" hath ,‘ tow kkfwkllh’m3)».yknot».de . w ..v,;...s..n ..:,.;{...,.. . .: .;.. ‘3- ’- .i 1 5, ‘ H“ s 3:, X‘s-zit .: ‘ ,:'~... use moral principles, and so he took themhome to Glen Farm, and lavished all that heart could wish upon them. Both were well in- formed, and in them Mr. Oswold found much consolation, but alas! poor old man. Dick and Reg, as they were called, were to inherit Glen Farm after their uncle’s death as joint heirs; and in case that either died intestate, the survivor would become full owner. The young men were like brothers in their affection, though there was a vast dif- ference in their general natures, for while Dick was, or seemed, cold and reticent to strangers, Reg was warm and pleasant; but then Dick was always excused on the score of being bashful, for nobody thought it possible that the young men—heirs—appa— rent to Glen Farm—«the nephews of good old Hubert, could have one atom of evil in their hearts. But that everybody can not read the heart in human face divine will be shown in the sequel of our story. Unfortunately the young men both loved Judge Marsden’s daughter, though neither one was aware of the other’s affection for the belle of Rural City; and, unknown to Dick, Reg pro osed and was acce ted, and unknown to eg, Dick propose and of course was rejected. _ As the time for Reg’s marriage with , Edith Marsden approached, he went and in- formed his cousin of the fact. He felt it a duty to do so. Dick's brow clouded, though his cousin did not notice it, and turning; away, he said: “I wish you 'much joy, Reginald, for Edith is a noble woman.” CHAPTER II. A FOUL murder had been done! Old Hubert Oswold, the beloved old Christian gentleman, lay dead upon his li- brary floor with two gaping wounds in his left side through which his life-blood had flowed. Peter Wilkins, Mr. Oswold’s old secretary, was the first, to make the awful discovery. He had risen that morning earlier than usual, and going into the library he found the beloved old man stark and stiff, and the polished oaken floor stained with the crimv son tide of life. “ Oh, Hubert! Hubert l” exclaimed the old secretary,.bending over the cold form, “ is not this a horrible illusion? Great Heavens, it can’t be true! No, no, no l” and the old man bit his lips, and touched , the brow of the dead to assure himself that the horrible sight was not reality. But alas! it was too true. “ Oh, my God, Hubert ! you are dead, dead, dead! What fiend has struck you down ‘3 who was the murderer?” “ Reginald-murdered me I” The old secretary started up, his face blanched with horror and surprise. He pressed his brow as if to still his throbbing .brain. He rubbed his glasses to assure him- self that what he had seen was not the vi— sion of an excited mind. “ But no, it 9.2; there! The ghastly truth i” he exclaimed, bending his eyes to the floor again; and he read again, the words that laad been rudely traced with blood upon the oor,: “ Reginald murdered me.” The body of the old man wasl 'ing on the left side, and the forefinger o the right hand was restin g at the termination of the last letter. which fact alone convinced the old secretary that Mr. Oswold had not been 'murdered outright, but, being unable to call help, he had traced in letters of his own heart’s bloo l, with his own finger upon his own floor, e name of the murderer—the hand falling morionless in death just as the last letter was finished. “ And Reginald is the murderer,” said Wilkins to himself. Vile hypocrite. Black- hearted traitor and assassin l Stung to death the bosom that gave you nourishment, as it were. But to send you to the gallows, Regi- naldHoward, what need is there of further proof than those letters of blood traced upon the polished floor by the hand of your vic- tim it But I will call a servant and send for constable Bates and detective Search.” So saying, he fastened down the windows and let down the blinds. then leaving the body just as he found it, he took a revolver from a drawer and went out into the hall, (glosing and locking the library-door after 1m. . None of the household were up yet, for it was just daylight. In a few moments, how— ever, \Vilkins had them aroused by his v0< ciferous cries of murder, and walking on tip—toe and speaking in whispers the serv- ants came into the hall, eager to learn the horrible news. Dick and Reg came rush— ing into the hall terribly excited. “ Damnable hypocrite !” muttered \Vil- kins,~as [he ,saw the tears roll down gi— nald’s cheeks when he told them that their uncle had been murdered. Assuming a look of indifference, the old secretary refused to admit any one until af~ ter the detective had examined the room, and threatened to shoot the first one who attempted to enter the library. Constable Bates and the renowned detec— tive James Search were soon at Glen farm. Placing Bates at the library-door with the strictest injunction to allow no one to enter, nor even see in, Wilkins and Search enter- ed 'the chamber of death. “ ,What do you think of that?” asked Wilkins, pointing to the letters of blood. “ Reginald murdered me," the detective read, then turning to Wilkins in the great- est surprise, asked: “ Were those words there when you dis- covered the body ?” . , “ Yes,” replied Wilkins,“ and it seems to me that they are sufficient evidence of Regi- nald’s guilt.” “ Just so,“ replied Search, dropping on his knees before the corpse. The detective examined the wounds, the posrtion of the body and the purple imprint of the assassin’s fingers where he had clutch- ed thc old man by the throat. He had spent several, minutes thus when Wilkins asked : , “ Wen, what so you think about it ‘3” “Well, sir,” said the detective, rising to his feet, and speaking in a low, earnest tone, “I think in thefirst place that Hubert Os- wold never wrote these letters or words of accusation. And in the second place, Regi- nald Howard did. not commit the murder 1”, “ Whew 1” exclaimed the old secretary, as though a terrible weight had been lifted from his heart; “ that’s a pretty plain con- tradictiOn of what I considered sufficient evidence to send Reg to the gallows.” “ Has Reg, as you call him, a finger miss- ing from either hand?” asde Search, thou htfully. _“ y o.” replied Wilkins, startled with sur— prise by the detectivc’s question ; “ but I will tell you who has,” and here he leaned forward and whispered a name in Search’s car; then he said: “now tell me why you asked the question." .“ Because the assassin had the third finger missing from the left hand. Look here; you see where the villain clutched the old man by the throat with the left hand, while, with the right, he dealt the murderous blow. Now, you see on this side of the throat the purple impfint of but three fingers, and on this side the imprint of the thumb. Now, you will observe that, between these two ‘finger-marks and this one, which was the little finger, there is quite a space which goes to show that the third finger was miss- ing from the hand; and, to conclude, I will stake my life that the man whose name you just now mentioned is the murderer, and, unless he is a scheming villain, I will make him commit himself before I leave Glen Farm; but, first, tell me whether any one has been in here since you discovered the murder?” v “ Not a living soul but you and I.” “Then no one knows of those letters of blood ‘9” “ I have not breathed it to a living soul.” “.Good’. Now take something and erase those letters entirely; then, to further my plans, Reg must be arrested for the crime.” And so the letters of blood were erased, and Reginald Howard arrested for the mur- der of his uncle, Hubert Oswold. The wildest excitement nevailed when it was known that Regina d was arrested. The young man was almost stricken down with surprise and terror when he found . himself in manacles, accused of murder. He did not deny the crime. He did not speak. Sorrow and humiliation choked back all utterance. Detective Search took Dick Arnold aside, and said, in a sad tone: “ This is a sad affair, Mr. Arnold.” “Indeed it is,” replied DiCk, seriously. f‘ Have you seen your uncle since his death ‘2” “ No, I have not seen him since yesterday noon.” “ Nor been in the library this morning ?” questioned Search. “ No, I have not. I have not been out of my room for two days until this morning. I have been confinedto my bed with asspell of rheumatism.” “Well, it is a horrible affair, Mr. Ar~ nold.” “Yes; but I never dreamed that my cousin Reg, whom we all love so well, could be guilty of such, a cold-blooded crime.” “ Ah, my young man, the most gentle manners and pleasant faces often conceal the workings of an evil heart.” At this moment the rumble of a carriage was heard coming down the road, and Dick and the detective glanced mechanically to- ward the vehiclc and saw that it was Judge Marsden’s family carriage, from the window of which Dick saw the pretty face of Edith Marsden shining. He seemed to forget, himself for a moment, and, to hide his em- barrassment caused by sight of the judge’s daughter, he said, in reply to the detectives last remark: “ Such seems to have bitch the case with Reg, though I would never have believed he committed the murder Were it not for the letters of blood on the library floor that alone convict— I meanwahem—excuse me, Mr. Search—L—I—J’ / - “You have been thrown off your guard by the pretty face of Miss Marsden,’ said, Search, breaking in, “and you, have told what you did not wish to; therefore, 1, Israel Search, arrest you for the murder of your uncle, Hubert Oswold.‘ This way, Bates, with those handcuffs.” “ Whywwhy, Search,” gasped Dick, growing white with: terrbr, “what do you mean? -. “Just what I say. A.moment ago you toldime that you had not seen. your uncle’ , since noon, yesterday; had not been in, theiibrary for two days—had not the?- body of your uncle since dead. Now, if such is the fact, 720w did you [mow there were letters of blood on the library floor, of which you just how‘spoke when thrown off your guard bysight of the judge’s daughter? Let me answer for you in this manner. ‘ 1, Ri- chard Arnold, committed the murder. I traced those letters of blood with my own finger, and placed the finger of my uncle, so as to make it appear as though he had done the writing, before the vital spark had fled. I had every thing cleverly arranged, but, alas ! the lovely face of Edith lIllarsden threw me off my guard !’ “ I know you would speak so if you would speak the truth, Dick Arnold. Furthermore, I would say that there are such marks left upon Hubert Oswald’s throat as SllQW that the assassin had but three fingers upon the left hand, and I see that your tirdfingor is missing from the left hand, so there is not a doubt in my mind as to your guilt.” Dick was completely stupefied with terror. He could not utter a single word. The words of the detective had such fearful, truthful meaning, that he felt the chains of criminality fastened upon him,and without the least resistance he was handcuffed and taken away to Rural City and placed in jail to await his trial at the next term of court, Judge Marsden presiding. A coroner‘s inquest was held over the body of Hubert Oswold, and a verdict ren- dered in accordance with the facts already given. On‘thc day of Dick’s trial the court—room was crowded to its utmost. The case lasted several hours and he was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to be hung in one month. The moment the sentence was pronounced, the prisoner arose to his feet, and in a clear, firm voice said: “ My friends, if so I may call you, I feel no ill-will toward the jury that found me guilty, nor the judge that pronounced the sentence, nor the detective whose evidence convicted me. They have done right. I did commit the murder. It was who traced those letters of blood on the library floor and arranged the body as Wilkins found it. I had been planning the murder for several weeks-110w, and for what pur- pose, it is not necessary to state, but I sue- ceeded in doing the crime and would have succeeded in implicating Reginald Howard but for detective Search. I have made this confession to remove all doubts from the minds of the inquisitive world, and because I do not intend to be made the subject of a public execution, as you now see.” The prisoner was standing near an open window fully seventy feet from the ground, and, as he concluded his cenfessron, he turned and leaped through the window, and, falling upon a marble‘vase in the yard be— low, was instantly killed. And thus the gallows was cheated of , its dug: in the heartless assassin, Richard Ar- no . ‘ Reginald Howard now became sole heir to Glen Farm. He married Edith Marsden, and in her society he finds wedded love the greatest enjoyment to which the heart could aspire. ' And so ends our story of the Letters of Blood. The College RiVals: THE BELLE or' PROVIDENCE. BY DR. WM. MASON TURNER, AUTHOR or- 550.000: nawnrm, our: RUBY unto, MA- BEL vans, nssnnn MINER, are. CHAPTER XXII. A RIF’I‘ IN THE SKY. THE collegian’s frame shook, the blood boiled in his veins, and the color faded from his cheeks. Reeling like a drunken man, he staggered away toward the iron gate which was hang- ing ajar, as if inviting his departure. As the oung man reached the street, he turned and gazed back at the familiar man— sion. He started violently and gasped for breath, as his gaze shot through the brilliant- ly-lighted window and rested on two per- sons within. A In that parlor, Madeleine Fleming and Stephen Smith were seated on a sofa. The latter held the small hand of the former in his own strong palm, and Madeleine was lookin trustingly, fearlessly into the hand- some, usky face of the Kentuckian. They had already forgotten him, who but now had called! . Sick at heart, his brain reeling, Fenton Thorne turned away, and clenching his gloved hands together, staggered rather than walked, toward the distant college on the hill. ‘thn he and Stephen Smith met again, there was no recognition between them. As was customary, the Kentuckian nodded his head; but Fenton Thorne noticed not the salutation. He simply fixed a dark, scowling look upon the other and passed on. Stephen Smith started at the insulting de- portment of his old chum, and for a mo ment :1- red flush swept over his swarthy face. But, as if recollecting himself, he bowed his head, while a contemptuous smile lighted the corners of his mouth, and strode on. Several weeks passed thus —~ Fenton Thornc, almost every day, writing loving, binning letters to Madeleine Fleming, end- ing at last in accusing the maiden of trans— ferring her “ affections to the traitor Stephen Smith I” ‘ Thenr’the rouno'man received an answer . D -—thc first for many a long, weary day of ‘ heart and soul~sufl‘ering. i The missive read thus : ' “ Ma. Tnoasn: “ I do not love Stephen Smithgl esteem him highly as a steadfast, unfilnchin friend. I will be at home this evening. blige the by calling; and be so kind as to bring with youall of my foolish letters; also my daguerroty e. Respectfully, ' MADELEINE FLEMING.’ ’ Clouds rushed over Fenton Themes brain, and a storm raged in his heart" that evening, as he‘hurriedly walked up thegrav— eled way, leadin’ from the street-gate, to the hall-door or the s curing mansion. , , He hesitated‘not'amoment, b tpulled the - bell. In a moment-he Was admitted by‘John, who simply, audit : seemed impcrtmently, pointedto‘ theparlorsdoor. , , Fenton Theme, whisanger almost choking him—entered; the Madeleine on the sofa‘;,.by her side, stern, contehrptuOus and inipertnrbable, sat Stephen Smith. - _ ,y “ “ Good-evening, Madeleine—Miss ., Flem— . ing,” said the student, as he stood within atlresrooni, at the same time'frankly reaching outfits-«hand. ' He did nott'rlnotice Stephen Smith at all. ’ a " Madeleine drew proudly bac 'drefused the proffered hand. Fenton Thorne colored viciously, and his eyes snapped fire. He drew himself up grandly. ' “ I am here, Miss Flemintr, in accordance with your request,” he sai , with dignity; . “ and I have a package for you.” . voice . slightly trembled. He laid a small parcel on the piano, and taking up his hat and gloves, which he had placed on a table, he‘ bowed and turned to- ward the door. Madcleine saw the movement. “ Please be seated for a moment, Mr. Thorne,” she said, hastily~her voice shak- ing, despite her efforts to the contrar r. The ’oung man turned obediently, and seated imself, at some distance from the maiden. , , ’ Stephen Smith left his seat, and strolled unconcernedly toward the window—then back to the mantel. “I did request you to come, Mr. Thornc; my object was, that we should have a clear understanding before we part forever.” She paused. “ Part! And what is all this mystery, I ask, Madeleine? What have I done that you thus treat me—-—thus cast me ed?” dc- manded the young man,with fire in his eyes, ' and lightning in his tongue. The maiden recoilcd from that imperious voice. At three strides Stephen Smith drew r. “ Shall I remove this impulsive youth? Speak but the word, Miss Madeleine !” and he gazed with a lowering brow at the visi- tor. Fenton Thorne kept his eye upon the other, but said nothing. There was deci- sion and determination upon his face, how— ever. “ No, no, Mr. Smith ; I be:r you to be seat- ed. . . . You ask'me, h r. Thorns,” she continued, turning to her old lover, “ why I have cast you off ‘8 I have not cast you off ! Nay, do not interrupt me, for our interview must be brief. I have not cast you off ; but, Fenton Theme, you. have been false (0 me, you have cast ME off! Oh i heaven 1” and the girl hid her face in her hands. Stephen Smith was now drumming fierce- ly-—at the imminent risk of breaking it—-on the glass shade over the wax-work on the mantel. , , ‘,‘ Madeleine,what mean you ‘3” again thun- dered the student. “Are you a dissemblcr to my very face, as well as behind my back? Shame on you, Fenton Thorne l” l j “ Ay l shame on you i” kissed the Ken- tuckian, unablelonger to hold his peace. “ Good heaven! This is too much i” groaned Fenton. “ I beg you Madeleine, by the love you once professed for mc——I_ beg you, Stephen Smith, by the memory of our old-time friendship, to explain this hideous afi'airmthis black dream to me ! heaven’s sake, kill me at. once!" Slowly Madeleine Fleming raised her eyes, suffused with tears, to his face, and asked in trembling tones : . “ And, do you not love—Myra Hoxley ‘2” “ WHAT! I love Myra Huxley! I loathe her, I hate her, and the groom she walks upon !” almost thundered the young man. “ Is this true, Fenton? .- h! for mercy’s sake, speak-«speak l” “ Speak, speak, speak on,Fent l" and Ste- phen Smith, his long hair falling around his dusky face, leaned over to get the answer. “I tell you nay, I swear it! that I HATE Myra Hoxleyl Heaven forgive me if I sin in so doing!’ “One word more, Fenton Theme,” and Stephen Smith scarcely breathed, as he al- most sunk on his knees, to face his former friend, “where were you on the evening of the 26th of December .9” “ In my room in the collegcwno, Iforgot: I was in Professor Lincoln’s stud ', passing my examination for entrance into he Junior class.” “ And now, Fenton,” and the words were scarcely audible, “ read this letter, and then tell me if you know the hand‘which penned the words." ' The maiden scarcely breathed, and her eyes stared, almost unmeaningly, in the face of the collegial). - A hurried glance over the letter, and a dark, meaning frown settled on Fenton Thorne’s face. He crushed the sheet in his nervous grasp. “ And, you do not see through this wicked trick ‘3” he asked, in a husky whisper. “ Where are your eyes, Stephen Smith, that you do not detect in every line, and every word, a f01‘g81‘y—~—RALPH Ross, THE FOR- enn ‘9” “ Ay! ay! Fool that I was! I’ll break every bone in his body!” and the Kentuck- ian uttered aloud cry of triumph, as he gath— ered his long-estranged friend to his bosom. And Madeleine quietly, tenderly folded her arms around that dear form, and mur- murcd: “ Take back the letters—keep the dagucr- reotype, my darling l” __._._._——- CHAPTER XXIII. Tmmos on THE ROVER. TIME was on the wing; days, weeks and months sped by; but there came no news of the long-absent craft, the gallant old tea- ship. » Many a sleepless night, and many a weary watching day had gone by with Arthur Fleming. The old man was haggard under the fearful anxiety. Many ships had sailed in, from over the distant seas; but they brought to the anx- ious merchant no information of his old ship. It was a terrible tax on the poor father, and in sadness and silence he groped about his splendid mansion. Or, for ,But Madeleine was rosy again; a joyous smile was now ever u 11 her lip, and the rich tints of health b oomed again in her checks. The maiden was, now satisfied in the abiding love of Fenton Thorne; of course she was happy. ‘ She scarcely, for a filament, weighed her father’s trOubles; for she was rich again in the love of a noble, trusting soul ;_ For fear we may forget it, it may be re- ‘ marked here that soon after the joyous re- conciliation betweeh-“tlic lovers, and Stephen f Smithns an interestedfithird party, on that memprable night in «flieiii‘lerning mansion, fire'Kentuckian had studiously sought out RalthOSS. _ - , Once the men had met; it was in front ofithe chapel, and Stephen Smith. with angry, impatient steps, had advanced upon the other. “But before eVen words could pass, the venerable President of the Univer— ‘ ’sity—dhe old man well beloved-41nd drawn near. When heliad passed, Ralph Ross had disappeared. ' 1‘ After that. mo than students again ‘ ,_ for Ross "had, for _ ,withch'awn from college on the plea. of here/rah. At this report, Stephen Smith Smilcd grimly, Six months afterward Ralph Ross made his appearance once again at college; but the Kcntuckian’s blood had cooled, and now he sought no conflict with the man. Madeleine 'Fleming, happy in her own heart, would not admit to her’ bosom the sorrows and troubles of others. She feared no more the ominous revelations of'sooth— sayers'and clairvoyants, and thought not again of Madame Felice Duplicitc, who, by the by, in the mean time, had left for parts unknown. ‘ Madeleine was very happy, and by dint of many entreaties, had persuaded her father to celebrate her birth-night, new again ra- pidly approaching. The struggle in the old man’s bosom was severe. He would not willingly“ incur such by before the ’ ' one another; not yet in! and there were no tidings of her. But he could not. refuse the earnest pleading of his daughter, and her powerful point that in case he had no celebration, “ it- would look sp strange!” had wondrous Weight with the old man. He could not well go again to Niagara for another winter-view of the “Falls! ’ He had fondly expected the Rover in, be fore this trying time. However, he determined to make the ef- fort, come what would. He would, to the last, keep up appearances—for Madeleine’s sake! ‘ Invitations were duly issued, in the same old elegant style, and not one of the former friends and acquaintances was omitted. Old \Velcanie Hoxley and Myra, as well as Ralph Ross, received the perfumed cards, requesting their company. " Madeleine Fleming was forgiving; there was no cloud now on her heart. and she could afford to overlook the shortcomings and treachery of her most inveterate foes~~ those foes merely suspected. , The time rolled around; the eventful evening again settled down over the city. Again the Fleming mansion was all aglow from attic. to basement; again flashing equipages swept up to the stately entrance ; again the brilliant chandelier learned down on crumpling folds of rich si ks and satins, on glossy broadcloth, on flashing diamonds and burning rubies. Again all was happi- ness and glow. “ Even old Welcome Huxley, clad in the extreme of richness and fashion, was at the mansion. ‘ ‘ _ ' This was singular, and Arthur Fleming, the host, felt a cold tremor flit over his per— son, as his old enemy and rival came for— ward to greet him and wish him and his daughter the compliments of the occasion. re old manufacturer had come late; but, as if to make amends for his tardiness, an expense; and then the Rover! she was his face was wreathed in smiles, and his voice was silvery in sweetness. Myra, too, was there, all sparkle and splendor; her escort was Ralph Of course the rich manufacturer’s daughter was amiable; but we dare not analyze the feelings which rioted in her bosom. Stephen Smith, sober, staid and dignified, was there, all politeness, gallantry and good humor; and arm-imam} with his old churn, Fenton Thorne, elbowed his way as if per- fectly at home. through the crowded rooms. Gayl fled the festive hours; and amid the in ectious joy of the hour, even the morose and anxious host—his dark, dreary thoughts ever wandering far away after the missing Rover—«felt his sad heart grow lighter, and the sluggish life-current beat and flow faster, ashc hearkened to the jo- cund laughtcr-the merry cut-and-thrust of jest and repartee. But in the midst of the hilarity, all of a sudden, the hall-bell sounded loud and warningly. In an instant an ominous, deathlike si- lence crept—no one knew why-—over the large assembly. Then confused murmurs were heard without; and in a moment, John, the serving-man, hastily entered the parlor and crowded his way toward old Ar— thur Fleming. He handed a sealed note to his employer. Reckless of the presence of the company, re ardlcss of etiquette, the old merchant, wrth greedy, trembling fingers, tore open the frail envelope. Then, on the unfolded half-sheet his eye fell. One glance, and a low, heart-piercing wail broke from his lips. He staggered back, and clutching wildly in the air, sunk into the strong arms of Stephen Smith. The fatal sheet fluttered softh away, and settled upon the rich carpet. Then the old man, with a sudden effort, tottered to his feet, and as a wild, maddening fire flashed from his eyes, he exclaimed, with amaniac’s gibber: “ Ha ! ha ! 8716 has gone down! And I-— ha! ha! The cloud is black, and shows no silver lining! Ha! ha! ha! _Who. said it? thwyes—yes! I am a beggar! Howl on, ye fiends, for THE Rovnn HAS GONE DOWN 1” Stephen Smith’s arms closed again, firmly, about the fainting form of the old man, and the Kentuckiau bore him gently and softly away. ' Slowly, gloatingly, W'elcome Hoxlcy stooped and picked up the crushed sheet. Then, amid an awful silence, he read, aloud: “ New York, December 18th, 1855. “A. J. FLEMING, Providence, R'. I. : “Brig ‘Rattlcr’ just in. When rounding the Horn, reports picking up small boat—‘Rovnn’ painted on the stem. The Rover has gone down in a gale. THOMAS EDWARDS, Agent." CHAPTER XXIV. OUT IN THE COLD. Won and desolation had indeed settled over the lordly Fleming mansion. No rat- tling marriage now rolled up to, the broad entrance ; no sympathizin g friends by scores. as on the festive birth—night, crowded there to speak words of comfort and cheer. The dreadful secret had been divulged; it had been torn forth from the anguished bosom of a poor, gibbering maniac. Friends, falsely so called, had already turned their backs upon him around whom they had lately fawned. . ' The mansion was closed——its windows sadly shut. as if dth had entered there. The crazy fatherhnd the stricken daughter were alone in their misfortune and misery. Even John. the domestic, and old Mar— tha, the housekeeper, had already turned up their contemptuous noses; and having received their wages—paid from Madeleine’s scanty pin-money—had shaken the dust of the disreputable mansion from their respect- able shoes, and gone to seek employment elsewhere. And old‘ Arthur Fleming, striding up and down the limits of the library—not his any longer—cried and laughed by times, tore his white locks from his aged head. and knelt down dcvoutly before a miniature model of his lost tea—ship. and prayed, with streaming eyes and piteous, pleading words, for the Rover to come back! to bring home to him her sunken cargo, lying beneath the black waves. ‘ _ ‘ ‘ ‘ And Madeleine, cowering there as she watched the old, broken form. prayed, too i But her prayer was that the Night would come—that the Grave would swallow up all sorrow and every heart-ache. Yet the inmates of the Fleming mansion were not forgotten by all. 7 ) On the very next morning, after the fatal birth-night festival, two yOung gentlemen, sober and dignified in demeanor, had softly ’entered the great hall—door Without ring- mg. They were Fenton Theme and Stephen Smith, and their mission was a delicate one, but they were firm in fulfilling that mission, for they came the bearers of consolation and sympathy. IVs will not linger on this‘sad epoch in this heart-history; we must hasten on and detail the events which followed the dc- pouement ‘of Madeleine‘s last birth-night etc. Fenton Thomc and Stephen Smith called often at the mansion; but they had never held conversation’ with the poor, broken- hearted lunatic. At last the young men had offered a purse containing money to Madeleine. It must not be supposed that this was done in the plain, blunt manner as we have recorded it. It was a matter requiring diligent. study and rehearsal at the hands of these noble—hearted young men. They knew the extreme delicacy of the act; but that act was prompted by the most sublime of motives—esteem and sym- pathy. By lots, it fell to Stephen Smith to offer the money. v To have seen the tall, browu‘faced K9113 tuckian begin the subject—~his nervousness as he proceeded—his trembling hands, as he held out to the maiden the silken purse con- taining the gold; to have seen the big tears ‘ flow down his face, and to have heard the irrestrainablc sob, as the swarthy~faced stu- dent dropped the money into the lap cf the girl, was to have looked upon a brave pic- ture. ‘ ' ' There was a sharp, agonizing struggle in Madeleine Fleming’s bosom, but it was not protracted. The girl saw the nobleness of the gift, and with the alternative of want and misery before her—thinking of her poor, dear demented“ old father, she bowed her head over the friendly gold, and wept sweet tears of gratitude. In ten days from the reception of the news of the loss of the Rover, 3 placard was posted en the large door of the Fleming nmiision. That placard announced, .. 4.5.x». .