Se cn nc eat \ “Was there huge pillars in it 2? a ee - ho. one shalt ever Know rata Fey E ; A only way is to break down the back of the wardrobe, and “Tam sorry ye broke the spell,” said the weird woman, ‘“] would ha! liked to see‘the face ye saw. Was it your husband?’ “Yes!” replied Ethel, with more joy miher* voice and heart than they had kuown for many & long day. ‘Yes! J saw him as surely as I did when he brought me to your cottage in our honeymoon.’? “Where was he??? “Jn a deep dungeon.’? / 4] cannot tell. I did not look at anything buthimself.” & «Was he lying on skins??? ' «Nos he was sitting on the ground, with a pocket-knife know well in his hand.’ “/Wherever that dungeon js, Ralph Trevylian put your hdsband in it, an’ he spent many a long year there him- sel,” said the old woman, speaking in aloud tone, as if she were the Pythoness of old, in one of her fits of inspir- ation, ‘Now, ye must ask for the way that leads to the dungeon, an’ | must look first. Ican make more of what 1 see than ye gam, an’ 1’m feared yell cry out as ye did aJore,”? Cry The stone was again put carefully into the pool, and as carefully drawn out, When placed in her hand, Ethel re- peating her words after the old woman, called out in a found voice; “Show me the way tothe dungeon where my husband lies. i Tne old woman bent down. over the stone, and with eager, peering eyes looked into its depths, ; She looked a second or two and no more, holding up one hand to enjoinesilence, and laying the other on Ethel’s head, she bent it above the stone, Ethel looked into the crystal, until what she saw faded Trom her view, then, trembling with hope and fear, she looked up in the weird womau’s face, “Ye saw the wardrobe in the balconied chamber in the east wing of Trevylian Castle?’ said the old woman, in- quiringly. “1 did,’ replied Ethel, ‘An’ what more??? “Nothing more,” “No spring, or lock, or fastenin’, or any kind to tell ye how to open it?! “Nothing. I saw nothing but the open wing as I have always seen it,’ “Then ye must find out how to open the back o’ that wardrobe by your own wit, an’ the sooner il’s done the better.” “But how aie to do ¢his? There’s not a lawyer in England will help me, and if I were to. go to Trevylian @astie to-morrow, and brave all theindignity and persecu- ajofi I must meet there, I could never accomplish my end. 4 would never be permitted to enter the baiconied cham- ber," f i : ; “If ye’re willing to lead a servant's life in the castle Lrat's yer own by birthright, an’ watch an’ wait for ime an) tide, ye may; yet flud he way ares that secret door an’ let your husband out to put his foot om the green grass again, «Bui if ye want the courage to do this, au’ muybe itll take many adJong year an’ day to find it ont, nnd win your réward; there’s no other way; he must lie there till he dies. Vilshow ye the road; ye miust walk in ityourself alone.’ ; : “If you tell me howIcan win my husband’s release, Pll do no other work till’ the day I free him, or I lay» me down todie.? a it *‘Well, come down to the house, an’ I'll dye: yer hair black, an?yer face dun, dipt in yellow. An’\if anybody finds out who ye are, but them ye fell it to, iv! be the first time my hand failed me at the like.” wo. ; When the transformation was made, and ‘Ethel saw her face ina looking-glass half a foot. square, theonly thing of the kind the Colfage boasted, she started back, Saying to the woman; ‘Will that color ever wash off my face?’)” “When ye’re: done yer work, an! yéowaht to look like yourself again ye can rub it of wi fresli lemons; butall ’ the water Iu England won't wash it ns of iocotw ie FER CHAPTER XIX." (9) of “A 'swarthy-looking ANS afreren the tt baits ves Castle, and askitig’ to see Mrs, Ben P sented which Mrs, Nugent réa rt _& Jook of astonii terspersing lier reading With o¢casioudl | the girl’s swarthy face and dim. black AS you, dear reader, are to be beh had better read the letter, as Well as Mts. N thus: ; ' Master 0% E (My DEAR. Mrs. NuGENT:-—The, br ‘aced,) black - | haired girl who presents; this to, you, isthe oneto whom): you gave the key of the mangoleum. i piece of wood ,instead of a dead Rody. Lo hatis said: to, be my husband’s coffin., I have dyed my face and hair, and dressed in the common. clothes L haye on, on purpose) to ask you to take ine as: = Ifyou will do: 8 Lhis I have little fear of being able cover of being the, means of restoring. him to; ow mek. |») ‘ : $ husband is, ti the society of his: sit MoM as TF fake me, dear Mrs. Nugent, and give,me 2 “Will you chauce to win my husband ?,, Ppromise you faithfully unat ‘ a er met ou have aided in any way, Traly yours, most ci “Now, Mts. Nugent would very gladly hive | to recover her husband, if she shat ty itive f risk of Sir Ralph knowing anything ath i se ‘If Sir Regiuald were found’ there would be iin end at once to any fear of Ethel ever peponrtte, Rea et te Sir Railpli’s affections, and she could not hide from herself that Sir Ralph looked with too favorable eyes pH thel, and that she was a much younger and more beautiful wo- She thongtit over it for a few taka. Sha Iwas dead; he Had let that escape him unwarily. He could not penetrate her disguise, and she determined to hazard the consequences. “] do not need a woman for chambermaid work,’’ said she, as if replying to the letter, which purported to bea letter of recommendation, ‘‘but if you can sew well i will hire you to oblige my friend, and give you charge of part of the rooms, aud you can sew for mein my Oln apart- ment the rest of the time.’? “T can’ sew very well, ma’am,’’ replied Ethel, in a feigned voice, *‘aud lam willing to do anything I can to please you,”? ‘ “Go ten, and putoff your shawl and bonnet,’ and turning to one of the other servants, who had stood list- ening during the short colloquy, she said: ‘fake the girl to your room, Biddy, and let her put her things there just now; if she suits me as a sewing-woman she can sleep in the closet off my room, 80 that | may see she’s at her work in tinre; but I must try how she finishes her seams first.” “Are you an early riser, young woman?’ she asked, turning to Ethel. “Yes, ma’am; I'll rise at any time yon bid me.?? “Go with Biddy, then; and when you have tidied your- Self she'll Show you the way to my room,” A few minutes later Ethel was seated in Mrs, Nugent’s room, partaking.of a cup of tea and_ telling her mistress the rooms slie wished to be consigned to her own care. “Well,” replied Mrs. Nugent, “‘youshall have the charge of these roums, but J can’t see how your having charge of them is to help you to find your husband. I think it would be better for you to take charge. of the library; he does all his writing there. He has uot @ desk nor a scrap of paper in his dressing-room.” “vis not by reading lis letters or his papers I hope to find my husband, und it will be best for you that Ido not tell you what means lam going to take. When heis found you will then be able to say With truth that you Know nothing whatever about it.” ‘ “Well, you'll have it your own way, only for goodness sake don’t let Sir Ralph Suspect who you are; it would be a bad day for us both. He thinks you’re dead; how did he come to think that?!” “Ido not know, but lam aware he thinks me dead; it is best for’me he does,’? __ “Yes, so it ig.” : ‘“ Every day Ethel cleaned and dusted Sir Raiph’s dress- ing-room ard bedroom, doing her work while he ate his breakfast, read the morning papers, and took his morn- ing ride to the railway depot. Bach day she spent all the time she dared remain in the rooms afier her work was finished, in examining the in- side of the wardrobe. Pressing down each nail, trying to turn round or pull out every clothes-pin, trying to push the back in every way the weird womau had pointed out or she could think of herself. All was to no purpose. ‘To her sense of touch or sight there was nothing visible save a plain piece of black ma- hogany, with paneied lines, Her fingers were becoming as hard as horns with the use she made of them, in trying to push back panels that would not be pushed back, trying to push in nails that would not push in, aud twist or turn clothes-pins that were firm as a rock. Sir Ralph had been from home for his usual period of three days; he seldom remained longer, Ethel had embraced the opportunity to remain hour alter hour in trying again and again for the spring she felt certain she would yet find, but all to no purpose. \ She was ready to give up her search in despair; for several weeks she had spent several hours each day ina fruitless search for what eluded her assurely as the fabled princess eluded the search of Sir Guy, the seeker. Sir Ralph was expected home to dinner, and Ethel went to renew her search for the secret spring iu the wardrobe, with a strong misgiving thatit would be as it had beeu the day before, and every day before that. She had, in her despair, began to see valid reasons why it was impossible such a secret spring should exist. { She lad been in the wardrobe all the morning, busy at what she had now to acknowledge to herself was useless, futile labor; and availing herself of the hour which would still elapse before SinRalph’s return, she again (Sought the wardrobe, with.a discouraged heart. ¥ She placed a chair inside and went over the top of the place, for the fiftietiy time,’ in vain—in vain. F *sAlas! alas!’ said she, “I shall never find it out; the man than herself, i inutes, considered there ¥ras little risk, and she was layi foro high o knew that Sir Ralph thouwut e that will never be done. My dear husband must diedown in that dungeon and I searching for the entrance, whic as never to be found.” ; y Asshe spoke her foot slipped: from the chair, and‘to Save herself from falling she caught hold of the shelf on which the lantern.and water-bottle she had first seen there Still lay. ; » Phe shelf came forward about two inches, as she grasp+ €d hold ofits édge, and behold, at thesame time, the back of the wardrobe slid to one side, disclosing a dark, stone staircase, descending almost perpendicularly from the back of the wardrobe, Ethel gave a great cry of joy, and seizing the lantern it fas but the work Of a Inoment to light it, and descend the @teep, narrow steps. “Reginald! Reginald!’ she called aloud, as she came 4 such floating on the water.’? I found therea huge | scover where My | | of what There he was, her beloved. lnsba , Tushing to the barred gate to meet hiér—né whom an our before she had despaired of ever seeing again! covered it with kisses, “Snap the bolt at the top of the gate, my love.” The words had scarcely left bis lips when a loud click of flrearms sounded in their ears, and.both fell wounded to fhe earth, the barred iron gate, with its strong spring lock between thew. reel : Ina second more Sir Ralph Trevylian was dragg what seemed the wounded body of the mulatto}? as he called her, as far from the gate as the wall would allow it to be placed, his feet dabbling ina pool of blood which had flowed from her wounded shoulder. “You thonght you was out,’ burst from his lips, while his whole face was distorted With frantic rage; the flerce gestures he made with his hands imparting to hina .the appearance and demeanor of a demon, , “You thought you was out, did you? Well, ye’re not, nor ever will be; an’ mind, ye’ve ate the Jast meal that’!! ever touch ye’er teeth. You an’ that infernal black hus- sy-ill rot together, I’]——"! , : A sound of loud talking, muffled by distance, struck on his ear, He suddenly recollected thatin rushing down the stone staircase he had Jeft the panel open, as he had found it. Sir Ralph flew rather than ran up the stone steps, en- tered the wardrobe, shut the spring, and, breathiess with fury and his UnwWwonted exertion, sank, almost exhausted, into the leatbern chair, so often before mentioned in this narrative. “Whath fool Tam! said Sir Ralph, ashe sat in his large arm-chair, his heart: palpitating with a fear of he knew not what. “Why should I feel like this? ‘That ugly black woman has been dusting out the wardrobe and unconsciously opened the spring and went down from curiosity. She’ll never go again, that’s certain, I've done her business for her. Let her take it, the meddle- some hussy. And astohim, lam tired of feeding him! Let him rot; he deserves it, Hal What is that ?’ he ex- claimed, asthe sound of many and loud \voices he had heard while down on the dungeon staircase again fell on his ear, i. He listened intently, his heart beating almost painfully. His eyes involuntarily sought the left wing of the ward- robe, He started to his feet with the, intention .o rs jalning what could be the occasion of the unwouted noise. The souniis were) coming nearer. Now lit- was the tramp of maby and heavy feet. Tramp, tramp, they were on the stairgase. Conscience makes cowards of the guilty, Hefelt an YTntense forboding of evil urging him to flee from the place, but he again sank back in his chair, and seemed glued to it. Tramp, tramp, the heavy feet were on the corridor lead- ing to the room hesat in, and the voices were talking as before. ; : Suddenly the door of the apartment was burst open, and Sir Ralph’s astonished eyes beheld the Count Ramou- ski enter, followed by several men, most of whom were dressed as sailors. — , “We have entered your house rather unceremoniously,” said the conut, “but we have been urged to dosoina most mysterious manner. Look at that,’ said he, putting into Sir Ralph’s hand asmall piece of fat and smooth wood, about three inches square, on which were cut words that had been blackened in by scorching. Sir Ralph took the piece of wood and read with horror and dismay, his hand trembling as he read: “J, Reginald Trevylian, am a prisoner in a dungeon un- der the octagon tower of Trevylian Castle, the entrance to which ia by @ secret spring in the back of the left wing of the tardeobetn the balconied room next the octagon tower.” 2 ; “You gee,’ said the count, ‘why we have come. My little girls picked up several of these yesterday on the shore of the lake opposite my Own Castle, and to-day | sailed down in my yacht, and I have seen hundreds of “Phe work of a parcel of boys, probably, who wish to foolall who are simple enough to be fooled by them,’ i} was Sir Ralph's cool reply, while his heart was palpita- Ung with apprehe “If may 80, more like the w ion he yainly tried to hide. said the count, “but it seems to me of a captive who had nothing else to certainly expect you to allow me to investigate has t wardrobe is before you, and you are at liberty to {OH employ his time and no other hope of release. Whatever shall ‘ make any investigation you 2, provided you do not injure my furniture or house.) - Count ouski looked steadily in Sir Ralph's face as he spoke. It was impossible not to see that the , try: ing to look composed and bol, was laboring under deadly e, anil examined it in The count opened the. wardro ‘every direction; the sailors Lovell pressed closely rade to see the place whic n the subject of their thoughts and conversation st few hours. . : Nothing was . aa } going on, and came crowding into the room aera Trou a rdrobe like the others, “What do you want? exclaimed Sir Ralph, springing to his feet oa nana a, with passion, as he beheld, one by one, every in his house, with the exception of . Nugent, enter the room and pressin among, the strangers, eagerly inquiring the meauing of their unwar- rantable intrusion. ‘What do you want here? Get out | of this; down stairs to your work, every mother’s son of you. When you are wanted I will ring for you.” no ’ By the time Sir Ralph had ceased speaking each of his servants were in pen of pieces of wo let : similar to tlie one Co had gi Fe atte ccvenwanet : rc re, = Vv 4 His words fell like the idle wind on the ears of his do-. mestics; not one moved to ua his order, ope or two hay- ing the OF Wout 0 round and stare in his face.. Not, one manor W amon thes all but knew that their. site tata bares ae Sir, Ralph. the, butler bf the. collar... He fancied’ ee eae of the others. . ! - with this man was the ri repo yee h you, you impudent dog!’ ex.’ claimed he, almost frantic assi Pe aya “Get down stai ith on. The man’s face reddened; he was eyidently under the. impression that Sir Ralph’s days of respectability, at least,’ were at an end. : “Keep your hands off me, Sir Ralph Trevylian,’’ said he, as he shook his master roughly off, ‘If ye don’t, Dl soon send ye where the dogs won't bark at ye,” The count strack the back of the wardrobe, and the sound came dull and heavy, as it would, have done had the back been built into the wallas it Formed to be, Each of the men looked at and. examined it in turns, The carpenter of thé yacht, @ man well up to’ house as, well as ship work, declared the cupboard to be'built into. the solid wall, ; 2 . ae : ; He had his hammer in his hand, and struck it several times against the back of the Closet, each time making Sir Ralph’s blood ran cold." ° ‘*There’s nothing surer,’’ said he, “than that that wood is built against a harder substance than itself’? “What door is this?’? ‘inquired the count, turning from the wardrobe and pointing to a door whicli led from the apartment intg the, tower. a a ’ “That is the door of te castle armory,’! replied Sir Ralph, _‘You.can haye the keys. It Ils more likely you would find an entrance into @ dungeon under tlie tower, from there, a8 the armory is in the tower,” The key was given to the count, andit.was with a feel- ing of relief that Sir Raiph saw the Count Ramouski and his party open {lie door and enter the armory. ‘Yuere is no possibility of a dupgeou being under this room,’ said thé count, aS he drew Mis head in from an open window, by which he had beeh examining the out- side of the tower. i “‘Impossible,’’ said several of the sailors, as each in his turn looked out and saw for himself, ‘Tt is a hoax, after all,’? said one of the men. , “Yes,” answered the count, ‘I am glad to say it is.” In passing the open wardrobe the count looked in, as if he felt there ought to be more done to discover, the secret spring, 80 distinctly described on those pieces of wood, cut out by hundreds with such labor, He was alonein front of the wardrobe, the light from the window opposite lighting up the cupboard. Horror! what was it he looked on? The print of a man’s foot in blood, with the heel turned to the back of the wardrobel ; [TO BE CONTINUED,1 USEFUL Bi HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE, It is wrong to hold up a fainting person, and espe- cially to keep the head erect, Fainting is caused by a want of blood in the brain, the heart failing to act with sufficient force to send the blood against the laws of gravitation. If, then;you Bate & person silting, whose heart has nearly ceased to beat, his rain will fail to receive blood; if you lay him down with the head lower than the heart, blood will run into the brain by the mere force of gravity, and in fainting, in sufficient quantity, gen- erally, to restore Consciousness, Our hours of rest, as a rule, should be the same every night. It is notsate for even the most robust and healthy to long violate the law of regularity in this matter. The man or woman who retires and rises at irregular periods, varying from tivo to four or six hours, as many are accustomed to do, cannot enjoy good health, or live long and happily,, Every one should adopt a rule to retire-at a certain hour, and adhere to it asstrict- ly as possible—neyer deviating except in emergencies. Raw beef is said to be good for children suffering from dysentery: Take half a pound of juicy beef, free from fat, mince it very finely, then rub it into a sm@otl pulp, either in a mortar or with an ordinary potato-masher, and press.it through a fine sieve, Spread a little out upon a plate and sprinkle over it some salt, or some sugar if the child should prefer it. Give it alone, or spread upon a buttered sliée of stale bread. Keep pickles only in wood or'stoné ware, as greasy vessels wiil spoil them. Pickles sliould be stirred occasionally. and all soft ones should be removed. Some of the liquid should be kept on hand toycover the pickles should it be needed. The vinegar and spices should not be boiled over five minutes, Warts may’ be'removed from the hands by the ap- ‘plication of hurtshorn. The use ef it will not cause any pain un- less it comes‘in eontact with a cut or bruise,’ A cure is usualiy effected in about three weeks, To prevent ‘the smoking of'a lamp, soak | the wick in strong vinegar, and dry it well before using it. It will then burn both'sweetiand pleasant; and give much satisfaction for the trifling trouble in preparing it. ; A simple and effective emetic—the materials being usually at hand—oonsists of half-a-glass of warm water, @ heap- ie ET ul of salt, and another of ‘mastard. E t is said that poke root sliced and Jaid about a house will destroy cockroaches quicker than any other poison. A particle of iron or steel may be extracted from near to the barred iron gate. the eye by holding near it a powerful magnet, She put Ner hand “througiy’the bars, he seized it;and’}’ a BY EPITH AYLMER BRANDE, “on 7s » ~*~ ‘ o ——— What flowers have we to crown the brow, That Heayen’s own hand hath crowned With such immortal wreaths as glow O’er seraph-eyes profound ? What gifts have we to add one grace More beautiful and wiki,’ Or touch with holier light the face Of Thalia’s chosen child ? What spell to wake her burning soul ?—~ That wondrous, hidden lyre, Whose glorious tides of music roil "Through gates of peart and fire | For she is queen of-the high art Whose mission is divine, And captive bows each willing heart At Song's imperial shrine, The splendor of her Northern skies, The roses of the South, her steps are "mid , Of youth’s unclonded years; She walks, amid these musts of oars, A path too bright for tears. But fairer than the skies that brood er Rose of South or West, \ The Lily of Sweet Womanhood She weareth on lier breast; — ; And in berjoyous mienandsmie Lives that enchanting grace, Rc ‘Thorswalden, of his native snows _ Might fashion, with her lips and brows, Rapt in a Heavenly dream the while Sot opr |} A Mad Marriage. “SUCH A HAD MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE.” Taming of the Shrew wes “4 ge By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming. Marriage” was commenced in No. 39. Back Nos. can ws Dealers in the United States and the Canadas, ] PARI “THIRD, 4 CHAPTER X, WF ANY CALM, A CALM DESPAIR,” - If they would not come in, if she could be alone— that seemed the only thought of which France was conscious as she lay there, utterly unable for the time being to speak or move, knowing, in a dazed sort of way, through all her misery, what a ghastly face the wax lights would show them. Oh, to be alone—to be alone! ) ia She had her wish. A swish of silk, a flutter of per- fume, the salon door fiung wide, and Lady Dynely’s voice saying, impatiently: ; fe ‘With Mrs. Caryll, mamma,” Crystal’s soft su ts. ‘It looks dreary—that great, g salon, let us go up to your boudoir.” ~ sia So they go, and France feels as though she had escaped some great danger. She 8, ig stiff and strange, and gropes her we ) the kK: ness, and ap to herown room. She has to nn Mrs. Caryll’s door; she pauses a moment, while a pas- sionate longing to enter there, at all risks to loo on his face once more, even to bid him stay, seizes wi Be daing day * 80 y aeass pre geass ey have been so utterly, so infinitely 1 0- g . What right has that wicked, = ng, ed woman to come and tear them apart? For a@ moment she listens to the tempter, then she clasps her hands wildly over her eyes and rushes up to her eee erself down otionless, sleepless, in t 3 become of the Gatyis 88 | ed maetdilnc disks erevely tells Lath “Dynel to-night the gravely 'y Dyne she cannot be admitted. Miss Forrester’s door is prey and Miss Forrester may be deaf or dead for the attention she yeye to knocks or ¢a It is really very odd, and Lady Dynely wonders abi all through the rather dull family dinner to her son and daughter. Sa ~ Rather atte ~ eong family” sort “Mrs, ‘of thing fa 1, forfeits his stall at the Varietes, to do escort duty for his harem to the Opera Aux Italiens, But since he is in for it, @ does it with, tolerably good. grace, and .,Crystal’s an, moonlight Jittle face lights, and smiles come to he pale lips, She says little, but she is happy. Eric been her very own ‘all: day—will be herivery own until noon 'to-morrow.. ‘Beyond that she does not look—“unto the day, the day.” us Dinner ends, and they goto the opera. Patti sings, and the grand opera house is brilliant with. ‘here,, Erie thinks, as he,struggles manfully with his ‘tenth yawn, it;would. not beso bad, but.a man. cast over wholly to the tender merciés of his mother and his‘wife is an object°of compassion to gods’and men. | About the time the Dynely party: take ‘their places in their private box on the gtand tiér, Gordon’Catyll jopens the door of,his mother’s room and passes out. ‘Imthe, blaze,ofthe chandelier his, face.is. deathly white, but somehow the fierce, rebellion, the hot. ‘passion, have faded out, anda great calm has fallen. Itis written—it ise Fate-—-of what useito struggle or rebel? So he throws: up'the sponge ‘to Destiny ‘what isto be must be—théreé is néthing for it but to more, WiBatn.cast Maan _\ He goes-up to:his. room, where his, valet awaits him, and gives his tew orders... A,portmanteau.is to. ‘be packed at once—he (the valet) iste follow with ithe rest to Liverpool before the end of the: week. That ‘is aland the man listens with an immovable, wooden face, outwardly, in direst, blankest’ wonder Wii eed ede eat ak : “Blessed,” he Says, as his maSter departs! “if"this here,ain’t a rum go!, I thought we was going to be married. e was atthe British Hembassy;.and now, we're up and hoff ’ot foot, with all.our, luggage, ho-: ver to Liverpool. I- wonder where we go) hafter that?” : da ; vot OF if They were going to America once again—to Califor- nia—Nevada—Oregon—all the wild, new lands whith- er they had never set foot yet. Not to forget—that could never be!, But. life, ij seemed, amid perpetual hardship and adventure, amid .wild regions and wilder men, would be more easily dragged out with- out hope than elsewhere, : He had told his mother; and’she "had:listened in such wonder, such pain, such ‘pity, as words cannot tell’ She had set her whole heart on this match, and it was neyer tobe. Her whole happiness in life was wrapped up in her son, and he was to be taken from her. He must go--since this woman stood be- tween him and France forever, better, far better, they should part. ‘Tt would rather go,” he had said; ‘tnot to forget, not to suffer less—I do not hope that, I do not even wish it; but I cannot stay and face the wonder, the scandal, that will ensue, Lam a coward, if you like, but I underwent the ordeal once, and——” he get his teeth hard and stopped. “Yet, I wilkstay if you wish,” he said, after a mo- ment’s pause, ‘I will stay with you, and,” another pause and breathing hard, ‘“‘ske can return to Eng- land with Lucia Dynely.” But the mother, whose life was bound up in him, clasped her arms about his neck and answered: “You must. go, Gordon, oh, my son! France is right—she can never be your wife while that woman lives, and so eternal parting is best for you both. You must go, and may Heaven's blessing be with ou.” And then there had been a parting, so sad, 80 solemn, last words so sweet, so motherly, a partin prayey so earnest, 50 holy, that the flerce wrath an ot rebellion had died out, and somehow calm had come, ‘If any calm, a caim despair,’—such had come to him. And he had left the hotel, very pale, very grave, a great sadness on his face, but other- wise unchanged. é He must see Dennison before he left. He went to the Louvre and found him, providentially, lounging aimlessly about, and looking bored. See cele “De do, Caryll,” Terry began, abbreyiating the formula, and swallowing a gape, ‘‘Awfully slow work this., Haven’t seen a face I know since noon, Was at your place and found the family invisible— dead or sleeping. Ericis doing the role of Master Goodchild—trotting out the madre aud Crystal, and making @ martyr of himself, I know. But I say, old boy, anything wrong, you know? On my life, now I look again, you seem awfully seedy.” “We can on the street, [suppose ” Caryll an- y Jook | being but herself. fest “hl but Z know it wil ladies in marvelous toilettes... If France were. only |. go forth into the outer darkness, and be hedrd of no’ ; YORK WEEKLY. => swers, abruptly, and taking hisarm, ‘I have some- thing of importance to say to you. Oome this way. _| Dennison, I'm off to-morrow!” “off7? Terry repeats the word and stares. “Off for good and all—to return no more—to the other end of the world, It’s all up between me and —Terry, can’t you guess? I thought you did last night.. Madame Felicia is my divorced wife.” There is a pause, aspeechless, breathless pause. Mr. Dennison looks at the moon, the stars, the sky, the streets, the eens the people, and all spin round, At last, ** y Jove!” he breathes, and is still. Caryll does not speak—his mouth is set rigid and hard behind his beard. They walk on, and the si- lence grows uncomfortable. Terry in desperation breaks it first. “I thought she was dead,” is what he says. “So did I,” Caryll answers; ‘so they did in Can- ada, so the papers said. She is not, however. Mad- ame Felicia seventeen years ago was my wife: the gn ou rescued on the streets two nights ago my aughter. “Hittle Black Eyes! again. : “I fancied you must have suspected something of this since last night. Irecognized her at the thea- ter. I visited her this morning. There is nota shadow of doubt. The dancer, Felicia, is my di- voreed wife,” “By Jove!” once again is all Terry can say, in his blank amaze. ‘‘And, France?” he asks, after a pause, ‘‘Allis at an end there. In France’s creed there is no such thing as divorce. Iam as much the hus- band of Felicia'as though that divorce had never been.” There is another uncomfortable silence. What is Terry tosay? Fluency and tact are at no time his, But silence is about as comforting as speech just now. 2 ee “So Lam going away,” Caryll resumes, steadily; ‘and I leave my mother and France iu your charge, Dennison, I go to-morrow. When does your leave expire ?” "Tn a fortnight.” “Phere will be ample time, then. My mother pro- poses returning to Caryllynne; you will escort her thither, For the rest, y Dynely will be told the truth, but no one else—least ofall, Eric. There will be no end of conjecture, and gossip, and mystifica- tion, no doubt, but since none of us will be here to hear it, it won’t greatly matter.” qt “But,” Terry hazards, ‘will she keep the secret? They say women never can, you know?” a A cold smile lights Gordon €aryll’s lips. “Trust them when it is to their own interest. Fe- licia has fooled M. Diventurini into offering to make her his wife. The wedding, Iam told, is to take place soon. He has no idea that she has ever been married—she has lied to him from first to last. It is her interest to hold her tongue, and now that her revenge is satisfied, she will.” “It's a dused bad business, Caryll, old fellow,” Terry says, gloomily. “I’m awfully sorry, Con- found the woman! she seems born to work mischief and deviltry to every man she meets,” . “Another thing, Dennison,” Caryll pursues, taking rno heed; ‘‘what I principally wished to speak to you By Jove!” Terry aspirates “ cold i J i ut, indeed, is my daughter. By fair means or iin ed Set treed tea oe me | "pera fo she must be taken from her mother and given tome. And, Terry, for this I look to you.” “To me?” Terry repeats, blankly; ‘but how? I can’t go to Felicia and demand her, I can’t watch wy chs ce and steal her away. Hangit, no! She’s a female d, and J owe her no g turn, but still fi _ | She is the girls mother, and as such has a right to her. I suppose she is fond of her?” ‘She is not. Felicia never was fond ofany human She would send the girl adrift to-morrow, only it adds to her revenge to retain her, She will not treat her kindly, of that Iam sure; and before the week ends the poor child will need but to fly. My mother will gladly re- ceive and « ‘her. you must see her for , h. You have been of Will trust you. Explain every- better home and kinder relatives ver known await her. She will go own free will—take my word for Natural, Dont speak of it, Terry. 1 kn 4 ., Don’t speak of it, : wt can ee. cnlimheleare te would | knowledge. There is no more to be said, I believe. Look after the mother and France —get the child away from Felicia—make Eric leave Paris for his wife and mother’s sake ifyoucan. A multiplicity of tasks, dear bore d the last the hard- tee fault of yours if a ail Lowill bid you goc by and good speed They clasped hands hardin silence, then, without one word more, parted, and each went his own way. Terry lita cigar, and with his hands deep in his ockets madghis way gloomily back to the Hotel du uyre. fol adh bine ‘And if ever the fiend incarnate came on earth to work mischief in human shape,” Mr. Dennison in- wardly'growls, ‘he lias come in the form of Felicia the danc¢er:'» Devil take her! is there no end to the trouble she is destined to make ?” Next morning, Lady Dynely, to her surprise and annoyance, finds herself breakfasting alone. Neither Gordon Caryll nor France Forrester is to be seen when she enters. She waits half-an-hour—still they * . a her lately-found son has been like the rending of soul and body—more bitter than the bitterness of death; but she has learned, in weary years of peni- tence and waiting, the’great' 1ésson of ‘Hfe“endu- rance. §8o0 she comforts France now, in a tender, motherly fashion, and France listens aq she could listen to noone on earth, this morning, but Gordon's mother. “It is not for myself,” she says at last, after her old, impetuous fashion, with clasped hands, and streaming eyes, ‘it is for him. He has suffered so much, atoned s0 bitterly in exile, and loneliness, and poverty, all the best years of his life for that mad marriage of his youth, and now, when | would have made him so happy, when he was happy, in one in- stgnt every thing is Swept from him—home, mother, wife—and he must g0' out into exilea isery once more. Oh, mother! mother, help me to bear it!g It breaks my heart!” had | The wild sobs break forth again: 'The mother's heart echoes every word, It is retribution, perhaps justice—none the less it is verybitterto bear. The both think of him, leaving all things, and going bac to outlawry and wretchedness; they think of her in her insolent, glowing beauty and prosperity, the world going so well with her, the bride-elect of a prince, glorying in her vengeance, and it requires all the Christianity within them to refrain from hating her, . 1 \ But presently the storm of grief ends, as all things end, and sitting on a low hassock, her head bowed on Mrs. Caryll’s knee, France listens, to her sad plans for the future—so different, oh, s0 different from all the girl’s bright hopes of but a day before. “We will return to England, France,*Mrs. Caryl sags, gravely; ‘to Caryllynne. It has been deserted long enough. There we will live quietly together, and hope, and pray, and wait——_” “Wait,” France repeats with mournful bitter- ness. ‘Oh, mother, what isthere to wait for now ?’ What, indeed! Both are silent. Unless this fatal woman dies—and in her rich and perfect health she is likely to outlive them all—what can her son eyer have to hope for in this lower world? For France— well, as the years go on, the elder woman; thinks happiness may return to her. She is 80 youhg,there may be hope for her—for him, none, allied ‘Would you rather we went to Rome ” she asks, after a pause. eefead FEL , ‘‘No,” France says. ‘Let us return to Caryllynne, It was his home; I'shall be less wretched there than anywhere else on earth.” * So it is agreed. ; ; “Terry, will take us,” Mrs. Caryll says. “Terry knows all. And Lucia must be told, my dear —it is impossible a ae from her.” >" m.‘*Yes, tell her,” Miss Forrester assents, wearily; “the sooner the better,. And ask her to its he to say nothing ofaltered looks, or of—him. £. will return to my room, and you had best send for her at once. She was speaking of taking Crystal to Ver- sailles—let her know all, and make an end of it be- tore she goes.” | wg m uv Then France toils spiritlessly; cold and white, and wretched looking, back to her room, and Lady Dynely issent for, and the miserabie sequel to Gerdon + En tk Caryll’s early marriage is told her, as she sits pale, and surprised, and compassionate, heside Gordon Caryll’s.most unhappy mother, , , * * or; A oy * . * x “Where is he now ?” is Sy ‘a8 she sits wearily down, and lays her heaton the table, as though she never cared to lift it again; He is whirl- ing along in a French express’ trainsCalais-ward. To-night he, will, cross, the channel;;,.by,,the first Cunarder that quits Liverpool. he A sail for New fatal wife has driven him. CHAPTER Xi" M. LE PRINCE.” is 2 engeh of bot 75 ‘| ten in the evening. Almost absolute solitude fail to put in an” appearance. Lady Dynely hates aa breakfasts, and rather pettishly rings the ‘bell. ',*‘It’s wery odd,” she thinks annoyedly; ‘‘all day yesterday, and now again this morning, neither Gordon nor France is to be seen. And both are such preposterously early risers.” ‘Hervownh maid answers the summons, and her ladyship impatiently sends her in quest’ ofthe tru- jants, ‘Ten minutes, and Simpson returns. _“Miss Forrester has not yet left her room. She is suffering from headache, and begs my lady to ex- use her until luncheon. For Mr. Caryll—Mr, Caryll, my lady, has gone.” ; “Gone!” my lady repeats, with a blank stare. “Yes, my lady. Norton, his man, received his or- ders last night to pack up and follow him at.once to England.” Mr. Caryll lett the hotel himself late last evening, and has not since returned,” Lady Dynely listens to this in dazed incredulity. France ill!—Gordon gone! Now what does. this mean ?, Her first impulse was to goto Mrs, Caryll and inquire, her second to eat her breakfast and wait quietly until she was told. She acted on the second, ordered in breakfast, and sipped her choco- late as best she might for the devouring curiosity that possessed her. An hour later and Miss Forrester came down. The A quiet street near the Rue de Ja Paix, The hour, n- ing—only at long intéryals the’ footsteps of some passer-by awakening the echoes. *Dim' and afar off as it seems, the turmoil of the great city céming mellowed and subdued. i ant ta One house, argo unlighted, gloomy, standing in a paved. oe te es has had a constant stream of D= visitors for the past two'hours...Thé€y are atl men- stealthy ai furtive took, who ‘ men who have a yea apidly, who Pe Fant at tho gata, who do not spe d more than. minutes in those gloomy precincts, who fil and disappear, only to have others take theirp So tt has been for the past two hours, so it is to be until perhaps midnight. ._ This house is the property of His Excellenc¥ Prince Diventurini; and M. Diventurini is the leader and moving spirit ot a secret potiget Italian society. , For upward of two months he has been absent on a secret mission of grave import; this is the evenin of his return, and the members of, { jans all—have been summoned to their heatiquarters . to report progress to their leader. ; Pos Sak Outside, the gloomy and: secluded mansion is‘ wrapped in profound darkness; inside, halls and M. Diventurini sits, being brightly illuminated. He sits at a table strewn with papers, letters, pam- phlets—small, spare, yellow, with black, glancing . eyes, sharp as stilettoos, and thin compressed lips. One by one, his followers come and g0;-one by one, their reports are noted down and docketed: With sharp, quick precision he conducts éach in- terview, With imperious command he gives his or- ders, With scant ceremony he dismisses each man of them all,, Business ofa still more private.and deli-” cate nature awaits his attention—business purely per-. sonal to M,,le Prince—and he yather cuts, short the latest comers, and hurries the levee to a elose, 4 A‘clock over his ‘head chimes eleven. | With anim- patient gesture he dismisses ‘his last'client, flings! himself Dack in his chair; pushes’ his secant blaék? dainty morning toilet was as fresh and wunexception- able as,ever, the pretty rich brown hair as perfectly coiffed. ¢But out of the dark re face all the color was stricken, out of the clear brown eyes all the youthful gladness, all the loving, happy light. Her beauty and her youth seemed to have departed from herinanight. She went to Mrs. Caryll’s room, The elder lady sat in her easy chair, dressed for the day, waiting inan anguish of suspense. As France came in she opened her arms, and without a word the girl went into them, and laid her poor, pale face on the motherly bosom with a great, tearless sob. ‘*My child! my child!” Then she held her to her, and there was silence. The eyes of Gordon Caryll’s mother were full of pas- sionate, pitying tears, but the eyes of France were dry and burning. ‘ITsent him away—from you who love him so wT Oh, mother, forgive me. I did it for the est.” , She says it in a choked whisper, lifting her face for a moment. Then again it falls on the other’s shoulder. ‘Tt was like death, it was worse than death, but I told him to go,” she says, again, in that husky un- dertone. ‘“My dearest,” Mrs, Caryll answers, holding her close, “youdidright. Dearly asI love him, precious as your happiness is to me, I would rather part with him forever, rather see you asI see you now, than let you be his wife while that woman lives, _I be- lieve as you believe about divorce. No law of man can alter the law of God. If she was his wife seven- teen years ago—my child, how you shiver!—are you cold ?—she is his wife still. Itis right and just that he should have put her away—thatil believe; know- ing her to be alive now, it is right and just also that you should have sent him from you. But, oh, my Hen dear, itis hard on you—it is very hard on im.’ ‘Don’t,” France says, with a great gasp. ‘Oh, mother, not yet! Icawtbearit. This day fortnight was to have been our wedding day, and now——” She breaks down all in a moments, and the tears come—a passionate rain of tears, wild and heart- breaking. The mother holds her almest in silence, and so on her bosom lets her weep her great anguish out, ; She is crying herself, but quietly. Great self-con- trol_has always been hers—is hers still, “To part with hair, thickly streaked with gray, off his forehead with’ a weary air, and then sits for some minutes lost in deep and anxious thought. His thick brows knit, his lips set themselves ina tight, tense line, then, with a seoond, impatient motion, he seizes a silver hand-bell and rings a sharp peal. r ; “T shalbspeedily learn whether it isstruth or slan- der,” he mutters. ‘Paujol and Pauline watch her well, and the sey ae me soul and body. I may trust their tale, and if she has played me false, why,’ then—let her look toherself!? —, ; The bell. is answered almost immediately by the servant who has stood.on guard, He bows and awaits. ‘*Have they all gone?” “All, M. le Prince.” Ae ‘‘Has Paujol come ?” ul BY paces: “Paujol has been awaiting your excellency’s com- mands, for the last hour.” Caee ‘Let him enter.” mae The man bows again and disappears. M. le Prince lies back in his chair and plays a devil’s tattoo of ill-repressed impatience on its aim. , Then M. Paujol enters—a very tall man, in a gor- eous uniform, no other, in fact; than Madame ‘elicia’s huge chasseur in his robes of state. “Ah! Paujol. You have been here for some time, Antoine tells me, Haye you obtained leave of ab- sence, then, from madame ?” ‘‘Madame is notaware of my absence, M. le Prince. Madame departed one hour ago to the bal d’ opera + engeerer nts instant she left the Varieties, n fact. ‘Ah-h!” the interjection cut the air sharply asa knife; ‘‘to the bald’ opera at the Gymnase, With whom ?” a ’ “With the young milor Anglais—M. le Vicomte Dynely.” A moment’s silence. An ominous flash, swift, dangerous, has leaped from the eyes of the Neapoli- see cruelly thin lips set themselves a little tighter. : | “it is true, then! all I have heard. He isthe la test pigeon madame has seen fit to pluck, this green young British lordling! He is with her at all times, at all places. Paris rings with his infatuation—eh, — Paujol? is it so?” ‘ ‘it is the talk of Paris, monseigneur, of the clubs and the salons, of the strcets and the theater. Does your excellency wish me to tell you what they say ?” “All, Paujol! Word for word.” “They say, then, M. le Prince, that but the Eng- lish noble has a wife already, madame would throw over your excellency and marry milor Dynely. They say that madame has fallen in love with his hand. some face, and that while your highness will be the oe and dupe, fe will still remain the favored over.’ The hand—thin, sinewy, strong—that clasps the arm of the chair, clutches it until the muscles stand out like cords. A flerce Neapolitan oath hisses from his lips—otherwise he sits and listens unmoved. | “Go on, Paujol,” he reiterates, ‘‘Your,report is most amusing, my friend. He is at madame’s room constantly, is he not ?—he is her cavalier servante to all places ?—his gifts are princely in their profusion and splendor ?—again, is it not so?” “It isso, monseigneur—Pauline tells me the jewels he has given herjare superb. He is her niecatey at- tendant home from the theater, he is at all her re- ceptions, each day they ride in the Bois or the Champs Elysees, he spends hours in madame’s salon York, and so begin the second, cxile, to which his , ; { TA acne Stntiaecetptilladivabinnts tatarwatteii the soejety—Ttal- passages are dimly lit—one room only, that inwhich — oosih~ calipnaaegagpits jini «antenatal paren —- ee aeabetaseech ; ) : i 4 i iv : 5 ne 1h A Z é ? vee if ; tee i 'f i % & ys ty S ~ : i 4 ; | Tae } Y 1 Ue b 3 q s 5 a i £ ee