year's time you were to get tired of my mistress, you would desert her, after giving her a paltry sum of money. What would become of her? She would be thrown upon the town, and I know her nature to be so exalted and, so. noble, that she would sooner therow herself into the North River and perish miserably than she would go throug(h the indignity of Caving to pick up a precarious living in the streets."' "But that would never happen to heer," he said earnestly. How do you know that?" "Because I would never leave her." "Never! Then why not marry her?" "Because I cannot. It does not suit me. "Exactly. That declaration proms your insincerity. '"I don't think that follows." "Indeed it does. I can see that you w'ish to malke my mistress your victim." "By heavens! I do not, Anniea' "Your protestations will not alter lmy opinion." "What can I say to answer you? "Nothing." "But listen to me."' C No sir. I have listened toi lon, alrleady; it is quite time thaA 1 returned honfie." "One word, Annie." "Not a syllable, sir." u You will see me again" 4Not if I can help it. I shall put my mistress on her guard against yovr." ' You have misconstrued what I said." ' s"You are a wolf in sheep's cloth- ing, .Mr. Hardewicke," I exclaimed, running away, saying in a low tone, "God forgive me." Mrs. Willis behaved well and with great liberality to me in the matter ce money. She gave me a handsome percentage, whicl I invested with a broker with whom' I had formerly deposited a small sum. My mistress appeared every night as a fog, and was much admired. The piece was tolerably successful, and almost all the playgoers went to see it. Marian's pretty figrure and graceful acting made her the observed of all observers, which so increased Edmund Hardwicke's passion for her, that he became more infatuated than ever; but yet he would not make her an offer of marriage, which she was waiting for impatiently day by day. "How much longer ao you think he will be, Annie?" she said to me one day. "I can hardly form an opinion," I replied. "c Don't be stupid; you must have some idea of your own." "You might think me a still greater fool if I told you." What is it?" "Candidly, I don't think he will ever offer to marry you." "But he is awfully soft." ' That is undeniable." E Well, then, if he can't get me in any other way, why shouldn't he marry me?" "If he mevnt doing it, he would lave done it before." "I don't see that." ..v, -v. "You are the best judged, "So you think I shall be disap pointed after all." "I am sorry to say so.' "Not a bit of it. I like people to speak out"Well, I don't care so much, I can always fall bauck upoD the second chance, and live with him." "That would be better than noth- ing t "So it would. I will soon make his hundred thousand fly." "I don't doubt it. When you are once living with him you may work upon his feelings and induce him to marry you after all." "You may depend upon it, I'll try. If he doesn't marry me, he shall provide very handsomely for me befbre I have been with him a month." "There you are quite right. Strike the iron while it's hot. Make them do all they can for you before the love fit goes off." "Oh! Annie," she exc imed, "you are becoming quite clever." "It is owing to the associations of my daily life." "Shall I tell you what? "Yes." + "You ought to be a fast woman yourself." I laughed, and went into the bed- room to put the toilet table in order. Two months elapsed during which Mrs. Willis did not in the least alter her way of living. She wore the same old dress, and lived ver. much in the same simple mariner, afthough she had more than four thousand dollars in the house. In going to the theatre she did not hire a carriage, because she knew the young man who was entete about her would most likely be lying in wait for her i appearance. 'N page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] One dayi Mrs. Willis said to me- "Annie." "Yes, ma'am," I replied. :"To tell you the truth, I am get- ting confoundedly sick of this little game." "So am I." "s I have an idea." ," When is it- you haven't one. You are very prolific in ideas." "Can you imitate a man's hand- writing." " No." "Take a pen and try." I did so. but without any great success. Mrs. Willis made an at- tempt; and succeeded admirably. "Would you know that these few lines were scribbled by a woman," she exclaimed. "I really should not." She sat down and wrote a letter oontaining an offer of marriage to herself, and signed it with some fan- tastic name with which her fertile imagination supplied her. "What is the use of this?"I asked, as she sealed the letter, after directing it to herself, and handing it to me. "Put it in he mail." "But--" "Do as I tell you, and when you come back I will enlighten vour ignorance.' I put on my bonnet and went to the post office. When I came back i I exclaimed "You will get the letter in two hours." "That will be about four o'clock. Capital." "You promised to tell me." 1 "So I will. When I get this let- ter I shall open and then place in an envelope, which I shall direct in my own handwriting to the address of the imaginary writer. 'Of course if; it were posted it would go to the l dead letter office, and I. mean it to fall into other hands. I shall just write a line declining the flattering offer the gentleman has done me the honor to make me, and all that." "Now I do not see the point at which you are driving." N"No! Then you must be dense. I shall give you the letter to post." ' Yes." '"And you will take care to stumn- ble against Mr. Edmund Hard- wicke." "Suppose I don't see him?" a Then you must bring the letter back and wait for a more favorable opportunity." "Oh I I begin to understand.' "At last. You have been long enough about it." "I am not so experienced as your- self." "It will come in time,' she re- plied; " and when you are a little older you will find that nothing gets one on in the world so much as a good head-piece." I took the letter and went out to mail it. I had an idea- that Mr. Edmund Hardwicke' was lying in wait for round the corner of a neilghbor street. It was as I sur- mised. I met him face to face. "Where you are going, Annie?" he exclaimed. "To execute a commission for my mistress," I replied, taking care to display the letter. "Can I not do it for you?" "It is not a very arduous one':" "May I ask its nature?" "Yes; I am going to post a let- ter." "A letter I To whom ' "That is my business." 'C But I hsave a right to know." "Not f'r a moment.* I pretended to be in a great hurry, but he seized my arm, and drawing om within the shadow of a doorway, jfdased to allow me to go any further until he had spoken to me and grati- Jed his curiosity. He took a magnificent ring off his fger and placed it upon mine; in ' doing this, he had an excellent view of the superscription of the letter. - Charles Pentonville!" he cried, as a flood of blood rushed to his fce. gDo you know him?"I exclaimed. X By name only." That is the extent of my own acquaintance." RHe-loves Marian, I suppose?" 'Well, you love her, don't you?" He writes to her, apparently?" -' Why shouldn't he?"' Oh, I don't mind his writing so much." 'What is it, then, that annoys you 'I The fact of her answering him." That is only courteous on her part." "Look here, Annie," cried Mr. Hardwicke, "I love your mistress so passionately that anything of this kind is enough to drive me mad-I don't at this moment feel responsible for my actions. You know as well asany one that I love Marian." f I have had my doubts about it." 't You have?" "Yes, I thought you did at first, but lately I have changed my mind 6onsiderably " "And why?" "Oh, I don't know exactly, but Charles Pentonville loves her more, than you do."' He cannot do that." He is at liberty to do as he likes, and he talks about marriage." And your mistress?" I am not in her confidence." Will you let me see the letter?" asked Mr. Hardwicke. "How can I do so without bekg guilty of a breach of trust?" "I will give you twenty dollark "A thousand would not make ns l betray my mistress." "You are driving me mad." "I am sorry for that, but what ca I do?" "Lose the letter; it is easy to drop it on the pavement." "Why do you wish to see it?" "If I do not, I shall be drivba frantic. I must see the letter, An- nie," he said decidedly. I replied with equal decision that he could not. "You forget, sir, that my time is valuable," I added. "The letter, Annie-give me oTe letter, and you can go." "What will you do with it?" "I need not tell you that I e1A read it." "'After that?" "Then I shall put it in the box." I simulated indecision. "If you are disinterested," he said, "you might do it to oblige me. I assure you I shall not be able to eat or to sleep." "Like a woodcock, you must live upon suction." "You make fun of me, Annie." "I wish to see you laugh., "*You do?" "Yes, because you will kill your- self." "You are right, I am killing my- self; but I would rather die than live the life I have been living for some time past." "You are like a young man who fell in love with my former mistress." "What did he do?" demanded Mr. Hardwicke, impatiently. "He was disappointed, and he in- vested a part of his capital in clhar- coal." "Charcoal!' page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] Yes ; you may consider it an un- pofitable speculation, but it answer- ed his parpose." a How?" "a It asphyxiated him." Is he dead?" ' "'Fortunately he was rescued. I was sorry for him, but on my honor, I am still more sorry for you." "You are very good, Annie. Will you give me the letter? I Promise to post it." "If so " "Oh, you may rely upon my I allowed him to grasp the letter, and when he had it safely in his hand I glided away and walked home as fast as I could. I turned round after I had gone some little distance, and saw Mr. Hardwicke reading the ster, leaning up against a lamp- poet, and apparently much pre-oc- oapied. Mrs. Willis herself let me in; she was waiting in the passage, so great WTa her anxiety to know the result of my mission. aDid you see him?" she cried. a Yes, and he has the letter." a Is he reading it?" "I left him with it in his hand." 6 What will he do now?" "I think he will be at your feet in ten minutes." a You are very clever, Annie, Snd I must do what I can for you when this business is over." O I have only done my duty." -Mrs Willis looked at herself in the glass, smothed her hair, and shook her dress out to make it hang more gracefully over the crinoline. "Shall I do, Annie?" "Splendid," I replied; " you could not look better." A loud knock was heard at the door. I ran down stairs, and admitted Mr. Edmund Hardwicke. I He rushed up the staircase, pah. ing by me almost rudely. I followed him, and heard him say- "You have refused him, Marion.' "How do you know that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Your letter explains it alL What induced you to refuse so splendid an offer,?" "I love another." "So profoundly?" She shrugg ed her shoulders as it she would say it'looks like it. "I took the letter from your ser. vant. She is not to blame. I read it. Overwhelm me iwith abuse if you like, I could not resist the incli- nation which urged me to do it Do you blame me?" "Yes," she replied. "'In reaAingp my letter you behaved in a most un- gentlemanly way." "I cannot regret that x did so, for it has made me supremely happy.^ ' Crharles Pentonville offered me a fortune. For your sake I refused," she exclaimed. "You are goodness itself, and I swear to yoti, Marian, that I will make you my wife in a few years." "Ah! you think so now, but I shall be getting old and ugly then" "You will never be either onoe or' the other." "Why not marry me at once?" "Because, my darling, I am so situated that I cannot. I will treat you in every way as if you were my wife. Whatever I have shall be yours. My darmrages, my horses, my house, and my money shall be yours; and in a few years I will make my- self legally yours also, although I shall be so in fact before." For a long time Mrs. Willis held out against the offer of Mr. Hard- wicke. After an hour or so had elapsed she melted before the ear- nestness of his manner and said- I oonsent dear Edmund ; I throw up everything for you. CYou shall never repent it." X I trust not. I put myself en- tirely in your power. I am your own--would I could say wife." He caught her in his arms, and covered her with kisses, which she returned with almost " professional" prodigality. Hardwicke behaved with princely magnificence; he gave my mistress a bouse which a queen might have lived in and thought herself' dwelling in a palace, and she had everything at her disposal which her capricious mind could wish for. "I am really sincerely sorry, An- nioe but I must part with you." changed color. "In what have I displeased you?" I exclaimed in a voice that trembled with emotion, because I felt hurt. "'In no way." "Vhy do you send me away then?" "Because Mr. Hardwicke insists upon my severing myself from the past in every possible way. You are a powerful link ; consequently, to- gether with the rest of the chain, you most be thrown overboard. He even objects to my old dresses, and I shall make you a present of every- thing I haye been wearing. You shall never want a friend as long as I live." "'Thanks!"I said, not a little mortified, "I am young enough to be independent." "To show you how much I esteem you," she added, '"I shall give you twoletters of introduction. Both the ladies will be glad to employ you. It will be for you to take your choice." She sat down at a table and wrote two notes, which she directed and handed to me. I stood by cursing the ingratitude of courtesans, and thinking that I had embarked in the service of an unthankful race. I was. -too disgusted to say much to Mar ia, because I thought she might' hav insisted upon having her own way. If she had said in a dictatorial way to Edmund Hardwicke--"I certain- ly shall not part with Annie," he would have been only too glad to fall in with her wishes. The real reason of my dismissal I was at no loss to ac- count for. Marian, who was a clever woman, knew that I was too well ac- quainted with her career to be at all safe. I could have made certain revelations to 'Mr. Hardwicke which would at once have destroyed his con- fidence in her. So, in order to be on the safe side, she dismissed me in a summary manner, and threw me once more amnonrgst strangers in spite of all my devotion to her. I looked at the letters and read the directions. One was to Emily Ellis ;- the other to Pet Celeste. I consid- ered the latter to be most aristocratic, and I was inclined to pay her a visit:; but I had acquired a certain amount of indecision through living with fast women, who are the most vacillating and superstitious creatures in the- world. In order to resolve my doubts, I placed both the letters under a handkerchief and threw out one at random. It was that which was di- rected to Miss Pet Celeste. I took lodgings for a short time in order to go to the different theatres. and have a holiday. When I waa tired of that I went to Miss Pet Celeste's house, and presented myself with my letter of introduction. CHAPTER XIII. CAPTAIN HAWKINS. PET CELESTE was a very different woman to Beesey and Marian. She was of a different type. Let me call Beesey a sheep ; Marian, a wolf; and. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] fet a epent. The latter was more d4ngerous than either of the former 2r 'hiistory was a curious one, al- :iough its incidents were common eough. She was of a good family. 8he was rather proud of relating her exploits in her confidential moments, and she told me many things which did not inApire me with respect for -her. She did not think herself de- based by the life she was leading; on the contrary, she was rather proud of it if anything. "In these days," ske used to say, *' when all the world gives itself up to promiscuous intercourse, that is to say, when men and women obey the instincts and the promptings of na- 'ture, you may find fast women in every class of society. I could point out a dozen ladies of title who are I need not say what." The young ladies to whom Pet uwas i :governess had a brother. She made advances to him, and succeeded in captivating his young affections. She 'was young and handsome, but cold as a stone. She had no feeling. One day Henry Breckenridge took advan- tage of an opportunity which offer- ed, and spoke to her about the pas- ion he had conceived for her. "I am afraid my love will make us both miserable," he said. "Why should it do so?" she re- plied. "Because I cannot marry you" "Never mind." You say that in all sincerity?" he cried, rapturously. "Yes. 1, too, love you. When one loves truly, one is prepared to make sacrifices." "And you will do so for me?' "Have I not said so?" "You will be my-----" He hesitated. "Speak out, Henry," she said, in; her strong-minded way. "Say 'my 1 e ,woman.' I suppose I shall be so, since you will not make me yot wife." I You are charming," he Maid catching her in his arms. Although Henry Breckenridg. would not marry Pet, she took very good care that he should pay a heavy penalty for the fondness he had .im- bibed for her. She was not going to lose her virtue without obtaining some recompense for it. I once ask.- ed her ,why she did not content her- self with the condition in which she was before she yielded to Breeken- ridge's seduction, or it may ba cor- rect to say, before he yielded to her power of fascination. "Because I did not derive ay gratification from teaching a oule of silly girls." "It must be wearisome." "Wearisome! it is enoughtoweaa the soul out of one." "Was that your only reason P' "No, I had others. Ilike easoand luxury; could I obtain these as a governess?" "I should think not." "In addition to that, I like meAnd society." This last declaration was a suffi- cient reason, and accounted for every- thing. Breckenridge took a house for her, and furnished it expensively, and for three months they lived together in tolerable comfort and contentment. At the expiration of that time Pet began to grow tired of him. "I found him very slow," she' said; "he was too much of a boy for me. I hate sticks, and he was a stick in the full sense of the word. So I thought it was about time to get rid of him. ' I went about when he was out of the way, and picked up another man." lBreck(,nridge at' last was cooly told by. Pet that he was in the we and that he had better look out for some one more attached to him than she was. He took the hint, being himself a little wearied by the con- nection, and made her a present of everything he had bought for their mutual accommodation while they lived together. .So there was an end to him. She had met with an officer in the army, but one of whom the service had no need to be pror 1. His name was Hawkins, and it was not long before he took up his abode altogether at Pet Celeste's house, in which he had much more authority than she had, for he ordered the ser- vants about with the air of a master, and one who was entitled to their allegia'ce. For this manPet con- ceived a passion which was very degrading. She was not without money, for she had feathered her nest well during the time that she had lived with Henry Breckenridge, and made him her victim. The re-i snlt of her connection with Hawkins was to be a punishment for her treat- ment of a man who was really fond of her, and had behaved to her with munificence. Hawkins could not con- tribute one penny towards the ex- penses of the household, but to say that he was ignorant of the manner in which the establishment was kept np would be to tell a palpable false- hood, because he was frequently obliged to wait down stairs while his mistress was bestowing her kind ca- rsses upon some one who had taken a passing fancy to her, and was will- ing to pay for the indulgence of his caprice. It was a marvel how Pet would tolerate a man so lost to all respect and self-esteem, but there are some women who are naturally low in their tastes, and ruin themselves by their gratification. I have known a woman in very good circumstances ecifiae everything for an omnibus 'driver, whom she followed every- where, and would allow no peace At last he came to her house; its magnificence dazzled him. SIe had never seen anything so splendid bo- fore. She received him in a gorgeous costume, glittering in jewels and gold. The man must have thought that he had unwillingly intruded ipon the abode of a princess. He stammered some unmeaning phrases about every- thing looking "uncommon slap up, right up to the door, and no mis- take." After knowing this man some time, she was so infatuated as to wish to marry him. I was the bearer of her letter to him. I found him in the bar-parlor of a public-house. He took the letter, opened it, and with my aid read it. / He shook his head- "Wants me to marry her, does she?" he said. "I believe so." "No, my girl. That cock won't fight." "She is very well off?" "Yes, but how does she get her money?" "You ought to know." "So I do, andshat's why I refuse." "You have always appeared to like her," I said. "Like her! oh yes, I like her well enough as a woman, but that is not the sort of stuff I intend to make a wife out of. Not me, my girl, not me." You will not have to work." "I am not afraid of work," he re- plied honestly and skraightforward- ly. "I'd rather do that than be dependent upon her. I could not keep her as she's been accustomed to be kept. What do you think she'd do?" "Live quietly." "Not a bit of it, my girl; she'd go out beore my face az4 'et her page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] living as she's done before, and as she does now, and that sort of game wont dA for me. I'd rather have the poorest woman. in New York and Save her to mysea/; than I'd have a queen who's what she is." "What message shall I give her?" "Say what I told: you if you like." "Will you come and see her agajin?" "'I don't mind that, my girl, but the other thing wont pay. She's all very well for a man to pass an hour or two with when his day's work is done, but not the other thing; not if I know it. And now you've got your answer; good night. But stop, I am so put out I am forgetting my manners. Won't you take a drop of something to drink before you go?" I replied briefly in the negative, and went back with my' message. When she heard that he had refused her, her rage and grief knew no bounds. She put herself into a transport of passion which was quite uncontrollable. There were some beautiful vases of Bohemian glass upon the sideboard, and in her fury she swept them off with a blow of her hand, and they fell upon the floor in irretrievable ruin. Her fancy for the man, which in reality was nothing but an unworthy inclina- tion, turned to hatred, and she. told me never to admit him again inside' the house. Pet Celeste's fondness for Haw- kins was of a similar nature. He, was a great gambler, and used to extract money from his mistress by blandishments and threats where- with to carry on his extravagances. She invariably let him have money v a moment; there was nothing she mould not do for him. Bometimne he would come home late in a state of ferocious intoxication. While in this state he would strike her without the least provocation, until it was pitiable to see her arms and shoulders, which were one mass of bruises. He was sufficiently prudent and cautious not to strike in " the fface, because that would have dis- figured her and prevented her from seeing those men from whom sho ob- tained the sinews with which he maintained and carried on his war of extravagance. One night in par- ticular I remember, soon after I had entered Pet Celeste's service, Gap- tain Hawkins came home at a quar- ter past one; Pet was Aozing upon a Sofa, I was sitting at the table doing some needlework. Pet had taken care to have some cham- pagne, some ice, and some claret, placed on a sideboard, with some cigars, for the Captain's edification when he returned. She was ever thoughtful for him, even to the verge of servility. 'Hawkins swaggered into the room with his cravat ruf- fled, his hat on one side, and his dress disordered. He had evidently been drinking heavily. His first ex- clamation was, "Soda and brandy!" I got up to obey his order, when he seized a book and threw it at me, and cried out, "You little -, sit still; let your mistress wait upon me." Pet got up submissively, and went to the cellaret, from which she took some soda-water, and after putting brandy in the glass she poured the soda upon it, handing it to the OCp-. tain, who took it in his hand, and after looking steadily at her for a few seconds, deliberately threw the whole of the contents of the glass in her fae. It wetted her to the skin. She said nothing; she was used to much outrage I delre that my blood boiled in my veins, and I longed to have the power of retalia- ting upon the cowardly ruffian, and could have seized a bottle and have broken his head with it without the least compunction. 'Oh 1' he cried, with a wild laugh, 'that's had no effect on you, eh? You're in one of your tempers to- night, my lady, but 1'll find a way of taming you. Come here!' He grasped her by the hair and pulled her towards him, then he struck her repeatedly with his clenched fists. 'Annie, Annie!' exclaimed Pet. I was at her side in an instant. 'Save me from this man,' she said. I ran to the fire-place, caught hold of the poker, and struck the Captain upon the arm with it, bringing it down upon the muscular part with all nmy force. Hawkins released his hold of Pet, and immediately turned his attention to me. ' What do you mean?' he exclaim- ed loudly, in a bullying tone which he thought would cow me at once. 'I mean this,' I replied, boldly; 'that if you touch my mistress again I'll break your head with this poker.' 'I'll serve you the same.' 'No you wont.' 'What's to prevent me?' :You've no hold over me, if you have over Miss Celeste, and if you so much as lay your little finger up- on me, you low brute, I'll summon you in the morning, and tell every one how you -live on a woman and then come home drunk and ill-treat the poor thing. Such men as you noght to be burnt, hanging's too good for you.' 'Annie!' exclaimed my mistress, i holding up her finger in a depreca- fig manner; but my blood was up, \ al I was not to be checked. c He has begun with me,' I contin- " 'and he shall have it. Look at z the cowardly blackguard: he is afraid of me ; he daren't touch me because he knows he mustn't: f Pet Celeste had any pluck in her she would kick such a scoundrel as you out of her house. You dare to mn- lest her any more, and I'll go out and get a policeman, or I'll scream murder, and then a policeman has a right to break into the place. I'll have you locked up.' 'Hold your tongue,' he Laid, through his clenched teeth. He looked at me so viciously that I felt sure he was a murderer in his heart. ' I should be ashamed of myself;' I went on. 'You are not good enough to lick the dust off her shoes.' Miss Celeste came over to whexe I was standing, and put her hand up- on my mouth, saying- 'For my sake, my child, don't say anything more.' ' Let him touch you again, ma'am, that's all. I'm not going to stand by and see you knocked about and hurt by a fellow like that.' At length I was pacified. I never recollect being in such a passion be- fore. Captain Hawkins threw him- self on the sofa, and fell in to a drunk- en slumber; we went to bed and lkt him there snoring heavily. He did not wake till late in the next day. When he remembered the events of the evening he asked Pet to dismiss me, but she refused to, do S. He was about to bluster, when she threatened to ring the belf for me, and this silenced him. He new looked at me without scowling, an)l if ever a man hated a woman in this world, that man hated me, and in & short time he left Pet and went to England. Pet was one of those women who are sufficiently good-looking to bo ee- page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] tractive. She had a through know- ledge of the art of charming, and wherever she went she commanded attention. The theatre was a favorite lace of resort with her. She often boasted to me that she had made some of her best acquaintances within the precincts of Barnum's. Now that Captain Hawkins had gone away and she had with her natural vola- tility recovered his loss, she began to bestir herself. One night she had secured a box at the opera, and as she felt that she would be glad of some society until some of her friends recognized her and sought her box, she took me with her. Between the acts, she was in the habit of going to the saloon, where the masculine element is always strong. We were together drinking coffee, when a man stopped close to us and looked fixedly at Miss Celeste. He was tall, pass- ably good-looking, had light hair and a red beard. He did not ven- ture to speak for some time. The saloon thinned, the music began, we made a movement to return to our box. This was his opportunity, and he did not fail to seize it. Advancing to Pet he exclaimed- 'Is youi box far from here?' 'The centre of the first tier.' 'Will you permit me the honor?' he said, offering her his arm. She took it at once. I followed at a discreet distance, When we reach- 'ed the box the opener let us in, and Pet said- 'Are you here alone?' ' Quite.' 'In that case you may as well stay here.' 'I shall be proud, happy,' hemur- mured. 'Do yol often come to the opera?' she asked, after they had seated thmselves to their satisfaction. 'Frequently; and you-- 'Oh I I adore it.' 'I am in a manner compelled t be here,' he added. 'How is that? Are you connect- ed with the orchestra?' 'Not exactly, but I am musical critic. I am supposed to write the musical articles for the Daily Times' "'Oh then you are a literary swell?' 'Not much of that. You may have heard of me?' ' Tell me your name. I like to know who I am talking to. It i so easy to compromise one's self.' "He smiled, and said 'I am Holme White.' Holme White was a distinguished name in the world of letters at that time. He was favorably known as the author of a very successful nove) which had had an extensive sale, and he was a contributor to a famous magazine. He was one of the best known men. The'Daily Times was a paper with an immense circula- tion, anid went into very good hands, consequently it was an object to these artistes who had a reputation to make, to be on friendly terms with Holme White. He had a seat placed at his service, and when it did not please him to be present at the performance he gave instructions early in the morning to the box- keeper to let his seat, which was always done to his advantage. This alone it will be perceived was a source of income. He was in the habit of levying taxes upon those performers who had achieved a reputation. The way in which he contrived to injure them if they were remiss in their payments was this. He Would throw in a few lines in his critique to this effect-' It was painfully evident that Madame -- will not get over the hereditary nervousness we have had occasion to allude to on former oo. csuios without she applies herself more sedulously in rehearsal, a duty her signg leads one to believe shehas a deep-rooted aversion to ;' or, 'Sig- nor --- was not in such good voice as we were accustomed to hear him last season. ;It cannot be that he is falling off in any way, because he is in the prime of life and the zenith of his reputation-a reputation we had the honor of predicting before he made his debut as an unknown man. The most valid supposition is, that success takes a peculiar effect upon some and inclines them to be care- less; upon thl(s we would impress the fact that it is one thing to gain a reputation, and another to keep it.' These remarks would bring the recalcitrant at once to their senses, and. the presents flowed in quicker than ever. White was undoubtedly a clever man, but his great fault was avarice. He lived in a certain style but he did not nearly live up to his income; he saved money and was a rich man-that is, for one in his position. The more he had at his banker's, the more anxious he became to increase the bal- ance. His rooms were magnifi- cently furnished. Those bronzes that caught your eyes directly 1 you entered the room were given him by the most charming actress a of modern times; consequently he is devoted to her interests. Those pictures came from Signor R- -, whose voice is popularlysupposed to te everlasting. I could amplify in- . stances, but I have given enough. f The following anecdote will give the key to the man's whole character:- n A very pretty little girl was to make N her first appearance as a danseuse of g the first order in a new ballet called th .'sanI d of Pearls.' Her friends E told her if she wished to be favorably w tVie'wi m the Tp/es ishe must seek f an interview with Holme White @ w Y range matters amicably with '. s and the thing would be accompishe - to her satisfaction. Accordingly she e paid him a visit, and in gracefl i terms asked him to be as indulgent s to her as he could. He received her s in a polite manner, complimented i her upon her good looks, assured her that if appearances went for anything i she would be an acquisition to the boards of the opera, and ended by ; admiring a watch which hung sue- pended from her neck by a valuable chain. 'It is very good of you to speak so kindly to me,' she said. 'Not in the least. I cannot speak otherwise than I do.' ' Do you think I shall be suoceaw fuil?' 'I have not seen you dance' 'Shall I execute apas ' 'If you please.' She looked around her. The table was in the way. Holme moved it on one side. 'I am afraid you will find the car- pet an impediment,' he said. 'Not much. I will make anef. fort.' She held her dress coquettishly a little extended on each side and danced for a few minutes. When she stopped she said- ' Will that do?' 'You should hold your dress ru higher. I could not see your feet.' ' Sir I' she cried, 'I did not come here to be insulted,' while her ev"r flashed indignantly. She was new to the stage, and hat not yet lost her virtue. Holn White, however, would not hat given her a month's purchase for it. Nor have you been, my child. Upon my word, that is pretty watch of yours.' 'May I rely upon your good oP page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] QO this evening,' shA exclaimed, softening down a little before the exigencies of her position. "I always had a great fancy for watches,' he replied. 'You will do your best for me?' 'Watches are so interesting. The mechanical part is so perfect, and the genius that invented it must have been so wonderful.' ' Half a column will transport me,' she said. 'Excuse me, but is that a Gen- ova?' 'No ; it is English made. Even less than half-' ' English, is it? Ah! they make, good watches in England.' The little dancer began to compre- hend his drift, and exclaimed- ' If you admire my watch so much, allow me to make you a present of it.' 'You are very kind. I have the best collection of watches in Europe. I will add it to the number.' She gave it him, and went away delighted, saying- : ' ou will not forget me? She danced very well in the even- ing. Her friends told her that she lanced to perfection. .She went to bed that night as happy as a queen. Woke up the next morning a little stiff, and sent her servant out for all the papers. The first she took up was the Times. She was having her breakfast in bed, but so anxious was she to read Holme White's critique spon her performance that she neg- leoted her breakfast in order to read the paper. She turned pale, bit her lips, and clenched her fists. What she had read was calculated to per- turb her and overtarn her equanimi- ty. Holme White said that 'Mis - had an idea of dancing, but it was what the sunbeam is to the sun itaf. A log of wood, ould it by any chance be animated, would damce in a far better manner, and command more hearty, genuine applause than the lady in question, who had to all appearances mistaken her vocation; and if she had not actually done that, had made her grand effort at least two years too soon, for twenty- four months would not be one min- utes too much for the acquisition of those finishing touches in which she was so lamentably deficient' He added " that there was yet some hope for her. She might by dint of in- terest obtain an engagement with some peripatetic troupe of provincial marionettes, and cause the rustic chaw-bacons to open their gogle eyes to their full extent; but the first opera in the world required some- thing sterling, and superior to that which was produced at other and minor theatres.' He concluded by: saying ' iss-- has not the slight- est idea of balancing herself. She cannot pose herself in an attractive manner, and her pirouettes are gEsuc horrible failures that I will Aot further allude to them.' After reading this she jumped cut; of bed, put on her things in a gre3t hurry, and went to Holme -Whhie. She brandished the paper in his face and said, 'You have ruined me. You say I am a log of wood; I can't pirou- ette; I am only fit for a travelling caravan. Oh 1i I never was so gross- ly insulted-- ever.' 'Criticism, to be honest, must be free,' he replied, calmly. I 'But you will make me lose my position, you will-will---' She burst into a flood of tears. He continued calmly smoking a cigar u- j til the storm passed over, then h ; said- a' You will have a glass of virne S be shook her head. ' Alittle brandy to arrange your nerves after the excitement of last night and this morning?' 'Not a drop,' she exclaimed, re- covering herself a little. 'As you will.' 'What am I to do? Can you modify your opinion?" 'Possibly, in time.' 'What have I done to provoke your hostility?' He-shrugged his shoulders. 'I gave you my watch.' 'Yes.' She caught his eyes fixed upon the chain which she still wore. 'Oh' she -exclaimed, 'I see the error of which I have been guilty. I gave you the watch, but ' You are quite right, my child,' he said, interrupting her; 'you gave me the watch, but you forgot the chain.' Holme White took very good care that those whom he eulogized should pay dearly for superlatives; compara- tives were charged for moderately; positives were cheap. The impar- tial reader can call him nothing else but a literary bravo, and yet this man's name was in everybody's mouth, and although his private character was detestable you couldn't help admiring his unquestionable talent. His novel were la mode, and read by everyone. The whole of the first edition of the last one he had produced was absorbed on the day of publication, which was an event almost unprecedented in the atnalsopf literaturs, and no less than three editions amounting to ten thousand copies, were sold in less than ten days. He took a fancy to Pet Celeste, and they struck up an alliance. For some few weeks he snlplied her with money; not liber- lly exactly, but still in sufficient quantities. One day he came to her looking elated- 'Good morning, darling,' he ex- claimed, while his face beamed with exultation, "I have an idea.' 'Its only proper that you should have.' 'But this is a grand idea.' 'All the better for us' 'You say 'us,' and you are quite right to do so, for it concerns you as much as it does me.' "Tell me at onee what this won- derful conception is; I am dying to know, and I hate to be kept in sus- pense when my curiosity is excited.' ' You know that I am writing for a magazine. ' Yes. 'Unfortunately I have an agree- ment with the editor to write for him alone, and in return he gives me $300 a month.' 'Very good pay too, I should think.' ' I find that I can write as much again easily, but owing to the agree- ment my hands are tied. Now my idea is this. I can introduce you to the editor of Every Week, a periodical that makes its appearance weekly.' 'What will be the use of that?' 'Singly this. I shall tell him that you are very clever, and have a decided tuan for literature, and ask him as a favor to myself, to bring you but. I am so well known that I can get your works favorably re- viewed in every paper of;any celeb- rity, and you will become the most popular authoress of the day.' 'But the tale,' cried Pet Celate, 'who is to write the tale?' Of course I am to do that, and you must pass off my 'copy' as'yow own. Do you see now? 'Perfectly.' 'And am I to have all that money for myself? page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] O' Th inly not. I shall expect Ihalof f it, and in addition to that you will have to give me half of the value of all the presents you receive.' ' How--prsents P You wiiB soon have an extensive acquaintance. They will like to come to your drawing-rooms. I shall bring them from the different clubs to which I belong; theyr will, otcourse, make love to you, because you are young and beautiful If you have a P diamond bracelet-let me take that, for the sae of example-given to you, it must go to the jeweller's, and be sold there for what is worth; half the sum so divided will o' riht be yours, the other half mine.' Pet Celeste made no reply. ' It is only fair that I should be remunerated for all the trouble I shall have' he continued. 'I am to make your fortune, and place you in a position, and---- ' 'Say no more,' cried Pet, 'I ac- ept your terms. Take me to your editor, and write me the tales.' 'You will find the arrangement ior your advantage. I know one woman now who cannot write her own name, and yet lives like a prin- cess. With me to help, advise, and back you up, you would be a success. but left to yourself you will languish in obscurity.' 'I am willing to admit that wo- men are improvident, and never think of saving money,' said Pet. My mistress accepted his terms and everything was awTang-ed. The editor liked the story which he sup- posed to be written by Pet Celeste, and he advertised it extensively in i siu the papers. It ran for three months, and was then printed and published by a celebrated firm, and ,ocame an unequivocal success. Pet Celeste was a celebrity, and much ] talked about as the new authoress. Amongst the visitors that Pet' re ceived at her house was a French- man, the Count de la Tour Rouse seaux. He had been in some govem- ment situation in Martinique, and had made a large fortune. He was not of prepossessing appearance, for his face was the color of mahogany, but he was very much smitten with Pet, not only on account of her good looks, but also for her literary talent, which he firmly believed in. In or- der to test the sincerity of his affec- tion, Pet told him on one occasion that owing to the small sums she. made by literary labors she was obliged to sell her wardrobe, retaining only a few articles of wearing apparel which were absolutely indispensable. On hearing this the Count de la Tour Rousseaux took her to a fashionable storedand laid out five hundred dol- lars in one afternoon, giving a check for the money and having the things sent home the same day. Finding this ruse so successful, Pet sent me with all herjewelry to a pawnbro- ker's. I deposited the various brace- lets, necklaces, and rings there, obtaining the highest value I -could for them, and brought her back the vouchers, amounting in all to about forty. She' placed them in a casket inlaid with ivory and gold, locked them up, and put the key in her pocket. In the afternoon the Count de la Tour Rousseaux made his ap- pearance as usual. He was not slow to remark the absence of my mis- tress's brooch from its accustomed place. Next he missed her rings, then her watch, and in atonishment he exclaimed- ' You have forgotten to wear your jewelry to-day, my dear Pet.' She sighed CAh! he cried, there is some mystery about this; will you )ot confide in me? Who is mreA worthy of your eonfience than my- 'There are some things, count, which are, in their painfulness, family secrets.' 'Amongst friends there are no secrets.' cIt is possible to impose upon goodnature.' ' You must not say so.' ' Shall I tell him the truth?' mur- mured Pet Celeste, as if talking to herself.- 'Have yoiu ever found me any- thing but a friend?' he asked. 'It is better that he should know,' she continued. ' Count, I have been obliged to deposit them as a security for a loan.' 'Oh, that is a trifle 1' ' You may think so, but is not every one who is a Cresus.' 'What is the use of money if it does not make you happy?' ' How complimentary your remarks are 1 I declare, De la Tour, that I find more enjoyment, and derive more gratification, from your society, than from that of any one else with whom I am acquainted.' 'May I ask the amount of this loan?' She felt in her pocket, and pro- luce the key of the casket. She gave it him, and pointed to the receptacle of the tickets as she did so. He took the tickets, and in a short time re- turned wite her jewelry.' Pet Celeste looked at him grate- fuillly; her glance of profound grati- ;lide penetrated to his heart. On' sdeli asn occasion, and with suche nlan, she was ilfinitely too clever to speak. In return for his devoted- hess, she allowed the Count Rous- seanx to kiss her hand. He was transported with joy at this slight ,eancession, and she had hardly fin- aed dinmr before a magnificent diamond neck-lace arrved firm Ball & Black's. If it was worth a single dollar, its value was between ten or fifteen thousand dollars. It was a present for a princess. . She uttered a cry of mingled surprise and delight as she opened the box which contain- ed it. The rays of light firom the gas-lamps fell upon the sparkling stones, and were reflected back with a myriad dazzling scintillations. So absorbed was she in its contempla- tion, that she did not remark the' opening of the door, or the presence of Holme White. 'The Frenchman has good taste,' he said, in a low voice. Pet Celeste closed the box with a snap. She threw a glance at the nov- elist, in which indignation was min- gled with apprehension. 'Those diamonds have come just in time,' observed Holne White, by way of opening the balL ' Why so?' 'For many reasons.' 'Diamonds are always acceptable to women,' she replied. 'Possibly there are few who are in the habit of despising such costly presents.' ' I am certainly not one of them.' 'Nor I.' She put the box in her lap and -folded" her hands over it. 'To whom shall you sell them?' asked -Iolhne White, calmly. 'To whom?' ' Yes ; that was my question.' 'You would like to know?' 'If not I should scarcely have asked you.' 'Then I reply, ' To no one." 'You cannot be in earnest?' 'Of course I am. I intend to keep them.' 'I suppose your afftair are iam ' flourishing condition r page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] * Quite the reverse. Why do you ask such an absurd question?' 'Because you compel me. Have you forgotten our compact? 'No; I am not likely to do so as long as I have a harpy like your- self to deal with.' 'Personalities are essentially fem- inine, but they are never convincing.' 'I can call you nothing else.' 'What you call me, my dear, is a matter of the most perfect indiffer- ence to me. Let us throw such child- ish conversation on one side, and re- turn to the business before us.' Pet Celeste stamped on the floor with rage. 'The necklace is of excellent work- manship, the best manufacture, -til stones are of price-am I right?' 'I suppose so.' 'It follows, then, that the neck- lace is worth about four thousand dollars?' 'I should think so.' 'If you retain it in your possession you are prepared, of course, to hand me over two thousand as my share 9' 'Your share I We never said any- thing about diamonds.' 'But that was implied.' 'You are a Jew,' she cried, with tears in her eyes. 'The Jews are a very respectable body of men. I hold them in great esteem.' 'That is more than I do you.' 'The intimation cominor from such a source ought io be crushing, but it is not,' said HElme White, with a sarcastic smile. 'You are a robber ' 'No, my dear Pet, believe me I v am not. A robber is a man who ren- 1 ders himself amenable to the laws I of the land in which he lives. I do nothing of the sort.' 'You are worse than a robber, you t area thiefz' 'You vocabulary is very choice, and your expletives are very pretty. What a pity you are not an Irish wo- man! you might become famous.' 'I am so' already.' 'Well, yes,' he replied, ' I am willing to admit it; but I cotld( demolish the fragile structure by one breath of wind.' ' You would derive no good from that.' 'I grant you the truth of that re- mark, which I will do you the justice to say is the most clever you-.have yet made ; but if a viper whom you have warmed in your bosom begins to show its teeth, why the only thing you can do is to criush it; and per- fectlyy dear Pet; I am prelpared to crush you a any moment it may suit me to do so.'. 'Do it at once, then,' she 'cried, desperately. 'No,' he replied firmly, 'the time has not yet arrived, although it may not be far distant. We are acting together for one mutual intent. I do all the work which makes you famous, consequently 1 expect to be paid for my trouble. You undertook to divide the spoil. I shall hold you. to your word; therefore we will di- vide, whether you like it or not.' I could see from my place that j Pet Celeste became ghastly. There was a pause, which Holme White broke by saying-' 'What have you decided upon doing?' She replied very quietly, ' Come again to-morrow.' 'With pleasure. I knew that you would be reasonable as soon as you had thought the matter over in your mind.' A short time elapsed, during which. they conversed very amiably toge- ther. He had no sooner taken hi parture -than she rang the bell violently. I made my appearance. 'Annie,' she said, 'I wish you to execute three commissions for me with as much celerity as you can. Take a carriage, that you may go quicker.' 'Yes, ma'am,' I replied. 'First of all, tell my furniture man to come here directly; secondly, send the jeweller here at once; and thirdly, call at the house of the CounL de la Tour Rousseaux, and say that I wish to speak to him without a moment's delay.' It was clear that Miss Pet Celeste had taken a sudden resolution. Hastily putting on my shawl and bonnet, I left the house to exe- cute her commands. I hailed the first carriage that passed, jumped in and drove with speed to the iar- liture-maker's. He promised to call within the hour. The jeweller, who was alive to his own interests, set off at once at a run. There only re- -mained the thin, cadaverous-looking Frenchman - who was decidedly one of Pharoah's lean kine. Fortu- nately I found in the Count de la Tour Rousseaux within. He received rue with open arms, and demanded news of my mistress. 'She wishes to see you at once, sir,' I replied. 'About what?' he asked anx- ion sly. 'I am not at liberty to tell, but she is making preparations for leav- ng New York at once.' ' Something has happened, then?' 'Most assuredly.' 'Does she go alone?' 'I have every reason to think so.' He heaved a deep sigh of relief. 'I too intend to leaIe New York.' 'Why- not awcompany my mis- trew He laughed derisively, and re- plied- 'She would not permit to do so,' 'Well, I am positive that Pet would be glad of a protector, and I have heard her speak in the highest terms of you.' 'yes, yes, complimentary and all that, but she loves another.' 'Offer to marry her,' I said, boldly. ' Would she have me?' ' I do not know her mind, Count; you must take your chance of a re- fusal ; but if you want my candid opinion I should say she would, for she has always spoken very well of you. I know that you are a favorit of hers.' 'You console me.' ' may tell. you one thing, and that is, that if you intend to make any proposition of the sort you must ! do it at once, because I have just left her furnisher and her jeweller. She is about to sell off all her household effects.' 'I will speak to her this evening; if she censenl, I will take her away from America,' exclaimed Count Rousseaux. ' What is to become of me, Count, in the event of that happening?' 'Oh! I will recompense you. You shall have an annuity.' I left the Count de la Tour Rous- seaux and hastened home to Pet, who was awaiting my return with the utmost impatience. When she heard what I had to say she compli mcnted me on my tact and cleven ness, and I could see that she wa( contemplating a terrible reveng( upon Holme W'hite for his rapacity and his numerous insults. When the furnisher arrived he agreed to buy the furniture of Pet's house as it stood; the sum he offered was a I handsome one, and my mistres at page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] nnee accepted it. She did not reflect ehat although the price she was to receive appeared a large one, it was in reality, something less than half what it had cost. The jeweller arrived next, and the count met him going downstairs. He did not lose the op- portunity, but ordered a bracelet of turquoises and gold for Miss Celeste The lady received him with a smile, but by way of an appeal ad msericordiam, she took care to allow her eyes to fill with tears. He placed himself by her side, and tak- mg her hand in his, asked her the reason of her grief. At this she began to weep violently. The count endeavored to soothe her as much as he culd, and spoke to her for some time im so low a tone of voice that I could not overhear what he was saying After a time her face brightened and i shelooked up. He ventured to wipe i away her tears with an embroidered X pocket-handkerchief which she had c n her hand. 'Will you consent? he asked. 'You ask me to be your wife?' 'I do.' 'You will make-me your countess v bere the world? 'I shall consider myself proud to de so.' 'I am yours,' she murmured allow- ing her head to sink on his shoulder, a as if the anticipation of her speedy s( marriage with the- count entirely owh ame her. Let our arrangements be made as n soon as possible, dearest,' said Count de la Tour Rousseaux, when he had kissed every part of her face with h excessive tenderness. ' As soon as you like.' 'We will go to Paris.' la ' You shall have your own way in everything. t ' For some hours they remained in sweet converse together. Pet was re ct radiant with joy and triumph. Her to star was, after all, a lucky one, and s, she was going to prove iit so. As if Countess de 'la Tour Rousseaux, d with a handsome revenue, she would g be able to command respect wherever )-she went. In a foreign country no t one would know her antecedents a. and she was sufficiently ladylike to a grace the position to which the count i was about to raise her. During the time that Pet Celtet6 e was closeted with Count de laQ'our, - Mr. Holme White called three times. He was refused admittance on each of these occasions, on the ground that Pet had gone out and would not be back till late. He did not believe the excuse, and wrote her an insolent letter, which she read with mantling cheeks. She crushed it up into a ball and thrust it into the fire- place. I advised Pet most strongly not to break with Holme White at once, because his disposition was so savage and so truculent; that he might in some way spoil her pros- pects, which were so brilliant. She agreed with me, and the next day when Mr. White called he was ad- mitted. ' You were pleasantly engaged last night, I hope? he exclaimed. ' Tolerably so. Quite sufficiently, at any rate, not to wish for your society.' 'I care so little for yours,' he re- plied, gruffly and rudely, 'that I do not care if I never meet you again.' 'Why do you then?' 'Simply because you are my banker.' He laughed at his very poor wit 'Have you disposed of the neck- lace?' he added. ' At present I have not. Shall I tell you?' she replied, provokinglty. 'You had better assign a goo. reason,' he replled, idfrcely 1! have an excellUnt one.' "'What is it P' Only this; the necklace is at the jeweller's.' 'Where is the money?' 'Ask him. He is the proper per- son to apply to.' 'IBut I am talking to you.' 'Shall I do as his deputy?' He ground his teeth savagely to- gether. ' The fact is, he is going to keep it for a few days until he can obtain a good price for it.' 'Why not realize at once?' 'Because he has two or three customers who are in want of dia- marIds and if he can get five or six instead of four thousand dollars for it, you ought to be the last to grumble.' 'That is an explanation.' 'Why did you lose your temper before you heard it?' 'I imagined you were trifling with me.' 'I I trifle with you!' she ex- claimed, with a ringing laugh; 'how could a silly little woman like me trifle with a clever man of the world like you?' 'It is always well to be on the safe side' As he lift the room I heard Celeste nut .- ' ,ou may think yourself on the ^e 1side and congratulate yourself on your excessive precaution, but you will find yourself outwitted after all.' The time flew by. The day be- ] fore that appointed for the marriage u of my mistress with Count de la 1 Tour Rousseaux, Holme White came 1 to our house with the usual amount ( of the copy which she had to send 1 every week. She promised to send it at once and forward him the ( proofs as soon as they srived. He wret away satisfied . He had taken the precaution to go to the jeweller's in whose window he saw the diamond necklace, but he had not sufficient effrontery to go inside and ask all the particulars re- specting it. It was Pet's wish that the mar- riage should take place as quietly as possible, so the count brought his carriage to the house and. accon- panied by one or two friends, they went to the nearest church and were married by special license. Before starting she wrote a letter to the editor of Every Week, telling him that owing to circumstances over which she had no eontrol, she would be unable to complete the story she was writing for him, and she begged him to get some one to finish it in her place The editor was completely taken by surprise- nothing could have put him out so dreadfully. He was in a dilemma. While Pet was absent at the church, Holme White called for the proofs. I said I knew nothing about them. He went to the printers'. The printers received him in blank dismay. ' No copy ' exclaimed the printer in reply to his eager inquiries. "o coP i' ejaculated Holme White, reeling against the wall. Without another word he ran out of the place, and went to the office. There he found the editor, who ad- vanced towards him with conster- nation depicted on his face. Here again the cry of 'no copy' greeted him. He was overwhelmed with alarm. The copy ought to have been set and corrected, but nothing had been seen of it It was very clear that Pet Celeste was playing him false in some way. ' What can I do?' exclaimed the editor. 'She has always been so very punctual that 1 never antici- pated anything of this sort. Will page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] you call upon ner and see what you can do? There is yet time if she will work hard.' 'I will certainly do my best. There must be some mistake,' replied Holme White. ' So I should think; but the worst of pretty women is, they are always liable to a coup de tete.' Mr. White lost no time in hasten- ing to Pet Celeste's. The party had just returned from the church. I was in the hall awaiting Mr. White's advent, for we expected him when he arrived. 'Your mistress,' he cried; 'is she in?' She is, sir.' 'I wish to see her.' 'I don't know whether you can.' 'Why not?' 'Because she has company.' 'I cannot help that; my business is important, and I must see her.' 'At once, sir?' 'Yes, at once,' he replied in a per- emptory manner. 'Miss Celeste leaves town to-day, sir,' I said mischievously. Where for?' Europe, I believe.' 'You are joking' ' Not at all.' His brow contracted, and pushing me on one side he walked into the dining-roon, where the bride and bridegroom and the guests were as- sembled. Mr. White was pale and trem- bling with rage. Pet Celeste, dress- ed in white and adorned with orange- blossoms, was charming. The nov- elist could not understand it. The bride bent her head and whisper- ed a' few words in a tone to the bridegroom; he at once rose and said- 'Who have I the honor of speak-, bag to ' The remark was addressed to hr i White and he replied- 'White-Holnme White." ' Ah, indeed I Your presenc,- here to-day is an unexpected dri..ll're, but your arrival is very aiut ,pr, ate.' ' Why so?' demanded tir nov- elist, in whose eyes everything was swimming. ' Because you have come just in time to drink the health of the acoun tess.' ' The countess!' 'Countess De ls Tour RoEus seaux.' Holmne White reeled against the wall like a drunken man. Every ey6 was upon him; for the time he was the cynosure of the room. When he lad recovered himself by an effort of his #ill, which was really power- ful, he exclaimed, in as firm a voice as he could comrmand- 'This requires a little explana- tion. ' 'As much as you like, sir,' replied the count. 'To whom am I to speak?' ' To her husband, that is, to mtr. 'In the first place-:-' began M'r White. ' Allow me,' interrupted Count Do la Tour Rousseaux--' allow mIX to suggest that to-morrow would be a more fitting time for explanations than at present. Do you not see thit your presence disturbs the hdlarity' of our little social gathering? If your perceptions are too dense to al- low rou to do so, I can assure you that I state the fact.' The novelist at that moment could havo been guilty of some desperate deed. The countess enjoyed his dissatie- faction; at last she beckoned to W;, sayinr- Mr. White.' She handed him ; sealed packet, saying- ' There is your copy.' He clutched it eagerly. 'Now sit down, and make your- self at home,' she added, kindly. He shook has head. 'You will not? That is silly of you Come, change your mind.' A more emphatic and decided shake followed this invitation. 'I assure you that you are wrong and blind to your own interests; you are indeed. I have outwitted you; well, what of it? It has been a con- flict of wits, in which it was out of the nature of things that both could win.' Holme White was nearly choking with rage. His passion completely mastered him; and he so far forgot himself as to leave the room precipi- tately without taking leave of any one. The Count turned to his lovely countess, and asked the meaning of the man's strange demeanor. 'The por frilow loves me, and my marriage with you has overcome him.' He pressed her hand tenderly, and said, 'You shall never regret it, my best love,' he replied, with a still more tender pressure of the hand which rested so willingly within his own. A short time after this I found myself at liberty. The Count and Cou tess left for Europe, and I was dismissed with my wages and a hand- some present besides. The Count De la Tour gave me in addition a splendid ring, which was worth a large sum. Once again I was left alone and out of a situation. My thoughts turned to Cecil and I learned from his mother that he had succeeded in his rofessioa quite well. His mother \ and sisters wsre very profuse in their thanks to me for any kindness I learned afterwards that Cecil had seen Beesey, and her penitent and supplicant manner had caused him to forgive and forget the past and he had married her. Feeling a desire to see them in their home I called. 'Do you recognize me?' I asked. 'Recognize you,' she cried with all the devotion of a fond and true heart. 'Is it possible I can ever forget you?' 'I am altered,' I said with a sigh. 'Not to me; you are the same wood mymph of Newport as ever. Dear forest I dear everything,' she murmured. 'I often think of our meeting and how happy we were there. Don't you long to see the dear old place once more? Come, let us all go there to see again the old and familar scenes. And, Annie where is Woodruff?' I promised to visit Newport with them. The recollection of my friend Woodruff brought up feelings I sup- posed long since dead. I resolved to see him. Imagine my surprise and joy on beholding a handsome and gentle- manly person. His manners were polished and he inspired me with re- spect. He had devoted his time to the cultivation of his mind, and right well had he improved it. My place had flourished under his skilful care, so much so that it was very valuable and was now almost in the edge of the city. A splendid row of white cottages adjoined the house, and on inquiring of Woodruff te whom they belonged, he replied tP myself, and were yearly rented for :' very handsome revenue. Indeed. ' found myself the wealthiest person in that vicipity, and the considers tion and esteem in which I was page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] ated oa all sides determined me to romaui A few years has passed, and New- port is not such a bad place to live in as I once supposed. Nor is Wood- ruff so utterly detestable as I once supposed him. He makes me one of the Kindest of husbands. Indeed I cannot now imagine why I did not always love him I am supremely happy in his society and akg at the narrow escape I have had from the vortex of a life of crime and misery. My innate sense, of right has always kept me aft--and I trust it may be a talisman with every young person who reads these lines to remember to always do right. Never falter or hesitate in the right course, and in afir life, pleaant dreams and happy thoughts will eve be with you. SW I= - l