Fr pain rhein tere tat ie ; \ , a A an a etapa ewcaeh PR pan Sia Vol. 57- No. 3 THE NEW YORK ‘WEEKLY. . Meg put no check upon her thoughts. this pencil-case in the grounds this evening, and though I can hardly think it can have any association with the matter we are in- vestigating, -still, I thought I would bring it to you.”’ He stretched out his hand as hé spoke, and Meg took the pencil from his palm. It was gold, handsome in its way,*and she recognized it at. once. She had seen it fre- quently in Cuthbert Latimar’s hand. He usually wore it attached to a chain. It brought back to her memory once again that recollection of the evening before, when she had gone out into the dusk and had met Cuthbert so suddenly. he was silent so jong that Andrew Johnson moved and attracted her attention. There was a slight flush on her face as she spoke. “I recognize this pencil; it belongs to a gentleman who has been staying here,’’ she said. “I will have it returned to him. But you did not tell me where you picked it up?’ “On the central pathway leading from the river. I hardly know how it could have es- caped notice, for we have all been searching the grounds to-day in every direction. I sup- pose it must have rolled on one side. I saw it by chance; it glittered in the light of the lantern I was ecarrying.”’ Then Johnson paused. “Does this belong to that gentleman with whom you were riding the other day?’ he abruptly asked. Meg said ‘‘Yes.”’ ‘““‘Why do you ask?’ added, the next moment. “For no particular reason,’ said Andrew Johnson, “‘except that I fancied I saw him walking in the direction of the river late yes- terday afternoon. Perhaps you will charge yourself with the care of this, Miss Thorpe?’ “You can leave it with me,’ Meg answered. She realized then, ina flash, with what calm- ness and ease this man stood and conversed with her; and though he would not sit, as she requested him to do, there was absolutely nothing awkward about him. Something led her to speak of: himself. “Tt hope you received your letter in time this morning,’’ she said. He smiled and showed some very even teeth. “Oh, thank you; yes, they brought it to e.” she good white, me. He turned with a bow to go, but Meg spoke again hurriedly. “I forget how long you have been here; I hope your life is comfortable?’ The man lingered. “It is more than comfortable, Miss Thorpe,’’ he said; “it is most luxurious.”’ The girl colored. “Please don’t think me _ inquisitive,” said, in her frank way, “but gardener before you came here?” “TI have been a gardener all.my life,’ an- swered Johnson, but his eyes had a gleam in them that did not escape her. Meg looked at him thoughtfully. If she expected that he would speak out more frankly, she was destined to disappoint- ment. Andrew Johnson apparently had noth- ing more to say. about himself. He turned and went away this time, and she watched him go, feeling roused a little more from the heavy depFession that had weighted her heart by the interest she felt in him. Then, as he vanished from her sight, and she found herself alone, she sat and looked down at the pencil- case lying in her lap, and she remembered Cuthbert Latimar once more. The sight of this small, familiar object brought back to her with a rush all the confusion of feeling she had experienced in connection With this man. It was now over a year since she had first met him, and during that year he had been @ guest at Winstone several times. Meg had felt slightly prejudiced against Latimar in the beginning, for Lady Sara had sung his praises so much, and the kind of young man that generally fluttered around Lady Sara was not the kind of young man that usually found favor in Meg’s eyes; there- fore she had imagined that Cuthbert, clever as his writings were, would be only another example of the type with which she was now familiar. Cuthbert had, however, been an agreeable disappointment in this respect; she had found him clever in conversation, pleasant in ap- pearance, having a charm which she was quite unable to <« lain. Of course, it s not long before Meg heard she were you a the word nei | mn. interestin itself in smali details, r y thi ie M vas perfectly well a@ware that, though a successful and an at- tractive man, Cuthbert Latimar had no social beginning. But this was a fact that only deepened the girl’s liking for him. She took her tone from her father, and she knew that Colonel Thorpe had more than a passing lik- ing for Latimar; indeed, it had been uncon- sciously the knowledge of her father’s friend- ship for this man than had drawn her nearer to him. Cuthbert’s sudden announcement of leaving Winstone had brought Meg with a jerk face to face with certain truths, for somehow it seemed to the girl that she could not discon- nect herself with this departure. It stirred her heart to confess so much to herself, and it brought a sharp regret also, for it seemed to suggest that the man’s pride (which she imagined to be equal to her own) would put a barrier between them. Womanlike, this suggestion whipped Mar- garet’s struggling feelings into one strong one. That which she had shrunk from confessing to herself only the day before was written clearly before her eyes now. . She told herself, with a touch of passion, that, rich or poor, Cuthbert Latimar was the one man in the world for her. That strange, indefinable charm that infiu- enced her so strongly when they were to- gether, seemed to have stolen back into her heart as she sat holding that small personal possession of his in her hand. he was no longer chary of letting her ‘heart frame a picture of Cuthbert. “I must send this back to him to-morrow,”’ She said, as she rose to her feet, and then she colored. “I am glad to have something of his with me to-night; it seems to give me a little comfort.’’ Her maid was waiting for her rather anx- iously when she reached her room, but Meg dismissed her. “Go to bed, Bessie,’’ she said, in her kind, thoughtful way; “I can manage for myself.’ Left alone, Meg put the pencil-case on a little table. near her bed, then she walked baek to the fireplace. Here were scattered a few photographs, and among them was a snapShot of Cuthbert and herself, taken by Lady Sara. It was the only picture of him that she possessed. She took it up, and, kneeling in front of the fire, studied the face eagerly, tenderly. “Tf he loves me,’’ she sa@id to herself, softly, “‘why should money divide me from this happi- ness? And why have I not seen this before? It all comes. to me so clearly now,’’ she mused. “T noticed yesterday that his manner was changed, that he seemed preoccupied, as though struggling with ‘some burden of thought—that he even avoided me. How blind I have been not to have guessed what was passing in his mind! It must have been for . this reason that he seemed so startled when Wwe met so suddenly out in the grounds. I re- member that for a few minutes he hardly spoke to me; and when he did speak, that his voice sounded strained and tired. Does this mean,’’ Meg asked herself, suddenly, ‘‘that our pleasant friendship is at an end—that he has gone from me altogether?’ She rose and stood with the photograph clasped unconsciously to her heart. A curious sense of desolation pressed ‘upon her, even at the very thought of such a sep- aration. Now that the veil had been torn down, and her secret shone like a star before her eyes, She was surprised at the passion that clung about these thoughts, and yet she should not have been surprised. For she knew herself right well; she knew that she possessed a nature that was slow to respond, a nature to which chance fancies and idle amusement had never been possible—a nature that would love, when love came, in the truest, fullest fashion. And now, though she was not sure that the future would bring him any nearer to her, though they might be divided all their lives, She knew that her heart had gone out to him absolutely; that it would have to be some- thing that would mean the upheaval of all her faith, that would have power to touch that love! ~e Tired as she was, it was a long time before she thought of rést. Sleep had no charm for her; for sleep would signify that she would pass from this spell of sweetest thought. The realization was all the more béautiful because of the hesitation and the bewilder- ment that had preceded it. She was recalled almost roughly from this world of her owras she stood a while and looked out into the darkness of the night. The only light that was visible was a faint one in the distance; a light that moved hither and thither like a glow-worm, vanishing one moment and reappearing the next; and Meg knew at once that this same light must come from the lantern with which some one was still searching for traces of the dead woman. In an instant she had set her own individ- uality behind her. These exquisitely soft, tender thoughts that were hardly confessed hopes, vanished, and with a pang of self-reproach she remembered that other blighted young life that had ended within touch of her -own. She shivered as she watched that light flicker in and out of the trees till it was lost in the distance. It struck her as being characteristic of the man who had interested her so much, this persistent searching by night as well as by day. “He looks faithful,” “strong and resolute.’’ And as she lay on her pillow, watching the fire-glow dance on the walls and ceilings, Meg was conscious ofa feeling of comfort in the knowledge that there Was one person watch- ing and waiting by the river brink, ready to minister tenderly should the dead drift within his reach. : And gradually the fire sank into ashes, and thought grew misty, and at last she slept. Then in her dreams love came once again to weave its spell about her, and to shut out that story of heart-anguish and despair. she said to herself, CHAPTER ‘VI. Cuthbert was out early the next morning, but not before he had received the promised telegram from Winstone. Though he had hardly. expected to receive definite news, yet he was sharply disappointed when he opened the telegram and heard that all was still in mystery. As he had imagined, some of the papers contained brief mention of the event; the fact that the death had occurred in Colonel Thorpe’s property gave a little more import- ance to the matter. There seemed to be no doubt in the minds of those who reported the news that the girl was dead. Possibly this death would remain one of many unsolved mysteries, and though every one would be convinced that the river had been the grave of this young creature, yet that this same cruel, strong, deep river would refuse to yield up its proof of this, Of course, Cuthbert reviewed the position from every possible point. He told himself he must be prepared for everything. Perhaps Doris had deliberately chosen to pass away in this mysterious fashion; but if no information concerning her was forthcoming within the next two or three days, it would be difficult to support this theory, for the girl. could hardly travel unnoticed. Moreover, Cuthbert still remained firm in the conviction that Doris had been swept to end her life by overwhelm- ing shame and grief. “To-morrow or next day,’’ he said to him- self, restlessly, ‘I will go down quietly and make inquiries in the neighborhood, unless. of course, something occurs between this and then.” For it was very difficult for him to know exactly how to move until Doris’ fate was determined. He drove through the sunshine back to the station where he had left that dead man the night before, and it seemed to him as if Fate rode beside him mockingly. To think that all this time wealth had stood so closely to him— wealth not to be gained by trickery or diffi- culty, but wealth that would have passed to him naturally! And must he see this wealth slip from his grasp? Must fate cheat him out of what was rightfully his? He set his lips in a grim expression. Though all was con- fused as yet, it should be his life’s task now to work out a future that would satisfy even his ambition. At the station he came in contact with one ofthe lawyers, who seemingly possessed the right to any authority in the late Mr. Munro’s affairs, and he placed himself unreservedly at the disposal of the firm. It was evident to him that the lawyers found themselves at a loss to know how to proceed. At least, that was the impression given to him by .the one with whom he conversed, who appeared to be the head of the firm of Ark- wright & Simms. Cuthbert was told that Mr. Munro had in- sisted-upon taking the long journey to the North by himself; also, that the firm had been engaged for some months past in trying to find some traces of this old man’s connec- tions, “That was my sald Cuthbert, ira y; “as a, matter merch himself it sous strenge that 2073 ere absolutely the one to folio Mr. i should be there his The answer was in the negative. J “And this is the more sad,’’ said Mr. Ark- wright, ‘‘because it was this very dread of dying alone that seemed to weigh upon his mind. We hoped that we had found a clew that would lead us to come in contact with some distant cousins of his; but as he was traveling back unaccompanied, and seemed to be in poor spirits, I am afraid that his journey was taken in vain.”’ “Forgiveeme if I am curious,’’ said Cuth- bert, with a faint smile; “‘but the circum- stances that linked me in so strangely ,with this poor man’s death led me to be interested in all concerning him. May I know a little about. him?’ r “Assuredly,’’ was the answer. ‘Mr. Munro arrived here from Western Australia a month or so ago. Why or how he should have so completely drifted out of touch with his family I cannot exactly explain. I have a sort of suspicion,’’ Mr. Arkwright said, “that he must have quarreled with his people years ago, and that his new life, time and circumstances combined to separate him from them_ alto- gether. I know that he was married an that he had a son, but both wife and child died some years back; a loss which seems to have been a living grief. He amassed a large fortune in some commercial enterprise out there, but as he approached old age, it seems he had a yearning to come back here. To that end he converted most of his property into cash, transferred his investments, and came to us with a letter of introduction from a firm of lawyers.” “And there is no one to claim this money?”’’ Cuthbert asked. He spoke very quietly, but his heart was in a whirl of excitement. All sorts of plans and thoughts passed in upon his brain. He was leading the way slowly but surely to the one knowledge that was most neces- sary to him. He wanted to know how much the lawyers had learned about Doris—if indeed this Doris Manning, whose name had been written _in those letters, had been one and the same with the. girl he had married, or if there existed. another of that name. : “At present there is no one to claim the money. Of course, we must wait a _ while, and see what may eventuate,’’ the lawyer an- swered. ‘“‘We have been advertising . for any information concerning the family, but up to the present-no information has been furnished save that which took him to the North. Munro to Manning did certainly live and practice for a short while as,a doctor in this little ‘ village; also, that one child was born to him —a girl christened Doris. however, to follow up this information, fcr many years ago Manning left Scotland with his wife, to establish himself in London ap- parently, and died immediately after this move. And, though we have searched in every direction, we can light upon nothing that will lead us to the discovery of his wife and child. For all we know, they may have di2d also; but if they live, it was Mr. Munro’s desire that his money should pass to them.”’ ‘“‘And there is no other relation to dispute this? What of his wife’s family?’ “Ah!” said Mr. Arkright, “there you touch on a point that we ourselves broached to Mr. Munro, but he would give us no satisfaction on this matter. We can only conjecture that the marriage must have been one disapproved of by his wife’s family; possibly she may have been of a better class than himself. In any ease, he has made no mention of anything in connection with this family, and of: course they could claim nothing by law.’’ “What will become of the money, then?’’ Cuthbert asked, with a faint smile, as he rose to take his departure. “Tt will lapse to the Crown. Quite a little romance in,its way, is it not, Mr. Latimar?’’ “Quite,’’ smiled Cuthbert, and then he took his departure and went back to his rooms. There -he found a second telegram from Colonel Thorpe announcing that he would be in London late that afternoon, and suggesting that the young man should dine with Lady Sara and himself. Eager to keep always closely in touch with the Thorpées, CutHbert at once accepted the invitation.. He desired ‘to impress Meg’s father with his sympathy over this regretable business; and though his mind was weighted now with so much that was new, he was still true enough to his nature and his aspirations to feel a thrill of satisfaction that he should be afforded every opportunity of demonstrat- ing to the world that he was such an intimate friend of these people. For though strange told me as! i ; | the head ot Be .tuUNle, “Stely, a . “Oy rub world. 1s | largely | } the mailbag. It seems that a second cousin of his once lived in the place to which he traveled, | established himself there as a doctor, and mar-'! ried. We have ascertained that this Robert | Scotch | The difficulty is, | things had happened to Cuthbert these last I three or four years, though he had. managed to creep close to the skirts of society, though it might be that he would become the most desirable of all living creatures, a.man of Wwealth—yet he would need stepping-stones, and Lady Sara could™be very valuable to him. He had scarcely written a note and dis- patched it to await Colonel Thorpe on his arrival in town, before there came a ring at the outer door of the rooms. The man who waited upon him came to Cuthbert for orders before answering the ring. “Are you at home, sir?’ he asked. Cuthbert paused. He did not particularly wish to see anybody, but he thought it wiser on the whole not to deny himself; it might be some messenger from the lawyers, some one from Winstone. Standing as he did, sur- rounded by every sort of possibility, the smallest matter had significance, so he an- swered “‘Yes,’’ and seated himself once again at his writing-table. The man came back quickbty. “Tt is a lady, sir, so I thought I had better ask her name,” He held out a small tray as he spoke with a card upon it, and Cuthbert turned and took up this card. It was not an unusual thing for him to receive visits from some hard- working woman’; having drifted into the world of journalism and literature, business some- times necessitated such visits, for rightly or wrongly. the rumor had spread abroad that Cuthbert was a man with a certain amount of power with various papers, and many sought him on this account. Therefore, as. he glanced casually at the eard, he more than half expected to see the name of some one of those to whom he had held out kindly promises. He was certainly very far indeed from being prepared for the sight of the name engraved so neatly on this small piece of pasteboard. How he managed to sit so still, to control the very tempest of sensation that swept into a kind of whirlwind about his heart, he never afterward could explain; there before -him lay the name that had haunted his every thought these last twenty-four hours, the name that carried both the-significance of life and death to him—the name of his wife, Doris Manning! TO BE CONTINUED. BROWNIE’S TRIUMPH; OR, The Troublesome Legacy. By Mrs. GEORGIE SHELDON, Author of “Faithful Shirley,” “The Lily of Mordaunt,” “That Dowdy,” ‘Queen Bess,” “‘ Audrey’s Recompense,”’ “Ruby’s Reward,” “Wild Oats,’ “Nameless Dell,’ etc.; ete. (“BROWNIz’s TRIUMPH” was commenced in No. 39. Back numbers can be obtained of all newsdealers, ) CHAPTER XLIV. ASPASIA COOLIDGE. $ Six months later we find a cheerful group gathered in the breakfast-room of Lord Dun- forth’s house in London. Brownie is conspicuous among them, and is her own bright, sweet self, seeming more like the happy girl she was on that fifth day of September when Adrian first beheld her in the Art Gallery at Philadelphia, than when we last saw her. Every day she is twining ser- self closer and closer about the hearts of Lord and “Lady Dunforth, who are continually sounding her praises, and think there never was such a wife as Adrian has; while the look of deepening tenderness in the fond hus- band’s eyes whenever they rest upon her, tells of a wealth of love found only in the truest and purest hearts. They are a i ; ken | sttinss too old to have the! forth says é responsibility o t, but loves to sit and watch the lovely face “beaming over the silver urns, and the dainty little hands as they flutter like white doves about the rich and glittering service. And truly the beautiful young wife, al- though she makes a lovely picture, presides with a gentle dignity all her own. Lord Dun- forth has also resigned his place to Adrian, and he and his wife now sit side by side. He seems to grow more tender of his gentle companion of late, as if he experienced a sort of remorse for the secret barrier which has stood between them all these long years, and thus their lives are being filled with a blessed content, as, with their faces turned toward the setting sun, they calmly await the even- ing rest. They have several guests this morning at their table, and one has a very familiar, as well as a decidedly American appearance. It is Mr. Conrad, who has lately arrived in Eng- land to return a portion of that property which was intrusted to his care so many years ago. The other guests are his wife, and ward— Miss Emily Elliott. Brownie was delighted to receive a visit from them—it seemed almost to link her to the old life once more, for she still had a tender regard for her native land, although she never expected to make it her home again. She exerted her utmost powers to give them pleasure, and to make the old lawyer forget the one mistake of this life; and she has so far succeeded that he seems like the genial friend of former days, and is indeed almost gay at times, Adrian had been giving him a dramatic ac- count of his so-called runaway marriage, and they had just concluded.a hearty laugh at his expense, when the butler entered with reaiuity she ‘““‘Now for the letters!’ said the’ young man, and he unlocked the bag and began distrib- uting them. 4 ‘Ah!’ he said, with a mischievous glance across the table, as he took up a heavy mis- sive directed, in a round, bold hand, to his wife. ‘‘May I inquire, madam, what gentle- man correspondent you have in America?’ “When you get through inspecting the en- velope, I will inspect the contents, and then, perhaps, I'll tell you,’ replied Brownie, saucily. 3 “You see, Mr. Conrad,’ said Adrian, turn. ing to the lawyer with mock seriousness, “that although my wife is getting quite Eng- lish in some respects, yet the American inde- pendence will crop out occasionally. I de spair of ever eradicating that!’’ he added, with a fond look at the bright face bent so earnestly over the closely-written pages she had _ unfolded. Suddenly she looked up, with a little ex- clamation of delight and surprise. : “Oh, Adrian!’’ she said. ‘I have such good news for you! Aspasia is going to be married —and to whom do you think?’ “Get Mr. Conrad to guess—he knows more concerning .your acquaintances than I,” Adrian replied. “But it is no one whom Mr. Conrad knows at all, and you are well acquainted with him. Besides, he is a New Yorker.’’ “T am sure I know of no one in New York who is marriageable, unless it be——’’ “Well, whom?’ Brownie asked, with shining eyes, as he hesitated. “Wilbur Coolidge,’’ liar expression. “And why not?’ she demanded, mischiev- ously; and he laughed outright. He had always been a trifle sensitive over that little episode in her life. He could not bear the thought that another should even have presumed.-to love her. “Let me read you whiat she says,’ Brownie went on. ‘“‘Mr. Conrad knows all about her, and of course you are all interested in my friends, and then Aspasia was so kind when auntie died.’”? The sweet voice always soft- ened tenderly when speaking of auntie. ‘She begins her news by saying,’ she continued, referring to the letter: he replied, with a pecu- ‘And now, darling, I have some wonderful things to tell you. In the first place, I have abandoned, as I promised you, my trains (except for evening wear), and I trust I have lengthened my charities, and received much personal benefit thereby. I thought I would try short dresses before the.Paris Exposition, and get a little accustomed ‘to them, for an- other such experience as I went through with, the fifth of one-September, would finish me entirely, Speaking of the Paris Exposition, brings me to another important point. I am making extensive preparations for a Euro- pean tour, and, if nothing happens, I intend to run over to England and take a look at my Brownie before I return. Now, the eream of my letter lies in the fact that my con- templated tour is to be prefaced by a brief eeremony, which will.change Aspasia Hunt- ington to Aspasia Coolidge! Yes, dear, I am going to marry Wilbur Coolidge. He has told me all about his liking for you, and I could not blame the dear boy in the least: for I know if I had been a man I should have wanted to marry you myself. I met Mr. Coolidge while in New York some five months ago, and was at once attracted toward him on account of his manly independence. His father has met with business reverses, which have reduced the family from their former magnificence to almost @ state of poverty. Wilbur has proved himself a man in the emergency, putting his shoulder to the wheel, devoting himself ‘to his profession— that of the law—and has done much toward the support of his mother and sisters; con- sequently, I'am very proud of him. ““Now, I want to tell you a little about Isabel and the rest of the family, but par- ticularly about her, for I know all that you have suffered from her unkindness in the past, although you have never written me a word about it. *‘Mrs. Qoolidge is a confirmed invalid, en- tirely broken down by disappointment ana their reduced circumstances; but Isabel, in- stead of being the weak-minded vain, and Selfish being every one thought her to be, has, like Wilbur, risen nobly above their calamities, takes the whole charge of the household affairs and of her mother, with whom she is as patient as an angel. But she is the saddest creature I ever saw, and T be- lieve the girl’s heart is really broken, for her brother tells me she did truly love and esteem Sir Charles Randal, notwithstanding her in- ordinate desire to obtain a high position in the world. Sle never speaks of herself or her sorrow, but devotes herself to others. Whatever her past errors may have been, she is atoning nobly for them, and I believe will come out of this furnace a pure, good woman. * “The other girls, Viola and Alma, are charming, and they can never say enough in praise of Lady Dredmond, as they persist in calling you. They told me about your gift of the rings, and I think they are really striv- ing for that purity of character which you recommend. ““*‘Now, dearest, you may expect to see me about the first of February, and don’t I long to clasp you once again in my arms, my Brownie, for, dear, it is to you I feel I owe the higher and better views which I now have of life. “Ever your loving friend, “**Aspasia Huntington.’ ” This letter was like a gleam of the brightest sunshine to Brownie. She longed to see the friend of her youth, and she was delighted to know that she was to marry Wilbur Coolidge. She knew she would make him a good wife, and she felt that he was worthy of her; she had always respected him for his manliness and good principles, notwithstanding he was sometimes led into error by the infiuence of his mother and sister. She had not seen him since they parted that day when she left his father’s hotise in Lon- don in such trouble; but she was sincerely glad there was a prospect of meeting him again, and she rejoiced that he was to be made happy. by the love of a good, true woman. Her tears fell as she thought of Viola and Alma striving so earnestly to reach her stand- ard of excellence, while her deepest sympa- thies were stirred for the misguided Isabel, who was being tried in such a fiery furnace and bade fair to come forth purified. “T shall show this letter to Sir Charles,’ she said, when she was alone with Adrian, and had read it a second time. ‘“‘But what have! you there?’ she added, : the saw him exam-/] ining another letter wit a puzzled exp -i rh. : “tl am t rying to.make out whether ; to. ¥ou BE c 5 or Vi8 Whicr ar it 5, 1S Vv r indistine he | Kne replied. “T think it must be for me,’ Brownie said, smiling. “It is a_lady’s hand, and the Mrs. looks as if a tear had dropped upon it.” “At all events, you may have the privilege of opening it,’’ said Adrian, giving it to her. She did so, and all doubt was removed as she read: “My Dear Mrs. Dredmond:—If you — will allow me to address you thus, after all the trying events of the past. Since misfortune has come upon us, and I now occupy an hum- bler position than even you did when you were with us, my eyes have been opened, and I now see my wickedness in all its enormity. I cannot rest until I tell you how sincerely I repent of my unkindness to you, and ask you to forgive me if you can. Your lovely spirit and example on that last dreadful day at Vallingham Hall shamed while it maddened me, but the memory of it has since conquered me. [ grieve continually over my treatment of you, and the sinfulness which has ruined my own life and wronged others; yet I can truthfully say that I rejoice that the right triumphed, and that you are now happy. “I do wrong, perhaps, to say that my life is ruined, for although much of it has been wasted, and the crowning joy of womanhood denied me, yet I can, God helping me, improve the future by making myself useful to others, and, in so far as I am able, atone for the past, A word from you will greatly comfort me. “Very truly, yours, Isabel Coolidge. ‘“‘New York, Dec. 15, 1877.’’ “Poor child! she was good at heart after all, only it was so covered up by ambition and pride that no one was conscious of it,’’ Brownie said, her tears falling fast. “It is a very earnest, humble letter, and I honor her more te-day than I did when she stood so high in society,’ Adrian replied heartily. “How submissively yet hopelessly speaks of her love for Sir Charles.’’ “Yes, poor fellow, this trouble has been a severe blow to him also,’’ said her husband. “T think I shall drive over to Lady Randal’s to-day; and, Adrian, do you think there would be any harm in my showing him both these letters?’ the young wife asked, with a wist- ful look in her dark eyes. ‘What a forgiving little—or great heart you have, my darling,’’ he said, as he read her thoughts. “*Morgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,’’’ Brownie repeated with great earn- estness. Her husband stooped and kissed her. “Do as you like, my own; I believe wherever you go you always carry light and joy with you,”’ he said, almost reverently. 2 Accordingly, while Lord Danforth took his guests to visit several points of interest which he could best explain to them, Adrian drove his wife over to call on Lady Ruxley, who, since she had lost her charming companion, had taken a deep interest in her crippled nephew, and now resided all the time with the family. ; Brownie’s visits were always like gleams of sunshine to her, for Lady Randal, since the developments which had resulted in such mor- tification to her, and in the destruction of so many hopes, had been very melancholy, and kept her own room nearly all the time, sel- dom seeing visitors, and scarcely ever going abroad. Her sons were both very kind to her, and exerted themselves to cheer and comfort her, but her spirit had been crushed, and she could not rally from the blow. As for the young men themselves, they were congenial spirits—two noble gons of a noble father! The tenderest ties of affection had united them from the moment of their first meeting; their hopes, and aspirations, and sympathies were the same, and wherever they went their aim was to do good. Sir Charles had opened his heart at once to his brother, and now felt that it would be difficult to live without him. He consulted him regarding every matter of business, upon every alteration and improvement of the es- tate, and found his suggestions and advice invaluable. : As soon as he felt he could do so without offending Herbert, he had proposed taking him to a noted surgeon in Paris to see if any- thing could be done to remedy the deformity which was so wearisome to himself and so unsightly to others. ; The result had been beyond their expecta- tions, although the operation had involved in- finite pain and patience. The twisted foot and leg hhad been straightened, and that bowed head lifted, until the young man could walk erect like others. But the withered hand, of course, could not be restored, though the she great surgeon had said much more could have been done for him had he been treated in his early youth. This intelligence the brothers did not impart to their mother, willing to Save her an added pang while she was suf- fering so much. The eripple’s health had improved greatly Since he had been able to have plenty of out- door exercise, and his face lost much of that deep sadness which had so touched Brownie’s tender heart when she first saw him, but there was always a wistful look about his eyes which told of a life that had but little of joy in it. Adrian’s wife Herbert Randal considered the essence of perfection, and he spent many hours at her charming home, and often ac- companied her upon her errands of mercy among the poor, while she valued him among her choicest friends. Sir Charles also had the most profound re- spect for her, and to-day, as she drove up to their elegant residence, he sprang to assist her to alight, a most cordial welcome on his lips and shining in his eyes. She lingered a moment in the hall with him, and putting her two letters in his hands, said: _ “Go away by yourself and read these care- fully, while I make my call upon your mother and Lady Ruxley, and then come and tell me if you can forgive as I do.’’ He looked at her a moment in astonishment, then at the address upon the back of each letter. In an instant the color flamed into his face as he recognized the handwriting upon one; he lifted his head haughtily, his lip curled just a trifle in scorn, then. turning without a word, he conducted her to Lady Ruxley’s apartments, dispatched a servant to tell his mother that Mrs. Dredmond had called, and quickly withdrew with a strange quickening of his heart-pulses. : _ Herbert had already taken Adrian off to pee a new conservatory which was being uilt. An hour passed, which Brownie made bright and cheerful for Lady Ruxley, Lady Randal having sent regrets that she was not able to See visitors that morning. Then the gentle- men all came in together. Sir Charles appeared very thoughtful, but there was a brighter and more hopeful gleam in his eye than there had been for many a day. Mrs. Dredmond one side as soon as he could do so without attracting too much notice. “Thank you,’’ he said, as he gave back her letters. “They have comforted me greatly, for I had felt, as she says, as if the crown- ing joy of life was to be denied me forever.” “And now?’ Brownie asked, eagerly. “What! can you wish her happiness?” he demanded, more in reply to her eager look than her words. “Ah, yes, poor child, her suffering has been worse than mine. We do not any of us know our own weakness until we have been tempted. You and I might fall even lower than Isabel did under some peculiar tempta- tion, and shall we presume to judge one who trusted to her own weak strength, and who, now sorrowing, has found, if I am not mis- taken, a stronger arm to lean upon?” “What a peace-maker you are, Mrs. Dred- mond—you conquer us all. You take a very Sweet way to be revenged upon your enemies,’’ Sir Charles exclaimed, with a suspicious mois- ture in his fine eyes. I do not believe in that element at all,” she replied, gently, “but if I could win Isabel’s love, and see you both happy, I should ask for no greater triumph.”’’ “What greater triumph could any one have than to make a friend of an enemy?’ the young man _ asked, smiling; then he added, gravely: “I think by another year I may visit the United States—it is always best to let patience have its perfect work, you know, then, if it shall have accomplished its mis- sion, there may be happiness for two more human beings in this world.’’ Brownie’s face fairly shone at his words; then, seeing her husband approaching, she shook him heartily by the hand, and bidding the others good-morning, went away, leaving the house brighter for her coming. The young husband and wife rode in silence for several miles. Then Adrian, suddenly bending forward, scanned the fair, beautiful face eagerly. “What is it, dear?’ she asked, with a fond, bright smile. HF pent and touet foréhead with his lips this epis~} aren: 2aries Leet i accomplished And with hi: we also say “God bless and all other pure, true women who ary} out in their daily lives the song of the angei host on Bethlehem’s plains, ‘‘Peace on earth, good will toward men.’’ THE END. > > Items of Interest. Shipbuilding is to be taught in the Univer- sity of Michigan. Two-penny meals, to the number of two millions, are daily supplied to the poor of Lon- don by the authorities. Every public school in Paris has a restau- rant where meals are supplied to children who are unable to pay for them. A London medical journal asserts that much of the headache from which women suffer is due to the heavy hats they wear. The Laplanders are the shortest Europe, the men averaging four inches in height, and the women less. people in feet eleven two inches Wire netting incloses many of the farms in New. South Wales, as a protection against rabbits. Already 15,000-miles of this netting have been erected. A number of girls in a factory in Derby, Conn., went on a strike because a Polish damsel scented the workroom by lunching on garlic and limburger cheese. Among the pets of the Sultan of Morocco are seven lions. These he permits to range the courtyards of the palace at night, to act as guards to the royal harem. Plumpness is contemplated with aversion by some Englishwomen, and many of them are imperiling their health and spoiling their com- plexions by resorting to drugs to reduce their weight. Frank Jacks, a poor farmer in Madison County, Ala., found secreted near a spring 4 pot containing gold coins to the value of nearly $20,000. The money is supposed to have been buried there during the Civil War. A little man in Kokomo, Ind., although only fourteen years old, has «taken unto himself a wife. To further exhibit his manhood, he has been carrying a revolver; but for this a city magistrate has compelled him to pay a fine. London has introduced slot machines which provide meals. Four pennies dropped into a slot cause a screen to rise and disclose a tray, holding a teapot, a milk jug, a sugar bowl, and a cup and saucer. Two pennies more pro- duce a buttered roll or a sandwich. Experts in alcoholism say that old cider and sherry make a person quarrelsome, while port wine tends to soothe and induce slumber. Champagne causes exhilaration and loquacity, and Burgundy produces dullness and lack of coherency in the expression of one’s thoughts, A German chemist has demonstrated that sawdust, combined with certain chemicals, makes excellent flooring, and that it is firm and smooth. What is more, it is fireproof and practically indestructible; but its chief advan tage, apart from its cheapness, is its im- perviousness to sound. During a thunderstorm in Hazleton, Pa., lightning struck a Hungarian boarding-house, passed between two boarders who occupied the same bed, and threw them in opposite corners of the room without serious injury. A cradle containing a baby was crushed to splinters, but the child escaped unhurt. Many American tourists are in the habit of visiting London stores, and spending hours in the examination of goods, but seldom buy any- thing. As a gentle rebuke to such people a store in Oxford street has this plaeard promi- nently displayed: ‘‘Americans will please take notice that this place is not a museum. It is a shop.’’ An air-tight casket, with a pane of glass just above the face, incloses the body of Louis Dorsey, who died some time ago at Deepwood, Nevada. The casket is inclosed in a coffin of solid stone, on the top of which is a square cut in the form of a Bible. This square re- volves, and enables a spectator to view the face of the corpse, which is® still startlingly lifelike.