A sack of gold
page: 0 (Advertisement) [View Page 0 (Advertisement) ] dovels are sweets. All people with healthy literary appetites love them-almost all women; a vast number of clever, hard-headed men. Judges, bishops, chancellors, mathematicians, are notorious novel readere, an well as young boys and sweet girls, and their kind, tender mothers.--W. M. TIIAOI;EAY, in lIoundabout l'apetr HARPER'S LIBRARY SELECT NOVELS. "Harper's Select Library of Fiction rarely includes a work which has not a decided charm, either from the clearness of the story, the significance of the theme, or the charm of the execution; so that on setting out upon a journey, or providing for the recreation of a solitary evening, one is wise and safe in procuring the later numbers of this attractive scries.--ostoet 2'ranscript. rRIOE 1. Peham. By Bulwer . ..................$ 75 2. The Disowned. By Bul\wer............. 7 3. Devereux. By Bulwer ................... r0 4. Paul Clifford. By Bulwer ...............50 5. Eugene Aram. By Bulwe r.............. 50 (. T he Last Days of Pompeii. By Bulwer 50 7. The Czarina. By Mrs. ofland........50 8. Rienzi. By Bu3lwer ....................... 75 9. Self-Devotion. By Miss Campbell..... 50 10. The Nabob at Home ........................ ,r() ". Ernest Maltravers. By lBuher .......50 12. Alice; or, The Mysteries. By Bulwer 50) 13. The Last of the fBarons. By Bulwcer..l 00 ". Forest )ays. By Jamcs .................. 50 15. Adam Brown, the Merchant. By II. Smith ..... ............ ................... 50 1(. Pilgrims of the Rhine. By Iluiwer.,.. .2 17. The home. By Miss Bree.......... ) 18. The Lost Ship. By Captain Neale..... 75) 9. The False Ileir. By James ............ 50 20. The Neighbors. By Miss Bremer...... 50 21. Nina. By Miss Blenler................. ..t 22. The President's )aughters. By Miss Bremer..................................... 25 23. The Banker's Wife. By Mrs. (ore . - 50 21. 'The Birthright. Byv rs. Gore......... 2 25. New Sketches of EIvery-day Life. By Miss l1remer. 0......................... 26. Arabella Stuart. By ,Jmes ..............5 27. The Grumbler. By Miss Pickerinig... .50 28. The Unloved One. By Mrs. IIoflland. 50 29. Jack of the Mill. By William IIowitt. 25 ',0. 'The Heretic. By Ijetchikofl'......... 50 : 31. The Jew. By Spindler ................... 7 - 32. Arthur. By Sue ........................... 75 ;3. Chatsworth. By Ward ...................50 34. The Prairie Bird. By C. A. Murray. 1 00 35. Amy herbert. By Miss Sewell ...... 50 3;. Rose d'Albret. By James ................ 50 37. The Triumphs of Time. By Mrs. Marsh 75 38. The H- Family. By Miss Bremer 50 39. The Grandfather. By Miss Pickering. 50 40. Arrah Neil. By James................... 50 ". The Jilt . ..................................... 50 42. Tales fron the German . .............50 43. Arthur Arundel. By H. Smith......... 50 ". Agincourt. By James.................... ,0 45. The liegent's Daughter...... .............. 50 ". The Maid of Honor ....................... 50 47. Safia. By De Beauvoir................... 50 48. Look to the End. B Mrs. Ellis.......50 ", The Improvisatore. By Andersen...... 50 50. The Gambler's Wife. By Mrs. Grey.. 50 51. Veronica. By Zschokke:................ 50 52. Zoe. By Miss Jewsbnry ................. 50 rnrort 53. Wyoming ....................... ....... 0..... 54. D oh. ) . y Sue ...... ................ 55. Self. By the Author of "Cecil "... 75 5(;. The Smuggler. By Jamlnc .............. 75 57. The Breach of Promise .................. 0 58. Parsonage of Mora. By Miss B1remer 25 5,.). A Clance Medley. By T'. C. Grattanl 50 60. The W hite Slave ..... ....................I 00 ( 1. The Bosom Friend. By Mrs. Grey.. 50 (;2. Am aury. B)13 Dumas.................... 50 63. The Author's Daughter. By Mary low itt ..................................... 25 ". Only a Fiddler! &('. By Anderenc.... 50 65. T'le Whitclbvo. By Mrs. "Hall ........ .5 ". "he Foster-Brother. Edited by Leigh IItHnt .. ...... ......... . ,(0 (;7. iove and Mesmerism. By 11. Smitl. 75 68. Ascanli. By 1)unmas .................... 75 60). lady of Milin1. Edited by Mr's. 1Thomson ............................ ... 70. 'The (Citizen of lraguel ...................1 ( 71. 'l'e Htoyal Favorite. By Mrs. (;ore. i5) 72. Thte Queen ofDenmctark. 1y MrsI Gore 5)0 73. The l'lvcs, &c. By Tieck............... ) 74, 75. The Step-Mother. By ,Jllls .... '25 70 . Jessie's Flirtations .................... ,50 77. Chevalier d'larmental. By 1)umins. 50 78. l'eers and Parvenus. By Mrs. Gore. 50, 79. 'lie Commander of Malta. By Sue.. 50 80. Th'le Female Minister .................... 50 81. Emilia Wyndham. By Mrs. arsh. 75 82. The Bush-langer. By Charles low- croft ......................................... 50 83. The Chronicles of Clovernook..........25 84. Genevieve. By lamartin ............. 25 85. Livonian Tales ....................,., 25r 86. Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh ...... 25 87. Father Darcy. By Mrs. Marsh ....... 75 88. Leontinc. By Mrs. Maberly ............. 89. hIidelberg. By James .................. 50 90. Lucretia. By Bulwer.................... 75 ". Beauchamp. By James ................. 75 92, 91. Fortescue. By Knowles ............1 )00 93. Daniel Dennison,&c. ByMrs. lofland 50, 95. Cinq-Mars. By )e Vigny .............. 50 96. Woman's Trials. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 75 97. The Castle of Ehrenstein. By James 50 98. Morriage. By Miss S. Ferrier ......... 50 ". Poland Cnshel. By Lever ..............1 25 100. Martins of Cro' Martin. By Lever...1 25 101. Russell. By JamR ..................... f. G 102. A Simple Story. By Mrs. Inchbald.. 50 103. Norman's Bridge. By Mrs. Marsh... 50 104. Alam ance ................................. 50 105. Margaret Graham. By James ......... 25 page: 2 (Advertisement) -3 (Advertisement) [View Page 2 (Advertisement) -3 (Advertisement) ] PRIOB 106. The Wayside Cross. By E. -H. Mil- m an ........................................$ 25 107. The Convict. By James................ 50 108. Midsummer Eve. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 50 109. Jane Eyre. By Currer Bell............ 75 "O. The Last of the Fairies. By James.. 25 "1. Sir Theodore Broughton. By James 50 "2. Self-Control. By Mary Brunton...... 75 "3, 114. Harold. By Bulwer...............1 00 l 5. Brothers and Sisters. By Miss Bremer 50 "6. Gowrie. ByJames....................... 50 "7. A Whim and its Consequences. By Jam es...................................... 50 "8. Three Sisters and Three Fortunes. By G. 11. Lewes......................... 75 "9. The Discipline of Life.................... 50 120. Thirty Years Since. By James........ 75 121. Mary Barton. By Mr's. Gaskell....... 50 122. The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By Thackeray................................. 25 123. The Forgery. By James ............... 50 124. The Midnight Sun. By Miss Bremer 25 125, 126. The Caxtons. By Bulwer........ 75 127. Mordaunt Hall. By Mrs. Marsh...... 50 128. My Uncle the Curate..................... 50 129. The Woodman. By James ............ 75 130. The Green Hiand. A "Short Yarn" 75 131. Sidonia the Sorceress.' By Meinhold 1 00 132. Shirley. By Currer Bell................1 00 133. The Ogilvies ................................ 50 134. Constance Lyndsay. By G. C. I..... 50 135. Sir Edward Graham. By Miss Sin- clair.........................................1 00 136. Hands not Hearts. By Miss Wilkin- son .......................................... 50 137. The Wilmingtons. By Mrs. Marsh.. 50 138. Ned Allen. By D. Hannay ............ 50 139. Night and Morning. ByBulwer...... 75 "O. The .Maid of Orleans...................... 75 "1, Antonina. By Wilkie Collins.......... 50 "2. Zanoni. ByBulwer...................... 50 "3. Reginald Hastings. By Warburton.. 50 "4. Pride and Irresolution.................... 50 "5. The Old Oak Chest. By James...... 50 "6. Julia Howard. By Mrs. Martin Bell. 50 "7. Adelaide Lindsay. Edited by Mrs. M arsh...................................... 50 "8. Petticoat Government. By Mrs. Trol- lope ......................................... 50 "9. The Luttrells. By F. Williams....... 50 150. Singleton Fontenoy, R. N. By Hannay 50 151. Olive. By the Author of "The Ogil vies" ....................................... 50 152. Henry Smeaton. By James............ 50 153. Time, the Avenger. By Mrs. Marsh. 50 154. The Commissioner. By James.......1 00 155. The Wife's Sister. By Mrs. Hubback 50 156. The Gold Worshipers..................... 50 157. The Daughter of Night. By Fulloni. 50 158. Stuart of Dunleath. By Hon. Caro- line Norton............................... 50 159. Arthur Conway. By Captain E. H. M ilman .................................... 50 160. The Fate. By James........; ........... 50 16!. The Lady and the Priest. By Mrs. M aberly.................................... 50 162. Aims and Obstacles. By James...... 50 163. The Tutor's Ward......................... 50 164. Florence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 75 165. Ravenseliffe. By Mrs. Marsh.......... 50 166. Maurice4Tiernay. By Lover........... 00 I'ZtLO5 167. The head of the Family. By Miss Mulock. ........................... 7 168. Darien. By Varburton................. 50 169. Falkenburg.................................. 75 170. The Daltons. By Lever................1 50 171. Ivar; or, The Skjuts-Boy. By Miss Carlen.............. ....................... 50 172. Pequinillo. By James................... 50 173. Anna Hammer. By Temnme........... 50 174. A Life of Vicissitudes. By James... 50 175. Henry Esmond. By Thackeray....... 50 176, 177. My Novel. By Bulwer...........1 50 178. Katie Stewart.............................. 25 179. Castle Avon. By Mrs. Marsh......... 50 180. Agnes Sorel. By James................ 50 181. Agatha's Husband. By the Author of "Olive".50 " O live ................................... 50 182. Villette. By Currer Bell................ 75 183. Lover's Stratagem. By Miss Carlen. 50 184. Clouded Happiness. By Countess D 'O rsay.................................... 50 185. Charles Auchester. A JMemdrial...... 75 186. Lady Lee's Widowhood.................. 50 187. Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever....1 25 188. Sir Jasper Carew. By Lever.......... 75 189. Quiet Heart................................. 25 190. Aubrey. Bv Mrs, Marsh............... 75 191. Ticonderoga. By James................ 50 192. Hard Times. Byv )ickens.............. 50 193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 50 194. The Mother's Recoinpense. By Grace A guilar ................................... 75 195. Avillion, &c. By Miss Mulock........1 25 196. North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell. 50 197. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Du- puy .......................................... 50 198. Constance Ilerbert. By Miss Jews- bury ....................................... 50 199. The Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. M arsh ..................................... 50 200. The Old Dominion. By James....... 50 201. John Halifax. By the Author of Olive," -e ............................... 75 202. Evelyn Marston. By Mrs. Marsh.... 50 203. Fortunes of Glencore. By Lever. ... 50 204. Leonora dOrco. By James............ 50 205. Nothing Nov. By Miss Mulock...... 50 206. The Rose of Ashur:st. By Mrs. Marsh 50 207. The Athelings. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 75 208. Scenes of Clerical Life.................... 75 209. My Lady Ludlow. By Mrs. Gaskell. '25 210, 211. Gerald Fitzgerald. By Lever... 50 212. A Life for a Life. By, Miss Mulock.. 50 213. Sword and Gown. By Geo. Lawrence 25 214. Misrepresentation. By Anna 11. ' D rury ...................................... 00 215. The Mill on the Floss. By George E liot........................................ 75 ,216. One of Them. By Lever............... 75 217. A Day's Ride. By Lever............... 50 218. Notice to Quit. By Wills.............. 50 219. A Strange Story..........................1. 00 '220. Brown, Jones, and Robinson. By Trollope............ ............. 50 221. Abel Drake's Wife. By John Saun- ders ......................................... 75 222. Olive Blake's Good Work. By J. C. Jeaffreson................................. 7;5 223. The Professor's Lady .................... 25 224. Mistress and Maid. By Migs Mulock 50 225. Aurora Floyd. By M. 1. Braddon.. 75 ruioe' S". Bairington. By Lever..................$ 75 227. Sylvia's Lovers. By Mrs. Gaskell.... 75 228. A First Friendship........................ 50 229. A Dark Night's Work. By Mrs. Gaskell..................................... 50 230. Countess Gisella. ByE. Marlitt...... 25 231. St. Olave's................................... 75 232. A Point of Honor......................... 50 233. Live it 1)own. By Jeaffreson..........1 00 234. Martin Pole. By Saunders............. 50 235. Mary Lyvndsay. By Lady P'onsonby. 50 236. Eleanor's Victory. By M. E. Braddon 75 237. Rachel lay. Bly Trollope.............. 50 238. John Marchmont's Legacy. By M. E. Braddon............................... 75 239. Atnnie Warleigh's Fortunes. By H ohine Lee................................ 75 240. The Wife's Evidence. By Wills...... 50 2t1. Barbara's History. By Amelia B. Edwards................................... 75 242. Cousin Phillis .............................. 25 243. What Will lie Do With It? By Bul- w er..........................................1 50 244. The Ladder of Life. By Amelia B. Edwards................................... r50 245. Denis Duval. By Thackeray......... 50 246. Maturice Dering. By Geo. Lawrence 50 247. Margaret Denzil's History............... 75 248. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala .................................. ...... 75 Sat I....75 249. M attie: a Stray.......................... 75 250. My Brother's Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards................................... 50 251. Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Fanu ....... 75 25'2. Lovel the Widower. By Thackeray.. 25 253. Miss Mackenzie. By Anthony Trol- lope......................................... 50 254, On Guard. By Annic Thomas ......... 50 255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas...... 50 256. Denis Docue. By Annie Thomas.... 50 257. B elial......................................... 50 258. Carry's ConfesAion ........ 75 259. Miss Carew. By Amelia B1. Ed- w ards....................................... 50 260. Hiand and Glove. By Amelia B. Ed- wards...................................... 50 261. Guy Deverell. ByJ. S. LeFanu.... 50 262. 1Half a Million of Money. ByAmelia B. Edwards............................... 75 263. The Belton Estate. By Anthony T rollope................................... 50 261. Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant.............. 75 265. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas.. 75 266. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J. 1I. R iddell..................................... 75 267. The 'ToilersoftheSea. ByVictor hlugo 75 268. Miss Marjoribanks. By Mrs. Olip- hant ...................................: ..... 50 269. True Ilistory of' a Little Ragamuffin. By Jamtes Greeniwood .................. 50 270. Gilbert Ruggc. By the Author of "A First Friendship .......................1. 00 271. Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence......50 272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 50 273. Laand at Last. By Edmund Yates.... 50 274. Felix Ilolt, the Radical. By George Eliot................... . 75 275. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saun- ders ........................................ 75 276. All in the Dark. By J. '. Le ,anu. 50 277. Kissing the Rod. Biy Edmund Yates 75 "1lmos 278. The Race for Wealth. By Mrs. J. hI. R iddell..................................... 7b 279. Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigg. By Mrs. L inton ..................................... 7;I 280. The Beauctlercs, Father and Son. By C. Clarke.................................. 50 281. Sir Brook Fossbrooke. By Charles L ever...................................... 50 282. Madotmnna Mhtrv. Bv Mrs. Oliphant . 5tl 283. Cradock Nowell. Byv R. 1). Black more ........................................ 5 284. Bernithal. From the Gemimanm of L. Mi hbachm.................................. 50 285. Rachel's ecrect............................. 75' 286. The Claverings. By Anithiony Trol- lope ......................................... 5,0 287. The Vihigo on thie Cl li'. 11y Miss Thackeray................................ 25 288. Phayed Otut. By Anniie Tho'lmnams...... 75 289. Black Sheep. By Edlmund Yates..... 50 2'90. ,owinig tIhe Winid. By E. Lyimi L inton ...................................... 50 291. Nora and Archibald Lcc ................. 50 292. Rayinonld's heroing e....................... 50 293. Mri. Wynyard's Warid. By 11ohne Lee ......................................... 50 29 l. Alec Iolbes. By George Macdonaul 75 295. No Mani's Frienid. By F. W. Robin- sMo .......................................... 75 296(. Called toAccotint. By Annie iThomas 50 297. C aste ......................................... 50 298. The C urante's Disciplinic. By Mrs. E iloart ..................................... 50 299. Circe. By 1abington White........... 50 300. The Tenaiits of Maloriy. By J. S. Le Famnu ........................................ 50 301. Carlyon's Year. lBy Jaimes 'Pyni..... 25 302. The Waterdale Neighbors ............... 50 303. MAlabel's Progress . .......................... r50 30 1. Guild Court. By Geo. Macdlomill ... 5(0 :)05. The Brothers' Blet. By Miss ('mi cni. 2., 306. l'l'inmg fo'r I1igh Stakes. By Amnuic Thoma is. Illustrated................... 25 2,07. ]Margaret's Eingmgeinent .................. 50 808. One of the Famiily. By Jaimes l'ami . 2: 309. Five hundred 'ounds Reward. 11y a Barr'ister ................................ 50 310. Brownilows. By Mrs. Oliphant ........ :1 311. Cliharlotte's Inheritance. S(eqiuel to "Birds oll'rev." By Miss Bradldon 50 312. Jeanie's Quiet Lifce. By the Author of "St. (Ohtive's"......................... fO 313. Poor Hinumanity. By F. W. 11hbiimson 50 314. Brakespeare. By Geo. Lawrence..... 5r0 315. A Lost Natmno. By J. S. Lo Fanmt.... , 31G. L ove or Marriage? By W. Bhack.... :0 317. Dead- Sea Fruit. By Miss Braddon. Illustrated. ................................ 50 318. The Dower liouse. By Annie Thomas 50 319. The Bramleighs of Bishopls Folly. By Leve' ......0.............................. 50 320. Mildred. By Georgiana M. Craik.... 50 321. Nature's Nobleman. By the Author of "Rachel's Secret ................... . 50 322. Katheen. By thIe Author of "Ray- mond's Heroine ".. ...... ...... 0 323. That Boy of Norcott's. By Charles Lever..................................... 25 324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black ......... 50 325. Hetty. By Henry Kingsley ............ 25 326. False Colors. By Annie Thomas..... 50 page: 4 (Advertisement) -5 (TitlePage) [View Page 4 (Advertisement) -5 (TitlePage) ] PRICE 327. Meta's Faith. By the Anthor of '"St. Olave's" ...... ............................ $ 50 :328. Found Dead. By James Payn........ 50 329. Wrecked in Port. By Edmund Yates 50, 330. The Minister's Wife. ]By Mrs. Oli- phant ....................................... 7 331. A Beggar on H orseback. By James Payn........................................ 35 3:,2. Kitty. By M. Betham Edwards ...... 50 ;13.;. Only Herself. By Annie Thomas.... 50 3;;4. hirell. By John -Saunders ............. 50 :3.5. Under Foot. By Alton Clde ......... 50 336. So Runs the World Away. ;By Mrs. A . C. Steele ............................... 50 :337. Baffled. By Julia Goddard ............ 75 :38. Beneath the Wheels ......... .......... 50 339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. lobinson 50 :340. Gwendoline's lIarvest. By James P ayn ........................................ 25 341. Kilmeny. By William Black .......... 50 31i2. John: A Love Story. By Mrs. Oli- phant .................................. . 50 34'3. True to Herself. By F. W. Robinson 50 314. Veronica. By the Author of "Ma- bel's Progress ... ................. ...... 50 315. A )nangerous Guest. By the Aulthor of GC;ilbert Ruggc "...................... 50 346. Estelle tRussell . .... ............. ........ 75 317. The Heir Expectant. By the Author of Raymond's Ileroine". ............ 50 3t8. Which is the Heroine? ................... 50 3:{9. The Vivian omance. 13y Mortimer Collins ...................................... 50 350. In Duty Bound. Illustrated .......... 50 351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. By A. Trollope ........................... 75 :.,52. From Thistles-- Grapes? By Mrs. El iloart . ..... ..................... . 50 :*35. A Siren. By T. A. Trollope ........... 50 3.; 1. icr Harry IIotslur of 1lumbllethwaite. By Anthony Trollope. ll1ustrated... 50 3:15. Earl's Dene. By It. E. Francillon .... 50 35(;. I )aisy N ichol. -1 y Lady Hardy........ )50 :357. Bre( in the Bone. By James Payn.. 50 3:18. Feuton's Quest. By Miss Braddon. Illustratedl ... ............... ...... 50 3:,). Monarch of Mincing-ILane. By W. Black. llustrated ...................... 50 10:(;'. A Life's Assi ze. By Mrs. J. 1I. Rid- dell .......................................... 50 O31. Anteros. By the Author of "Guy Livingstone ". ........................... 50 3:2. Her Lord and Mi\aster. -By I Mrs. Rloss Church ..................................... 50 303. Won-Not Wooed. By James Payn .50 3(;4. lor Lack of Gold. By Chas. Gibbon .50 365. Anno Furness .............................. 75 :,;06. A Daughter of tIeth. By W. Bliack. 50 36;7. Durnton Abbey. By T. A. Trollope. 50 ::308. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Farjeon... 40 ::(;9. Lovels of Arden. By M. E. Braddon. Illustrated ....... .......................... 75 370. Fair to See. By I,. W. A. . ockhart. 75 : '1(. Cecil's Tryst. By James Payn ........ 50 372. 1Patty. By Katharline S. Macquoid... 50 7;37. Mald Mohan. By Annie Thomas.... 25 1374. Grif. By B L. Farjeo ............... 40 : .. A Bridge of Glass. By F R I Robinson 50 P-IC 1 1376. Albert Lunel. By Lord Brougham..$ 75 377. A Good Investment. Bv Wimla. Flagg. 50 378. AGoldeunSorrow. ByMrs Cashelllocy (50 379. Ombra. By .Mrs. Oliphant ............. 75 380. Hope Deferred. By lliza- F. Pollard r,0 381. The Maid of Sker. ,By l. 1). Black- m o111re ........ .................... .... ... ) 382. For the King. By Charles GibDon... 0 383. A Girl's Romance, and Other Tales. Bv F. W. Robinson ..................... 50 384. 1)r. Wainwright's Patient. By Ed- mnund Yates ....... ....................... 50 385. A Passion in Tatters. By Annie Thom as .................................... 75 38(;. AWomln"s Vengeance. By Jas. laynl. 50 387. The Strange Adventures of -a Pl:eton. - By W illiam lack....................... 75 388. To the Bitter End. By MNiss M. E. Braddn ..... ........................ 75 389. Rlobin Gray. By Cllarles Gibbon..... 50 390. Godolphin. Bv Bulwer ................. 50 3!)1. Leila. By Bultwer ........................ 50 39!)'2. Kenelm Chillingly. lBy Lord Lytton. 7.. :393. The Ilour and the Man. By i1arriet Marttine au ..............................., ., n0 391. tMurp'ly's Master. B1 James Payn.... 25 395. Th'ile New Magdalen. ByWilkie Col- lins.. . .............. ................. .... 0 39). " 'He C'oileth Not,' She Said." 3By Annie Thomas ..............,. ...,........ ,0 397. Innocent. Byv Mrs. Oliphant. Illus- trated ...................................... 75 398. Too Soon. By Mrs. lMacquoid ....... . 50 399. Strangers and Plilgrims. By Miss B raddon ................................... 75 400. A Simpleton. By Charles R eadlc..... :h() 401. Tle 'lwo Widows. By Anllic Thomas 50) 402. Joseph the Jew.............................. 50 403. Iler Face was Iler Fortune. ,By F. W . Robinson ............................. 50 404. A Princess of Th'il. By W. Black. 75 405. I,ottie Darling. By3J. C. Jeanfieson. 75 406. Tie "Bue Ribblon. yBv the Author of I St. ()Olave's ........ .................. . 50 407. Iqlrry Ileathcote of Gangoil. By An- thony Trollope ... ..................... 25 408. Publicans and Sinners. By Miss M. EI. Braddon ............................... 75- 409. Colonel Dacre. 1By the Author of '"Caste" .................................. 50 "O. Throlgh Fire and Wa\ter. By Fred- cric-k Talbot............................... 25, "1. Lnady Anna. lBy Anthony Trollo)pe. -50 "2. Taken atthhe lood. By Miss Braddon. 75 "3. At tHer Mercy. Bly James Payn.... .,50 "4. Ninety-Three, By Victor Hugo...... 25 4 ,5. For Love and Life. By Mrs. Oliiphant. 75 1 410. Doctor Thorne. By Anthony Trollope. 75 "7. The Best of lusbands. ByyJas. Payn. 50 "8. Sylvia's Choice. By Georgiana Al. Craik .......... ................... 50 "9. A Sack of Gold. By Virginia W. Johnson .................. ...... 5 0 420. Squire Arden. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 75 421. Lorna Doone. By 1R. D. Blackmore. 75 1 422. '.reasure Itunters. By Geo. M. Fenn. 40 1 ,423. Lost for Love. lBv Miss Braddon.... 75 ) 424. Jack's Sister. By Miss Dora tHavers. 75 HARPER & BROTIERS wtill send their works by mail, postage prpaid, to any part of tzhe United States, on treceipt ,/ i/? rice. A SACK OF GOLD. -A Novel. BY VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF "'JOSEPH THE JEW." NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1875. page: 6 (Advertisement) -7 (Table of Contents) [View Page 6 (Advertisement) -7 (Table of Contents) ] BY MSS JOHNSON. JOSEPH TIE 7E W. The Story of an Old House. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. It is well written, and abounds in startling situations, lair-breadth escapes, counter-plots, and feminine fidelity.- Albtany Evening 7ournal. A SACK OF GOLD. A Novel. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,. NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS will send either of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington CONTENTS. ( 'APTERII'I'l I. IiAI: "ETITIA W A t. ............................... .... ('IIA1'1,ItER II. ,LOST IN TillE 1 t; ................................. " CIAl'TER - 11. TI11)IMAS THOlRN-LEY ........................... 1 ChCAPTERI 1V. Titil SclOONIIt "EISZAiTH T ............... 15, (CH"AIPTER V. MRSI. WAL Vt"TS. ST. MAt1TIN'S IS XAN). 18 (IIAPTER VI. ' N , L I ......................................... 20 (-IIAPTE!"I'II VII. B itS;Y XVSltrltS .2................................. 22 CIAPTER VIII. 'l'TE PULL EN IHOMSTEAD .................... 24 CIIAPTEIR IX. El'UNIC, THEr IIEATN II ........................... 2( CIAPTER X. UNDEX1R T ,HE W ITCH-TRIEE ........................ 2,) CIIAPI'TEI XI. T rn CrrTY W O LD ............................... 33 CHAPTER XII. WHTELAW, RANtDOLu1m 1 & Co ................. 5 CIAPTER XIII. TOM AS A GU ST ................................. 38 ChAPTER XIV. Tomt BECOM .s A BLACK SIt:.i ............. 41 CIIAPTER XV. .,, MItS. VvYNIEt AT "OM . ......................... 44 C(IIA'TERt XVI. T n LITTL'E1; PRI' NCESS ............. ............. 17 CIAPTERt XVII. 'Tili: S'PANxISI CLEIRK ............................ r 0 CII APTER XVIII. M it. ,Elt;. Mir ,IIA W ii'cicl ) ..................... 5 ('llAPTI'EIR XIX. ,JA(OIt's Stl'INS ;-M (,I NE . ..................... !7 ('IIAI'TER XX. lK AT l' 'S 1 -li o() . .................................... ,;2 )iATtS IIE (rllItlO.( 2 (ChAPTER XXI. FOlLOW ThE )DREAM 01F TiY YOUTH....... ; 5 CHAP'TE"t XXII. KATE'S DISC AOVERY . ............................ CIIAl'TEIR XXIII. EDWAR11 V YNEt .................................. 70 CIIAPTERI XXIV. SANG- 1,1U: ......................................... . " CIIAl'TEIR XXV. RosE; V YN ;El: 's " S U ........................ 7 CIIAPTEII I XXVI. A M AI Tr Lov Iu ............................... 78, CIIAPTER XXVIL. Two SIDES or A BALI .......................... 80 CIAPTER XXVIII. Two SIDES O' A BALL-(Continued) ....... 85 page: 8 (Table of Contents) -9[View Page 8 (Table of Contents) -9] CHAPTER XXIX. PAGE Milts. WALD STUDI S LETIMTIA ................ 89 CHAPTER XXX. THrl BRIBE OF I)IAMONDINS ....... ........... 93 CHAPTER XXXI. A ChD OF TIIE NINETEENTII CENTURY.. 95) CHAPTER XXXII. "ETITIA S EAKS..... ........... ........ ....... 99 CHAPTER XXXIII. TaE STnANG(m LADY ............................ 102 CHAPTER XXXIV. PAGE. KATEI AN- OLD MAIDI ......................... 106 CHAPTER XXXV. Tnl; SE1CIRET OF TWrEN TY-FIVE, YEARS ... 110 CHAPTER XXXVI. WITIIOUT THE GATES ......................... 112 CHAPTER XXXVII. TirE POISON OF As ............................ 115 CHiLAPTER XXXVIII. SONG OF THE OLD CLOCK..................... 119 A SACK OF GOLD. CHAPTER I. lETITIA WALD. mWENTY-FIVE years ago an unusually fi frank; conversationl occurred between moth- er and danughter, in a small village among tile New England liills. "What do you think of Charlcs Vyner?" inquired the daughtcr, a little defilantly, and( yet with a, degree of uneasincss perccptible in her tonle. "Ie is a fool, who will never earn his own bread-and-butter," wtas the prompt maternal response. "The girl was very handsome; her beatuty flashed upon one with almost startling vivid- hiess. Supple, untutored grace, such as is sel- doim seen beyond the tropics, an1d 1 rich wal\rmth of coloring, belonged to her, bIt with this or- ganization a slender, quivering nostril, fuill crinl- son lips, and a somewhat narrow forehead were more pleasing to contemplate thhan to manage. Shelc threw down her broom with an impatient gesture, and looked at her two slender pallms discontentedly. .- Evidently housework wais dis- tasteful to her, whereas it was the pride and delight of her mother to ramble ovcr the house, dusting and adjusting articles of furniture, cach of which suggested proprietorship. Thce latter now looked at her rebellious subject with a warming glint in her gray eyes. "Finish your sweeping, and learn to control your temper." Mrs. Wald, a mother of the old-fashioned school, exacted filial obedience and respect before all other considerations. Wlio can tell if gentler means would have found the key to Letitia Wald's discontent? IHere she was, su- perbly beautiful, as her mirror testified, poeit 1p) within the bounds of dull routine. Sill de- spised the associaltes with more arrogance than her family had ever done, because her supe- riority was based on her own charms. Patient amllDition did not belong to the full lips and narrow forehead, nor t steadliness of purpose, watching for the right moment and idling her time. She was at the limit of the straight road lead- ing from infancy to girhood when her guidance had been in other hands: she stood at the spot where two roads branched-to the right and the left. Shce was aware of it, with n thrill of hope and fear, as she stooped to take upl, tlce brooml agailln. Miss Letitia Wald finished her sweeping, at- tired herself in a silk gown with leg-of-mutton sleeves, draped n (i'anton crape shawl over her graceful shoulders, vivid bScarlet in hle, and richy embroidered .with pagodas and flowers, placed on her heiad a white satin bonnet of tlio coal-scuttle pattern, surmoiunted by a nodding plume, and, having satisfied herself that her slippers were becitehingly laced, applneared on the village street. The advent of the young lady was an event to at least one person in town. Lawyer Perkins's clerk was copying docu- ments in the dingy little office. He was n young man of some personal attractions, with a straight nose, and weak, retreating chin. In his agitation at beholding the crape shawl blooming on the street, ho upset the ink over the careful labor of hours. This Nw, tlic page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] Charles Vyner of Mrs. Wald's unsparing con- demnation. The daughter, however, consid- ered him the only gentleman in town. - What more natural than that he should escort the fair pedestrian home to the Wald gate? Im- petuous youth, beauty, and love make these opportunities, even in rural districts. "She will never consent; she is prejudiced against me," he was urging in a low tone, his fine eyes saying all that his lips left unsaid. "I would give my very existence for you; oh, my beloved! trust me, yield to me in this. Afterward we can make it all right." They were a handsome pair; even Mrs. Wald acknowledged as much in her heart, as she glanced out of the garret window, with a bundle of dried boneset in herhand. The autumn sunshine was pouring a flood of warm effulgence on the maple-trees, gorgeous in -crimson and gold, and illuminated these two figures at the gate. Clarles Vyner was absorbed in contemplating the girl beside him, loved passionately, blindly by him, while Le- titia, secure as to a scornful sovereignty over him, thought of the rough broom. It was the merest trifle, but this homely household utensil had fallen across the right path, and she delib- crately chose tihe wrong one. That night Letitia Wald left her home to marry the laywer's clerk. The news fell upon the village like a clap of thunder, whose echoes startle all the peaceful hills. "Where did she get married? What did she wear? What will they live on? How does Mrs. Wald take it?"These were a few of the eager questions that buzzed from house to house, and grew to a murmur on the steps of Deacon Shaw's store. As to the last in- quiry, no one knew precisely how Mrs. Wald "took it." She went and came as usual, look- ing rather white and stern. She was at her post in meeting on Sunday, confronting all tlose curious eyes'with impassive demeanor, and no one dared to offer sympathy. The good min- ister called, yet one could not but infer that his brief visit was unsatisfactory. He came home with a troubled countenance, for Mrs. Wald was one of his lights, wiped his boots on the door-mat thoughtfthy, cleared his throat, and said, "My dear Faith, I think you had better see her. Perhaps you might do something-as a woman. I can not help fearing that her heart is all wrong." "I will go this moment," said the minister's 'wife, energetically, taking up her sun-bonnet. "Oh that awful girl! I can take a pot of my curyant-jelly, made with the new receipt." Armed with this consolation, the minister's wife departed cheerfully on her mission, braced by that self-confidence which a life of useful- ness and sympathy imphrts. Mrs. Wald re- ceived her with her most stately manner and in her best silk gown. The little visitor, albeit nimble with her weapons, and determined to effect a breach in this icy reserve somewhere, found herself foiled at every turn. There was only one way, and she took it bravely. "My dear madam," she said, her kind face flushing, "I have come to express my sympa- thy, and it is shared by all, I am surc." "You are very kind, and I am obliged to you." Not a shade on the handsome face, not the tremor of an eyelash over the steady gray eyes. "Oh that horrid Letitia! If she would only cry," thought the minister's wife, in real dis- tress, feeling for her own pocket-handkerchief. "After all, it may be for the best," faltered the comforter, with a nervous little laugh. "We do not'like our daughters to be old maids, you know. " Mrs. Wald turned her freezing glance slowly on her companion. "There has never been an old maid in -my family-" After that the minister's wife gave it up. She departed a trifle ruffled, and half tempted to take back her off'ering of jelly; but she was a Christian, and left it on the centre-table. Mrs. Wald seemed to have turned to stone. She could not help it; she had been wounded in a vital place by her own'child; a cup of bit- ter humiliation had been held to her lips be- fore her world: she was pitied by Greenville. There had been no tender confidence between mother and daughter, no plan for the future sketched in the brilliant colors of hope. The mother's care had not even decked the bride in the purity of wliite raiment. No. colmplaint escaped Mrs. Wald's lips, and in her own heart alone was known the plans she had tnade for Letitia's womanhood. The Seven Days' Wonder subsided at last; the mountains towered to the sky, shorn of their autumn glory, sere and brown; the golden leaves rained from the trees in the valley, and Greenville prepared for the long sleep of win- ter, with only this difference-Letitia Wald was gone. CHAPTER II. "OST IN THE FOG. G RAND, dreary, and bleak, St. Martin's Isl- nand rose out of the turbulent sea. Storms beat upon its bold headlandls; clouds of spray veiled the clilfs; the surf broke incessantly on the rock foundations; yet St. Martin's Island ]eld retreats of unsurpassed beauty. Within sound of the threatening waves were dells, lined mwith velvet turf, draped with dclicate ferIns, where crystal springs bubbled in cups of moss, and up the mountain paths traces of tile shy deer's footsteps could be foiund, following the course of some limpid brook. Tle island boastedl of beach and breakwater, where a straggling fishing-village, redolent of nets, sea- weed, and dried cod-fish, had sprung inlto ex- istence. Taking the road from the village at the first bend, houses disappeared, and the silence of woods and hills received one into a primeval wilderness. The stranger who possessed sufficient curi- osity to follow this route, at the tilme of which we write, might have discovered tliat, after tratvcrsing a distance of five Cmtiles, a still rough- er road turned abruptly to the left. Quitting the highway which divided the islalnd, and ta:k- ing this second path, it would be found grass- grown, as if seldom used, leaditng over the steep, pine-clad hill, then winding along the brink of a pond, until it dipped suddenly to the shore of the sea. Here were signs of life at last! a low building of rough stones, with it belfiy, in whicth still hung a rusted bell, sur- mounted by an iron cross, and near by several neglected graves, brier-grown. Fresh from the garish newness of sea-board cities, the stranger might well marvel at this relic of age. To decipher the old Latin inscription helwnl in rude characters over the door-way, or to trace the epitaphs on the tombstones, would be suffi- cient to reveal its origin. The ruin was a re- ligious house of French monks from Canada, who had laid their bones to rest here, undis- turbed by the encroaching race. But tIlii was not all. At one end of the monastery a rotugh cottage had been built, with a patch of gar- denl, and in this cottage Chalrles Vyner nnd his wife were living. There could be no doubt that the seclusion was perfect, if that had been all the vyoung couple desired, but, unfortunate- ly, it was not. The first triumph of novelty had fadded with the wife, leaving at very sharp sting in tame reality, She acknowledged only stern necessi- ty in seeking a refuge on St. Martin's Island. She had married with no very exalted senti- nient, because it was her chance, and she was weary of living at home in Greenville. She had rushed upon her destiny willfully, blindly. Sometimes she thought of her mother with nn odd twinge of remorse, which was stifled by the conclusion that they would nevcr lhave agreed very well. There was none of the sym- patthy between them so beautifully to contem- plate inll mother and daughter, when the bud takes exquisite coloring from the full-blown rose, and injury to one blights the other. Le- titia knew this, accepted the fact calmly, and did not attempt to fathom where the blame lay hidden. Thus composed of rash iluDllse and hard philosophy, wholly wrong-headed at the outset, and still ol that lorder shadow-land of shrinking ignorance of self, Heletiri Wald scan- ned her horizon. With Carles Vvner tlohe case was difflerent. If his beautiful, willful, imperious bride was an enigma to herself, still more so was she to him. Se had mastered him from the moment when she first shared his hymn-blook in the choir. There was an enoros Ln o I eghorln bon- net, all fluttering with yellow ribbons, before his dazzled vision, and beneath the brit the dark eyes of clitiais Wald looked; straight into his soul, as the choir climbed up and down the chords in mad chase of one another, guided by the twanging violin. In possession of her, life page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] was one rounded, complete whole, wherever spent. The young man was blissfully content in that cottage on the lonely shore. Perhaps lie lacked nerve inl tlis, but he possessed an unfailing sweetness of disposition, which exas- perated his wife at times, because of her own more variable temperament. "IIow fortunate that Uncle Samuel should have died just now and left me this place," he said, placidly, when the hieavy wagon which had brought them to their new home .had lum- bered away. Letitia surveyed the cottage without com- ment. This, then, was to be her residence. And the Greenville girls considered her proud. "Do you intend to live here?" "Certainly not, my love. We must stay until your mother's anger cools, and something turns up," he said, hastily. It occurred. to Letitia that this was rather a remote corner of the earth in whch to await the " turning up " of a career. "I should be happy, but I have no right to suppose that you would," said the lover-hus- band, stealing an arm around her slender waist, and touching the silky hair with his lips. "' I must work for you," he added, as. Letitia shrank slightly from the caress; although she still smiled up into his eyes. "You poor boy! I fear you have not drawn a prize." She liked St. Martin's Island. In tlio first place, she was lost to all her early associates. Prying curiosity could not follow her, and lihere she would have leisure for thought. Besides, as the wild discontent of her own soul increased day by day, she found in the sea a restless symparthy. The cottage was built in a cleft of the rocks, with prudent design of gaining shelter from the ocean gales; but Letitia had only to follow a narrow path for a few yards to reach the wide strand. The scene was beautiful beyond words, and her whole nature expanded to the influ- ences about her. The billows swept onward to her feet from the far distance of horizon- ling, broken only by one rocky group jutting out of the water at n distance of half a mile, named Wolf's IHead, from its resemblance. It seemed to Letitia that this realm of sea must have some gift, out of the treasures of its very abundance, for her need. And then the Wolf's Head, representing a curbing fate, broke the alabaster wall of wave, so that it reached her only in troubled foam. When the sun sparkled and the day was calm; when gentle ripples kissed the beach, and Wolf's Head was bathed in purple bloom, the scene wearied Letithi, while it attracted the indolent admiration of her husband. In disposition they were so unlike, that the lowering clouds, the moaning under- tone of advancing storms which fascinated the wife crushed and repelled Charles Vyner. He compared her to the gulls and stormy petrels. All this while the sea-god -was bearing his gift to tills votary, who waited with expectant, outstretched hands. It came sooner than shc thought. Summer flushed and faded. There were lines of repressed pain about Letitia's mouth. Charles Vyner's sky was without a cloud. Never was man happier on very little. He was not progressive. Having won the girl of his heart, he seemed to 'have reached the cli- max of hope and ambition. The opportunity for which, e waited--sole resident of one shore of St. Martin's Island had not transpired. In the interval he devoted himself to hunting and fishing, with the success that attends the pa- tient angler. Thus Letitia's table wasg served with every delicacy of the wild wood. At last she had written a filial letter to her mother, urged to the measure by Charles, and in due course of time had received a formal, cold reply. Our grandmothers understood the accomplishment of elegant letter-writing f;llar better than we do, even if the stiff sheet were folded to serve as its own wrapper, and labori- ously scaled, instead of the tinted envelope of our day. Then Charles Vyner, out of the con- fuision of his own mind, said, "I think we might return to Greenville-in time." Letitia's eyes flashed. "What can you be thinking of?" He had learned to dread this flash, just as amiable people always dread irritability. "I should becomne Lawyer Perkins's partner in time." This last reservation was his favorite con- clusion to a statement, thut it suggested to his heatrer unlitnited-distance, "You certainly can not be considered aspir- ing," observed Letitia, with quiet sarcasm. Here was a man willing to return to Law- yer Perkins's office, and drudge out his exist- ence. And she had married him! The weather had been stormy for a week; alternate rain and wind visiting St. Martin's Island, while now a dull fog mantle had de- scended alike on land and sea. Along the shore only a line of foam revealed the division of earth from water. . This was one of Letitia's favorite occasions for ranmbliLng. She liked the peril attendant on a false step; she enjoyed sitting quietly peering into obscurity, hoping to fathom mysteries. "If I spend my life here, the sea will draw all energy out of me," shec reflected. Her cloak was wet with the clinging damp- ness the dense vapor drove fitfully in her fiacc. All unseen and unnoticed on that deserted beach, the full splendor of her beauty, the vivid carmine of mantling blood, passed, never to return. The monks slept in their quiet graves. Charles Vyner, with a towel pinned before him, was pottering over supper. There was a piquant flavor of wild simplicity in their existence, and the preparation of meals afflrded hiln delight. To the woman sitting on thhe lonely shore with clasped hands, a sound, faint and dull, came over the seat. What was it? The boom- ing of a gun. She sprang to her feet as if clec- trifled. All her senses were instantly and keen- ly alert. Hark! Was that a second report, fainter, more muffled, or was it merely an echo in her own brain? She ran to the cottage and surprised her husband, frying-pan in hand. 'I heard a gull over the water. What ldoes it mean?" shec cried, breathessly. "I alm isure I do not know," Creplli(ed Charles, deliberately, taking a trout by the tail iand pla- cing it ill the pan. he was as near resenting this startling rush onl the part of Letitia as he was capalelo of re- senting any act of hers at tlsi. critical momenint wit th trout. Besides, the vong man11111 11:iad very nlice ideas about pIroD,iet il the wol\alnly sphere. These frealks of llis wiie in roamring along tlihe shore troubled liln, as being scarce- ly lady-like. "A lady never forgets herself, even in a des- ert," lie thought, with .a dissatisficd glance at the wind-blown hair; but lie did not speakl tihe thought aloud: that flash in Lectitia's eyes de- terred him. "It may be a distressed vessel," continued the young woman, with kindling excitement. There are creatures out there lost in the fog, clinging desperately to bits of wood, while you -a man--are thinking of your supper. Ball i (ou should have been chef of a l'Paris restaurant! Bring out your spy-glass-quick!" "My dear Letitia, I am nothing of a sailor, and it seems to me that you linve dlrawn largely on your imagination," returned Charles, pettishy. She shot one questioning glance at him, and wrtung her hands like an old woman, then dart- ed out again. But he, placing the pan before the fire, remove his towel-apron, put on his great-coat, buttoned it carefully to the clin, and, taking the telescope, followed. A wide white wall of fog rose sliheer and inim- penetrable from the beach. Letitia stood on the water-brink motionless. "What use is the glass in this atmosphere?" objected Charles, pulling it on his sleeve, and shivering ruefully. "Something moves yonder," said the wife, in a low, thrilling tonle. Ciarles Vvyner shrank involuntarily behind her. The movement was so natural! Flr:lught with superstitious dread was that fog wall, worse than any clearly-defined reality. ' Who could tell what monstrous shape might loom through it? Letitia threw back her cloak and knelt on the sand. The next wave broke' above her waist, but she never noticed it, for it left something in her grasp-an oar clutched by the desperate hands of a drowninig man; next, the human form, insensible, buffeted by the rude waters, yet brought onward to shore by the tide. Recovering from his first shock, Charles work- ed with a will. He carried the man to the cot- tage, and placed him in his own bed. Thll a thought flashed upon the two simultaneously : "Uncle Samuel's chest!" They had found this box when they came, and on the lid was in- scribed, "For the Rescued Drowned." The trout were altogether banished, while they ap- plied restoratives and tried experiments. "The stranger's face was covered with a tangled hear;1, and he gave no sign of consciousness. "Is he dead?" whispered Letitia. Fro answer her husband held a small mir- ror to the man's lips: the polished surface was dimmed. "Where breatlihes there ia hope," said Charles, pouring more brandy into the rigid mouth. "Nothing more can be done, except to feed himn with spirit occasionally. ' Will you be afraid to stay with him, my dear love, if I go back to the shore and look for others'?" "No," said Letitita, drearily. Then she rose impulsively, and clasped her arms about her husband's neck. He embraced her, in return, with genuinle emotion, kissing her repeatedly. Letitia recovered herself quickly, resumed her seat, and motioned him to go, im- periously. His footsteps died away, the clock ticked monotonously, the darkness pressed to the very door. She shuddered nervously. What if the eyes of some wild creature from the ill recesses of St. Martin's Island sudden- ly glared at her like pale globes of fire? "Lctirin Wald." page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] CHAPTER III. THOMAS THORNLEY. "LETITIA WALD!" The voice was weak and faint. Mechanically she turned to- ward the bed, and observed that the rescued man's gaze was fixed upon her. "Thomas Thornley! Can it be you?" she exclaimed, hastening to his side. Then it all flashed upon her. This Thomas Thornley was an adventurous sort of man in the estimation of Greenville, be- cause he did not "setttle down" to any thing, the settling in this case consisting of two ave- nues: a rival to Deacon Swift's store, for which there was no demand, and earning a scanty livelihood as farmer from the iron soil. Thorn- Icy, a man of nervous energy and visionary en- thusiasm, went and came on many fruitless er- rands, to the scorn of steady Greenville, firm in the faith of regular work. There was only one soul there who believed in him-a slender, pretty-irl-and Thomas married her in sliheer gratitude. Then, as if spurred to extraordi- nary exertion by this new responsibility, he flitted off again, it was rumored, beyond the seas. Letitia remembered the wife's brave smile when his absence was commented upon, and shA also recalled how her own mother stood by Mrs. Thornley in the days when the child came. She even found time to marvel at the singular coincidence that she should have res- cuited Thomas Thornlecy far from her own home, and that Uncle Samuel years before should have nimade provision for this very night, when he would be in his grave. "Thank God I I am among friends," sighed the shipwrecked creature, feebly. Letitia administered a few drops more of the brandy with reviving effect, for presently lihe opened his eyes again. "I've got a hurt on the rock which no doc- tor can curie. Hush! I know. Oh, if my wife was here! So near, so near, and to go without seeing her! Well, tell her I reached the shore." Suddenly he clasped his long fin- ger' about Letitia's slender wrist, with the ab- rnpt inquiry, "Are you to be trusted?" She thought him wandering, and smiled re- assuringly, laying her cool hand on his fore- head. "I suppose you will serve," he muttered doubtfully ;" "I have done something this time. The gold is for the child I never saw. .Luck has been against me ever since I started back, though : first it was sickness, then the steamer broke her shaft, and I shipped, like a fool, on a sailing-vessel-I was so impatient to get home and surprise her. The very winds baffled me, and we made Halifax just after the packet had gone. This time I tried the Elizabeth, a schoon- er bound for New York. You are to tell her all this," fiercely; "there is no othe- way for her to know. H-must save my breath for it-"-' "Wait until to-morrow," said Letitia, sooth- ingly, touched by his sufferings. Thornley's face was wan, and his features sharpened by pain ; only the eyes, with delp shadows drawn beneath, had an expression of resolution. "There will be no to-morrow," with a flut- tering gesture of warding off an enemy. "I am dying, I tell you. We lost our reckoning in the fog, and went on the rocks out there. She may not have sunk. Make haste ; you will find my locker in the cabin, but it's not there." He paused with a far-away expression on his haggard face; evidently the pain was leaving him. The blood surged to Lctitia's head, blinding her, then back to her heart, which throbbed so loudly that she fancied the sick man must hear. She caught at a straw. "Where is it, Thomas?" His gaze reverted to her face slowly, and he replied, half contemptuously, "Do you think I left any precaution against robbery untaken? In my berth beneath the mattress-at night-of course. They did not guess my secret. Who is that?" dreamily, as Charles Vyner appeared at the door, lantern in hand. "She knows--:ah! pray for my soul; I've done-my-best." Charles Vyner'knelt reverently beside the bed, and when he rose again tall was very still. i CHAPTER IV. THE SCHOONER "ELIZABETH." AN hour later Lettia drew her husband out- side the door; she would not speak in the presence of the dead. "The wreck lies out there ; you must go to it," she said, firmly. "Certainly. In the morning I will walk to the village, and make arrangements fior the fu- neral of this poor fellow, and get some of the fishermen to visit the vessel with me." Letitia bit her lip until the blood started, yet the words sprang forth: "Always deferring acts, for others to step in biefore you!" shIe said, bitterly. "We .should starve, die here, if it rested with you." We need never starve here, my dear; Na- ture has provided us with an inexhaustible lard- cil," he said, cahmly, accepting her words in their literal significance. "Oh, what are you made of!" cried Letitia, giving an angry stanip on the ground, her re- straint at an end. "As if I meant food like the brutes that perish! Let us try the boat. If we wait until daylight, the fishermen will an- ticipate us. I am not aiftraid. Suppose we are drvowned, it is worth the risk ; we can not die but once." "You are crazed, child," said the husband, soberly. "Not as mad as you think," retorted Letitia, ; ith a harsh, unsteady laugh. A tumult was raging in her breast. She was torn by a thousand conflicting emotions, which had swept over hter in the unexpected events of this night. The darkness of the sky above the sombre, pine-robed hills was reflected in this woman's heart; the untamed ferocity of some savage ancestor seemed to have developed in an instant in hIer nature, teaching that might is right. Her chance was to reach the wreck. "If the fog should clear," reasoned Charles, more to soothe her than for any other pur- pose. ' l"TleIC fog is cle rig- thel wind hIs changed." As she spoke, a cold gust swept suddeily in their faces, and before it the mist wNall curled away like smoke. Overhead the faint, pallid gleam of the moon became perceptible, ri'iving the masses of cloud. Charles shivered, thec spot was so wild and uncanny. A waste of gray sea, foant-flcckcd, below; a waste of gray sky above, broken by black peaks here and there on the land idel, nud no sound buit the( all-pervading voice of the waters. Will you go now?" slIe asked, sternly. "It is suich a fearful risk," ho antwered, hesitatingly. "I wonder you wish to drive mie to my grave ; and the sea is beginning to rutin high." "I slihall go with yo," ,lIe urged, eagerly. "I must forbid siuch folly. Of what iuse would a woman be? And I aimn a poor sailor. Besides, I might get nothing for my pains. If the man told you any tihing, very likely he was out of his head." Letitia had grown vc'y qniet, suspiciously quiet. "Would you venture if you laid any great good to acconmplish? What if it made a differ- ence in your whole after-life?" "'Perhaps," he said, irresolutely. Then she turned on him suddenly, and clasp- ed his arnm. "Come, there is not a moment to be lost. The wreck is caught on Wolf's Head; I can see it. Surely you will not be dared by a girl! Drag down thIc boat, while I get the lantern, a rope, and two of Uncle Samuel's life-pre- servers." Grumblingly Charles obeyed, and before lie knew it hhe was in the small craft. "But you shall not go too, Letitia," he as- serted. Fearing that he would give tip the en- terprise to which she had nerved him only with page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] the aid of haste, she drew back, and watched V him leave the shore. She crouched on the a beach, smitten with sudden fear. To what I peril had she driven him? What should she g do if he did not return? She could pray for - f her husband's safety, although her parched lips a could utter no prayer for herself. tI The sound of oars smote again on her ear: 1h Charles had put back. p "I can- not go on, Letitia," he protested, n querulously. "The waves are frightfully high, v and the motion makes me so sick that I lose my head. I will try again at dawn." i She followed him to the cottage with the i resignation of despair. The opportunity was t lost then. How tired she was! Her failing a limbs sunk into the first chair, and refused I further motion. A kiindred numbness stole over her, chaining Tcer to the spot, as Charles ( flung himself on a lounge, and was lost in pro- ( found slumber; only her dullness was the apa- I thy of discouragement, rather than of healthy fittigue. Directly opposite was the closed door leading to the room where Thomas Thornley lay--mute evidence of the fruitlessness of man's toil. A flower of the grass, cut down and withered, was poor Thomas, just wrhei he had hoped to bloom in the fulfillment of content. Letitia may have dozed, whien a sudden fire flashed through Jier veins. The blank door had assumed a strange significance to her. What! Wait tamiely for the day that should belong to all? or, worse, htave the next tide crumble the Elizabeth into the ingnlfing wa- ters? She hated cowardice! Slite despised feeble inaction at the moment. when, bravery was needed. Without a backward glance, she ran to the shore, pushed down the boat, sprang in, and grasped the oars. The transient energy of pas. sion sometimes gives women muscle of steel. Charles Vyner and the dead man slept, while she battled with the waves. A sob rose in her throat as she thought of it, but reason was left far behind, out with the sea and night. The odd fancy returned to her that this element was her best friend, and comforted her, although sle qutailed more than once when the little boat rode high on a billow, then 'sank between two frowning waves. She was required to make no great exertion, for this reason: Wolf's Head broke the fill force of the open ocean, and the tide carried her out. What if she drifted beyond the ledge of rock? Foreseeing this danger, Letitia used all her strength to keep within line of the crag, which loomed nearer and nearer against the sky. What should she find there? The sea beat against Wolf's Head with warning thunder. Letitia drew in her oars, and, with one terrified glance around her, awaited the crash. Not for worlds would she retrace one step now, and stand once more in sickening suspense on the beach. The reckless bravado of souls that leap into the gulf was her portion. Her des- perate resolution was to succeed, and so slic waited for the wave that instinct taught lier would decide her fate. With weird shimmer, with lurking terror inI its twilight depths, with sinuous, serpentine motion the wave advanced, lifted the little boat high in air, poised it trembling in tihe bal- ance, and tossed it on the suminit of Wolf's Ilead. With a gasp of relief the woman climbed out, and held the boat, dreading to be washed over on the seaward side by the next billow. No; the tide did not run so high, and she also remembered that the summit of the ledge was always some yards above the water-line. Rie- moving the lantern and rope, and fastening one of the life-preservers about her body, she then managed to turn the boat over so that it seemed to cap the rock like a limpet. The next step was to kindle the' lantern. She was afraid of the almost palpable tdarkiness, yet the revelation of light was still more to be dreaded. The tiny blue flame of the match crackled, and went out. A fresh anxiety assailed Letitita. Without the lantern's aid she could do nothing but wait there until day. A second flash shot up and expired. Her fingers began to tremble, but the third trial rewarded her with better suticcess, and the lantern gleamed like a star on the Wolf's sinister brow. She held the light above- her head with a fierce throb of exaltation. Nothing should deter her now.' There was the Elizabeth, crushed and mangled, in the Wolf's cruel jaws, palpitating like some living thing in the motion of the water, as she hung pierced by' a fng. Letitia gazed once, drop- ped the lantern, which shivered to fragments on the stone, and hid her face with a low, cur- dling cry. What ghost ihad looked out at her from thie wreck? It might have been years, instead of hours afterward-for titne seemed suspended in the horror of her situation-when she raised her head, and observed a pale light in the eastern sky. Day was coming at last, and was day ever more welcome? Gradually the gleam stole up the sky, but Letitia, after a first rapturous awakening to security in light, no longer no- ticed it; her eyes were fixed on that suffering shape, held loosely in the Wolf's grasp. As it grew out of shadow to hull and fallen mast, she crept toward it with unwilling fasci- nation. Adieu to blind terror; day was here. The Elizabeth lay with her bow sunk between the rocks as she had driven on thie reef, bul- warks stove in, and a great rent in her side, which a grinding motion of the combined wa- ter and rock threatened to incroase. Letitia, guided by the feeble dawn, crept along the ridge of upper jaw, slimy with sea-weeds, and razor-edged with mussels, to the aft portion of the vessel, and sprang aboard. Even the jar of hier sliglit weight made the wreck shudder. and vibrate. She peered into the cabin, hesi- tated, set her lips firmly, and ran down the companion-way. Perhaps the most mournful sight in the world is the cabin of a wrecked vessel. - The disorder, the arrested motion, suggest the death of the ship quite as much as of the sailors. The floor was covered with water, into wlmich Letitia plunged reluctantly. The appointments were primitive enough, consisting of a table, and a few stools overturned. Four bunks ex- tended along the walls. But this was not all. Where the water was deepest something was 2 lying, thus mercifully sheeted, with one rigid arm held upright' by the fingers grasping an object which protruded below thie mattress in the lowest berth. Iltad one of Thomas Thorn- ley's mates guessed his secret, after all? Le- titia's eyes dilated ; she climbed upon the table, all the while realizing that if this frail support failed, precipitating her into thie water again, her brain would turn; leaned over carefully, and drew out the object, without touchting that other hand. Thus released, the arni fell back into the water with a dull plasli. The water surged, the Wolf's jaws ground their prey, and a woman, young, beautiful, del- icately reared, represented this monstrous out- growth of civilization : she sat on thie cabin-ta- ble, her fingers immersed in a flood of rippling gold, her eyes dazzled by the flash of gems. Charles Vyner awoke, yawned, looked at the clock, and, missing his wife, went in search of her. When he reached the beach, he was amazed to hear a keel grate on the strand-to behold his own boat returning to land. The rising sun showed him Letitia, with a white, rigid face, and silver threads in her loosened hair. The sun also revealed Wolf's Head, clean swept, for with the incoming tide the schooner Elizabeth had gone down. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] CHAPTER V. MRS. 7WALD VISITS ST. MARTIN S ISLAND. MRS. WALD put on her bonnet, closed the front blinds of the house, and went on a journey, to the amazement of all Greenville. Who could remember Mrs. Wald's leaving home before for years and years? From the rare oc- currcnce of an excursion in her case, clearly this one must mean something. It meant, al- though Mrs. Wald understood perfectly well keeping her own affairs to herself, that she had at last yielded to the yearnings of bIer mother's heart, and determined to visit Letitia. Botl had shown themselves stubborn and proud. If the daughter had evinced penitence, forgive- ness would have been made the easier for Mrs. Wnld; but Letitia had maintained a haughty reserve as to the condition of her own affairs, which finally alarmed the parent. It-was no longer right or Christian to allow herself to re- nmain in blind ignorance of Letitia's state, as her nearest relative and natural n guardian. Perhaps there was the slightest leaven of re- spect and a spice of curiosity mingled with these charitable sentiments. Had she eloped in her youth, she would have held aloof as her daughter had done. Still, Charles Vyner had no money, and how did they live? The mo- ment that Mrs. Wald started on her journey would have been the auspicious one when Charles could have been received back into Lawyer Perkins's office, and the young couple have lived with Mrs. Wald--a moment, it is superfluous to add, which Letitia had firmly determined never to see. Down to the sea the mother traveled, no- ticing strange faces and scenes with the keen appreciation of one seldom abroad, yet whose powers of observation have not rusted. In due course of time the sloop brought her to St. Martin's Island, for the means of communica- tion were primitive. Arriving at the port, Mrs. Wald's nose curled at the strong flavor of fish which impregnated the atmosphere: she asked for a conveyance to take her to the home of Mr. Charles Vyner. At tltat the fish- erman of whom the inquiry was made shifted the quid from his right cheek to Ilis left, pulled at his grizzled beard reflectively, and appealed to higher authority-his wife. "I don't know much about it; I've been off the Bank a spell. That's the chapt up in the hermit's place, an't it?" "Who is the hermit?" demanded Mrs. Wald promptly, before the shrill wife could re- spond. "Oh1! he's dead," said the fisherman, as if nothing further was needed after that sum- mary. "Who was lie, then?" persisted Mrs. WaVl, fixing his unsteady gaze with her gray eyes. This was the shrill wife's opportunity, who, wiping her hands on her apron, in a single breath chimed in, "Samuel Inart; he lived up in the Cove nigh thirty year, and never had no company- that's why we call him the hermit, though there nn't much sense; and if ye'll walk in ye'll be welcome, though the washin's still around, what with the muggy weather and the baby sick. " "Thank you; I believe t hat I will go on at once to-Mr. Vyner's." "Bless ye! he an't there no longer," said the shrill wife, pursing up her lips as if she could say more if she chose. "Not there?" repeated Mrs. Wald. "Him and his wife went away a week ago." A wild hope shot through the mother's heart: Letitia had capitulated, and sle should find her a humble suppliant at the door of home when she returned. "We don't know where they went; they were too stuck-up folks for us poor people." Mrs. Wald smiled grimly, and without an- other word climbed into the wagon which now approached. She was going to Letitia's house, at least. She had a right to do that.- For charioteer Mrs. Wald had a loose-jointed lad of sixteen, freckled and unkecmpt, whose interest in her personal appearance was so great that he drove recklessly into trees and ditches while he stared fixedly at her; and it was only due to the fect that his steed lnad seen many hard winters the frosts of which seemed to have settled into his bones, that she arrived safely at her destination. There stood the cottage, silent and deserted; there was the monk's house, going to ruinl; there were the graves, brier-grown, and beside them a fresh one. Mrs. Wald was not a nerv- ous woman, yet she had a tinge of superstitian in her nature. A chill dread smote her as she looked at Letitia's home. Whose grave was that? Neither of them, assuredly. Pcrhaps it belonged to tie lonely hermit. At all cevnts, it wans the last rcsting-spot of some poor mor- tal, of whom no trace would soon remain un- less she left one. Possibly the dread of ob- livion which infects all of us at times made her pause, and search for some simple epitaph. 'lic unknown grave appealed to her Heart strongly. The door of the cottage was fa:stenet, but the loose-jointed lad easily eftected an entrance through a window, and opened it. With care- fid neatness all trace of the recent occupants had been rem vedl, leaving Uncle Samuel's rude furniture. Mrs. Wald went down to the shore. The waves broke sparkling and clear on the beach, ind foam gushed through the Wolf's jaws. The sea tells no tales. All trace of the young couple who had begun lifth here was as completely obliterated as if the waters had swept over them. Then Mrs. Wald re- turned to the grave, and the loneliness was so oppressive that she took her comlpanion into her confidence-a measure only resorted to in extreme emergency. "I wish to mark this spot. How shall we do it?" Flattered by such an appcal, the native of St. Martin's Island grinned spasmodically, chewed a bit of straw, and made answer: "Ye might plant somethin'. Guess it would grow, mar'm." Mrs. Wald patted the boyv on the shoulder approvingly. Then he went on a tour of search, while she sat soberly watching the grave, lost in thought. How remote the spot, yet not removed from the all-comprehending eye of the Infinite. The boy returned with a tiny pine-tree and a raspberry-bush; she sc- letced the former, and when it was plantcd the lad brought water firom the spring to baptize it. An after-thought was to place a slab of rough wood as a tombstone, on which the lad carved with his pocket-knife-"September, 1847." This accomplishcd, with one lingering, back- ward glance, Mrs. Wald quitted St. Martin's Island and returned home. She was not yet expected in Greenville, and her eagerness to ascertain if Letitia had preceded her was so intense that she wishcd to ruin along the village street, instead of keeping a sedate pace. There stood the Wall loulse, with closedl shutters, hushed and silent. The mistress adl- mitted herself with the key in her pocket; Jane had gone home. Mrs. Wald searched from room to room wit a growing coldness of disalppointment known only to her Godl, ;and finally sank into in stilt'-backed chair in the sit- ting-room, with her hands lying listlessly in her lap. It happened that her chair was placed at the window beside a small table, on which was laid a newspaper neatly folded. This news- paler once a week brought tidings of the world to Greenville, was devoured by Mrs. Wald, and lent to her neighbors as a special mark of favor. She only raised it now to see if any letters were concealed beneath, and was again disap- pointed. Still holding the papcr absently, a plragral'h caught her eye: "Schooner Elizabeth, from Halifax to New York, reported missing. Crew consisted of captain and six ein11e. There was one passenger aboard. From fi'a1- nents found in the vicinity, th is suppose to have gone on the rocks at St. Martin' Island, where there is a dangerous ledge, known an Wolf's Head, as thick weather prevailed. The p)tHsCllnr' name Wit Thom- "Lor! Mrs. Wald, what a tilin you gave me! Did so! Thought you was a ghost. Glad you've got hum." This was Jane's hurlried greeting. "Has any one been here?" inquired the mistress. "Not a soul." "Have any letters come?" 'Yes, one; but oil, missis! it's the will o' the Lord you've got back. Eliza Thornley's sinking fast." Mrs. Wald rose with a dazcd expression, and passed her hand over her ftice. "Give me the letter," she said, almost fiercely. Jane drew it forth from the family Bible, on the plea that it looked "pertiklcr," and he had laid it away for safe-keeping. Mrs. Wald glanced at the superscription, and threw it down. She knew that it was from the far-dis- page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] tant missionary station where her son labored, and another anxiety had swallowed up this in- terest. Where was Letitia? What did her disap- pearance mean at the time of the Elizabeth's wreck? Mrs. Wald still gazed at Jane with the far-away look of a person who does not see the object scrutinized. "The poor creetur's been crying for you all day," was Jane's gentle reminder, wiping her eyes on her apron. "The Lord forgive me!" ejaculated Mrs. Wald, walking out the door swiftly, followed by her handmaiden. There lay the letter on the table unnoticed, vital as it was to the fate of another life. CHAPTER VI. TOO LATE. I PROMSE to take the child, Eliza, until "Thomas comes." Greenville always made way for Mrs. Wald at a death-bed. There was as much of serene hope and courage imparted by her presence as is possible for the soul left behind on the shore to give to the soul about to ford a dark stream alone. "He will never come," replied the sick woman, softly. "Do you know, I have been in heaven and seen him there." Is it trance or insensibility, that state pre- ceding dissolution, when the mind, untramnmel- ed, seems to soar away? The child, a sturdy little boy, stood sobbing vaguely beside the bed, half afraid of Mrs. Wald. Eliza Thornley had been ill a very long time. The change was so gradual, so imper- ceptible, from fever-flush to slight cough, from erect bearing to stooping gait, doing battle with the harsh climate of Greenville, that neighbors scarcely observed it, while the absent husband was kept in absolute ignorance of her condition. Eliza was "worn considerable with work," the general verdict affirmed, and she had ever been a slave in the tread-mill of labor. That was all, until the day when she received a nervous shock indefinable, unaccountable, un- less it was some subtle intelligence from the other half of her life, and the stitching slipped from her relaxing fingers, never to be com- pleted. The shadows were gathering close, when sudden panic of doubt leaped form her eyes, as she clung to the nearest support, Mrs. Wald. "Oh do you believe I shall get there and meet him?" "Yes," said Mrs. Wald. The glory of a smile dawned over the faded face, quenching fear, and in the radiance of that smile Eliza Tliornley died. Poor soul.! Faithful, courageons, true, giving her all in a cup of cordial held to an enthusiast's discour- aged lip, braving every ill, and to doubt the end. She had been no mountain torrent, flash- ing diamond-drops of spray in the sun, but a meadow-brook, wending quietly along, known only by the verdure of the banks freshened by her presence. The little son understood nothing, except that he was miserable. Stranger hands dress- ed him, and thrust dainties upon him in shape of cakes and sweetmeats, bidding him not cry, the while stranger eyes were tear-dimmed. Then he was marched away from the small brown house, where he was just acquiring the art of laying clam-shell borders, and all his little plans in life were ruthessly disturbed. Blows were falling thick on Mrs. Wald's armcr in these days. Like the patriarch Job, after years of uneventful prosperity, tidings of calam- ity were brought her on the wings of the wind. She found leisure to open her letter at last. It was written by a fellow-missionary at the station where her son had labored for four years, and contained the terrible intelligence that the son and his wife had died of sonme mysterious malady, on a journey into the inte- rior, not without suspicion of having been pois- oned by a wizard. Then Mrs. Wald refused to be comforted, and there was mourning, intense, inconsolable, in the old house, where the mother sat all day long without speaking. Into this silent household Was little Thomas Thornley ushered by Jane, after his parent was consigned to the quiet cemetery on the hill. "Funerals is very improving," said Jane. "If Mis' Wald would only hev' gone, it might hev' done her a sight of good!" The poor little man crept about the gloomy house, yielding to paroxysms of grief in deso- late corners, when Jane's blandishments whol- ly failed, and unnoticed by the mistress. One day Jane tried to reconcile himn to his position in this way: she placed hini on a stool, put a tempting "cooky " into one hand, and showed him the print of an angel soaring upward over earth and sea on outspread wings. "Now, that's your ma, and there an't no use u-crying after her, because she can't come back. We are goin' to take care of yc, if ye are a good boy, and-" Here Jane's arguments were interrupted by the fall of the untasted cooky to the floor, the curly llead sinking on the table, and a wail of sorrow. There was no consolation to be derived from that distant, hovering angel form; a real, tangible mother, refuge in all emergencies, was what little Tom 'hornlcy needed. Just then the mistress walked in. Jane's quick glance taught her that the crisis was past, however great the agony, and Mrs. Wald was slowly returning to the interests of life. Two firm hands raised the little head. "If I were a man-child, I would not cry," said a clear, decided voice. Then she led him to the window. "Your poor miother was sick, and she is well up there. She lives in heaven now." A dome of blue sky spread over the hills. Never in his life did Thomas Thornley see that illimitablo azure, unnfleckcd by cloud, without thinking of it as tlio residence of the absent mother. He gave a wondering sigh, half sol, and looked at Mrs. Wald steadily. "Who are you?" "I amn your bast friend, my dear," 'very gently. Tihe child clasped both arms around her neck, so great was his need, and rested oite soft, dimpled check against he stern face. "You're my mother, too, I dess." "He's safe, anyway," soliloquized Jane, wise ly withdrawinglg to the kitchen. "Folks cen see with half an eye she's mighty tickled at his calling her mother. 8he is so!" page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] CHAPTER VII. BABY VISITORS. "FE was bringing its waifs in a curious fiashion to Mrs. Wald's door. Little Tom Thornley became contented in the summer, growing to his new home as if he had never known another. Once he walked along the road, cracking the whip made for him by Jane's husband, Peter, and looked at the small brown house, half wonderingly, but he did not cease to crack his whip. The child who would have crept to the threshold sobbing, and made himself miserable all night, is more touching to contemplate; yet the boy who snapped his whip, and passed on to find interest in riding the horses to Iwa- ter, as Tom did, is more natural. Wounds of loss soon heal with the very young. Mrs. Wald loved and protected him, and Jane glo- ried in his sturdy strength. Ah!I pale, shad- owy mother, what more did he need? When the autumn clhanged the Greenville world again to gold, just two years from the date of Letitia's elopement, Mrs. Wald made a second journey. This time Greenville knew her mission. Had she not told the minister? and had not the good man confided it to the wife of his bosom, who, in turn, informed Mrs. Deacon Shaw, from which source the news cir- cled over Greenville in widening ripples from the solid, central fact which had splashed into the smooth pond of village routine? Mrs. Wald was going to a great city to meet a ves- sel from foreign parts, which would bring hier grandchild, in care of a returning missionary. The subject was discussed in all its bearings over the fence, in the kitchen, after prayer- meeting with many head-shakings. Mrs. Wald lihated to' bo talked about, and, as a natural re- sult, was more discussed behind her back than any other individual within town limits. Her sharp sayings were flung at shiftless people; her opinions serving as a shield for cowardly skirmishers, who hid w4hile delivering blows; and what she had done, or was likely. to do, afforded a ncver-failing subject of interest. She was ia power in the village, rivaled only by the minitster, and. she suffered the penalty of greatness. When the weather, the crops, the condition of the cattle were exhausted topics, some old lady could still remark over her knit- ting, "Guess Mis' Wald will hcv' the minister to tea this week. It's a considcrable while since she asked him, and I don't s'pose she's one to- forget her duty." Or the farmer, with proper asperity that a woman should attempt to judge in such mat- ters, might say, "Mebbe Mis' Wald would like to see the money back she gave for that 'ere colt." The position occupied by Mrs. Wald-l- in- deed, Iher type of roman--is rapidly passing away, but not without leaving a trace on the country. Only in secluded spots like Green- ville, and fair removed from the noisy march of progress, could she have maturedtinto tl e growth of intense individuality which charac- terized her. She was -a Puritan to the very marrow; and if she presented a harsh surface and many angles, she was granite in the sim- ple laws of right and wrong. To serve her Maker, to owe no man a farthing, to keep her own vineyards from being trampled by the wild boar, and to regulate the affairs of Green- ville, was she believed, iher appointed task. Family pride was her besetting sin, and she bad another gravne weakness, of which we have yet to speak. She came of a race of intel- lectual, religious men and handsome women. Hence, respect for learning was more profound in her than is usual in a land where education always carries weight. The men were stu- dents, and either became ministers or lawyers; the women invariably made poor marriages. Mrs. Wald's father was a judge, of dignified manners, living in this very homestead, and he sent her off on horseback through the woods to study Greek and Latin with his friend, the clergyman of repute, when she was a girl; but for all that, hopeful Pulleyn proved no ex- ception to the rule, and made a foolish mar- riage. Greenville never spoke of Alfred Wald. He had been an ungodly man, who disalppeared years before, leaving the wife and two children beneath Judge Pulleyn's roof. No wonder Letitia's defection cut her mother to the heart, and made her well-nigh believe in a fiatality of misery for the women of her house. 'rle declitning suni was drawing sladows over tlel grass, and the distant mountains towered binue and serene, when the mistress came honme. Jane and little Tom Tllornlcy watclled at the gate, the boy in a doubtful mood, fieeling the first twinges of jealousy at possible displace- mncnt. The carryall drew up before their ex- pectant eyes, Mrs. Wald descended, lifted out a tiny child, and was nimbly followed by a sec- ond girl, larger, older, and black as chonlv. "For the Lord's sake where did you git her?" cried Jane, in an uncontrollable outburst of curiosity. The little maid was black, and Jane was black; but instantly they regarded each other with suslicion. "She lived with my son, and when they brought the baby away she hid on board ship until they were fart out to sea. I shall keep her," said Mrs. Wald ; then added, with a trem- ble in ler clnea voice, "'This is John's child." As Jane stooped' to the baby the black girl sprang qulickly forward. " Pickanilnnly mine!" "La, cliild, you git ott!" replied Jane, with supreme scorn. "I s'pose you. think yourself thie only nigger in the world. Get out with such nonsense-do!" She placed the child in the path. A very smnll, dainty creature of four ycars, with bright, w\lndering yces, and a little red moutli puck- crcd dubiously. She looked around gravely, as if surveying the place, and then her glance fell on Tom, standing half defiant, and oil, ever so much bigger and stronger than her wee self. With all the confidence of a petted child she trotted straight up to him, and grasped one chubby hand with her pink fingers. Tom was not, proof against this charming appeal. All the chivalry of his nature was 1 aroused. Besides, had she not come to him? "I'll take care of her," cried the boy, proul- ly. The little African stood looking onl, 1 r0c7 beady eyes twinkling angrily. That nlight Mrs. Wald stepped into a long unoccupied cllnamnber next her own, with a sense of lightness and happiness in her heart. The children were asleep there, and it was the dor- mant maternal itstinct that stirred in her heart. here wais afesh fiehd of usefulness for her, and she loved work. In one bed Iny the boy, waving hair tossed back from his tishied fticce, a bold grace in tli very abandon of his attitude. On the other couch nestled the gil, fiir and delicate, gold tendrils of curls clinging to the pretty littlo IIhead. Shei would make of thel 1an ideal mal tand wollmanl, Mrs. Wald tliougilt, witi that tihrill ill her strong nature. Every fitlt should be storn- ly uprooted, alnd every virtue be carefully fos- tered. "Life is a leaf of paper white, Whereon each one of ulls my write His word or two-and then collmes nigh1lt. Grectly begin I though thou have tino Bu t for a line, be that siblihle: Not failure, but low aim, Is crime." And then sihe remembered, with a sudden pang, hio wit had been with her own childreln. Where was Letitia? Iow woulld it beo with poor John now, bad lie remained at home in- stead of going forth to dio on that burning Africanl soil? The son had ch1osen hi cross, with youthful zeal and ardor, and his mother liad offered no objection. Only in her heart she put aside resolutely the plans she lad formed ft'or him. Perhaps she was )rotud of his sacrifice, when lie wais already gone; lbut to his marriage Mrs. Wald was never rcconciled. how could sih be contente d? The wife for John had been Eliza, Tom's mother, courta- geons, sensible, and good; yet John hand fillen in love with a little pink-and-white girl, who wept as the vessel sailed, thinking of the flesh- pots left behind. Mrs. Wald reflected on these tillngs, stand- ing in the inlprovised nursery. Here were the children of Eliza and John brought together beneath her roof. The strong boy had merely crossed thoe village street, the girl lad traversedl thousands of miles. She came from the Gold Coast, fromn mountains and palm-draped val- leys, where Niger, Senegal, and Congo roll their vast tribute to the sea. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] CHAPTER VIII. THE PULLEYN HOMESTEAD, "G REAT big mountain," said Katvy. G ".No. Bear hill," corrected Tom. Bear Hill was the filrst object that made a deep impression on Kate's mind. Towering behind Mrs. Wald's house, and breaking the force of winter storms, it stood between her later life and an ever-receding infancy away off in Africa. A mine of wonders was this elevation, the very name suggestive of lurlking terrors, with rocky, ledges and ragged fringes of pine skirting the slope, while the summit caught the first pink flush of dawn, and flamed in the crimson sunset. Bear Hill was not the only resource. A line of purple hills faded into distance-if dimpled baby hands could only reach them! The village street, with trim rows of dwellings,-led straight to the height where stood the white meeting-house, its light not hidden beneath a bushel, and there was also food for the most imaginative child at home. The Pullcyn homestead was built of small red brick, with dormer-windows and high chim- neys. The path leading from the gate to the door was bordered withhprim box; the solid oaken portal, flanked by funny little fan-lights, opened into a spacious hall, with floor painted in imitation of marble tiles; and a wealth of white roses and honeysuckles veiled the face of the old house. The lower story consisted of a spacious parlor on both sides of the hall, with deep, embrasured windows and quaintly carved furniture; Mrs. Wald's chamber and the nursery; comfortable dining-room; and a kitchen that would have driven a modern cook wild with envy, such shelves, cupboards, and wide spaces did it possess. The parlor to the right was always called the "Judge's room," because in it the venerable gentleman was found dead, seated before his desk, pen still in hand. His portrait confronted the person who enter- ed from the opposite wall, grave, handsome, with a wide cambric frill falling over the brown coat. The tall clock stood in an angle of the hall with an aspect of aged respectability about the polished case; and the broad dial, surmount- ed by the brass ship forever riding over trou- bled billows, loomed above the curly heads of little Tom and Kate, whe the pendulum swung to the births and deaths of the old house year after year. A steep stairway wound crooked- ly up to the second story and the mysterious gloom of the garret regions. Let us treasure in our memory this picture of an old honme, trodden still by the shhadowy previous generations, eloquent in thhe silence of deserted chambers, with the moss of tender memories suffered to grow about the stalwart frame; for in the very nomad unrest of our national life the contemplation ot'a peaceful mansion can do no harm. Who of us with a living grandfath'er-snowy-haired patriarch of blameless life-dreams of. dwelling in his home or following in his footsteps after him? O01: first thought will be, when he is dead, a sale of the property-an auction of cherished cffects, scattering by one rude gust the ashes of a spent career. "Good old gentleman," we rdmnark, with youthful scorn. "He did his duty ac- cording to his light, but he was a trifle behind the age." Bear Hill kept watch above, and the red chimneys of the old house were visible among tle mnaple-trees, as they first had been when the village street was a cattle-patth wendiug along the vathcy, and bronze-faced Indians peered through the shrubbery. What tales Mrs. Wald could tell of those days-of the warrior thirsting for fire-water; of the fortune- telling old squaw, who read the future in a tea- cup! She had taken a curious trio under her wing in these children. It required the ut- most slill and dexterity to subdue them to harmony. Still this only imparted zest to her labors. Not that they were ill-natured elements -they were only totally dissimilar. Had Tom Thornley ben a third little girl, instead of a hovy of some will and strong prejudices, he would have at once succumbed to the united sway of tiny Kate and her handmaiden, Afri- can Eunice; Whatever Kate did was right in the sight of Eunice, and all she wanted must be obtained. The little black maiden had a certain cat-like agility and swiftness of action which was most disconcerting, and her code of morals was somewhat primitive. Hitherto the world had seemed to her a vast banlk, in whcl she had an unlimited account; to ftncey a pret- ty article made it her own. Mrs. Wald rcad the three natures easily enough, each little bud of life stainding distinct in a separate individu- ality. a The boy was generous, and of an ar- dent temperament; the girl was sensitive and impressionable; Eunice a heathen-how much of a heathen Mrs. Weld had yet to learn. Saturday was baking-day; delicious odors floated over all Greenville, where each house- wife was happy in iher kitchen. Mrs. Wald, a calico apron covering her dress, and an un- wonted flush on her calm fatce, was dexterous- ly molding pie-crust into wonderful slapes. She was a natural sculptor in dough. The three children watched her progress firom the door-way with a species of fiascination, while Jane occasionally diverted their .attention by opening the brick oven to draw forth crisp "turn-overs " and tempting gingerbread, scent- ed afar off' by hungry little noses. perhaps it was with a resolute determination to resist temptation that Tol turled o( tlihat his glances fell on Eunice's sable neck, where Itc saw a slender cord. Slyly did wicked Tl'omt pull the string, jerking out a tiny bag of slill neatly sewed with a coarse, fibrous thread. Thel girl uttered a shrick of anger. "What is this?" cxclaimcd tlio nistrcss, taking the object in her Ihand. "Obi charm." Eunice trembled with rage and fear; but as she pronounced thcso words she sank on her knlees, touching the floor witl her orclehead. Jane turlled ashy gray, and stood in a rigid attitude, as if frozen. Mrs. Wald was shocked annt startled. here was one of the dark obstacles to Christianlity in her very grasp. At last she spoke: "Eunice, I am ashamed of you for carry- ing this senseless thIng. I might equally well hang a bit of wood firom the kitcheln-ire around youir neck. Take it away and destroy it." The child quailed before the gray eyes. It was better to appear to trust her, Mrs. Wald thought, returning to her work. As for Jane, mute witness of the curious scene, she wiped the perspiration from her brow, and piled up the gingerbread sheets. Presently Eunice stole in again, subdued and quiet. "Have you obeyed me?" "Yes, missis," Eunice replied, blinking cun- ningly. page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] CHAPTER IX. EUNICE, TIIE HEATIEN. "KE all savage creatures, Eunice yielded - to the pressure of necessity, bethought her of subterfuge, and did not destroy the Obi charm. ier fear of Mrs. Wald was only equaled by her fear of Obi. Therefore she made a com- promise; she hid the talisman, and lied to Mrs. Wald. Now Eunice had lived with the missionaries two years, and imbibed good from their teachj ings, yet she wore the charm placed about her neck in infancy. The terrible fascination cloth- ing Obi to the negro mind was not easily up- rooted; Christianity might help to ward off danger, b the grasp of superstition seemed to have foundation in the child's very being. Her fancy could grope back to earlier recollections than those of days spent in chapel and school: into the dim twilight of infancy, when groups of natives sat in a circle, framed by night and quivering foliage, while the priests chanted, and the witch suspected of sorcery was forced to drink the poison-water. She was wild, obey- ing instinct wholly, hating intensely and loving warmly, yet also capable of gratitude. After all, how can we blame Eunice, fresh from bar- barism, when through our own Southern States, after generations of civilization and passionate attachment to religion, there is every now and then a lapse into idolatry? Next day was the Sabbath, and quiet reigned in Greenville. The delicate haze of the Indian summer spread over the peaceful earth and sky deceitful warmth, as if winter were not already trooping onward from the North. There was a pause of arrested motion in all nature, a silence of expectancy, and the sun drew forth from glade and upland the aromatic scents of au- tumn. Sunday was very strictly observed 'by Mrs. Wald. Every book except the Bible was ban- ished ; no fire curled from' the chimney; and Jane went home to the little house by the brook. The children fancied that the very fiace of the clock wore a different aspect on the seventh day, and the pendulum ticked more ponderous- ly. A procession of rusty vehicles-corpulent buggies, lank "shays," and wagons lined with buffalo-skin--had already begun to wend to- ward the meeting-house from adjacent farms, when Mrs. Wald issued from' her gate with 'her little flock. She held her granddaughter's hand and marshaled her other subjects before her. Tom was used to the restraints of a Christian land, but who could tell what Eunice would do? Many were the glances exchanged, aud universal was the craning of necks as Mrs. Wald entered her "slip." The electric cur. rent of curiosity even reached and charged the minister in the pulpit. he glanced over the rim of his spectacles as he selected a place in the hymn-book. The children sat in a row, swinging their lit- tle feet, and staring at the galleries, the white walls, and the bare windows, through which the genial sunshine followed them from that lovely outside world of purple mist and serene sky. It was not until the hymn was given out that Eunice distinguished herself; then, as the bass-viol struck a chord, she bent her head for- ward in a listening attitude, and repeated the note in a voice as sweet and pure as a bird's. The-sensation produced by this novel per- formance was so great that a rustle and titter swept over the congregation, and was percep- tible even after the choir had uttered a jubi- lant shout, Mrs. Wald laid a muscular hand on the culprit, shook her slightly, and made her stand before herself, facing all the Green- ville universe. Eunice obeyed without wink- ing, and any embarrassment she may have felt was lost in the sable darkness of her counte- nance. "Guess Mis' Wald has got her hands full with that 'ere black 'un," was the current opin- ion circulated among the farmers' families, as the luncheon of doughnuts, pie, and cheese was dispatched under the trees in the recess be- tween morning and afternoon service. The old clock ticked on through the day, until the hour of five found Mrs. Wald sitting holt upright on a stiff chair in tlihe best parlor, with the judge's Bible open on her knee, read- ing aloud the story of Joseph. Hecr small au- t ience were disposed of in this wise: Little Tom had made n. place for Katy on the low stool lie occupied, with becoming gallantry. All Tom's animosity had melted at sight of the pretty stranger: he gave her the plums out of his cake. Eunice sat on a second stool in lonely grandeur, just within the door, and glowered at the tiny lovers. Already her pickaninny had transferred allegiance to a white boy, and coquettishy submitted to his caresses. The soul of Eunice was rendered as black as her face by the bitterness of this thought. Sud- denly she sprang to her feet, and gave Tomn a stinging slap in the face. The poor little man grew crimson with pain and anger; he breathed hard, and had to clench his two fists to keep from striking back. "Never be brutal to a girl, Tomn. Eunice, I will speak with you to-morrow." Then Mrs. Wald solemnly resumed her reading. Eunice vanished. In a short time Mrs. Wald was startled by the sound of a drum reverber- ating through the house. Controlling her an- ger, she bade the children keep their place un- til she returned, while she swiftly ascended the stair. Never had a drum sounded within the Pilleyn homestead on Sunday before. Fol- lowing the noise, she reached the garret door. it was ajar, and ascending, the eight that inet Mrs. Wald's eyes struck her dumb!n. Eunice had crept away, the spectacle of Tom and Katy being no longer endurable, and without pur- pose ascended the stairway. ' The landing of- fered no attractions, and with that determina- tion to punish somebody, so often found in chil- dren, she decided to hide, and unlatched the garret door for that purpose. Never was more favorable retreat; a band of robbers might have easily been stowed away beneath the eaves; an outlaw could have de- fied pursuit in the maze of shadowy chim- neys, beams, and avenues of old garments. A ghostly spinning-wheel stood in one spot, with threads still clinging to thile distaff. An old retreat for the lumber of many generations, yet not a cobweb or particle of dust was suffered to gather here. -The familiar cambric hand- kerchief could have been applied to Mrs. Wald's garrret without contaminating its purity. Eunice intended to hide; but a large chest of camphor-wood diverted her, and she raised the heavy lid. The contents of this chest were very precious to Mrs. Wald, but she had never felt the necessity of secrrrirng them with lock and key. They consisted of heavy fabrics of her own and her mother's youth, the damask and satin which lasted a lifetime. Eunice for- got her wrath as her daring hand draigged tlire dresses forth ; she passed into the true African ecstasy over bright tints; she literally bathed her senses in color, as rose-pink, rich prrpile, aniber, and emerald, gold-lace and embroid- cry, with a tarnished splendor, became visible. Then she saw the drurn-relic of John Wald'sH b)oyhood-swinging from a peg; and allthougll differing from the rude stem, hollorwedl, and covercd with skin of hcr native village, sile recognized a musical iinstrmnct. Mrs. Wald found her-a drop of bhack hunnnity-in this sea of splendor; tihe western light floated in billowy radiance throurgh thie small casement down upon the scattered garments, which re- scrmbled a tulip-bed, and in the midst Eunice enthroned, beating the drumrn with an accurate precision that belongs to a correct car alone. Again did the mistress strenuously coerce herself, and defer stern punishment until tihe week-day, according to the code of her ances- tors. But Eunice had not vet filled rup her cup of wickedniess; slihe seemed posssessed by an evil slpirit. When the other 'children were asleep she stole from her own bed, irand flitted out- doors. Mrs. Wald's vigilant eye noted this, and she followed quietly. The girl glided arounrd the side of the house to the root of the trumpet-creeper, where she knelt and removed a small stone. Evidently she did not find the object of her search, for she muttered, "Gone." She crouched there a moment, with her head in her hands, as if reflecting, then started to her feet again and ran toward Jane's cottage. Breathess with amazement, Mrs. Wald followed; she had no time even to think. Eunice'entered the house; Mrs. Wald peeped through the window. There sat Jane and little Peter, soberly listening to Peter the elder, who, with his hymn-book on the kitchen-table, was reading in a loud, high- pitched voice. Eunriice walked up to Jane, and laid her hand on the woman's shoulder. "You give me back my Obi charm, or I will lay the spell. Yes, I will." She spoke in a low, threatening voice. Jane visibly shrank and collapsed, while her husband and son merely looked surprised at page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] tins apparition in white night-clothes. Jane recovered her composure sufficiently to utter a nervous, unsteady laugh. "How you scared me, child! Now go to bed-do I; What makes you think I stole your charm?" Mrs. Wald no longer recognized Jane's voice, the emotion of the woman was so pow- erful and unusual; moreover, her tone was one of whining entreaty. Eunice snapped her fingers. "Give it back, I say! You mighty glad to get Obi. Ha, ha! Quick, or I'll curse dis place. I weave a spell on the door-step; I fly on de roof, and breathe down de chimney. No fire-drefful cold-all pine away-you die when I tell 'umrn. I can look at your boy, fix him with do evil eye. Old mammy teach me." "No, no!" cried Jane, shuddering. "For the Lord's sake, what's this?" ex- claimed Peter. Neither his wife nor the girl noticed him; the one was asserting some subtle influence of command; the other, with a trance-like move- mcnt, was obeying her glance tremblingly, and - drew forth from a hiding-place the charm. The leather covering had been ripped, and as she received it again, Eunice, for the first time in her life, beheld the contents. She took be- twecn her fingers a small god, rudely fashioned with a knife out of pure gold. Exultation and triumph filled her soul; she began to sing a low, melancholy cadence, swaying her body, and holding the idol before her. The effect on her listeners was indescribable; even to Mrs. Wald outside, the chant, weird, uncanny, passionate, brought a blood-curdling chill. The eyes of the three other occupants of the cottage dilated, their bodies became rig- id, yet they also moved to the rhythm of the song, without personal volition. It seemed as c if they were alternately paralyzed and galvan- ized, and still the song went on, woven in her native tongue of the inspiration .of the mo- i ment, or the baleful imprecations of the wor- shiper. It was time to interfere. Mrs. Wald I entered. N "Be silent!" she commanded, holding the g slender form in the grasp of her two hands; s then, before Eunice could writhe away, she , took the golden god and deliberately dropped it I into the fire. Her slow, cold glance traveled s over each in turn with terrible severity. Eu. ] VX' %XVIIj nice paused, dumb, with a baffled look; she had found a conqueror. Jane still sat with fixed eyes, and lips slightly parted. "If ever I was ashamed of a Christian wom- an, it is of you, June Sands," pursued Mrs. Wald, facing the group. At that Jane gave a gasp, and began to weep. "Oh missis, what is it?" she asked, in a feeble, altered yoice. "When I saw the thing I grew kind o' wild. I couldn't git it out of my head nohow. I prayed night and day for strength to resist temptation, after I saw her hide it, yet my feet,carried mo straight there just the same." "Afr'aid of you and your idols!" said Mrs. Wald to Eunice, with cutting contempt. "You may tty your evil eye and spells on me with all your might. You are quite welcome to breathe down my chimney. Such folly! You are not to deceive me again, and I will be obeyed. Well, Peter, what have you got to say for your miserable, sinful self?" Peter winced. "I was only lookin' on, Mrs. Wald," he pro- tested, humbly. The lady pursed tup her lips and frowned. There can be no doubt about her enjoying training her subjects, especially in such a cru- sade as this one. She wisely judged, however, that enough had been said for one night, so she requested Peter to follow her while she sang, "From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand: From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land fromi error's chain." "Oh, don't tell the minister!" implored Jane at the door. "You have always been a good woman; I shall tell no one. Only repent on your knees," said Mrs. Wald, gravely. Then the mistress returned to her own home, keeping the African maiden at her side the while, and feeling a kindred exultation with good King Valdimar when he sailed over the sea to Ru-gen, accompanied by B1ishops Eskil and Absalom, to storm Arcona and destroy the god Svantovit. Mrs. Wald's idol was a very small one, and its destruction made no glorious pageant in the annals of history. CIIAPTER X. UNDER THE WITCH-TREE. SUMMER in Greenville meant sudden, bligllt- ing heat; the mountains suspended, as it were, in the sultry, tremulous atmosphere, and the inhabitants panting in the valleys. When the sun did show his broad countenance in tiis bleak region, it was in a full tide of glory, sat- urnting every crevice of chilled mother earth with rich, benignant warmth. IIow the mount- nin world then bloomed! Swanmp and forest sent forth delicate odors of fragile wild flowers, mingled with tlao spicy breath of the dusky pines; each house in the village showedssomec tracery of green vine and blossom. Mrs. Wald's place was one tangled wilder- ness of flowers. White roses revealed wax- en-pure petals at the door; luxuriant honcy- suckle exhaled sweetness from each tiny gold- en flagon; and iii the garden, beds of sweet marjoram, balm, sage, and thyme added pres- ent fi'ragrance, while promising future usefth- ness.- Everywhere the children, released from the icy fetters of winter, vied with the birdls in shrill whistlings as they searched for the will strawherries that flecked the slope of Bear Hill like coral among the grass, or fished in the mill- pond for pickerel. Katherine Wald sat in the swing. She was a very indolent girl in these drowsy midsum- mer days. Indeed, she applied herself to a task at all times only with spasmodic energy. "The dhst motes of a summer day, That in the sunshine idly play, Are like my wandering thought: They climb their golden ladders up, And lie deep in the lily's cup, By listless sunbeams caught. The blne air pulses them along, A tiny, aimless, lotos throng, That fly wings brush aside; Their little day a revel etrange, Their life, as thought, an endless change, Their realm a whole world wide." The book she had been reading slipped from her lap to the ground, and she sat swaying soft- ly with a dreamy smile on her face. Moreover the volume was forbidden fruit, and she was pondering how very dissimilar the men the was likely to l0ct in her career would be to this effeminate, elegant Mr. Henry P'eham, the sybarite, whose life was spent in paying his devoirs to the charming Lady This, or convers- ing with the classically educated Lord That. The simple country girl felt that wistful, aching longing for the unattainable which comes to all of us at tilmes, as she sat in the swing, gazing longingly at her horizon of mount- ains. Why might she not have been born in the sphere of these lovely ladies? There was a dangerous amount of iiingina- tion in the face, irregular and unformed as it was, whichtill would require it largo share of prac- tical rceility to counterbalance. At this moment Tomn Thornley approached. Eunice was so fiar broken to harness that she was meekly washing dishes in the kitchen. "Oh! Tom, I've been thinking bow nice it would be to ihave you a real gentleman, like that one," pointing to the fiallen book. "You would have a valet to dress you, and wear such lovely rings on your hands; and if I were your equal, as of course I should be, you would ap- proach me with deference, and study how to please me." The boy's faice had been grave, but the mer- riest twinkle flashed into his blue eyes as he listened. "Look here, old lady," lie returned, picking up the book and dusting it, "you will catch it if I tell." "But you will not tell. Boys never tell of their sisters," said Kate, securely. Tom thrust his hands into his pockets and began to whistle; in which attitude he resem- bled Mr. Henry Peham less than ever. The boy and girl had reached the respective ages of fourteen and sixteen, and had passed through two distinct stnges of growth: first, infantile prettiness had yielded to a period where thio page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] boy, asserting himself, left the more timid girl to her own resources; and, second, the girl had caught up with him, and was permitted by him to share his sports. Mrs. Wald was morbidly conscientious; she was so afraid of doing an injustice to her foster-child, that she made her own give him precedence in most things. For the rest they were singularly alike, with the difference that Kate was quick and incisive, where Tom had a slower masculine p)erception. Nobody doubted, the strong affection of the children for each other, yet they never thought about it themselves, and rarely exchanged a caress. To blame Kate brought the blood to Tom's cheek, to find fault with Tom made Kate's eyes flash, and it was chiefly in this unity of steady " backing up " that they showed they were one. "I should prefer being many people to that fellow," said Tom, reflectively, at last, chewing a bit of grass. lie called the hero a fellow. Kate mastered her indignation, and prepared for argument. "Who, for instance?" she asked. "A man has got to do something besides wear a fine coat, grandmother says. As to that, Shakspeare was born in a low house, over a butcher's shop, with hooks and sill- board. Your fine gentleman would have turn- ed up his nose at the rickety stair." "You can never be a Shakspeare, dear," said the girl. When she was in a patronizing mood, she invariably called Tom "dear." "I know that," replied the lad, with an impatient sigh. "There are things one would rather do than mince in a drawing-roo1m, though. How should you like to hear a gcolo- gist lecture away down in the earthl, with the great walls of stone rising about him, and lihe able to trace the strata of ages as readily as other men turn the leaf of a book?" "I should like it, but I should also be afraid," said Kate, dubiously. ' "What a silly you are!" pursued Tom, gaining the pper hand at last; "you are al- ways bothering. Your eyes are a great big I wonder' at the whole world. I say, Katy, what a lot of nonsense you must have pacled away in your brain."' That is better than having it an empty loft, always to let, I suppose," flashed back Kate. The next moment she was flying ont over the brook, sent by a pair of muscular arms. The swing was suspended from a stout branch of the old apple-tree, and, when set in motion, sprang away giddily from the sloping bank, dotted with daisies, and almost spanned the brook that wound along the meadow. How can sufficient praise ever be sung of the mountain brook! Born up among forest heights, see it dimpling, flashilig in the sunlight, pturling into demure, trout-hlaunted -shadows, holding brown and amber reflections in the pure depths, and at all hours sending forth the soothing murmur which is the voice of the summer day. To Mrs. Wald and Jane this brook was an old friend. The mistress had never been a month of her life beyond reach of its music, whvllen winter did not hold it a crystal captive, and in more prosaic vein Jane placed all the utensils of her cottage on the bank to lave in the rushing waters. As for Kate, many a ro- mance did she create out of her own childish fancy, poised in mid-air above the glittering surface, when the breaking of the rope would cause her to sink ftithoms deep through the bed of the rivulet to the palace of the river spirit, who, weaving garlands of pale flowers about her-, would bear her down to the sea. "And don't you wish your complexion alone would render you beautiful, the blood blush- ing beneath the skin like roses under a clear stream? Or that your nose was of that fine and accurate mould that one seldom sees ex- cept in the Grecian statues, which unite the clearest and most decided outline with the most feminine delicacy and softness?" "Tom," interrupted Kate, checking the swing, "youl have been reading the book too." "What if I have, miss?" "I am not at all like that, am I?" inquir6e Katy, dolefully. "Not the least bit in the world," replied in- cxorable Tom.- The girl could have cried. Wounded van- ity had no place in her thoughts, but it was again t}.t longing to be what se w was not. "Meet me to-night, when the moon rises, at the tupelo-tree, and I will tell you sometling;" with which grandiose and mysterious state- ment the boy left hier. Mrs. Wald sat in the window'framned by tile, luxuriant roses, sewing. In the grass-plot op- posite was the old sun-dial, erected by the first Rulleyn. It was a pillar based on a stone ped- estal with two compartments, one marking the hours according to European time, and the lower one an astronomical shield; for this first Rulleyn was reckoned moon-struck by his con- temporaries. "Grandmother, I am going away," said a clear young voice outside th'e casement. "Why?"The inquiry was quietly made, as she brok a thread, but Mrs. Wald's face had grown pale. "Oh, grandmother, how can you ask? I am sixteen years old, and the master hias given me a good education. I should look out for myself now." "You have a riglit to mavke your own clioice, you will be a man soon. But, Tom, is it true that you do not care to go to college? I am surprised; I expected more of you." Tom bit a rose-stalk savagely, but he an- swered doggedly, "No, I would rather learn some business, and make money. I can give you and IKaty lots of things then, grandmother." "Suppose I insist on sending you; I can very well afford it." An angry, resolute face looked in the wiln- low a moment. "If you do, I will run away. ou can lead a horse to the fountain, you know, but you can not force him to drink. No, no, I am stupid, and no book-worm; I maly get along in the tread-mill well enough." There is such a thng as sheer blindness in a quick-witted person. Mrs. Waldl had been so accustomed to reading at a glance, as slic thought, the ingenuous friankness of the boy's nature, that she did not detect the veiledl bit- terness of his tond. After all, how could she expect Thomas Thornley's son to be like the men of her own family, who would have lived on a crust and fought to the death to will a profession. Then the praise of the dry mas- ter-in the academy came to her mind, who pro- nounced Tom a youth of good parts, :nld IKat v's ecstasy of respectful admiration whn Tom hal111, unaided, calculated the next eclipso'of the silln. Eunice had stood awe-struck, with a bit of smoked glass in her hand, on the occasion, and had added " sir " to her usual mode of ad- dress ever afterward. "Very well," assented grandmother, with a half sigh. Where was the ideal man of her rearing now? The happy, busy days of Tom and Ka- ty's chdhood were over, then. The nestlings' wings were almost strong enough to fly. All me! she might lapse into old age without this current of activity to fircshen her blood. She lealized it all, bending over her seam, without commitment. What book has Katherine in her hand?" Mrs. Wald never gave her granddaughter her full title, except when displeased. "I have read it too, and I am sure she meant no harm," said Tom, promptly. "Where did she obtain it?" Tom could not help it; she drew down the reply on herself: "I I yotlr room." Mrs. Wald was dumb, but sho groaned in spirit. The sinful weakness of her own lith was novel-reading., She acknowledged it, and would have shrunk from the public verdict of Greenville. To lose herself in the realms of imagination with Walter Scott, Bulwer, Miss Austen, and Jane Porter, was an intoxication; and yet, amidst the surroundings of a meagre life, she believed the indulgence to be wicked, just in proportion as the pleasure was blissful. Tom rushed swiftly up the side of Bear Hill until he reached a safe nook, where he threw himself on the ground with his face hidden. Plerhaps to no other chass of boy in our midst is thoe college career as priceless a boon as to the lad reared in the country, like Tom. He studies under ai master, or school-master, who strives to kindle his ambition; he has vast lei- sure for castle-building; every book is to him a casket of treasures, to which he holds the gold- en key. And to enter that college world, to fight his own way, to carry off the honors, was the dearest wish of Tom Thornley's heart. Grandmother had very little money; she pos- sessed land, and a comfortable home, yet the dollars in the bank might easily be counted. Was he, a stranger kept by her bounty all these years, to take the money that should belong to Katy? Not ia penny! There he1 lay onl Bear lill, hidintg the bright day from his eye., and wrestlilg with his disDppoilrtment. Poor Thomas lor cy, buried down ,by the sen, and your tardy gold not serving your only son in the first honorable cravings of his soul for better things! At the age of sixteen the heart overflows easily. It was not in the nature of thngs that Tom should keep his weighty secret from Katce, when she came to meet him at, tl tilpelo-trec. Of course he could have equally well taken her into his confidence in broad daylight, within sight of the house; perhaps Tom's mind had become imbued with some of the sentiment of Mrs. Wald's library, surreptitiously devoured, for certainly no hero of romance ever selected a more gloomy, weird spot of rendezvous. Behind the barns a patli led for some dis- tanec throgh the fields, skilting Bear Hill, until it reached a narrow slicct of water known as tie pond" at te;" t th other extremity was the old mill. The trees droopedl waving tresses over the surface; but on the side nearest Mrs. Wald's house stood only the tupelo-trec, gaunt page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] and grim, stretching knotted arms toward the sky. A witch was said to be buried here, exe- cuted in the comfortable conviction of duty by Mrs. Wald's grandfather; hence the gloomy terrors of the spot. Kate listened in eloquent sympathy to the whole story, and the frogs croaked along the water margin, while the tree-toads trilled in shrill unison.. She had expedients to offer. What woman soul was ever wholly without the impulse to mend matters for a loved object? But Tom put them all aside. They could live on very little, urged the girl. She did not need money; she would never go to college. Most artful suggestion of all, Tom would soon make it up to them again. The boy liked that idea of helpful manliness, but the next moment came a chill doubt of failure, and a picture of grandmother's penniless old age. "I will -not listen to you," he cried, turning on Katy quite fiercely; "and if you ever breathe a word that I have told, I will never come back or notice you again." After this terrible threat the two -young things left the damp shore, and the frogs, and the tupelo-tree, yearning in that mute agony of attitude toward the sky. At the bars in the field Kate suddenly twined her arms around Tom's neck and kissed him. "You poor darling!" she said, giving him a most emphatic hug. And Tom accepted this balm of consolation from her, as he would not have done from any one else in his world. As they approached the house, a great glow streamed from the kitchen window. Mrs. Wald, with a pile of books on the floor beside her, was giving them, one by one, to the annihilating flames. With a gray, stern face she performed the dutty, all the grim stoicism of her peculiar people stamp- ed on her features, from Oliver Cromwell down. Kate should never follow in her foot- steps, and drain this poisonous cup of forbid- den joy. Afterward on the shelves lay only the Judge's Scotch Bible, and Jonathan Ed- wards on the Affections." CHAPTER XI. THE CITY WORLD. "NOTHING venture, nothing have,'" quoth Tom Thornley, mounting the broad steps, after a five minutes' survey of the fine building, with its granite pillars, mansard roof, and gilt-lettered front. The boy tried to be jocose, feeling in reality sad, and lonely, and homesick; still the effort alone did him good, for it gave him a degree of self-confidence; so he quoted the old proverb, and boldly entered the great place. This was the banking-house of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co., and the first impression made on Tom's untutored eye was a wilderness of plate-glass. It was a lofty room, the walls and ceiling richy frescoed, with a polished counter, and desks running the length of it encased in plate- glass, and at the extremity nearest the windows a whole partition of glass, forming a separate transparent crystal room, Tom thought. Sev- eral young men flitted behind the glass parti- tion like shadows, and a portly individual in a white waistcoat, with gray hair bristling up to a peak above a narrow, bald forehead, was writing in a ledger at the desk. This was Mr. Timmy, the cashier, who was considered to be worth his weight in gold by the business world, which must have made him indeed valuable. Mr. Timmy had no aspirations. heo represented the very unusual spectacle, in that quarter of feverish activity, of a man whose brain was not harassed by speculation, wlio did not wish to climb from the position of subordinate to prin- cipal, and reap his million in a year or so. ,A careful, accurate cashier had he been for the past twenty-five years, and a cashier would he remain to the end. "Can I see one of the partners?" inquired Tom. Mr. Timmy paused, with his pen elevated above the page, as a gentle reminder that time was valuable. "Have you a message? Are you a bank runner? Ilave you heard any rumors on the street that French stock is down, young sir?" 3 The cashier asked this last question with his neck craned forward eagerly, and with a mys- terious lowering of voice. "No, I am sure that I have not," replied Tom, in greant astonishment. "Then what do you want?" demanded Mr. Timmy, pettislily, withdrawing into his shill again. "If it is employment, we have more clerks now than weo need. You should go West." In his simplicity Tom was much impressed with the casliier's penetration in discovering the object of his visit. 11o did not know thnat half a dozen such wistful young fiaces-cach tile embryo of thile future great man, possibly-- gazed up at inexorable Mr. Timmy daily. "But where am I to go in the West?" per- sisted the boy. "Great Cxsar!" exclaimed the exasperated cashier, plunging his pen into the inkstand with such violence as to spatter his neat page. "Do you expect me to stop Monday morning, with the checks comining in, and interest myself in your affairs?" Something came up in Tom's throat and choked him, while check and eye blazed with indignation. The injustice and cold selfish- ness of the cashier were nbecarable; for this was Tom's first sharp thrust. "I am not a beggar," said the lad, haughti- ly, and turned away without another word. All this dignity was wholly lost on Mr. Tim- my, who with puckered brow was regarding the blot on the sheet. It did occur to Tom that sometime in his career he should like to be even with tills enemy, and also the considera- tion presented itself almost irresistibly to his mind of how neatly a well-delivered blow on the bald forehead wotld tip Mr. Timmy over backward into the waste-paper basket. The latter'would have been amazed had he realized the tide of resentment rising in the young strkn- ger's breast. At all times it is galling to our self-love to page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] meet with a rude disregard for our dearest in- terests in others, but at Tom's age the slight is intolerable. Grandmother's parting words to the boy had been, "Let your bearing be mod- est and quiet, but never forget your own self- esteem; and remember, if you are an honest man, doing your duty bravely, that you are the equal of any person." As he turned away, two gentlemen came out of another room and approached the entrance. Although his wrath was hot against the uncon- scious Mr. Timmy, Tom looked at them with lively curiosity. They were both elderly men, and were alike in a fastidious neatness of dress. Otherwise one was tall and pompous in bearing, and the other short, sleek, with the pink and white complexion of a young child, and a pair of light blue eyes, which rested on Tom with a sudden attraction of animosity. This irasci- ble dislike was merely the old bachelor's dis- approval of young men, a sentiment lurking in the breast of all but the most noble of that species. When Mr. Archibald Yarington looked at Tom Thorhey's tall, active form, large, well- balanced head, massive forehead for one so young, and keen, good-tempered eye, he felt a sudden thrill of fear that, in spite of his wealth, youth was pushing him into his grave. "I agree with you, my dear sir; a brough- am in the park is. cic, whereas a four-in-hand must savor a little of the parvenu," ho was saying, in a smoothy modulated voice. And as the gentleman himself came, distinctly un- der this head of a dreaded class, he was the last person to acknowledge it. "Of course, one must regard such items," returned the tall gentleman, in a prim, precise voice. "One can not transplant the customs of the Bois or the Row here in a moment; it takes time." Then, as the smaller gentleman bowed and departed, he stoodmTbbing one white hand over the other, gazing at-vacancy, and repeating, "It takes time," as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Young Tom thought he had never seen two such singular persons; and whatever they meant by chic, and parvenu, and broughams, and the Row, was all Greek to him. "Can you tell me, sir-" he began. "Ah! you wish to see me?" said the gen- tleman, surveying Tom with a pleasant glance. "Follow me." This the lad accordingly did, feeling half exultant, half guilty, as he passed Mr. Timmy again. He was determined to leave no stone unturned to find employment; and this rich man's heart might be moved toward a boy / thrown on his own resources in a great city. He was not whining for sympathy; but there was the wall, and he must accept any rope thrown to him by a friendly hand to scale it. Besides, Tom's faith in humanity was large, from the very generosity of his own nature. They entered a handsomely appointed pri- vate office, where the boy was requested to be seated in an arm-chair that twirled uneasily on a pivot. In these small details the gentleman was so courteous to Tom, that he began to feel ashamed, and that he was claiming attention under a false pretense. "I am' afraid there is some mistake, and that I am troubling you,i' he said, reddening with embarrassment. "I have no business, except to ask you to give me employment." The gentleman did not appear to be dis- pleased, but regarded the ingenuous color in the boy's cheek with that peculiar, absent glance. "What can you do?" he inquired, finally, pressing the tips of his white fingers together, and critically examining the nails. "I can learn to do any thing to make a liying. I have to begin, you know," said Tom, earnestly. "Good, very good," assented his companion, with a gentle nod of tho head; "and after- ward you will be a millionaire, eh?" "As to that, I wi I be something," said Tom, energetically, tossing his hair back, and open- ing those confident young eyes on the future. Somehow he had no fear or restraint in stat- ing his opinions to Mr. Timmy's principal. "I will soee what can be done; I like you, and it is our duty tot give young fellows a lift." "And I like yoi^," responded ardent Tom, extending his hand, which the gentleman took slowly and thoughtfully. "Would you serve me, I wonder?"-doubt- fully. "Yes," replied Tom, steadily. "I believe it. Write your address there, and I will send you word to-morrow." Then, as Tom wrote rapidly, the gentleman added, jingling his watch-chain: "Where did you come from?" "The country, sir." "That I should know. But what portion of the country?" "Up among the hills, sir; from my native town of Greenville." The gentleman stood for fully five minutes after Tom left, in the same attitude, twisting the links of his watci-chain through his fingers. Evidently thought traveled slowly with him; then he ejaculated, suddenly, "Lord bless my soul! What a coincidence!" CHAPTER XII. WHTELAW, RANDOLPH & CO. TOM THORNLEY left the banking-house of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. with a light heart. he had found a rich gentleman who would help him. Farewell to the dull weight of anxiety, with dwindling funds, and a pros- pect of no work. In the buoyancy of his spirits he prepared to stroll along the thoroughfare to his lodging, instead of hastening his steps to save precious moments, as he had done on the previous three days. There is no phase of edu- cation so vivid and interesting to your country lad as a city street. With ready wit and quick perception, he acquires whole chapters in that great volume of human nature in a single hour, and-stores the knowledge in his brain for ful- ture use. Even the Hebrew vender, who reaps the harvest, of a day out of dolls that are war- ranted to squeak, which then prove squenkless at home, and consequently moves on, had his moral to teach. As for Tom, with all his senses athirst, lie drank in sight and sound. Overhead was a strip of blue sky; then a line of roofs; then awnings, swinging signs, and gilded placards; below a sea of vehicles, each striving to gain an advantage over the other. Charming tints of color everywhere-the shop windows heaped with jewelry, pictures, books, and rainbow silks to feast the eye upon-the passing throng, bearing the impress of every nationality in the variety of features and form. Tom Thornley took a childish pleasure in all, to the crimson bubbles of toy balloons, poised like a cluster of grapes over the balloon-man's head. What rapture of sated maturity ever equals the first zest of enjoyment in novelty at Tom's age? He had not begun to question motive yet, that canker-blight on faith. A young man, drooping, languid, and pale, stood before a hotel, drawing on a lavender glove. His unvarying listlessness was punct- uated by a yawn as Tom passed-yawning amidst all the life of that brilliant day I Two small boys, meagre; tattered, shrewd beyond their years, shrilly proffered a patent pocket- book strap. "Only twenty-five cents, and keep all your ready rhing safe, young gent," said the spokes- man, cocking one eye up at Tom with sparrow- like wisdom. At this juncture a chubby, rosy cash-boy darted out of a large dry goods store to adjust a shade. "Tell you what," said the street merchant to the cash-boy hireling, "you'd better take up our business-make a heap more money." A cloud of doubt obscured the cash-boy's face. Behold! here was the problem of life presented to him at an early age. What to grasp in the race, and what to relinquish? Then, having sown their seed of discontent, and failed to make Toni a customer, the two little Arabs skurried on. These three boys knew far more at their age than did Tom Thornley. Their little wits had been sharpen- ed on that grindstone, the city, to a rare pre- cocity. Emergencies which they would have eluded 'with an eel-like celerity might have left Tom a bewildered captive. Cheerfully did our hero seek shelter in a large, shabby-genteel house, where a faded, ab- stracted landlady had consented to rent him a dreary little room up under the roof, and serve him meals of a gritty and doubtful flavor for a moderate price. A strip of green carpet, with adhesive qualities, and a stony bed of dingy complexion, at first appalled the boy, fresh from the exquisite cleanliness of Mrs. Wald's home; but he had made up his mind to con- quer trifles. He bounded up the narrow stair- way, fell into a cheval-de-frise of coal-scut- tles and brooms on the landing, left by the chamber-maid while she tried on a new bonnet belonging to the lady on the second floor, and brought sunshine with him into the little room. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] Never mind the stale odors of cookery per- vading that neighborhood; the discordant jan. gle ofbells on discouraged looking rag-carts; the weary round of hand-organ music. Tom was prepared to laugh to scorn these minor evils, as he lighted the one battered gas-jet his apartment boasted, and with sparkling eyes began to read a letter from home. Htaving finished the perusal, he arranged his own writ- ing materials, and said, with a smile, "Now for Henry Oldenburg!" Mrs. Wald had fortified Tom with the ,ex- ample of this remarkable man, whose claim to fame seems chiefly to rest on his having an- swered a letter at the moment of its reception. The round, boyish writing would be highy prized in Greenville now. Mrs. Wald was in- formed, at great length, that the banking-house of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. had made over- tures for the services of Thomas Thornley. When the college prospect had been relin- quished, after that bitter struggle of renuncia- tion, the boy, with characteristic energy, had set about finding work at once. His educa- tion was good-a plain, solid foundation, capa- ble of any amount of embellishment; and with those languages especially dear to the country pedagogue's soul, Greek and Latin, cultivated wholly at the expense of modern tongues. One of the straws which might have turned the yet small stream of the boy's ambition was Deacon Shaw, flapping straw-hat pushed back, nose in the air as if scenting the breeze, and spectacles twinkling at Tom. "Wal, I dunno;, boys an't much account, except for chores," said the deacon, stroking his jaws reflectively. ,c"P'raps, seeing as you belong to Mis' Wald, I might try ye a spell." "I don't wish to be tried on her account," said Tom, stiffly. ' Hoity-toity!" returned the deacon, " spunk is expensive sometimes. Wal, I dunno but I'll say yes. You may come." With which great concession Tom marched home to Mrs. Wald. "So you would like to be Deacon Shaw's clerk?" she said, quietly. "It might do until I got something better," said Tom, dubiously. Mrs. Wald surveyed the boy with one cold, withering glance from head to foot, and drop- ped shot and shell on his pride. 0 "I' advise you to take the position at once, if you feel that to be Deacon Shaw's clerk is v all you are worth. Every one finds his own 1 level sooner or later." Tom winced, and turned crimson. From v ' the professional men of her own family to *Deacon Shaw's clerk was indeed a transition. Mrs. Wald herself was stung at contemplating i such a termination for her ideal man-child. Sometimes the strong prejudices of women 3 serve a good purpose in goading men to great- i er exertions. Tom thornley was thus goaded: ' he turned his back forever on Deacon Shaw's store, with the post-office in one corner, and its atmosphere of red flannel, cheese, and her-' rings. Perhaps he was hurt by grandmother's calm resignation when he gave up the college project; felt that she rated him lower than he deserved, and determined to justify himself in her eyes yet. i His cheeks tingled again, as he folded the letter, at the remembrance of Mrs. Wald's cut- ting irony, which Iay more in her expression than her words. Then he saw the slight figure of Katherine Wald, standing at the gate as lie departed, striving to master the tears which would come. He was the boy going forth into the busy world; she was the girl left behind. "God bless her" said Tom, as his weary head touched that dingy pillow; and it soothed his vanity to think that Kate believed in him. He was asleep almost before the thought was framed in words, and little less than an enrthquake would have aroused him before the sun again rose. I Next morning the lad dressed carefully, ate his breakfast, and seated himself at the win- dow, to await the summons from the bank- ing-house of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. Poor Tomn longed to rush out into the streets again, but was deterred by fear of missing his visitsr. When twelve o'clock tolled from the city clocks, therefore, his impatience may be imag- ined. At this heour the untidy chamber-maid thrust her head, which was ornamented with an enormous tow chignon, into the door, with- out any preliminary ceremony of knocking, and announced- "There's a young man below afther want- ing ye." Tom dashed down, and invited his visitor to ascend the dark stairway; then, when he had proffered his only chair to the stranger, sitting himself on the edgei of the bed, the two young men had leisure to observe one another. Tom's visitor was very small and thin, with a wiry activity suggestive of more nerve than muscle. He was dark, with blue-black hair; large eyes, with the surface polish of jet; receptive, yet revealing nothing-a narrow, Indian type of head, and sallow little hands. Attired in black, with a dry, reserved manner, coming and go- ing silently, he resembled nothing so mulch as a respectable blackbird. This was Mr. Tim- noy's favorite clerk, Antonio Tismado, While Tom betrayed an irrepressible curios- ity about his visitor-for at this stage of his existence he felt the most lively interest in ev- ery new face--Antonio evinced not the slight- est feeling in return. Indeed, ihe looked at Tom with that peculiar bored expression which seems to gaze bcyond the object addressed. Tom was not well-bred, Alas! the polish of society had not schooled him into that calm imperturbability which nothing ruffles into sur- prise or anger. He was ready to make friends with Antonio Tismado, and become acquaint- ed with his intdrests in life at once. But if he hoped to fatthom the depths of that shadowy young gentleman's inner consciousness, he was vastly mistaken. "You are to come with me," he announced, with a slight foreign accent. "I am ready," responded Tom. The tall gentleman was fidgeting abo ut the inner office when they arrived. "You must learn to be more prompt, if you would be a successful business man," he said, testily. "I came directly, "said downright Tom. "You did, ell? Then that Splanish rascal has wasted a cool two hours." "What am I to do, sir?" asked Toin, itnx- ious to repair the loss of time. "That is-the question," said tihe tall gentle- nan,.with an uneasy laugh. "The facet is, I seem to have taken a fincy to your fiace, but I am not sure that I do right to hold up false hopes to you until I have consulted-others." Tom could scarcely credit his ears, the blow of disappointment was so keen and unexpected. That was not the way he would treat poor boys it' he were it rich man, he assured himself. "You know best," he said, with a rising flush of mortification. "Do you mean the other partners, sir?" "No. Yes, partner in a way," replied the gentleman, looking out the window irresolute- ly. The fact was, the gentleman was think- ing of his own wife. Here was the rose-tinted bubble exploded. Here was the chateau en Espagne blown away by a rude gust of wind. And he had written to grandmother that he had been accepted by Wlitelaw, Randolph & Co. "There, there," said the gentleman, as if rendered uncomfortable by Tom's changrin, "I will surely get you a berth, and I think I shall take you in here. Now let us have a holiday. 'Do not worry, my child--I will take care of you. Come with me." Tom followed soberly, but somehow he 1had lost faith in the gentleman's protection. Before Mr. Timmy's desk they halted. "Mr. Timmy, you must teacll your Spanish clerk to tell the truth." "Sir?" replied Mr. Timmy, bridling. Antonio Tismado listened without the quiver of an eyelid, his steady gaze fixed on his nc- cuser. Now, it is a curious fiect that honest people, whose position carries thant weight of respectability so dear to the souls of rascals, because they do not possess it, are always be- ing made the shield for villains ; and the villain will find no such steady advocate, who sliuts eyes and ears to reason, and holds the most pig-headed fiith in him, as the honest man who has once vouched for him, and will not allow thati he has been mistaken. This is not saying that Antonio Tismado was a rascal; but Mr. Timmy had received r lirn under his wing, had been the nconsciousns recipient of much del- icate flattery from the artful clerk, and would not hear one word against him. "It does not take three hours to go to Street," said the principal, irritably. Antonio never said a word: he knew that it was entirely unnecessary. "There are two sides to that story, sir," finid Mr. Timmy, with a triumphant glance at Tom. "Let me hear no more about it," said his superior, laughtily, and wevnt otut. "Strange how people can be deceived,". ob- served Mr. Timmy, witl a lofty smile. "That boy, who really has a look I don't half like, has taken him in completely." "Ah! what does it matter?" said Antonio, coolly, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders. "He wish to make his way; that is all. May I send you some of the port- wine? My friend's slip have come, and it will not go through the customs." "Really, it is thoughtful in you to remem- ber me," said good Mr. Timmy, a glow of pleasure overspreading hs features. Tom Thornley, with an evil countenance, seen through the distorting spectacles of the cashier's dislike! The boy's face was an open pange, with all the varying emotions plainly delineated on it. Does the reader recall Charles Lamb's story, where prejudice dictated the advertisement of a runaway thief of decent aspect, who could never be recognized by the description? Mr. Timmy and Antonio Tismado had not seen the last of Tom Thornley yet. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] CHAPTER XIII. TOM AS A GUEST. A CARRIAGE waited at the door, with black horses fretting and champing silver bits, and a dignified English coachman on the box. "Enter," said the gentleman; and to Tom's infinite amazement he found himself in the car- riage, which was like the most luxurious nest of crimson satin. The gentleman sank back into his corner and read a letter. Tom was pleased with the beauty of the equipage, a sen- sation speedily followed by a nervous longing to escape. At his age the freedom to use his own limbs was preferable to driving. The lad had not the slightest idea where he was going, nor what was to become of him. He only wished it was possible to recall that letter to grandmother. . Not the only person, in the world, young Tom, who would give all to rescue a missive dropped into that maelstrom, the mail, a moment before. As they bowled along the streets he could not help thinking of the mysterious adventures of certain' heroes in the "Arabian Nights "-a work known- to the boys of Greenville- and wondering whither his guide would take him; for the stranger to-day maintained a pompous distance of manner which forbade much ques- tioning on the part of a young person. Finally they paused before a house possess- ing a marked originality among the rows of brown stone edifices. It was not that the house was gaudy or ostentatious; on the con- trary, it was massive and plain, yet it differed from its neighbors. In passing, curiosity would flame the question, "Who lives here?"-the very windows having a suggestive look; and to make the casual throng ask this question had been a distinct intention with the builder before a brick was laid. On the threshold the gentleman broke into genial smiles; his reserve, or nervousness, or whatever disturbed him, seemed to have melt- ed away. "This is my house, just completed," he said, with a childish delight in possession. Now, if Tom Thornley had been a trifle more experienced, he might have realized that this whole proceeding was very extraordinary, and begun to search for motives. As it was, the boy was bewildered and delighted. Never had he dreamed of so beautiful a, place of abode. "You see," commenced the host, evidently enjoying the impression produced, "my wife made most of the plans, which were modified by the architect afterward,of course. I pre- sume you never heard before of a lady who de- signed a house, eh? ' No, Tom never had. "I thought as much," said the gentleman, settling his chin in his collar, and regarding the boy with a gratified look. By this time Tom thought, him very funny indeed, perhaps a little cracked. The mansion was low and broad, having Ibur large windows on the street, where space was so valuable that many of the squeezed-up slices of houses had the appearance of considering them- selves fortunate to get there at all, and of a mel- low cream-tinted stone, in fine relief against the dark hue of the two tanking houses. The wide door, of massive, polished wood, richy carved, the knobs being of bronze, opened into a mar- ble-paved vestibule, with a low flight of marble steps leading up from thence to a landing, where a stained-glass window of richy blended colors filtered the daylight in purple and amber bloom. Beneath the windo was a bronze medallion, inserted in the wall, bearing a coat of arms. It was thus that the dwelling blew its own trump- et at the outset, and caused an involuntary smile. To the right a second elaborate portal led to a library; to the'left a corridor extended the length of the house, presenting a charming per- spective of arches, lace-curtained alcoves, and spacious rooms. The air was heavy with the perfume of flowers from an invisible conserva- tory, and vocal with the trilling of birds in an aviary, which mingled with the soothing ripple of a fountain. In a dream- Tom, whose life had hitherto been passed amidst the most prosaic realities, wandered into a lofty drawing-room, all gilt and white, the chairs having fragile legs, and the tables blushing with the delicate flower tracery of Florentine art; then gazed incred- ulously at the crystal pendants and chandeliers brought into superb harmony with the crimson velvet of a smaller parlor; then laughed with delight at the aspect of a little room which the gentleman called a boudoir, with fluted pink hangings, a rose-flushed atmosphere, and quaint cabinets. Before these marvels became at all real; he was led into that already perceptible conservatory, a tropical world of palms, and ferns, and gorgeous exotics, which added a link, like a crystal bubble, to the chain of communi- cating rooms; thence to the fluttering life of the aviary, where the sun smote rainbow tints from the plumage of the inhabitants, a noisy realm presided over by a gray parrot of vener- able aspect. Perhaps the picture-gallery enchanted the boy most, for in every scene traced by some gifted master he lost his own identity. His host accompanied him, eagerly launching into discussions-all on one side-and descriptions of rare objects of virtu that readily captivated his. listener. Tom's mind was a quicksand ingulfing all information. The fact was, the gentleman needed an audience, and Tom served the purpose. In the picture-gallery he left his visitor a while. / "I have a few good things here," he remark- ed, with a deprecating wave of the hand. Mr. Yarington, or any other member of the beau monde, would have discovered here an opportunity for polite disclaimer and protest. Tom simply stared. Then it was that the gentleman took himself off, leaving Tom to seek his own amusement. "I suppose he is honest," reflected the elder, with a sigh and sudden collapse. How could he expect Tom to be a Chester- field? Left alone, the boy yielded to that novel luxury of losing himself in the pictures. Now he wandered with powdered dames and gallant cavaliers, clad in satin and gold em- broidered- garments, amidst the stiff parterres of Versailles; now he glided in a gondola through shadowy Venetian canals, and out into the radiance of moon-frosted St. Mark; now he stood in the burning noonday of the Cam- pagna and looked into the dreamy eyes of a dusky Contadina. The curious scenes through which he rambled seemed endless. Heo sxaw bull-fights;, droll, shabby artists in their nte- liers; homely Dutch kitchens, with shining copper utensils. lIe was abruptly recalled to reality by a summons to dinner. If grand- mother and Kate could only see these pictures! Even Eunice would be wild over Queen Eliza- beth, for she could almost have felt the cm- broidery on her yellow gown. Adjoining the conservatory was a luncheon- room, which seemed to shade to a deeper green, like the leaf of the plant, with a large table of black marble of a grain so fine that it resembled onyx, and beyond was the dining- room. Throughout the slight division of arch- es was preserved, instead of rigid outline of doors, forming harmonious curves pleasing to the eye, with an occasional draping of curtains where colors would not blend, or a discreet toning down of lace where one apartment should merge imperceptibly into another. Tom felt horribly shy and awkward as he approached the table, covered with a snowy" cloth, and a silver epergne holding flowers in the centre. In vain he fortified himself with Mrs. Wald's opinion: "You are the equal of any man." Iie saw only the stranger's over- whelming kindness in inviting him, a rude hoy, to share this dainty feast, whereas the fenst would have been cqually dainty had the liobt dined' alono. So Tom sipped fiery sotp, ate fish and roast, entretets and crisl: salad, as well as all the other good things o0' a wcll-rcgulated dinner; while the noiseless servant whisked crumbs and dishes away, and cupids held rose garlands above his head on the frescoed ceiling. lIo might gaze his fill in other portions of the house, but at table he took refuge in the stoi- cism of a North American Indian; for was not the dreaded eye of the noiseless servant on his every movement? Though he should strangle, yet would he not betray surprise, nor evince in- terest in the engravings of fish and game on the walls, in the exquisite designs of the china, the glitter of plate. "Do you drink wine? I never urge young lads, if they are unaccustomed to it; although abroad it is a common beverage." "I have drank grandmother's currant and elderberry wine," said Tom, frankly. "It is very nice and sweet, but it goes to your bead after a little." "Then try some of this claret, and judge page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] if it equals grandmother's home manufacture," said the host, filling a slender glass, and smil- ing. "By-.thc-bye, who is your grandmoth- er'?" "She is not a relative, but she brought me up, and her name is Mrs. Hopeful Wald." "Bless my soul, how stupid!" for the gen- tleman had dropped his fork, and stooped for it, before the servant could anticipate him, coming up with a very red face. "If any thing annoys me, it is to be guilty of blundering at dinner. I tell you, sir, we do not dine in this country, and it is time that we learned the art. We shall be a greater and a nobler people when we pay due attention to our digestion." "Not dine?" repeated Tom. "Why, we always do." "You fancy that you do, perhaps." Tom was too positive a youth to be put dorwn in this fashion. he forgot all about the fork misadventure in this fresh astonishment. "I know that I dine at half-past twelve o'clock in Greenville. I never missed mny din- ner in my life." "You call that meal a dinner?" ",Ccrtainly. You would not call it break- fast or supper, I suppose?" asked Tom, in some I alarm, as the doubt of his companion's sanity i again flashed through his mind. "That is it. You wedge a certain amount i of coarse meat-and lucky' for you if it be not fried-and vegetables into your stomach; and consideryourself filled. Zounds! It is treat- c ing one of the most important organs like a V leather bag to be stocked for traveling. My p son, have you tasted truffles, mushrooms, or I patd de foie gras ." i "Never heard of 'em," replied Tom, f promptly. i The noiseless servant drew his finger across n his mouth. He had Tom at last; the lad had not charged on the crockery, or upset the de- h canter; but now the noiseless servant smiled, f, and Tom felt that smirk straight through the b back of his head. It fairly shriveled his pride. 1 "I thought as much," said the host, sadly, e leaning back in his chair and raising his wine- to glass, for by this time they were finishing des- 1I sert. 'iTell me more about yourself, child. tl Are you an orphan? Theodore, you may Ic leave us." As we have already said, apart from the Ic luxury of his surroundings, Tomn's entertainer h did not inspire much awe. Tom related ev- ery thing concerning his own life freely, pleased tc by the interest manifested in the recital. ,He told about how Mrs. Wald had taken him, a fe little child, when his mother died, and then fol- lowed a description of Katy and Eunice. "A very kind lady, evidently. Had she no childrecn of her own?" "Katy is her grandchild, and she had a daughter, I believe. I know nothing about her; she must be dead." "r Now you have come to town to make your for tune. Have you written home yet?" "Yesi I wrote last night, and I am very sorry, for I thought you had accepted me." "Did you mention me?" with pouncing sud- ' denness. Tom laughed. "I don't know yet whether you are Mr. Whitelaw or Mr. Randolph." "My dear young friend," said the other, in a confidential tone, "I an going to make a bargain with you. I shalll find you employ- ment, and I am always to be a friend. When youll need assistance, you are to come to me, remember. AMy nanre is Vync;, but I belong to the firm. Observe, the less you write home the better, until you achieve some marked suc- cess. Keep the good people informed as to the state of your health and all that sort of thing, of course. We all have our hobbies, you know, and mine is that I detest playing the role of benefactor. Whatever is done for you is the act of the firm. Do you understand 1" "Yes, sir," assente'd Tom. Could any caprice of tills Mr. Vyner's seem queer after that talk about t)ate and truffles, and Americans not dlining at all? tIe was going to benefit Tom,land had a right to make his own terms. Nor did the boy attach much importance to the stipulation; it was not the first time he had heard of the left hand ignor- ing tLle charity of the right, and the doing of alms in secret. "Good boy," said the gentleman, patting him approvingly on tdle shoulder, as they rose from table. After that there were valuable books to glance over iln the library by the mel- low radiance of an alabaster lamp, and the evening flew by on wings. Mr. Vyner seemed to cling to the companionship of the boy in the lonely house. He insisted on Tom's spending the night instead of returning to his shabby lodging. Thus it transpired that young Thomas Thorn- ley slept beneath that roof before the lady who had so carefully planned the house entered it. "I am bound to hlp him, poor lad," mut- tered the host, when alone. In weak natures it is difficult to judge where folly ends and cunning begins. CIIAPTER XIV. TOM BE'COMES A BLACK SIIEEP. "AND so you visit 'The Palace,' said An- tonio Tisnmado, with a quiet sneer, as he made an entry in his delicate, feminine handwriting. "'What if I do? Are you the only man admitted?" said Tom, very testily. Antonio Tismado, acting on others as an ir- ritating current, could generally keep his own temper under control, while Tom was easily an- gered. Believing in the adage that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, the senior clerk edged nearer Mr. Timmy, await- ing hs opportunity. "Has that Thornley copied the register?" "I have done it myself," rellied Antonio, withi a slight hesitation of manner well calcu- lated to arouse suspicion. "Why have you done it, wheli I told ypu to give it to himi?" demanded Mr. Timiiy. Antonio laughed his dry, mirthess, little laugh. "As to that, -we must not be hard on hii for Iiis youth. He is surely fatigued to- da:v. " "And hiow has lie fatigued himself?" in- quired the cashier, polishing his cyc-glitss, with quite it fierce expression. Antonio's thin, dark face drew on a sorrow- ful expression. "I have a friend who what you call here goes to the bad, and his wife send me out to find him last night. I went to 'The Palace,' and there was young Thornley. It is nothing; boys will go astray to seem like men. Only this morning he must be very tired, and I do the copying." Mr. Timmy shook his head solemnly. "I never liked the look of tiat boy. There's something in the eye-an expression not quite open and honest, I fancy." The good mann held his vial of wrath full and corked, and he poured it on Tom's head before the morning had passed. "Look here, Master Thornley, when I give you a task I expect you to do it. No shirking is allowed in this office, I can tell you. It makes no difference with your work if you have been in haunts of vice overnight, al- though you will find in the end that your char- acter suffers by such a course." Tom wats speechess with indignation. It must be confessed that he glared at Mr. Tim- my before he found words to reply. When one has been doing one's very best, in the ex- pectation of carning commendation, it is a tri- al to be accusced of "shirking." "I do not understand you," he said, un- steadily. "I understand you," returned the cashier, significantly. "Mr. Timmy, in this free land no iman is condemned iwithout fair trial!,y julry. What haive I done?" Thus brought faice to fe with faclts, which were that Tismado hand k;cpt Tom's work to do himself, Mr. Timmy was forced to parry thlis question with another. "Do you spend your evenings in that rum- hole called 'The Palace?' For shame!" "Oh," retorted Tom, with withering sar- casm; "so Mr. Tismiado has been tale - bear- ing. I suppose he is prepared to state how he spend his evenings?" "I have done so," said Tismtnado, quietly. "What!" exclaimed Tom, thunderstruck. "Go back to your desk, and Icarn to be more respectful for the future," said Mr. Tim- my, sternly. "I tell you what," remarked Charley Adams, giving Tom a gentle nuldge; "you had better look out--when we are among the Romans, you know; and Tismado generally manages things here. A good many clerks have left in his day; I am always expecting to get my quietus." "You do not mean that Tismado manages the whole house?" said Tom, scornfully. "No. dd Timmy manages the clerks, and Tismado mannages old Timnmy," said this wise child of the vi'y. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] Charley Adams was a handsome young man, with flaxen hair and china-blue eyes; very fond of "larking," as he expressed it, and averse to work. Could he have fashioned the world over on his own pattern, he would have abol- ished all tiresome mercantile transactions, and had life one long holiday. "I am not afraid of him," said Tom, stout- ly. "Do you suppose I will truckle to a sneak like that? Besides, I have done nothing to injure him, while he tries to throw blame on me. I do not understand it." Tom Thornley had been received into the service of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co., as his patron had promised three months before, yet his lines were by no means cast in pleasant places. He was subjected to many galling an- noyances by the crafty Tismado, for which there was no redress; and the reprimand of the morning was not the first received from the cashier, goaded by the pricking of that tiny lancet held ready by the Spaniard. Had Mr. Timmy been taxed with having yielded to the influence of Tismado in judging Tom, he would have indignantly denied the charge. He saw with his own eyes, if you please, and Tis- mado said very little. True, but that quanti- ty contained a subtle poison. Tom was not one of those immaculate he- roes who go home at night, and sit in dreary rooms all the evening reading some weighty tome to improve the mind. He was full of life and eager curiosity. Accordingly, Char- ley Adams, with the superior air of a man about town, had undertaken to show Tom the sights. In this round they had reached ' The Palace " the night before. "Every fellow goes there once in a season, at least," said Tom's flaxen-haired mentor, with the baby face, "The Palace" was a low haunt, all tinsel and sham splendor, the stale atmosphere nau- seous with tobacco and liquor fumes, where dancers whirled, actresses sang, and the fire- water circulated freely in the veins of the com- pany. An evening in "The Palace " possessed a spice of danger dear to the heart of boys; if one was not boldly robbed, there was always a reasonable chance of becoming involved in a mdlee with some of the choice spirits assem- bled. This fact alone was sufficient to make Charley and Tom set their teeth firmly and plunge in, wondering if they should ever see the light of day again-a low, narrow passage worn by many feet, then a large hall, with flar- ing gas-jets, stifling and impure, as if the very air of heaven became tainted from contact with debased humanity. Tom felt giddy and ill. While he gazed around confused and bewilder- ed, a sliding door revealed Antonio Tismado in a small room, seated at a table covered with green baize, playing cards, and with wine- glasses and bottles at hand. It was only a flash; there was just time for Antonio's black eyes to meet Tom's amazed blue ones before the door closed again. Charley Adams had vanished, melted away altogether. Fighting his way out, for wany rude detaining hands interposed, Tom discov- ered that young gentleman standing beneath the star of gas, which invited the public to en- ter, by burning like an ogre's eye in the dark- ness of the street, conversing in a friendly way with a policeman. "Did you see Tismado?"' gasped Tom. "Was he there?" inquired the prudent Charley, evasively. "I guess we had best quit 'The Palace;' it is such a rough place." All day was Mr. Timmy made to feel the pricking of that detestable little lancet, until he finally laid down his pen with the firm be. lief that an entirely spontaneous idea had come into his mind. He went to Mr. Vyner, and informed him that it was to be feared his protege had got into bad habits. Tismado watched the movements of his puppet with a quiet chuckle. Speaking to Mr. Vyner might work two ways, either of which would be better than inaction. Mr. Vyner might discharge Tom, or the latter might become incensed, and resign. "And who told you that the boy has gone astray?" asked Mr. Vyner, abruptly. ' "Tismado was obliged to tell me to conceal a fault." "It seems to me that Tismado is a meddle- some fellow, and you quote him much too oft- en, Mr. Timmy." "' I form my own opinion of people, sir, gen- erally without any help," said the cashier, tartly. Ho went- back to his desk with his heart swelling within him at the injustice of the world, but also with a wise resolution to de- vote himself more exclusively to his own busi- ness for the future. He even glanced at An- tonio pityingly. The idea! He, Silas Timmy, influenced by that puny creature. Preposter- ous! Antonio came to him for advice constant- ly, and really seemed unable to act alone. And he was kinder than usual to the Spaniard af. terward, with'a condescending affability. Mr. Randolph entered the office with an ex- cited aspect. "Timmy!" he exclaimed, "Whithy has got out our schedule this morning--precisely sim- ilar! What do you think of that? A cool fifty thousand as good as swept away!" Mr. Timmy opened his mouth, in the ex- tremity of his astonishment and dismay, to give utterance to his thought, but Mr. Ran- dolph, with one sweeping glance at the clerks, darted on and disappeared in the private office. Mr. Randolph was the swallow of the firm; lie made ten swift flights to one of his partner's rounds, and was frequently to be met coming around unexpected corners, or fluttering down obscure courts. Had we not compared him with a swallow, we should say he resembled a hawk, always surveying the field with a keen eye. The information given by BIr. Timmy acted in the most unexpected way on Tom's patron. Mr. Vyner called at theo shabby lodging, paid the bill, ordered Tom's luggage forwarded, and actually informed the boy that he was about to take him home. "Just for tho present, until wo see what is best to bo done," he explained. "I can not understand your interest in me," said Tom, frankly and gratefully. "Very possibly not," was the dry response. A delightful fortnight passed, when Tom ran home one day, and admitted himself with a key. He heard voices. Mr. Vyner's family had not yet arrived, and lie stole along cau- tiously, in hopes of capturing the burglars fear- ed by the master of the house. On the threshold of the diining-room ho paused, spell-bound at the sight which met his gaze. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] CHAPTER XV. MRS. VYNER AT HOME. A GIRL stood in the aviary playing with the birds. The mere suggestion creates a picture in the mind of brilliant noonday light coming through all the windows, of a soft flut- ter of wings, a preening of rainbow feathers, a twitter of myriad bird voices, and- in the midst youth in a shimmering white dress. Tom feasted his eyes upon the apparition. Here was no low-browed, bullet-headed burg- lar, murderous weapon at side, but a fairy princess all airy motion, grace, and vivacity. The stranger was very pretty, and not more than twelve years of age. She was dark, as are Spanish and Italian maidens, with large, velvet soft eyes, a face delicately oval, richy tinted on cheek and lip. Her mouth was still infantile, full, pouting, beautifully arched, and concealing small white teeth. She exempli- fied no transition stage of awkward, bony con- dition, like Katherine Wald, but a slender symn- metry, which may have been due in part to the becominigness of her attire. She held a cockatoo in an affectionate embrace, by pass- ing her arm around the perch to which it was chained, and was talking to the bird in a low, cooing voice. When she saw Tom a merry smile rippled across her face, with a sudden brilliant flash of eyes and white teeth, and she again bent over the cockatoo, which raised a crest of emerald feathers in a graceful attitude, at once child- ish and coquettish. "Whol are you?" she inquired at last, the silence becoming irksome. Before the boy could reply, he was diverted by a fresh marvel. A lady advanced to the girl's side, and also regarded him, yet with the cool, indifferent glance of maturity. If the daughter was pretty, the mother was amazing- ly beautiful. A resemblance could be readily traced ; but the elder was of a supple, elegant form, clad in a long, simple velvet robe fiasten- ed with a pearl brooch at the throat, and her hair was of that soft milky whiteness so sng- gestive of French art. A calm, proud face, perfect in feature, the lips thinner and more resolute than those bf the girl, a straight nose, with flexible nostril capable of scornful dila- tion, and large, imperious eyes, confironted Tom. "What do you wish? Who are you?" she inquired. The suggestion of possible intrusion nettled Tom. "'Perhaps she thinks I am the burglar," he said to himself, recovering his wits a little. he made a step forward into the light as he replied, "I am Thomas Thornley.. Mr. Vyner-" Tonm did not finish the sentence, so startling was the effect of his own words. A strange green pallol crept over the lady's face; she put out her hands feebly, like one blinded bv a blow, and, with a low cry, fell heavily on the marble pavement. For a moment her two companions looked at each other helplessly, then at that long vel- vet dress stretched on the floor. The girl seemed afraid; she slipped her little hand into Tom's broad palm, and whispered, "What is it?" "Only a faint, I think," replied Tom, press- ing the little hand re-assuringly. "I will call Heloise; she will know what to do;" and the daughter darted away. Tom's experience of feminine nerves was limited. Mrs. Wald and Kate had no nerves, so to speak; yet instinct taught him to seize a glass vase in the dining-room, hold it beneath the fountain's spray, and dash the contents over the lady's face. In consequence, before the girl- returned sihe uttered a shudderling sigh, and opened her dark eyes, fixing them on Tom with an expression that he never forgot. It is said that the eye reveals an emotion which may be concealed by all the other features. There was dread, hatred, and fear in the eyes of this stranger with the snowy hair. She rose slowly to her feet, spurning his assistance, and leaned on the cockatoo's perch for support. "Leave my house. By what right are you here?" her words cut like the lash of a whip, ex- pressive as they were of scornful contempt. Tom might well wonder how he had offended the mistress of the house, when she had never setIn him before in'her life. In his simplicity be imagined that site had arrived unexpected- ly, and had taken umbrage at his being a guest in her beautiful new abode. "She need not treat me as if I were a dog. At lcast, I am a hutman being, and only poor," lie thought, the hot blood mounting to his hicad. He met the daughter flying back with the French maid, a voluble, nut-brown damsel,with a crimped muslin cap on her shining hair, and a neat dress, so ditfircnt from that of any oth- er class of servants. "Ah, Mon Dieu!" she cried, as she ran to the aviary. Mrs. Vyner still stood leaning on the cocka- too's perch, to the just indignation of that proud bird, who, after some croaking and scolding in expostulation, had taken the law into his own beak and pecked at her delicate wrist. So deep was her absorption that she did not seem aware of it, until a shriek from the maid call- ed her attention to the wound. At the door Tom met Mr. Vyner. "My wife and daughter have arrived most unexpectedly," he explained, hurriedly. "I am going away, sir. I will send for my things," said Tom, stiffly. "Certainly. Tihat is-utnder the circurm- stances-no doubt you are right," said the gen- tlennan, in a wandering way. If the boy expected to obtain sympathy here, his anticipations were unfounded, and perhaps he was more hurt by Mr. Vvncr's going over to tile enemy than by his wife's stinging words. How much better would it have been hnd Mr. Vyner not yielded to a weak impulse of gen- erosity and taken Tom into his house, only to permit him to be turned out as an unfit inmate when his womenkind arrived. So Tom walked away, wrath and bitterness in his soul, and for millions of money he would not have written home to grandmother tliat which had befallen him. In after-years he would look back to this day, when he rushed along the street, not seeing the objects before his angry eyes, and only able to grasp one res- olution-not to mortify grandmother and Kate hy telling them he had been turned'out of any man's house. "And if I could have nifftered college I should not be passing through all this," ho reflected, with a resentful sob rising in his throat, instant- ly checked by the fear that even a passing onm- nibus-driver should accuse him of crying. The very buildings looked hostile to the boy finom Greenville, who passed along in the chill shade of afternoon. Said Mrs. Vyner to her lord and imanster tliat evening, when they were alone, "'It seems providential that I did t:ke an1" earlier steamer, if you were entertaining Thom- as Thornley's son as your first guest." To which observation her lord and master made answer, uneasily, "My dear, you sar mistaken. I took hiii in out of charity." "Charity to him or yourself?" shei asked, sneeringly. "Really, I suppose you are jesting, imy love. The charity could only have belonged on one side. " 'I'lTere was a momentary silence between husband and wife. They were seated in that pink boudoir which had filled Tom withI de- light, the lady in one embroidered arm-chair, the gentleman lounging opposite in another. Mrs. Vyner was one of those remarkable speci- mens of her sex who can control tongue and temper until a fitting moment to speak. She had kept her own counsel all day, and was now prepared to break silence. her domestic rule was perfect. Her childrcn never heiard her scold their father or the servants, becaunse she chose an hour for the former occupation when they were in bedl, and seldom fo)und it ncessa- ry to do more than look at a rebellious menial and order the culprit out of her presence. "Since you would assert your own inde- pendence and return to America, Nwe must make the best of it; still, I should like to un- derstand what rule of conduct you intend to follow," she saidl, folding her slim hands, and looking critically at the hangings of the win- dow. "I have made no rules, I assure you," said Mr. Vyner, in some alarm at the bare notion. "I am glad to get back, and so will you be, I hope. I did wish to return, certainly; I must have felt that vague unrest, m1l d( pays, stroll- ing eternally on those boulevards, anlays a stranger." "Oblige me by adhering to the original subject. My experience of your disposition is that you usually suffer from some vague unrest, which may be named tral de pays, if you like. I trust thoe business interests of Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. may conquer this ennui, Mr. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] Vyner. Paris is a delightful home for Ameri- cans; you had plenty of friends there, and when your daughter grew up, she might have married a nobleman. However, we are here, and, even if we have made a mistake, it can not now be remedied. You say that you have no plans; I have several, and I shall be grati- fied if you consider them. In the first place, no one knows us, understand. The myster,y of an uncertain position' can be lived down. I intend to conquer it. What are you doing with that boy?" "Oh, he came to me for work. That is all," said the husband, carelessly. "He must be discharged." The listener's face clouded; he had a really kind heart. "That would be very unjust. He is a good lad." "He shall be sent away. , I will not have him here. He must leave the city, and this part of the country, and you are to see that it is done. I will decide how it is to be accom- plished." She spoke with a kind of dull passion, and yet her composure remained unmoved. "Good God I have you forgotten that his father was brought to our very door once? Be more merciful." "I am not likely to forget." A cold light gleamed in her eyes, but the looked at him ap- prehensively. !"I will smoke a cigar," said Mr. Vyner, ris- ing, a favorite excuse with him when disturb- ed. "How do you like the house, my dear?" "It will answer, with a little improvement." Verily this lady must have been to the pur- ple born, to find fault with her domicile. He went away to smoke, and afterward to bed, for he was not sufficiently well pleased with his wife to again converse with her that night. Mrs. Vyner sat gazing straight before her, with the slim hands folded,'.while the clock above her head tolled the passing hours in sil- very chimes. What had she done? What had she grown to be? A blinding light seem- ed to have streamed in on the darkness of her soul; a fiery iron scorched her conscience when that boy confronted her. She had lived in a foreign land so long, surrounded by different influences, that the memory of her past life had faded to a dream. Her husband might linger about clubs and hotels, gleaning news of his own country; she never sought information by asking a question. America was one of the latest words the girl in the aviary had been taught to lisp, and then it was not by her mother. In this gay, delightful life Mrs. Vyner chose to consider herself supremely happy, and actually was luxuriously contented, at least. Her husband knew that she obtained money on board the wreck, had been guided to find- ing it by the words of dead Thomas Thornley, yet he did not imagine that the wealth had be- longed to Thornley. The wife kept her own secret; she would trust no one with it, least of all Charles Vyner. The moment had arrived when he became unmanageable; he wished to return and found a home for his old age; he was wearied to death of inaction. Letitia was restrained from urging her own fears because he must also be kept ignorant of them. After all, what had she to dread? She consented, and he entered the banking-house as silent partner. She had come prepared to live down all painful asso- ciation, and on her own threshold was met by Thomas Thornley's son, whom she had defraud- ed and wronged. The silence of night pulsed to her feet, and yet the woman sat thinking, with icy hands and throbbing temples; until her brain reeled. Memory, long benumbed, unleashed a pack of devouring, torturing reminders that drove her calm reason in wild flight before them. A crowd of familiar shapes seemed to rise from the cloudy distance of her infancy; and if she closed her hot, dry eyes she saw the faces of Thomas Thornley and her own mother, an- gry, stern, reproachful. This last image, reso- lute and condemning, grew so plain that she need no longer close her eyes to see it; for, far down in her stony heart, inarticulate depths of early teachings were stirring, striving to find utterance. An avenging spirit seemed to poise the sword of retribution over her dwelling, and she shrank cowered before it. "I am Thom- as Thornley. -All this is mine; I have come to claim it," rang on her startled senses. The boy's head wore a halo. He judged her from a height of stainless integrity, where she would never climb; and with him stood her mother, who had never told a lie. Her nature grovel- ed before these judges-she lay prone, crush- ed, spent in the darkness, with the cimeter of that awful angel held above her fallen head. Never had this money seemed so dear, so pre:- cious a boon as now. How to live without the armor which renders contact with human- ity soft and caressing, existing apart in that golden atmosphere which rounds all asperities? To be rich was never to be shocked by rude malice; to be poor was to be jostled and tram- pled by the crowd as one of themselves. How to give it up? Again the boy's presence over- shadowed her, and the warning smote her down. "It is not yours, but mine. Give me my inheritance, that I may live." At last she raised her haggard face with an indefinable sense of relief, and saw a gleam of dawn coming in the,window. For the second time in her life, day brought relief and fresh courage. On the previous occasion she had crouched on the crest of Wolf's Head in a torn gown, with wildly flowing hair, the Elizabeth tossed by the surging waters.- To-day she was Mrs. Vyner, elegant, self-possessed, seated in a pink boudoir, with time marked by the chimes of a silver clock. An expression of lard reso- lution overspread her features. "I earned the gold at the expense of life and reason, God knows. Let the boy go. I would give up all if it were not for the chil- dren. They will need it. They shall not be paupers!" Night gathered its shades of remorse, and passed silently away. Day broke, bold, clear, rejoicing, and banished the darkness which had held that priceless germ, "A lost opportunity." CIIAPTER XVI. THE LITTLE PRINCESS. "MY brother Edward is at Rughy." "Will he then go to Oxford or Cam- bridge?" "Of course. Mamma considers that the most thorough education for a boy. I shall return to my convent; and it is such fun to cross the ocean. He will be English, while I am French, you see." "But you are both Americans." "One must be something more than that." 'I do not wish to be any thing else besides plain American. Our forefathers fought for us to be an independent people." "What a droll boy you are! I never heard such funny sayings." This conversation took place in the same cairiage that first conveyed Tom to Mr. Vyner's residence, between that gentleman's daughter Rose and our hero. It happened thus: Tom had silently taken his place in the office that morning, still under the cloud of wrong of the previous day, and he was already entertaining a misty project of going away, which would have de- lighted Antonio Tismado had he been aware of it. With the morning sunlight came a vision of youthful loveliness to that plate-glass apart- ment. Rose Vyner, with a scarlet plume nod- ding above her arch face, arrayed in soft fur and velvet, tripped in upon the astonished sight of the clerks. Mr. Timmy expanded into a gentle, beaming approbation; Tismado donned chivalry as a garment; Charley Adams lan- guished ,over his desk, and Tom smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. All this change wroght by a little maiden decked in Paris millinery. She looked at them each in turn, 'with a bird-like curve of the throat, and head- droop, and a beseeching glance, which was partly a natural craving for admiration, and partly an indefinable mockery gained in her experience of life. It was as if she had said to them, "Please try to like me," without a doubt of the result. "Where is my papa? I wish him to buy me a Skyo terrier, and I know the place." "He is out, Miss Vyner," cried Tom. Whereupon the other clerks frowned on Tom for anticipating them. "Then you must come with me," said Rose, with an imperious gesture. "If Mr. Timmy consents." "I already know him," said the girl, sweet- ly, with her little apologetic head motion, as if otherwise the pleasure of being escorted by ponderous Mr. Timmy, sallow Tismado, or flax- en Charley would have afforded her supreme satisfaction. "Oh, certainly, you can go," said the cash- ier, graciously. When she had sprang into the carriage she clapped her hands gleefully. "I am so glad it is you instead of those horrid people," shhe laughed. Then, as they were jolted slowly through narrow streets, they had the conversation above recorded concerning herself and her brother, during which Tom grew very sober. "What are you thinking about?" she in- quired at lust; for, like the sensitive plant, Rose Vvner very soon deloted change of tem- perature, and went under the cloud which en- veloped her companion. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] "How I should like to enter Oxford or one of our own colleges!" said ;Tom, slowly. "Would you? Poor fellow! And can you not afford it? How dreadful it must seem to be poor I Papa would send you, if I asked him, I fancy." "No, no," replied the bov, hastily, ashamed of his momentary envy. "This must be the place of your dog-merchant, little princess." The dog-merchant was an English Jew, sandy- haired and rather fierce in aspect, from constant contact with the canine race, perhaps; but he changed magically to an oily blandness of man- ner when the little princess appeared in her glittering carriage. His dingy shop was made to produce fat dogs and lean dogs, curly dogs, snowy bundles of floss silk with pink noses, sa- gacious hounds, and baby poodles, all ready to be launched in life. Moreover, he would have cheated the little princess out of her eyes, had not Tom been there to offer a sturdy opposition. Mr. Vyner met them on the curb-stone be- fore the office, when they returned in triumph. "So my peach-blossom has stolen a march on me." "Look, cher Tienymustache;" and she held up a Skye of the approved type, rusty yel- low in hue, with black markings. "Will he not be a beauty, with a blue ribbon and silver bell?" "No doubt," said Mr. Vyner, with a gri- mace. I "And, papa, will you send that boy to col- I lege? He wishes so much to go." Rose grew h serious, leaning forward out of the carriage, and e following Tom with her eyes as lie disappeared b in the building. , "Ask your mother,'; he answered, lightly. k Tom returned to his task with a radiant face. It was not that his position in life had b changed in the least, but the interview with w Rose Vyner had persuaded him that his cup was not all gall and wormwood. IIis voung w champion went home and rushed to her moth- el er, determined to settle matters at once. If ft she could have her own way, she would pack A Tom off to college before night-fall. be Mrs. Vyner was in the pink boudoir, and ftl resembled a Dresden shepherdess more than in ever; for she wore her white hair in loose as puffs, coiled in a high mass, with a rose in it. w This last decoration had no part in an exqui- re site morning toilet of rich purple, but was the to fantastic work of her daughter, after a stroll in ly the conservatory. si Mrs. Vyner was seldom idle, yet chose the pe most delicate and becoming forms of industry. in ie 'Shenow held a square of white silk, and had placed beside her, on an ebony table, a work- u box of mother-of-pearl, shaped like a shell, o containing a rainbow of colors. While she in- d -dulged in this luxury of needle-work she con- versed quietly with,Mr. Archibald Yarington. d She was perfectly well aware that when her e visitor raised his eye-glass to admire some pic- ture, it was also to survey herself; but Mrs. - Vynei's composure remained unruffled under t such a trying ordeal. She was used to admi- e ration, and by no means disdained it; still - therel was an element of cold pride in her r which prevented coquetry. She was not a e man's beauty, in the warmth of alluring smiles , and bewitching glances, and never had been. - She had met men of several nations who chafed o at this prudery; but she continued her way, e serenely ignoring their displeasure---though 1 whlether from principle, a dread of handling awkwardly the delicate, flexible weapons of - repartee and conquest, or sheer indolence, I am unprepared to state. j Mr. Yarington had been questioned to ascer- tain i he had business interests in the South or West, and had replied in the negative. - Iowever, he knew a land-surveyor and con- , tractor about to start for Kansas. Indeed'! r And would this contractor l'ke a young man to accompany him? Very possibly; it was a rough countryl and there was strength in num- bers. Then Mrs. Vyner snipped a thread with her toy scissors, and said she imagined she knew the right person. IBelieve me, the dark- est thoughts sometimes emanate firom pink boudoirs, and dispose us to agree with the wise man that inquired, "Who is she?" when kingdoms fell. You llave snipped the thread, Mrs. Vyner, but have a care lest the severing scissors wound. Rose could scarcely conceal her impatience when she found Mr. Yarington with her moth- er, and she listened abstractedly as he brought forth his morning compliments for her benefit. What did the child care for Mr. Yarington's bonbons of speech when her heart was over- flowing with a generous impulse? Mr. Yar- ington was a great admirer of female beauty, as is the privilege of the bachelor butterfly who roams from flower to flower, and his eyes rested on the girl's pretty face until she sighed to have him gone. Before the door had fair- ly closed on him, Rose was on her knees be- side her mother's chair pouring forth the long pent-up tale, with flushing cheek and implor- ing glance. "-Only think, mamma, the poor boy longs to be a student, and has no nmoney. Do send him to college. It might be one of'us just the same." "There is no need of making a comrnpari- son" said the mother, in a sharp, pained voice. "But it might happen," persisted Rose. "How funny it would seem for me to be a lit- tle beggar-girl, mamma, in rags, and barefoot. Do say yes, chere maman." "I will do it for your sake," replied the mother, still in that shiarpened voice. Rose sprang to her feet joyfully, and as she did so a curious revelation came to her that her mother was old, with a withered flower in her hair. Back drove the little princess in her glitter- ing carriage, and again flashed upon Mr. Tim- nmy and the clerks. Her father could not be considered very constant at his post, for lie was again absent. Not that Rose minded this time. She beckoned Tom into the private of- fice quite mysteriously, and then brimmed over with her news. Tom listened like one in a drean; and thie subsequent awakening was a vivid recollection of Mrs. Vyner's words of dis- missal the previous day. Why had she changcd? He was the same boy. "I am gratefil to you botli, but I will never accept a favor from your mother, if I can lclp) it." The bright face clouded. "Oh O why?" "I have a reason in what shec said to me Yesterday. Never nind, if you do not know." Katherine Wald had expressed her sympathy for this youth in affliction by a substantial hulg, honest, almost boyish. Rose Vyner offered 4 h1ers in another way. She did indeed raise her face toward Tom's, tremulllos with pity, ts a child might invite a caress, yet Tom had not kissed her; a remembrance of thtat haughty mother withheld him. I'lien she took from her neck a locket, suspended oln a chain like a driop of gold, and forced it into his hand. "That is a keepsake, and because I niD sor- ry. Perhaps I will come to see you again. I wish you would alter your mind." This was to be an eventful day to Tom. Rose had no sooner vanished than Mr. Vyner returned, looking moody and disturllcd. "Thornley, would you like to go West with land contractor, and lcarn engicneering?"The locket slipped firomn Tom's fingers in the excess of his astonishment. "It is a good chance ; I think you had best accept." "Do you wish me to go?" asked the lad, in a choking voice. "If it is for your advantage," muttered Mr. Vyner, passing his hand acloss his brow, as if to disperse some unpleasant thought. Tom reflected for a moment. Ilo was as good as dismissed front the service of White- law, Randolph & Co.; hIad, indeed, only been taken bn suffercncc, in the first place, through lMr. Vyner's influence. Ilo was weary of this great hostile town, and in n condition to wel- coIme change. "I will go," he said, at lengt1h, imortificd to his heart's core. At home Rose was saying, in the reluctant accents of disappointment, "He refuses to accept any thing from you, mamnma. " After that there was no change in the house- hold worthy of note, except that Mrs. Vvner was rouged when she came to dinner. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] CHAPTER XVII. THE SPANISH CLERK. T OM went back to the shabby lodging once more. kfter sharing the splendor of Mr. Vyner's home so unexpectedly, he discovered here some of that true sympathy often to be found beneath a frayed gown. The depressed landlady was sure he must be ill when he de- clined to partake of her dinner, and came up to see if he needed a doctor. Then the poor woman sent him sloppy tea in a thick, clumsy cup, some biscuit, and a little jam, the only delicacy her larder boasted. Tom wrote to grandmother and Kate a let. ter, stiff and constrained, despite his efforts to make it otherwise, informing them that he had an opportunity of visiting the West, and re- gretting that he should not be able to go home first. He laid his head on the table in an abandon of weariness and dejection, and thought that nothing would induce him to go home, when his secret would be sure to escape him under Kate's kindly glance. At this point in his reflections he fell to comparing happy, merry Kate with Rose Vyner. The locket was gone! Perhaps the boy, in his miserable loneliness, was more touched by the gift, so useless to him, yet so dainty, than he had been at the moment when he received it. "I am determined not to see one of that family again. They are so proud in their own prosperity, that they can not consider what it is to be of no account. She is a good little princess, though; I should like to keep the locket. I must have dropped it in the office' He rose, and put on his hat and went out. Business hours were long since over in the Ibanking-house of Whitolaw, Randolph & Co., :l'd Tom observed to his surprise that it was h1lready eleven o'clock. The bank was strictly gruided by bolts and bars; a gas-jet burned before the safe; a watchman spent the night on the premises, whose duty it was to telegraph to the police-station and Mr. Randolph's house if any thing went amiss. These guardians of public treasure were determined not to be taken by surprise. A motive for excrcise was grate- ful to Tom, after those hours of solitary reflec- tion in his little room; so he strode rapidly alog. He knew the watchman-a mnuscular giant from Cork; and he preferred to find the locket at night to leaving it until the morning. It made his cheeks tingle to think of running the gauntlet of inquiring glances which would then assail him. The watchman's duty was to perambulate two stories of the, building as a round, and have a care of the whole premises in case of fire. Just before Tom's arrival he had detect- ed smoke, and, rushing in alarm to an upper story, discovered a bundle of smouldering rags on the landing. He stamped on the rags, brought out an adjustable hose, and proceeded with his investigations. Tom heard his heavy footstep reverberating through the silent build- ing, and waited quietly for him again to de- scend. Heaven only knows what mysterious impulse prompted him to keep silent. While he waited something very curious happened. The door of the bank, which was supposed to be locked, and the keys in Mr. Timmy's posses- sion, opened cautiously, and a little figure glided out like a shadow. The instinct of the terrier in pouncing on a rat made Tom Thornley grasp this shadow. There was a desperate struggle, a muttered curse. Tom felt a sharp thrill of agony in his arm, and then he wrested a slen- der poniard from his adversary and sent it spinning down the steps. "Bring a light, M'Michael; I have caught a thief!" shouted Tom, perceiving that his own strength would not last. In mere force he had greatly the advantage, but in writhing agility the other wds feline. The antagonist uttered no sound after that first imprecation, yet he bit and struggled fran- tically to escape before the watchman came, and had he still held the poniard there could have been no doubt of the result. Mr. M'Michael seized both and dragged them into the bank, now open. Tom clutched Anto- nio Tismado. "I caught him coning out," panted Tom, exultingly. "What are you doing here?" growled the watchman, eying Tom with equal suspicion. "I came to find something," he replied, proudly; and then a cold terror crept over himn when he began to realize that his own conduct exposed him to distrust. How could lie account for his presence there at that hour? What would the principals think? "There are two sides to a story. Suppose I caught him instead?" said Antonio, laughing harshy. The watchman's reply was forcible. He drew a revolver from his belt and cocked it; next lie locked the door; then remarked, as lie set the telegraph in operation, "Aither of ye try to run, and I'll have the life of ye." Tom did not flinch, but a dull, gray pallor overspread Tismado's face. -Soon came the steady tramp of policemen, followed by the quick rattle of carriage-wheels, and Mr. Randolph appeared with Mr. White- law and Charles Vyner, all alarmed and agi- tated. "Thornley! What is this?" exclaimed the latter. Then Tom told his story, the partners listetn- ing attentively; and before he had finished the lad flung himself suddenly on Tismado, with a low cry, grasping. him by the throat. Availing himself of the momentary diversion incident to the arrival of the partners, Tismado had flour- ished a handkerchief and wiped his face, at the same time thrusting a paper into his mouth, previously rolled by his nimble fingers. Tom, who had watched his movements with a species of fascination all the while, detected the ma- noeuvre just in season to save the paper. "Search him," said Mr. Randolph to the of- ficers, while he read the rescued strip. "Oth, the villain! The mean hound!" cried the jun- ior partner, with his usual impetuosity. "All my labor annulled by a snake in the grass like this! Hie has stolen our projects front my desk. Surely no one knew of this scheme be- sides myself; it was not yet elaborated, even, and he has copied it. Were you in league with Whithy & Co.?" added Mr. Randolph, with a rising inflection of the voice, as an idea flashed upon him. Then the irate little gentleman flew at Tis- mado, and shook the delinquent clerk like a reed, until he was quite purple in the face him- self; then bounced at Mr. Timmy, wlio had just arrived, and brandished his list under the dig- nified cashier's nose. "Bless me! what is all this?" exclaimed Mr. Timmy, in the very words of Charles Vy- ncr. "You may well ask," stormed Mr. Ran- dolph. "Here is your favorite caught in the very act of robbing us. A pretty fool you are!" "There, there," interposed Mr. Vyner, in a soothing under-tone. "We are scarcely dig- nified, and to our inferiors we should set an example unider all circumstances." "You can do double duty in the dignity line, as I have done double work," said Mr. Randolph. "Miscreant! To give a parcel of low-lived slarpers an even chance with nime by selling my secrets!" Mr. Vyner, adjusting his collar, confided to Mr. Whtclaw, with gentle forbearance, that our friend was not quite himself, and it was only natural that lie should be exceedingly vexed. "Oh, you shall sing for this caper!" contin- ned Mr. Randolph, nodding energetically at the dusky culprit, although lie did not par'tictlar- ize wliat Tismado's melody should bhe. "You may have involved us now. Who knows what else you have been up to.? Where's the lad?" "Here I am, sir," replied Tom. Mr. Ran- dolph grasped his hand with cordial thanks for the rescue. In the meanwhile Mr. Timmy had approach- ed Tismado with a gingerly step. "It is not possible that you have deceived me to the extent of defrauding them," said the good man. The drop of gall, the treacherous duplicity of the half-breed, made Tismado enjoy his hour of triumph over Mr. Timmy, even though it brought his own ruin. His lip curled up from his white teeth with a wolfish expression. "I have made much money, and spent it," he said, slowly. "Perhaps you wish to see my books, and have me withdraw," s id the cashier, mourn- fully. "You may go to the devil!" said Mr. Ran- dolph, waspishy; for by this time the police- men had discovered two checks in Tismado's pocket, bearing the forged signature of the firm. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] There was a murmur of dissent from the other partners at consigning respectable Mr. Timmy to any such personage, while Mr. Ran- dolph's own sense of justice would lead him to make reparation in the end. Then Antonio Tismado confessed his sins. He seemed to have overcome a first resolution to maintain a dogged silence, when hope left him, and in- stead concluded to disgrace as many others as possible. If he must fall, the beams and raf- ters should come down with him. Besides, he was proud of his own cleverness in having out- witted the people he met daily. He declined the offers of the partners to make confession. less humiliating by withdrawing to an inner office; humiliation was no longer possible to Antonio Tismado. "Let our friends of the police remain, if they can learn any thing from my history," he said, with a little mocking wave of the hand. The house of Whithy & Co. had started in a modest way as rivals to the wealthy bankers. The rivalry at first seemed too absurd to cre- ate more comment than a passing smile; and indeed Mr. Randolph, secure in his superior position and business tact, did not attach tile importance to their dealings which the foxy poor men deserved. Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. could not be met on equal ground, owing to lack of capital and reputation; therefore these sappers set about undermining. How could this be done?' By treachery in the ene- my's camp. Tismado acknowledged that cau- tious advances had been made to him to as- certain what vhue money had above honesty. He agreed to terms after in turn reconnoi- tring the situation. The triumph of suggest- ing to the watchman that he, Antonio Tismado, was not in receipt of fern-seed, and therefore capable of slipping through the key-hole, yet had repeatedly entered the bank at night, and ransacked Mr. Randolph's accounts with the aid of false keys, seemed almost to compensate for being caught at last. Tismado had sailed so long close to the wind, defying detection and courting danger, that he had grown confi- dent. If it came to suspecting the clerks, he could eject venom from his own pOison-bag, fasten the guilt on another cleverly, and es- cape under the friendly protection of Mr. Tim- my, by coloring the waters with ink, like the cuttle-fish. "I come here many times," he said, calmly, fixing his black eyes on the watchman. "Ye ou are vigilant; there is gas burning; the bank 1 doors are locked, and you have a duplicate key on your chain; the windows are barred, so that t one can not break in for fear of. being seen from the street. How do I manage?" "Blessed if I know," ejaculated the watch- man. "Ah, my friend, you are not too wise," re- turned Tismadb, tapping his forehead signifi- cantly. "Every time I send you off. You stare? Yes, only for five minutes or so; and when you return, I am inside, with the key turned, lying on my face to crawl to the pri- vate office. Then you go your rounds, and I slip out. Your boots are a good guide to my ear. To-night you smelled fire." His hearers were absolutely appalled; they were brought to the brink of a chasm, and compelled to contemplate crime. Tismado loved sensual luxury, was a gambler and a profligate: from the Mexican ranchero who spends his last dollar to buy a jacket (heavy with silver embroidery), to the clerk in Mr. Randolph's employ, curbed by a meagre sala- ry, there is only a step, for the same root nour- ishes both. Mr. Timmy groaned audibly, and collapsed. "Scoundrel!" muttered Mr. Randolph, with the honest man's scorn for a knave. "He's a deep 'un," soliloqcuized one of the police. Perhaps it was a relief to tear off the mask at last; there was passion in Tismado's man- ner of casting restraint to the winds. "That is one name for it," he said, coolly. "I needed money, and I was not bound to serve you beyond my own interest. Puff; I came here to make my fortune quick. I have lived!" with indescribable abandon, and a sudden glit- ter in the black eyes. "I have only to ask your pardon, gentlemen, for one great mistake. I might have saved all had I turned on him." "You did turn on me, I should think," said Tom, glancing at his disordered dress, and clasping his wounded arm. "No. Had I said that I found you break- ing in, I could have made every one of them believe it." "Impossible," said Mr. Vyner. "You have a peculiar interest in Thornley, I know," said Tismado, with a sneer. A perceptible uneasiness was manifested by Mr. Vyner at this sharp thrust. "Have you any thing more to state?" in- terposed Mr. Whitelaw's grave, dignified voice. "I am ready for justice." This was said with a desperate bravado; but he shivered an the policemen touched him. "You must await the trial," said Mr. Vyner to Tom. In the excitemcnt, none of them had ob- served that the boy was wounded. Again did that faded woman and true Chris- tian, the landlady, come to the rescue, and send for a physician, who pronounced the hurt only a slight flesh-wound. Tismado was conducted to a station-house with that respect due to a successful villain. lie behaved with the utmost propriety, sub- mitting to a search for concealed weapons without a murmur, and only requested to be allowed to retain his rosary. So reasonable a petition was granted. The rosary was very small, consisting of minute beads of a dull me- tallic lustre, worn about his neck. Two men watched in the corridor outside his cell all night; he sat with his head against the wall in an attitude of meditation. In the morning he still occupied the same position, but the rosary was broken, and Tismado dead. Two of the beads were missing on the chain, and in these two beads lay the prisoner's release. Where do we hear of poisoned rosaries since the days of the Borgias? the reader exclaims. No- where, surely, except in those races to which Tismado belongs. Iis armament had bece the poniard and the rosary. Tom Thornley need be detained no longer, for Antonio Tis- mado would be tried by no earthy tribunal. he had gone before a higher Judge. There lay the small form on the coarse prison pallet, its destined end fronm the first, the face expressive, even in death, of that iron- ical satisfaction. "I have lived! Look at me as I go down to darkest night. I am the moral of this age." A week later, Mr. Randolph's head emerged from the sea of troubles into which it had been immersed long enough for him to say energet- ically, , "Thornley is a good lad. We must do something for him." "Ie has gone West to study engineering," said Mr. Vyner. "You don't say so. We must hell him along out there, then." Mr. Randolph's head disappeared again nf- ter this excellent suggestion. Tom Thornley, after having actually saved his own father's money, had gone away. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] CHAPTER XVIII. MR. JEREMAH WHCHCORD. M R. JEREMAH WHCIICORD, lean, dry, with a shrewd, twinkling eye, sur- veyed Tom in a friendly manner, and proceed- ed to test his capabilities. "Can you fight?" was one of his first inqui- ries, as the train sped away with them. "What do you mean?" asked Tom, startled, yet amused. His companion passed a finger over the bi- cep muscles, which were well developed in tihe boy, thoughtfully, and nodded his head. "A youngster must learn to hold his own, it does not matter much where he lands on his feet. I reckon you can. Your chance is a slim one out yonder, if the scent of powder makes you sick. Keep your temper and hold your tongue, generally. That's my advice." "Are the people allithieves and murderers?" "No," replied Mr. Whichcord, with a doubt- ful reservation in his tone. "I won't git into a row, and I come to benefit all. Lord! such nonsense. Because a man an't of my opin- ion, that's no reason why I should beat his brains out. Words!" added the land con- tractor, with a chuckle of amusement. "I've had enough broadsides of them in my day to break every bone in my body. As long as they hold to words you are safe." Tom listened' with a thrill of wonder. To what region of adventure was he bound? Should he not become a pioneer hero in Kate's E eyes, like those of Cooper, of which they had read about together? To a boy of Tom's tem- t perament Mr. Whichcord was a delightful com- i panion. He was a great talker, although not f always the most grammatical; had been an i extensive traveler; was coarsei had keen per- t ception and a miserly love of money, yet was s kind-hearted where his interest was aroused. t His accomplishments seemed to be as varied as' - his costume, which consisted of patent-leather I boots, a gay cravat, a coat one degree removed f from ragged, and a tall' hat, which looked as if Mr. Whichcord had used it for a night-cap in i all the journeys he had ever made. When not chewing tobacco, he produced a bonbon box of peppermint-drops, which he consumed with great relish, while Dhe supply seemed inexhaust- ible. "They give tone to the system," he said, gravely, offering the box to Tom. In a word, Mr. Whichcord liked Tom, and Toni liked Mr. Whichcord. As a moral pre- ceptor his influence might be open to criticism. His own code was to tell the truth when it was expedient, to get the better of any man, if pos- sible, without scruple, and he frankly confessed to living by his wits; indeed, rather gloried in so doing. Curiosity was largely developed in his composition; he always found leisure to in- terest himself in the affairs of a companion. "Why have they sent you out here?" he in- quired. "No one sent me. I came to learn engi- neering," said Tom, in surprise. "Did, ch?" said Mr. Whichcord, playing with the blade of his penknife. "Well, I can teach ye as well as some others, I shouldn't wonder." The train sped on, bearing them past towns and straggling villages, with ever widening space of forest between, until at last the wide, undulating prairie extended to the setting sun. They halted at a station, and Tom was glad to use his cramped limbs, as well as to catch a glimpse of his new surroundings--a muddy street, a few rough houses, several groups of hirsute men. This was the germ of some fu- ture metropolis. The loneliness of all nature impressed the mind of the young stranger pro- foundly. He would have instinctively spoken in a whisper, and bared his head in reverence to some invisible priestess of the spot. He seemed no longer in the same universe with trim, compact little Greenville, or the great city -the most remote intelligence of the souls left behind failed to reach him; even the sea had faded to a dim possibility. An emerald surface of grass and grain rolled in waves of verdure to the brink of the sky, broken occasionally by a grove of cotton-wood trees; and above brooded the dome of clear heaven, vast, unfathomable in its purity and repose. The loud laughter of his companions aroused Toni. Mr. Whiichcord was in the grasp of a red-shirted giant, who was violently shaking his sparse frame, while he poured forth a tor- rent of language, so freely interlarded with shocking oaths that Tomi, suspecting violence was intended, hastened to the rescue. When the contractor finally released himself, gasping for breath, Tom began to understand that this was merely a friendly greeting from a man, Big Jim, whom Mr. Whichcord could not af- foird to offend. The hamlet evinced stirrings of ambition to become speedily a metropolis, in an hotel of large proportions, with the proud name "Amnier- ican House," in large letters across the front. Unfortunately, such expectations as the cara- vansarv, at the first glance, inspired were doom- ed to disappointment by the discovery tlihat the 'roof was unfinished, many of the rooms lacking paint, and the staircase a mere ladder. Over this establishment presided a sliftless man, and a red-haired, freckled daughter, who, for dearth of fairer specimens of womankind, was the divinity of the town. This young lady marshaled her subjects to supper, Mr. Whichcord and Tom among the number, and sharply called them to order, while serving ham of an uncompromising toughness, fried eggs, corn-cake, and mugs of colffece sweetened with molasses. "Why don't you eat?" said this siren in Tom's ear. "'Would you like your egg biled?" "No, I thank you," he replied, somewhat confused by the attention. Whereulpon the hirsute tnan, Big Jim, took a mighty gulp of coffee, scowled at Tom, and growled: "Sally, you'd better stick by old friends, my gal." The girl tossed her head, and suggested that she could manage her own business; a fiact which no one doubted after a survey of her hard-featured faice. Mr. WhVliilicord pressed Tom's foot under the table whrningly, and it was a relief when the hasty meal was over, of which the contractor had partaken in a bird- like manner. Food and sleep seemed matters of indifference to him. Standing on the rude piazza, with sunset flushing the sky, Tom again feasted his eyes on that ocean of verdure that must become monot- onous in time, but was now a marvel. Mr. Whichcord in the bar-room gave the landlord and an interested circle some scraps of Eastern news. Big Jim and a mate lonnged at the other end of the piazi:a, in this lull of peaceful twilight before the night's drinking and gambling began. An old man rode slowly down the street on a sorry steed, with a bag of meal behind him, while a young man strode along by his side, with a gun over his shoulder. Without raising his eyes, or manifesting the slightest interect in his surroundings, the old man said: "Now!" Tom uttered a sharp cry, but it was too late; at that signal the young man had rested his gun across the horse, and fired at Big Jim. The latter wavered and fell. "That wipes out my score on the cattle," shrieked the old man, his faice disfigured with passiou. "It's only buckshot," observed Big Jim's comlpanion, removing his tooth-pick, and stoop-' ing over the prostrate giant. "Is lie dead?" whispered Tom, with a sick- ening feeling of horror. t"Guess not. Depends on where it hit, though," was the phegmatic response. By this time the community was aroused; it did not require many minutes for the lopti- lation of the future city to gather. Sally was seated on the floor with the wounded man's head in her lap, alternately sobbing over tho fallen hero, and pouring the vials of her wrath on the enemy, who had withdrawn to a discreet distance. "It does rile me to be beat by themn Peters," sliohe said, smoothing the shock hair of Big Jim with a very 'gentle touch ; then raising her voice shrilly, "Our turn next, you bet. We'll show ye that we know how to keep a hotel!" she added, indignantly, entirely unconscious of the inute sarcasm the American House re- turned to her words. Mr. Whichcord hurried out, and drew Tom aside. "You go to bed. They do a sight of drink- ing in this hole. Sometimes I have to taste their nasty whisky to please 'cm, bhit I'm a tee- totaler by nature. Young man, take miy ad- vice and hold to cold water." The way in which Mr. Whiichcord spoke, with a warning shake of the forefinger, was us ludicrous ns it was intended to be dignified and implressive. Accordingly, when Sally's attention could be gained, which the contractor accomplished by a series of coughs, winks, and gallant bows, the question of where Tom was to sleep was asked. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] "On the third floor, I reckon," responded I Sally, hands on hips, statring reflectively at Tom. "There's a right smart of fellers on the second flight, who haven't come in from tihe prairie yet." Mr. Whichcord bade Tom good-night kind- ly, reminding him that they must be up be- times in the morning to push on to their des- tination. "Suppose any thing should happen to you? I ought to be there to defend you. I can fight," said Tom, earnestly. Over the sallow, parchment-like face of Jer- emiah Whichcord stole an unwonted flush; hi$ eyes glistened ans he dismissed the offer, with much. apparent scorn. Left alone, he gave vent to a fit of unsteady laughter. The idea of a young lad taking care of him-an old screw who had looked out for himself these fif- ty years, never asking sympathy, or receiving I it. He smiled queerly, at intervals, nll the i evening, but he was touched. t Tom did not resent being sent to bed, as he - would have done under other circumstances. He was shocked and disgusted; his innocence i had not yet been worn away in an atmosphere r of blasphemy and violence. He found that the third story consisted of a series of stalls, each holding a bed, and roughy divided from e its neighbor by lathing, as yet devoid of plas- ter. "Number 17 is your'n," said Sally, placing u a flaring tallow-candle on a chair, and stalking l away. - Tom, having already gained much of a trav- o cler's philosophy, soon fell into a deep sleep. h he was aroused by a confused din of voices, heavy footsteps, and the moving of furniture. a Finally, one pair of boots were to be heard ascending the ladder-like steps, and a man en- se tered the next stall to his own. The unknown \ had no candle, and, after throwing himself on st the rude bed, which creaked beeneath his weigh;t, he tapped familiarly on the partition. Tom cil nmade no response. lis neighbor then sepa- rated two slats with a skillful wrench, and dr thrlst through a brawny hand. U; "Iow are ye, stranger?" he said, jocosely. lv Tom reluctantly shook the hand, and munt- tered some inarticulate response. sn "Know what's been goin' on down stairs?" pl pnrsued the Unknown, apparently not chilled by his fiosty reception. b]I "No," snid Tom, with some anxiety. W "Thought not. You turned in early, I reck- an on. I nabbed that 'cere contractor. Acquaint- Ur ed with Whichcord, cl?" be dl "Yes." Tom's heart began to throb vio- nt I lently. n "Are ye?" exclaimed the Unknown, with in- n creased animation, giving a sudden flop on tile unseen bed. "Then you'd better look out, I- stranger, for that Yankee skinner will cheat e- you out of yer skin." ' s- "So he is a cheat?" said Tom, breathing more freely. ? The warning that Mr. Whichcord would n cheat in the future certainly carried conviction that he was not already dead. ' Is he? You bet he is! Needn't ask that s question twice in these parts. He did me out i of twenty-five acres last year, and t'other feller e says I ought to hev' got four hundred more. a Here I am without a cent, and when I tell him I it went dirt cheap, he says a bargain's a bar- gain. But I'm goin'to fix him. Hush! speak g lower;" an unnecessary admonition,' consider- e ing that he was sustaining the whlole conversa- tion. -"Yes, stranger, I'll settle his hash to- morrow, and I want you to help me." At this juncture the Unknown's face was ev- idently placed at the opening, as his hot breath reached the boy, and an exhalation of whisky ecame perceptible. , "Wish me to help you!" repeated Tom, in extreme astonishment. "'Yes; I'll do the same for you sometime. One good turnl deserves another. You make up to him, and tell him you've got a lot o' land to show him. Then you lead him away a bit kinder pleasant, and when you get him off I'll be tlar behind a stump, and I'll shoot him." Tom sat up in bed, wondering if he was awake. Here was a man, whose face he had not seen, asking him to aid in committing murder-, with a nmixture of simplicity in trusting a stranger, and ferocity truly marvelous. "Is it a bargain?" Again the brawny hand came through the aperture. Tom touched it shudderingly, and in his dread of the monster took a leaf out of Mr. Whichcord's book of expediency, and soothing- ly assented. "All right. I'll see ye after breakfast," said the Unknown, with a yawn, and another plunge in the creaking bed. When he began to snore, Tom, boots in hand, stole out like a thief. He found Mr. Whichcord studying an engineer's map, with an eye-glass snapped on his nose. When the Unknown awakened from his sluggish slum- bers the contractor and Tom had been on the road several hours; and as our hero never saw his face, we need not study its, no doubt, re- pulsive lineaments. Mrs. Vyner had banished the boy to the very heart of Nature, where, marred by the first condition of settlement, she yet reveal- cd the loftiest mountains, veined with mineral ( wealth, the richest valleys, and most majestic rivers, developing ever, by her own example, the possibility of better things in man. The aromatic wood yields fragrance after the deep- est wound of incision, andnTom must pass through the ordeal of experience, beo tried in the crucible to attain his growth. CHAPTER XIX. JACOBTS SEWING- MACIIINE. SUMMER again in Greenville, Nwith no' S change, except that Katherine Wald has slipped into womanhood; the impress of each passing season being laid withl delicate rosy touch on her ripening youth. The girl is tall and symmetrical, her icead set well on her shoulders by a slender column of snowy throat. One of Mrs. Watld's hobbies ihas always been complexion. IHer thcory is that girls were born into the world to marry and become the Heads of families. Such be- ing the case, a young woman with a whole- some skin is likely to command more than the same young woman freckled, sun-burned, and with a suspicion of blister on the tip of her nose. Therefore Katy has been obliged to wear hier sun-bonnet, as daughter Letitia was forced -to wear hers before her. Not but tliat the long winter would surely bleach thi nost ardent color gained during the summer. Mrs. Wald surveys the result in her g annd- daughter with favorable eye; the youngmcen of Greenville do likewise. This fiesh summer morning, Kate, in a pink calico gown and dainty apron, is dusting the guest-chamber. Tom Thornley, after an ab- sence of six years, is coming home, and the housellold powers have decided that lie must no longer be permitted to occupy the little room dedicated to boyhood. So Kate gives final touclces to the flowers on the burcaua-n piece of antique furniture of wood resembling ebony in hule, supported on high legs, witl grinning heads on the brass knobs. Then the white bed-curtains, bordered'with bobbin fringe, must have fresh knots of blue ribbon; and thec arm-chair, with claw-feet, be turned from a stiff angle. Kathcrine's education has been of necessity very different from that of her foster-brother. At one time she worried herself into a fever to keep pace in her studies with the progress she 'imnagined Tom to be making, and at that date Tom was standing up to his waist in water, surveying a tract of land. A happy girl, of healthy organization and courageous temperament, but more impulsive than the generality of the Pullcyns. In the village it was generally known that slio was "handy," and could do " 'most any thng if shel gave her mind to it." Whatever she ac- comlplished was done with her might, at the expense of nerve-tissue and mental strain. But she also had a fashion of dropping into reverie tt the most inopportune moment, sit- ting with dreamy eyes and sliglitly parted lips, awaiting the wave which should breal on her quiet shore, arousing all to life. Every room of the old homestead had its own story to tell her. If there wais stern prose in the fate of an aged housekeeper, who died at her post in the kitclchen, there was a tender charm of poetry -in the history of the great- aunt, always young, who fdlced gently from life, like the languid, drooping flowers she held, in the dim best parlor. The garret was a tangle of golden - threaded fancies, always retady to furnish a clue. The long, limp coat swaying like a gliost from a peg in the beam afforded endless conjecture as to the original wearer. Sometimes it clothed a young man of extraordinary beauty, who went forth in storm and darkness to tlmo trysting-place, where his lady-love would meet him despite the frowns of a stern parent. Katherine was not quite sure whether the young people should embrace under such trying circumlstances, or whether the lady would have her lover in suf- ficiently good training to keep him at a re- spectful distance. Poor fellow! He might at least kiss her hand. And the girl would raise her own, so that the sun shone through the transparent flesh. Hers was the Pulleyn hand, slender and nervous, with long, tapering page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] fingers. After that the coat would envelop a country minister going to visit the dying, or a miser waylaid in a gloomy mountain-pass to be robbed of his money by masked highway- men. Her taste ivas eminently sensational. Mrs. Wald had rigidly banished novels, yet imagination planted its own luxuriant poppy- fields, and reaped its harvest of dreams. Fleck- ing dust from a little standard of Venetian glass on the chimney-piece, Kate lapses into childhood so far as to wish for some miracu- lous gift of wings. If a fairy in a robe of thistle-down, with a star burning on her tiny head, might perch on the rim of grandmother's bow-pot, and say: "You are a good child. We fairies have watched over you from the rainbow and moon- beams. I now give you a pair of slippers that will enable you to run over sea and land." "That would be too delightful," laughs Kate, flourishing her duster, and bringing the fragile ornament crashing down. She is like the son in the "Arabian Nights," who pictures what he will do with the prodeeds of his porcelain tray in the bazar, then upsets the tray. She for- gets that we live in a century of developments more wonderful than any fairy tale, as we whis- per our messages under the sea, and span the world with our railroads. Kate was instinct with that longing for mo- tion andt novelty peculiar to us as a people. When weary of building romances about the old house, her thoughts roamed abroad over the earth. Our little planet, so insignificant when viewed from other planets, commanded all the loyailty in Katherine's nature which was not immortal. Only to see God's world! To stand on Gibraltar, and gaze across the wide space of sea to the Africans shore; to touch the great pyramid, emblem of eternal durability, in comparison with her own ephemeral self; to watch Capri dawn on the azure waters of an- other golden, Italian day; to pause between Barada's branching waters, where Abraham once walked, in the oldest city-all these she might contemplate with .a sense of pain and loss, turning a globe thoughtfully, or poring over Tom's atlas. "Shall we move it now?" asks Eunice, en- tering the guest-chamber, and dispellirng rev- erie. "I am ready." But Eunice is not ready, it appears. She is a handsome young negress, straight and slim, with a tendency to luxuriate in yellows, reds, and green, in startling combination. She is as much a foreign element as ever in Greenville, although she has ceased to be a heathen. Win- ter finds her dull and shivery; summer brings the warmth in which she delights to bask. "What is it, Eunice?"Kate inquires, kind- ly, observing her hesitation. "It seems too foolish, I declare! That Pe- ter has been at me agin to marry him ;" and Eunice casts a coquettish glance toward the mirror. "And I hope you will marry him." Kate speaks slowly, and gazes out the window ab- sently. On the brown branch of the tree is a locust, wonderful warrior in armor of frosted emerald, shrilling defiance at other warriors, and, no doubt, winning demure approbation from his mate. A humming-bird flashes down through the bright realm of garden, an animated jewel of ruby and iridescent splendor. Somewhere there is a tiny nest in the knot of a tree, cra- dling two pearl-like eggs in down, and the par- ent bird will shoot high in air to mislead all en- emies before descending to that home. Down in the path a toad, wrinkled and dusky, hops aimlessly, the image of ugliness to all eyes save those of some toad lady. Beauty is a matter of education, after all, and may have as many phases in the animal kingdom as among man- kind. Eunice has a suitor! Who will ever come for Kate? If the minister only had a son who would talk sentiment to Katherine among the honeysuckle and balm. Alas! the minister has no son, and already Eunice boasts a lover in sable Peter, Jane's son, who plays the fiddle, and bangs adoringly on the lightest word of his mistress. Peter is the mouse to Eunice, who alternately crushes him with her displeasure and worries him by apparently discarding him altogether. The spice of courtship must van- ish in marriage, Eunice thinks; for she can not disabuse her mind of the custom of her race, where the wife does all the labor, while the husband lolls in the sun. "You must treat :Peter considerately. he will make an excellent husband." "I haven't done nothin' to 'urn, missy," re- turns Eunice, with shameless bravado. Every one knows that she has made Peter's life a burden to him. "I sha'n't get married until you do, not for a hundred Peters." "What nonsense!" says Kate, smiling. "Let us hang the picture here, and Tom will see it when he wakes in the morning." The picture has a history; it has opened a gate of ivory and pearl to Kate, and a humbler wicket to Jacob Prout. The canvas presented a strip of blue sky, with Bear Hill rising in the background, rough, steep, and pine-clad. The artist had attempted to infuse an atmosphere of sunshine, with such success that the shad- ows seemed to slumber afear in drowsy distance, while the summit of the mountain was steeped in amber light. The drawing was correct, with a bold, free sweep of outline that gave promise of better things. The previous summer, Kate, in strolling along an unfrequented lane, had come upon one of those singular alpparitions-an artist wander- ing in search of food to store as honey in the atelier, like the bees. There were the white mushrtoom-like umbrella and camp-stool, but Kiate's artist was a patriarch in the profession, with snowy beard, and long hair surmounted by a fantastic cap. Merlin wove his spells, unconsciously, as he worked, reproducing the girl's world on his sheet; genius touched a dormant nature with a fiery spear. he was aroused by a soft rust- ling movement, a gasp of wonder uttered be- hiid him, and, turning, beheld her gazing hun-. grily at his sketch. There was no need of in- troduction; they understood each other. "I can do that," she whispered, eagerly, her glance searching the amphitheatre of hills. "Try," he said, dryly, extending paper and The result exceeded his exlpectations, and fell- so far short of her own that she covered her face-with her hands and sighed. "I thought it would have been better; it is all in my brain." "You expected to spring into the arena of art, armed cap-a-pied, like Minerva, with perfec- tion. Try again," said Merlin, i ith gentle sar- casmn. Kate worked by his side all day; scarcely a word was spoken. Time vanished in a feverish dream that left a trace on flushed chsck and in kindling eye. "Can I ever do it?" she asked, hopelessly. Merlin had packed his paint-box, and patted her shoulder kindly. " lPatience and hard work will bring success to you," he said. The girl made an eloquent gesturc of em- bracing all nature, and then remembered con- ventionalities. "You will come home with me to grand- mother?" she coaxed, and Merlin was not proof against the cordiality of her entreaty. Mrs. Wald received him with the respectfuli courtesy she always extended to talent, met tnder whatever garb. He found occasion to say to her, aside, "Let me teach the child while I am liere." Merlin's beard was white. Mrs. Wald consented. "1 a little house, time-stained and dilapi- dated, lived Jacob Pront- thin, pallid, cffemli- nate. Whatever decoration tlihe small house boasted was the work of Jacob's clever lingers. Whemn other boys rambled through the woods, and helped in hay-fields, he sat by the window knitting " tidies," crochetting mats, and stuffing plump pin-cushions. Work was the fultillinent of human destiny, and had thus been presented to his mind since infancy. There was a large table in the Prout's living- room that had always been there, yet Jacob had scarcely ever seen the surlface, witl tile steady flow of fresh cloth Monday morning and the ebb of Saturday night. Mehitabel was a tailoress, wlio went about among the farmers' families cutting garments for a rising generation. Prone to bitter invec- tive and retort was sister Mehitabcl, stooping under that burden of broadcloth, with fingers stiffened and scarred by ceaseless stitching, but always reserving such milk of human kindness as her meagre nature afforded for home and Jacob. The slow years were dragging on. Mrs. Prout's features acquired a querulous droop; her spectacles were often tear-dimmied as her glance sought the quiet church-yard, where u place was reserved for her beside her dead husband. Jacob felt himself a helpless care for two poor women, and grew moody with unhappi- ness. What could he do? Light handicraft there might be suited to him in large manu- facturing towns, yet how could he reach them?" "If I only had a sewing-machine," he sigh- ed once to Katherine Wald, who often paused at the door with a pleasant word. She laughed. The idea of i boy using a sewing-machine! Then she grew suddenly grave. Jacob Prout was not like other boys. "Jacob Protit needs a sewing -machine, grandmother." "How will he afford it?" inquired grand- mother. "Yes, that is the question ;" and Kate join- ed Merlin on the slope of the bank. She worked silently for a whe on the out- lines of Bear Hill. Her stroke was becoming daily more accurate and confident. "We have a fair in the autumnn at the coun- ty town, and there are prizes," she began at last. "For fait pigs, giant pumpkins, and bed- quilts," supplemented Merlin, gravely. page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] "Now you are laughing at us. The pump- kins and bed-quilts are not all. My great- grandfather, Judge Pulleyn, tried to infuse a nobler aim. Yes, one hundred dollars are given for the best painting, drawing, or design. Do you think that I could win the prize?" Merlin's lips- twitched beneath his mustache; he was very solemn in outward aspect. "Perhaps. What need have you of filthy lucre in this paradise? if the question is not impertinent." "I need it very much indeed," retorted the girl, with her soul in her eyes. "Who will compete? Do not add a story to Bear Hill, and make it an Alp." "The school-marm of Leeds paints flowers in water-colors. She has always won; and there are several architects besides. Will you enter a picture?" "I shall not be here; the honor should re- main local, as your ancestor intended." "How good you are!" cried Kate, extend- ing a hand besmeared with paint. You might like the prize-yourself." Merlin made a grimace. "My dear child, did you ever hear of an artist who was not 'hard up?' No. Go on with your sketch ; you belong to the clan now. ,Let us rush forward and win." Accordingly, Bear Hill was painted -only Kate must do it all herself. Merlin went his way, and in the autumn appeared a landscape for the Pulleyn prize in the county fair. The school-marm of Leeds was there in great force; not only with pi'im forget-me-nots and stiff tulips, having the appearance of being nailed flat to the paper, but the work of two pupils painfilly perfected-roses lolling out of impos- sible vases. The school-marm was not a Cim- abue nor a Mantegnn, yet she was the founder of a school. Kate's subject alone touched the popular heart. Wrinkled old men and gaping young- c sters gathered around the canvas, with the universal exclamation: "If it an't Bear Hill! Wnl, I declare it 1 beats all!" A doubt remained in the mind whether the a likeness to Bear Hill " beat all," or the con- i sideration that familiar mountain had received d in being painted excited wonder. The forget- c me-nots paled before the popularity of the new a competitor, who received the prize. Jtudge c l'ulleyn's own great-granddaughter too! Mrs. t Wald's emotion overcame her usual calmness. r She kissed the child, who gave promise of tal- s ent, with fervent warmth. c "What will you do with this money?" "I need every penny of it," said Kate, quick- ly. "Oh, grandmother, trust me this time, and I will tell you very soon." "I trust you entirely." Pride coerced cu- riosity, but Mrs. Wlald iwas not a little puzzled. With smiles and a stray tear, a mighty ex- utltation in her heart, Kate wrote a mysterious letter. For several days Eunice spent much- time lingering about the village, and finally came flying home to her expectant young mistress. "There's a great big box, and 'Jacob Prout' written on it," said Eunice, breathessly. Kate executed a little dance, expressive of suppressed ecstasy, and replied: "Yes, we must wait half an hour." Eunice paused, with her beady eyes fixed on the dial of the old clock. Kate slipped into grandmother's room, and presently returned with Mrs. Wald tying her bonnet-strings. "Now!" exclaimed Eunice, and went bound- ing down the path. A box for Jacob Pl'out? Incredible fact! Jacob had never received a present from be- yond the boundary of Greenville in his life. Mother and Mehitabel felt the edges cautious- ly; the boy walked around it dreamily. What could it be? "I don't suppose nobody would play a trick on our Jacob," said mother, doubtfully. The idea of fortune playing a prank with her son was the last thought to occur to Als. Prout's mind. , The carpenter, with sleeves rolled up, stepped across the road, armed with chisel and hammer, just to be neighborly-and see what the box contained. Cautiously the outer husk of boards was removed, revealing that most perfect fruit of modern industry-a sewing-machine. Jacob lauglled deliriously, incredulously. "Wheeler and Wilson," read mother slowly on the polished plate. "They don't know our Jacob." But they did know Jacob, and had found him out in his home among the hills. For the first time, Jacob became haughty and dictatorial. How could he be otherwise, in the possession of such a treasure? He or- dered the carpenter to place it in his favorite corner quite imperiously, and then he would allow no one to touch it. His glance ranged over wheel, and bar, and shuttle, with some in- tuitive perception of the mechanism. He did not venture to give it the life of motion, but "mply sat and gazed his fill. Suddenly lie be- came aware of a cluster of smiling faces look- ing in the window - the faces of Mrs. Wald, IKate, and Eunice. , - !"Katherine Wald did it!" cried Jacob, in a sharp voice, unlike his usual soft, womanish tones, and, laying his head down on the ma- chine, burst into tears. Mrs. Wald banished the two girls by a ges- ture. Next day Miehitabel came to Kate, ca- ger and excited. "He takes to it like a duck to water. I don't believe he slept a wink all night for steal- ing out to look at it in the moonlight, and see if it was really there. He's growed dreadfull feared o' robbers on a sudden; thinks all the thieves in Christendom are after that 'ere ma- chine, and wants father's blunderbuss cleaned, and put alongside of his bed." Kate returned with her, and as they ap- proached the house a throbbing hum greeted the enar. There sat Jacob in an ecstasy, with flying wheel and flashing needle devouring seams. For the first time in his remembrance the surface of the work-table was cleared in the middle of the week. Mehitabel, sinking into a clair, said, "Seems most like the New Jerusalem, don't it? Only will your sewing hold like mine, sonny?" An hour later Katherine Wald still stood, resting her elbows on the window-sill, and watching the flying wheel. "Mehitabel can be a dress-maker, and you mulst sew for her." "I hain't no taste in trimming folks," said the sister, dolefully. "Guess I'd better stick to tailoring." "Nonsense," said Kate, wlio had now be- come an authority. "You can learn to cut and fit, while Jacob trims and sews. The sign shall be Miss Prout & Co." "I love colors and silks," Said Jacob. Nothing would do but Kate miust stay to supper. . There was internecine war in the closet over cake and preserves, and final lIhar- mony at the humble board. So Jacob became the modiste of Greenville, and sent to the metropolis for fashions. A new flounce moved his artistic enthusiasm, and all day long the sewing-machine made nmusic in the little house-tho music of comling prosperity. "Ilt was n generous action," said grand- mother, smoothing Kate's chiestnut hair. "TlThere was no one else to do it," said tihe girl, simply. A handsome, Heardedl man stands at the gateC; Kate rouses from her reverie before the picture with a faint scream, and runs down stairs. After all tliheir preparations, after all the flutter of expcctancy which has made breakfiast a neglected meal tlihat morning, lie has been suffered to approach unnoticed. The nman beholds Mrs. Wald without i thread of, silver in her brown hair, or an additional wrin- kle in her calm face. But whecre is Katherine, awkward, boyish, droll? A fair round check is held up to himnr, n pair of thoughtful eyes look into llis a little Thereo is a deep joy in his falce; for Tom Thornley is at home once more, thank God! page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] CHAPTER XX. KATE'S HERO. "TjHE sun-god, Hercules, went forth to do battle with the day, but at evening he re- turned to lole the tender violet dawn. I think you must be Iole in that gown, Kate," said Tom, stretching himself luxuriously on the grass slope. "It is modest to call yourself a sun-god," laughed Katherine. "You know my meaning. How you knock the wind out of a fellow's sails, young woman." "A thousand pardons. I acknowledge and bow before your superiority," with a mocking inclination of the head. Tom smiled, half absently; then a moody expression came over his mobile features. "Ah, my dear, poor is the wretch who car- ries no home image in his heart," he said, gravely. The girl turned to him quickly, and laid a gentle touch on his hand. The western light had flooded the valley with transient splendor, and gathered her slender form in a flame that bathed her violet dress in rosy fire, and glori- fied the fair face framed in chestnut hair. Sun- set looked at him out of her deep, pure eyes in a swift, magnetic thrill of sympathy. There are glances which stir the calm pulse and set the heart throbbing tumultuously. The young mana's heart began to beat strangely as this electric shock quivered through him. "How many weary miles have you been forced to carry this image? Never forget home, Tom, and those who believe in you," she said, in an earnest, trembling voice. "Am'I likely to forget?" he inquired. "I believe not; yet they say that people change," she answered, soberly, looking away toward the hills, and not in the least aware that the sun was beautifying her in those rip- pling touches of light and shadow, shedding lovely tints on cheek and neck. Her com- panion drew nearer, and regarded her intently., "Agreed. People change. Some day I shall return to Greenville, a crusty old Rip Van Winkle from the backwoods, and no one will recognize me, for my bird will have flown away mated," pursued Tom, in a jesting tone. i"Who? My dear child, I shall never mar- ry," replied Katherine, in a tone of convic- tion. "Little goose! You are sure to marry. I will give you one year in which to alter your. mind." Tom had aroused himself from his indolent attitude, and seemed to have discovered a sud- den interest in the ear-drop which swung from Kate's ear. What a pretty car it was-small, curved, and shaded like a sea-shell. he had never noticed it before. "No, Tom," persisted Kate, with a comical expression; " you see there is no one for me to fall in love with." "Indeed!!' dryly. "And I can not marry without first falling in love, you know." "Evidently," he said, with a short laugh. Somehow the subject displeased him, although he could not tell wherein lay the discord. "But suppose you did love somebody?" he added, slyly. "Ah! suppose," assented Kate, dreamily. She had overcome the first shyness occasioned by Tom's advent. Two months ago she would not have fallen unconsciously into that easy attitude, shoulders drooping, hands clasped on her knee. There was something quaintly pret- ty about this foster-sister to-day, the young man fresh from Western wilds -thought; and the proximity was certainly tempting. He stole an arm around her waist, and touched the downy cheek with his lips. "Don't," exclaimed Katherine, haughtily. She rose with an angry flush, and walked away rapidly. She was offended, irritated, mis- erable in a moment. What was it Tom had done? "I did not intend to annoy you," he said,' in a mortified tone, and, lying back in the I grass, drew his hat over his brows. Suddenly his holiday had become clouded. How could Kate be so prim! He would go anway again; evidently he had outgrown all in- terest at home. He made a dozen fierce re- solves resting deep in the grass world, where busy creatures of tiny mould went and came in that forest of green stalks, intensely resentful, no doubt, of the crushing presence of giant Tom, thwarting all their little avenues of en- terprise by lying there on his-back. he was enjoying the first relaxation he had known in six years sihce the day he had met Jeremiah Whichcord. That gentleman drew all those brought in immediate contact with him into a net of enterprise from which it was difficult to escape. Now it was necessary to plan a new town, now improve some ancient metropolis of five years' standing, now negotiate a steamboat line, and for the past two years it had been the railroad. Tom had long since ceased to occupy a sub- ordinate position; he was equal and independ- ent of Mr. Whichcord, yet they worked together. Tom inspired confidence when his coadjutor failed to do so, because Tom's honesty paid its own gold coin for the trust of other men. Mr. Whichcord felt a personal pride in this integ- rity, and referred matters to his young piartner frequently. So the youth, banished by Mrs. Vyner, inflated his lungs with the pure breath of the sierras, toiled and grew, gaining much, and losing much that would have been his por- tion elsewhere. His experience in the city had left a sore memory, although he had lived down the sharpest sting of it long ago. He was reticent on this subject, now that he had come home. Why disturb Mrs. Wald by rak- ing up the past? lie mentioned negotiating a loan with Mr. Randolph for the railroad, and reverted to other matters. Tom had been luxuriating in idleness these two months, and yet he had never fully recov- ered from the shock of finding Katherine Wald so changed. To be sure, she had written to him all this time; and although her growth had been apparent in improved diction and maturity of thought, he had not been prepared for the surprise which awaited him at grand- mother's gate. A woman is said to be a more easy, facile letter-writer than a man; certainly Kate's missives compared very favorably. with the hasty scrawls Tom dispatched to his dear little sister in Greenville. She had more lei- sr:.', ndnl Tom's pages did not lack force as well as a certain felicitous way of sketching his companions by a skillful touch or so. While lie chatted with grandmother lie watched Kate move about the house; and when he told some startling tale of his own experience, which he did well, with the aid of a pleasant voice and considerable dramatic power, he could not remain unmoved by the subtle flattery of holding a young listener spell-bound, and discovering that every emo- tion of pain or pleasure he had experienced at the time was reproduced in the face before him. Katherine Wald would always be sure to receive back her measure full because she was sympathetic. With Tom, hero of her in- fancy, this feeling carried her up to tihe pinna- cle of enthusiasm, or plunged her into depths of gloom. Not that lie dwelt on his trials, but he had quick hearers, capable of living a scene over, when furnished with facts. Lying there in the grass, he was aggrieved that Kaity was not still his little playmate; he felt the need of unlimited petting in a humnanizing senuse; and here he was confronted by that barrier of Katherine's womanhood. He had kissed her when he arrived, with the calm salute of rela- tives of opposite sexes, but afterward there had been no further familiarities until the ghamour of sunset overcame him. All else remained unchanged. The village street and the old hiouse, the brook and tlihe family burying-ground beyond, with the gleam- ing head-stones, seemed preserved by a sleep. Even the sun-dial had gathered no additional moss of age. Stay-was late aloine altered? Was not he the most estranged by lapse of years and different scenes? He could never live here again in placid contentment. What a drowsy, miniature world it was! Having breasted the current, he could never withdraw to this sheltered inlet and watch tihe stream flow past in idleness. The strength of man- hood was too powerful within him for inac- tion. The supper-bell aroused Tom from these meditations. He went into the house rather sullenly, and with a trifle of curiosity. Kate need not have been so prim! How woultl she behave next? There sat my lady at table, with her eyes fixed on the cake-basket. Mrs. Wald, pouring tea, understood at a glince that something was wrong, and wisely kept her own counsel. Already the young man felt refining influences, grandmother having entered on ia brisk campaign on the rank weeds engendered by rude companionship, wlile Kate pruned more gently. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] Conversation flowed smoothy at table, thanks to Mrs. Wald. "I wish to walk up to the old school-house. Will you go too, Kate?" This was Tom's overture of peace. She raised her eyebrows provokingly. "The old' school-house? Surely that can not interest you," she said, with assumed in- difference. "Pray do not allow me to drag you along," said Tom, stiffly. "I can go alone, and drop in on the school-master." "Very well; then I will be excused, as I have a little headache," replied Kate, with a blush. - After the meal she vanished. "Let them have it out together. She is a good girl, and he is a good boy. At least, this tiff does not evince mutual indifference," reflected Mrs. Wald, and would not lift a finger to lead affairs into a smoother channel; only she had no intention of allowing Tom to visit the school-house that evening. "Come here, my son," she said, from her fa- vorite nook by the window which commanded the street. Tom was as nearly out of temper as it is possible for a hero to be. He was vexed with himself, and more vexed with Kate. "Have you seen the picture?" inquired grandmother. "What picture?" Tom had utterly refused to occupy the state- ly guest-chamber; he should then consider him- self a stranger. Mrs. Wald was pleased with this decision, but Kate thought of the painting in silence. She would not again, remove it, and was too proud to mention it to the visit- or, whose glance was to have recognized Bear Hill when he opened his eyes in the morn- ing. "Katherine won the Pulleyn prize, and gave the mioney to Jacob Prout for a sewing-ma- chine. That is not all; the artist considers her talented." "Good!" exclaimed Tom, heartily, his ill. humor vanishing. Then lie ran up stairs to the guest-chamber, followed sedately by grand- mother. Tom gazed at the landscape with all the reverence Mrs. Wald's exacting pride might demand, and without thinking of the picture -at all, but of the girl-figure in the vio- let gown instead. ' I suppose she could do any thing," he said, musingly. "My granddaughter is one in a million, Thomas. She' is sound to the core," returned Mrs. Wald, impressively. "I believe it." "What can you know, living out there? It is I that should appreciate her worth. I in- tend she shall marry well," continued grand- mother. "Has she had many offers?" he inquired, carelessly. Oh, for that shaft in her quiver of a real, tangible admirer to quicken Tom's interest in Kate! Mrs. Wald was a match-maker. She darted one inquiring glance at him. "There is not a young man in the region she could not marry." After that they went down stairs again, and the ensuing hour was exceedingly dull. Mrs. Wald's fingers flew over her knitting work; she did not especially exert herself to entertain her companion. If Kate was indulging in a tan- trum, she might take her own time to emerge. If Tom was to blame, she would not mar by interference the opportunity for making up. Tom yawned, read the newspaper, and grew si- lent. At this time of day he was accustomed to stroll abroad with his foster-sister. The young people discussed a thousand matters in their own way, and seldom chose subjects of a personal nature. He missed the tete-h-tete, and chafed at the cause. "Where is she?" he inquired, abruptly. Mrs. Wald smiled. "Kate said that her head ached." "Shall I inquire how she is?" rising hesi- tatingly. "If you choose." Mrs. Wald clicked her steel needles in the shadow. "So he must eat humble-pie." Tom tapped on Kate's door, which was open. The room was vacant. Then lie went to the garret, led by old memories of her favorite haunt. She heard hini coming, and her first impulse was to hide; then a stubborn pride withheld her. Kate's temples did indeed throb. She had come away alone to try and realize how it was that Tom had rendered life dis- jointed by that kiss. The more she pondered the less satisfaction she derived. At last she leaned her head back, and declared she was tired. Grandmother would have Tom all to herself, and she need not bie missed. This last thought possibly punished her terribly. What were they talking about? What would they think of her? By the time Tom had reached the top stair her perversity had melted. "Oh, Tom, I am sorry I was so foolish. Of course you can never realize that I am grown up." He seated himself on the footstool, and took both of her hands. "No, I was wrong. It was a mistake, an impulse to-" "Hush!" interposed Kate, playfully. "You poor boy, without a sister for so long, and when you come home I snub you! Tom, you may treat me just as you like. I will be little again while you are here." Certainly her apology was very ample, but it did not suit him for all that. 1Her lashes drooped, her lips trembled with some unspo- ken emotion; her head inclined toward himn. Tom held her hands in his firm clasp. The garret was tapestried with shadows; dusk lurked beneath the eaves, dense obscurity was behind the huge brick chimney, and the great-coat swayed from its peg. "That can never be. We are no longer children." "Very well," Kate assented, with a slight pout. He might have been gracious enough to come half-way. Outside the crickets chirp- ed their melancholy music, so fraught with sad memories of dead and vanished seasons, and the bats skimmed past in noiseless flight. CHAPTER XXI. FOLLOW THE DREAM OF THY YOUTH. "WHAT a pretty locket, Tom!" Iv. "Yes. I wear it for luck." "Then it must have been a present" (art- fully). "Does that necessarily follow?" asked Tom, flicking the white mare on the car. "I would not drive at Itome without Fanny-it would not seem natural. Good old lady!" The family horse and chaise were carrying these two along pleasant by-ways, bordered with sumac and blackberry bushes. The road now wound around the brow of a hill, affording a charming glimpse of village, vale, and river; then led down into the shade of somlbre woods, where the foliage spread a delicate green tra- -cery against the sky. The drive was a sort of pilgrimage to Tom; he was visiting the haunts of boyhood again, and recalling a fresh adven- ture at each 'shrine. The white horse stood patiently at many a stile, switching a long gray tail, while they rambled down grassy lanes, called at remote farm-houses, and watched the shy squirrels caper in the identical places where this Nimrod had entrapped their forefathers. The investigating feminine eye had caught a glimpse of Rose Vyner's locket, when Tom con- sulted his watch to judge if they would be late for dinner. "May I look at it?" finally said Kate, not to be diverted. "What do you mean? Oh, the locket. Cer- tainly. I should gladly offer it to you, Kate, had it not been given to me at a time when I had no friends." "Entirely without friends!" repeated Kath- crine, stabbed to the heart to hear Greenville thus slighted. 5 "Where I then was, she was my only firiend." "I knew it was a lady's trinket," said Kite, still more frostily. "You need not npologizo for not offering it to me; 1 should not acclpt it." There lay the drop of gold in her palm, which had been the means of arresting Antonio Tismado, and had not yet fulfilled its destiny. Hier tone had sharpened unconsciously. Kate was blessed with a sweet low voice, in pleasant contrast with the harsh, nasal tones about her. Perhaps in this she was influenced by associa- tion with Eunice. Mrs. Wald could correct the negro pronunciation, but Kate's own car might make her pitch her key in unison with the softly modulated tones of the African. She felt a wicked impulse to toss the locket into the hedge, and witness Totm's consterna- tion. "It would look so pretty hutg about your throat," said this same unconscious Tom. The two pair of eyes searched each other, brimming with a tenider intelligence, yet with- held from exprression by some inscrutable bar- rier. Kate felt blinded by sudden pain; her heart contracted. Who was this other girl? Did Tom love her as lie cared for those at home? Perhaps she lived where he was now stationed, and saw him every day. Every day! and they met him once in six yners. The stranger was sure to steal away till his af- fection in time. The girl felt an overwhelm- ing conviction that happiness was sliplpiig away from her. She had never pictured Tom as married, and lost to home. her lips were dumb, and Tom also became silent as the old chaise rattled along. He very well knew that page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] this was the last drive he should take with Kate. By the time they reached home she had conquered herself. It was wrong and selfisl not to rejoice in Tom's marriage; she was bound, to love Tom's wife. When she went away to tazie off her hat, she wa's obliged to brush away some tears of disappointment, She came to the dinner-table with a brave face, but experienced a little pang every tinme lier eye caught the locket swinging defiantly on stupid Tom's chain. Summer vouchsafed her most peaceful, se- rene day as the close of this vacation, rounding gloriously the term of repose. No rude wind had disturbed the quiet of noonday, while tile atmosphere had the pure, sparkling quality of approaching autumn. "Now, Kate, lead me to the old tupelo, I beg. Do you remember how tragically I rc- quested you to meet me there?" "Yes; and my fright was only equaled by my intense curiosity," laughed Kate. "I have not recovered from the ache of it yet. A little matter of money has made me a hewer of wood instead of a scholar,!" asserted Tomn, as they entered the lonely path, with Bear Hill towering solemnly above. Kate wore a white dress, simple, but dainty and fresh, with a clustei of brigliht flowers in herhbair. Who but wily Mrs. Wald had deck- ed her lamb, saying in her heart, "These two were made for each other." They walked a few paces without speaking, the girl still pondering over his last words. "I must go away to-morrow." The rosy face beside him suddenly blanched. "How we shall miss you!" ate was voice- less in her dismay save for that whisper, which, delicate,'vibrating, the merest shade of tone, could only have been understood as speaking from one nature to another. "And I wish to be missed. I am selfish. What! Tears, Kate, and for ne!" "No, no!" she cried, forcing back her grief. "How I hate crying people! Do laugh at me. If you were only nearer to us, instead of all thiat long, long distance. I scarcely know what it is-only it' seems more sad to hve you go away, Tom, than never to have come back," They had reached the pond, and Kate stood in mute grief, with tightly clasped hands, won- dering how grandmother would take the news. Just as if grandmother did not know more than Kate all the while! Tom went on a few steps and looked at the tranquil water. Above his liead was the dome of sky shading to a daffodil tinge on the horizon behind the black rim of earth, with trees and hills in deeper shadow. Fast and lonely seemed earth and sky, and some shade of this loneliness chilled the young man's spirit. To journey on alone forever, and find hIis firuit turned to aslies at last- was that to be his portion? The sadness and iso- lation beneath that distant sky was his neced of warm, humian love. Kate the prize of an- other? He fancied that he was acting on an impulse as instantaneous as if a metcor ]iad hashed 'above them; for none are so blind as those first involved in the meshes of the little god Eros, while he was actually mastered by an emotion, which had first dawned over hiln in wonder and vague delight wlchen he met the fiair faice at the gate. If lie had not siglied adder Kate's lattice, he had awakened to a startling consciousness of passing events many a night, and thought intently of the change wrought by years. The whelcel of the old mill dripped monoto- nously, the surface of the plond was unruttled; through the foliage swept a faint stir, as if the heart of the trees pulsated with intelligence, distilling richer odors. A bird chirped softly in some hidden nest. "' Iolc," said Tom, smitten with irrepressible longing, and clasped her in his arms. "Oh, what is it?" she faltered, puzzled and distressed. "Kate, Kate, understand me-love me. Lay your head on my breast. I am no longer your brother." The steadily averted face crimsoned, but the puzzled wonder gradually melted into a smile. "Look at me, dear," he pleaded, placing one ,hand on the waving chestnut hair. "Have I become suddenly hatefill to you?" "No," ftintlv. Then removing the caress- ing hand, she flashed a brighter glance at him. "How silly e are, Tom?" Mark the delicious unity in this reprehensi- ble silliness. "Let na always continue to be so, then, dar- ling," he answered, gazing at her with a lover's eyes. Merriment vanished, a sob rose in Kathe- rine's throat, gravity deepened beneath her veiling lashes as she nestled closer to him, say- ing simply, "Be good to me, Tom, for I can never love another." "Good to you? As if the world held an- other woman besides! First and last, Kate, and we were babies together," he said, in deep- er tones. he stooped until his check touched Iier own, and their lips met in a long, sweet kiss. Then there was silence between them, eloquent silence, with the tupelo raising its arms to heaven, as if in supplication that these two should never be divided. Katherinc Wald had waited for the incom- ing tide all these years of peace, singing her song of careless gayety, and now the wave ca:me sweeping up to the shore-a wall of crystal waters that curled over her hIead reccived her into translucent depths, and would leave her with no separate identity afterwar(d. No long- er the same Tom and Kate, but ardent youth and tremulous maiden, incredulous of tlicir own happiness, touched by the wand which trans- figures all things. Eartil sang .an anthem of rejoicing nature in- telligible to their car; firom distant mountain 'and still woodland sounded mysterious liar- monies; the narrow path had become. one of the avenues leading to paradise. Heaven slichd a pure scintihng, ray; thie evening starl trem- bled in the firmament, as it did when the first pair of lo-ers read each other's souls. "Who gave you the locket, Tom?" "Miss losa Vyner, love. I may give it you01, noW." Kate hesitated, and eyed it askance. She rejoiced in her power to destroy another girl's bauble, yet it seemed mean to place Tron, in a predicament. "Did you care for her-minuch?" "Care for her! Bless you, no; but slic was a good little princess." "Keelp the gift, dear." Ah! better to have taklen it away, Kate, before it wrought frllther mischief. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] CHAPTER XXII. KATE'S DISCOVERY, "A ND, grandmother, we must study up rail- . roads," cried Kate, blithely. How is that to be done?" "I have planned it all. I will drive you over to Danvers, and you shall call on Mrs. Miller, while I rummage among the judge's books." "What do you expect to accomplish in one day?" pursued Mrs. Wald, smiling. Whereupon Kate seated herself on the floor, resting her arms in grandmother's lap, and gazed up at the calm face very earnestly. - "Do you know I've been thinking that a girl should have a great many things in her head-to get married, especially to a man like Tom," "Railroads included," interpolated Mrs. Wald, slyly. "Yes, railroads included, if his interest takes that direction." "But, my child, that is his work; the wife has other duties." "I know it," assented Kate, quickly. "Still the wife must be prepared to listen intelligent- ly to his plans." "Very well. - I have no objection to visit- ing Mrs. Miller. You surely do not expect to master such a subject at a glance." "No. I intend to run over the field, and just gain a general idea. Then, if the judge should offer to lend me a book, I can study more at leisure at home." Tom Thornley had gone that morning, car- rying all the sunshine with him. A knot had risen in Kate's throat, as he turned back for a final glimpse of her, and sudden tears had blind- ed her eyes. What if he never returned? But he must come back. She was determined not to languish in corners and be ridiculous. She was incapable of painting, because her interest would be divided. Then she thought of the railroad, and determined to master it. Green- ville by this time knew that "Mis' Wald's. Kate" was engaged. Matronly Greenville, wiping soapy hands on its apron, and calling shrilly for some missing Johnny, considered it a good thing. Spinster Greenville, with omi- nous head-shakes, only hoped the girl had not made a mistake, marriage was such a lottery. It may be that Peter Laud, the younger, served as Mercury in this. matter. Peter was beside himself with joy; he strutted, he sang, he frisked. Miss Kate was to be married, and had not Eunice promised to become Mrs. Peter on the day of her young mistress's wedding? "No right-minded young woman ever goes back on her word," said Peter, at the kitchen door. He'had bought more red ribbon than his income as wood-chopper warranted, and deco- rated Eunice With a gingerly gallantry. "I mean to keep my word," replied Eunice, meekly, wearing the red ribbon much as if she was bridled. The old chaise was at the door, and Kate. drew on her driving-gloves with that firm de- termination not to languish over Tom's ab- sence. Jacob Prout sidled up to the Walds. "I've heard the news," he said, ruefully. "I hope you will let me get up the trousseau. It will be such a treat!" "You shall do it," laughed Kate, coloring brightly, and hurrying away. Jacob looked after the chaise with .pale, blue eyes. If IKhte must marry, there would be a solace in making her pretty dresses. Why need she get married at all? Far down in Jacob's timid heart there was pain at the loss, and resentment that a stronger man could claim her. The drive to Denvers was successful in ev- ery way. The daily intercourse of Mrs. Wald and Kate was as different as possible from that which had existed with her own daughter. Kate was totally unlike Letitia; more obedi- ent and tractable; yet it is also probable that Mrs. Wald was far more indulgent. Judge Miller, a hale, bluff old gentleman, with more of the farmer than lawyer about him, received the Walds cordially, and con- ducted them into the presence of a wrinkled little woman with silvery hair, whose delight knew no bounds. "Hopeful Wald, I declare!" exclaimed the little woman, beaming a cheery greeting from all her wrinkles, and laying a thin hand on each of Mrs. Wald's arms. "I was telling the judge the other day that we might as well live on separate planets for all we see of each oth- er. And how time flies with us, Ilopeful!" Kate had disappeared with the judge, who led her across the garden to his little detached office. It was seldom that a young lady dis- played much interest in his books. "Railroads-humph! Engineering and all the rcst," he said. "I pick up a trifle of ev- ery thing, to be sure. Perhaps you may find them in a vcyclopaedia." So they pored over the volumes on the judge's shelves, one side of the officy being devoted to legal works, and the other to a miscellaneous collection. Kate found material and to spare; she was fairly bewildered. "Are you 'also interested in iron?" inquired the old gentleman, with the most commendable gravity. Kate blushed deeply, and glanced quickly at him; she felt as if hhe had fbound her out. "No," she replied, doubtfully. "That is a pity," said the judge, seating himself in the broad leather chair, which was a throne of justice to many a culprit. "I could give you considerable information concerning mines and the manufacture. By-the-bye, here is a book that those fellows on the cars insist upon selling, and of course have their own wav -'Celebrated Events,' or 'Wonderful Men,' or soime such title. You may find it interest- ing; take it home." lie opened the volume, and wrote her name on the fly-leaf. This he did, partly because the Pulleyns were a reading family and Kate a nice girl, but also because he had nothing else to do just then. Many a gift is given owing to the recipient being in the way to receive it. "Have you learned much?" questioned Mrs. Wald, when they were on the homeward road after dinner. "Not a great deal,' was Kate's reluctant admission, chirruping to Fanny in a way pe- culiar to the feminine charioteer. When twilight came Tom's absence made an aching void. Kate would not wander in the garden where memories of the vanished lover must be still more painful, and sat by the window weary and dejected. At last she strolled to the hall lamp, and turned the leaves of her new book. "Why, grandmother, did you dream that Tom had a place among distinguished men?" "Do not be foolish," said Mrs. Weld, from the dark corner, where the knitting-needles clicked. "But he is here. Listen." "Thomas Thornley - born in the remote town of Greenville-was an engineer of unu- sual merit. He conceived the idea of present- ing himself to the Emperor of Russia for em- ployment in some of the railroad scheices then entertained by the Czar for the improvement of his domains. He acquitted himself with so much credit that he was intrusted with still greater responsibilities." "This is not our Tom,' said Kate, paus- ing. "Go on." The voice that sDOke was per- emptory, harsh. Mrs. Wald stood in the door-way, her work crushed in one hand, and her face very white. "When lie left the service of this generous prince he was presented with one million dol- lars." "A million!" muttered Mrs. Wald, hoarse- ly, dropping her knitting on the floor. Kate uttered a faint cry of dismay, and sprang to her side. "Let me think," waving her back with a feeble gesture. The strong woman's brain whirled. Thomas Thornley respected for his ability elsewhere, and considered by G(reenville a shiftless man! Verily, hhe was not without honor save in his own country. Wounded by that contempt founded on ignorance-it made Mrs. Wald tingle, even at this late day, to think that she might be classed with the common herd-Thomas had held his peace too long. No doubt the fruit of his industry was to be brought to the pale, patient wife without a word of preparation, in order that the joy miight be greater. Where was Letitia? Mrs. Wald asked herself this question with a thrill of alarm, as she had asked it all these years. "This man was Tom's father, and Tom must find the money lie left. Oil, my poor Eliza Thornley, was your work actually done?" The bool ,lippcd from Katherine's hand. Tom was to find a million dollars, she thought in a dream. page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] CHAPTER XXIII. EDWARD VYNER. D4 TjrtWAWRD, what am I to understand by your remark at dinner? Speak frankly, my dear." "Let us take a turn in the picture-gallery, mother, and I will tell you my convictions." Mrs. Vyner slipped her hand through Ilds arm and looked up anxiously into his face. It was a pale, narrow face, with a high forehead, a large mouth, which was obstinate or firm as you chose to consider it, and a sharp chin. He was of a medium height, and attired in an unmistakably clerical garb. "I never felt any hesitation as to a choice of calling, as you know," he said, in his measured tolles, as if he-were preaching. "Now that I1 am here, equipped in my armor, the doubt does elrplex me if it is right to remain amidst ease and plenty, i-lstead of seeking some less fa- vored spot, some wilderness, where souls are starving." A contraction of pain passed over his moth- er's features. "You will go away and bury yourself among people who have no appreciation of your intel- lect, and who would be better suited with some vulgar ranter," she said bitterly. "What were talents given for but to serve God?" said the son, looking at her sternly. Mrs. Vyvner changed her weapon. "Think of your poor mother. Consider the sacrifice to her!" "We are bound to make sacrifices," he re- turned, visibly softened by the appeal, and put- ting his arm around her slender form. "I have only one boy. You do not realize, you can not appreciate a mother's love. Oh, I have built such hopes on you I!" "What are the hopes?" Edward Vyner's glance fell on her like a rift of dazzling ligllt through a storm-cloud; M3rs. Vyner's own eyes sank before it. To define the expression or its effect would be difficult. It was not the look- of a saint down from its niche, nor yet a suspicion of evil, but-it had something of the pure serenity of one set apart from the world. It must ever be a trial to the maternal heart to have one's offspring soaring to a height whlere one may not follow, and actuated by motives and scruples which one can only dim- ly understand. Mrs. Vyner would not yield an inch. "You are well aware that I wishecd you to be a barrister instead of a clergyman, Ed- nyard," she said, calmly. Before he could reply; Rose tripped in on the' conference with all the nonchalance of an only daughter, who can not imagine herself to be in the way, especially with her own family. 'Edward's manner was stiff and cold-brother and sister were almost strangers to each other, so diverse had their paths of education been, lie knew nothing of girls, and placed absolute faith in his mother's care of Rosc. "ChOre malian, Mr. Yarington wishes to see you, and he has brought me these flowers. Are they not exquisite'?" The bouquet was of tuberoses with a margin of waxen green leaves, the stem clasped in a gold filagree han- dle of superb workmanship. "'He calls this yoluth, white and unsullied. What a nice old gentleman he is!" continued the girl, complacently. "' Such a child! Always delighted with a new toy," responded the mother, smiling indul- gently, and tapping her daughter's rosy cheek. "I do like presents, mamma." Edward sniffed at the bouquet absently. "Run back and amuse Mr. Yarington. I will follow you. One word more, Edward. Promise me that-you will take no rash step without cool deliberation. If you are not need- ed in this great city, I should like to be shown *a wider field.': The young man's cheek glowed. "I should like to persuade the enemies of the Church of their errors. The ready pen is sadly needed in controversy." "There are two sides to every duty, rcecol- lect." Then she kissed and left hini. After all, Mrs. Vyner possessed more influence over her son than he was aware of. When he was alone Eidward Vyner paced the gallery lost in thought, pausing finally be- fore a picture which possessed especial interest for one of his temperament-a figure kneeling before a crucifix, clad in th coarse garb of the recluse bent on mortifying the flesh, with upturned head and clasped hands. A whole lifetime of pain and humiliation in the fiint, wan lineaments and droopling mouth, over which rippled a wonder, celestial, illimitable, as if the inward vision already pierced eternity, and found rest. "To overcome the world," mnurmuitred the young clergyman, standing with folded arms before the picture. He had comnic to America ;s entire a stranger as if lie hai been, by birth a foreigner; even his symplathies were cs- trnnged. He had always been a delicate boy, quiet to indifference and coldness, and singu- larly reticent in disposition. Such a boy, averse to active, physical exertion, and the noisy life of robust childhood, turns instinct- ively to books. He would have-been a stu- dent under the most unfavorable circumstances, devouring such crumbs as fell to his share, but fortune gave him every facility. Tom Thorn- ley, in his place, with a broader range of thought and a more calthhy tone, would lnave been a brilliant schollar; Edward's mind ab- sorbed every thing, and remained silent. Never was university career more tame and mnototonous than that of 11rs. Vvncr's soni. lie passed along in the shadow, none awatre of hIis presence, few cognizant of his existence at all, receiving h)is portion of instruction, and still keeping his thoughts fiast locked. He floated on the stream with idle oars. Tom Thornley would have braved the siwift current to win a scholarship. The most obtuse discernment might divilne which path Edward would tread in the uni- versity. Not for him the gay career of young noblemen in races, suppers, and scrapes, with whom he might have kept pace, at least, in running in debt. He shrank from the good- natured chaff leveled at him as a Yankee, and the allusions to Indians and tomahawks, which Tom would have met and parried, seeking in- stead congenial associates in the library. He became "no end of lt nmuff," "a prig," "a fI ;,s- sil," in the estimation of young gentlemen \\ h went to Ascot and viewed life from a dr:lg. Of that scaled casket, his own mind, Edward Vyner gave no sign when he left the shores dear to himn; thought wore a deeper chanel( because pent up. In sensitive consciousnless he was morbid, and in tliose mutters which af- fected hs nature he felt intensely. The young man could not help a sense of superiority, that he was coming out to the New World as a mis-. sionary, in much the same way as good Bishop Berkeley had done years before. Mrs. Vyner was not so much interested in the conversation of her good friend, Mr. Yar- ington, that the notionless absorption of her son's attitude escaped her, as seen through a veiling lace- curtain. Making some trifling pretext for crossing the drawing-room, she dis- covered the picture on which his gaze was fast- ened. Did she also discover the maze of doubt through which her son was passing, that strife to learn duty and fit the back to the burden, illustrated in one forl1 by the wan penitent on the canvas? The next tinme Edward entered the gallery, the picture, a valuable work by some celebrated Flemish painter, tho had lavished years on its minute perfection, was gone. The mother's creed was: "So long as thou doest well to thyself, He will speak well of thee." The son's, "To keep himself unspot- ted from the world." page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] CHAPTER XXIV. SANG - BLEU. MRS. VYNER had made progress in these six years. She had come to this city un- known, with a large fortune in her own right, and the determination to win a place in the best society it afforded for the day when her children should need position. The task was not as easy as might be imagined. There was sure to be a rank of enemies to view her very affluence askance, inquiring into the source. Where did these Vyners get their money? Who knew any tl ing about their antecedents? Nay, how could one be sure that the whole fabric on which -hey stood was not a bubble of untruth? Mrs. Vyner was aware that all these questions would be asked, and did not spare herself the rehearsal of theim before her own mind. She was determined to win, and the impulse gave zest to her interest in return- ing home. Besides, she assured herself that she liked the study of human nature, to weigh motives and results in a mental balance, while her tongue was engaged in the utterance of polite speech. Suspicion was the mask which covered her own features, and armed her against surprise at all points. She had stifled the emotions aroused at sight of Tom Thornley; had resolutely buried them in a deep vault of which she alone held the key; yet the influence tainted her whole na- ture. Indeed, she reverted with bitter morti- fication to the time when her self-control had failed, the moment when the boy stepped into her path, and said, "I am Thomas Thornley." There is a current belief in Europe that, to gain a place-in American society, one has only to pitch his tent, give a flourish of trumpets, and announce, "Behold, I have more gold than any of you. Bow down and worship." Cer- tainly this sarcasm can not apply to our sea- board cities, although, with our local pride and jealousies, we like to toss the compliment to the next town. "Oh, a man can command any thing there if he has money," we affirm, wrapping ourselves in our own respectability, especially if we happen to be rather older and dingier in our thoroughfares than this neigh- boring city of which we speak. Money is the foundation of society in nine cases out of ten, but it must be allowed time to take root. The market-gardener and butcher -honest souls!-who rose at four o'clock in the morning to be at their posts, never stepped within the cha med circle of the beau monde in their day. Oh no; they sat in glowering dis- comfort in the big houses which they purchased, waiting for the calls that never came, unless some wily politician wanted their vote. But the sons and daughters, educated and accom- plished in proportion as the market prevented much study in the preceding generation, emerge into the full daylight of prosperity; and you will find no more aggressive element, no more tenacious upholder of the rights of birth and family and the necessity of putting down par- venues, than these same lineal descendants of tile market-man. How gently through these elements meanders the stream of sang-bleu! Mrs. Vyner did not fear the former class; all her energies were concentrated on the latter. The first must be taken by a coup d'etat, stun- ned, crushed by unexpected magnificence of hospitality: you can not impress'the sang-bleu in this manner--tile more ostentatious glitter flashes in their eyes, the more reserved they become, especially if the resources of many gen- erations have dwindled to a genteel competen- cy with them. Instances are known where those of the sang-bleu have married plebeians, much as the French nobility has formed alli- ance with the bourgeoisie. Mrs. Vyner saw at a glance that Mrs. Bul- strode Whitelocke was to be the Mordecai in her gate. The contrast between their respect- ive homes was as great as that existing between tlte two ladies. Mrs. Whitclocke lived in a large faded house in an unfaslionable quarter, where a high fence of iron bars seemed alone to keep at a respectful distance the intrusion of shops, Jew peddlers, and thronging vehicles. Not for worlds would Mrs. Whitelocke have yielded to modern tastes sufficiently to banish her tapestries and wainscoting, her quaint cab- inets and rare china, her antique, massive plate and family portraits of ancestors in flowing robes and wigs. She seldom gave dinners, and never lhad balls; yet Mrs. Whitclocke was an acknowledged leader; slic was the perfect type of the Sang-bleu. In the lobby of the Opera-house Mrs. Vyner observed a stranger surveying her through an eye-glass, a lady whose tall, thin form, attired inw lustreless black, resembled a column of cho- nv- without curving outline. This was 1Mrs. Whitelocke. "How am I ever to make an impression on that adamantine surface?" thought Mrs. Vy- ner, gathering her downy cloak about her as -he swept on to her box. "'The first step is to win her over, and without taking that citadel the outer walls are usclcss. Then she gave anu impatient sigh, despite her being the most c\xquisitcly dressed if not the most beautiful woman in all that varied parterre of feminine charms. Mrs. V*yner might easily claim equality with Mrs. Whitelocke in her ownt right, if she could tell the truth. The descendant of Judge Pull- leyn, of stainless memory, could rank with nlly ill the land; and Mrs. Whitclocke would readily acknowledge such a claim. iBut to take her stand openly would be to have the ti- dings of her present manner of living slpread to Greenville in some unexpected way. Lc- titia had calculated the chances, and severed all connection with her past life. She had even urged a change of name, but this her llus- band stoutly refused. What! have his chil- dren live under assumed titles? IIc had told fallschoods enough to gratify her, and he would never give up his own name. Now, the unfor- tuniate womain reaped the fruit of her tortuous course, when her real position would have aid- ed her as much as her money. Quite as much? Ah, no; there ,was a buzz of comment over her diamonds, her toilets fresh from Paris, her own stately beauty. True gentility unadorned would never have gained this renown, and Mrs. Vyner knew it. Already those newspa- pers which emulate the Court Journal in stat- ing accurately whether Mr. Smith is at home, in his palatial residence on -- Avenue, or i 'has gone to his country-seat to seek quiet amidst the sweet, sylvan retreats of the shore, had taken up Mrs. Vynecr with a vengeance, and she enjoyed having her flounces counted, her laces appraised , as much as her neighbors did. That night at the Opera all these thorns of experience contrived to prick tlio ambitious woman, before shte had adjusted her lorgnette. A droll little gentleman, wearing a brown wig, hopped up to the sable lady, and said, briskly, "My dear, what a splendid woman that Mrs. Vyner is! Quite regal, I declare, with all that court train, and what-d'ye-call it. Did you say that the French minister's wife had sent you a letter of introduction?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Whitcloc!ke, dryly. "The minister is a good fellow, anld of ex- cellent family, you know," added Mr. Wllite- locke, as they went to their box. "Yes," assented Mrs. Whitelocke again. But in her own mind she thought, "I shall not call. The minister's wife may pick up any one abroad. I will not be made a fool. I like people to hatve some standing in their own country." Mrs. Whitelocke did not, midl making an informal acquaintance, her position was too well assured to dread criticism; still she never intended to lose ground by being made to play the fool. So the two ldlides sat and regarded each other across the house with a calm hostility. The next remark had by Snyg-blku was: "The man looks well-l,'cd, althogh he has a weak face." Mr. Whitclocke prudently vouchsafed no re- sponse, but fidgeted on his chair like a child, and rested his chin on his gold-headed cane. When his small, wiry form, usually clad in a shabby coat, had ceased to move in th busy throngs of men, it would be discovered that ioe was a celebrity. Careless as to appearance- and few persons can afford to be so negligent, eccentric in manner, humorous, prone to veil any deep meaning under a vein of badinage- the old gentleman was a ripe scholar, and could wield a powerful pen in argument. In society he alternately lapsed into reverie, and linked together abrupt sentences of criticismn, wliicli only escapned being sarcastic through the indif- ferent good-nature of the speaker, and lie fre- quently put himinself in odd placeos where his ap- plearance was the most grotesque, witl an Cn- tire self-forgetfulness. He was simple and un- affected. It was amusing to seeRCC some urbane, rotund millionaire striving, with smooth, bland page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] gesture, to impress Mr. Whitelocke, little, nerv- w ous, and singular of aspect. The millionaire d would make his point, while his companion's ti gaze roamed over the company, and then Mr. fi Whitelocke would utter some unexpected re- fo tort, sharp, incisive, and acute; yet, whether or e not the little gentleman went his way laugh- ing in his sleeve afterward, none might tell. s1 He was "'dreadfully close," the young men 1L said, and we may not pretend that his reputa- C tion was other than miserly. he was never s too busy to look over the grocer's account, and o would willingly leave his historical researches s any time to catch a tradesman napping. He v ground the face of the poor, was the indignant v murmur which ascended from butcher, and 1 baker, and candlestick-maker, expectant of t perquisites. Altogether one could not but t fancy how well he would match the setting if ^ he were some carefully preserved old French- man, strolling f6rth daily to dine at the cafe, t and make his comments on the gay world of 1 the Champs Elysees. For one whole year Mrs. Vyner pondered i over her Mordecai, without visibly affecting I that calm, plain personage, and during this in- , terval her own standing was most precarious. Overtures had been made to her by a lower grade of society, a gay, dashing element, more likely to reckon on a handsome house of en- tertainment than pedigree. Mrs. Vyner would have none of these. Better a proud isolation than to sink to their level, and be lost forever to better things; so this phalanx retired dis- comfited and offended, and Mrs. Bulstrode Whitelockl still drove past the door in her large old coach. "I can wait," Mrs. Vyner would reflect, with a curious, half-contemptu- ous smile playing about her moutl, while her foot tapped the floor impatiently. Before the year had expired she made her move. Mrs. Whitelocke was a devout adher- ent of the church of St. Christophus. .Mrs. Vyner became a member of that congregation. She did this because it was the proper thing, and in order to outflank her rival in her religion; yet when once within that spacious sanctuary other emotions struggled for mastery. She was weary of the strife, in which every nerve was strained to gain the end, and what was the harvest but dross! The first novelty of possessing money had worn away; and, while it lasted, she reveled in a delirium of gratifica- tion, pleasing every whim, obeying every im- pulse. She held the talisman to all the riches of earth, and exulted in the power it gave her; still, safe possession palled in time. What was she battling for? To establish her chil- dren. She always grew firm with this reflec- tion, and strove to banish the dark brood of fancies which had gnawed their way, sharp- fanged remorse taking the lead, into her soul ever since her return to her native land. It was not the influence alone of Mrs. Bul- strode Whitelockc's edifying example. which led tills troubled spirit within the portal of St. Christophus.. She took a front seat mi th sanctuary, she entered with feverish activity on the charities of the parish, and all the while she kept a sort of debit and credit account with her own conscience-so much done for worldly wisdom, and so much in expiation of her sin. The most respectable step possible to take, in any community, is to link one's self to the interest of a church, and many there are who enter on that sole account. Mrs. Vylier was a poison-plant in St. Chris- tophus, for she was a living lie. She went there to appear well, and wolld never have taken the step had not Mrs. Whitelocke been a shin- ing light. She never failed in her attendance; her health was perfect; the most drenching storms did not prevent her from being in her place across the aisle fron the Whtelocke pew; and during the week, at early and late services,'Sang-b61u was sure to behold this stranger gliding through the vestibule to her place. Mortifying the flesh was certainly the first object in these matins at gray dawn, but the woman, whose purpose was mean and paltry, grew to like them. The solemn, shrouded place, the distant altar, the rich blending hues of the windows, the deep reverberations of the organ, wafting waves of harmony on the hushea silence, appenled to-her strangely-she seemed to leave the tinsel garment of her daily life out- * side. Sometimes she forgot Mrs. Whitelocke for a while, and went drifting back to her mother's house in Greenville. Was that moth- er alive or dead? Again, a sharp thrill of I agony went through her at the thought of Tom ; Thornley's hunger for education. What would r the lad do if he knew all? Put her in prison i as a tliief, perhaps. She shivered nervously, e then returned to her present surroundings with s a shock of alarm. She even drew her rich f slnwl about her more closely, as if she felt a e draught, before glancing stealthily around to - see if she was observed. - Mrs. Whitelocke, always studying this per- :s son on whom she would not call, began to ; doubt the Christianity of her own bearing. tt WlIo was she, that she should sit in judgment on nnother whose conduct was irreproachable, :1iid who contributed largely to the funds of St. Christophus. The good lady reflected, with a regretfull sigh, that pride was indeed the root of all evil in her own heart. Her reserve was thawing rapidly, when 'Mrs. Vyner touched the most vital chord in her nature by a donation of Easter gifts to the pupils of her pet char- ity-school. Accordingly, as Mrs. Vyner came out of church with a far-away look in her dark eves, a truly excellent woman was the means of checCking the growth of good in her soul. Mrs. Whitelocke greeted her courteously, and requested the pleassure of driving her home, as Mrs. Vyner's carriage -was not there. Next day all her world knew that the Sdg-blcu had called on the new peol,le. llesult: an hour later, Mrs. Godfrey Jetlkiln, lineal descendant of the market-man, vpitil rustle of satin and lace and velvet, dianmonds twinkling in hIer ears, delicately rouged and pcrfumincl, blandly impressive in manner, followed in Mrs. Wliitc- locke's wake. A nice observer might have detected tlihe slightest gradation in the affithility of the host- ess toward tlchese two ladies. Having won the Sanl-bleu over, she could afford to tUke n high hand with the sliccp tihat followed. "I have nothing to fear. Ba13lh! I grow nervous and cowardly. What! give way at thhe most critical moment, when the children will need every thng. I think I sec my daughter making her debut on Gull Island. No, no; I am safe. No one knows in the world what 1 have done." Slic stood alone when tlicse guests had left Iher, a red spot glowing on either check, andl slie clasped her hands above her head, witil a gesture of defying any power to move hicr. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] CHAPTER XXV. ROSE VYNER'S SUITORS. I KNEW you would come," said the girl, with an arch, upward glance. "What could have kept me away?" replicd the young man, gallantly. "Your papa, or the club," she responded, merrily. '"Surely there are cases where parental au- thority ceases," he returned, in a lower tone. The girl was Rose Vyner, and the young man Montmorcncy Whitelocke. They were both well mounted on spirited horses, as was Mr. Vyner, p)re, an accessory on this occasion, like the English groom bellind. Affecting an interest in the handle of her whip, Rose present. ly stole a glance through her curling lashes at her squire, which he returned as ardently as is possible for a not very quick-witted youth, who has many acquaintances to greet on the drive, and feels a serene conviction that lie is escort- ing one of the prettiest girls in the park, as well as one of the best "' catches " in the market, Montmorency, ever mindful of his position, was a pale, languid person, with soft blue eyes, chiefly distinguished for making high-shoul- dered bows, and an excessive politeness which often caused the recipient to feel uncomfortat- ble. If he was the American so scathingly described by Miss Mittord, who hedged ladies about with ottomans, and sprang to the door to anticipate their wishes, he had also the vir- tue of never seeing any thng he was not ex- pected to see, and avoiding disagreeable topics with unfifiling tact. How lie spent his time was clearly understood by no one, least of all by himself, and lie always wore a mildly bored expression. He possessed none of the pith of his parents, with all their excrescent faults, and openly, fastidiously confessed a dislike for trade. "But there must be trades- people," Rose Vyner had said to him on one occasion, when he was enlightening her with his peculiar views. "Certainly, but we need not consider them." here -was subtle flattery in the word "'we." Rose need not rank herself with trades-peo- ple. "Somebody must consider them," she per- sisted. "Every one in his proper place," said Mont- morency, gravely, as if he had given his mind to the subject. Mr. Vyner surveyed the pair approvingly, and did not interrupt their chat. It had come to be quite an understood matter that Mont- morency Whitelocke should join them on the ride, and be in attendance on Rose elsewhere. This was the natural result of that morning at church five years before, when the two moth- ers had made overtures of peace. Mrs. Vyner hald taken care not to lose ground since, and the intimacy had ripened' between their re- spective hom-es. Rose Vyner returned from her French con- vent a charmi ng ymung gii'l, graceful, modest, and with all a Parisienneis desire to please; and Mrs. Whitelocke was not slow to recog- nize the contrast between her and Clara Jen- kins, just ' finished " at a fashionable school at home, with a smattering of accomplishments and many tinkling ornaments, prepared to dash into the arena. Thus Mrs. Whitelocke had her own plans, and Mrs. Vyner built her cha- teau en Espagne, with the aid of that admi- rable architect, Imagination. Montmorency's mother considered that Rose would answer; and the example of a Whitelocke who had not married a fortune was unprecedented in the annals of the family. To be sure, the son might have laid Waste these plans by running off at a tangent, and falling madly in love with a poor girl; but he was far too well balanced for such a proceeding. There was not fire enough in him for that. .Besides, it was pleas- ant to dance attendance on Rose Vyner, whlo was never two days alike in mood, and who delighted in tyrannizing over her captive. "I wonder if he loves me," thought the girl, half doubtful, half pleased. She was at an age when poetry of the sentimental sort is the chief mental aliment, and the becoming- ness of a new dress of the greatest earthy inm- portance. So the young people rode on gayly side by side in the sparkling atmosphere of the autumn afternoon. The two mothers passed them with smiles, pronouncing them a well-matched pair, and Mr. Whitelocke bobbed his funny brown wig at them. "Oh, ma, do see Montmorcy with that girl again!" cried Clara Jenkins, pinching her mother's plump arm in her excitement. "She looks just as if he had proposed. Why didn't you send me to Paris?" turning quite fiercely on her afflicted parent. "He will recover his senses in time, I am sure," said Mrs. Jenkins, flushing anlgrily. "No, he will not," sobbed the distressed Miss Jenkins, leaning back in one corner of the car- riage, and unmindfill, in her desolation, of her frizzled golden hair and blue dress. "Evcry one can see that he has cut me for her, when we were getting along so nicely, and I thought I would have the great wedding of the wintcr. Mr. Yarington passed in the most faultlcss of cquipages, and smiled benignantly on his young friends; but after he had lost sight of them the pinkness faided from his smooth face, and he mutter(ed, "Infernal puDpy!" though why Montmorency Whitclockeo vinced greater puppyism than usual by escorting Rose Vyner must have been known to Mr. Yarington alone. So thhey rode toward sunset, and their sky was without a cloud; yet the girl was moving rapidly toward her fate. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] CHAPTER XXVI. A MATURE LOVER. M R. YARINGTON went home that even- ing after meeting the Vyner party in the park, with the scowl still upon his face. An- ger did not become him; there were wrinkles called into existence by a disturbing emotion, and he looked his eight-and-fifty years. Once in his own apartments, he swore at his servant, a dapper mulatto, and kicked his fa- vorite poodle. The servant vanished, and the poodle crept under the sofa. Mr. Yarington loved power; even that mean tyranny over servants and animals was dear to him, and helped to restore his good humor. The heavi- est blow possible to inflict on him would be a public verdict that he was not a sweet-tem- pered, easy-going gentleman, generous to a fault, and readily imposed on through his own faith in human nature. he was willing to be duped a little any time to strengthen this be- lief. Popularity was prized by him, and yet he never fully gained it in the golden harvest of honest esteem. One serious difficulty with which he had to contend was that he had to establish himself late in life. He was past the age of companionship with gay young men when he emerged from obscurity, and prepared to assume the position of man of elegant leisure. He detested the young men. When he sat Into over cards and brandy in their company, he felt ill and bilious next day. This he re- sented on them because he no longer had the elasticity of youth. He was very rich, and the idlest of mankind. Before the hour of twelve he might always be found in his rooms in a Cashmere dressing-gown, with a gold-embroid- ered cap on his head, taking his breakfast dain- tily, trying a picture in a new light, or admir- ing a bronze group which he had just added to his collection. In reality, he was not as indolent as he ap- peared ; there were unseen sources from whence flowed Mr. Yarington's income of which the world was ignorant: chief of these turbid streams were ranks of dilapidated tenements in narrow, reeking streets, far removed from his abode, where a surly agent demanded the uttermost farthing of rent from starving wretch- es. There was a curious anilogy between his station and that of Mrs. Vyner. Both had to make their own way. The man had infinite- ly the advantage of the woman, however. He could join a club, mingle with all classes of men, piurchse a yacht; stand on that border of the turf where one may venture without be- coming absorbed in betting circles. All these things did Archibald Yarington; nay, more, he became the ladies' favorite, with- out a rival. He liked female society ; it was a luxury to which he had not always been ac- customed, and in return the ladies appreciated his preference of the house atmosphere -to the club. he was refined, wearing a silken gatr- ment of deference and docility, gossiped charm- ingly with judicious sprinkling of foreign ex- perience, and never seemed bored. The la- dies, sadly burdened by that cross of their day, the club, were grateful to him; finding virtues in. Archibald Yarington that they failed to dis- cover in far more worthy individuals. He was not brilliant, they admitted, only very good- natured, ready to sacrifice himself for others always, and that was preferable to selfishness. As it happened, this man was supremely self- ish. he had lived for himself alone all his life, and had absorbed all aliment of good to his own uses. Ilie did not marry now. Ah, no. he was far too wise for that. At once he would lose all prestige as ladies' champion. No more delightful luncheon parties then, and summer days, with soft eyes beaming on him, and the fairest in the land claiming his attention with pretty exaction. What! a woman's touch dis- arrange the harmony of his ornaments, the per- fect neatness of his home? A woman's curi- osity leading her to delve into the inmost se- crets of his writing-desk? lIe shuddered at the idea'. Just when he reached this stage of philo- sophical calm, he fell violently in love with a young girl-Rose Vyner. As long as it was possible, lie deceived himself. he felt a ttirue interest in Rose, which was sufficient excuse for going where lie obtained a daily glimpse of her bright face. Then lie became restless, haggard, and miserable. Theli conviction smote heavily on him that hhe was unhappy without this delicate flower-life in his luxurious rooms was dull. He hated the statues, the vases, the brackets in which his soul had previously de- lighted, with sudden, unreasonable spitefulness, while his anger was, at the same time, kin- dled against Rose for occasioning the feeling. It was not so much a sickening doubt as to success in winning her that he felt. Archi- bald Yariv ton had vanity enough for twenty men, inflated by the flattery *of womankind, ns a struggle with his past life, his freedoim, his case. How was he to give up these coiforts for a wife and nursery. Probably his hesitation between. prudence and such imadness would have been of longer duration had he not been goaded by a fresh vexation. Montmorency Whitclocke began to make love to Mrs. Vyner's daughter. For the first time a misgiving seized the inrortunate man. Gold bought fairer girls than Rose ev- cry day, but Montmorency might be preferred to him on many accounts, chief of which was his fiamily. The elderly rival could forgive the mild youth any offense sooner than this acci- dent of birth. Deeply rooted in his nature was that blind antagonism sometimes felt by those of vulgar parentage toward those of gen- I tier blood. Canaille set up a guillotine, stung by oppression, hunger, and wrong, but it lmust also have been a supreime satisfaction to Ca- naille to be chopping off the heads of gentle- men. We make no such comparison in the case of Mr. Yaringthrn, further tlinu tlit ihe sneered secretly at the Whitelocke prcteiiions. The Whitclockes invariably treated hinm with the most ftultless courtesy, and were now coin- ing to dine at his urgent invitaition. A drop of subtlest poison tirelluhting in his veins was this interposition of Montntoreiicv. To add jealousy to the previous perturbation of such a nature is to convert afilkction into' a furious plassioi, and inflict tortures on tlihe vic- tim, who presses a thousand lances of doubt into his own soul. In this vortex vanished all the screnity, peace, and idle repose of Mr. Yarington's disposition, consumed by fierce, volcanic fires that blackened tihe smiling sur- faceo of the crater, previously rimmed by green verd iure. "I will put an end to it," he said ilolld, thrusting one cold hand through his carceful v arranged hair, and yawning drearily. "The gentlemen are coming, sir," said tliche brisk servant. Mr. Yarington rose slowly to his feet; there was no animation in his face. "' Show them up." The servant hesitatel ; .then, rceiviug a steely glance, again vanished. ' Somninoling's conic to the old cock," hie olilolquized when at a safei distance. "He hasn't even set his cravat straight to see compalny, iand him ready to raise the roof if a shirt-fronlt gets a wrinkle." Then the servant opened the door, with a profound bow tolthe expected guests. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] CHAPTER XXVII. TWO SIDES OF A BALL. "GHT streamed from every window of the Vyner mansion, shed from tinted globe and chandelier, with the softened radiance of innumerable wax-tapers in the parlors, where no garish brilliancy of gas blighted the beauty of the women and withered the flowers. Airy music throbbed on the ear, now lapsing to a soothing under-tono, which aided conver- sation without permitting abrupt silence, now gathering volume as the dancers resumed their places. The interior of the house was abloom with flowers, massed in pyramids, looped in gar- lands, drooping in tendrils from large Indian vases. "Upon my word, the woman has taste," so- liloquized Mr. Yarington, putting up his eye- glass as he ascended the stair. The gentleman wore boots much too small for ease, and-an irreproachable evening dress. his blue eyes gleamed with a mild expression; his complexion was never more unclouded; yet there was a tendency to baldness about his forehead and an embonpoint of person suggest- ive of maturity, which occasioned him not a little vexation. In the morning he had hastened to the Vy- ners to find Mrs. Whitelocke's carriage before the door. The sight struck dismay to his soul. What might not a morning conference between the two friends portend? Perhaps he was al- ready too Into to interrupt the course of events. Archibald Yarington seemed to have come into the world for the distinct purpose of interrupt- ing the harmony of other lives. Never was visit more untimely; and the very consciousness of being de trop only strengthen- ed his conviction that he had not a moment to lose., Mrs. Whitelocke had indeed come to make matrimonial overtures, and ascertain what Rose's dowry would be before her son com- mitted himself further; and Mrs. Vyner was equally anxious, for many reasons, to have the engagement consummated. But Mr. Yarington persistently outstaid the sang-bleu; and iMrs. Whitelocke was forced to depart, after cordial- ly urging her friend to lunch with her the fol- -lowing day. Mr. Yarington stniled as he re- sumed his seat. Despite Mrs. Vyner's coldness of manner, he stated, with a certain authority of tone, that he loved her daughter, and wished to marry her. The woman, who had journeyed alone to Wolf's Head, listened without movement or comment. Then he proceeded to fortify his position. bMr. Vyner had invested largely in Manchester, as indeed had he also; but he could afford to lose, and Manchester was going down, with every prospect of collapse. If he married Rose, he would make up this loss otherwise. The mother said quietly that Rose must make her own choice. True, but Rose would be in- fluenced wholly by her mother, he had made answer. Then he withdrew to seek the anxious fit- ther, with the same proposition. Thie amaze- ment of Charles Vyner's face did not escape him. lIe made himself wretched with the thought that the fthher of Rose was several years his junior. In the other's estimation Yarington was a good fellow-a trifle old, per- haps; still the first cordial friend he had found when ihe returned to America. Would it be such a bad thing for his peach-blossom, after all? Might not the elder wooer gain her love by his devotion? Withal, Charles Vyner shook his head; such a mariage de convenance was repulsive in his eyes. "I can not promise you success," he said, in his surprise and perplexity. "Give me a chance," Mr. Yarington urged, persuasively. "And for heaven's sake leave Manchester to me! If you make an inquiry -with that long face, it will damage the stock, iand create a panic. Leave it all to me. Not a word, I beg. I only dare to seek infonlla- tion indirectly." Charles Vyner had left too many things to this counselor nalready. A cloud of white tulle drifted across the hall, nndthose Vyner stood before the critic witli the eye-glass. Slce wore no ornament sa:ve that peerless one of radiant youth. A rose was Ilaced carelessly in her silky black hair, and ;i tendril of green vine caught her skirt here Iland there. Her features sparkled with the brilliant animation of the brunette, tlte elveet soft eyes dilating, cheek and lip glowilg, whe one tiny foot irresistibly followed the rhythm of the music. In her own supclrabundant vi- tality and dnligllt, she wVas ready to welcome Mr. Yarington without the warning just given by her mother to be very attentive to liimn tliat evening. Rose spread her filmy draperies, and swiept him a saucy little courtesy, saying, de- murely, "Will I do for my ball?" Eight-and-fifty surveyed eighteen, a moment before replying. "Charming," he finally said, with an indul- gent sinile. "I am so over-fiastidiolls, where ybu are concerned, that I can not endure the possibility of criticism. Dead white for a bru- nette? Yes, yes; run along and enjoy your- self." An expression of mortification clouded the bright face, and had she been one whit less sweet-tempered she would have frowned. Wliat 'could be amiss with her? She ihad already received so many comp)liments on her appear- ance, and enjoyed thetn so thoroughy, that shhe was unprepared for this rebuff. She was as nearly without a will as a woman can be. Ir- resolution was expressed by the soft outline of her face. At present her paruents acted for her, ns those on whom she naturally leaned; in the future others would serve equally well. She was sensitive without frankness; liked to please, dreaded to offend; although dtevoid of deep feeling, either of like or dislike, toward the person offended. Her prototype in the animal kingdom is the delicate, timid creature that makes no resistance, but feigns death until dan- ger is over. Mr. Yarington's words amazed and distressed her, and he was not displleased that across the immense gulf dividing them-- on her side youth, purity, hope in an unde- veloped future; on his, encroacnhing age and a dulled conscience-he could still reach her. Inequality of years brought sorrow and humili- ation to Mr. Yarington. 6 ITow silly ill parents to gile balls, and turn the heads of their daughters ill tis ftshionll! Frivolity and unhealthy excitement unfitted themn for all the graver duties of life. lWhen Rose became his wife, she should attend no" more balls, he mentally resolved. Unexpected guests were destined to come that evening. As the young hostess turned away she encountered brisk Mr. Randolph and at young lan, bearded, bronzed, and maltretld. She recognized him with a sudden effort of memory. "Thomas Thornley!" she exclaimed, ex- tending a small gloved hand. "How good of you to bring him, Mr. Randolph." Evidently lose and Mr. Randolph were firm friends. Indeed, her poltlalrity lay cliietl with the other sex, for whomi she possessed a Awinnilllg grace in tlic caressing intonation of appDe:l tliLt lay in smile and manner. Women did not be-, lieve in her altogether; but men %were not proof against the beseeching dark eyes. "I did not suppose you would reiuclliler I11," said 'Tom, a warm flush of pleasure suf fusing his face. "I have been with Mr. Ran- dolph an hour or so, and he kindly urged me to accomllany him here." "Of course I did, and you are glad to se(; "in, missy his brain is full of railroads, my dear, and a little frivolity will do him all the good in the world." "The' n I am little frivolit? J, ,.ri!" 'and Rose laughed a laugh as sweet as the chime of silver bells. 'Yes, and a very pretty hit of it, too," was Mr. Ranldolph's gallant rejoinder. "Here, you may take my future railroad king off my hands for a while, if you have nothing better to do," he ladded, slyly. "Assuredly I have nothing better-to do," said Rose, dancling over to Tom's side and tak- ing his arm. Mr. Yarington had been a silent spectator of this scene, and a vein swelled in his forehead. He was one of those individuals whose vanity can not endure being ignored for a moment; and Rose, turning to more congenial guests instinctively, had forgotten him. "I will repaly her for this sometime," he muttered, savagely, and still stood gazing at her, when dignity demanded that he should move away. Rose Vyner possessed at great fascination for him; she attracted him unwillingly, and he tried to depreciate her in his own mind, in pro- portion as she exercised a certain power over him. She was a butterfly, brilliatntly tinted, page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] and he was angry with her for not being a re- spectable night-inoth like himself; yet he would fain capture the butterfly, if he could, and pin- ion her wings. Perhaps Mrs. Vyner's ball gave more real pleasure to Tom Thorpley than any invited guest. Here was the effervescing draught of pleasure in a -golden cup, contrasted with the harsh realities of his workaday world. Here was Rose hanging on his arm, a dainty crea- ture fed on perfumes like the Peris, and envel- oped in some sort of white mist unfamiliar to his masculine eye. The butterfly awakened very different emotions in his soul from those of the elderly gentleman in tight boots. He was careful and tender, fearing to brush the bloom from her beauty, instead of desiring to impale her with a pin as a dried specimen of his prowess in capture. Tom made no comparison between her and Kate, although he wondered once how the lat- ter would look in her place. He did think of the hard-featured women of his pioneer home, sour and depressed in visage, wearing limp cal- ico gowns, and their hair screwed into a wisp on top of their heads, amazed that Rose belong- *ed to the same species. "There is not a girl here who could hold a candle to Katy if she wore her frock trailing and was rigged out like them," was the lover's loyal conviction. Then a vision of Clara Jenkins flashed upon him, as that young lady swept slowly past on the arm of Montmorency Whitelocke, and literally ren- dered Tom dumb. Miss Jenkins was not at- tired precisely like the lilies of the field, but rather in imitation of Solomon's glory. Her pink satin robe was frosted with an over-dress of point lace, diamonds clasped her throat and wrists, and blazed in a star among her fluffy tresses. She looked very handsome as she raised her eyes to Montmorency's face; and her grandfather, the market- gardener, would have turned in his grave at beholding her. "I never see you now," she softly mur- mured. The young man smiled a trifle vacantly. He was engaged in a mental calculation of how much the necklace on which his gaze lin- gered might be worth, and if Rose Vyner would be likely to receive such another as a wedding gift. Rose nodded at the couple, and whispered to Tom, "I wonder what our Lady Superior would think of a young girl decked out like that." Miss Jenkins also fitted her little arrow, and twanged her bow at Montmorency. t "Don't you consider it an affectation to dress so very plain, as dear Rose does?" "Well, really, I suppose you know better than I," said Montmorency, who had no idea of defending Rose at the expense of offending Clara. Rose was quits. "The girl is handsome. I should think the fellow a sap-head, though," said Tom, promptly, thus 'fairly drawn into the field of criticism. i "Why?" asked Rose, innocently. "Oh, I can hardly explain ; he looks too thin and bloodless to be more than 'half a man." "I never thought of that. Possibly he does," laughed Rose, airily. And she expected to marry Montmorency Whitelocke one of these fine days. The two young people grew confidential as they wandered in the picture-gallery, where the past rose so vividly before Tom. He en- joyed his tete-a-tete with Rose, made up as it was of the veriest nothings, a merry jest- smiles and bright glances, amidst that harmo- ny of shaded light, music, and flowers. Rose was his ally in this house, and, like all warm- hearted people, Tom was intensely grateful. He still felt resentment toward Mrs. Vyner; yet experience had robbed her insolence of its sting, in teaching him that the world is a wide place, with space for all to walk apart. Mr. tRandolph had hurried him off to the ball, and he had obeyed the promptings of curiosity to judge how much this family was changed by the lapse of time, when the delay of a day might have made a difference in Iis feelings. "I am surprised that you knew me," lie finally said. "You are the same, only covered with a beard. Ah! do you remember buying the Skye? Poor Tip fell overboard from the steamer, and we could see his little head bob- bing in the water. Trhe captain would o lower a boat for a dog, you know. Is wi t Mr. Randolph said true? Have you rail s and. all sorts of projects in your head?" "True,'as far as it goes," replied Tom, with a smile, looking down on the earnest face. "Tell me, can you make a railroad all alone?" she pursued, clasping her little hands, while her eyes dilated. "You are laughing I at me, but you know what I mean." Rose was not much interested in engineer- * ing schemes.' Tom himself was the focus of attraction just then. - She saw her gold locket I attached to his watch-chain, and looked at it' musingly, with a tender, pensive wonder steal- ing over her face. he had cared enough to' keep it all these years. "Miss Vyner, your mother requested me to bring you to her," said Mr. Yarington, stiffly. Rose colored, and looked at Tom appeal- ingly. "Mr. Thornley has not spoken to mamma vet." "She is aware of that," said Mr. Yarington, primly. -"Let us go at once," interposed Tom, bold- ly, offering his arm, and carrying off the prize under the messenger's very nose. Rose uttered a little sigh of relief, and press- ed the protecting arm gently, then lifted her luminous eyes to Tom's. "I could be so good if you were here all the time to tell me what is right," she said, with profound sincerity. "My dear child, you are surrounded by far better advisers." The next instant Tom was shaking hands with Mrs. Vyner, and Mr. Yarington was whis- pering in thie unlucky Rose's ear. "I dare say you think me tiresome, but you have innocently exposed yourself to com- ment by not bringing that young man to your maninia at once." Again the bright face clouded; the girl was so unused to fault-finding that it bewildered her. "She is a good child," thought the mature lover, with a sudden revulsion of remorse; yet lie could not refrain from following her move- ments with an anxious supervision, suspecting evil where it did not exist, believing lie witas prompted by love, while he was the victim of a far different feeling. He was jealous of the parents who still own- ed Rose; he was jealous of the mirror in which she looked; iand he was doubly jealous of all mankind. He feared she would dance too much, chiefly because it gave him a vertigo to waltz; whereas music set every nerve in mo- tion in the girl's body, instinct with youth and health. Occasionally lie appealed to Mrs. Vy- ncer with an important, bustling manner which could not fail to attract notice, reminding helr that Rose was overtaxing herself. "I assure you she is perfectly well," said the mother, with a thrill of pain in her heart at this intrusion. "She looks well, you mean; she is far from strong," said Mr. Yarington, pettishy, and with a certain authority of tone. "I suppose that I am old-fashioned; it is always painful to me to see really modest women twirling around in the embrace of strange men." Mrs. Vyner's fingers closed over her lace fan, but she betrayed no other emotion. She was not ready to measure weapons with this man. Oh, the anguish, the unalloyed misery of that mnoment! Music swept through the room, drowning all minor sounds; the smile was frozen on her lips; hollow-eyed despair peered through her mask. When a wom:an f'ndertakes, unaided, to play the part of Mhac- chiavelli, she is sure to fail, sooner or later, be- cause she overrates her own ability. Mrs. Vy- nor had never doubted her power to conquer worlds; that is, to accomplish what she most desired. She had intended to use Archibald Yarington as a tool all these years, when lie was in reality using her. Learn to know thy adversary, is one of the golden rules of tihe Mc- chiavelli school. How had she improved her opportunity? By permitting a weak, vain man to lead her husband to the brink of a precipice. Unless Rose was given to this Cerberus, they were ruined in the involvement of the moment. A white hieat of passion and baffled rage con- sumed her beneath that calmn exterior. She must devise some means of temporizing with Iifn while concluding negotiations with the Whitelockes. Rose should have her marriage settlement, and be united to Montmorencv. What matter if the rest of them were swept away? Said Mrs. Jenkins, in ruby satin and pearls, to Mrs. Whitelocke, in an uncompromising black gown, "Do you notice that a secret un- derstanding seems to exist between our host- ess rnid Mr. Yarington? Pcerihaps he intends to marry the daughter." This Mrs. Jenkins said to ascertain, if p)ossi. ble, whether Montmorency had yet been sacri- ficed on the matrimonial altar. "Possibly he does," returned Mrs. White- locke, equal to the emergency. Society smiled, and rustled, and nodded, de- tracting behind backs, sneering in its sleeve, and otherwise enjoying its prerogative. Charles Vyner, delighted with his own importance, and pressing back care for the niglit at least, moved among his guests, a courteous host. Edwanlr Vyner, reluctantly quitting his quiet study at the last moment, was little more than a spec- tator of the gay scene. If he failed to fill hiis part, he could not help it; he did not dance, and he was too serious-minded for light con- versation. The young priest, standing with folded arms and slightly contracted brows, in a corner, might represent sober conscience in that throng. Better had it been for him to lose his own Identity in the interest of perplex- page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] ed souls, instead of remaining aloof, wrapped in his own isolation.. The tempter had whisper- ed in his ear: "Remain with your books, and leave the management of worldly affairs to your clever mother." When Tom Thornley was presented to her, she looked instinctively 'toward her son. The ball was delightful, and the hostess wore her Spartan cloak, with the gnawing wolf be- neath. She had looked forward to this day -Rose's eighteenth birthday-ever since her daughter was a child. There should be a celebration on that occasion, wherever spent, and she had sinned deeply to achieve this splendor for her child. To what purpose? To have Rose caught in a net to pay for it all. While these events were transpiring above stairs, a cab rattled up to the door, and two women alighted. They were plainly attired in traveling-costume of a certain unmistakable rustic cut. The older of tihe two patused and surveyed the brilliantly illuminatcd house, even caught scraps of the conversation of gut- ter-snipes that fringed the way, attracted like moths to the light, before approaching the en- trance. With her hand on the bell, she again hesitated-a woman little given to indecision. Would she find it all a mistake? Would it be a relief to discover herself in error? "Grandmother, let us wait until to-morrow. This is no place for us," urged her companion, timidly. "Do we belong with these outside?" said grandmother, haughtily, pointing to the gutter- snipes. Then she rang the bell a loud, startling peal, which had not died away into silence be- fore the portal flew open. A stern, old face looked in, framed by night, and a clear, metal- lic voice inquired, "Is this the home of Mr. Charles Viner?" CIIAPTER XXVIII. TWO SIDES OF A BALL-cotitu'ed. TOM had been gone from Greenville a day when that important discovery of the mill- ion dollars was made by his energetic lady- love. The simultaneous impulse of the two women was expressed by Mrs. Wald: "Let us go to him." Reserve such tidings for a letter! It might make a difference in Tom's plans about rceturn- ing to the West at all. There was a prejudice so firmly rooted in the Grecenville mind that even Mrs. Wald shared it. The telegrap]l station, ten miles away, was to be used only in cases of life or death. To Kate the journey promised blissful ex- citement. Never did a girl enjoy- more fly- ing past the level hedge-rows and unfamiliar scenes, with that tremendous secret of Tom's fortune as the incentive. Kate pondered where this wealth might be, when the changing view allowed her leisure. What had become of tile money? How was Tom to find it? Mrs. Wald was absorbed in her own thoughts, in which the great discovery she was about to make seemed vaguely shadowed forth. When they neared their destination, the dust of many miles had sifted over them, and even Kate's buoyant spirits were yielding to depress- ing fatigue. Who has not felt the sudden heart-sinking produced by shrieking locomo- tives, the aimless drifting to and fro of pas- sengers, the groaning and creaking of reversed motion, as the train enters a large city? Flar- ing gas-jets reveal here a waste of rubbihsh, there a wall covered with placards slowly de- caying in wind and rain, and beyond streets compact, yet inhospitable to the stranger. iate, overcome by this cowardly shrinking, wished herself back safely in Greenville, and then popped her head out of the window, at the imminent risk of having it taken off. It was nine o'clock when they stood on the crowded platform of the ddpot after their long journey. "If we can find Tom, we can lodge with him," said grandmother. Then they looked at cach other in suddtlen dismay. Where did Tom lodgec? "We must give it u1p until morning," said Kate, decisively, resisting the attack of a burly cabman on her bag. "If we do that lie may have started on his journey. He did not know how long hoe woul, be detained," objected Mrs. Wald. "I'm hungry," said Kate, dolefully. 'Bless me, you can' be fed!" The burly cabmnan kept his eye on them, despite that rebuff over the bag, and now fought a way for them, through a bewildering crowd of other burly cabmen, to the stand of' a young woman, who languidly dispensed dry sponge-cako and pastry. Then he bore off his prize to a rusty vehicle, and, with a defi- ant flourish of his whip at all unsuccessful brethren, drove to the great banking-house of' Whitelaw, Randolph & Co. This was their only clue to Tom's whereabouts. Mr. Ran- dolph was raising some railroad loan, true to his promise of assisting the lad who captured Antonio Tismado, of evil memory. Of course the granite building was closed. Mrs. Wald hated to yield to the inevitable; she was very set in her own way, and add determined to find Tom immediately. She paused, with her foot on the carriage -step, looking upI and down thhe thoroughfitre, when a man slowly approaclled. "What do yo want here?" lie demanded(, with scant ceremony. "Perhaps you can help me. Do you know Mr. Thornley?" "Him as caught the Spanish clerk?" sali! the watchman. "Yes," cried Kate, from the interior dark- ness of thie carriage. She had heard tile story. The cabman and watchman grinned ; grand- page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] mother caught a glimmer of their mirth, and froze at once. "Be kind enough to give me his address." "'Deed that's more than I can, mem. I was up to Mr. Randolph's, and see him a-eating of his dinner." "Let us follow him there," urged Kate; and to Mr. Randolph's residence they went post-haste. "They seem in a precious hurry to catch him," thought the watchman, doubtful of his own discretion in giving information. Mrs. Randolph received the strangers kind- ly, with her head tied up in a handkerchief, and her heart sore at the claims of neuralgia in preventing her from wearing a new purple-; more to Mrs. Vyner's ball. Mr. Randolph had taken Tom to a party; it would do the poor fellow good, after his exile. Mrs. Wald responded, dryly, that he had not been accus- tomed to such sinful diversion, and lnad never suffered for lack of them. Mrs. Randolph coughed, and remarked, "Certainly." Grandmother was angry with Tom for di- verting himself, whild she waited his pleasure with important news. Would Mrs. Randolph direct her where to find him? Of course Mrs. Randolph would. The ball was given by Mrs. Charles Vyner. By taking the next street- "Who is she?" demanded Mrs. Wald, breathessly,. Mr. Vyper was-one of the firm, the lady ex- plained, in some surprise. "Has she always-lived here?" Iatherine biuslied; she feared Mrs. Ran- dolph must consider grandmother very rude, and looked at her appealingly. "Excuse my nbruptness," added Mrs. Wald, in her most ceremonious tone, intercepting the glance. "I have a reason for the inquiry, which you may pardon whTen I tell you that the lady is my daughter." "And we scoff at novels as exaggerated, when real life brings such startling denoue- ments," soliloquized Mrs. Randolph when left 1 *alone, whisking off her handkerchief in her ex- ' citement. She was a great novel-reader, and I had earned her present headache lying on a I s;ofa in the dusk, straining her eyes over the f concluding pages of a thrilling romance. "Oh grandmother, this stranger is my aunt," i exclaimed Kate, outside. i "Hush!" said Mrs. Wald, harshy and un- t steadily. I "I can not be mistaken; the name is unu- i. sutl. I would go on now, if I had to cra\l on my knees." -f Tlthus thev reached the Vyner ball, the latest guests, travel-stained and weary, strung to ex- ertion by intense excitement. Mrs. Wald climbed the marble stairway slowly and stead- ily. The first object her eye rested on was the Pulleyn coat of airms. "I thought so." She was greeted by a young man whose manner was grave and cold, but not supercil- ious. - "Take me to Mrs, Vyner," she said, sternly. "Shall I send for her in the libraryv?" Mrs. Wald's hostile glance searched him grimly. "We are not dressed for a party." "It can make no Idifference, believe me. I thought you would ble more comfortable in the library." I His eyes wandered to Kate's falce, and lin- gered there. Mrs. Wald's firm lips trembled as'they fratned the words, "You are her son." "I am Edward Vyner, and will bri'll IIIV mother if you wish." But Mrs. Wald no longer heeded him; she was making her way through the wondering crowd to the centre--the hostess. There was no bravado in hier manner, no intention of dis- gracing the daughter who had discarded her; in her terrible earnestness, she no longer saw the surprised faces, searching for the lost face. It was the strangest meeting, the most unfor- tunate contretemps; the plain, spare figure of the stranger in contrast with Mrs. Vyner's splendor. "Letitia!" "Mother!" The music sounded above that low, thrilling interchange of words, and thhen Mrs. Vyner took her hand and disappeared. Mrs. Jenkins put up her eye-glass. Had it enabled her to penetrate the closed library, she would have been still more scandalized, for Letitia fell at her mother's feet in an abanl- dontnent of shame and grief. "What have vou dlone to necessitate hiding from your own flesh and blood all these years?" There was something awful in seeing proud Letitina thus humble herself. It sickened Mrs. Wald to the soul wiih a nameless dread and fear. But the daughter had no confession to make; it was only the sudden giving way of the phys- ical forces which had sustained her so long in the presence of a parent who represented those virtues forever lost in her own life. There was a faint odor of rose-leaves about Mrs. Wald's garments that brought Letitia a waft of inno- cence and Greenville. "There is nothing to tell," she said, recov- cring herself, and smoothing her laces with trembling fingers. "It is a great surprise, and I am glad you have come." "I can believe that," returned Mrs. Wald, bitterly, scanning the glittering figure before her, crowned by the snowy hair. In the mean while Kate had got separated from grandmother, in that sea of color and life which swept the Vyner halls. She had turned to glance through a door, and lost Mrs. Wald. Tom stood talking to a girl in soft, whte raiment, who listened with an arch, merry fatce. No words can describe the pang this sight cost her. She became instantly mnorbidly aware of her own common appearance; she thought, with burning shame, of her simple bonnet and thread gloves. ITow would she compare with the girl smiling up in Tom's eyes? When her cooler judgment re-asserted itself, slic would be ashamed of this fierce suffering. Presently Edward Vyner made his way back to her side, and stood intently studying her face. "Let me do something for you." Kate turned to him despairingly. "Take me away, and hide me!"' A gleam of fun shone in Edward's dark eyes. He led her to the little boudoir, closed the door, and again stood gazing at her with a curious interest. The girl, cheeks and eyes blazing with agitation, removed the despised bonnet, and rumpled the masses of chestnut hair benceath with a reckless hand. Edward moved nearer, and slowly touched a rippling lock, holding broken golden lights, with his finger. Kate was not aware of the fiamiliari- ty. She was in the same house, and Tom did not know it. The remembrance of a white- robed stranger helping to divert his attention, added force to her resentment. A little sob rose in her throat and choked her. lEdward drew a chair opposite, so tihat she was obliged to face hi)m. "I should like to relieve your distress. You came to-" Here Kate smiled brightly, and dazzled hm. "How droll it must seem to you. Grand- mother has deserted me. We came to the place for Mr. Thornley. IIce must be engaged, I suppose." '"I should like to be your friend, whoever you may be," said Edward, meditatively. She extended her hand; he grasped it in silence, and they sat searcihing each othher's, faces. Nothing was real that nlight. Edward went in a dream to find Thornley. Rose had undoubtedly been flirting with Tom, who found it pleasant to have the little white-robed figure glide up to himn between dances, and claim a ftan or bouquet left in his possession. Finally Montmorcncy Wliitelocke whirled ler away in one of tliose inazy evolutions whic h de- light the eye of tlio spectator, and filled Tonl's soul with envy that his own litmbs were stiff and useless. Montmorcency could dance to perfec- tion; he had given his mind to it. le moved easily around, never losing breath or growing red, and guided his partner skillfully alltong the other dancers. Mr. Yarnington watched Rose floating thus, like a snow-flake, in Montmorency's arms, un- til he was agonized by the sight. Then he made a mad resolve-lie would dance him- self; it wAas impossible to remain longer an idle spectator. Accordingly he led the smiling girl into, the next quadrille, and carried his eight-and-fifty years with a careful lightness, bowing affably, sliding about, and when he returned to her side treating Rose to a series of sentimental sighs. "Is any thing the matter, dear Mr Yarinigton?" "Nothing that can be mended. It is too late for cure." "You surely are not ill?" "With the most fatal of maladies," snid Arcllildtl Yardi gton, with a sad smile, clitf- ing at her unconscious manner. Then Rose returned to Tom and consulted her tablet, where a little slpidery scrawl de- clared that Mr. Bulstrole Whtelocke was her next partner. So Rose was led out by tlohe brisk old gentleman, and Toim admired lier amiability as she s parkled and smiled in Mr. Whitclocke's society as with younger cavaliers. He was heartily fond of dancing, and not near- ly as fearful of making himself ridiculous as his predecessor. He skipped and ran hither and thither, nn kissed his partner's hand gallantly by way of conclusion. Thus the revelry went on; famished hu- manity crushing into supper-room, and crowd- ing around buffets, while grandmother sat in the library, and Kate waited for Tom in the boudoir, counting her own heart-throbs. "Kate here? Oh, my darling, how glad I am!" exclaimed the well-beloved voice at last; and in the bliss of that meeting she almost forgot the white figure whlich seemed to have floated between them. "I think you might have found mt befo re." page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] Flushed and tearful for the self-reliant Kathe- rine of Greenville, she finally looked at her lover. "Tom, I 'can not tell you what has happened to grandmother. She says some lady here is her daughter. We came because- Oh, Tom, your father was an engineer in Rus- sia,.and left you a million dollars." The Whitelockes drove home later, Mont- morency leaning indolently back among the cushions opposite his parents. Mrs. Vyner has lost her fortune, and they will have to give up every thing," said the mother. "What!" cried the son, springing up. "I hope you have done nothing imprudent before I told you," said Mrs. Whitelocke, warn. ingly. "How fortunate that Mr. Yarington interrupted me! and I shall take care to have several other ladies to lunch when Mrs. Vyncer comes." "I have done nothing imprudent," replied Montmorency, and then he leaned his head against the cushions again with ai sigh. "I suppose I shall have to go in for Clara Jen- kins once more." There being much frankness of outspoken thought in this family circle, it was not worth while for Montmorency to attempt reserve. "Dear, dear, how unfortunate! She's a good little girl," said Mr. Whitelocke. The son sighed again. Delicate, winsome Rose, devoid of Clara's strong self-asserition, and with humor enough to always'amuse him. Hie had become used to the idea of marrying her, and Montmorency Whiteloekwc could con- tain but one idea at a time. HHe felt that it was very hard on him, with the gentle depres- sion of his nature. There was no raging and chafing to the extent of 'doing battle with dif- ficulties, on his part. Oh no. he accepted the inevitable, and took out two locks of llair in his chamber, the one silky black, the other flossy gold, clipped from the respective heads ol' Clara and Rose. ' He's engaged to her, I k now," sobbed Clara, with her head buried in her mother's ruby satin lap. Courage, Miss Jenlkins, it is always darkest before dawn. And Rose, nestled among the pillows, was thinking of Tom Thornley, who still wore her locket. So the curious dralmal of youth, with its side scenes and cross purposes, was pl ayecl over again, ,with that perpetual recurrence oft' suffering to the principal actors which make3 it always new. CHAPTER XXIX. MRS. WALD STUDIES LETITIA. IF any one has slept after the ball, it is not 5Afrs. Vyner. She has been wandering for hours over the silent house, occasionally stoop- ing to gather a withered flower while her thoughts are elsewhere. Somehow the rooms look jaded and worn, in that early light, like the mistress; for there arc disheveled garlands, and half-consumed tapers left by sleepy serv- ants. She finds her mother standing in the large drawing-room, solemnly surveying the disorder. The two women exchange a cold kis s, and Letitia begs her mother to remain until Rose is married. Thus the thought which has tortured her all night escapes her lips almost unconsciously. "Is Rose to be married? So is imy Kathe- rine. You forget that I am a straniger to your child, and it can make no difference my attend- ing her wedding." "I entreat you to remain, mother," says Letitia. "Then I will stay," replies Mrs. Wald. Mrs. Wald has had no intention of leaving the city until she has learned more about her daughter. There has been a lonely vigil up stairs in her chamber also, and she has arrived at the conclusion that sihe is the appointed means of fathoming the mystery of Lctitia's life-the God-appointed instrument;- for mys- tery exists in the eyes of the parent from Greenville. Charles Vyner has been in this bank only a few years, and previous to that time traveled in Europe, educating his children. Where did the money come from? Wily hnd not Letitia written home? "I will stay," repeated Mrs. Wald, setting lier firm lips, as if there was not much pleasure involved in the visit. She had learned these items from Charles Vyner in the library, before his wife had leisure to tell him what to say. The two girls appeared, having discovered that they were cousins: Kate rosy and fresh, Rose a trifle sallow from fatigue. She pro- ceded at once to ingratiate herself with the stern grandmother, of whom she had never heard, and Mrs. Wald thawed against her will, under tlte caressing attentions of this new grandchild. \ Thus the reunited family imet at breakhfist. Charles Vyner, pompous, carefilly dresscdl , fastidious about his cutlet, was really pleased to hnavc Mrs. Wald at his right hand. "I have always wished fior this dayt, de1ar madam, and now I find you unchanged," hI( said, atfiably. "There is no 1reason0 wliy I shoulld change(, Charles Vyner. We have to bear our trouble s quietly up thcro among God's hills, whilo wo ripen for the grave. Youri years seem to lave tol( heavier," sihe addcd, qulietly. Perhaps the master of the house was tilo most at case of ill of them. he had alwavs rcgrcttcd the course tlaken by his wife, in fiimlv declining all communication with Gr;cnvilh. To be sure, he had impending over )him that probable collapse of Manchester dlreadfiul to contemplatc, but lie intended to fortify the body for tihe shock. He explained to grand- mother the theory of a new coflfe apparatus placed before him on tlio table; how you lighted a flame here, and tihe flidl ran up one glass tube and down another, on the princilplc, apparently, that the fairther it traveled the bet- ter it would be. "You can not be too careful, in theo prclpa- ration of your coffee, to preserve the delicate aroma which escapes at a breath," satid (ChIrl Vyner, earnestly, over whose head hung that sword of Damocles-Manchester. Grandmother listened attentively, and then said, " You used to board with tileo Dales, under the hill, and she was a slack woman." "So I did," he returned, rubbing his hnnds good-humoredly. "Bless me! and they ato baked beans every Saturdaly night." page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] "We cat baked beans on Saturday night still, and we seem to have thrived on the diet as well as you. Are you interested in the coffee-pot, young man?" directing a piercing glance at Edward. "I fear not," returned, Edward, with a faint smile. "Oh, Edward is the scholar of our family," interposed the proud father. "He cares for books alone." "If you become as virtuous a man as the Pulleyns, you may well be satisfied." "The Pulleyns?" said Edward. "Were they great men?" An unwonted color dawned in Mrs. Wald's cheek; Edward had dealt her a severe blow, unconsciously. "Is it possible, Letitia, that your children do not know the race from W'hilch they spring?" Letitia affected to be busy with her tea-urn. "Who are the Pulleyns?" whispered Rose to Kate. The latter's indignation equaled grand- mother's; her color also rose, and she replied hastily, "We owe all that we are to our ancestors, because we have them for examples. I am sure we must be withheld from wrong actions that would shame their memory." Kate had not meant to speak, but the faith in which she had been reared asserted itself. "I like that. Have I any such incentive?" asked Edward, with a kindred glow. The girls chatted, and Edward Vyner was unusually animated. Kate was prepared to take a cordial interest in her relatives; her glance turned frankly on the young man, and Rose ceased to be the girl in white the moment she became a cousin. Only when her aunt's dark eyes rested on her with cold indifference did Katherine remember she was among stran- gers. Mrs. Vyner felt no interest in the niece reared with Tom Thornley; she criticised ev- ery line of her figure with that slow glance, and made Kate flush for reasons difficult to define. Later came Tom, and carried away grand- mother and Kate for a day's pleasure in the city. "Why not give up this railroad, and attend to your own interest?" urged feminine ambition. Tom had heard the news about his fortune with far different emotions from those antici- pated by the women. he was puzzled and confused, but his enthusiasm was not imme- diately kindled. It seemed so far away, so likely to be- exaggerated, that he dreaded to place credence in it. ' "I must finish the railroad first," he said, as they drove away in the Vyner carriage. "Only fancy the blessing it will be to the peo- ple of that district, opening, as it will do, a channel for their produce and unused water- power. Who knows but it may lead to a mine." "I see there is no use in trying to divert you from that country," said Mrs. Wald, re- signedly. "I am already diverted," said Tom, with dancing eyes, looking at Kate. Grandmother was forced to be satisfied with this tame compromise. "I have given my word to return, and Mr. Whchcord is ill now with overwork. After I finish the road and get married, I will fish along the whole coast for this money. If I find it, I think I will begin college-an old boy." What a holiday that was! Tom showed them all the scenes which had dazzled his eves when he entered the employ of Whitelaw, Ran- dolph & Co. Then they went to Merlin's studio, up many wearisome flights of stairs, where the olld man had his household gods set tip in the wing of a large building, consisting of a brass fire-screen, a Holland cabinet full of rare china, brushes, a dilapidated lay figure, and brocaded cloaks, in picturesque confusion. On the threshhold Kate seemed to leave Tom behind., She had entered a room where he might not follow, as she hung rapt on Mer- lin's words, and paused spell-bound before his work. -The lover was generous-hearted, but he would scarcely have been human had he not experienced a slight disquiet at tlis mo- nopoly. How long before Kate would utterly forget him, under the tuition of Merlin? lie asked himself. "And so we have reached the age of ro- mance," said Merlin, with a roguish glance that made Kate's cheeks burn. "Then we are lost to art, my child." He pretended to shake his head very mourn- fully, yet he looked after the young couple pleasantly, standing at his door, with the ifan- tastic cap surmounting his silvery hair and beard, a palette in his hand. "Tom, there is only one thing more before we join grandmother. Take me to the house where you lived," coaxed the girl. They were on the broad stairway, and the corridors were deserted. Tom stooped and kissed her. The young creatures clung to- gether with sudden fear and hope, n'ow that the depthof their mutual love was revealed. IIow many times will you return to that darkTened stairway, Tom Thornley, in after- years, and, feeling again the pressure of those soft lips, hear the low whisper, "My love!" Then they went on unsteadily out into the broad street, and presently paused before the lodging-house, Kate's tender eyes seeking the little window of the fourth floor. They were not alone again, for Rose Vyner did not leave them. If the girl's usual tact had tleserted her, she might be excused, for her eyes were red from weeping. Mr. Yarington !had talked withh her seriously that morning, and informed her that her parents already knew his wishes. He said nothing about money, and his manner was gentle; neverthe- less, he inspired Rose with fear. The shock was greater than any she had ever felt in her eighteen years of experience. To be Mr. Yar- ington's wife! 'She had never dreamed of suhel a thing. She had become used to his Iresence, and liked him, much as a child likes tie amia- ble friend of the house whose pockets! contain bonbons. She did not tilink of rebelling; there seemed to be some painful obligation weighing upon her. In her heart she cried out, where was 1Montmorency Whitelocke, her knight, tracta- ble and young? Instantly, like the animnl, she shrank into herself and feigned death; in oth- er words, allowed Mr. Yarington to fondle her little hands, gloating over the pink nails and blue veins; even permitted a kiss on her check, and sent him away very well pleased with his first venture. Then she made herself de trolp in those fleet- ing, precious last moments of the lovers, by sit- ting between them, looking wistfully firom one to the other, without complaint. She was not aware of tiheir being more to each other than brother and sister; and although she had no secret to impart, she found consolation in re- maining near these two stronger natures. "Good-bye, little princess," said Tom, tak- ing her cold fingers in his firm clasp. "Do not dance yourself to death before I get back, and I shall wear this locket' for luck, you sec." Rose shuddered. Where should she be when lie returned? "This young lady consents to my ikeeping it," said Tom, scarcely conscious of his wordls, in hs agitation, as he took Kate's hand. Th'l'cv both paled, after a steady, mutual gaze, but Rose did not perceive it in her trouble. Then Tom went to seek grandmother, and was directed to Edward's rooms. The young J man, bound for the rude West, whose cvcrv nerve fibre responded to refining influences, ncv- , 1 er forgot the impression Edward Vyner's sanc- tum made on his mind. There was nothing luxurious or effeminate about the room, al- though it bore evidence of a careful nicety of arrangement; the charm consisted in the sug- gestion of leisure to study. Even the title of a few books that iis eye ranged over remained stored forever in Tom's memory. " lEcharis- tica;" "Precinct of a Gothic Minster;" "Mec- morials of Canterbury ;" "Cathredalia: a Con- stitutional IIistory of the Cathedrals of the Western Church." Mrs. Wnald was engaged in an excited theo- logical debate with her grandson. Their relig- ious beliefs were as wide asunder as the poles. "You are little better than a l'apist, in my opinion," sihe said, rising to greet Tomn. "Ah! that hias ever been the Puritan's con- viction," said Edward, with his sliglit smile. An engraving, still rolled, on the table, at- tracted Tom's quick glance. It was one of those innumerable female figures such as young clergymen might select, but tlohe upturned faice was that of Kathcerine Wald. "IIow like our Kate!" exclaimed Tom, in- voluntarily. "I thought so when I purchascd it," replied Edward, calmly. The two young men regard- ed each other in silence. Mrs. Vyner shook hands with Tom, and wished him a pleasant journey. "I shall return soon to find my fithrll's mnoncy," said Tom, with a rogtuiish glance lat grandmother. "How are you to do that?" inquired Leti- tin, her limbs trembling beneath her. "That is the question," hie responded, gaiyl. God direct you, my son!" said :Mrs. Wldl, solemnly. The two girls stood nt the window, nnd watched him depart. IKate put her narm around her companion. Tom had urged her to gain the confidence of Rose. "Do you know I think you the nicest girl," said Rogc, snmiling brightly again. "Girls nre , generally nasty with cachi other. They stick in little pins about your dress or something, while they kiss you. It is perfectly natnranl, because they are afraid of any one getting ahead of them. I do the same." "We are cousins," said Kate, rc-nssuringly. "Perhaps that is the reasoI," snid Rose, doubtfiully, spreading her fingers on the win- dow-pane. "You are just like Tom Thornley, and yet he is not your brother." "He is not my brother at all," said Kate, tartly. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] She was trying to be'brave and cheerful, while Rose was not in the least aware of the struggle. Kate's natural reserve prevented her from saying more; that Anglo-Saxon, shy pride and reticence, which is often painfully misunderstood, held her dumb. Neither of these cousins possessed a tithe of Letitia Wald's beauty. The two faces in the window were fresh and pretty; they were not perfect types of character, after such models as that charm- ing one of Marie Stuart held- up by Fronde: "Graceful alike in person and intellect, she possessed that peculiar beauty in which the form is lost in the expression. She combined feminine insight into men and things and hu- man life; she had cultivated herself to that high perfection in which accomplishments were no longer adventitious ornaments, but were wrought into her organic constitution." Rose and Kate were as far from this stand- ard as was Mrs. Vyner. Behold, with prancing steeds and smiles of triuinph, Clara Jenkins, in riding-habit of fault- less symmetry, bottle-green in hue, attended by Montmorency Whitelocke, and Mrs. Jen- kins watching them off benignantly. "What does it mean? He is my lover!" cried Rose. "Do you see Mrs. Jenkins attracting half the street? Quel gauclierie!" "Perhaps he considered it polite to invite her," suggested Kate, soothingly, aware that she was sadly astray on such points of etiquette. "I will pay him!"-said Rose, nodding her head. "I shall freeze him by my displeasure when my turn comes. You must live with me always as my sister. Torn is a long -way off by this time. Where is he going?" She se- lected Kate for a sister, but said nothing about Mr. Yarington. "Thornley is the town named for him," said proud Kate. Rose Vyner tapped on the pane absently, murmuring I' Thornley," over and over again. CIIAPTER XXX. TIIE BRIBE OF DIAMONDS. MR. ARCHBALD YARINGTON was hnaving matters all his own way in these days. Hie it was who circulated the report about Mrs. Vyner's loss of fortune, without ap- pearing in the act at all, for no one understood better starting a story by hint and innuendo than himself. lIe took care that tho rumor should reach the ear of Mrs. Bulstrode White- locke,.with the result observed by Kate and Rose from the window; the younger branclles of the houses of Jenkins- and Whitelocke rode forth together. The people most vitally interested wcere ig- norant of the falsehood. Edward seldom min- gled with other young men, being wholly ab- sorbed in his theological studies, and Mr. Vyner was not quick at receiving impressions. Le- titia felt a cloud gather over hier sun with a faint chill, yet could not trace the cause. This was the means adopted by Mr. Yarington to dispose of a rival, and lie succeeded only too well. Montmorency openly transfcrrcd his alle- giance to the fair Clara, and mammal Jenkins took occasion to rivet his chains, that there should be no more dallying, to the detriment of her child's heart-strings. Rose pouted and wondered; she was used to having Montmo- rcncy at her beck and call. Mrs. Vync's con- centrated wrath was only the more intense be- cause it was without visible demonstration. Mr. Yarington was playing his game with a full knowledge that it would only serve a short time. There was a panic and run on Manchester. Mr. Vyner was kept in hours of mortal sus- pense, awaiting telegrams, reading bulletins, Iiclplcssly wringing his hands. This panic was :Ictually created by his dear friend Archbald Yarington, who fanned the tiny flame of pub- lic distrust, ever smouldering and ready to in- crease, by depreciation and swift messengers of evil, at the same time believing himself that Manchester wonld stand the test. The ma. ture lover next inserted an announcement of his engagemcnt in a fashionable journal: "We understand that one of our best particy lins at length been captured. After resisting all the chariuS of our rltling belles with Spartan fortitude, he has been mortally wounded by one of Cupid'; darts. The lady is Miss Rose Vyner, daughter of the well-known bank- er, anud the gentlenman Mr. Archiball Yarilgton, the millionaire. The wedding will bo at an early date, and one of the most recherche of the mec;OII. He rather liked this paragrapll, and read it over many times with an imbecile smile. Not that he was imbecile under ordinary circum- stances, but he had been hurried in a vortex where he was no longer hinmself. Sleep had deserted the pillow of a man whose slumbers had always been as sweet as those of a cliild. He tossed in unenasy drealms; he left the gas burning for companionship; he henard burg- lars at the door; he rose and drank a glass of branldy, after which he had nightmare on tlio parlor sofia, and awoke in trouble on the floor to discover that day had come. His beard grew white and hs cheeks flabby, for this was not the experience of one night buit of many. He found a feverish excitement in developing a plot that hce had not dared to consider him- self capable of projecting. The triumph to this small soul in outwitting two clever women, humbling Charles Vyner, and claiming Rose, was as supremo as conquering territories or dying for country is to nobler men. The'll most costly and exquisite gifts daily preceded liini to the Vyner house. These presents had been a source of per- plexity to Mrs. Vyner; she did not wish to bec hurried into, a decision, and dared not decline them. Would not Rose be better off as rich Mrs. Yarington, than to be swept away in a common ruin? To rave at her hulsband was useless; he was simply bewildered and un- nerved Iv his misfortunes, and had placed too much credence in Yarington's word. The lat- page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] ter had esteemed Manchester a truly splendid investment. "We pay the price of rash speculation by selling Rose,"'said the wife, quivering with passion. "Don't speak like that. Nothing can force her to such a step. I fail to see why Yaring- ton is not likely-to pirbVe: as good a husband as Whitelocke: However, she shall not be urged against her wilL." -"As if allowing the man to talk with her by the hour was not persuasion enough," cried Letitia. "Why can't we wait? There will be plenty of time," said Charles Vyner, querulously, with furrowed brow. "Ask your friend. He seems to be the hur- rying influence." It was altogether ungenerous in the wife to lay all blame on the husband. If her weapon had at last wounded her own hand, whom else had she to accuse besides herself? She saw no way out of her trouble except in marriage with Archibald Yarington, and she was loath to give Rose up. The dearest object to this selfish woman was her daughter. Then she would ask herself how she was to provide a better home than the one offered? She had practiced duplicity, she had encouraged Archi- bald Yarington, by word and deed, after his overtures, always taking care to write no letter of committal; and now that Montmorency had coldly withdrawn, she was left fairly in his net. She thought of applying to her mother for ad- vice, and then dismissed the idea with an im- patient sigh. What could Mrs. Wald know of such matters! As it happened, Mrs. Wald was indulging in her own reflections, and felt the family atmos- phere of trouble. Her pride prevented her asking questions: she bided her time. In the small drawing-room Mr. Yarington was seated beside Rose-pretty Rose, who had slept miserably all night, and beamed de- light over a new gown placed beside her bed in the morning. Perhaps it was a natural re- vulsion, dule to the elasticity of her nature. Rose certainly found consolation in the puff- ings and trimmings of that new dress. Mr. Yarington's manner was gentle and re-assur- ing. He told her about his sleepless nights and wretched days, with the reproachful sig- nificance that she was responsible for the un- happiness of a man who had never before known sorrow. There was not a woman in the world with power to disturb his rest, lie "ad supposed, until he met her. Rose felt puzzled and guilty. It did seem very astonishing, certainly, that she should have occasioned this condition of mind. What girl L was ever proof against the subtle flattery of possessing power to render a man abjectly wretched? She began to regard him with a new interest and a dawning compassion. Poor man! He was so old, and she so young; surely the wide difference in their years must alone make her forbearing and patient. If lihe were only willing to be her friend, how much she would like hirn. Archibald Yarington was not slow to avail himself of this yielding mood; he imprisoned one little hand, and slipped a ring on the finger. "Nolw you are mine!" he said exuhingly, devouring the soft skin with hot kisses. "Oh no, no!" cried Rose, hastily withdraw- ing her hand. "I have promised nothing. You took me by surprise." At that hour the announcement of the en- gagement had gone to press. He arose with dignity, and towered above the girl. Without being a tall man, he could tower above Rose crouching on the sofa in sudden alarm. "Think well before you answer me, my love. It is not possible that you have deceived me by protestations of affiction which you did not feel. That would be cruel to any man, and doubly cruel to me. Rose, I love you alone; I can not begin the world over again, remember. Be kind to me, for I have only you." Tears came into his eyes; he was deeply moved by his own digtress. Rose sobbed in a tempest of contending emotions. Slle hated him, and was sorry for, him. "I can not believe"' he went on in the same subdued tone, drying his eyes, on a cambric handkerchief, "no, I will not believe that a young creature of your delicacy and purity could accept all the presents you have kindly re- ceived from me, as coining from another than your fulture husband." Mr. Yarington always had 1t great depl to say about the purity of feminine motives. . Rose thought of tfe presents with a sudden qualm of conscience;'she doted on those glit- tering trifles. "Do not cry, my little bird," he said, sooth- ingly. "What will mamma say if I ruin those pretty eyes? I really wonder that your moth- er keeps you in the house so much, Rose. She should not treat you like an exotic." She looked up, amazed. Did her mother treat her like an exotic? It was the first time that a doubt of I or mother's sagacity had ever been presented to her mind, and the lover was not sorry to implant it. He knew it would be wiser to leave Rose alone, yet he could not rc- frain froml exercising that anxious supervision whlich should hereafter convert his wife into an angel. And so it would; for in an atmosphere of fault-finding, Rose Vyner was doomed to shrink into a depressed, prevaricating nature, shorn of all careless gayety. "See what I have brought to my darling." Rose opened a large morocco-case timidly. Riches of Golconda! Diamonds, large, trans- parent, and twinkling like dew-drops. He placed them around the slender neck, in tile waxen ears, laid a spray of brilliants on the dark hair, then drew hier to a mirror. Rose could scarcely recognize herself in that rain- bow of splendor. "If I were a queen I could have no more," she exclaimned, radiantly. "Are these to be worn by my bride?" "Yes," said Rose, mechanically, still gazingll at her starry reflection. Bought with the riches of Golconda! Ar- chibald Yarington knew it, and did not dcspAise the means. CHAPTER XXXI. A ChD OF TII NINETEENTH CENTURY. KATIIERINE WALD was on her knees before a copy of Ingre's Odalisque. She had a sheet of paper and a pencil, and she was pale with excitement. Edward Vyner ap- proached softly, and stood behind her. "Are you also copying?" "As if I could! I am trying to carry away a mere outline on paper-pale, neutral paper -that-I may look at it, and close my eyes to clothe it with color. How happy one must be to live always with these!" She still held her sheet before her, but the young man gazed on her upturned face, touched with a glowing earnestness that moved him nstrangely. What work of art there was equal to the loving ideal, the firm rounded outline, the fair cheek, and that crown of chestnut hair, with its broken lights? "Always remain here," he whispered. Kate smiled, and shook her lenad; a faint color stained her previous pallor. "This is not my home." "Let me make it your home." Yielding to sudden impulse, Edward passionately pressed his quivering lips on the chestnut crown. The k's told all. A month's residence with this new-foudcousin had^wrought a change in Edlward's silent, almost torpid nature. Kate moved into the innermost recesses of his being the night of the ball, as she stood there in her cottage bonnet, ashamed of the simplicity which constituted her chief charm in his eyes. She was honest and courageous; hvr clear gray eyes never wavered. Edward admired these qualities even more than her beauty. They were needed in a wife -a consideration he had never entertained in connection with the women of his acquaint- ance. He doubted the wisdom of mnarrying, as a clergyman, and haunted Kate's footsteps like a shndow. The girl flushced deeply, and rose to her feet with a gesture of annoyance. "You must never do that again, Cousin Ed- ward, or we shall quarrel. Do be sensile, nnd we will remain the best of friends." Kate wans not the young woman to be deeply incensed at the person, man or woman, who saw fit to like her. The other's eyes glowed --they were large, calln, serious eyes--but lie did not ven- ture to approach her again. "I should beg your pardon if I did not love you," he said, huskily. "' It is useless to de- ceive myself or you longer. Will you marry me?" She was by fair the most composesd of the two; indeed she was very near laughing with hysterical impulse, born of surprise and embar- rassment. She laid her hand on his arm gently, and did not flinch from his devouring gaze. "Go back to your books, cousin. I will never listen to another word. It is merely be- cause I am the first girl you have seen under similar circumstances. Sometime you will smnile at your own mistake." "Philosophize and jest for yourself, bunt leave me out, I entreat," hhe said, sternly, wounded by her words. "I have no more to say," she replied, in turn offended. "It is you!" he said, softly. "I can never i think better of it to my dying day." page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] Kate's resentment melted. She touched the high, pale forehead lightly with her lips. "Go back to your books, Edward. I am not worthy of much thought-you must not idealize me-and I am going to be married." "Ah!" said Edward, starting as if he had been stung, and walked away. His mother met him, and looked searching- ly into his face, which betrayed suffering. She was dressed for walking, and fastened her glove as she steadjily regarded him. "Excuse nie, dear, but has any thing unu- sual-" "The only woman I have ever loved has re- fused me," he interposed, hoarsely, and escaped up stairs. Mrs. Vyner looked in the direction from wlience her son had just come. There stood Katherine in the picture-gallery, her hands drooping to her side, her eyes fixed on thile ground. What! Katherine Wald beloved by Edward? She breathed more freely when she thought of the rejection, and the next moment felt offended with a girl who declined her son's devotion. Bal! he would recover from that hurt, she thought, with a disdainful glance at Kate in her plain gown. Persons of keener insight than Mrs. Vyner have been at fault concerning these women in plain gowns, for it must be a surface affection, indeed, that attach- es itself to a silk robe. Edward Vyner will never recover from that hurt, never cease to miss the shape, as she herself said-the ideal of Katherine Wald-from his side, which would be the angelic similitude of his own spiritual- ized nature devoid of faults. The kiss on his fore'head was a benediction sealing him to a life's work. The young man went to his study, locked the door, and fell on llis knees beside the desk whercon lay the scat- tered leaves of his first sermon. He did not pray; he seemed to have entered a black cloud which' enveloped all things. There was self- ishness mingled with this despair; still it was a nobler kind of selfishness. He could have done so much with Katherine as a coadjutor. Tiie consideration of her happiness did not oc- cur to him in any other form than a fierce as- sertion that he would have mlade her happy. He only saw one side of this moon of his heavens. Rose approached listlessly at her mother's call, when Edward had left her. '"I am going with papa to see the plate, love, and I promised to meet Mr. Yarington and select the lace shawl," she said, embracing the girl. "I know it is dull to be shut nup in this way, but it is the fate of brides elect, you know. " Mrs. Vyner's light words concealed a sinking heart, just as a filmy veil covered her sharpen- ing features. On the morrow she 'was to give Rose into the keeping of Archibald Yarington. What then? She could only blindly hope for a good result. Yes, Rose was to be married before Aliss Clara Jenkins, much to the cha- grin of that young lady., "Those Vyners are sure to take the gloss off every thing, with their French notions," she said, discontentedly, to Montmorency. Rose, quiet, timid, and subdued before, broke into an unreasonable laugll as the door closed on her parents. She ran to the picture-gallery, and claimed Kate's attention imperiously. "Come up stairs in five minutes. Don't forget!" Kate obeyed wonderingly, The chl:tmber devoted to the trousseau was .'I rainbow of pink, blue, amber, and purple tints. Waves of silk and velvet, with foaming crests of muslin, lace, and other delicate sheeny ftlbrics, billowed over the filrniture. There were tables heaped with gloves, jewel-cases, inlaid boxes anid fans; and out -of this charming confullsion stepped tlic future Mrs. Yarington. Alas for the Lady Su- perior's teachings! Lose wore a bridal robe of shining satin; the little face looked out at Kate from the snowy folds of veil with a pained, pathetic expression. "Oh, Rose, thilk wliat you are doing before it is too late!" sa id Kate, who had never been consulted in any way about this great match. "This is not marriage-a union of souls for eternity; and yotu ct n punish no one as much as yourself by the act." "Do you su:ppose thalt I shall. allow Clara Jcnkins to be married first? I would not have called you, had I supposed you wrcle going to be so disagreeable--fiightening me like that! Besides, we shall be poor if I don't marry, and it is too late to give ulp." "It is never too late to give upl what is wrong rad false," said Kate, decisively. "You do not understand," returned Rose, wearily. "It is of no consequence what I understand if you know your own mind, dear," said Kate, gently. "Now you are good again ;" and Rose stood on tiptoe to kiss her. "Will you stay with me ever so muclj after I go to him? It must be different if vou are there." Kate, grieved to the heart, took the little form in her llarms, unmindfill of lace puffings. "Rose, darling Rose, don't do it. There is still time." The French maid stood on the threshold, with uplifted hands. Mademoiselle in her wedding-dress before the time-that would bring no good. "I shall wear it an hour," said willful Rose. "It can make no difference how long I wear it, if it is unlucky to get into it at all. I never expect to be lucky again. Kate, you will laugh if I show you the first thing I have thrust into the pocket. Guess! Whily, the dear little prayer-book my Lady Superior gave me when I was eight years old. how long ago it seems! Ah! the convent is beautiful to cowards like me; the high walls shut out storms. One might build a fairy palace, Katet with a gold roof, and have written over the gate, 'No disagreeable person admitted.'" "Only fairies might enter there," said Kate, smiling. Hortense, the maid, crossed herself devoutly at the mention made of the convent. The bride carried out her whim to the fullest ex- tent; she went softly through room after room; slie dragged her train into the aviaryJ she paused where the ferns of the conservatory made a green dome over her head. "What a goose I am! Return' to your pic- tures, Kate, while I clothe myself in my right mind nagin r" Katherine, whose plummet failed to fathom this creature, perplexed and helpless, crossed the charmed circle of the gallery once more. There were chairs and a table with a port-folio of engravings. She tore up her sketch con- temptuously, and sank down on a mat of snowy fox-fur opposite the picture. How immeasura- ble the distance between Katherine Wald, ig- norant, yet hungering for improvement, and Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, on his Al- pine height. How miserable the contrast be- tween Bear Hill, famous for winning the Pul- leyn prize at the county fair, and the Ap- otheosis of Homer on the ceiling of the Lou- vre. Rose Vyner submitted soberly to disrobe- ment by scandalized Hortense, her little sparkle of audacity and excitement having effervesced, and sat down in her silent chamber with fold- ed hands. She was waiting; she had only to count the hours before entering on a new life. Rose had a far more correct estimate of her future husband than her family possessed. He was tiresome; he found fault; he watched her suspiciously in the street-all in his anxiety to polish his gem. Only a short time previous 7 he had sent the blood tingling to her checkl; by criticising her greeting of a friend. "A young lady loses nothing in chainrm by a slight coldness of manner in public." "But I have known him for years," protest- ed Rose. "I)Dear little girl " said Mr. Yarington, cn- rcessingly. "When she is older, she will bo wiser. Smiles are often masks." And Rose, to whom airy badinage and arch- ness were as the very breath of life, could not fail to look with dread to a future when she should be obliged to make concessions, and wound friends. To yield was inevitable. Shio shrank from contention, and had not the req- uisite endurance to withstand a perpetual drop- ping of disapproval. Suddenly she started up; she could no longer endure her own thoughts; a lnd the precious moments, which could never ' be recalled, were slipping rapidly away. The lonely little figure glided down and looked at Kate, whoso words had greater influence than the speaker ldreamed. Should she tell Kate that she would give up the marriage? To what purpose? A storm of expostulation and argument would arise, and Mr. Yarington be sure to gain a firmer ascendency. Rose put her hands to her cars with a mute gesture, nnd stole away, leaving her cousin unalware of her approach. IHer feet next drew her to grand- mother's door. Mrs. Wald sat by the window, with a large Bible oni her knee. She did not see the wistful face at the door, although her thoughts were of this marriage at the moment. She had reasoned with Charles Vyner and Lc- titia; she had talked to Rose seriously; she had even attacked .Archibald Yarington boldly; and that gentleman had listened with a set, icy smile. Perhpps never since the days of his prosperity dawned had he heard as many truths as those uttered by grandmother, and he winced under them. Mrs. Wald did not tince matters. "I .wonder you are not 'ashamed to marry such a young girl. I'll be bound you are a good ten years older than her own mother." In reply, he dropped one of those stinging suggestions calculated to make a nature like her own humiliated, to which she made un- daunted answer. "And you buy his daughter. I hope you do not consider my family dependent on your charity, sir. While I have a home, that is im- possible." Again Rose faltered. IIow could she ad- dress the stern old lady, seated before her Bi- ble? What words would rise to her lips when , Mrs. Wald looked at her? page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] She ran up stairs and knocked on Edward's door. The young man raised his head to listen. He was wretched, and no one had a right to intirude on his grief. Not even a soul in great- er need, Edward? He was suffering in the sudden awakening of all the passions of hu- manity, and hq found no rest afterward. "What is it?"-a slight impatience in his tone. "If you are very busy I can wait," said thfe sweet voice of his sister. "I am engaged; I have a sermon to finish, and if you will excuse me-" She was gone before he had finished the sentence-gone with one quick, shuddering sob. She had never needed her brother be- fore in her life; had never exchanged a confi- dence with him. "lIe is too good to think of me, I suppose." Rose stood in the hall a moment, like the diver who poises for a plunge. She was fairly caught then; there was not a loop-hole of es- cape. The net had been woven, mesh within mesh, about the captive bird. The chain had been forged, link after link, that bound her to her fate. What if the bird strove to fly! the prisoner made one effort to burst her fetters? This child of the nineteenth century went to her room, selected a plain black costume, a long cloak, muffled her head in a barege veil, deliberately emptied the contents of Mr. Yar- ington's jewel-cases into a small Russia-leath- er bag, counted the money in her purse, wrote a line on a slip of paper, and flitted away. - "Mademoiselle's gray satin has been sent by the modiste for her inspection." Kate glanced up with a guilty sensation. "She is not here, Hortense. Oh, how thoughtless I have been!" Hurrying up stairs in search of the little cousin, full of remorse, Kate found a slip of paper conspicuously placed in her mirror. ", Cousin Kate, tell them that I shall never come back to marry Mr. Yarington." CHAPTER XXXII. "ETITIA. SPEAKS. THE fact of Rose Vyner's disappearance was slow to dawn on the household. Kate read the slip of paper many times before a full perception of its meaning came to her. Mrs. Wald was aroused. "(Where is her mother?" asked the older woman, almost fretfillly. It was one of those emergencies when each person wished to evade the responsibility of taking a first step, and dreaded to have the worst fear confirmed. P'erhaps the maid, Hortense, was the most composed in this dilemmann. The world was lier oyster; so she put on her bonnet, and sped swiftly to Mr. Yarington's quarters with the news, receiving due compensation. The mother was returning all too soon, a complacent expression on her face such as it would never wear again. Kate quailed when sho beheld her, and ran up to Edward's door. The young man appeared, with a dreamy look in his eyes, papers scattered about the floor. "This is a time to act. Your parents need you," said the girl. in a low, thrilling voice. "Oh, poor little Rose, where has sho gone!" "Has any thing happened to Rose?"' lie in- quired, shocked and alarmed. They hastened down stairs together, only to have Mrs. Wald motion them away from the library, where she had taken her daughter. They must wait until she recovered somewhat. Edward shrank away, and stood, with bowed head, in a dejected attitude. It seemed only just that he should be separated from his mother in her tribulation, as he had always been by his own will. Ilow self-absorbed lie had been! And Rose knocked at his door. She might still be in their midst, had lie opened it. Mrs. Vyner sat in a low couch, in the atti- tude of a person who holds herself together by main force to brace her frame against utter prostration. Her dry lips were slightly parted, her eyes fixed on vacancy. "Lctitia, you learn to feel this day the keen. est pain which can be inflicted on a mother's heart. Your daughter hins left you as mine left me years ago." "You had nothing to blear-nothing!" groaned Lctitian. "What can you endure more?" questioned Mrs. Wald, with a saddened aspect. The flame, long repressed, burst forth: a wild, haggard fear came into the woman's face. "What! have you suffered? Oh, blind, blind. What can it be but dire necessity that drives one to such expedients. The child must marry an old man-repulsive compact-be- cause one may not always clioose thie bridge which shall carry one across the stream. fie leiyAt soon die." "HeIcavens and earth! Are theose tlo prin- ciples you have inculcated in your children? Marry a man because lie may soon die!" "No, not that. The blame is mine. The child is pure, thank God! Whilt do I say? Pure! Nothing is pure. There is a taint on every thing in this world," said Letitia, dis- dainfully. "Yes; one might suppose that Satan had full dominion, to hear you speak. Control yourself, Letitia; moods like these lead to in- sanity." "It is well for you to be calin wlo have never known temptation," cried the daughter. "Temptation! Lctitia, what sin hias ruined your life?" Even now sle hesitated. She had nothing to lose. "Mother, the money is not mine. I kept it for the children, when otherwise I would have restored it. Of late it has been a bitter loanL" Mrs. Wald leaned heavily on a table. "Excuse my obtuseness. Perhaps I should have divined all this before from your guilty face," she said, with sarcastic politeness. "You are the first thief in our family." She was page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] cruel as the grave. There was no mercy in her heart. "Thief!" ejaculated Letitia, with whitening lips. "An ugly word." "The creature is ugly; stripped of all sub- terfuge and fictitious sentiment, plain thief is at bottom." "Mother, don't despise me. I can't endure your scorn," said Letitia, plucking feebly at her sleeve. She might as well have thrown herself on the compassion of a sphinx. "The law of Moses, brought down from the Mount, ' Thou shalt not steal,' was early taught you, Letitia Wald. I would rather have found you dead, after these years of hiding like a criminal. Who owned the money?" Letitia did not droop her head like a culprit; her gaze was fixed apathetically on the carpet. "Thomas Thornley left it to tie boy when he died, and I kept it." Mrs. Wald turned ashy gray, like one who receives a mortal hurt. Her soul was bowed to the dust. Extravagant, demonstrative grief did not belong to her people, only that terrible gray pallor, and the internal, crushing agony. "Did he die down there on St. Martin's Island?" she asked, indistinctly. "Yes. Fate brought him to my very door." "The argument of sinners-fate sent you into the world to afflict the righteous. You took your own course from the first, and this is the bed of your making. A gorgeous couch, truly! Stole from dying Thomas Thornley! O Lord, thy servant could endure all but this hateful crime I To rob dead men in their graves! Better to have found her sunk in the dregs of poverty, but honest, as one of her race should be," groaned Grandmother Wald. Curiously mingled with a sense of degra- dation was relief in telling her mother all. Could it have been some faint gleam, so re- mote and different, of the impulse which had led her to that mother's knee, a child, to con- fess a fault? The burning secret no longer burdened her own breast; it was shared by others. She flung it abroad to the whispering winds after keeping it locked in her heart for twenty-five years. Mrs. Wald's first impulse was to turn and flee from this guilty creature, to shake her gar- ments free from contact with the very house. Duty restrained her. She took the stiffest chair in the library, and sat opposite the wom- an, who was again shrouded in apathy, a nerve- less droop in her very Angers. Not a lovely type of Christian charity, by any means; none of the Divine Master's infinite compassion bend- ing earthward, and shedding celestial radiance on poor, tortured humanity in the "Neither do I condemn thee." Call her Pharisee if you will; aloof in her self-righteousness, she would never have- soiled her hands and stained her soul with the wealth of dead'Thomas Thorn- ley. Parent and child were fighting their own battle, each in her several way. The room was still; Kate and Edward listened outside. Le- titia, in sullen despair, saw again the condem- ning face of her dreams. Had it not appear- ed to her the first night she slept beneath this roof? Her mother, always her mother, tell- ing her the , -'ong she had done. Mrs. Wald, in her stiff chair, was wrestling with her own soul as Jacob struggled with the angel at Pe- niel. How reveal that her own child had done this deed? The dark poison-drop well: ed up in her own nature. What would all those Pulleyns of pure fame have her do? Conceal the crime. And Tom Thornley- "Thank God I reared him!" she burst forth with a vehemence that startled her listener. "But for me, he might have been starved, neg- lected, brutalized, my noble, generous boy! I wonder the earth you trod had not cried out againstyou." Then, in the succeeding silence, the voice whispered again, "I Hide the sin for your pride's sake, and save your race from scorn; How are you better than common fel- ons?"The strong woman began to tremble; the ground was giving way beneath her feet. If she did not crucify the doubt, she was lost. "Will you tell him, or shall I?" she asked. 'a I will make my own confession. First let me find my child," said Letitia. Mrs. Wald bowed her head; her thoughts had not been of willful Rose, who had run away. She had not a moment to lose before writing to Tom Thornley, for fear her own res- olution should waver. The door burst open, and Mr. Yarington entered, his dress disorder- ed, his forehead suffused. He scarcely re- sponded to Letitia's cold bow. "What is this I hear about Rose?" he de- manded, in a loud, rough voice. "We fear that she has left us," said grand- mother, with her stateliest manner. "It's a ruse to cheat me, and I won't be' cheated!" cried Mr. Yarington, in a fury. "You have hidden her on purpose to make me the laughing-stock of the town; and the wed- ding was to take place to-morrow. I will not be your dupe; Rose belongs to me, I tell you!" "It is dangerous for a man of your years to indulge in temper; it causes apoplexy," said Mrs. Wald. He gave grandmother a withering glance, and addressed himself to Mrs. Vyner, who had not risen from her chair. Edward had gone out into the street to learn tidings of his sister, with that purposeless movement which anxiety prompts. "Madam, I insist on an explanation of this extraordinary termination of affairs. I have the first right to ask it, I believe. Some inju- rious influence must- have poisoned her mind against me," continued the baffled suitor. But Mr. Yarington was doomed not to re- ceive his explanation. At tlis moment Cliarlcs Vyner appeared, wiping his danImp brow. He had been summoned. "Iave you heard-" began Mrs. Wald. "I should think I had heard," he interrupt- ed, breathessly; "Manchester is safe, after all. Safe, Letitia, and the money secure. Ynring- ton, I can discover no cause for the panic; it is inexplicable." An electric shock seemed to quiver through Letitia at these words. Passion once more transported her. With drooping eyelids, and a feline movement, she approached Archibald Yarington. "You--" she muttered, with the old gesture toward her throat, as if suffocating, and then stood dumb, with Mrs. Wald's arms holding her fast. The visitor discreetly withdrew, only pausing at the door to throw down the gauntlet. "That Manchester did not fail, is no fault of mine." Surely, if his better nature had not been conquered, it must have been moved by the stricken dismay of Charles Vyner's face, a man who had trusted him. Then Mrs. Wald was gently thrust aside, and Edward Vyner laid the head of the mother lie pitied, without know-. ing the reason, tenderly on his own breast. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STRANGE LADY. THE town of Thornley possessed a railroad. Mr. Whichcord and Tom shared the gen- eral enthusiasm. The former, leaner, more sallow than ever, consumed -by a slow fever that confined him to his room, insisted that his apartment should command a view of the shin- ing track. Many times in the day a grotesque figure, in a queer dressing-gown, appeared at the hotel window, and inspected the trains with fading eyes. "Doctor talks as if I was just goin' to hop the twig," he would say, peevishily, to Tom. "But there's a heap of work in Jeremiah Whichcord's bones yet, I can tell him. Have a peppermint, Thornley? I shall die in har- ness, any how.!' In vain Tom expostulated; papers would find their way by some magic into the sick- chamber, with maps, charts, and deeds, over which the invalid pored unceasingly. Thornley was a baby town, with evtry stim- ulus for rapid growth. In fact it was no larger than the hamlet-we beg pardon-the large city of M-- , where Tom stopped over. night so many years ago, and for the first time saw differences of opinion adjusted with the aid of buckshot. Strange to relate, Sally, the manageress of the American House in those days, kept the public house at Thornley; and that was not the only change in the young woman's condi- tion. Sally got religion under the ministra- tions of a circuit preacher, and, as was natural with one of her temperament, got it with a vengeance. She not only discarded Big Jim, after naming the day, but married the preacher, a mild youth who officiated in the log-cabin of Thornley. The result of this hopeful change was very perceptible in the settlement, where Matron Sally was a power. It is winter now, with cutting winds and heaping snow-storms. The little frontier town has to count its numbers, and watch the cat- tle that none disappear in the ingulfing white shroud. The daily train is long overdue, and r an anxious crowd of men watch on the rude platform, hands in pockets, and with a general shuffling of feet to keep the blood in circulation. The arrival of the train is the event of the day in Thornley. Business can always be sus- pended long enough to witness that great event. The shoe-maker hastily drops his lap-stone; the tailor quits his shears; the one dry-goods merchant turns the key in the door, and strides over to the little d6pot. Thornley invariably allows itself this luxury. But to-day a party of men have gone out, in, response to a tele- gram, to dislodge the cars from a drift. Tom stands on the platform, stout boots drawn up to his thighs, wearing a rough coat and fur cap on his head, one of the throng, yet the leader. He looks down the long, shining track, which represented one act in life accom- plished. Tom has fought delay, discourage- ment, and fatigue for every inch of iron road. His sagacity has been doubted by those whose funds he needed. There have been mutinies among sullen workmen to quell, hunger and thirst to endure, on the open plain. Jeremiah Whichcord, peering from the window,hnas stood by him with unswerving faitl. Low clouds obscure the heavens; a few feathery stars of snow float in the still air; the broad prairie line is one dazzling, ice-crusted sheet. A prolonged whistle echoes across the plain, and is responded to by a hearty cheer from the platform. The released locomotive can be heard puffing in the distance. The soul of the little community swells exultingly. With sin- ulous, gliding motion, with uproar of bell and hissing steam, the cars reach Thornley at last. A small female form appears. The rough men on the platform gape amazed. A lady has never entered their precincts before. 4- "Tomi!" cries a piteous voice, and the little stranger fths senseless into his arms. A hubbub ensues. The men crowd around Tom, who stands holding this burden with an expression of helpless astonishment. Had Rose Vyner descended from a balloon, he would not have been one whit more confounded. Mr. Whiclcord's window is opened, and his head thrust forth into the nipping air. "Who has come?"The voice sounds sharp and thin to Tom's ear. The shoe-maker is the wag of the settle- 'ment, and has therefore a reputation to sus- tain. "The boss has got a sweetheart, ycr honor." There is a general laugh at this sally; Rose stirs and moans iln her protector's arms. Tom is aroused to instant action; he frowns at the shoe-maker--hdw distasteful this coarse famil- iarity!-and carries Rose over to the hotel. "Open the door of the private parlor," lie says impatiently to Madam Sally, who moves very reluctantly. The snow has begun to fall again, swiftly, noiselessly, effacing landmarks with steady persistency as the grave obliterates the memo- ry of the dead. Rose is deposited on a sofa, and then Madam Sally places her hands on her liips-a favorite attitude when she belongs to the opposition. "Thomas Thornley, is that gal your wife?" "No!" in great surprise. "Then what's slic a-doin' here?" Sally is very prudent in these days, not to say a trifle curdled. She likes Tom, and works for him cheerfully; but she does not approve of a young woman following him, and must speak her mind. "She an't your sister, I reckon. I've hecrd you was an orphan and only child. What does she want?" "Really, Sally, you have become most un- charitable," Tom says, hotly. "And you a woman, too-" "I've never set up to being any thin' besides a woman," retorted Sally. "I tell y3u what, Thomas Thornley, you've always been a decent young man, as far as I know, and I don't in- tend to see you goin' astray without lifting my voice." "This is too absurd," Tom returns, angrily. ",She may hear you, and she is a more delicate, beautttiful young lady than you ever saw in your life. Leave the room." Madam Sally departs in high dudgeon, bang- ing the door-a process earnestly recommended by the writer in the medical treatment of faint- ing-fits, as it did more to arouse Rose Vyner than any amount of burned feathers would have done. The girl opened her eyes presently, to gaze at her companion as a child gazes, after a long sleep, in an unfamiliar chamber. This scrutiny, at first unembarrassed, was succeeded by a wave of color over neck and brow; Rose was not a child. "Now you are better." Tom spoke rc-as- suringly. A great dread was on him. Wllat could have brought her i Surely, if evil had befallen Kate, tidings would not have been sent by this fragile little messenger. "I was hungry and cold-and oh, so frigllt- ened out there on the prairie. If an old man had not given mo a biscuit, I should have died." The mobile lips quiver, and a tear gathers under the fringing eyelashes at these recol- lections of cruel hardship. "Poor little princess, would she like some- thing to cat?" Rapid changes of mood are not rare with Rose; she laughs merrily, in the relief of se- curity, and raises the pretty hecad from the pil- low. "Yes, she would, please. Wliat a dreadful region!" "Tell me first what brings you here-of all places in the world." She is pale again; her soft eyes seek Tom's sadly, wistfully, and she nestles her velvet cheek in the palm of one of his hands with a beseech- ing movement. "Because you are the only friend I have left." Amazement fills Tom's soul at this startling avowal. ' Heavens! Are all the family dead? Where is Kate?" "Do not look at me like that. I can never tell you if you terrify me," fialters the visitor. Tom, in order to gain the information lie so much craves, must seat himself, still holding the fluttering little hands, and with the girl's breath wooing his clieck, hears, amidst sighs and gasps, the history of Archibald Yarington from her stand-point. Ho listens with knitting brows, and a cold grip at his heart. Evidently he is not flattered by the confidence reposed in him by the bride elect, and yet he is touched by her helplessness-feels relieved that she has made the journey in safety. "I have come to you," concluded Rose, with another ripple of light across her features. "He would surely find me anywhere else. You will be good to me, I know, and I will be page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] your little servant, if you will only take care of me." This idea of being Tom's servant delights her, in its very absurdity. "I am afraid you have made a mistake." He can not be harsh with her. "Oh no, ho. Do not say that. Where shall I go, if you turn me away?" You can not paint the snbw white. The innocence of Rose fairly astounds the young man. He may not point out to her the rash imprudence of the step she has taken, if she is unable to perceive it alone; and whatever is noble in his nature is stirred, aroused by this trust in him. She has come to him, all these weary miles, through the winter storms, and he would not ruffle a feather of her silken plumage by a rude repulse. Still, he is troubled. He feeds her carefully and tenderly; he has the few luxuries he possesses dragged into her chamber; he slips money into the palm of the raw-boned domestic, with the injunction that she shall attend the lady. Rose is weary and depressed by this time. When Tom bids her good-night, she clutches his sleeve, and looks around the draughty hall nervously. He smooths her hair, and kisses her, urging her not to be afraid, as he is near to take care of her. There is something so forlorn and inappropriate in dainty Rose, sheltered in that bleak, barn-like building. Tom is very grave, as his visitor might have observed from the first, had she been less absorbed in her- self; had she been less disposed to absorb oth-. or lives to her own use. He has one more question to ask before lie leaves her. "Do they know at home? Has Kate ever told you-" Kate is so big and strong," interrupts the cousin, with a little pout. "I wrote her to tell the rest." Tom turns away without another word, and encounters the disapproving stare of Madam Sally. "We're plain folks out yer, Thornley, and I should like to know when you air goin' to be married." "I've no intention of marrying immediate- ] ly," he replied, in a voice which he endeavored I to render unconcerned. "You haven't-eh? Then I am done, I declare!" The landlady backs away from him with t frowning condemnation. - Mr. Whichcord is dancing with impatience on the threshold of his room. He fairly drags I his young comrade within the door, and stuns ( e him with a volley of questions concerning Rose Vyner. s "You are a sly dog," he chuckles, mnking a playful attack on Tom's ribs with a spectral ' forefinger. "I had nothing to do with it," responds e Tom, sharply, fairly beside himself. "Of course not, " says Mr. Whichcord, mock- ingly, wrapping his dressing-gown about him i and sinking back into his arm-chair. "Tell i you what, I admire your taste, from the glimpse sI got of her; she's mighty pretty. I've al- ways kept my eye open! No man ever saw sa neat ankle, a peachy face, and a well-turn- ed figure sooner than Jeremiah Whichcord ; in his day. Only I let my cllance slip away. Take my advice, Thornley, and do not let yours slide." "You will not understand me," begins Tom, impatiently, and then lie pauses. How can he cast reproach on Rose, even to Mr. Whichcord. The latter reflects a moment. "Tom, my lad, you will never let these rough-tongued folks talk about the pretty crec- tur'. You will never send her away without first marrying her." The voice of Jeremiah Whichcord is quavering, but earnest. The young man goes out of the room without re- sponse. Ros@sleeps in tranquil quiet. Tom sits all night with- his arms'on the window-sill, his brow pressed against the pane, watching the raging storm. Oh God, if the snow would cease to fall! The locomotive on the track has nehrly disappeared. It is ever thus: one sleeps, and one watches. In the morning Rose is accosted by a queer old man in a dressing-gown, who bows, and wishes her good-day. She is a little afraid of him; but with that instinctive desire to please, she smiles and spar kles. Tom finds her describing her journey to Mr. Whichcord, while he is fairly captivated by her'gracious manner. He insists on coming to breakfast, where he eats nothing, but selects tidbits for the young lady, and is anxious about the amount of cream in her coffee. "She's one 0' the sort that twists men round her finger, and no better for that, I dare say," Madam Sally observes primly in the back- ground. Tom is haggard and miserable. There is a great attraction about that breakfast-table for the town of Thornley; every one must get a peep at the lady. Forms flit past the windows, chiefly noticeable for round eyes, and burly men stumble in the door on the most trivial excuses, undismayed by Tom's anger. "How the people stare!"Rose observes, innocently, nibbling Mr.. Whichcord's morsel of toast. The snow has reached a depth of many feet, and has not yet ceased. The train will not leave to-day; perhaps not to-morrow. Rose is animated, the novelty of her escapade not having worn away; and the soft mounds of snow separate her from Archibald Yarington, whom she now fears in proportion as she has wronged him. Toward evening a wedding ceremony is per- formed in that dreary hotel parlor by the preacher. The service is brief and simple : Thomas Thornley takes Rose Vyner to be his lawfil, wedded wife, and her response is shy and low. She is touched with the solemnity of the act at last. Mr. Whichcord gives away the bride; Madame Sally is a grim witness. That is all. "And you have worn my locket all these years," whispered Rose to her husband. "I knew you must care for me by that." One can not tell whether she has been puzzled by the proposal of immediate marriage, or not. Mr. Whichcord is simply delighted; and when Madam Sally, expanding into a sudden atrabili- ty, offers awkward congratulations, Rose kisses her unaffectedly,with that dazzling smile of hers, which sends the good woman away mollified. "Now, messieurs, favor me with your atten- tion," commands thoe little princess, radiantly. She produces the leather bag, companion of her travels, and turns the contents on the table. Mr. Whichcord winks violently, and puts on his spectacles; Tom utters an exclamation of sur- prise. Diamonds, emeras, s, pearls, and chains of gold, the coinage of Mr. Yarington's clloice affections, lay in a glittering heap. "Voih 7,noi dot!" she exclaims, with a tri- umphant gesture, lapsing into her native tongue, in her elation. There is a telegram for Mr. Thornley. "The mainls are delayed. Come at once to Mr s. Vyner. IIOPrEFUL WAt.)." "Then she knows all," mutters Tom. A silvery voice floats through the hotcl; I Rose is singing a sparkling French soug to Mr. Whichcord. page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] CHAPTER XXXIV. KATE AN OLD MAID. K ATHERINE WALD received her thun- der-bolt out of a clear sky. Of serene faith in her lover, she was not one of those jealous, exacting natures whose imagination conjures up the ghost of other pretty women with the absent suitor. Tom, in her eyes, was different from all other men. She had always known him, and trusted him implicitly. In the disturbance and grief incident to Rose's flight, and grandmother's subsequent knowl- edge of Letitia's sin, Kate had been a specta- tor, infected by the general sorrow through her sympathy, yet not vitally concerned. She nev- or forgot the day when grandmother came to her with a telegram crumpled in her fingers. "Kate, my child, pray for strength. Have courage for what I am about to tell you." Kate put out her hand instinctively, closed her eyes shudderingly, and murmured, "He is dead, I know.", "Dead!" repeated Mrs. Wald, fiercely. "I almost wish he were. No, Katherine, he has shown himself to be a knave, and married your cousin Rose. You are one of our un- lucky women, after all." The girl uttered no loud lamentation-she was a Pulleyn-but crouched in a corner, rock- ing herself to and fro, muttering, a Married!" "Oh, the misery occasioned by a lying, de- ceitful tongue!" said grandmother. "Hush! we don't know the reason," said Kate, and resumed her droning, "Married!" with that slow motion of the body more terri- ble to witness than tears. To this vibration succeeded the silent rigidity of frozen stillness. Grandmother, in speechess sorrow and com- passion, sat and watched her. , Thqre was nothing to be done, in these first hours of anguish, but wait for an opportunity to prof- fer consolation. Mrs. Wald's own spirit was bruised by Tom's startling perfidy. The day and night passed slowly on heavy wings; Katherine Wald still crouched in her corner, holding her head in her hands. Food was brought to' her, and removed untasted. Edward Vyner hovered about the door, wrung by a twofold suffering, in not being able to share this consuming, internal agony, and hav- ing it caused by another man. Verily might the cars of poor Tom have tingled, could the thoughts of Mrs. Wuld and Edward have reached him. In reverting to this period afterward, Kate could notdetermine whether her brain acted or not, for her pain seemed to be physical as much as mental. It was as if a heavy, sacri- ficial car had rolled over her, crushing every sense into a unison of misery, and leaving suc.- ceeding insensibility. She was trying to teach herself what it was that had happened, and she would not move until she had mastered the subject. All the bright, buoyant sources of her nature were stopped; her love was dead, would never return to ler; and yet she could not shed a tear. At last grandmother's voice spoke, sounding a great way off: "Kate, would you like to go' home?" "Yes; take me home," she said, wearily. Then there was another lapse of silence, and, later, a bonnet was placed on her head, and she was led out passively, like a child. Charles Vyner, relieved concerning his own daughter by Katherine's downfall, might offer consolation, out of pure kind-heartedness, but the girl did not see him. She saw nothing, until her glance wandered languidly to a door- way through which she had looked when first she entered this house. A sharp arrow of pain quivered through her, seeming to cleave her very soul. It was there she first beheld the little white-robed creature smiling up at Tom. She pressed her hand to her heart con- vulsively, and paused like one entranced, while Edward's eyes never left her unconscious face. She was able to feel again-welcome change! ' 1i What a waste of lavished affection! the young fi man reflected bitterly. o Once out of her dark corner in the silent h room, noise and .glaring day awaited poor Kate, e who shrank from it like the recovered blind. c The rattle of wheels on the pavement grated v on her nerves, as if she had been enfeebled by a long illness. She hated the cheerful bustle s of the street. It was the old cry, that goes up I from every human heart sometime: "'There is c no sorrow like my sorrow." If she can only/i reach the blessed quiet of dear old Greenville once more, and be ag peace! Curiously enough, Merlin is in the waiting- i room of the depot, with its throng of trailing 1 mothers and unkempt children; its nervous spinsters, and wary, snappish travclers, looking 1 for the best seat. Merlin bids Mrs. Wald good-bye cordially, and turns to Kate. "I have brought you Itamerton's Highland- book. I wish you to make me a promise," lie said. "What is it?"She raises her heavy eyes hopelessly; there is no transient dream of in- terest felt in his words. Still Kate is aware that Merlin's presence is somehow like the cheerlffl, blooming friend who appears beside the sick-bed, bringing an atmosphere of fresh air. "Promise to come to me in the spring and continue your studies," he spoke, cncoura- gingly. Then a door slides open, and Kate is borne away on the stream of struggling passen- gers, wondering vaguely at Merlin's exaction. Spring is so far distant. The last face she be- holds is that of Edward outside the car win- dow. "God be with you, Kate!" His words ring in her cars long after she has passed from his sight, and bring a fiaint glow of gratitude. IIow can Edward bless her, when she has brought only regret to him? The journey is one of prolonged misery to Kate. She sits with fixed, dry eyes, the land- scape flying past, like the phantoms o)f dreams. She has frequently to ask herself what ins oc- curred to blight her healthy young life, and she is morbidly aware that curious eyes stare at her. Greenville at last! The two women pass drearily between walls of snow, marble ram- parts made by winter, up to the familiar gate. At sight of the old homestead, gleaming like a ruddy countenance amidst the leafless shrub- bery, with a cap of icicles on the sloping roof, Kate's wound bleeds afresh ; great tears fll from her eyes. The garden, an odorous mem- ory, lies in its shroud, and Tom is dead. She has escaped from the city only to be confront- ed by more vivid thoughts. She can not es- cape from herself, and she carries her trouble with her. "Katherine! Katherin e Wald!" pipes a sharp voice. ("It's rare luck to see you home. I must show you the chemisette I have tucked on the machine for your wedding. Sister Mc- /hitable thinks it beautiful work." Jacob Prout, with a shawl wrapped around his throat tippet fashion, and the end of his nose blue with cold, brandishes a piece of cam- bric in triumph. "You are very kind, Jacob, but I shall not be married at all." The gathering tears fall first as she goes up the path to the door where rTom received her, a toddling baby, years ago. Eunice, by the kitchen-window, sewing on hier own wedding- gown, a gorgeous garment of crimson, espies them, and darts out. The Walds have returned home. Greenville knew it in a flash, and has learned the reason. That unruly meinber, thie tongue,is not si- lenced by freezing iveather; on the contrary, it wags unceasingly besideo the crackling fire. The doings of Mis' Wald's household are more of a seven days' wonder thnan ever, and furnish food for endless mental speculation. Behold how fiur the ripples of Tom Thorn- ley's faithessness reach, marring the truly in- nocent life of Peter, junior. Eunllice has list- ened to Jane's history of the young mistress's woes with a rapid dilation and contraction of the pupils of her eyes. "I should like to strike him-to kill him!" she says, with a startling revelatios of barba- Srism. Then sihe tosses her head with her grand manner. "Look yer, you Petc, dis is the end s of our business. I've made a vow, and no luck can come to break it, dat I marry when Miss ) Kate does. If she don't marry noholv, I reck- - on she'll want me most, and she come before any darkey boys in my affections." Peter, in anguish of spirit and the very gall 1 of bitterness, is forced to return to the cottage, e mournfully survey the coat with long tails and brass buttons which was to have graced the s day of his hopes, and hang his fiddle on tho - wall. Peter has not deserved this of fate, at the hands of Thomas Thornley; he is the vic- a tim of circumstances. The old homo .has wrought this good: f, wrapped in its tender, voiceless influences, the page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] bond of cold despair which held the girl at first has yielded, melted into softened grief. She has wept her very life away, and wanders from room to room, weak, sad, but no longer un- impressionable. At this stage grandmother speaks, to prevent Kate from sinking into in- 'ertia, destructive alike to mind and body. "We all have our griefs in this life. We win our crown by bearing our cross patiently. Do you suppose you are the first girl who has lost her lover? Do you imagine your sor- row is the very first of the kind in the whole world? Nonsense. Good women will lavish their best affections on bad, worthess men as long as the race stands. It seems to belong to our family to do so. God knows why. Al- though Charles Vyner is only a fool, I have borne more than you, and yet I live, striving to do my duty. Would you sink under the load if the father of your children went astray before your very eyes, and groveled on Tour thresh- old a drunkard? Grief is selfish. You must begin to think of others now. Consider me. The moments are too precious to waste in mourning over an unworthy object. You must seek your Master's work, and do- it with all your might. You will find happiness in that." "Grandmother, I shall be the first old maid in your family," said Kate, with hysterical mirth. "I hope not," replied Mrs. Wald, gravely. "I trust God may send you a good husband yet, and one who is worthy of you." Kate laid her hand on grandmother's. "No," she said, with a vibrating ring in her voice, "I can never be the wife of another man. Never!" "Of course not. If there is a good one awaiting you, he must be thrust aside for you to worship a shadow all your lonely days," re- torted Mrs. Wald, bitterly. Kate did not pretend to fathom the motive for the step Tom had taken; if he had given her a straw to cling to, she would still have believed in him, as one set apart from her own life of whom she preferred to think well. The fact of his marriage was a cruel reality of which she dared not speak, .and with it came the in- credible certainty that this man, who had sworn to cherish her, had never considered her happi- ness for an instant. "Let us bury the subject forever," said the girl, rising to her feet. About this time a letter came from Tom. Mrs. Wald slipped it into her pocket until Kate had gone to bed, then she put on her specta- cles and read it. The letter was addressed to grandmother, and appealed to Kate; indeed the request was made that the latter should read it. The writer was neither logical nor always coherent. There were several eras- ures savagely dashed out, which betrayed suf- fering, while a vein of constraint marred the apparent fervor with which pardon was craved. Kate would have pitied Tom had she read it. Grandmother felt no pity for the man who had humiliated her grandchild. She never recog- nized Rose in the transaction at all she dipped her pen into the ink calnly and wrote her reply. "DEAR MR. THORNLY,-I am in receipt of your let- ter, and only regret that you should have troubled yourself to make excuses, which must have, been as painful to you as they are futile to my humble under- standing. No effort of your own can ever alter my opinion of you in the slightest degree, and I ask the favor, most earnestly, that we may be permitted to forget your existence as soon as possible. You have cause for resentment in my daughter's sinful course, but you have repaid us fully for the injury done. As my granddaughter is recovering health and spirits, I beg of you to excuse my giving her your letter. I have no doubt she will meet with the consideration her character deserves, and marry well. "Very respectfully yours, "HOPEFUL WAL.)." She smiled slightly over that concluding sentence, and was not without a hope that it would make the recipient uncomfortable. The idea of Kate marrying well might not be pleas- ant to him, even if he had not wanted her him- self. Spring, uncertain and pallid, with the mount- ains and uplands thrusting bare shoulders out of the snow-mantle here and there, and the glistening rivulets singing in the sun-spring, fraught with regret, and promising no future brightness, brought Tom Thornley to grand- mother's door. She swept into the best par- lor, in that stiff silk gown of ceremony which always made a visitor uncomfortable. Tom looked at her wistfully, but she gave him her hand without warmth or sympathy. "When is my daughter coming home?" "I have begged her to remain until Air. Vyner's business matters are adjusted, and Rose needs her." "Ah-! There is an old theory that young people are better alone at first," observed Mrs. Wald, dryly. "Perhaps," said Tom, looking eagerly at the closed door. If he might only see Kate, gain one glance, from her sweet truthful eyes, he would go away happy. His expectancy did not escape grandmother, who felt a secret sat- isfaction in his disappointment. "I have come to make inquiries about St. Martin's Island. I intend to remove my fa- ther's remains here." "Quite right. I marked the grave with a bit of wood and a pine-tree; the others have crosses." "6 Will you sometimes look at my dead when I amn far away?" The young man's voice trembled. ("If you wish it "-coldly. Then, refusing the hospitality proffered to all beneath this roof, he rose to go. "Can I see Kate?" "My granddaghter is not here," said Mrs. Wald, in feigned surlprise. "W'here is she, then?"IIc could not re- strain the inquiry that leaped to I s lips. "You are a m narried n . Kaitierinc's movements no longer concern you." Tom struggled with his emotion. '"Grandmother, it is natural you should re- gard me as an enemy, still I do not deserve un- mingled condemnation. I owe you a debt of love and gratitude." "Thomas Thornley, what I did for you was only my duty. We have agreed to forget tho past; do you make a like resolution. God guide you aright." Ilc went forth from her presence blinded by bitter tears. Who could disentangle the threads that bound him? hMrs. Wald sat in her rich gown, opposite the portrait of Judge l'ulleyn, with clasped hands. Jane thought she was praying. page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] CHAPTER XXXV. THE SECRET OF TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. MR. and Mrs. Thornley returned to the sea- board with all possible speed, in response to that telegram. Tom supposed that the mes- sage from Mrs. Wald warned him that his clandestine marriage with Rose was already surmised, in his ignorance of other meaning. He had also telegraphed the news of his wed- ding, fearing- delay on the blocked roads, and anxiety in the family on the girl's account. The dowry of jewels, so exultingly displayed by the little princess to blinking Mr. Which- cord, had been placed in a sealed packet, and directed to Mr. Archibald Yarington, despite her remonstrances. "They belong to me," she said, dolefully. "If people make presents, and expect to have them back when any thing disagreeable occurs, they ought to be disappointed. I shall never have any more, if you are so dreadfully poor, as you say." Still, the packet was sealed, and Rose recov- ered her good spirits speedily when she was told they would immediately return to the East. "I am so glad! I would not mention it to Mr. Whichcord, as he lives here; but one does not know how to appreciate home until one has seen this place, where things are so scraggy and forlorn. -We will return when 'hornley becomes a large city, and has an opera season." The future looked gloomy to Tom. He no longer had plans, or knew where to seek an abode for his young wife. Thus they reached the city. As they turned into the fa i street, an unusual commotion was perceptible. Crowds were gathered on the pavement; an awning screened the Jenkins door-way; carriages wheeled up and deposited their freight of laces and cloudy white draperies. "Clara's wedding l" exclaimed Rose, clap- ping her hands. "Eh bien! I was married first, after all; and we are just as happy, Tom, as if we had made such a display. Do you not think so?" "'Very likely!" responded her husband, evasively. It was difficult to keep pace with her airy humor-repression told on his nerves; he was obliged to avert his face frequently, for fear she should read his secret in his eyes. Rose nodded to the servant joyously, and flew up stairs into Edward's arms. The young clergyman looked sternly at Tom as he greeted him. "'At least you might have married her be- neath our roof," he said, reproachfully. Tom colored deeply, and bit his lip savagely. "You shall not scold the best man in the world," said the little wife, patting Tom's shoul- der. "Grandmother took Katherine nwav on re- ceipt of your telegram," continued Edward, with a significance of tone which convinced Tom that he knew all. "Was she well?" he asked, in a broken voice. i'She gave no sign." Rose had fluttered on in search of her par- ents, and Charles Vyner was lavishing carqsses on his recovered treasure, kissing and chiding her in a breath. "A wicked, artful peach-blossom, stealing away to get married!" he said, holding her at arms-length. "I have heard you did the same, papa. Kate told me." "And if I did, my pet, do you suppose IX wish to see you-another generation-repeat- ing my faults." "My mother has some important matter to communicate," said Edward, still detaining Tom. "It has weighed heavily on her, yet she tells me nothing. It is my place to be present in this interview." Tom assented recklessly. He cared noth- "I ing for Mrs. Vyner's communication. He was b in that condition of mental weariness and heart- fu sickness that he only longed to be alone, as he h had been the day when he hid his face on Bear fi IIill, shutting out the world in grateful dark- tl ness. Rose's gayety was unbearable, and Kate, the love of his youth, had gone away at n his approach. Edward detected in this gloom the stings of an awakened conscience. Mrs. I Vyner having nerved herself to her task, did not flinch when the young man was brought n to her. She was fairly driven at bay by her 1 daughter's flight to Tom, and yet here she be- 1 held a first gleam of hope. If Rose was Thomas i Thornley's wife, she would still enjoy the mon- ( ev her mother was about to relinquish. s There was an interview between the three 1 gentlemen, in which Tom was tortured by ques- i tions, without power to make direct answer for ( fear of compromising Rose. lIe was a man, X and could therefore bear reproach better than she. Then he came to Mrs. Vyner, who re- fused Edward's support. t"You will all know soon enough. If I had the courage to take this step, I must abide by the consequences alone," she said, stubbornly. Tom was listless, even moody; yet he felt that he belonged to these people now, and had no right to go away. With curious pride in herself to the last, Mrs. Vyner wore a rich dress, with delicate lace shading her slender hands, and the snowy hair carefully piled in a Pompa- dlour coiffure. Tom had some dim perception across his troubled, distorted vision that she was very beautiful. "Mr. Thornley, I have promised my mother to confess the sin of my life, and make restitu- tion." Her tone was cold, even haughty; she kept her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. She expected ho mercy, and asked for none. "I can see no connection between your life and my own," he replied in a dull tone, toying absently with an ivory paper-knife. "And never would perceive it, if I did not tell you. I have done what many people be- fore me have done-kept that which did not belong to me. A great many years since, your father intrusted me, in dying, with the money he bequeathed to you. Ho told me where to find it, and I have held a belief, until recently, that I earned the money in obtaining it." "When did this occur?" His lips trembled now. !"When I was first married; you must have been a young child." The paper-knife snapped in twain, and flew across the room. That allusion to his child- hood touched him to the quick. IIo might have been rich, free, independent, but for tills woman. Elegant Mrs. Vyner sank into a gulf of ignominy before his flashing eyes, and there sat ill her place Wrong, gaunt, pallid, shrinking. Riches, inestimable boon, meant a blessing very different, in his opinion, firom that of the usurp- er, Letitia Wald. Proligal display, love of case and luxury, lnad no place in his thoughts; but leisure to search the hdden lore of nature, ability to help struggling comrades, tho means to command such a library as his soul coveted -these longings had often come to him, and now overmastered him in one surging flood. "I make every thing over to you to-day, and go to my mother," she continued, in the samo measured tones. T, om strode to her side, and graslped her arm. "Can you make over a whole life that you have thwarted, pushed into exile, debased by contact with the lowest classes? Wlhat should I be this day, but for your own mothlr-God Almighty bless her!-- low hound, a skulking vagabond, while your son lived in purple and fine linen on my gold. I will never forgive a you thoe injury done me. A tlousand times over, no! Whatever I might have been, whatevcr I now become, the crime be upon your head. Oh, let me get away from tills ac- cursed house, and breathe!" Mrs. Vyner uttered a little cry of pain, his t fingers had closed round hecr arm with an iron - grip. t "Rose is your wife," she said, appcalingly. page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] CHAPTER XXXVI. WITHOUT THE GATES. W HEN Mr. Vyner left his city house for refuge in Greenville, his son-in-law's more humane instincts were aroused, and it was proposed that the parents should share the daughter's home. Indeed Tom had long since felt the reaction of shame for his fierce reproaches, when a knowledge of his own rights was revealed to him. Letitia Wald could not endure this com- promise; better Greenville than to have her sceptre as mistress of the household pass away, and the curious story of her own delinquency gain currency abroad. She only consented to remain until spring, in order to see her son Edward installed as assistant of the church of St. Christophus. Once drawn into that rou- tine, her fear of his becoming a missionary, might slumber. Tom returned from the mission to St. Mar- tin's Island sobered; he seemed to have gained an additional ten years in his absence. He next journeyed out to the town of Thorn- ley, leaving Rose in the care of her parents. On the railroad he passed Archibald Yaring- ton, without being aware of it. There was a twofold object in Tom's journey. Jeremiah Whichcord had died in harness, as le predict- ed, and Tom's presence was necessary at the reading of the will, when it was found that the land contractor had left the round sum of two hundred thousand dollars to "his well-beloved friend, Thomas Thornley." This composed the whole of his fortune, with the exception of several trifling bequests to female relatives. "How water flows to water!" reflected Tom, with a sigh. "I wish the old gentleman had given himself a few more luxuries in life, in- stead of pinching for me." To what nobler use could the fortune of Mr. Whichcord be applied than erecting a school for the struggling village? What more appro- priate than that the old man should establish a- temporary home for the weary emigrants, where they would find refreshment, wending their way in long processions of vehicles across the prai- rie? He had ever been fond of dawdling the rosy babies, and"conversing, in pantomime, with the golden-haired blue - eyed mothers, de- scentdants of the Goths, and, like them, moving on to seek new homes. Thus, from a life dry and meagre flowed blessings through Tom's in- strumentality. The city house-Mrs. Vyner's pearl-lined shell-was sold to no less a pur- chaser than Mrs. Montmorency Whitelocke, and knew the builder no more forever. Rose was disposed to murmur at this dispen- sation, but she was beginning to see all ob- jects with her husband's eyes, even while she taxed his indulgence. The little wife held the most charming belief that she dragged Tom at her chariot-wheel, a willing slave. "I can manage him,' she would affirm, with a nod of her pretty head. The Thornleys removed to a small city that had grown in layers, as it were, about a vener- able college. Tom did not enter the student lists, although he sought study with the eager thirst of the Arab to reach a well of water. Rose was happy as the day, flitting lightly over the thorns she had ignorantly planted in the path; she smiled on grave scholars, and played the hostess to perfection. She did not miss her family especially; Archibald Yaring- ton was fading to a cloud-picture; all the ten- drils of her nature had learned to twine about her husband. There was this curious insensi- bility in her organization, that she speedily for- got the absent, and adapted herself to present influences. With the man it was far different. Separa- tion intensified his love for Katherine Wald. His thoughts followed her in the desire that she might be well and happy, tantalized by a doubt of what she might be then doing. In the daily routine of existence, in the duty he owed to Rose, he curbed inclination only with a strong will; in his heart he was soured, re- bellious, without hope. After a combat with himself, when despair had gained the mastery, he would be additionally, even anxiously kind, to the little wife in his remorse. In the au- tumn Rose must go to Madame Poult de Soie, and hold a consultation about winter fashions. ",Your wife must not be a dowdy, if you are too much absorbed in your books ever to no- tice her dress," she said, pliyfully. Tom closed his library good-naturedly, and they departed on the impor ant mission. Rose was graciously welcomed by madame, and Tom left to ramble alone. To be alone was a re- lief. A girl had once cluing to his arm in these very streets, a girl who would turn from Ma- dlane Poult de Soie to a statue or a picture in preference. What had he done to be so pun- ished? Merlin's building, sombre and dingy, rose before him; the temptation to enter was irresistible. There was no especial purpose in his mind, except to haun't a spot sacred to Kate. He saw again the darkened stairway where he felt still the thrill of a kiss; the stone corridor, Merlin's antechamber made visible by the open door. He -stole in like a culprit, the Turkey-carpet muffling his footstep. There were thice per- sons in the atelier beyond, and their voices sank-into silence after some brief word of com- ment. They were all in profile to the silent spectator, from their position to gain the light of a large window. Merlin was rapidly sketching a living model, a girl in a yellow satin tunic, bearing aloft an antique bronze vessel. This model, witl the firm, rounded arms, the sandaled feet, the sup- ple form, was Eunice. The third occupant of the room was Kath- erine Wald, standing before a large canvas, palette in hand, a linen blouse covering her dress-Kate, with the masses of chestnut hair, a serious composure of expression, rather paler and thinner than of old. 'Tom could have thrown himself at her feet. If she would turn, his eyes would reveal to her the truth, if his lips were dumb. Oh for a look of forgiveness and trust! Grandmother had urged him to allow Kate to forget him and live in peace. That was all he could do for her now. He turned and crept away. How different his lasl visit to this place, with his blushing love beside him, and Merlin gently satirical in mood. That form in the linen blouse was a lumi- nous presence to him all day, strong and serene, bent to the allotted task. Separated from him, the woman sought ennoblement in art, just as he was striving to attain some intellectual ox cellcnce in- study. 8 Rose was in high glee. The chat with Ma- dame Poult de Soie had proved exhilarating; lace was to be worn almost exclusively, and Rose liked lace above all things. "And there is the annual exhibition to- night, Tom, where one rlways bees every one. Let us go." Accordingly they went, and every one was there. In the crush of people and the entan- glement of masculine feet in trains, the pictures which lined the walls scarcely received a glance. Mr. and Mrs. Moontmorcncy Whitclocke were present, the former wearing an unusually bored expression, a gentleman reputed to spend most of his time at the club, the latter discontented and exacting. Rose and Clara greeted each other with effusion, each secure on her pedestal of matrimnony. "You must come and dine with us, dear. It will be so pleasant to be in your old home again," said Clara, scanning Mrs. Thuorinley's jewelry. "Delightful! The Ihouse is no novelty to us, however, and we were tired of it. One gets tired of every thing," replied Rose, aware that Mrs. Whitelocke's shawl was real. The little wife looked at Montmorcncy with a soft and pensive glance of retrospection which rendered him moody afterward. Merlin stood in a door- way sternly regarding Tom, who recoiled from greeting him as he had intended. Rose smiled sweetly at the white-bearded stranger, but Mer- lin only transferred his severe glance to her pretty face. "Iow cross that old man looks, Tom. What I have done to be scowled at, I can not imagine." "Never mind him, my pet." The little wife always found it disconcerting to be scowled at even by a stranger. Present- - ly Mr. Bulstrode Whitelocke darted toward her, and pressed the tiny primrose glove warm- ly. At this moment a fresh impetus in the crowd, one of the cross currents from a side entrance, forced the Thornleys quite up to the ) crimson cord. Tom, who had merely glanced at those large works visible over the heads of the throng, now found himself before a small t square picture. Here the minute perfection e of detail could bear the close inspection into which Tom was forced, while many of its - neighbors showed rough patches of color in , that unfriendly proximity. This landscape , presented a rim of black earth and hill slope, 9 with the iple, daffodil light of sunset over sky, - and the surface of a pond. An old mill stood in sladow, the wheel still dripping, and a tu- page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] pelo-tree in the foreground was in sharp relief against the golden heavens. "Oh, Tom, do you like that queer little thing? Look at this English water-color; Mr. Whitelocke says it will cost a mint of noney." "Yes, my dear," assented Tom, obediently, and reverted to the landscape in its modest cor- her. The crowded, hot rooms, with the clam- or of conflicting voices, vanished, as the mist curled from the crest of Bear Hill. He stood beside the lonely pond, pouring forth his boy- ish griefs to a girl, who was the comrade of his youth. Then sunset flooded the heavens, and he sought Iole, as naturally as the tupelo stretched upward. He was back, again in the crowded room, his heart beating loudly, search- ing the unfamiliar faces about him in eager expectancy. Yes, Katherine Wald was look- ing into his soul, and drifting away. Kate came to the exhibition with Merlin. She wore a gray silk dress, and a soft ruche about the throat. She had not become eccen- tric in costume yet. At her request Merlin left her seated near her picture, of which she was both proud and ashamed, with a novic's lack of confidence. To her terror and sur- prise, she beheld Tom and Rose approaching. She had no time to escape, and to meet them would be unendurable. The only course was to bend her head over her catalogue until they passed. Tom paused before Number Seven; Kate's cheeks glowed like damask roses. When grandmother had bid her return ti life, she recalled her promise to Merlin. She would become an artist, if faithful study would render her one, and some time journey to Rome. She made this plan without rapture, but with ever-increasing content. If poor Kate could not look at happy, radi- ant Rose unmoved, she might at least take her own black thoughts away with her. She held the truly womanly argument obstinately, that the other girl must have used wily, artful means to lure Tom from his allegiance, and was therefore more to blame than he. Kate made her way slowly toward the en- trance, caught that flash of recognition from Tom, and became imbued with a wild panic of haste. He dashed through the ranks after her -lost her, saw a flutter of the gray robe again, and lost her once more. The large entrance- doors swung as he reached them; two female forms were dimly discernible on the steps, one wrapping the other in a cloak. "Kate! Stop! For heaven's sake pause a moment." Still fleeing, she motioned him back. "No, no; return to her." "Eunice, stop her!" prayed Tom. "No, sir," said Eunice, with a short laugh. "You are one of our people no longer. Miss Kate, she choose her own company." Lost in the city night, gemmed with the long avenues of lamps like beads of flame, and no right to follow or justify himself! CHAPTER XXXVII. THE POISON OF ASPS. A RCIIBALD YARINGTON had not ceased to exist because he had passed out of the life of Rose Thornley. The eyes of all mankind were upon him, in his own estima- tion; the finger of scorn was ever pointed at an elderly suitor, duped by a young girl. Tills ( ridicule he could not brave. He went home after that interview with Mrs. Vyner, when the cup had been rudely dashcd from his expectant lips, and recklessly hurled about the articles of virtu that adorned his apartments; whatcever came in contact with his restless, trembling fingers was crushed. Afterward lie found himself on a sofit, with a physician binding up his arm, fromn which le lhad drawn a considerable portion of Mr. Yarington's life-blood. "Perfect quiet is necessary; do not excite yourself," murmured the man of medicine, with it glance at the fragments of a Bohemian bottle. "George, pack my portmanteau, and order the carriage in time for the five o'clock train," said Mr. Yarington, when the doctor haid gone, in a growling voice which gave evidence of vitality. He left town that very day, flying from the scene of his humiliation. All kinds of rumors floated about. He had gone abroad; he had been stricken with apoplexy; he had com- tnitted slicide; he had "backed out" at the last moment on the marriage settlements. Archibald Yarington was hiding in a dreary country house, in a dull village, sufficiently near for him to obtain daily tidings of his world, Hither came spies, paid to bring him news like the ravens, and to trace the course of the wom- an in whom he was interested. Here he re- ceived the packet from Tom, and ground his teeth over it. If he had been enraged when lIortense, the maid, told' him that Rose had emptied his jewel-boxes previous to hcriight- for he had invested in the gems with a certain assurance of their return to his own coffers- he was furious to receive them nt the ihamnds of Rose's husband. She was married to this Thlornley! It must have been a plot devised between them to deceive him. Hatred turned all llis love to poison. he brooded- on vengeance until he was half crazed. As far as ho felt the nat- uiral resentment of an ,afflanced husband fior the treachery of Rose's conduct, we may follow him, yet we withdraw from the painful con- templation of the brink of that dark cliasin where revenge verges on insanity, into which Archibald Yarington was drawn by his bitter disappointment and wounded self-esteem. The servants moped and yawned in that country house, or sprang with alacrity to obey the mii;s- ter's peremptory orders. Mr. Yarington's rule was ait once tyrannical and fnmiliar. he oscillated between the two ex- tremes, in a desire to be at case. He pnccd the floor day and night. he wrote letters with feverish energy, only to tear them up; lio re- ceived mysterious guests. He was bamcld by this marriagc. Many of hs schemes to iljiure Rose as a young lady were annulled by it. he was not a brave man, nnd would not cn- counter the anger of Tom Thornlcy. Rose had a secret, which often hovered on her lips, and was still deferred. Deep in her Iheart lay the germ implanted by the Mother Superior in her waxen chdliood; she wasI scarcely conscious of its dormant existence. Over the way from her dwelling, a building grew daily before her eyes-the Convent of Oulr Lady of Mercy, one of those startling groupings together of the New and the ()ld, everywhere to be found in America. This was to be the home of a band of French nuns; and while Rose would have scarcely noticed the convent had it been there when she came, she gradually felt an interest in its growth. From watching at her window the rising walls, she , page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] tripped across the street; from peeping shyly' into the unfinished cells, she came to chat about the structure with an old priest, to whom she sent a liberal donation when she went home. Tom hardly saw the completed dwelling, with its appearance of seclusion, but Rose knew very well the day uwhen the foreigners arrived. Had not the friendly priest notified her of the event? And did not the kind old man, gratified by her interest, take her into the cloister to greet them? The Superior wel- comed Rose with a graceful courtesy, and when she learned where the little wife had been ed- ucated, she took her to her heart, the other nuns clustering around. The Superior was a tall, grave woman, with one of the calm, inscrutable faces of her order, a cord knotted about the waist, from which de- ponded an iron rosary. Rose Vyner belonged to those Sisters by nat- ural sympathy far more than to the surround- ings of her present home. They represented to her the country which she loved best in the earliest and brightest associations of her youth, the language that was music to her ears, and recalled a people she had never found rude in their unerring tact. All this had a charm for her, and she hid it from Tom, in fear of his forbidding the inter- course, as Edward would have done in his place. Rose would sit on a bench and toy with the nun's rosary. Their talk was not always of religion, but oftener of La Belle France, and the towns and provinces they had visited. The Superior learned the details of the girl's life readily enough; Rose would lean her cheek against the rough gown and muse aloud. "I can tell you every thing, ma mere, but I could never confess to a piiest in a box." To Rose this mother was a spiritual mortal living apart in sacred seclusion; she found courage in the touch of her garments. Her earthy mother had faults, visible in all the lights of day; this one was faultless in her twi- light atmosphere, and set apart from her kind. "A strange woman truly I not young; her face, Wap and worn as it was, bore about it the trace Of a beauty which time could not ruin. For the whole Quiet cheek, youth's lost bloom left transparent, the soul Seemed to 1ill with its own light, like some sunny fountain Everlastingly fed from far off in the mountains, That pours, in a garden deserted, its streams, And all the more lovely for loneliness seems. So that, watching that face, you would scarce pause to guess The years which its calm, care-worn lines might ex- presse." There came a day when another journey to Thornley was imperative. Jeremiah Whichcord's money must be judi- ciously used, and the young man found relief in the hard %wprk promised by the undertaking. Tom bade his wife good-bye with unusual ten- derness, and promised a speedy return. He had settled into a groove of quiet, although he was a sober man, with none of the flashes of mirthful humor promised by his youth. The second day that she iWas alone, Rose sat at her writing-table in liher fresh, dainty morning- room. The house was very silent, when she heard the door slowly open, and Archibald Yarington stood before her. Rose looked at him with dilating eyes; her heart died within her. "Why are you here?" she demanded, in a low, trembling voice. His reply was to turn the key in the lock. A braver woman than Rose might have trem- bled at the situation; her very limbs failed under her. What was he going to do? How could she summon help, and Tom away? "My husband is absent; you would not dare to coine to me in this way if he were home," she managed to articulate. I' I am aware of his absence, and that is the reason I am here." His glance traveled over her face slowly, with the old unwilling fascination. In her heart Rose was sayin)g, "If the Lady Superior were only here, she would know how to act." "You shrink from me, and no marvel," said Mr. Yarington, striving to be dignified and keep down his excitement. "We always dread to meet those we have injured. God knows how you found it in your heart so to injure me. Did you always mean to so deceive me at the last? Had you an understanding with this- this Thornley, all the while?' Really, I am sorry for your taste; I did not suppose you would marry so low a fellow." Rose kept the fragile writing-table between them. She sat with.-her large eyes fixed ap- prehensively on his face. "Why have you locked the door? Surely that is an extraordinary measure in another person's house!" she said. Her heart fluttered in her throat as she spoke. If the Superior could only penetrate two stone-walls, and see her need i "Because I have something to say to you alone. How changed you are! It seems to me that I might receive kinder treatment than to be thrust forth as an intruder." "I did not intend to wound you," began nl Rose, falteringly. t. "Spare yourself apologies," interrupted Mr. Yarington, fiercely. "You didd me the great- 1e est wrong in the power of woman, but I am b not here to discuss that." I '"It would have been a greater wrong to s have married you," murmured the little wife. Y There was no escape for her, she must pa- s tiently'listen to him. t "That is a frank admission," he sneered. c Had Archibald Yarington been aware of the y ugliness wrought in his personal appearance I at that moment by evil passion, he would have i been startled. Innumerable fine wrinkles had i started into sight about his temples and mouth; 1 his complexion had grown sallow, his hair I white. There was no longer a carefll neat- I ness about his dress; his garmnents hung loose- t ly upon him, denoting the indiffercnce of the 1 wearer. Rose fclt-guilty and miserable when she ob- a served these changes, but-she waIs wildly, un- ; reasonably afraid of the malicious glitter in his eve. Her hands became icy cold, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth, a nervous tre- mor possessed her whole frame. V Was he in his right mind? Would lie hurt lier, kill her, during Tom's absence? Surely she was re- sponsible for the change wrought in hm. Rose was not strictly responsible. The object against which his wrath beat and stormed-- an angry sea-was not- accountable for his fol- ly in attempting to reverse the laws of nature. At an age when Archiblald Yarington should have been giving his children ill marriage, lie was playing the lover. Ilence the nerve-strain to keep pace with the situation, the doubts, fears, jealousies, and discontent. Iaving mnade up his mind to steal a march en Tiime in that gallant fashion, lie would iavoe been neither llappy witl Rose nor without hier. Iio was a tree uprooted, sapped at the core, lying prone, useless, while the other forest nionarchs wove their arms together, and whispered among tile rippling foliage the beauties of God's world. "I have followed you step by step, ever since you betrayed me. I never forget or for- give an injury, but I think you will agree with me that I have bided my time. I have no blesitation in saying that I watched your bus- band depart, in order to come here. Oh! commend me to these innocents with soft eyes for real duplicity!"He paused a moment, to allow his words to have full weight. There was something inexpressibly terrible in the thought of Mr. Yarington on her track all this time, when she had been so hal,py. His tragics cowed Rose; she shivered in her clair. "Your mamma's money belonged to T'l'horn- ley: what more natural than that lie should be entangled before slIe quitted her hiold of it! He was more likely to prove a manageable son-in-law than I, who am older and wiser. Yes, yes, Mrs. Vyner nmay have surlised tliat she woul(d get little out of me. 1 meant to take you away from them, and laugh at their claims. Well, you have escaped that. 1)o you know what you have gained in exchanges? He leanedl on the fragile table; Iho was lideous in llis passion. "You threw yourself on the nmercy of a man who did not want w tyou, inid had to mnarry you to save your good nalme! Hal do you imangine tlihat I lve been idle? No, no, I have picked up a thread here lit/t there, and now I have the whole story to spi cal before you. You fled to a young man ill a Western town; all the people were talling about your appearance there; the landltldy lnid a Mr1. Whiehcord made him nmarry you. 'Tle step was most considerate on your part; for, besides not loving you1, the young mllalll was at the time engaged to your cousin, Knatheriii W:ld." Rose sat stupefied with grief, her eyes rivvlt- ed on himi like the bird on the serpent. Was this life? )id Archibnald Yarinp;ton represent the world? A conviction of tile truth of his words darted through her miiiid. Kate had evaded her invitations to visit thCtl. Tom liad always opposed taking her to Grccn- I ville, even after her parents returned tlere. Oil, how good Tom and Kat( e ]iad bcen l i Her visitor would not permiit himself to he moved by her stricken falce. ie was tellting ler that which would lar her wliole after-lilre. t Aeasure for mneasure,! Hadt she not dest!o% cd r him? how slight a thiing she w1s, to 11lave l affected lis 11happilness 1 He pace'd tOle room , hurriedly, a scarlet flush rising to Mi s forehead. "Oil! the misery I have endured on your account, and you not worthy of my liglihtst thoulght!" r Rose watelied her chance, and' sprang to tile - locked door, overturning tlihe table. 1I "AMy husband will punisli you for coming to o me in this way!" she cried. "Tell him, if you dare!" ! Ice darted to the door, barring her pr'oglCres%, !s and grasped her wrist. At that first touch a o scream escaped from Rosc's lips, and she fell heavily to the floor. le Iortensc, the maid, was bathing her head k when she revived. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "Where is--he?" asked Rose, feebly. "Mr. Yarington waits in the salon to learn of your recovery, madame," said Hortense, smoothy. Rose reflected a moment with closed eyes. She was entrapped, yet she would make one effort to escape. "Invite Mr. Yarington into the library." "Why the library, madame?" demurred the maid, insolently. Rose opened her eyes wide, and looked at her. "Did you hear me?" in a trembling voice. "I go, madame," with assumed meekness. At the instant when Hortense smilingly conducted the unwelcome visitor into the li- brary, a small figure flew down the stairs, di- sheveled, panting, ghostly, and out of the front door. The two gazed after her: she reached the portal of the convent; a loud peal of the bell startled all the echoes, and when the door opened, a grating slid back, and she sank into the arms of a nun. Mr. Yarington's eyes protruded from their sockets before he had time to draw another breath; the heavy door had closed, leaving a blank of wall. "She has gone to the Sisters," said the maid, coolly. Vite ldonc! You have no time a to lose, or the husband may challenge you. I f must leave before night, and it has been a good place. I have attachment to the fiamily." 1 Safe from the howling wolves of cruelty \ and violence! Safe from the turbid, polluting ( stream of evil which drowns soul flowers, but r not sheltered from a more dreaded power with- in the convent walls. Another presence en- ters the postern gate, and sets his seal on the brow of Rose Vyner as the nun receives her. It is the reaper, who "Gathers all things mortal, With cold, immortal halds." Every one arrives before Tom Thornley, most needed of all. Skillful nurses hover about the humble pallet where she lies, grave physicians come and go. Lapsing into unconsciousness when all hope is over, and a little waxen-faced baby is placed beside her, she still clutches the Superior's hand, who prays -over her. And yet with this benumbing restfulness, succeeding weariness, she is the first to perceive Tom, and greets him with an ineffable smile. "Tom, Tom, I did not know you loved Kate." Her voice is sweet and clear. "F'or- give me-both; I loved you too, and I'm go- ing away with baby now. Tell papa -dear old papa-" But papa is never told, and his peach-blossom is fading out of life. "Oh, my little Rose! My darling! Come back to me, and I will be more- to you than ever before. What is there to forgive?" Tom may kiss wildly the chilly left hand,. amidst his sobs, but the right is anlayss locked fast in tihat of the Superior. Finally she rises, and places the bat;y on Rose Thornley's breast. This is her province; with her calm, inscrutable face, fromn her tran- quil isolation, she may survey the hot, passion- ate grief of humanity. CHAPTER XXXVIII. SONG OF THE OLD CLOCK. EDWARD VYNER has found his voice at ] last. The spirit has moved on the waters v of his solil, stirring him to action; he beholds - his battle-field, and dons his armor for the t strife. His father has been accessory to the f wickedness of his mother, who is a great sinner, 1 in the weakness which has permitted her to c hold a guilty secret so long. He can not tell c them this; indeed, he has no heart to rebuke i just tlchen, but he can work for their redenmp- tion. Expiation is the form grief for the back- I sliding-of others must assume in a nature like 1 that of the young clergyman. If Mrs. Wanld realized how the chain galled him of this un- accountable, debasing crime, she would not re- gard him with severity as a misguided theo- logian. Mrs. Wald is not one wliit more liberal than her class-she must measure all forms of Christianity by her own standard, and usher them to heaven through her narrow door. Iler grandson is a stumbling-block to liher feet, jtst as the Advent community, which has sprung into existence in Greenville, disputing tile ground with the very elect, moves her to right- eous indignation. Edward Vyner has not that breadth of soul which makes the sinless one vitally synmpathetic with the sinner, whose temptation the former has never experienced. Nevertheless he has passed through the flame and colme forth puri- fied. The love for Katherinc Wald, ennobling, arousing, if hopeless, and the sin of his mother's life, are the two opposing forces which have rnshed together, united, and deposited a wholly new form-manhood, free from the shackles of a somewhat listless youth. Mrs. Vyner, in- deed, turned the balance which verged toward a missionary field of some wilderness; the har- vest of a large city is greater than his like can garner. The assistant of St. Christophus becomes a celebrity; he has found his voice, and it rings like a trumpet note above the listening crowds. The burden of his cry is ever-"' Overcome the world." The secret of this eloquence is a fer- vid piety, an intuition of Ihuman need, and en- tire self-forgetflless, because he docs not care for the opinion of his hearers on his personal peculiarities. The strangest stories nre told of this young divine, with the open brow, and clear, penetrating eye. He is never visible in a drawing-room, but he may frequently be seen emerging from cellars and prisons-lie has even been recognized leaning on theo counter of n bar-room surrounded by noisy, half-intoxicated men. His acquaintance is far more extensive among policemen and ragged children tlian with higher classes; and the most wretched abode is not safe from his incursions, although his senses are fastidiously aceate. A church is in process of Crection for hiim, lofty, arched, imposing, more gorgeous in em- bellishment than St: Chstophus, where Ed- ward Vyner will move amnidst chanting choris- ters an(d twinkling tapers, then withdraw to a bare room, called home, for fiasting nnd prayer. In his ichart there is ever that yearning for the Old \World; in his spiritual condition lie is still a colonial dependent. What is to )be his fu- ture? Lctitia Wald back in the old nest, holding broken tlireads in her hand, wh!ch the sever- ing years prevent her froin reuniting. Well may she echo the melancholy longing of l'ceter Pindar-"Give me back my youith." All the bloom of romance las been brushed away long since; Charles Vyner-flitihful companion- loyal and tender, leads her back through the same gate from whcl tlihey fled together in rash youth. No one supports the erring wife, and divines her feelings, with tlio accuracy of Charles, who possesses the very instinct of af- fection. And Letitia, who has accepted as a ; matter of course this love, in her greatest need, s ' becomes aware of the depth of a devotion uhe , does not deserve. Whatever his opinion of page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] ille deed done by her, his pride in her has pre- vented one word of reproach. He took her to Ilus heart after she had made a confession to him; he is bound to uphold her. Ah, Mrs. Wald, has the Pulleyn blood any thing better to boast than this unswerving fidelity in your son-in-law? Mrs. Wald is a just woman, or strives to be according to her light, and she respects Charles Vyner for these qualities. They are the best of friends, especially as she is flattered by his contentment in living once more in Greenville. He potters about all day in the garden, study- ing the habits of fowls and calves, and feels an interest in every foot of Mrs. Wald's property. He attends town meetings, and grows excited over the new turnpike-road, holding an opin- ion that it should follow the valley. With these virtues so, apparent, may not Mrs. Wald and Jane look on smilingly, while he dresses a salad, and even be prevailed on to taste the delicacy afterward? Rose Vyner rests beneath the velvet turf of the fiamily ground. Mrs. Wald has received her other granddaughter at last. Hither came Tom Thornley, with sorrowfil thoughts of the little wife, and those misgiv- ings as to his own conduct toward her which we always feel after the death of a dear one. Mrs. Wald did not know that in the chapel of the convent-Rose's requiem was sung, and slie would never grow old. Charles Vyrer wept for his Peach-blossom; Letitia wailed in the very sources of her broken spirit. A haunting fear grew in her eyes, of the Power which had snatched away Rose from her sight, vhen she liad planned to have her daughter and her daughter's children enjoy the wealth she had lost. If this terror, this trembling apprehen- sion, can ever be overcome by human aid, that assistance must surely come from Edward. Greenville seldom sees the face of Letitia Wald; sle goes abroad swathed in crape, and Tom Thornley has taken pains to conceal the; story of her delinquencies from village gossip. Greenville does indeed learn at the eleventh hour that misunderstood Thomas Thornley was reckoned a man of parts in "Rooshia." Greenville sniffs doubtfully, and prefers to con- sider the story unreliable, rather than acknowl- edge itself wrong. Wrinkles deepen in Mrs. Wald's face, and silver threads line her brown hair, as she watches the drooping black figure going to Rose's grave. The way of transgressors is hard, she knows, yet sle is weary herself, and longs for her own summons. And Kate? She has never lived at home since the Vyner's came. Perhaps she can not accustom herself to the usurpation, and prefers to find her work elsewhere, as long as grand- mother does not need her. She has been faithful to Merlin, and the pupil is precious to the old man. Edward Vyner and Kate have been much to each other, in the intercourse of a frank and cordial friendship on a safe bound-. ary. He has not led Kate to his altar any more than she has led him to her own. ' That seal of youthful impression has been stamped on her nature as deeply as upon those of Ed- ward and Rose; the three young people of one race represent Catholic, Ritualist, and Pu- ritan. To Katherine Wald the very breath of life comes to the inner vision in a bleak meeting- house, scarcely less primitive than the worship- ing-places of the Fathers on the shore of a new continent, in an atmosphere vocal with the heart-prayer of generations of passing souls, Kate has never seen Tom since the death of his wife. She understands im, however. A letter came to her, informing her of that which she alone should know, relative to his mar- riage, and she had thrown herself on her kneea with a cry of thanksgiving, then felt an imme- diate revulsion of remorse. Poor little Rose! There is an old man who wanders through Europewith a tall servant always behind him. This is no less a person than Archibald Yar- ington, pursued from place to place by a cow- ardly fear of Tom Thornley's anger. Dread has preyed upon him, until imagination far out- strips prolbltility. Tom would spurn him with his foot, but Mr. Yarington pictures himself slain by the husband's resentment, and he is afraid to die. If he could buy the certainty of peace with Heaven at any price, he would do it; but there is an incorruptible Judge, and his pitiful gold is- dross at the supreme tribunal. So he journeys on, searching hotel registers, scanning faces on the promenade, and turning livid if he discovers a fancied resemblance to the object of hi drllead. Katherine Wald is going to Rome. Grand- mother offers no objections further than a head- shake; indeed, rather hastens her departure. It is summer twilight again; the honeysuckle sprinkles the warm air with delicious fragrance, the flowers have folded delicate petals in slum- ber; a crescent of new moon gleams above the tree-tops. Grandmother sits by her favorite window, which commands a view of the road, her needles clicking busily. Letitia Vyner is bending over the- grave of her child to remove a fading leaf; Kate is lost in the shadows of the garden. The girl's heart is full of tender memories. When will she stand here again? Who,will she find fulfilling the same routine when she returns from her long journey? Lost among the shadows! A man walks quickly up the path, hesitates, then disappears among the shrubbery. There is one startled exclamation-"Oh, Tom!" and then silence again. Grandmother, without dropping a stitch, ob- serves it all. Her worst fears are realized. She has never forgiven Tom Thornley, and does not wish Kate to forgive him. Presently Eunice emerges from the kitchen with a dish in her hand, and wanders along the brink of the limpid brook, entirely unaware that Peter, junior, has taken the same route. Peter wears a high shirt-collar, a white neck- tie, and a suit of black. He has gained in dig- nity of appearance, for he has become a colored clergyman. To this good end has the cruelty of Eunice driven him. The most frivolous pretext ever adopted by a coquettish young woman is that of Eunice in washing the dish in the brook. She kneels and laves it in the swift current, while P'cter stands beside her watching the process with a somewhat moody expression. Adversity has chastened Peter. "Master Tom, he's come back," says Eu- nice, slyly. "I s'pose my wedding-dress is clean out o' fashion by dis time." "You could get another," suggested Peter, falteringly. "Of course I could if I was asked properly." Whereupon Peter gives Eunice a kiss so rapt- urous and triumphant that the very concussion startles her mnother in the cottage beyond. Down in the garden where the moths flit on velvet wings, and all nature is hushed, are two lovers, quiet from excess of joy akin to pain, glances searching familiar features, lips t'rem- ulous with understood thought, hands once more clasped. "Is it wrong to her memory?" whispers Kate. "Assuredly not. lole was first and is last. You have always been the soul of my life, tak- ing possession when we were children, I think." 'And of course she will forgive him ; wonen always do," reflected grandmother, jerking the yarn from the ball with unaccountable energy. Thie old clock sings the melody of the house, with its swinging pendulumu-Death to little t Rose; Life to Kate. page: 122-123 (Advertisement) [View Page 122-123 (Advertisement) ] WINTER BOOK-LIST. 5 r HARPER & BROTHERS 'ill send any of the follvowin- books ly mail, postag-e prej4aid, to any 1art of the United States, on receirt of thc trtice. 93 t HARPER'S NEW AND ENLARGED CATALOGUE, with a COMPLETE ANALYTIC INDIEX, sent ly mnail on rereif of 'en Cents. hoppin's Life of Admiral Foote. Life of Andrew Hull Foote, Rear-Admiral United States Navy. By JAMEs MASON IOP- PIN, Professor in Yale College. With a Portrait and Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $3 50- Prof. Hoppin has evidently been engaged In a labor of love in writing the life of this brave, earnest, tccoie- plished Christian sailor, and he has done his work with care, with fidelity, and with rare good tabte.--e1wo En- glander. The life of a gallant officer by an accomplished scholar. It is attractive in its style and manner of treatment, is a just record of a life conscientiously spent in the public service, and an incentive to the younger melmbers of the profession of which the Ad- miral was so distinguished an ornamnent.-Providcncc Journal. It is a good thing to put the life of such a man be- fore the growing youth of the country. At no time ill our history have American youth stood in greater need of the ennobling influence of a lofty public ca- reer, of the lesson of a pure and unselflsh devotion to duty. * I * The story of the splendid operations on the Western rivers, at Fort Henry, Fort Donelson, Island No. 10, and other places where Foote's gun-boat flotilla rendered such signal and brilliant service is told with great vivacity.-Republic, N. Y. Few men, indeed, have earned a stronger claim than Admiral Foote upon the gratitude of a country served with loyal singleness of pDrDose through a log mli(t noble career. He was every inch a hero, brave as a lion, simple-minded, pure, and gentle as a woTman, and without a taliit of vulgar personal amnlitlou. * Nor is it only for his professlonal achievc- mcets that Foote deserves to be rcmembelred with honor and affection. He wns amonllg the first to sug- gest and carry out certain reforms in our naval service. * ' * The stoly of his long and brilliant carer is ad- mirably told by Prof. Iloppin, to whom the task was a labor of love. The volume is one we canl heartily commend to the youth of America. Admiral Foote was a man worthy of all honor. Ills whole life was passed inI the service of his country, and there is inoth- ing in his private or profcssional career which can not bear the closest Pcrutily. lBeloved by frielnd, hon- ored as brave, upright, and humane lby thopo against whomt he fought, his lnane will live In history as one of the brightest in the galaxy of American horoca.- Evening Post, N. Y. Taylor's David, King of Israel. David, King of Israel: Iis Life and its Lessons. By the Rev. WILLIAM M. TAYOR, D D., Minister of the Broadway Tabernacle, New York City. 12mo, Cloth, $2 oo. Wolf!s Wild Animals. The Life and Habits of Wild Animals. Illustrated from Designs by JOSEPH WOLF. En- graved by J. W. and EDWARD WHYMP)RR. With Descriptive Letter-press by DANIEL GIRAUD ELLIOT, F L.S., F Z.S. 4to, Cloth. (Nearly Ready.) Gail Hamilton's Nursery Noonings. Nursery Noonings. By GAIL HAMLTON, Author of "Woman's Worth and Worthess- ness," "Twelve Miles from a Lemon," &c. l6mo, Cloth. (Nearly Ready.) page: 124 (Advertisement) -125 (Advertisement) [View Page 124 (Advertisement) -125 (Advertisement) ] Bacon's Genesis of the New England Churches, The Genesis of the New England Churches. By the Rev. LEONARD BACON, D D. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. The execution of the work is clear, graphic, and full of loving reverence. While discussing, in connection with the narrative, questions strictly ecclesiastical, the volume has yet almost the interest of a historical romance.-New Haven Palladium. As interesting as a novel. It is a tale of tragedy and heroism, full of poetry, and here and there not without a gleam of humor.-Evening Post, N. Y. A clear and apparently dispassionate account of a movement which has exercised a vast influence upon civilization and upon the generalprogress and ad- vancement of mankind.--Republic, N. Y. Dr. Bacon's work is characteristically vigorous, cleal; pungent on occasion, and of so marked moral and intellectual force as to possess unusual interest. * * * A work of very instructive character, vigorously written, well authenticated in its statements, and worthy of its subject.--2Boson Transcript. Comprehensive, clear in its analysis, fair in its spir- it, just in its inferences, and every where intelligent and sympathetic in its treatment of its grand theme; it is, beyond all comparison, the ablest, most attract- ive, and most fitted to be usefth, of all books which have coime to our knowledge upon the origin and progress of the Pilgrim movement.-Congregationalist. - Dr. Bacon has performed his task with the liter- ary art, the clearness of arrangement, the vigor and felicity of diction which might be expected from so experienced and accomplished a writer. A vivid yet enlightened and discrimllinating sympathy with the character and aims of the Pilgrim founders is obvious on every, page. Scattered along the vol- umle are philosophical remarks indicative at once I of a broad catholicity and a sagacious, penetrating i observation of religious phenomena. III the intro- , dnctory chapters Dr. Bacon concisely sketches the I primitive polity of the churches planted by the Apos- tles in the Roman Empire; the gradual rise and the ' transforming influence of the hierarchical idea and : polity; the culmination of this development in the Papacy of the Middle Ages; and the effect of the Reformation on church government. The churches of the Reformation-the Church of England pre-emi- nently-were national churches. Dr. Bacon points out the diverse agencies which produced the Heformna tion in England, and narrates the rise of Puritanism and its conflict with the more conservative Tudor type of Anglican Protestantism. Thus he reaches the beginnings of Separatism, or that advanced type of opinion which rejected the National Church alto- gether, and strove to substitute local churches, self- governing, and each of them united by a mutual, vol- untary covenant of its members. One of the principal features of Dr. Bacon's work is the clearness with which he sets forth the distinction between the Puri- tans proper-the great original Puritan party, who, like their antagonists, were advocates of a national church, with its whole system of parishes and tithes- and the Separatists, orl come-outers, who escaped from England to Leyden, and thence crossed the ocean to Plymouth. * * * After a careful perusal of Dr. Bacol's work, we can congratulate the veteran author on hav- ing completed a contrilbution of permanent vawiue to all students of American history, and especially to such as are fond of exploring its earlier period.-The Nation, N. Y. Nordhoff's Communistic Societies of the United States. The Communistic Societies of the United States; from Personal Visit and Observation: including Detailed Accounts of the Economists, Zoarites, Shakers, the Amana, Oneida, Bethel, Aurora, Icarian, and Other Existing Societies, their Religious Creeds, Social Prac- tices, Numbers, Industries, and Present Condition. By CHARLES NORDHOFF. With Il. lustrations. 8vo, Cloth. (In Press.) Gillmore's Prairie and Forest. Prairie and Forest: a Descriptipn of the Game of North America, with Personal Advent tures in their Pursuit. By PARKER GILLMORE Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $x 50. writta" 4 ti --YI. n Written in a very lively and pleasant style, and with a true sportsman's dash and vigor.--Boston Journal. There are three classes whom this work will cer- tainly interest--the sportsman, the naturalist, and the general reader. No book that we have yet seen is at once so accurate in its descriptions of game and so picturesque in its narrative of personal adventure in its pursuit It is comprehensive, too, for it includes flesh, fih, and birds, from the bison, the moose-deer, and bear, to the wild turkey, grouse, and wild duck, and the brook trout, bass, and muskallonge.-Phila- delphia Press. His narratives are spiced with the romance of ad- venture, and are highy entertaniing.-iRepublic, N. Y. It is spirited, varied, moderate in statement, and has quite a little timely information intersperged be- tween and throughout the racy records of adventures after gamnc.-Brooklyn Eagle. . Very readable not only for sportsmen, to whom it is primarily addressed, but for all interested in natural history, and even those who are neither sportsmen nor naturalists will find much to attract them in the stories of personal adventure scattered plentifully through the book.-Evening Mail, N. Y. Smith's French Principia. The French Principia, Part I. A First French Course, containing Grammar, Delectus, Exercise-Boolk, and Vocabularies. On the same plan as Dr. Smith's Frinitiia Latitn. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. This work has been compiled at the request of teachers, who, finding the "Principia Latina" the easiest book fo r beginners in Iantin, are anxious to obtain n equally elementary French work on thesame plan. The maia object is to enable a beginner to ac- I ? quire an accurate knowledge of the chief grammatical forms, to learn their usage by constructing simple sen- tences as soon as he commences the study of the lan- f gunge, and to accnumulate gradually a stock of words ueful in conversation as well as in reading.-If acV . Lewis's History of Germany. A History of Germany, from the Earliest Times. Founded on Dr. DAVID ,IOLLER'S 4( History of the German People." By CHARLTON T. LEWIS. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50o. It is founded upon the celebrated "History of the German People," by Dr. David Mfiller; a work that en- joys great popularity in its native land as a reliable and scrupulously accurate guide for the young people of the fatherland to a knowledge of their national history. Mr. Lewis, in preparing the present version, has not only condensed the original work, but has had recourse to the histories of Ranke, Wirth, and Menzel, for the purpose of rendering his task more complete nld serviceable. He has given, therefore, one of the most compact and valuable books on the subject that has hitherto appeared in an English form. It is car- ried up to the present date, and supplies a want that has long been felt. As a text-book, it is of great value to the student commencing his historical studies, while as a manual it can prove scarcely of less value to the general reader.--Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. It is well that the preparation of this work, which will probably find a wide circulation in our schools and academies, as well as in private libraries, should have been confided to so able a scholar and so finish- ed a writer as Mr. Lewis. He has supplied a want which has been felt for years. Hitherto we have had no trustworthy history of Germany in the English lan- guage suited to the wants of American readers, who canl not afford to spend years in pursuit of a single branch of history. The book is a model of its kind. Within the compass of a single volume, printed in clear type, we have here au intelligent, interest- ing narrative of the growth and progress of the Ger- man race, from its earliest mention in history to the present day, without the omission of any important event or the undue subordination of one period to an- other. Yet it would be wrong to convey the impres- sion that the work presented merely an outlile sketch of Germanx history. There are sufficient detail, color, and light and shade in Mr. Lewis's work to gratify the taste and excite interest.--lelmblie, N. Y. Thie arrangement is clear and orderly, and the style luminous and exact. * * * The narrative mYovc8 o*1 with a bteady flow, and every event of any importance in the singularly complex annals of the German peo- ple finds its fit place.--Boston Transcript. The author is scrupulously accurate land exact in hIis narrative, and exhibits remarkable skill in the selec- tion and grouping of facts most worthy of reinmem- b)rance, and in the exclusion of those trivial details that swell the compass of so many histories and make thelm a weariness to the reader. * * * To compress the history of the German people into the compass of a single volume, without omitting a single important fact, and at the same time present a clear and interest- ing narrative, was a task of extraordinary dilllfficulty. This work has been admirably done by Mr. Lewis. While his history, from its lucid and concise narrative of events, is better than any other work in Englieh treating of thoe same aoDJect aldapted to 1ue in pschooh and academics, it will equally interest such readerlcs n desire to obtain a trustworthy account of the growth, character, and achievements of the German race. The subject-is one of great importance to Amerlican stu- dents. Our country is flling up with Germans. There is but one other European peop)le witih whol wo hold such intimate relations. A clear understanling of their history and claracter becomes to us, thlrefore, a matter of vital intercst.-Evening Post, N. Y. Nast's Illustrated Almanac for 1875. With go Original Illustrations by THOMAS NAST. Price 25 cents. Five copies sent to one address, postage prepaid, on receipt of $i oo. Douglass Series of Greek and Latin Christian Authors. Douglass Series of Greek and Iatin Christian Authors. With Notes by FRANCIS A. MARCI and W. C. CAxrTELL. Two Volumes are now ready: "ATIN HYMNS, with English Notes. For use in Schools and Colleges. By F. A. MARCH, ".D., Professor of Comparative Philology in Lafayette College. I2mo, Cloth, $I 75. THE ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF EUSEBIUS. The First Book and Selections. Edited for Schools and Colleges by F. A. MARCH, LL D. With an Introduction by A. BALLARD, D D., Professor of Christian Greek and Latin in Lafayette College; and Explan- atory Notes by W. B. OWEN, A M., Adj. Professor of Christian Greek. I2mo, Cloth, $1 75. It is remarkable that no place has been given in the schools and colleges of England and America to the writings of the early Christians. For many centuries, and down to what is called the Pagan Renaissance, they were the common linguistic study of educated Christians. The stern piety of those times thought it wrong to dally with the sensual frivolities of heathen poets, and never imagined it possible that the best years of youth should be spent in mastering the refine- ments -of a mythology and life which at 'first they feared and loathed, and which at last became as re- mote and unreal to them as the Veda is to us. Clas- sical Philology, however, took its ideal of beanuty from pagan Greece, and it has filled our schools with those books which are Its best representatives. The modern Science of Language has again changed the point of view. It gives the first place to truth: it seeks to know mnn, his thoughts, hie growth; it looks on the literature of an age as a daguerreotype of the age; it values books according to their historical sig- nificance. The writings of the early Christians em- body the history of the most important events known to man in language not unworthy of the events, and the study of Latin and Greek as vehicles of Christian thought should be the most fruitful study known to philology, and have its place of honor in the Univer- sity Course. The present series owes its origin to nn endowment, by Mr. Benjamin Douglass, for the study of thcese anu- thors in Lafayette College. Each volume will be pre- pared with critlcal text, introduction, and notes, like the current approved text-books for college study. They will be edited by Profesaor F. A. Marchb, LL,.D., with such help as may be found desirable. page: 126 (Advertisement) -127 (Advertisement) [View Page 126 (Advertisement) -127 (Advertisement) ] Nordhoff's Politics for Young Americans, Politics for Young Americans. By CHARLES NORDHOFF, Author of "The Communistic Societies of the United States," "Northern California, Oregon, and the Sandwich Islands, t &c. 12mo, Cloth. (.n Press.) "The title of this work fails to do justice to the im- portance of its contents. Except in the transparent simplicity of its style, it is not a book for yonung peo- ple any more than for intelligent readers of every age. It is rather a treatise on the elementary principles of government and political economy, with special refer- ence to the practical workings of of the American sys- tem, and distinguished only from the'usual text-books on the subject by its freedom from theory and abstract discussion, the familiar tone of its illustrations, the minuteness of its details, and the adaptation of its treatment to the mass of readers. It is not only very informing In its Incid expositions, but singularly at- tractive in its methods. It leads on by a natural prog- ress from one step to another until the reader becomes acquainted with the whole mechanism of civil society, and prepared to act the part of an enlightened citi- zen. The work would be of great use to editors and callow members of Congress, containing information on topics of which they are for the most part igno'raut of the A, B, C. The form of the treatise is admirl bly adapted to popular use. It is not a production of tem- porary interest, but it should 'retain a standard vah;e for many years, and even for more than a century,'" Mill's Logic: Revised Edition. A System of Logic, Ratiocinative and Inductive: being a Connected View of the Princi. ples of Evidence and the Methods of Scientific Investigation. By JOHN STUART MLL. Printed from the Eighth dast) London Edition. evo, Cloth, $3 oo; Sheep, $3 50. A new issue of a very important old work which yet holds its place in the front rank of efforts to train and help the mind to .do its work in the best possible way.- It is not, by any means, a bundle of dry dogmatic statements or abstract reasonings, a bewildering maze of hard words and unintelligible theories: but its distinguishing principles of in- vestigation are enforced and very happily illustrated by references to tho facts of nature and history, the revelations of science, and the evolution of social economy. It merits the high praise given it by the North American Review many years ngq, "Those who choose to grapple with this work wil find that it presents a new view of the subject; that it is a sort of Novum Orffanum, ndapted to the state of intellectual and physical science at the present day; and that it is treated with a breadth and comprehensiveness of thought, in a style of thorough analysis, and with a surpassingly clear and forcible diction, which entitle it to the faithful study of all who aspire to the merit of philosophical research or even of general scholar. ship."--Boston Pranscript. The merits of this work are so well known that it is hardly necessary to do more than refer to it; yet we think no person who wishes to obtain an adequate idea of the strength and fertility of Mr. Mill's intellect should omit to read it. What Lord Bacon calls the -Y nj %" % I**uf 03 50. t dry light of the understanding is profusely shed by , Mr. Mill on all the topics he discusses, and there is none so abstruse that does not become intelligible under his lucid treatment. He was a born logician, and there have probably been few men better fitted, by precision of thought and style, for illustrating the Bscience.--B'oston Globe. Notwithstanding all the criticisms made upon it, and all the attempts to construct a better work, this is still, and is long likely to be, the best work on logic in the language. All the works written since the ap- pearance of this are little else than modifications of its essential method and idea, and imply a kniowledge of this or send the student to this to finish what they begin. It is characterized by a general soundness of principle, and simplicity and thoroughness of method which are admirable, and which it is far easier to sup- plement in minute particulars than to radically im- prove. Mr. Mill was essentially a logician. His mind was logical in its order and processes.--GoldetnAge,N Y. This work is so well known to all who take an in- tcrest in the great subjects to which it is devoted, that it is hardly necessary to say much of its valuable con- tents. The ,nuhor cnusecs men to think, and teaches them how to thilnk correctly. * * * It can not but be considered one of the greatest works of modern philosophy.-l-oston Traveller. Nimrod of the Sea. Nimrod of the Sea; or, The American Whaleman. By WILLIAM M. DAvIS. With many Illustrations. I2mo, Cloth, $2 oo. - ----) w*,.LLy y4. wU. The book-sets forth in a graphic way the adventures of a sailor on board a whaler. It is not only a graph. ically told narrative of daring exploits, but it is a deep- ly interesting account of the nature and habits of the whale, of the methods employed for his capture, and of the uses which he is made to serve. A bright boy, in the-reading of the book, will not fail to gather a vast deal of neNw information in respect .to the sea and its wondrous forms of life.-Watchman and It- flector.- No previous book conveys half the information that this does about the whale-fishery, and the gallant sea- men who carry it on, Nothint is left to the imagina- tion in this account of the adventurous pursuit of and ' perilous conflicts with the leviathaus of the deep.- Philadelhid Prew. A versaltile and eertainining Work concerning the whale-fishery and the lives of those persols ,ho are engaged in it. It is narrative, dratnatic?--icriptive, and instructive by turns, but anlwanys presents n aIt- tractive side to the reader. It tells of the north, the south, and the tropical regions, has the true nautic:,l flavor, and is just the kind of a book we should put into the hands of a boy or other person to entertaui him while it gave him profit. It is abundantly and sometimes vividly illustrated.-e ethcodist. This is not only a book that will interest young readers, but will find a thoughtful perusal among the more mature. The narrative is well written, and quito interestinr.-Contntercial Bulletin, Boston. The book itself is mightily taking and clever.--Xcw 'York tEveninz, Mail, Campaigning on the Oxus and the Fall ot Khiva. By J, A. MAcGAHAN. With Map and Illustrations. Crown Svo, Cloth, $3 50. The work is clever, well written, and full of quaint humor.--The Academy, London. This book comes, therefore, to the public as a com- 1,letely new story of the difficulties he encountered in the accomplishment of his task, and as the first de- tailed and accurate account of the whole Russian cam- paigu against Khiva. * * * Mr. MacGahan gives us a most interesting account of Khiva, and the manners and customs of the people, as also of the Khan himself. The personal adventures which he had are exceeding- ly entertaining. * * * We recommend most cordially Mr. MacGahan's book.-Daily Telefgraph, London. Mr. MacGahan gives us in the excellent book which he has just produced the first account which we have as yet received of the late Russian expedition to Khiva, He has given a very distinguished example of intrepidity in this first ride of a "white man" across anu immense desert under circumstances which endangered his life.-I'all falt Budget, London. The narrative of Mr. MacGahan read's like some lost chapters of the "Thousand and One Nights." It abounds in pictures and anecdotes, and it is as a lan- tern held up amid the duskiness and vagueness of the Tartar wastes. * ' * Vividly depicted by a manu who knows how to distill his reminiscences of travel into a bright and ,transparent narrative.-Standard, Lou- don. * * His book is the best and most readable account yet given of the distant lands and iuteresting events of which it treats.-Daily .Yeiws, London. Mr. nacGahan's is, therefore, not only the first reliable history of the latest Khivan expedition, but the only reliable history of the social and political life of the Khivans and their allies. * * * Mr. lnac(ahan tells what he has to tell tersely and well. * * * Roman- tic adventures, dashingly told, as they were cxecuted, and an interesting record of strange facts about strange peoplc.--lolr, London. Cairnes's Political Economy. Some Leading Principles of Political Economy Newly Expoundcd. By J. E. CAIRNES, M A, Emeritus Prof. of Political Economy in University College, London. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. The work is admirably prepared. Its literary style is as clear as its spirit is excellent.-Saturday .Evening Gazette, Boston. The work which he has produced has been high- ly commended for its thoroughness and candor. It ought .to be taken up and studied with care by Amer- icau politicians, and by all who have any interest in the perplexing matters of the relation of capital to la- bor, and of the system of protection which has so lon-g been in vogue in this country.--Watchman and tle- lector. Professor Cairnes has the merit of treating a diffl- cult and controverted subject with candor and ability. Differiug in material points fi'om other eminent think- ers who have won an established reputation in this hard but most important field of research, he yet does so with a degree of modesty, and an absence of con- "troversy for the sake of controversy merely, which evince conscious strength and an earnest desire to ar- rive at the truth. Indeed, these characteristics are evident upon every page of this valuable treatise, of whose consummate ability we can not Fpeak in too strong terms. Added to these merits is a rare felic- ity and clearness of style. In this respect Professor Cairnes's volume is a model. We have never perused a book upon this intricate topic so free from mere dis- putatiousuess, or from that technical jargon which is wont to darken a subject which needs no advclntilioiuH aid to make it hard to be understood. So entirely clear is it from all tcchnicality that any close thinker -any clearll-hcade merchant or inechanic-can mnls- ter every one of the problenml upon which lie dwclls, and in all its details, with caso and antibfaction.- Christian Intelliqen cer. -.In this book, as Professor Calirnes s at sFono pains to explain, no attempt is malde to anta'nonize the gen eral principles of the science as laid down by Smith, Malthus, Iticardo, and Mill. IL is the intermedlate principles by means of which the detailed results are connected with the higher causes which produce them that he questions; this portion of political economy contains, he considers, no small proportion of faulty materal], and his purpose is to replace thils clement of weakness with matter better fitted to endure modern criticism. Incidentally, he examines fromie of the more implortant questions connected with the labor ngita- tions of the day, such as the power of Trades-unsion and the efficacy of strikes, and considers also the pres- ent position of the external trade of this country and the results of protection.--Boston Journal. Schwcinfirth's Heart of Africa. The Heart of Africa; or, Three Years' Travels and Adventures in the Unexplored Regions of the Centre of Africa. From I868 to 187I. By Dr. GEORG SCIIWEINFIURTIl. Trans- lated by ELLEN E. FREWER. With an Introduction by WINW OOl ) READE. Illustrated by about I30 Woodcuts from Drawings made by the Author, and with Two Maps. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $8 oo. nere ts a genuine book of travel, exploration, and discovery, so captivating that it justly ranks its author among the most eminent of those who, by their per- sonal observation and adventure, and their heroic ex- posure to danger and vicissitude, have added to the store of our knowledge of unknown portions of the globe; and who, while contributing to science, have contributed largely also to the popular enjoyment. * ' * As a narrator, Dr. Schweinfurth surpasses all our more modern travelers, and resembles Mungo Park i simplicity, directness, minuteness, and picturesque- ness of description. His accounts of the habits, man- ners, fashions, usages, religions, arts, manufactures, and appearance of the numerous tribes of Central Africa are as minute and satisfactory as a series of photographs; and his descriptions of the natural scenery, the flora and fauna, the sights and sounds, the celestial and terrestrial phenomena of that mys- terious region, are always charming, and sometimen highy poetical As a literary workman, Schwelnfurth ranks with ecphens, Layard, and Livingstone. He combines all their graces and merits, and we think even surpasses them in the faculty which they had of winning the sustained attention of the render, and prolonging his interest. It is i mpossible that either the attention or the interest of an Intelligent render shonuld flag for a moment over thia very attractive book.-Chritfian Ilnklligenccr. page: 128 (Advertisement) [View Page 128 (Advertisement) ] Captain Tyson's Arctic Adventures. Arctic Experiences: containing Captain George E. Tyson's Wonderful Drift on the Ice- Floe, a History of the Polaris Expedition, the Cruise of the Tigress, and Rescue of the Po- 'laris Survivors. To which is added a General Arctic Chronology. Edited by E. VALE BLAKE. With Map and numerous Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $4 oo. The tales of Cooper and Marryat, the hunting scenes of Curming, all sink into insignificance before this vivid and realistic picture of the snow-bound suffer- ings of a handful of hardy men.-Inter-Ocean, Chi- cago. The book is decidedly the most valuable of thokind that has been published since the time of Dr. Kane; and it is so short a time since the fate of the Polaris and the sad death of her commander engaged the pub- lic attention and sympathy, that this complete and graphic record of the whole affair must be read with intense interest.-Boston Journal. We know of nothing more wonderful than this record of Captain Tyson's experiences. It shows him to have been a remarkable man-a hero in the truest sense-and also a man of uncommon force of char- acter, considerable mental ability, and really fine perceptions. In reading this narrative, we have beel struck more than once by the great power which lies in the simple statement of facts, in themselves most awful in significance.-Libral Christian. This beautiful volume is a fit companion for those enchanting books of Dr. Kane's Arctic explorations that some twenty years ago excited universal atten- tion and admiration. This new volume--in its size and general appearance, in- its profiuse, artstic, and instructive illuntrations, in its thrilling narrative of human bravery and endurance under the most fearful circumstances-constantly reminds us of those won- derful books.-Loucisville Couricr-Journal. Stanley's Coomassie and Magdala, Coomassie and Magdala: a Story of Two British Campaigns in Africa. By HENRY M. STANLEY'. With Maps and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $3 50. 'ne story of these two romantic wars, in which there was so mnuch courage, faith, perseverance, and pride on the part of the invaders, and which, ;n their overwhelming success, are not surpassed by the re- sults of any shnilar contest ever undertaken, needed to be told; and it is difficult to conceive how it could have been better told than it has been by Mr. Stanley, whose narrative is distinguished not only by sim- Iplicity and straightforwardness, but with fairness as well.-Suattrday 'reening Gazette, Boston. Motley's Life and ]clatl of John of Barneveld. Life and Death of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland. With a View of the Primary Causes and Movements of "The Thirty Years' War." By JOHN LOTItROP MOTLEY, D C.L, Author of "The Rise of the Dutch Republic," "History of the United Netherlands," &c. With Illustrations. In Two Volumes. 8vo, Cloth, $7 oo; Sheep, $8 oo; Half Calf, $x1I 50 (Uniform with Motley's "Dutch Republic" and "United Netherlands.") His work has the air of a powerful tragedy, inspir- ing pity and terror in the evolution of itt plot, but it is no less a narrative of historical ficts exhibiting the scenes of the past with the majesty of truth. In point of style, Mr. Motley keeps to the high standard of his previous productions. He evidently aims at vigor rather than smoothness. After he has laid a solid foundation, he does not disdain the graces of pictur- esque illustration. But he deals in no fantastic or superficial embellishments. Itis sentences flowi like molten gold from the firnace before they are moulded into artistic and enticing forms. He sometimes de- scends to details which might be deemed too familiar, perhaps even trivial, by readers who delight in an ex- cess of starch and buckram, but they give a perpetual freshness and charm to his narrative, which is as far superior to more formal composition as rambling in a fragrant wood-path is better than walking on stilts. Mr. Motley is one of the grand writers the movement of whose style reminds us of the stride of a healthy athete, rather than of the dainty steps of an effeminate exsquisite.-. y. YTribune. Evangelical Alliance Conference, 1S73, History, Essays, Orations, and Other Documents of the Sixth General Conference of the Evangelical Alliance, held in New York, October 2-I2, 1873. Edited by Rev. PhIP SCHAFF, D D,. and Rev. S. IRENAEUS PRIME, D D. With Portraits of Rev. Messrs. Pronier, Carrasco, and Cook, recently deceased. Svo, Cloth, nearly 800 pages, $6 oo; Sheep, $7 oo; Half Calf, $8 5o. Vincent's Land of the White Elephant. The Land of the White Elephant: Sights and Scenes in Southeastern Asia. A Personal Narrative of Travel and Adventure in Farther India, embracing the Countries of Burma, Siam, Cambodia, and Cochin-China (I87I-2). By. FRANK VINCENT, Jr. Magnificently illustrated with Map, Plans, and numerous Woodcuts. Crown Svo, Cloth, $3 50.