et \ ’ # ‘ | - 7 & ' (Mig ANS { db {Poor little thing ! bee **Ask no gnestions, Mere Mignon, He broke off abruptly. : “We must rouse you, Henri; this is our last night in Paris. Shall we walk through the streets and then go to the opera ?”’ “The opera! ah, yes; Hutrine was telling me about the new singer, and Norma is played to-night. 1 should like to hear Norma.” , ; “Then you shall,” said Michael, smiling; “but whois the new singer?” “They call lier Leonora.” Ewrick held his breath and whispered the word hoarsely: “Leonora,” “Have you heard her? Would, you not care to take me ?’? “Heard her,” thought Michael, “her voice is in my ears sleeping or waking, and ber forin haunts me lke a dream of madness; we will go fo the opera.” The fashionable part of the Freuch capital was brilliant with light and life when the carriage of the supposed chevalier drove froin the hotel, .Miehael, engrossed by the absorbing though: of seeing LeOnora once more, look heed of nothing on the way. He did not see tits fair, frank traveling friend, the artist, who ha@ told hiin so iwuch about the Charnett tragedies and the escape of O'Neil. Yet Mr. Hewbert stood on the edge of the broad pave in one of the boulevards through wilich the carriage passed. “Who is that geutieman that looked at you so earn- estly ? asked Henri. “Where ?"? “He is gone now. kers.”’ The image of Mr. Hewhbert. flashed to his mind. Ile looked intently, but the pave was thronged, and the gen- tleman, whoever he was, had passed from view. “Let thém come,” said Michael, iu bitter despair “Track, and dog, and haunt me as they will, they cannot take trom-eime what 1 have won—and | am torewarned of O'Neil.” : Some reflections troubled him—the fate of Leonora's child aud McDonald's treachery. Michaei would have been been more troubled still could he have seen what was taking place ata restaurant, not far from the Grand Opera, kept by a woman known as Mére Miguon. She had been a shopkeeper at Versailles. Keeping a restaurant was amore profitab!e oceupation evidently, for the good dame thrived, and laid Dy alittle store of noney. Sie hada charitable spirit, and did not send the poor, whether stranger or acquaintance, empty from her dyor. On the. sime.evening there came a man who looked very poor indeed, and-he- lad aiiitte gitl, The eréinerie Wus nota secludcd phieé, apd the man, who lvoked poor, Wanted seclusion. “Mére Mignon.” he said, “do you remember me ?”’ The woman looked.at. him steadlasuly.. His face seemed _strange at first, but She recognized hin after awhile. “Jaconet!? she said, ‘Baptiste! Oh! Mr. Lisle, how dangerous ts cone here !"” *Butl am welldisguised, Mere Mignon.’ ° “I knew you, and they would. Come this way, lest you are seen.”’ She ushered him into a room behind the public part of A pale gentleman, with side whis- here establishment. per ve “The child is faint, M. Jaconet.*” “Do not speak my nume. Call me Baptiste, as though I were the poor workmaniseem. I came here because I know I can trust you, Mere Mignon.” “You were my husband's friend.” ’ “Pwant you to take care of this child—this little one. You shall be well paid.” “I have bread to spare, Baptiste. Kind tome.’’, . “Then you will Keep her till 1.come back?” “Gladly.”’ “Good! Now tell me. Buradoc reside?’ *At the Ilotel de ” “T must see him. While I am gone, be careful, Mere Mignon. Let no one take the child.” “Willshe stay with me?” «She willdy anything. She had a severe fright, and her reason is scarcely right. See how docile she sits.” Yours, Baptiste?”’ Heaven has been Where does the Chevalier de ~ ‘Te shook his head. Shonld I not return, _ send for the Chevalier de Buradoc, an’ give hertohim.”? ‘> Mere Mignon promised. She could not comprehend the ypeanlg of an event that seemed singular to her simple mind. OWL She promised to attend to hisinstructions. As a wo- man, who trad had little children of her own, she could not but be won by the quiet, plaintive beauty of the child Baptiste Jaconet left with her. , it was pitiful Lo-see so young a form so full of sorrow. The little white face wore a scared, wistful look, inex- pressibly touching; and when Mere Mignon spoke to her, after Jaconet was gone, her questioning elicited no reply, save one word repeated many times— “Mamma!” “Tell me your name, darling?”’ Mere Mignon took the fragile form to her breast, and nestled it caressingly. ; “Are you afraid of any one? Don't fear. hurt you while you are with Mere Mignon!’ “Tam so afraid. Baptiste told me the man with the peard is coming after me, and I must not speak nor tell anything, or he will find me out.” Mere Mignon began to grow interested, (TO BE CONTINUED.) —_————-e ELE Midnight Prophecy; OR, THE HEIR OF STRATHSPEY TOWERS. By Mrs, Schuyler Meserole, Auther of “WEDDED FOR AN HOUR,” ete. No one shall [“The Midnight Prophecy” was commenced in No. 33. Back Nos. can be ebtained from any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XLVIII. THE EARL'S REMORSE. The earl and his family were comfortably established at Ravenswoid, amid the Scottish highlands, and Lady Ne- ville and the dowager countess were wholly engrosse:| with plans and preparations for the approaching mar- riage. The trousseaw hal been ordered, aud was pro- gressing in Paris, on the grandest iinaginable scale; and the earl, true to his promise, had er for Margue- rite a Set Of diamonds eyen rarer und "more costly than t neg she had lost, and Marguerite received them, © ki @ her fattér in‘silence, and uftering ho word of the misery she felt. For her father’s face was wan and sor- ful beyond all description, and the Scottish breezes ~uathier seemed to increase flan toveure his malady. “You see, my love,’ said Lady Neville, with tears on her well-preserved cheeks, as she admired the costly “stones, ‘you see how your dear father doats on yon, and tries to piease you,—and do, my child, if you have any love or gratitude for iiiin, try to get over your silly repug- nance to Sir Bayard. Your father regards liim as a son, and has set his heart on seeing vou his wife. “You see how his strength is failing day by day; and, Marguerite, I entreat- you. do not disappoint his hopes, do not shorten his life, by this folly of yours. You will love Sir Bayard well enough when you are once lis wife; there’s never any fear of a woman lacking in love for her husband.” And Lady Marguerite, with the costly casket in her hands, went slowly to her own chamber; and there, awaiting her coming, she found her old maid and: com- panion, Janet Burns, Her hopeless young eyes brighten- ed at. sight of her. ; “Why, Janet!” she cried joyously, extending her hand in welcome, ‘‘have you come back at lust? lam so glad, so glad to see you!”’ Jauet took the slender, little hand and kissed it respeci- fully, her eyes running over with tears, at sight of Pearl's pale, sad face. “Yes, Lady Marguerite,” she replied, *‘I have come back, and to stay for good now, if you want nie.”’ “If Lowanti you? O, Janet, you know I want you!’ cried Marguerite. ‘‘I’'ve had a cross, awkward girl ever since you left me, and I liked you so much—indeed, Vin asgiad to see you as.if you were my sister—I‘ll take you back this very minute.’ Janet smiled kindly at her childish impetuosity, “It gratifies me yery much,’’ she said, in her grayp, re- fined manner, “to know that you like me—I am @ 'trne friend to you, Lady Marguerite—do you know,” sheada- ed, hesitatingiy, “that I used to serve your mother once?’* “O Janet!’? cried the girl, crossing the room and seat- ing herself by the maid's side, “and you! never told’ me before? Ihave always longed so to hear something of my mother, Janet, tell ne how she looked?” “Exactly like you, my lady—two twin roses are not more alike, and she was the best, the sweetest woman in the wide world.” Peari’s tears were falling like rain, “If T could have seen her—if she had only lived,’? she moaned. “Aunt Neville says she died when I was a babe —did she, Janet?” «“Well—yes—you lost her when you were little more than a babe, my lady.” “Poor mammal O, why couldn’t she have been spared to mel It will’ be: a@ great comiort, Janet, to have ou with me, now that know that you used to know and ove ny mother.” “{ did love her, Lady Marguerite; anid I promised -her faithfully that I would always keep my ve en you, and help you whenever I could—that is why I have come buck to you’! ) “But, Janer, why did you not tell Me all this before?’’ asked Pear, ia astonishment, “Because | liad reasons, my dear lady, for keeping si- lent—I was afraid if | made myseif Known to Lady Ne- ville, she would refuse to employ me, and even now, I’m pretty sure she'll object when she finds out who Lam.”’’ “Why, Junet, What can you mean?’ “T mean. Lady Marguerite,’’ she replied, ‘that lam not Janet Burns, but Judith Ford, or Judith Dixon now, for I have married since | went away. And this fair,’ she went on, removing her flaxen wig, and revealing herown glossy brown braids, “is not mine any more than the name.”’ J Lady Marguerite stared in amazement. “Well.”? she said at last, ‘Llike yon even better with out the flaxén tock; bat really you overwhelm me with Z oP CSRS wa nnn a ee eee ~~ ee ee “There are circumstances, Lady Marguerite, that I am not at liberty to explain, and in regard to which you must not question me. I was your dear mother’s maid and companion for years, and I promiséd her to look after you, and I will. Your father, the earl, has engaged me, aud iny husband too. He wants Hendrick for game-keeper when he goes back to the Towers, and I am to be- with you, and he has promised to make it all straight with Lady Neville. Sv, if you want me, I'm at your service at once.” The earl did make it right with Lady Neville, after a painful and stormy discussion, in which the old dead-and- gone griefs were resurrected, and the bitter heart-wounds torn open. He reproached his sister in the severest tone, for her action in regard to his wife, and avowed his in- tention to go down to Lancaster Moor, and have her body exhumed and brought to the Towers for decent burial. Lady Neville remonstrated with all her eloquence, but Lord Strathspey was a resolute man, when his mind was once made up, and she failed to move him, “Let me ulone,’’ he said, bitterly; ‘“‘we have done enough—it is needful that we make what reparation we may. Don't you see that Lady Strathspey was right—the boy who bears my name is not my son—she was right, and we called it insanity, and imprisoned her in a mada- house. Camilla, yon cannot understand how IT feel about it, So let me alone—let me have my way in peace.”’ “But, Angus, for Heaven's sake,’? implored his prond sister, ‘‘think of the disgrace, the shame—let the affair rest—don't make it public again! For Marguerite’s sake, let it rest!’ ‘Marguerite is no dearer to me than her mother was,” replied the earl, an angry flush rising to his death-white cheeks; ‘‘and I shall do her mother justice, no matter what the cost may be. I've enough on my soul now—if I can assure myself that my poor wife was true to me—that T aceused her falsely—I’'ll make it known throughout the length and breadth of England, and stand before the whole world in my true character—a jealous brute, a murderer!’ Lady Neville knew too well that further’ remonstrance would be a waste of words, and she groaned in agony, half-wishing that her brother’s malady might interpose, and lay him inthe grave that must soon receive him, rather than her proud hame should be so tarnished and scandalized. But the earl’s life seemed like his will, a something in- domitabie and unconqueruble. Lord Angus did not. accompany the family to Ravens- wold; he remained behind, not at the Towers, for the earl had forbidden him ever again to darken his doors; but at “The Cedars,’ the invited gnest of Lady Cecilia Drum- mond. Herladyship and the young ‘earl were getting to be fast friends. A day or two after their departnre the young man mounted his roan mare and started for the cottage of Doc- tor Renfrew. The results of his last visit had by no means dampened the ardor of his passion, or weakened his determination to make pretty Maggie his own. On the contrary, he was more in love, more desperately in earnest than ever. “She shail be mine,’? he swore, as he galloped across the downs, ‘‘she shall be mine, if it costs me my life to win her.’ 7 What was his surprise and disappointment to find the cottage locked up, and his pretty bird flown. ““Where’s the doctor ?” he demanded of tlie old servant- man. “Gone this week an’ more, yer. lordship, sister as lives in the Scottish *Ighlands.,”’ And the angry, young peer resolved with a bitter oath, that to the Scottish Highlands he would follow. to wisit his CHAPTER XLIX. LADY PEARL HAS AN ADVENTURE. Lady Neville was slightly indisposed, and the earl had gone to Lancashire, in regard to business matters, he said; but for no other reason, as his sister very well knew but to visit the Lancaster Moor Asylum, and make ar- rangements to carry out his insane’ intentions; which, no doubt, was the sole cause of her Jadyship’s indisposition; tor she locked herself in her chamber, and spent the fore- noon pacing up and down Jike an enraged tigeress, wish- ing sincerely thatshe had the power to consign her broth- er to the tender mercies of & madhouse; as she had done his wife. , Meanwhile the countess took a fancy to drive to the ruins of an old castle somewhere amid the highlands, and near which was a noted cavern. So the pony-phzeton was brought out, and a basket of sandwiches, and two or three bottles of champagne pack- edi under the seat, and Lady Marguerite and Sir Bayard summoned to accompany her Lady Marguerite was not at all averse to going, ald the baronet would have fullowed anywhere in the wake-of the countess; her gold attracted him as a magnet attracts steel. The day was fine in the forenoon, and their drive was qnite pleasant, and they found the old ruins grand ane picturesque beyond all description. The countess, who was quite a traveler in her way, was especially delighted. “What a charming old place,’ she cried, as they sat in a dim old chapel, with fretted ceiling, and stained win- dows sipping their champagne; ‘‘and since I come to re- member it, you used to be an artist, Sir Bayard,’ she add- ed, turning upon the baronet; “how is it we see none of your work now?” . The baronet blushed like a girl, and stammered in dire confusion. “Pshaw!’’ ejaculated the countess; ‘‘what are you blushing about? I detest bashful men--if you have a talent for anything ’tis nothing to be ashamed of.’ . Sir Bayard managed to get his voice, but it quavered dreadfully. He did—well—he used to-sketch a long while ago—when he was traveling—but—— “No buts about it,”? cut the dowager. ‘You're not so clever that you need to drop your accomplishments—I’d like to have a sketch of these rnins—so do you purchase materials in Perth, and we'll drive over again in a few days, and you shall make a sketch for me." The baronet bowed in silence, buthis face looked like the face of a condemned criminal. The countess stared in amazement. “What is the matter? she cried; “one minute you’re as red as a rose, and the next as white as @ ghost. Are you ill?’ Sir Buyard was not quite well; he had been troubled with dizziness for a day or two. He woulFwalk about a little, it would soon wear off. Accordingly, he strolled off in one direction, and Lady Marguerite watching her opportunity, disappeared in another, the countess —re- maining in the chapel, to rest herself, and finish: her champagne. *-How the poor girl does detest: him,’ she nvrmured; “and I don't wonder atit much. Bayard Brompton’s a queer fellow some way—he’s got a secret that troubles him, . I wonder what it is?, But no matter,’? she added, turning back to her champagne, “he’s one of my cwn race, and she shall marry him—it may be the means of saving him from disgrace and ruin,” Meanwhile, Lacy, Margnerite made her way through the moldering halls of the’old castle, and out into the warm, summer vir. The clouds. were guthering in the west, but the sun still shone, and the breeze was sweet and fresh. She strolied down the ruined avenue, beneath the whispering fir branches, and out into the green, open park. The prospect around her was indescribably grand und beautiful. Onone hand towered the bold, bieak summits of the cliffs—on the otlier, the green, rolling valleys, and now and then the glittering gleam of some mountain lake, and far below flashed the spires of Perth and distant Dundee. There was a fallen statne near at hand, a marble Apollo, half imbedded in the rank grass, his lyre broken, and all his god-like beauty falling to decay. Lady Pearl seated herself upon this fallen god, and leaning ker lovely brow on her hana, gazed ont npon the glorious summer scenes with sad, sad eyes. So young, and yet so utterly miser- able! The very sunlight seemed to fall upon her bowed head, with its crown of silken gold in pitying tenderness, She was thinking of the baronet, the man who was to be her husband, wongering why it was that his very pre- sence inspired her with such disgust and aversion? She could not besr to be in the same room. with him, and yet in three short months she would be his wife! “I cannet,’? she murniured, the silent tears falling over her cheeks. ‘Surely God will let me die and escape it. Poor papa, T would give my life to please and comfort him, but I never can be that man’s wife.”’ And then her fancy, by a sudden and capricious transi- tion, recalled another face. a handsome, manly face, lit by bright brown eyes. Poor little Pearl sighed, anda vivid red flushed her waxen cheeks. She was an earl’s daughter, yet she was quite as fuil of idle fancies, and silly, girlish dreams, as the humblest peasant girl upon her fa- ther’s domains. She sat there in the old park, on the fallen s‘atue of Apolio, dreaming in the bright summer sunsi.cs, ond al- ways in herdreaming those bright brown eyes were pre- sent. Foolish, foolish litthe Peart! The sound of an approaching footstep startled her, and she sprang up, in haste to fly back and escape an inter- view with Sir Bayard; but she met, face to face, not Sir Bayard, but Captain Fossbrooke.. He bowed wittr courtly grace, that pleasant smile of his making his brown eyes irresistible. Lady Marguerite flushed like @ rose in her embarrassinent, “IT beg your pardon, Lady Marguerite,” said the cap- tain, “but you were just what] needed to make my skeich perfect"'—he pointed toward his portfolio aud drawing inaterials, which lay a few feet distant—and my patron saint sent you to sit on the fallen Apollo. Will you look at my sketch ?”? Lady Marguerite, followed him, and he laid before her, with pardonable pride, a masteriy sketch of the hoary,old ruins, and of the green park, With herself seated on the fullen marble, and the bald peaks, and the rolling high- lunds in the distance. “Why, what an artist you are, Captain Fossbrooke.” she said, simply. “I never saw anything so perfect. How it would delight the countess’? “Do you thinkso? Theti the countess must see it,”’ smiled the captain, dae took up his portfolio, and they walked on side by side. ‘“T did not dream of such a pleasure as meeting your ladyship,’? he said, “When I came out to sketch this mMorhing T thought you were at the Towers,’ Lady Marguerite blushed vividly beneath his admiring glunces, “We came across over & week ago.” she replied. “We are staying at Ravenswold, an old highland country- house belonging to tlie countess.” “Ah, T anderstand! How long shall you remain??? ’ “Until the last of September, I think.” “Thats pleasunt,” cried the eaptaiu, ‘1*m here myself for the summer. I’ve absndoned the sword, for the hot . turned into the grand vestibule, clambering over heaps of rubbish, they came upon Sir Bayard, wholly recovered from his dizziness it appeared, and coming in search of Lady Marguerite. Ifa ghost, from one of the moldering tombs below the chapel, had confronted him, he could not have looked more startled than he did at sightof the captain. He stood like a statue, his face growing livid, his eyes wide and staring. “How are you to-day, Sir Bayard?’ said the captain, extending his hand with frank cordiality, The baronet gave him the tips of his fingers, a scowling frown contracting his brows. The next instant he offered his arm to Lady Marguerite, and led her away—the coun- tess was awaiting her hesaid. Nothing dashed by his evident dislike and ill-humor, the captain followed them into the grand gloom of the old ehgpel, where the coun- tess still sat. ‘She looked up in unutterable surprise at his sudden appearance. “Why bless my soul,’?? she exclaimed, regarding him over her goggles, ‘‘who is it? Why ’tis Fossbrooke— Captain Fossbrooke |? The captain bowed profoundly, and expressed himself highly flattered to know that her ladyship remembered him. He was making a sketching tour through the High- lands.”? “Why, I thought you were a soldier,’’ interrupted the dowager spitefully. “So lL am, and begging your ladyship’s pardon, an artist too, in my way. Would you do my poor sketch the honor to look at it?’ ‘To look at it, please,’’ whispered Marguerite, her radiant face all smiles and blushes, ‘‘you will be so pleased, I know!”? The artist drew the sketch from his portfolio, and laid it before her; and the dowager condescended to examine it. Her eyes brightened beneath her goggles, as she looked. “Why, young man,” she cried.at last, “this thing is worthy of a place in my gakery at’Mortlake! I never saw a finer landscape! Do you care Lo sell it?” “Tt isn’t finished yet,’ replied Captain Fossbrooke, flushing with gratification; ‘‘it will make a finer appear- ance by far when it is complete.” : ‘Well, complete it then, aud I'll give yon a gQod price forit. Whatdo youwant? Will three hundred pounds do??? “That would be avery generous remuneration,’ re- plied the captain, “but if your ladyship would accepr—”’ But she cut him short with a gesture. “J never accept anything,’ she said. enough to pay for all I want. Mind, the as soon asitis done. Why can’t you do that, Brompton ?!’? she continued, turning “What has become of all your talent?” Sir Bayard did not reply, but the captain did. “OQ yes,’? he putin pleasantiy, “Sir Bayard does dabble in colors toe. Ireme'uber now, my friend, Colonei Rich- mond Brooke, used to speak of Sir Bayard as_an artist.” The baronet’s face began to loseits color, and his eyes to wander restlessly beneath the captain’s steady gaze, and he stammered wretchedly in his attempts to reply. “If he’d spoken of him as a fool, he’d have been nearer the truth, I think,’? muttered the dowager, under her breath; then aloud: ‘Here, Marguerite, give the captain a sandwich and a bottle of champagne,”’ she said, ‘‘and then we'll gather up, and get ready for starting.” Marguerite obeyed with blushing eagerness, and while the captain, sitting down beside the countess, uncorked his champagne and ate his sandwich, talking all the while with that nameless*ease and grace that character- ized all his movements, the baronet, utterly unable to control his blanching cheeks and shaking knees, availed himself of the pretext of seeing that the carriage was ready, and made his escape. “With your ladyship’s kind permission.’’ ventured the artist, after he had placed the ladies in the carriage, stand- ingin the noonday sunlight, his handsome face, and bright-brown eyes all aglow with life and genial humor, “I}1 callat Ravenswold inaday ortwo and bring the sketch?’ F And the countess nodded in her grim, abrupt way; and mentally anathematized herself the moment after when her sharp eyes caught sight of Marguerite’s vivid blushes and lingering glances as the carriage rattled away. “A pretty mess I've made of it,’? she soliloquized, “civing him an excuse to come—and the girl is head-over- neels in love with him already.’ They droye a mile or two farther down amid the high- lands to see the cavern, which was a weird and wonder- ful subterranean abode, running for miles beneath the base of a rocky cliff, roofed with glittering stalactites, and floored with mosaic like excrescences that gleamed and flashed in the light of their torches like precious stones. The countess and Marguerite were carried away with delight and admiration, and lingered long after Sir Bayard warned them that the weather had changed and the day was far advanced. There were so many wonders to admire, so many new sights at every step, that they lingered in blissful forgetfulness. The voice of their coach- man aroused them from their dream. “IT beg your ladyship’s pardon,” he said, addressing the countess; ‘but there be every sign as warns ye when a storm’s a brewin’, andI thought it best to fasten the ?osses, and come.down an’ tell ye.” And at the same moment, as if in confirmation of his words, a roll of thunder awoke a thousand reverberating echoes around them. Marguerite grew pale with alarm and the countess went stumping off toward the entrance at a furions rate. “You villain!’ she cried, with her characteristic un- reason, aS another peal seemed to shake the foundations of the mountain; ‘‘why didn’t you come and tell me be- fore? What made you wait till the last moment ?’’ “I beg your grace’s pardon,”' implored the driver; ‘‘but Sir Bayard was up,A minnit or so ago.’? ‘Hush with your clatter, will you? If I’m caughtin the storm it shall cost you your place, that's all. Here, Brompton, don’t stand there like a gaping idiot. Can't you help me to get out ?”’ Sir Bayard flew to her assistance bowing like a man- darin, while. Marguerite, glad to escape his attentions, accepted the assistance of the guide. The storm was certainly brewing, and that with fright- ful rapidity, when they gained the outside world again. The west Was one great mass of boiling black, edged with brassy yellow where the jurid sun was going down; and the thunder bellowed inthe distance like the guns ina great battle. ‘J think we had better return to the cave fill the storm is over,’ suggested the baronet, as he surveyed the omin- ous sky. “You do?’ snarled the dowager, as she hobbled on to- ward the carriage; ‘“‘then take shelter init. If you want to be buried in that pit o’ fire and brimstone in a thun- der storm ‘tis more than I do. Here, Murguerite, be quick, and now, sir’’—addressing the driver—‘drive for your life; if yon don’t get back to the old castle before the storm breaks Ill clip your eurs.”? Sir Bayard sprang to his seat without another word, and the coachman mounting his box lashed his horses like a madman. But the highland roads were rough and bad, andin the gloom of the waning afternoon it was a matter of exceeding difficnity to distinguish one road from another. The poor fellow had not driven half a mile;be- fore he was utterly bewildered. “But he kept on, the flery animals: at. their best speed” and growing wilder with the blaze of the lightning in their eyes. “Are we in sight of the ee ?? demanded the coun- tess, shuddering at every fresh peal. “Not yet, your ladyship,’’ replied the bewildezed coach- man, urging his steeds into a lonely lane, which ran through the heart of a forest of firs. Sir Bayard opened the carriage door and looked out, as the darkness began to close around them. “We are on the Mie road!’ he cried out. “ve money picture’s mine something like to the baronet. “The man has lost his way!" .. i The countess utte acry of range and execration, but an awful shock, as if heaven and earth were coming to- gether, and at the same instant a blinding flash silenced her. The very air wus charged with sulphurous gas, and the affrighted horses, maddened beyond all con- trol, shot off at a break-neck pace. The baronet put out his head to call to the driver, and, to his utter cousternation, saw that the box was empty. The driver was gone, On andon they went, the horses making great, flying leaps, and dragging the carriage after them, over ruts, and rocks, and prostrate trees, the thunder rattling over- head, the blazing lightning revealing the somber woods and distant mountain peaks, The poor dowager, humble and gniet enough in her peri! and fear, crouched down upon the floor of the car- ringe, and burying her face in the cushions, mouned and prayed for help. Marguerite sat erect, calm and quiet, showing no sign of what she felt, save in the deadly pal- lor of her face. ; Sir Bayard had heen watching for 2 chance to rein in the runaway horses, but finding that such an attempt would be worse than madness, he returned to his seat. By the incessant glare of the lightning he could see that they were nearing a dismal monntain gorge, and the horses were increasing rather than diminishing their speed. He turned toward Lady Marguerite with an anx- ious face. “Ludy Margucrite,”’ he said, putting out his arm to sup- port her, “try to be cali; we are nearing @ dangerous de- clivity—allow me to support you—the shock will be ter- rible.”? But even in that moment of supreme danger she turned from him,her face white and cold,her blue eyes glittering. “LT do not need you, Sir Bayard,’ she replied, haughtily, “and the countess does.” He bad no time for remonstrance, for the horses went over with one flying bound, and the carriage followed with an awful crash; and then the countess uttered a thrilling cry, and, with the sound in her ears, Marguerite felt herself going down, down, thousands of fathoms deep, it seemed, und then all was utter darkness. CHAPTER L, NHW FRIENDS. Lady Marguerite awoke to conscionsness: in the dim twilight ofa pleasaut little ehumber, a sweet, fresh breeze blowing through the open window, and cooling her fe- vered cheeks, and a soft haud ‘smoothing back her hair with soothing, «uinty tonehes, Her temples throbbed painfully, and she felt very weak and languid after: her dreadful fright, and the dainty touches were so soothing «hat she closed her eyes again, and lay for several moments in half-unconscious enjoy- ment, But curiosity began to- assert itself, and she opened them again; and this time she saw the face of a young girl bending over her—a rare and lovely face, 18 fair and pure as a pearl. Ste smiled’ involuntarily, and the pretty, rosy lips above her smiled back in response. THE NEW YORK. WEEKLY. #>> And the next instant the pearl-fair face vanished, and a rough, bearded one looked down in its place. Lady Mar- guerite strnggled up to a sitting posture, but the Clr made her faint and dizzy. “Where am I?’ she asked gazing about her with be- wildered eyes. The young maiden, with the pearl-fair face advanced to her side. ’ “You are at my aunt’s, Mrs. Keith; and. this is. Doctor Renfrew, who lives just below Strathspey Towers, and Ian Maggie, his daugiiter,’’ she suid sweetly. “And you hada pretty rough shaking up, last night,’ put in the old doctor, “so lie down and keep quiet,— Maggie will bring you some breakfiust presently,” The terrible dangers’of the past night came back with awful distinctness to Lady Marguerite’s memory. ; “And the countess ?”’ she asked growing pale, ‘‘what of er ?”? “Nothing, only she’s half dead from the fright, and she’s gota little twist in her ankle, nothing serious,’’ repiied the doctor. “And the gentleman, Sir Bayard Brompton,’ added Maggie considerately. “Ig bruised pretty badly,” finished the doctor, as he walked away. Marguerite lay back upon her pillows, with a sigh of re- lief. They had passed through the awful danger compar- atively unhurt. Presently she asked another question. “Who found us? How did we get here?’ “Captain Fossbrooke found you,’ replied Maggie; ‘‘he saw you at the old Castile, I think, and seeing that a storm was coming, hurried after you, to bring you here till it was over. But you had left the cave when he reached it, and he did not come up with you, till after the horses had run down tie gorge. He found the carriage smashed, and Sir Bayard standing in desp:ir over the countess and yourself, believing you both to be dead. But the captain knew better, so he got help and brought you here. And now,’? she added, smiling brightly, ‘‘you know everything, and you musi lie quite still, tii ] run down to the kitchen and fetch your breakfast.” Lady Marguerite obeyed, and in ten minutes Maggie was back again, with a tempting little meal, on an old- fashioned silver tray; and with it, a small bunch of roses and Engtish violets. “Captain Fossbrooke sent these,’”? she said, as she put the flowers in Pearl’s hands, ‘‘with his compliments, and he would like to comein and inquire how you are, but papa won’t let him ——, papa’s awful cross about his patients.”’ Lady Marguerite did nof answer, she averted her face to hide the burning flush that suffused it. ‘When did the captain come?” she asked after a pause. “Captain Fossbrooke? Oh, he boards here, you Know. Aunt Keith always takes boarders in summer, and the Captain’s been here a week or two. He’s ona sketch- ing tour, and he draws beautifully. Come now, let me assist you to rise—there, the pillow will support you, and you can eat your breakfast nicely, while I runin aud speak to the countess.” “Tell her I’m very glad she’s not seriously injured,’’ said Marguerite; ‘and—and—you may,’’ she stammered, her cheeks glowing liké peonies—*tyou may say to Cap- tain Fossbrooke, that lam very much obliged to him, for the flowers.”? “Very welll’? and away wen¢ Maggie, trilling a little Highland melody. And Lady Marguerite trifled with her tempting break- fast for a minute or two, and then lay down, burying her face amid her pillows, with a sharp, aching pain at her heart. ; That afternoon the earl, who had returned from Lan- cashire, drove over with Lady Neville, and Judith, Lady Marguerite’s maid; and for the first time in haifa score of years, he met with Doctor Renfrew. The old Scotchman stood stubbornly, his keen gray eyes looking straight be- fore him, as the peer advanced, determined if there was any salutation between them, that he would not be the first to speak. The earl did not hesitate, however, he came up, with extended hand. “How are you, doctor?’ he said, a wan smile lighting his worn, white face; ‘‘ you.and I parted a little at odds, if I remember rightly. Are you friendly enough to forget and forgive?’ “TJ am friendly enough to forgive you,’’ replied the doc- tor, ‘‘but forgetting is another thing—I can’t do that, Lord Strathspey!’ The earl winced, and hesitated an instant before he spoke again. ; " “No, you can't forget!’’ he said at last, an unutterable despair in his voice and face, ‘‘and I won’t ask it! but doctor,’ he added, with a sudden passion, ‘‘you were my best and earliest friend, and I don’t like you to think me an unprincipled villian. Doctor, in all the wide earth, there is no wretch so utterly lost and accursed as I am.”’ The old man put out his hand and clasped the earl’s in a hearty grasp. “My poor Angus,”’ he said, “I knew it would come to this—and now it is too late!”’ “Too late!?? echoed the earl, ‘‘too late! stood by her grave yesterday! She lies in the common Potter’s field on Lancaster Moor!’ There was a something inexpressibly thrilling in the man’s utter despair. The doctor drew his hand across his eyes. ¢ ‘‘And she loved you so, Angus,” he said; ‘‘poor thing, Ishall never forget her last words to me—‘tell my hus- band that I love him, and forgive him vy “Don’t!” cried the earl, putting his hand to his heart, “T cannot bear it! Great Heaven, doctor, remorseis a ter- rible thing! 1 wish I conid die! Ifit were not such a cowardly thing to do, 1d soon end all this!” “You will do better to live, and clear your wife’s slan- dered name; you are not ready to close your accounts et.” “True enough! But Ic: :uot banish her face one in- stant—sleeping or Wuking, ‘* is before my-eyes; her white, hopeless face looking ‘ough the bars of a mad- house. Ishall go mad mysel. »on! But that was not my work, doctor.’’ “What? consigning your wii “Yes! Sir Marshall Neville without my knowledge, while 1 “But you didn’t try to undo it, said the doctor, mercilessly. “No, because I doubted her fidelity.” “And what lias changed your mind, Lord Strathspey?’ The old man’s wrath was rising again, but the earl did not resent it; he auswered meekly: “7 cannot teli—L do not believe the young man who bears my name, is my son, for one thing.’ “Ivs a marvel to ime that yon did not find that out long ago,’? returned the doctor, ‘‘A mother’s instincts are al- ways true—the boy in the Tyrol was yours, and your wife knew it; but, woman-like, she loved you so tenderly that she kept all her hopes and fears to herself, and tried to get atthe bottom of the mystery before she disturbed your mina.” : “There’s where the trouble began—if she had only trusted me at'first, and had no secrets from me.—I thought the child was hers—born-before our marriage.” The doctor uitered an exciamation of disgust. “Just like ajealous fool!) he exclaimed. ‘*Couldn’t the child’s age determine that?” “fT took no thonght of its age,’ replied the earl, humbly, “No, you didn't,” stormed the old man, “you just jumped at conclusions, to suit your jealous faucy—you should have gone to a mad-house, hot your poor wife, the truest and fondest wife in England.” * The earl stood silent in the summer twilight his face ghastly in the gloom. “Yes,” he said, slowly, at last, his voice broken and un- natural, ** F believe it all now, and I would give my soul’s eternal welfare to recall the past—but it is too late, too late! ; She’s dead—I 9 & mad-house?’’ 1 his wife did it, and 1s abroad.”’ ‘hile there was time,’? {To BE CONTINUED.]} OUR KNOWLEDGE Box. A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering. har ~Correspondenis asking questions of this Depart- ment are particularly requested to address them to us on a separate slip of paper, indorsed ‘For the Knowl- edge Box.”’ QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.— Under the Gas-Liqght.—l. Clean your teeth before going to bed. 2. See No. 36 for recipes for various inks. 3. We know nothing to the contrary. 4. We have ne recipe of practical value. Only an experienced person can make it. 5. Glycerine soap is a very pop- ular toilet artitle. It is also a good shaving soup. 6. Common table salt is recommended to get rid of bedbugs, but a correspond- ent who bas tried it recommends the following recipe: Oue ounce of quicksilver and the whites of three e well beaten, in the way egys are beaten, with a kuife or spoon, and applied an inch around the knobs and other infested parts with a feather or brush. The greatest difficulty is to get the two articles to mix but perge- verance will overcome that....... J. H. W.—No recipe of value.... L, M. K.—To WasH Point Lack COLLARS.—First, baste the col- larin good shape on a piece of white muslin; wash it clean in warm water, previously dissolving in the water a very small piece of soap. Rinse, and putit in some very thin starch, as only a little “stiffuess is required. Hang it near the fire, and, when par- tially dry, lay it over a clean cloth, and press lightly with a warm iron, not alowing it to dry under the iron. Then sit down, take apin, and, beginning at one end, pick out carefully every loose loop in the collar, especially those on the outer edge, Tiis pro- cess must be continued until the collar 1s quite ary, as upon it de pends almost entirely the beauty of the lace. It isa rather te- dious Operation, but lace collars very seldom need doing up, and ifdone properly in this way, will look about the same as when new. Another way to clean point lace collara is to cover the article well with moist magnesia; over this lay a sheet of coarse brown paper, and press with a moderately hot iron. The heat melts the grease, which is absorbed by the magnesia. By these means it will be always fresh. If a more violent process is need- éedjcover a glass bottle with flannel, wind the lace around it, tacking on bot sides tothe flannel; cover the whole witha piece of flaunel sewed firmly. BYPep over night with soap ana cold water. Next morning wash with hot water and soap, then steep for some hours in cold water, and dry near the fire. Ke- move the covering. No ironing is required . L—NO... 60.24 Barnes.—DISINFECTANT.—A saturated solution of permanga- nate of potassa is one of the most efficient and elegant of all dis- infectants., Twenty-five grains will be ample for two quarts ef wat-r, and a tablespoonful ina soup pave of wat«r, exposed in a room of ordinary dimensions, quickly removes any ordin ¥ amell, When the pink color disappears more must be added. It is frequently used to remove the smell of bilge-water and guano from’ ships: It speedily cleanses foul water and makesit drink- able. A tablespoonful to a hogshead is generally enough, but more may be added, until the water retains a slight pinkish tint, This will disappear by putting a stick in the water for a few minutes. No sick room—espeeially one in which an infectious diseases is prevailing—should be without this invaluable disin- fectant.......04 Boston Girl.—REMEDY FOR TENDER FEET.— A soiution of tannic acid is an excellent application for tender feet, and is also a preventive of the offensive odor attendant upon their profuse perspiration. It can be obtained of almost any druggist. A strong deeoctiou of oak bark will also be found very efficacious. rage tae Mildred. RN STARCH JELLY CAKE.—One cup of butter, two of sugar, ohe of corn starch, one of flour, one of sweet milk, whites of seven eggs, one Lengnpontul of creamn of tartar, half a teuspoonful of soda. When baked, as you take fron] Z. C. R—1. To PickLE CuccMBERS.—Get very small cucumbers; wipe them clean, and lay them into stone jars. Allow one quart of coarse salt to a pail full of water; boil the salt and water till the salt is dissolved; run it boiling hot on the cucumbers; cover them up tight, and let them stand twenty-four hours. Tarn them into a basket to drain. Boil as much of the best cider vinegar as will cover the cucumberg: wash out the jars, and put the cucum- bers into them. Turn the vinegar on boiling hot; cover them with cabbage leaves, and cover the jars tight. In forty-eight hours they will be fitfor use. Pickles of any kind are good made in the same way, 2. TO PREPARE CITRON MELON.—Cui it in pieces the size you wish, take out the soft center and seeds, pare off the green rind, then throw the pieces in cold water and let them stand all night. Next day boil them, in. water enough to cover them, for twenty minutes, adding alum the size ot a walnut to each quart of water, to green them; 3-41b. sugar to 1 Jb, fruit, slice some lemons, and put in also essence of ginger to taste. Boil till Gear... .. Gaston Dantree.—fO REMOVE 'TAN.—In the season wa- termellon rinds will be found serviceable; but there is nothing better than fresh lemon. juice. Cut a lemon in two and pass over the tace, or squeeze the juice on a wet-towel and wash the face with it. Lemon juice js also excellent for softening and whitening thehands. Don’t try th pe once or twice, and if it fails then to have the desired efiect, sty it is a failure, but persevere in its ap- plication a week or two... .. Jokn.—Yo be had of any druggist... Sangerfest.—1. To make HARD WHITE Soap, to fifteen pounds of lard or suet, made boiling hot, and thirty-six gallons of hot lye, or solution of potash that wil bear up an egg high enough to leave a piece bigas a five c-nt piece, bare, Take outa little and cool it, If no grease rises itis done. If any grease appears, add lye, and» boil till no gréase risés? Add three’quarts of fine salt, and boilit up again. If this does not harden well on cooling add more salt. Ifitis to be perfumed, melt next day, add the perfume and run it in molds or cutin cakes, 2. No recipe...... L. C. R. B.—To CuRL FEATHERS, first steam them over the tea- kettle-spout, then lightly shake them in front of the fire, and, if old feathers, they will curl up as good as new. Some use a knife manufacttred expressly ‘for the purpose. There are establish- ments in this city which do a large business in this branch of in- dustry. Stbscriber.—We will answer in our next issue...........- Buena, Vista.—RENDERING WOOD INCOMBUSTIBLE.—A yery good way of rendering w@od incombustible is to soak it in a strong sol- ution of alum and the sulphate of copper. About one pound of dame andeone of sulphate ef eepptr siculd be sufficient for one hundred gallons,of water. Th substances are dissolved in a small quantity of hot water, then mixed with the waterin the ves- sel in which the wood is to be steeped, The timber to be rendered” fireproof can be kept under the liquor by stones or any other mode of sinking it. All that is required isa water-tight vessel of sufficient dimensions to hold endugh of the liquor to cover the timber, which should be allowed to steep for about four or fivedays. After this, it is taken out and suffered to dry thoroughly..before, being used.