ie

 

 

2

keeper ; all the young girls envied her. She did
aot dislike the idea of being her own mistress.
Mrs. Hope had always been very strict with her;
the cottage, moreover, was a pretty home; an
then Paul loved her so—oh, how dearly he loved
her! She was very young to marry, but Mrs.
Hope seemed to think that did not matter.

“T shall die easier, child, whenmy turn comes,”
she said, “if I haye left you in the charge of a
good man.”

Would she ever have a chance of doing better?
It did not seem probable. ;

The inhabitants of Ashburnham were quiet, pro-
saic people; they admired her bright beauty, but
they were not of the kind wno, “looking in a fair
face, forget the whole world.” The young squires
and farmers, with most laudable intentions, al-
ways, to use their own expression, ‘‘married
money ;” they admired pretty faces, but they re-
quired something more. The men who looked
up to her with keenest. admiration were not men
whose poms had any attractions for her.

She thought long and seriously over the mat-
ter. There were many old maids in Ashburn-
ham, and to Ismay, so bright and beautiful, so
full of vitality, their lot seemed almost unendura-
ble. Then few strangers ever came to Ashburn-
ham. She might spend her life there, and never
have another offer of marriage so good as this.

It was a prosaic way of looking at the matter.
She repeated the question to herself—should she
ever do better? ot there, in that quiet little
town; it was not probable. So, one bright sum-
mer morning Ismay became Paul Waldron’s wife,
and he took her home to bis pretty cottage.

CHAPTER IT.
THE HUSBAND'S QUESTION.

Paul Waldron had won the girl he loved; fora
few weeks he was perfectly happy, and then
clouds, light as the breath of the summer wind,
came over his sky. ;

He thought his forest home so beautiful. He
was so content with it that he wondered his wife
was not the same. She was always asking bim
about the great world, longing to be in the midst
of it, and he could not understand her.

‘I have no, desire for life, Ismay, outside my
own home. Why are you ever wishing for
change ?”

He was too earnest even to understand her
lighter nature; her wonderful beauty had so
completely charmed him that he could not see
her deficiencies of character. Her discontent
troubled him; it seemed to him a want of leve—
and yet she must, she did love him. eae

They had been married a year when their little
child was born, and Paul thought Ismay would
grow more content then. She loved the child
very dearly, but not with the passionate devotion
some mothers give to their children., She was
not a heroine; she would never have been a mar-
tyr; but she was wondrously lovely, gifted with
marvelous grace, and Paul Waldron loyed her.

Asmay Waldron was far from faultless She
longed withthe whole strength of her soul for
wealth. She envied those who were rich and pow-
erful. She was worldly in her way, ambitious, and
always craving for one thing, riches. Yet she was
amiable and gentle, with a sweet, caressing man-
ner that was both irresistible and charming. She
was vain of her own beauty. She:would look at
her face in the mirror, and say to herself:

“Mrs. Schofield is not half so fair, and yet she
is the wife of a rich squire, and wears jewels and
satins. They tell me some of the greatest ladies
in the land are plain of face.. Yet beauty is a

ower. It wo Paul’s love for me—what would

not win for me if [ went into the world where
men pay such homage to it ?”

The little cottage that Paul had taken such
pains to make beautiful and pleasant seemed so
insignificant in her eyes. She disliked the daily
duties that should have been so welcome to her.

“J do wish, Paul, that I had a servant to do this
for me,” she would say. i :

And then Paul, against his better judgment,
found a servant to relieve her of the greater part
ef her work. Perhaps that was one of the most
unfortunate things he could have done. No one
can be really unhappy or discontented who is
constantly employed. Ismay had ample time
now for her dreams and fancies.

Yet, despite all, she loved Paul; and she valued
his love. She appre ‘iated his entire devotion.

“Tf I were to ask him to give me his life,” she
said to herself, with a complacent smile, ‘the
would do it.”

She had yet to learn that men of Paul Wal-
dron’s stamp held many things dearer than life.

Their child grew and throve. The beautiful
summer came round; the world was all fair and
bright, the flowers were in bloom, and the birds
singing gayly in the trees. There were times
when the young man forgot the light shadow on
his home, forgot that his beautiful wife was vain
and discontented, forgot everything except the
heaven of beauty around him, and the heaven
that shone in her face; and then he wondered at
his own happiness, and was lost when he tried to
thank Heaven for it. 4

One night he came home looking so unusually
pleased that Ismay asked him the cause.

“T have been working out one of my ideas,” he
replied. “I have said nothing to you, Ismay,
but here is the result of some weeks’ diligent ap-
plication.” ;

He showed her the model of a steam-engine,
into which he had introduced an improvement so
great that, if adopted, it would lead to important
results. She took up the model carelessly, as
though it wereatoy. | :

“T will show you the improvement—I will ex-
plain it, Ismay.” ; ¢
; Ragen at him with a pretty expression of

right.

“Nay, donot explain, Paul. Iam not quick to
understand. Things of that kind do not interest
m >

 

 

e.
iis face fell. His sensitive nature always
shrank from such careless words. é

“Fiverything that interests me should interest
you, Ismay.” he observed, half-sorrowfully, but
she did not even hear the words.

“And from this may spring a fortune!” she
said, musingly. “Ah, Paul, Paul, make haste!
Time is flying. We grow older every day, and
youth is the season for enjoyment. ake haste!
work hard!”

He looked earnestly at her.

soy by do you long so for wealth, Ismay ?” he
asked.

*“‘Because of the pleasure and luxury it will
bring,” she replied, promptly, yet with a smile
that disarmed all anger. _

“Can I not make you believe, sweet, how many
things there are to be preferred to mere money-—
health, for instance? Of what use would all the
wealth in the world be if you were ill ?” i

- “J understand all that,” she interrupted, im-
patiently. ;

“‘Acain, money could not buy such loveas mine,
sweet—so true, sotender! Nor could money buy
anything one half so precious as that little darl-
ing playing there.”

“T understand all that,” she repeated.

“Suppose you had to choose between me and
wealth, Ismay—which would fee. prefer ?””

_ “What idle words!” she exclaimed, half-laugh-

ngly.

“But you do not answer them, sweet. Which
would you prefer ?” .

She looked up at him witha half-startled glance.

“How could such a State of things be?” she
asked. ‘‘How could you and wealth be rivals in
my estimation ?”

“That could never be, of course,” he replied. “I
am merely supposing such a case.”

He never forgot the hour and the words. They
had wandered down to the brook-side, and sat
watching the sunset. By Ismay’sside gr-wa
jarge bush of southernwood, and as they talked
she crushed the leaves in her hands. To the last
ay of his life Paul Waldron associated all his
sorrows, joys, love, and pains with, the perfume
ef southernwood. ;

“You have not answered me,” he persisted.

“T cannot,” she said, laughing; “I have not
your faculty for supposing cases. { have not the
gift of putting myself in other people’s places,
and trying to imagine what I should do”

“But, Ismay, the question is so ove you can-
not puzzle long over it. If you had to choose
between money and me, which would you prefer?”

“Such a thing can never be,” she replied; “wh
try tomake me solvea problem that life will
never offer tome? Ihave read somewhere that
people never have the one thing they want—l
shall never have a fortune. ’

“Is a fortune your highest ambition ?” he asked,
impatiently.

“It is the ambition of most men,” she replied.
“They toil for it all day, they dream of it all
night, they give up peace and love for it, they
sacrifice honor, truth, and principle to obtain it;

some of them are willing even to sell their souls
in order to winit. If Ido long for a fortune, I
am. only like the rest.”

He looked terribly disappointed.

“Phere is nothing in the world you would pre-
fer to me?” he questioned. ;

And then she detected his anxiety, and laughed
again.

“You want pretty compliments, Paul. Suppose
that I refuse to givathem. Is there anything on
éarth that wives prefer to their own husbands ?”

love and tenderness; he could not look at that
most fair faceand think the heart beneath it
anything but pure. He bent down and kissed it.

“Do not think I doubted you, m panling: I
would as soon doubt the mercy of Heaven. Itis
not that, but, when a man’s heart lies in the hol-
low of a woman’s hand—when his life lies at her
feet—when every hopeof his existence is centered
in her—is it strange that he should try at times
to measure her love for him ?”

The passion of his words—the love in his face
-_the unutterable tenderness of his manner—
touched her deeply. She flung away the bruised
and broken sprays of southernwood, and clasped
her hands round his neck.

“No one could ever love me as you do, Paul,”
she said.

And he was happy with unutterable content.
Life held much that was sad and much that was
pleasant for him, but he never forgot that even-
ing by the brook-side.

 

CHAPTER IV.
AN INTERESTED STRANGER.

Another month passed; the beauty of. the sum-
mer deepened, the corn was growing ripe in the
fields, the crimson roses contrasted with the cool
white lilies, the fruit hung rich and mellow on the
trees, while Ismay Waldron still looked with
longing eyes toward the world that she wished
to enter. Shestill gave every thought to the one
master passion of her nature. In vain the ring-
doves cooed, and the lark soared high with its
triumphant pong in vain the flowers bloomed,
and her pretty ¢ 1ild stretched out his little hands
to her. She was always thinking, always dream-
ing of that possible future wherein Paul might
pom rich, and every desire of her heart be grat-
ifie

She had ceased to wonder about her mother;
all the romantic visions that she had once woven
faded into obscurity; her life seemed planned and
arranged; nothing could alter it, She was Paul
Waldron’s wife, and she loved him. She wished
for no greater love than his; but, if Paul could
give her wealth, if he could surround her with
the luxury she loved—ah, then all would be well!

Once—and Ismay never forgot it—she went to
the Manor House; there was a grand fete to be
given to the tenantry, and Paul for the occasion
had bought his beautiful young wife a dress of
white muslin, with bright ribbons. When she
had put it on, with a flower in her hair, she looked
so lovely that he was staitled at her beauty. She
read his adiniration in his eyes.

“You will own,” she said, “that dress makes
some little difference. Ah, Paul, if I had but
jewels and rich dresses, such as ladies wear!”

“You would not look more beautiful, Ismay.
Now you gladden my heart, then you would glad-
i other eyes, and I should not be so happy,

ove.” .

Ismay never forgot that day. She looked round
the magnificent rooms—on the pictures, the sta-
tues, the superb hangings, the furniture, the rare
flowers—and her whole heartached with longing.
She looked on the faces of the ladies—some of
them county leaders of fashion—and she saw
none that could be compared with her own. She
watched the hundred evidenees of wealth, and
her yery soul seemed on fire with the eagerness
of her wishes.

“Why isthere naught for me?” she said to
herself. “Why should others have money, lux-
ury, and splendor, while I, who am fairer than
they, must pase my life in a lonely cottage,
counting each shilling as IT spend it?” ge

She saw the glances of admiration cast upon
her; she heard one ask another, “Who is that
beautiful girl ?” anc her vanity was flattered. If
so plainly attired, she conld produce this marked
sensation, what would she not do when magnifi-
cently dressed ?

In the midst of her excitement and pleasure
she-could not refrain from noticing one thing—
among all the crowd of men there was not one
who cin fee in appearance her husband Paul.
It was the first time she had mixed in society, or
had seen what is commonly called the world.
She had imagined that all those who bore noble
names would carry the impress of those names
on face and figure. Here were lords, baronets,
and esquires, but she saw among them no face
more noble than Paul’s, no figure more manly;
she heard no yoice with so true a ring, she saw
no smile so luminous and frank.

“He is one of Nature’s noblemen,” said the
young wife to herself. and her heart grew warm
as she looked at him. She had thought that
among people so greatly above him in position
he would perhaps show some shy embarrassment
or confusion; but on his frank, noble face there
was no trace of either.

* -There’s somewhat in this world amiss
Shall be unriddled by-and-by,? *

said Ismay to herself, as she watched him. ‘Tf
it were not so, Paul would occupy one of the
ca places these men cannot fill so worthily as
e.”
She saw gentlemen of position talking to him,
seemingly deeply interested in his conversation.
She noticed another thing—his loye was like a
watehful presence round her; he never forgot
her; he seemed to be always thinking of her
comfort, of what she would like; and again the
young wife said to herself:
“No one could ever love me as Paul does.”
There came over her a vague kind of wonder
as to what she would do without his love. She
might as well be without food to eat, fresh air to
breathe. Life without Paul’s love! She smiled
to herself at the idea, and he, watehing her from
a distance, came to ask her why she smiled. She
looked with frank, sweet eyes into his face.
“T was thinking what the world would be like
to me without you,” he replied, ‘and I cannot
realize it.’’
“Heaven grant that you never may, sweet! I
shall never know what the world is without you,
for [could not live if I lost you.”
The time came when they both remembered
those words.
So the struggle went on in her mind—the pas-
sionate longing, the eager wishes, the thirst for
pleasure, the craving for wealth, doing battle al-
ways with the love of husband and child and the
spirit of content.

She had longed for fortune, and it was coming
to her; she longed for power and position, it was
to be hers; but she was unconscious of it, and
said to herself at times that her life would be
spent in dreams.

One morning she sat in the garden making a
faint ian at work, but the needle had fallen,
and the white hands lay listless and still. She
sat under the shade of a huge elm tree. and the
sunbeams falling through the green leaves were
like a halo around her, heightening her marvelous
beauty. She was engrossed in her day-dream of
that golden future, when the little maid-servant
oa. to tell her that a gentleman wished to see

ner.

She rose hastily, a crimson flush on her fair
face. A gentleman to see her! Who could it be?

Before she had time to ask the question, she
saw a gentleman entering through the garden
gate. He advanced toward her and bowed.

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Wal-
dron ?” he asked.

He was so different from the people she had
passed her life among that she blushed and hesi-
tated. She could not help notieing that the stran-
ger was watching her intently, and that his eyes
lingered on her face with an interest that was not
curiosity; he was studying every feature, and
es she spoke he listened eagerly te every
word.

“T must apologize,” he said, “for intruding,
but the garden gate was open, and I saw you
here. Time is very precious with me. I thought
you would pardon me if I followed the maid.”

She looked at him as though she would fain ask
him who he was; but at that moment the stran-
ger’s gaze fell on the lovely little boy who was
playing on the grass. Suddenly a change came
over his face; he madea hurried step, and then
stood still.

“Is that your child—your son—Mrs. Waldron?”
he asked, eagerly.

“Yes,” she replied; “that is my baby boy.”

“T am very fond of children,” said the stranger;
“will you let me nurge him ?”

 

 

 

The eyes raised to his were beautiful in their }.

aay

He took the child in his arms, and looked just
as intently in his face. .

‘“i¢ is a noble boy,” he said, ‘‘a princely child.
What s i:is name, Mrs. Waldron ?”

She forgot the irregularity of the interview in
her delight at the gentleman’s admiration.

‘His name is Lionel,” she replied; ‘‘we call him
Leo. His father wished him to take my name,
but I would not consent.” ,'

“Your name mustbe a ae iar one if you could
ere it td a boy,” he said; and,if Mrs. Waldron

ad looked more intently at him, she would have
sen that the subject was one of great moment
to him.

“My name isIsmay,” she said, and at the word
a strange flash of delight came over the visitor’s
face; and then Mrs, Waldron seemed to remem-
ber ae she had not yet heard the reason of his
visit, ; eee

“Did you wish to see ae husband ?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, slowly. ‘My object in wait-
ing upon you is toask your permission to make
a sketch of this charming little cottage.”

Ismay looked up in delight. ; :

“A picture of my home,” she said. “I think
there can be no objection. Are you an artist ?”

The visitor smiled a strange, peculiar smile.

“Not by profession; but lam tondof drawing.’

Then, slowly, and with great art, he drew her
into conversation. He told her that he had heard
her history, and sympathized with her. He asked
her if she remembered anything of her life before
she came to Ashbu m. :

“I could not possibly remember,” she replied;
“T was but three years old. The only childis
memory I have is, strange to say, of my moth-
er’s ha r—beautiful, brown, waving hair—with
which I used to play. her face comes dimly be-
fore me at times. I remember nothing more.”

“You were three years old,” he said—“thow do
you know that ?”

‘T have heard Mus. Hopesay so,” she answered.
“When will you begin the sketch ?”

Here it suddenly struck Ismay that perhaps
Paul would not be pleased if he knew how long
this Stranger had been in the garden.

A slow smile spread over his face. Ashrewder
woman would have divined at once that he had
gone there for an object, and that the object was

 

attained. :

“With your permission, Mrs. Waldron, I will
ou in, and then we can arrange about the
sketch.”

After a few more complimentary words, the
stranger withdrew, leaving Ismay flattered, yet

uzzled. What an interest he had taken in her!

ow one he had been in her story, and how
pleased he had been with Leo! She sat dream-
ing under the elm tree, thinking of everything
that had been said, until the maid came again to
aecere aps her, and then she grew ashamed of her-
self.
' “How much thought I am giving to a stran-
ger!” she said. “It must be because I so seldom

see one.”
{T° BE CONTINUED }
(ep at ee

A LAST GOOD-BY.

BY BARBARA FAIRFAX,
——_

With tearful eyes and clinging hands
We stood—Floy Clyde ane I—

Upon the platform at the station,
Dreading the last good-by.

The train came slowly in, and stopped:
Floy sobbed, but could not speak;

" Good-by,”’ I said, and bending,

I kissed ber peachy cheek.

Chokiag back her sobs, she whispered:

’ “It is hard—this last good-by, ;

If we meet no more on earth, Janet,
May we meet at last en High.”,

The train moved noisily away;
It bore from-my side, —

My truest, dearest earthly friend,
Sweet, trusting Flay Clyde.

Two years later I saw her again,
But she lay ia death’s embrace;

There were fowers upon her eofiin,
And around her still, white face.

Upon her pallid feature dwelt i
A look of perfect rest.
Even the*ands looked peaceful,
Calmly folded o’er her breast.
I thought of our tearful parting—
Twas indeed a last good-by;
But she’s only gone before me,
To our home beyond the sky.

NORAH GLENN ;

-—— OR, —~
THE ROSE OF SLIGO.

By John F. Cowan,

Author of “O’CONNOR’S CHILD,” “CHARLEY
GALE’S PLUCK,” ete., ete.

 

 

 

 

 

(‘Norah Glenn” was commenced in No. 38. Back Nos. can be
obtained from’any News Agent in the United States.}

 

CHAPTER XVII.
‘t__Tjs tyranny breeds treason,
And makes the humble subject seize the sword.”
Moer’s TRAGEDY,

It was no wonder he was surprised, for his grasping
mind was already reveling in visions of wealth and
grandeur, built u fees and commissions, and all the
manifold peculations which the law allows.
“All the Highvale farms, madam ?’’ he repeated.
“All or none,’’ she said, with her eyes on Brett, who
was as much astonished as his prinéipal. ‘I khad.a great
desire to see Mr. Hansard, personally, and if you could let
me Know his whereabeuts—”’
“Tam extremely sorry, Madam, sor-ry!’’ said Winder,
nervously, for he trembled for his e¢hances of profit if the
principals should meet. ‘‘He has intrusted all these mat-
ters to me. As I sald before, the erratic captain may at
tue present moment be affiliating with polar bears and
walrusses in the frozen seas.”’
As he uttered the words Brett’s arm shot up above his
head, and the lady read npon the signal card:
“Frolic Hall, Fithian Townland, Mayo.”
In a minute she had plucked a small set of tablets anda
pencil from her reticule.
“Ten pounds a year, per acre?’ she said, coolly.
“Ten pounds,’ the agent.answered.
And the visitor wrote down, not the price per acre, but
the address in Mayo. She was about torise, but settled
herself again as if she had forgotten something.
‘If you wish to treat for the purchase of this property,’?
said Winder, “I shall be mest happy te wait upon you at
any time and place you may be pleased to appoint.”
“Tam but a poor lawyer myself,’ shesaid, ‘‘and under-
stana little about these affairs. Of course all is right, but
i suppose it would be only necessary that my atterney
should wait upon you in reference to tlie title,’
“Oh, certainly, my dear Madain,’’ said the amiable Win-
der, with a bland smile. ‘‘But the title is direct from
Squire Lysaugut to my client Hansard, straight as a pike
staff and as true as the first of Genesis,”’
“But is there no fear of difficulty ever this unexpired
lease of the Widow Glenu?’? she asked, with her bright
eyes straying between him and Brett.
‘“‘Not a particle—not-a-par-ticie.’’ he said, emphatically.
“The lease was already forfeited by arrearage. The poor
old woman hag left neither chick nor child to make a
trouble if they had a right.”?
“She had children. What became of them?’ sud-
denly asked the lady, with a glance of fire that would have
burned into a soul less hardened than that of the guilty
wretch before her, but it had no effect on him. In the
question he only saw the natural cautious curiosity of an
intending purchaser, and in his answer he enly thought
of proving to her the non-existence of tronblesome heirs.
“One of them died of consumption,” he said, with a
business-like calmness that shocked Brett and caused Cor-
ney’s eyes to glare savagely, for both remembered that it
was “nis very Wretched Winder’s merciless cruelty that
had killed poor Aileen.

“And the other? Where is she?’ said the lady, the
question springiug from her lips like a lance.

“You have probably heard of the catastrophe in which
she perished,’”? said Winder. ‘She was one of the unfor-
tunates who were burnt at the Sunken Ohapel, the same
night that Squire Lysaught lost his Hfe.?

The visitor did not heed his answer, for her eyes were
fastened on Brett with eager expectancy. The young man
was scrawling idly on a sheet before him, and a shade
fell upon the lady’s face as she saw that he made no sign
contradicting Winders words, and that the sheet of paper
was unlifted.

She arose quietly, said that she would call or send in a
day or two to see further about the property, and was
leaving the room, but turned abruptly in the doorway.

“Who holds the deed of Squire Lysaught conveying this
property to Hansard?”

“I do, leases and books and all,” said Winder, waving
his hand to a small iron safe in one corner of the office.

The eyes of his visitor rested on it for one moment, and
then repeating her ‘‘good day,’’ she passed out into the
street.

“Hey, Brett, my boy!’? cried Winder, jovially clapping
his assistant on the back, ‘‘let’s make it up. Here’s a
wiudfall, a chance of immense stakes, and we must work
together. What the duse! Don’t be sulky, when for-

 

tune’s smiling! Qut last venture was a failure, but this

 

shall pay for it. We've been tools of Hansard’s long
enough, let us now make a stroke for ourselves.”?

“All right—I'm in,’? said Brett.

‘‘Well said,’’ cried Winder. ‘Now follow her, and find
where she puts up. Too plumpa partridge to lose. Dll
go on with preparations, The game has changed, and, by
George, I must hurry to register that document before her
attorney begins his search.*’

Brett caught his hat and left the office.

‘‘You must induce that clerk to come to see me, Corney,”?
said the lady, when she aud her companion got to the
street.

“Injooce him, me lady! Say the word, and by the peak
of Benbo Ili carry him to ye by the scruff of the neck.’’

“No, you must coax him. He is already inclined in our
favor, though for what reason, except spite against his
miserable associate, | cannot tell.”

“Awh, my lady, who could help bein’ in yer favor;’?
suid Corney with rude, sheepish gallantry, ‘‘And ye
acied itoutso well. Nota bit of the Queenof England
could have done it betther, It’s well Looney christened
ye the Lady of Highvale, for ye desarve to Le the Lady of
the Tnree Kingdoms”? ; .

Before she could answer this high compliment she felt
a silgit, very slight touch on the arm, and a timid voice
whispered:

‘Miss Crofton!’

She turned with a quickness that ill suited her assumed
appearance of age, aud confronted Oscar Brett, rather
nervously.

“You know me, then??? she said.

“Only near the conclusion,’’ said the young man with a
blushing bow, ‘1 recognized your eyes and voice, and
wondered that I could ever have forgotten them,??

“Did he suspect me, also??? she asked.

“No. “Never dreamed of such a thing,’ said Brett
looking nervously behind him. “Too much elevated in
his Own conceit; too much blinded by his own cupidity.
He thinks there is a chance of a fortune: behind this
proposal of yours to buy these farms. He did intend to
cheat Hansard, but now he’ll cheat you, if you let him,
or both of you, ifhe can. Will you allow me to waik a
few rods with you, he is as cunning as Satan, and may be
watching us,”? : : =:

Miss Crofton resumed her way along the street, Brett
walking by her side, and Coruey Lafferty loitering be-
hind them. Brett after an awkward pause, continued:

‘He set me to watch you, to see your lodging-place,
because he is sO taken with this chance that he fears that
you will change your mind, slip through his fingers, as he
terms it. 1 thought I would speak to you, at the risk of
being repulsed, and tell you that you had a friend willing
LO assist you in your good projects,”’

“How do you know. whether my projects are good or
_ as she asked, with her great searching eyes looking

nto his. ;

“I know they cannot be bad,’? he said with some
hesitation, ‘I Saw you at the ejectment of the tenants.
Jt was the first time I had ever seen you, and then only
for an instant, but your whole soul was pictured in your
lace, and I felt abashed and mean to think that I, a
gentleman's son, had bent myseli as a cat’s-paw for such
contemptible work. I think that your present project is
for the relief Of those oppressed tenants, if so itis a work
ofmercy. Ifit is in favor of Mrs. Lysaught, to cancel the
deed that was wrung from her husband by threats, it is
an act of justice to the widow and Children, as well as a
kindness to the poor people, that this fellow tramples
upon.

“Tam thankful to you for your generous reading of my
motives,’’ Miss Crofton said. ‘But have younosuspicion
that there might me something of self, in this masquer-
ading action of mine??’

Brett looked up from the path to her face with a quick,

bright glance.

“No;’’ he said, “‘and even if there were, your. selfish-
ness would carry blessings with it, while theirs can never
be anything but a curse.’

“T am flattered,’’ she said, with something of a
suspicious sneer. ‘I am thankful to you, But, tell me,
sir. You said you did not see through my disguise until
near my departure from the office.”’

“Wot until your eyes flamed at his offer to turn out the
tenants in your behaif, aud you thanked him for his
kindness in the same satirical manner in which you haye
just thanked me.”?

She looked at him with a start and a smile.
pression had raised himin her opinion. He was not
such a fool as she thought. Winder with all his low
cunning, and ‘trained smartness had missed the irony
which had betrayed her secret to his clerk.

“But before you suspected who I was, you signaled to
me to be on my guard of him ?”’ she said.

“1 hate the pettifogging bully, aud love to thwart him;”’
he answered, quickly. ‘I see, madam, that you suspect
my faith, because I turn to you agaist them. In Han-
sard’s case, I admit it does look bad. He wasa friend to
me, and has done me many kindnesses—since he ruined
me. He lived on mine while it lasted, and he bas but re-
turned a portion of my own as ifit were alms, and makes
me earn it by dirty work. Now he has made mea slave of
this siave Winder. Madam, you will remember the
adage of the trampled worm.” — “ei

She-did think of the adage before he suggested it; for
the compressed energy of his tones resembled the hiss
which wre the sting, and she was astonished to see
so much hidden energy in the weak-looking, dapper,
poetic dreamer. Brett haa evidently worked himseif np
to an unusual point of excitement, beyond which he feit
no confidence in his power of self-control, ‘or he slack-
— his pace aS a signal of stopping, and said, hur-
r °
“You, will excuse me, Miss Crofton; this subject has
over excited me, If you think well of my offer of co-
operation aud need my assistance, I shall be happy to
serve you. The sooner the better, as Iam disgusted with
this sort of business, and will leave it soon. If yongive
me your address, I shall call upon yeu. Or you can send
word to the office, or you. might address me by post. In
either way I shall be mest happy to hear from you. Good
day, madame.’’

“The name, please,’? said Miss Crofton, smilingly.

“Ah, yes—I forgot. Brett—Oscar Brett,” he said,
handing her a card, and lifting his hat in a parting bow.

“Would you Kindly answer me one question, Mr.
Brett?”

“With pleasure, if I can.’?

“Do you know anything about Norah Glenn ?””

“No,’’? he answered, with more of hesitation and con-
fusion in his manner than she had yet seen. “She is said
to be dead—supposed to have been burnt. Good day,
madame.”

He hurried away in such haste that she looked for other
cause than his reluctance to answer her question, audsaw
Wretched Winder at adistance coming toward them.
Turning on her way, she caught the questioning look of
Corney Lafferty.

“Did the sky-ble give ye any geod word at all?’ he
asked—‘‘any good word about the poor girleen Norah ?%'
“Yes, Corney,’’ she said; ‘I believe Norah Glenn is
living.”?

“Heaven be praised for that!’ he cried,

‘‘And that there will soon be areal Lady ef Highvale,”?
she added, looking around into his face with a peculiar
smile.

“That you may long be spared to wear it!” he said,
with blunt fervor.

She made no remark on his wish, but walked along
With thoughtfully bent head.

That ex-

CHAPTER XVIII.
‘A chosen villain at the heart,
And capable of deeds that durst not seek repentane-"—

; PoLLOK.
As soon as Hansard noticed the change in Norah’s
clothes the frown disappeared, and a smile of pleasure
and triumph took its place upon his handsome features.
“Hal that’s right, my dear Norah,’ he said, ‘that’s
sensible. If you knew how much more charming you
leok now than you did in those rags that disgraced your
beauty. Don’t frown, dearest; you must forgive me for
intruding unasked on your toilet, though it is late dress-
ing hour, and by Jove, 1 can’t conscientiously say that I
ara sorry for my sin.’’

“You should be sorry fer your sin, and begin yeur sor-
row betimes!’’ she cried, turning on him sharply; ‘or it’s
a long, long reckoning you'll have to pay, and i fearmea
short life you have to doit in.”

“Say that again? he cried, with mock fervor. ‘Give
me again that sweet assurance of your interest; tell me
again that you fear for me, dearest, and by my sou! I’!)
deepen the account and let itrun till deom's-day. Now
that you talk reasonably, I’d sooner listen to your sweet
voice upbraiding me than to another shewering praises
on me.

‘Praises!’ she cried, scornfuNy, ‘for what in the name
ef Heaven would any one praise you? Can you lay your
hand on your heart and say you ever did one good
action ??

“Yes. Isaved your life,” he said, laying his hand on
his heart and bowing lew.

“My life!” she cried, with a thrilling voice.
saved my life that you might kill my soul.
in danger, Who brought tie danger? It was you, and the
curse Of Heaven ’ll follow you for it. You saved my life
and sent others to their deaths unblessed. May you go
down the same—may my poor heart-broken mother’s
curse Work upon your head for all the harm yon’ve
done.

The complacent smile left his face, and his brows and
lips contraced.

“What have I done?” hesaid, “I didn’t make Conroy
a rebel—I didn’t bring him there.”

“Oh, no, but you made yourself his murderer—you
brought them there that kitied him!” she cried, with tear-
ful excitement. ‘‘What have you done? Oh! man! man!
if you have a mind to remember or a heart to repent, think
of my sister, poor Aileen, lying cold upon the hillside,
frightened to death by you—think of my poor mother
crooning her heart away in grief songs for the loss of two
childer, one carried to the grave and the other to dishonor
or the choice of death. Praise you! It’s the fiends below
that praise your ill doings while the geod angels hide
their eyes and weep.”’

“Well-l-l donel Bravissimol!’? exclaimed Hansard, tap-
ping his, thumb-nails together in burlesque approval.
“Cleverly prepared and well declaimed, by Jove! Per-
haps I should be offended at your free accusations hurled
against my poor head, but upon my word, Norah, you
look so beautiful in your anger, your oratorical frenzy, as
I might say, that as lam a man——"?

“Troth, then it’s tthe manhood you have to boast,”
she cried, bitterly. ‘it ill becomes manhood to make
war upon a poor girl. Ifyoubeaman open the doors
a earn my blessing by pointing me the highway
‘home,

He shook his head witha grim smile and a chuckling
laugh that was not without an expression of the smoth-
ered anger set afire by her bitter denunciations.

“Yes, you
If my life was

 

“No, no, my beanty; the diamond hunter does pot cast

 

<4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2

away the jewel that he finds after infinite pains. No,.he
q@its and polishes and manipulates it to the perfect gem,
asishall you. You are my diamond, Norah, a rough
one, to be sure, but like you all the better for your
flushes, and I will comqner all your roughness and trim
you down to jewel shape.’’ ;

‘Will you?” she barely whispered throagh her com-
pressed lips, while her breast heaved and her eyes flashed
defiance.

“I WILLP’ he said, setting his handsome teeth, and
meeting her gaze with a gaze as determiued and defiant
as lier Own,

They stood thus for an instant in a struggle for mastery,
aud the girl won, His eyes quailed and shifted, anda
treacherous, wolfish expression succeeded his assumed
complacence.

“Why, what the duse do you wish?’ he said, with a
total change of tone. ‘Is not my admiration of you pal-
pable enough? Am I not as handsome aman and as de-
sirable a Match as a goat-herd or a day laborer? Are not
these rooms, this house and these grounds, better thana
Straw-thatched hut and a mud floor? Would you sooner
run a spinning-wheel or feed pigs all your life than be a
lady? Fudge, Norah, you have more sense than that.’

He strode across the floor toward the middle window,
over Which she hud drawn the damask curtain, and she,
fearful for her secret, with a sudden faintness, whether
pretended or real, tirew herself between him and it, and
Sank into a chair.

He took this fora concession, an acknowledgment of
his new style of argument, and paused before her, resum-
ing rapidly: .

‘“‘Why any beautiful woman like you would be a mad-
woman to prefer poverty and toil to wealth and ease—the
position of a drudye to that of being one of the belles of
society. Pah! poriidge aud turf against fashion and en-
joyment.”’

Norah had buried her face in her hands and was silent,
for.her quick ear had detected.a slight sound outside as if
something had brushed agaiust the window, and her
heart trembled lest her persecutor should detect it’ too.
She must get.rid of, him at all hazards before her chances
of liberty were lost forever,

’ Hansard took this pause and silence»asa sign of the
breaking down of the stubborn beauty, and with all the
fervor ef triumphant passion he casthimself on his knee
before her and threw his arms about her bowed neck.
With the suddenness of electricity she sprang from the
seat and threw him off, at the same moment clutching
the knife in her bosom. ‘ 169?

“Keep off,” she cried, fiercely. ‘‘Keep off! Don’t come
near me—don’t lay a finger on me, or, Heaven forgive
me, I’ll stretch you dead at my feet... >

Hansard’s face grew dark and his eyes gleamed angri-
ly; for one moment he looked like a tiger about to spring;
but he noticed the girl’s, flaming eyes and palpitating
nostrils, and the thrusting of her hand into the bosom of
her dress, and he was discreet. He looked upon thisas
the last struggling flutter ofthe peor snared bird, and he
thought it better to leave the rest.to time.

Norah Glenn knew that it was a crisis in her fate. Her
heart trembled as she watched the changing expressions
upon his face, and she could barely contain her joy when
she saw him turn toward the door of the room.

“You are excited now, my dear Norah,” hesaid. ‘You
you then.

head.
ment stamp. Bea woman of sense. Don’t waste yo
toughts upon this fellow Conroy. If he had lived he
have been hanged, and being dead, you only waste yot
tears on the pitiful fellow. As for that strolling Yankee

him, and it is likely he will be made to do the State
service Jn &@ more useful way than making bad sketehes—
as oakum-picker or submarine mason, for instance.
en I send you something to eat ?”? -

ce 0.

“As you please. Ishall breakfast with you.
night, and sensible dreams to you,’ he said, closi
door, but he re-opened it almost immediately, an
emphatically, at the same time shaking his finge
tlireateniug manner: i

“Remember, no nonsense! I shall expect a deeision in
the morning, and a favorable one, or you will find that I
can be rough. as well as gentile.” as

A gasp of relief burst from her as she heard tlie ke
in the Jock,,an@ listened to his retreating footstep
the closing of the outer room door. Then she barri
the door with a table and some cliairs, and turning
the light ouce more hastened to the window and
the curtain aside with trembling expectation. Assh
so she shrank back with @ thrill of horror and a smother-
ed shriek. A white object had flashed before the win
and was gone like a specter, for it was too light, too
too mis(-like for a human form.

Rooted to the spot and not knowing what to
awaited ils return with trembling | expectancy,
not.come. Now the struggle commenced be
fears raised by this incident andthe terror of H:
return, and the threatened violence of the morning,

The latter fear conquered, It was life or death, freedom
or dishonor. ;

With sudden resolution she blew;the lamp fully out,
and catching the
end near the sill, Soon she felt it loose, an
knife in her teeth lest she should mislay it in th
caught the severed wood with both hands, an

   

     
      
    
   

uded
wh

  

  

worked

 

   

it gently baék and forward to free the edges of
from the putty on the outside. > Pieg
In doing this the large pane cracked with asharp snap,

and the blood rushed to her heart as she heard the top

half of it slide from its place. But luckily it tumble
ward, and fell onits edge on the carpet and curtai
her feet, add the cold air of freedom rushed in and fann
her feverish face. In another moment she stood quak
ing with fear upon the roof of the portico, and gazed
about her with wild eyes for the promised help.

The sounds of conversation and laughter came from

the parlors below, and the light of the lamps streamed Sag

out on the graveled drive in front. She had not notic
this from the inside of the deep-set window on ace
of the projection of the portico roof, and the w
arose, noW that she was beneath the free sky, h
was toreach the ground from the heigth at whie
stood, or having reached it, what possibility there wa
her escaping unnoticed past the lights of the open wit
dows, In addition to this last doubt, her heart thrilled a
she heard familiar tones below in front of the por
and, stretching herself flat upon the roof, looked ove e
verge, and saw Hansard and another standing on‘

steps smoking.

How was she to escape from this position, cut off fren
the ground at a perilous height with her arch enemy, and
his creatures lving in wait below.
a flapping sound above her, and looking up saw the
object floating down on the night wind directly to
her. It struck her on the face and enveloped her hea
and then, with a thrill of joy and relief, she beeame aware
that it was a white sheet forming part of a rope lowered
from an upper window,

“Hist! she heard from above, in a sharp, whispering
tone. “Tie it tight about you under your armpits, and
don’t be afraia.”’

She saw two heads indistinctly projecting frem a
window far up. The linen rope was visible from them to
her, wafting to aud fro, and a dizzy length it seemed, a
frightful ribbon to trust her life to.

“Is from the window of the servant’s room! she said
to herself, as she fastened the sheet with nervous bands in
the manner directed, and shook the hine to attract atten-
tion above,

She was afraid to speak even ina whisper with the
voice of Hausard sounding in her ears so near at hand.

“Are you ready!’? she heard, in a mere breathing sound
that seemed to creep down the linen line rather than
travel throagh the air.

“Yes,”? sie ventured to gasp, with a great, painful fear
that seemed to paralyse the action of her heart.

‘Be sure the knois are tight,’? whispered the voice of
the menitor above.

She feit them nervously with her trembling hands, but
could not speak, for the thought of the peril of her ven-
ture and her terrible fate if the knots should leesen had
rendered her both speechless and powerless,

She felt the rope tighten around her body, she clesed her
eyes witha gasp, and tke next Moment she was suateched
from her feet and saspended in mid air.

CHAPTER XIX.

* What arts, what snares, what luri i
Lurk in a lovely woman’s emties.” © i es

The defection of Oscar Brett from the ranks of the Haa-
sard party was an unexpected assistance to the plans of
Fanny Crofton, whatever those plans might be. Although
at first she doubted him, as it ever is the fate of traitors to
be doubted even by those who reap the benefit of
their treason, yet reflection and remembrance of the in-
sight into his nature, whieh his momentary display of
smothered passion gave her, made her determined to ac-
aa his preffered services for the furtherance of her own
ends.

She was far teo energetic a woman to let resolve sium-
ber long, so, before the shades of evening fell, as Oscar
Brett was about to enter his lodging house, Corney Laf-
ferty clapped his big paw on his shoulder with a weight
that made him shiver from head to foot.

“Me lady wants ye,’’ said the messenger.

“You're devilish peremptory. She might have senta
polite messenger,’’ said Brett, but Corney did not under-
eee the first phrase, and the second was disereetly low-
toned.

Oscar felt fluttered and flattered by the message, not-
withstanding hig objection to the rudeness of its bearer,
and there was morethan extra care bestowed on his
usually natty toilet. He was very nervous on emerging
from the house in company with Corney lest Winder
should see his movements, and requested his guide to go
on before him. He expected to beled tothe principal
inn, but Corney held his way to the outskirts of the town,
where a man was waiting with a close carriage.

‘Where are we going?”’ he asked, as the door was hela
open for him.

“To Lysaught House,’’ was the answer.

On alighting at the well-known portico, he was received
by a servant, and led to the library in whieh he had so
often read and conversed with John L . There
was no one in the room, and the young man was begin-
ning to feel gloomy with the thoughts raised by the sur-
roundings, when the door opened and Frances Crofton
entered alone. Time and care had been spent upon her
toilet also. Her queenly presence made Brett feel rather
abashed, and he winked before her dazzling beauty like
an owl at a torch. '

“You see, Mr. Brett,’? she said, “I was not long availing
myself of your promise tv visit me.”

 

 

“You have done mean honor,’ he answered; “but I

 

PRP Larey ANT AREY DE TI wt Sn

need rest and will be better in the morning. I will see™ |
Reflect on what Ihave said, and Iam sure’
you willdrive those whimsy-whamsy ideas out of your’
Why, the advantages are as plain asa govern-

Alton, ifiv’s in that direction your fancies point, Ican
tell you that he is trying to skulk out ef the country, but —
the leng armof the government is stretched out to seize

we

already loose bar, cut rapidly into the
dark, she

   
 

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