Wen‘w " . v7-.. In. a . .‘:_ - , up -..~ 3. ‘i .t“.r....?._‘.._' "-2..- .. 4.2.». ‘ ' masonic...“ -'..-v,....-. .. ..‘..A.. .. “fix—4.....na- v..w.v..~;.«. -..L..'...,. -_.. . .. n i, w____ an...“ 'vwmr-K—n-‘asw v » ’~ that his person was concealed from the Monte— negreans, who had no suspicion that their hit- terest foe had found refuge within the old castle. “ 'vVhO commands this tower?” asked Lau— derdale, after the trumpet had sounded Its loud blast. ' “ Answer him, Hassan," ordered Ismail. Like the caged bird, she thought only of es- caping from her terrible plight. The Italian withdrew after a few minutes’ conversation, when. for quite a long time, the unfortunate prisoner was left to her own sad i thoughts. Not the least trust did she. put in the words ,of the adventurer; she believed him to be a The Turk at once advanced to the edge of bold, bad man, who would not stop at any the rampart “I do, Hassan El Moola.” The American saluted him. evil. One thought alone kept the girl from utterly despairing: she fully believed in the love of “ I, Robert Laurlerdale, colonel in the army . Craige, and she was convinced that he would Montenegro, as the representative of Nicholas, Prince of Montenegro, by Whose army you are now entirely surrounded, do here— by demand the surrender of this castle. Generous conditions are offered: the garrison will be allowed to depart with all the honors ~ . I lwily adventurer; followmg hlm the fat and of war, the officers to retain their side-arms." “ Ask him if all within the tower will he al- lowed to depart, Hassan," the renegade said. The Turk put the question as he was 'idden. The American n-zderstood 1he trap at once “ All who hold allegianCe to the Turkish sul< tan," he replied, “ but if there are any within the tower, of Montenegrean or Albanian birth, who do not desire to cross the Turkish fron- tier, then thvir wishes must be respected, and they must be left free to go where they will.” “ Tell him that the betrothed bride of smail Pasha, the Countess of Scutari, is within the tower, and ask what disposition is to he made of her," Ismail said to the Turk. To the flag of truce Hassan put the question. “The Countess of Scutari, the lady whom you call the betrothed bride of Ismail Bey, is the legally wedded wife of a gallant soldier serving under the Montenegrean flag. I myself was present at the ceremony and can bear wit- ness to the fact of the marriage; and therefore the countess cannot be allowed to accompany the Turkish force.” “ Tell him that the countess is a ward of the Turkish sultan, and that no marriage that she may contract can be legal Without his consent,” again the renegade prompted Hassan to say. “The Countess of Scutari a ward of the sultan!" cried the American in scorn; “that is a claim that all Montenegro disputes, and it is to settle the question of the sultan’s authori- ty that we are here in arms this night. Mon- tenegro does not admit that the Turkish sultan has power to rule over a single inch of her free mountain soil, or to sway. even by so much as a. hair, the destinies of the meanest creature that breathes her mountain air." “Hot words, young man, hot words!" cried Ismail abruptly, advancing to the edge of the rampart as he spoke. The appearance of the renegade was a genu- ine surprise to all the Monteneg: can detachment. They had supposed the beaten general to be wandering, like an outcast wolf, in the moun- tain defiles, and had no idea that he had suc- ceeded in gaining the shelter of the tower. “ You are over-bold, you native of a foreign clime, you adventurer, to thrust yourself into a quarrel which concerns you not,” the rene« gade continued, sternly. "What is it to you whether Turkey's sultan rules over Montene- gro or not? What is it to you this difference between a ruler and his subjects? By the Pro- phet! you are either as bold as the lion, lord of the African deserts, or else foolhardy in your courage to‘thus expose yourself to my wrath. You and your friend, cut—throat adventurers both! have dare! to interfere between Ismail Pasha and his cherished plans, and now you come under a flag of truce, t0 heard the tiger in his den. You demand the surrender of this tower and my answer shall be written in blood. Stand to your gun, Achmet 1” And the gunner with lighted match, glowing in the moonlight, sprung to his piece. (To be confz'nuud—conuncnced in No. 394.) NEXT \VEEK! IVIR. ALBERT‘ VV. AIIiEN’S GOIJI’) DAN ! FILL THE CRYSTAL GOBLET UP. BY EDSON. Come, fill the crystal goblet up With Nature‘s native wine! No richer drink, in golden cup. Was ever seen to shine. No logwood coloring gives it hue, No flavor f "om the rye; ‘Twas garnered from the morning dew And pressed within the sky. Let others drain the beaker bright, With rubies brimming o’er; Give me the draught which sparkles white From Nature‘s lavish store! With vintage song let valleys ring Where purple clusters lie, Be ours the better task to sing The vintage of the sky. 01d mother earth most kindly lends Her mighty reservoirs, As from its fountains it descends In cool and copious showers. Then fill the crystal goblet up! We ask no better Wine! A richer drink in lordly cup Was never seen to shine! The Bouquet Girl; HALF A MILLION DOLLARS. BY AGILE PENNE, AUTHOR or “ORPHAN NELL,” “STRANGE STORIES or MANY LANDS," “THE DE— nncrivu’s WARD," “WOLF OF ENHOVEN,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER XXXVI, VENGEANCE HAS A LONG ARM. SLOWLY passed the long hours away, and the hapless girl immured in the gloomy vault was the prey of the most terrible apprehen— 810118. One visit only had the Italian made; then he had brought food and drink, spoken smooth- ly, bidding the girl to be of good cheer, talked vaguely of the bitter enemies who were so eager to harm her, and in his vainglorious way had declared that while he lived no one should touch a hair of her head. In vain she entreated him to let her go free; he shook his head, told her she did not know what she asked—not for worlds would he ex- pose her to the danger which threatened her, then complimented his friend the colonel; told what a noble man he was; dilated upon his many good qualities; assumed a confidential tone and informed her that the noble son of the house of Frascati had long admired her in secret, and that nothing in this world would give him more pleasure than to see her united to his worthy friend. The girl had barely made reply to this; her mind was dazed by the strangeness of her po- sition, and she paid but little heed to the words of the. Italian. 5 | I l ‘ leave no stone unturned to rescue her from the 3 power of this dark adventurer and impostor. At last the Italian came again, accompanied this time by three others. \Vith careful steps the four descended the ladder into the cellar, closing the trap—door after them. First the greasy colonel, and than two strangers, muffled up as if they wished to disguise their persons, brought up the rear. The Italian opened the door of the girl‘s prison—pen, and the heart of Frank sunk Within her as she looked upon the dark figure; she fully realized that a crisis in her life was at hand. The Italian took the lantern from its book and placed it upon the table. “This is my dear child,” he said, pathetical- ly, “my long—lost daughter, my Francesca! who from me a long time has been separated. But what of that? lVe are together at last, and we are happy! And what joy it is to my heart, too, when I find that she and my be- loved my noble friend, ze Colonel Frascati— love one another with all ze tenderness of their young hearts. Ze colonel, he say to me, ‘No- ble friend, I your fair child love! give her to me that in my heart she may bloom and flourish like ze green bay tree!’ I say, ‘With all my soul! there is no man on ze top of this earth to whom I would rather give my child!’ and so zc matter is settled. Francesca, my child, this is ze priest, good Farder Michael; he will perform z~: ceremony that will give you to my noble friend forever; and this gentleman is kindly come to witness that ze affair is all correct and legal according to 29 law. You are one great heiress, my child, and we must not have any doubt in regard to your marriage. Farder,” and he turned to the taller of the two strangers, “be you a- pleased to commence when you are ready; colonel, my son, stand forward.” The fat Italian advanced with a smirk upon his fat face. The girl had listened to all this like one un- der the influence of some horrible spell; a hap— less bird fascinated by a creeping serpent might have stared as she stared with strained eyes upon the actors in this strange scene. But when the fat and ruffianly Italian ad— vanced toward her, evidently intending to take her hand, with a sudden thrill she rec0v- ered the use of her voice. “that do you interd to do with me?” she demanded. The eyes of the Italian flashed: he saw that the girl intended to resist. “ Unite you in marriage to this noble gentle— man, my child,” he answered, smoothly. “ No, no! i will not corsent. He is a stran- ger to me; I do not know anything about him; the law will never sanction such a terrible out- rage! Oh, gentlemen! I appeal to you!” and she extended her hands wildly toward the s rangers. “Bah, nah! hush you up your tongue!" cried the ‘talian, sternly. “You are my child; I know what is best for you. These gentlemen understand all about it. It is my right to marry you to whoever I please; it does not matter whether you like it or not. Take her hand, colonel, and we will proceed with ze ceremony. ” But at this critical moment within the heart of the weak girl was infused the courage of despair. “ I will not consent!” she cried, wildly. “ I do not believe that you are my father! and, even if you were, there is no law, human or divine, that gives you the right to force me into a marriage from which my soul recoils. I will not submit; and you, sir, if you are a priest, you surely will not take part in this outrage! I am a prisoner here, forcibly abducted by this man, and the law will yet punish him for the crime!" “ Bah, bah!” cried the adventurer in con— tempt, “ you talk too much with your mouth. I am your farder and ‘ have ze right to do with you as I like. Both these gentlemen under- stand all about that. You are a foolish little child! you do not know What is good for you, but I, your farder, do. It- does not matter whether you consent, or not; we can get along Without that; you had best submit q'iietly, else I shall be obliged to tie up your pretty hands and mouth. You need not say one single word; we can marry you and you can keep your mouth shut l” “ Oh, gentlemen, for heavn‘s sake save me from this dreadful man!” pleaded the girl in agony. But, what were idle words and tears weighed against the heavy stake for which the unscru- pulous Italian played? “Come, come! we do lose much time!” he exclaimed, impatiently. “Colonel, my noble friend, step you a-forward and take ze lady’s hand, and, good farder, out with your book and proceed with the ceremony. It is all right! I give my consent, and that is all that is need- all” A second step forward the Italian colonel took. The girl reeoiled in horror; the dark— bearded priest produced his book, the adven— turer, his eyes sparkling joyfully in anticipa— taon, rubbed his hands gleefully together. At last he saw success about to crown his efforts. And then, at this very moment of victory, there came a sudden change in the current of affairs. ' A powerful blow, deftly given, knocked the lantern off the table, breaking the glass into fifty pieces, instantly extinguishing the light; then came a sudden yell that told only too well of mortal agony, followed ,by the sounds of a violent struggle, and all this in the black Egyp- tian-like darkness. The girl, had shrunk back against the wall at the commencement of this fearful scene, horror-stricken. Only a few seconds did the struggle last; and then it was followed by the sound of hurried footsteps retreating from the little room. The girl, every sense on the alert, heard the footsteps upon the rude ladder and saw the gleam of light which came from the room above as the trap—door opened; she saw the light obscured for a moment as the men clam- bered into the room above; then all was still. Frank felt that she was alone~alone with the dead; some terrible tragedy had trans- pired in the dark, but the way of escape was open to her and she at once hastened to avail herself of it. No hand was outstretched to detain her as she hurried from her prison—cell, ascended the ladder, pa~sed through the room above into the entry—the door was unlocked—and out into the street. The sign upon the lamp-post at the corner told her where she was, and within fif- teen minutes she was again safe at home. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TRUE HEIR. IN busy conversation with the old lady and Mr. Craige, Frank found the head of the pri- vate inquiry office, Pendalmock, and after the Bouquet Girl had told the strange story of her abduction and wonderful escape, Pendalmock proceeded to business. He had shrewdly guessed that the lady who had employed him to gain information about the birth and early history of the baby girl left to the care of the Jersey lawyer, Lysander Limowell, was the party in question herself, and therefore was not surprised at encountering her in the old tenement-house. This was his second visit to Mrs. O‘Hoolihan. From that lady, on his first visit, he had ex— torted but little information, simply because the woman knew but very little about the mat- ter, and she was completely astonished when she found that the Bouquet Girl was the baby whom she had left to the care of the old color- ed woman in New Jersey, years before. When Frank had fled from Limowell‘s persecutions. she had two objects in view, the first, to escape from the attentions of the drunken old scamp; second, to find her Childhood’s companion Fran- cesca, the daughter of Decetra, who had fled from home to he married to James Ronnells, and who would, she felt sure, in time have cause to regret her secret union. And now to recall the mystery of the dark hair and light which had perplexed both the lawyers and Limowell. Frank, flying in haste from the old scamp’s persecutions, felt sure that he would leave no stone unturned to find her, as he had often threatened, and so, when she reached the city she had had her own light looks cut short and purchased a black Wig, which, as she was care- ful to always cover with a handkerchief when engaged in her avocation as a flower-girl, de— fied detection. Two separate lives the girl led; in the day- time with her Own hair, carrying a basket of laces, she diligently traversed the streets of the great city, going from house to house, intent upon finding the lost girl. At night, as the flower-girl, disguised by the wig, she haunted the ferries. And so she earned her bread and at the same time kept up her search; but as in this world we often stumble by chance upon the thing we search for in vain, so Frank, learn- ing that there was a sick girl living upon the upper floor of the house, in need of assistance, and going thither to tender it, discovered that the sufferer was the’companion of her child hood. And thus she had happened to twice encoun- ter the lawyer, Captain Jack; the first time in the entry of the old house, the second time when she had gone to the office of Benarding and Britman with the intention of discovering who James Ronnells was, little thinking that she should walk into Leipper’s presence. We have stated that Mrs. O’Hoolihan was astonished, and so she was when she discovered that Frank was the child whom she had given to the old colored woman, long ago. The aged dame had believed that Mrs. O’Hoolihan would recognize her at once, but the rather dull-Wit- ted Irish woman had never thought of it. But all was clear now; Francesca, the heir, was dead, and James Ronnells, the man who had betrayed her, was Jack Leipper, the law- yer! Time in its flight had revenged the wrong; had the villain cherished the flower he had won, the old coufectioner’s fortune would have come to him beyond a doubt, through his wife. But Frank, with a wonderful likeness to the Vendotena family—who was she? Mrs. O’Hoolihan could not tell; her husband had brought home the baby one night and had given it into her charge, telling her that the infant would bring them in a deal of money some day, and had instantly packed them both off to the country as if he feared pursuit. Mrs. O’Hoolihan’s husband was not as honest a man as he might have been. From the country Mrs. O’Hoolihan was hur- riedly summoned back to New York to attend to her husband, he having received a severe wound in a night brawl. From the effects of the wound he died, and his last words were—“ See Pat Casey about that baby; it’ll be money in your pocket!” But Mr. Patrick Casey, a great chum of O’Hoolihan‘s, and a gentleman well known to the police, was not to be seen just then, as he had been obliged to flee to parts unknown on account of a certain affray resulting in the loss of life, in which he had played a prominent part; and so, Mr. Casey never happening to come across Mrs. O’Hoolihan’s track, the whole affair had slipped from her mind. In possession of these facts, added to the knowledge that Mr. Casey was at present so- journing at Sing Sing under a life sentence for murder, the way was clear to the detec— tive. He visited Sing Sing and interviewed Ca- sey. “Yes,” that worthy did remember some- thing about the affair. “My Wife lived in the same house with the mother of the child; she was sick—the mother I mean—and my wife nursed her a bit, and she told my Wife that she must take care of the baby if she— the baby’s mother, you know—should happen to die suddenly, for that her father-in-law would give a good deal of money for it, some time. Vl’ell, she did die, and my woman snatched the kid, thinking as how we’d make a strike outen it, but, bless you! we never heerd nothing about it.” “And the name of the mother?” Pendal- mock asked. “ A furren name, Von—something.” “ Vendotena?” “ Co-reck, governor; Deceiver Vendotena, or something like that.” All was plain now; a second child had been born to the deserted mother, and by a strange chapter of accidents fate had carried it to the house of its relative to be reared. And so, in the death of the direct heir, the Bouquet Girl was likely to come in for the property, after all. But “riches have wings,” they say, and in this case of the half a million it proved to be the truth, for the morning newspapers the next day in startling “ head-lines ” told of the failure and flight of the daring speculator, Mortimer Taxwill, esquire; and in his fall the unscrupulous seeker after wealth had dragged down many innocent victims. Old Vendotena-‘s fortune had been nearly all invested in government bonds, and Taxwill, skillful and shrewd, and fully trusted by his brother-executor, had contrived to lose about half of the estate in his gigantic speculations, and finding that there was a likelihood of the heir appearing, and his executorship being called into question,,coolly helped himself to the rest and fled beyond the seas, never to re— turn. Like the monkey in the fable, in order to i settle the dispute he had eaten the oyster him— self and left the shells for the contending par~ ties. Little, though, did either the Bouquet Girl or her lover, Craige, care: they had never set their minds upon the vast sum, and so they bore their disappointment cheerfully. Abandon ng the stage life, the young man sought again the quiet country home, the little farm, where his mother resided, and which he had forsaken to win the laurel crown of fame. The Bouquet Girl he carried with him as his happy wife. He had learned the lesson that contentment is better than riches, and that the certain gains, though small, of the tiller of the soil, are often to be preferred to the golden prospects of a professional life. \Vhen the people of the Italian house, at- tracted by the open doors, penetrated to the cellar. they found the noble colonel bound hand and foot, and the adventurer, Antonio Vendotena, stone dead, with a dagger through his heart. The brothers of the Carbonari, with their long arm of vengeance, had reached clear across the ocean and stricken the traitor who had betrayed the cause of liberty. Avise Winne still bewitches the public eyes and charms the dollars from the public pock- ets, but great as are her gains, she would give them all for one little hour of the peaceful joy which dwells forever in the heart of the Bouquet Girl. THE END. NEXT WEEK! MR. ALBIGR'J.‘ W. AIKEN’S GOLD DALN! THE BABY. The hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rocks the world; But the man that wakes the baby . Will get his ear-lock curled. —[New York Hail. The man who owns the baby, If he‘s any sense at all, Will himself arise and soothe it When it first begins to sqruall. —[Aew York Times. The man who wakes the baby By blundering in at night, Deserves a equally lecture On the text of getting tight. —[ The New Era The man who rocks the baby On very squall nights, Is he whose wife 5 the lady That shouts for woman’s rights. —[Philo,delphéa Press. The man who wheels the baby In its coach around the square, Is a. very model husband, So most wives declare. —[Balfimore Town and Country. The man who drops the baby “Kerchunk " upon the floor, To surprise his little lady, Had better hunt the door. —[ Columbia Herald. The man who takes the baby To Barnum‘s moral shew Thinks it wicked to visit such places, But the baby wants to go. ~[IIaw/l‘eye. A man with his first baby, Oh, isn’T he awful vain! But when it comes to ten in ten years His “ feelinks “ who can explain? A Womag’s Hand; HIE MYSTERY 0F MEREDITH PLACF. BY SEELEY REGESTER, CHAPTER XXIII.—-CONTINUED. WAS the mystery unvailedf—how fared she whom I loved! But why pause for such ques- tioning, when here, at last, was the little gate, the modest we. leading up to the White cot- atafige, and I had ut to knock, enter, and learn 9 You all know what it is to hesitate on the brink of certainty. The shade had not been dropped over the front window of the small parlor. I shall be ardoned when I confess that once more I ac the part of spy, so far as to glance within before venturing so much. There was no light in the room, exce t the glow of an open fire, which the chill of t e autumn evening made articularly pleasant. She was there—no one e se. She sat in her little rocker beside the hearth, her eyes watchin the castles rising and falling in the coals, her 0 eek flushed with the heat and rosy li ht of the fire, her hair glittering in waves 0 gold and brown— the somber black dress making her fairness and youth all the more apparent. She could not be married to Don Miguel, or she would not be here alone, and dressed in mourning! Silentl I opened the entry-door, softly I step orward into the rosily dim room: “” ou called me, cousin Lillian, and here I She turned, with a little cry, and when she saw me standing there, did not stir or speak for a lon minute. “ ou sent for me, Lily?” “ Yes, I did. Oh, Joe, I am so glad you have cor‘ll% ’7 d , ‘ ou on tappear ver lad.” She arose, holding out hi? hand. “You astonished me so much,” she said, and then I saw that she was quite pale, but as I pressed her hand the color came back to her face—neither of us knew just What to say. “ Oh, cousin,” began Lily a second time, but broke down and began to sob. “What is it?” I asked, gently; I Wished to draw the fair head to my shoulder to kiss away the tears, but I had no right— should not have done it With a cousin’s love, and she looked upon me only with that affection. “ It is all discovered,” she exclaimed—“ I have so much to tell you.” “The figure eight?’ “ Oh no, not that. I expect I must teach school forever, Joe. But that is nothin . Did you know that Arthur Miller was dead?’ “ I know nothing of what has happened since I wrote that letter.” “Sit down, Joe; I will tell you all.” She drew a chair beside her own. She did not think to ask if I were hungry or thirsty, or to H ht.the lamps. What was in her heart found voice, and I, in listening, was unconscious of anything but the strange, surprising story. My cry of horror when she came to the supper- taulfisgene, czfised her to ask: 1 you an, never sus t her durin all your watch fulness ?” pee g f‘I did and did not. I could not help it, and still I fougljilt ainst the evidence of m own senses.” d t en I told her how I ha seen Inez meet Arthur at the gate that stormy sum- mer night, and the shock I had experienced to realize that she "or are these shoes wer With which she followed my poor (unclg’slgody," was carrying on a flirtation with this gay young man. I told her of the love-philtcrs of clay own suspicions of Miss Miller from the first XPoor Annie,” sighed Lillian; “ you were as unjust to her as others were to you. Her worst fault was to love my father—to expect to be— come his wife. She Is arm is, I know; ambi- tious, I know; suspicious 0 others, because her life of self-dependence has made her so; she (lid not like you, cousin Joe. She did wish her bro- ther to marry me, and after she had discovered his guilt, she could not at once denounce him. But I love her—she is my best friend—mv second mother—and oh, J 09, she has suffered so much and changed so much, you would hardly recog— nize her. ” K “I am sure she has my full for iveness for any ill—will she has cherished towar me." “She regrets it DOW," said Lily, softly. I told her, too, about the handkerchief and key. She informed me that Miss Miller had picked up the key from the floor of the upper all where some one had dropped it, and thought it best to say nothing about it, while making every effort to discover the box or the loser of the key. As to the handkerchief, she had gone. almost as quickly as the nature of Dr. Meredith’s death was revealed, to the la boratorv to examine for herself the shelf with winch she was nearly as familiar as the Doctor had been. There was a drop of acid on the out— side of the bottle, which she had wiped off with her handkerchief, which she afterward dropped; but, being unable to recover it, said but little about it, knowing how liable all were to suspi- cion upon the smallest evidence, under the cir- cumstances. Her reason for never betraying her knowledge that Inez had carried the wine to the Doctor, was her reluctance to involve the young wife in danger, unless she was actuallv guilty of his death, and upon this point her conv1ctions changed and wavered. In the first place, she esteemed it incredible that In-ez could execute so daring a deed, even if capable otherwise of the crime; and as, by watching and observation of the strictest kind, she satis— fied herself that Mrs. Meredith knew nothin of the missing box, she persuaded herself cit or that the Doctor, learning somethinrr perhaps very bad with regard to his wife, ha commlt— ted suicide, or that I, or some other enemy, for some unknown purpose, had contrived his death foWlunder or revenge. hen she found that Inez was going to Gram’— me Hooker’s for love- owders, and that she was foolishly infatuate with Arthur, a com- rehension began to dawn on her, of the mingled 'olly i norance, and superstition to which the us nd had fallen a victim. Still, she would not denounce her, without further proof especially at the critical time when Ar- thur had become involved in the rob ; but after his cruelly sudden death, she won] have made known all she sus acted or had over- heard, in order to clear 1115 memory from the stain of murder. Illness prevented this being done on the instant; meantime, it worked on her sick fancy, until it came about that she did in her somnambulic condition, what she ha intended, with more effectiveness than she could have done it waking. Inez’ guilty con- science could not withstand the soul-glance of the sleeper, and she fell. 1 “ Since then,” Lillian concluded, “Annie has been slow] recovering from the exhausting effects of a this excitement. The peo le show her every attention; feeling that her rother’s death was too great a punishment for his sin, they try to atone to her as far as possible b ' lamhi kindness upon her. She stays Wit me; an has been almost well to-day. She just retired to her room before you came. And now,” with a smile, “I behave the good vil- lagers are only anxious to atone to you for their rsecutions. I’Ve no doubt they will make ampton a very agreeable place to ou.” “It may be,” I said; “but it w' take more resolution than I possess to enable me to stay here.” “IVhy?” she ueried, innocently; I thought, too, she looked ‘sappomted. “Are you teaching?" I asked, answering her question with another. “Oh, es. We are doing very nicely, too. When M ss Miller gets able to take her share of the responsibility, all will be well; I would not be idle for anything,”—sad.ly. - “Dil the shocking discovery of Inez’ ilt break off the match between you and Don Iig- uel?” I asked, present] *, trying very hard to make m ' voice natur and careless, but jerk- ing out t e words with a ridiculous hoarseness. he looked into mine with those blue, beauti- ful e tes— “ e were never enga ed. He is 8. 00d man, though; and I hope 6 will come bac to New York and marry Sophie. She loves him, and I could not.” “Why?” I asked bluntly; “he had every quality to render you happy. You will never have another such a chance, Lily.” “ Well, I am in no haste to marr .” She said this with great dignity, liftin the proud little head. and darting1 a lance 0 fire at me; but the next moment er ip trembled, and she turned toward the hearth to hide her face from me. I never knew whether it was the flash of pride, or the tremble of her lips, which be- trayed her secret to me. I only asseverate that I never before had suspected it—no, not once. Now, I saw it plainly, all of a sweet, blinding sudden. The blood rushed hotly to my cheeks, warm tears rose and dimmed my eyes; I took no thought of what 1 did or said, but leaned forward, crying—“ Lily! Lily!” She turned to me, reading all the meani in my voice, and not daring to look up, sai archly: “Cousin Joe, there are none so blind as those who will not see.” “ Darling Lily," I answered, leaping from my chair, and dragging her up too, for I had seized her hand, “if you really mean that, put your arms about me this moment, look me in the eyes and say it again.” Of course the shy c ild wouldn’t put her arms about such a bear as I had grown, but she looked in my eyes, after a. time, and I saw into her soul, as into a well, and myself at the bottom of it. And how long we might have stood there in a heavenly rapture, such as is only allowed us once on earth, I knew not. Moments fled into a sweet, swift hour—and then the old house- keeper came in with a lamp, and I dropped Lily’s nestling hand, trying to look like a stranger and a traveler, instead of an angel just out of Paradise. “My sakes, so your cousin‘s come, has he? I’m right glad on’t, for you’ve nigh about looked your eyes out. Why didn’t you tell me, Miss Lily, so’s I might be makin’ a cup 0’ tea. Railway travelers is mostly beat out at the end 0’ their journey.” “Time enou~ h yet,” I answered, gayly—and Biddy made t e tea, and Lillian went with me to the dining-er and poured it out for me, and I sip d I knew not what of ambrosia, the drink of t e gods, while her eyes lighted the table and her sweet face beamed on me as I felt that it was evermore to beam—blessed be His name who made my Lily to bloom, and me to gather its sweetness. CHAPTER XXIV. THE FIGURE EIGHT. IT was on one of the sweetest and last of May days that I walked with Lillian, arm-in—arm, toward Meredith Place—Lillian Meredith still but Lillian, m wife! A , that mornin we had gone to the v' ao’e churc and been ma 6 one in the presence of the whole townshi , all wishing us joy as heartily as ever bride an groom were wished it, and with a sort of affectionate en- thusiasm, too: for that reaction of which I have spoken had set in, in my favor, from the moment it was known that I had returned to Hampton. Everybody had sought to atone for the bad things he or she had said about me; and it being found, on trial, that I was really a thoroughly- bred physician, no sooner did I choose my office and put my name on the door, than old ladies began to consult me about their neuralgias, and young mothers about their teeth—cuttmg babies, and I grew, in an incredibly short cc of tune (owi v to a lack of competition an _ the grand law 0 compensations) into that env1ed and en- viable being, the popular young doctor. Then Hampton took a start to gr0w about that time, the influx of strangers the prevmus sum- mer proving eatly to its advantage, as callmg attention to tire fact that it was one of the most charming spots outside of New York. .1; If E is .