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“'wm‘r sfiULD YOU macaw yea LOOK WELL ENOUGH.”

I half-finished 1 ictures, some betraying the touch

'   0f still undeveloped talent), others scarcely more
D ’ than daubs; a table littered w1th pamt-stamed

‘ h-“; anti ue chairs, variou-s in
0‘“ 8”“ D T0 5’1 0 RE CY» :zégeazfidbez. 05m, gamma effect of dmgy

1113:. beincr relieved in this ease by large
BYLILLLN LOVEJOY' 33333th 02’ violgts and early pnmroses, that
CHAPTER I. filled the old—fashioned blue chma, vases on the

AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. mantlcplece.

AN artist’s Studio; the walls covered with The artist, Cuthbert Grantley, was seated,

 

 

 

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

 in  before his easel. He  a
 man, ‘ about twenty-five years ' of
 with wavy auburn hair, Worn rather long
 true artistic style, regular features, and
,‘jofg'reddish brown. The outline of histall,
__ ‘flgure' showsd‘to advantage in the black
" . 1 teen Coat he wore; his fair beard and
 _ be contrasted well with the purple silk
 ‘rohlegf around his throat, knotted loose-
( m'lront under an open collar. ,
 was‘engaged in transferring to‘ canvas
“the graceful form of a young girl, who knelt
«insert of dais at no great distance. Her
filial face was almost faultless in beauty, bo h
 feature and expression, though the ruby
were tooproud a curve to suit those who

 

tributes of female character. Her hair, of
 "liar shade of gold, almost approaching
Ember, wast)! immense length and luxuriance.
flothe present occasion, it hung loosely over
herehdulders until its trailing tresses swept
 ground. He: dark, almond shaped eyea,’
withiheavily fringed lids and penciled brows,
1 . ' I somewhat impatiently at Cuthbert, as
 on with undiminished ardor, though
Tetheday- was drawing to a close.
' "ljt'Almalis growing tired: lam not surprised,
i" ohiidl“ observed a middle-aged lady,
W201: the‘faded lounge near the Window,
y with some description of fancy needle-
; j  “You are rather merciless, Cuthbert,
 devotion to art.”
, work better when the whim is. on
 returned he carelessly. “It is avpity to
thugs!er when I am getting on with my
 a You do not inind remaining in that
 a little longer, Alma?" ‘

 aohed, and her outstretched arm
5  “I am so anxious, Cuthbert, that
 should be a masterpiece and find
amyéjpnrchaser, that I am willing to endure
stereo of inconvenience.
, at model.” i
on are fverykind to take so much trouble
,  sake}?  t

 f'flot‘tor your-sake, but for auntie’s; every

I will try to

 

  a gratification to her. ”

EA. frowh coutracted his brows as he painted
 silence, only ,broken by the click of his
weather’s knitting-needles and the pattering
 the window. .
“What a long, gloomy day this has been!”
WkedAlma, With a sigh. “No gleam of
'r-filhehjue, 1:0 ,_break. in," the dull, gray clouds.
 u 'itire’lfat cold as winter, though the
Wfirspl‘mgv” ' ‘ ‘ ‘
‘flsems- days must be dark, and dreary,”
~gentle_Mrs. Grantley. f‘ But. I fear.
 yhrled, Occupations of

 

WW; no,” she answered, with an effert, .

‘ that'brings you nearer to fame and ‘for- , , n
5 light,” remarkel Mrs. Grantley, smiling.

'Wflfidfl' humility and gentleness the highest <,

l

l
l
l

‘sister; from all accounts an eccentric being;

' Clinton’s training or education.” ,

  

companions, you will and   dull :
occasionally, letthe’weethtribeéwfiith$313894" "
“How can you think so, ; ‘ efiesterl

I am delighted to be with you'againgxafnd enjoy
the consciousness that Miss Fringe  can

no longer carry trepidation to mysoulgnor
her Argus eyes flash displeasure at, mnem-
dilloes. Besides, I am enjoying“ the novel.
Sensation of being a grown-up young lady,
whose education is finished, and who need‘n'o
more take book in hand except for her own
amusement.” .

“ Yet with all this, Alma, you sometimes
look pensive, and I have heard you heave deep
sighs.”

“ You "are too observant, auntie,” said the
girl, laughing. “If I sighed, it must have
been because I cannot help missing my dear)-
friend, Maud Clinton." ‘

“Clinton!” repeated Mrs. Grantley, wonder-
ing. “ Is she related to the Clintons of Eagle.-
hurst, one of the oldest and most wealthy
families in the county?’

“Oswald Clinton is her brother.”

“ You surprise me! I should have imagined
a young lady with her pretensions would have
been educated at home, or in a more fashion-1‘
able seminary than St. Mary’s. _,

“But poor Maud has no one to take much a,
trouble concerning such matters. Her, mother 1,
died when she was an infant, and 'she lost her
father four years ago. Oswald is a grave,-
middle—aged man, twenty years older than his“ ?

 

devoted to solitude and nbstruse studies. Then:
there is the grandmother, over four~score, andT
a great invalid; while, to complete my list,
I must not omit to name Mrs; Lavinia Varleyy:
who for years has held the situation of useful“
companion and confidential maid to the old,“
lady, a sour—visaged, eminently disagreeab l
person, according to Maud’s destriytion. 60'
now I have enumerated the chief members 09‘”
the household, you will see there no one:
likely to, be over-fastidious regarding M1851

 

   
 
   
 
   
  
    
  
 
  
  
  
     
      
      
 

 

 

 

“Your friend does not  to that ,
sketched her home circle in the mi _, ’ harm“

Alma shrugged her shoulders. “ ,

“It was no use concealing the truthfsh‘? \,
remarked; “and we had few secrets from ‘
other. The poor girl was terribly dull aiFG’f
her father’s death. She was his pet and faYOT"
ite (for he seemed to have taken quite an twat"
sion to his son, though I cannot sayfol' ' “3W?
reason), aodthe two were continually riding?
driving, or walking together. . When be M. x
Oswald proposed to engage argowrness-tor 
sister, and would doubtless selected?
oldest and most grim of the species; but

 

r. HONOR BOUND.

L_

I entreated to be sent to school, as she was
pining for the society of other young persons.”

“ What will she do now?” asked Mrs. Grant— ,

ley. “ Eaglehurst will seem more dismal than
ever.”

“ She hopes that in a short time a welcome
change will take place,” returned Alma,
mysteriously, “ and the old mansion, under
new government, resume the festivities which

‘ distinguished it long ago.”

“You mean, I suppose, that Oswald is go-
ing to get married?"

“ Yes; and the lady is an heiress, young and
beautiful. They were engaged some months
before Mr. Clinton’s death, so I wonder the
wedding has been deferred so long. Perhaps,
auntie, you have seen the bride-elect-—Miss
Marford, only daughter of the Hon. Edward
Marford?”

Cuthbert looked up quickly from his work,
a shade of interest on his generally impassive
countenance. He, however, made no remark;
but his mother said, “I know her quite Well——
at least, by sight. She often drives in this di-
rection. A tall, stately girl, with dark hair
and an aquiline nose. She is always dressed in
the hight of fashion. Cuthbert has often
Spoken of her pleasing manners and amiabili-
ty.”

“ Is he acquainted with her?” inquired Alma,
in some surprise, glancing at the silent artist.

“I scarcely remember whether I told you,
love,” answered the mother, “that Cuthbert,
bfWing been unsuccessful lately in selling his
Plotures, decided upon giving lessons in draw-
}ng and painting to such families as were will-
lng to offer high terms for his services. Miss

arford is one of his most promising pupils.”

It is almost needless to say that Mrs. Grant-

, ey was a devout believer in her son’s genius,
- and only regretted to find her opinion unshared
Y'mankind in general.
 “Then you can give me every information
 co.lloerning dear Maud’s future sister-in'law,”
 Said Alma, playfully, turning toward the
at yOImg man. “ Is she lively or grave, witty or
‘3. Profound?”
i 1 ‘:I am not in the habit of criticising young
; hadlefi,” he replied, coldly. “And, Alma, you
ave moved entirely out of position. If you
‘1 “11101; careful my picture will be spoilt.”
il 0b, I am so sorry! Tell me what to do.
1 01‘?” so interested in talking about Oswald
“Won and Miss Marford, that I forgot to

  
  

‘ ikefp still.”
greleg‘TBVer mind; the light is fading. I will

: : mists“;.?d§“:r'2:-
léthispermpssm If g y , eJOicmgm
,§ woflis: Grantley deliberately folded up her
 “Dacia? consigned it to the depths of the
:.. Work-basket, which generally ac-

  
 

\
8’

1' companied her on her journeys from room to

! room.

“I must see whether that stupid Betsy has
brought up the tea~things,” she remarked.

1 “ I dare say she is asleep in the kitchen instead

‘ of making the kettle boil, and- has let the cake

3 turn which I made this afternoon expressly on
Cuthbert’s account, he liked the last so well.”

I The young girl was about to follow‘Aunt

: Hester, and had already reached the threshold,

l when Cuthbert called her back.

I “I want to speak to you, Alma,” he said.

; “You must not detain me long,” she m1-
swered, “or auntie will be kept waiting. I
am going to dress for tea.”

“Why should you dress?
enough.”

Well enough! She was radiant in loveliness
as she stood before him in her flowing robes,
fashioned according to the taste of a bygone
century, her splendid hair vailing her figure;
and greatest charm of all was her perfect un-
consciousness of her own beauty.

“Alma, I cannot speak while you regard
me with that mocking smile. Can you not
give me your attention even for a few min-
utes?"

“Of course I will, cousin,” she said, 8111)-
missively, taking the seat be indicated; w} ile
he stood at no great distance, leaning on the
mantlepiece and gazing into the dark eyes in-
quiringly raised to his own. “Do not be
angry at my folly,” she added, deprecatingly.

“ I am not angry, dearest girl; Iadmire and
love you far too well to be easily offended. Ins
deed, I was about to tell you that my hopes
are centered in a future shared by you alone—
that my aifec‘ion—”

“Is that of a brother,” she interrupted,
hastily, half—frightened at his vehemence, and
in her simplicity wondering whether these
were expressions of mere cousinly tender-
ness, 'or that mysterious declaration of love
which at school she had heard spoken of with
bated breath by young ladies who prided
themselves on having some experience in such
matters. ‘ .

“ Not as a brother or cousin do I love you,” '
he said, impressively, flattered by her agita-
tion, which he imagined proceeded .from a
flutter of delight caused by his avowa].
“Alma, you must be my wife.” _

“Oh, no!” she cried, guided by an instinct
of repulsion that left no desire for reflection.
“ I could not marry you.”

His brow darkened ominously.

“ What, may I ask, is the reason for this de~
cided refusal? We have known one another
for years-nearly all our lives.”

“Perhaps I know you too we ,” she mur-
mured. Then, perceiving that her speech im-
plied no compliment, she hastened to add. “1

You look well

 

 

“that  friendship .gfor ' you could never ,

‘ ‘ l ' that ,I shall live to be grateful for your im-

[pertiuent rejection.” - l , ~

Afterward, when the family were gathered '
round the tea-table, Mrs.Grantley dispensing

*fihrmto'iow.” *
‘fl‘n _ I cannot understand it.” said he,
I, " tring'his mustache meditativay.
“ so yonfancy you could make what young
1  will a better match? I confess. I am not
h man at present. But my paintings will
' when I can succeed in hitting the pop-
ll'e, Which scarcely appreciates high art,
house is mine. If it were newly done
I 'tu‘rnished, we might reserve suitable
ms for our own use, and let the remainder
.1 high rental. My mother must find a home
mswhn-é. ‘I always intended she should leave
_/ wheh‘l‘married. Young couples are hap-
W~Mith no third person to come between
] m. f 80 there would be her apartments,

‘ v "n

ma’lnterrupted him, quite pale with con—
tion. .

What! you would banish your mother

dronifi‘llh’e Rosary, where her happy married

r was passed—apiece endeared to her by a

_ sand associations? Here she has often

e she was brought/a bride; here she first ?

’cedyou, her son, and here she mourned
the loss of your father! Surely you will

read her days in peace amidst the'dear ‘

Willarreeenes; it would be cruel to send her
" _ n strangers.”

it

said, somewhat \abashed by her vehement

'3 ;“‘ but surely upon reflection you will

~myoflfer;

dent on my mother’s kindness, and at

“Enough, enough!” she cried, impulsively. ‘

Ways thought you cold and calculating;
'  convinced I did not judge you too
’ y; » Forgive me, Cuthbert, but it is bet-
 the truth.”
 from her seat and ran out of the
N ‘ already repeating she had said so much.
"cethberr-‘remsined where she had left him,

pale, with a savage gleam in his eyes, be- .

thatrhe was ofi‘ended beyond all hope
at  ’ By-and-by he left on! biting his
' he, and gave vent to a harsh, discordant

_:lier go,” he muttered; “so much the

  Myrfoolish fancy for her baby- .

,_  me to neglect my chance of Win—
” “‘ n'n holiest. I believe Miss Marford might
 ecsiiy if I set about courting her in
West: and though her father might desire
 aristocratic son—in-law, a girl of spirit
ldgnot‘mind eluding his paternal vigilance
 ngjflththamau of her choice. \ From

this myself heart and soul to the

 a project Which,,it successful,

 y- ambition by bringing ~ me

“In it a

e Will waive the subject for the present,” :

Recollect, Alma, you are but ,

d higher social posh _

use“. ‘My dear millennium, it   ~

the fragrant beverage: and lamenting that
Betsy had fulfilled - her prediction regarding
the cake, Alma made several attemptsto dis-e
perse the frowns that darkened Cuthbert’s
brow. Wrath rather than sorrowbrooded in
his heart. He studiously ignored her presence,
and refused to offer the most simple civilities
exacted by general custom. Poor Mrs. Grant-
ley found her questions only provoked a snap-
pish or sarcastic retort, so was min to comfort
her maternal soul with a timely remembrance
that genius is apt to indulge in reveries which -,
must not be lightly dispelled. ..

CHAPTER II. '
AN UNEXPECTED “Wren. '
. 

ind

THE weather grew mo duous as
evening advanced. The rising w‘ind moaned
amidst the trees, and sent the pelting rain
against the windows with a force which ap-
peared to threaten destruction to the glass
But the sitting-room at The Rosary looked,
bright and cheerful, with its pretty eretonne- «;-

J

 

covered sofa and chairs, a piano. near which
lay Alma’s favorite songs, and a bookcase con- 
taining works by the most popular authors. 
Mrs. Grantley and her son sat opposite each $‘
other by the glowing wood-fire, the latter ~
bending over his book—not reading it how-j
ever, for during a whole hour the page was
still unturnedwwhile between them Alma
crouched upon the hearthrug,’ basking in the

i warmth, and making strange pictures in, th.

fiery caves, before her.

Mingling with the sounds of wind and rain, 
a woman’s voice was heard outside the house; -
singing in loud, shrill tones,,the familiar ballad;
“ Home, Sweet Home.” Coming as it difil
from the darkness without and the cold, W33
street, it was strangely pathetic in Alcoa’s ear-3g

; although it certainly borrowed no charm 1w“? V

the singer’s musical skill or natural gifts.

.“ Poor creature!” she observed, pitiful _,
“ she must be drenched to the skin in this r333
storm. I must give her a few pence, will} fit"
so that she may obtain a shelter for thenighlr

And she was soon standing under that)???
co, round which in summer roses w  a 
bright profusion, anxious to relieve the 
ed wanderer. who came shamblihs' it?
her. . a  i,

:A‘ tall, gaunt woman, whose seiladem
tered garments scarcely concealed}, 1‘ .
ciatedu form, r with disheveled helm"
from a I battered bonnet,  

 

.—

 

shoulders; a. miserable haggard being, re.
duced by poverty and love of drink to the
lowest depths of want.

“A thousand thanks, my lady!" she whined,
as Alma, with pitying words, pressed the
money into her hand. “You are as good as
you are beautiful, and may you be rewarded
for your charity to the homeless wanderer, who
has not tasted bread today.”

She raised her heavy eyes to the girl, who
had now drawn back into the gas-lighted hall,
and with that glance her manner underwent
a remarkable change. Her dull, black orbs
kindled into brightness; her long fingers clutched
Alma’s arm with an iron gripe, while her gaze
fastened on the fair face that alternately
flushed and paled beneath her scrutiny.

“Why, it is you!” she exclaimed, with a.
shrill, Wild laugh. “ Grown up and handsome,
and quite the lady. I thought this was the
house; only sixteen years make so many
changes one cannot feel sure. But now I
recognize those yellow locks, and a certain
something in those large dark eyes. Why,
Alma, girl, have you no welcome to give your
mother, who has come all these miles to see
you?”

Surely this terrible woman was some escaped
lunatic, thought Alma, who, although startled

at the incident, especially by hearing her‘

Christian name so unceremoniously pronounced
by a stranger, was not alarmed, Cuthbert and
Aunt Hester being close at hand.

“You are mistaken, my good woman,” she
said, vainly endeavoring to extricate herself.
“ Please to go quietly away; I have never seen
you before.”

“Oh, yes, you have, my dear, many and
manya time, only you was too young to re-
member! \ Are you not my own dear daughter,
though Mrs. Grantley was good enough to take
care of you until I came to claim you?”

The grasp upon Alma’s wrist grew closer
still.

“ Aunt Hester!” she cried, thorougly un-
Derved.

And at the sound of her voice, Mrs. Grantley
hastened to her side, followed by Cuthbert,

HONOR BOUND; 5

 

as she stammered imploringly: “Pray, Mrs.
Rayner, release Alma, and come into the
house. You have broken your promise, kept
for so many years. For mercy’s sake let this
most unlucky business be discussed in private,
where no one may overhear.”

The girl’s brain whirled is confusion as she
followed the two elder women into the parlor

which she had quitted with light step and

buoyant heart a few minutes before.” Now,
she was crushed beneath the weight of a
calamity her wildest dreams could never have
pictured.

Possessed of many estimable qualities, I-y
nature afiectionate, frank, and generous, she

, was proud to a fault, and felt unspeakable de-
: gradation to owe her existence to this miser-

 

‘VbOse curiosity was aroused by her long,

absence and hasty call.

_ The ballad—singer, far '
iI‘Om showing symptoms of fear at their ap-j

proach, stood her ground, and was the first to ‘

Speak.

“Mrs. Grantley, you may almost have for-
gotten me, for we have both grown older since
I Saw you last. I am Judith Rayner, and you

n(WV—money better—that this dainty lady, who
8hrinks with scorn and loathing from my very
tomb, is my child!”

Alma, expecting an indignant repudiation
of this assertion, saw with consternation Hester

-antley‘s countenance assume an ashy pallor, ‘

able outcast.

Was there no filial instinct to prevent the
abhorrence that thrilled every fiber of her
frame when gazing on her soAcalled mothnrl
Was her proper home some wretched hovel
where the poorest of the poor herded together
in dirt, rags, and absolute want?

Proud Alma, who gloried in the belief that
she was descended from an ancient and honor—
able race, though centuries ago their fortunes
had decayed—Alma, who sometimes secretly
wished her lot was cast even in ahigher sphere
among the great ones of the earth, was now
humbled to the dust.

Hitherto, she seldom thought of her un-
known parents, having been satisfied by hear-
ing that they died during her infancy, yet
sometimes she had pictured her mother, stately,
serene, and graceful, a fair vision almost more
exquisite than any reality was likely to have

proved. How rudely was the fancy dispelled! “

Pale and trembling, she sunk upon a chair,
earnestly scanning Judith Rayner’s features,
hoping to find some redeeming trait, some
gleam of tenderness or intelligence in eyes
whose prevailing expression was that of low
cunning. v t

Then, turning disappointed from her brief
survey, she listened eagerly as the stranger
spoke.

“You did not expect me, I’ll be bound,”
she said, settling herself comfortably among
the soft cushions of the little couch, regardless
of its delicate covering, and her own dripping
apparel. “ I have come upon you quite an un-
pleasant surprise, though, after all, there is
ncthing strange in my wanting to see the girl
i. left with you as a baby. Really, she does
yin great credit.” '

“You should have stayed away,” said Mrs.
Grantley, severely. “You gave me your
word that if I would take your child you
u ould never molest me or claim her; to all in-

tents and purpo:es she should be to you as one 4

dead.”

“an”

 

or  was. because

£191 . _ .
 oldmanwas under a cloud, 5W6,

Win trouble shout that burglary, if you re.-

" ‘ , ', and though we were innocent as un-

linksivnf strong affectl-on,,whichevsry  w y 
perfected and-made more enduring,” ,, g ' '

r If I had only known all this!” __- asides
girl pitifully. . *

pubs, the’jury convicted‘us both So as l . “I acted for the best. Now, has it 

“71d: must have gone to the workhouse
 viworked'Out my term, I was quite will-
.f'g‘you Should take her. But that is over
"  Ago; . Poor Sam is dead and gone, so
’ detail I have left me in the world.”
pgi‘ped hereye’s with a corner of the
r 7' [show], though it was doubtful whether
,rojweré? any tears to dry.
it, logimpossihle I can receive, you here,”

‘3 with. great decision.
museums, mum, I am aware of that; folks
I our quality could not associate with a poor
’ gesture-like me. I never dreamt of intruding
g: in; you after this evening, so Alma had best
 upher little bundle and come along with

“Grantley, after a short pause, speak. i

With you!” echoed the lady, in astonish<
' orgy-“Surely you cannot realize the nature
' lyouriproposition? She has been reared in
season educated, in order that she might

‘ camps of support when I am taken from ;
zandjis ‘altogether a girl too delicately 2
fitted to endure an existence passed in scenes ‘

W0? andmisery,”
tdontt see that,” answered Judith, dogged-

hat does for me should be good enough

ifshall; not take her away. I will not
,‘ t has: to leave this house.”
m'oonuotprevent me doing as I 01.00%

,ggpsers were signed, and there are, plenty ;

:th could swear she was the yellow-
limby,1 was nursing when the cops car-

gateway, and you the lady who visited
jail and offered to,provide for her ”

Euthayoung girl like Alma would be a!

to, you in your wandering life,” began

,midly. She was quite unaware

, p she could legally withstand a mother’s

' I ind; her obvious perplexity gave Judith

Wake was willing to press to its
limit; , a

nuclear of that,” was her contempt-

_   ‘ “‘ She, can sing in the streets, or

  with her good looks is sure to

1,

. were -

l‘ll’ltnh?’ cried Alma, suddenly flinging
"fatflra, Grantley’s feet, “for pity’s
 Cme from this woman who claims
‘yj. motherd’

satin  “ltls too true that you are
.  r ., fladaughter.” .. I
mn’mn areth my aunt? There is no
" r. ‘ t~ menus?!  ~ ‘ a
' flask-'fimlyrsmm; has Page are

l
x,

‘ condemn me.”

yourself, poor child.” returned Hes-4

? an error to allow you to remain in ignorance
, of your real parentage.

Oh, my darling, you.
look gt me reproachfully, but listen beforeyou

She drew Alma to a seat
: gan her explanation. , .v p
“ More than seventeen years agofl lostrmy,
, baby—girl by a frightful accident.;~ One moment
* she was a. smiling child, cooing, and leaping inv
l my arms for joy, as from the open window I
{ pointed out objects for her amusement; the
‘ next, stretched on the stonesibeneath, and I,
‘ half frantic, knew my babe had perished
l through my own culpable carelessness. You
i can fancy the mental torture I experienced,
not only at the time, but for very long after- '
ward. ‘
“My husband had died before his child’s
birth, Cuthhert was a boy at school, I was
l left to brood over my wretchedness until, m y
‘mind was in danger of becoming aflecte l.
Vainly doctors recnmmeuded change of scene,
amusement, cheerful society, anything to di~
Vert my thoughts from the catastrophe; but
wherevar I went, that crushed, disfigured
form was ever before me, I was consumed by,
a longing to infold a living, breathing babe in
I my arms, to pillow an infant head upon'my
bosom, to feel the pressure of tiny fingers..-
1 Then I fancied. not that I might forget-what
‘ mother ever wishes to forget her childt—but
might become more reconciled to my loss.

“ About that time I happened to ready in the
ilocal newspapers an account of a burglary,
for which a man named Rayner and his wife

l were sentenced to a term of penal servitude.
Some tOuching remarks were made upon the -
idestitute condition of their infant child, left: 
worse than orphaned upon the mercies. of]
strangers. That paragraph gave me the first"
idea of finding solace for my grief, and porn t.
forming at the same time an act of charity.: 
“I visited Mrs. Rayner in prison, proposed?
to adopt her babe, and give itsth advantages-2
as were in my power to bestow, while oh?!
agreed to forego a. parent’s rights, and hold?”
further communication with the child on m

beside her and be, 

You know, Alma, her confidence was not
placed; I have loved and tended you 
own daughter. "I a

“My more than mother.” murmuredc
girl, “ the gratitude of a lifetime would,
repay your affectionate care!“ _  ‘ w I,

“My next visit,” continued. Mrs. 
“ was to the neighbor in whom '3' 
mother had left you. She was 
 anxious to berelisved’fleln: 1‘ .r

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

were.“ my: me __ y , _ I
once; you Ewere so pretty and iota-legend,
, seemingalmost to understand. that I intended
‘ to befriend you, for y'ou‘nestled contentedly in
my arms, and smiled when-I caressed you. .
 ’ “And now it was I made my first mistake.-
‘9 I disliked the notion that your parentage should
i" be known to eyery husybody who chose to in-
” quire 0n the subject. What would it profit
 you to bear the name of Grantley, if it [Were
' blazoned throughout the town that you were a

      
      
  
  
  
    
  
   
   
   
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
     
    
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
    
  
   
 
    
    
       
 
      
   

" child of the Rayners’?

1 “After bribing the woman to secrecy, I

_' called upon one or two gossiping friends who

 Were certain to spread the new_s,"and told

7’ them]: was about to adopt an orphan niece ol‘

1 my late husband’s, whose parents, when liv-
-r lug, had resided in a distant part of the
' country. No doubts arose as to the correct-
' ness of my statement, and on my return flom

' . a railway journey, undertaken on purpose to .

 disarm suspicion, it seemed no hing strange to
7 find me accompanied by a tiny stranger, for

preparations had been already made.

"‘ And now, Alma, I have explained the
reason why I fell into error, for deception is
. always wrong. and had I been more candid,
' you Would have escaped the bitterness of mak-

ing this sudden discovery. Will you forgive
 me for the trouble I have cost you?”

“This is all .yery fine talking,” broke in

Judith, rousing herself from a half—doze into
 which she had fallen, produced by the heat of

 

i the room and her previous libations; “but "

g ’ what are you going to do?" .
f “Cuthbert, advise me," said Alma’s protect-
“ fess. turning toward her son, who was stand-

ing, his back to the fire, his hands in his pock-
, etc, apparently an indifferent spectator of the
3 scene before him. He answered his mother’s
appeal with a sullen air.

“What business have you to interfere be-
tween parent and child? You must extricate
Miss Rayner from the difficulties in which
VOW own folly involved her without assistance
horn me. v Indeed, I have much cause for
i'cfimpleint in being deceived for years by your
, lausihle account of our relationship to a girl
 is in reality a. convict’s daughter.”
 left the room with a grand air of con-
.lQUS: rectitude, congrululating himselt" on
 planted another them in Alma's heart
“ hurt payment for her afternoon’s imperil-

     
      
   

iflIm was along silence. Mrs. Grantley re»

{He‘d immersed in thought. Her strange

 eyed her fartively, and Alma struggled
'  composure. V " i v

. \, Minot rich,“‘began Hester, at length.

 know, I am an , artist’s widow, pos-

'4 army, 3' lite-inmost in the. smell ‘ property

   
   

heel"  you 

whose reception in the household all necessary. ‘

 

      
     

h “S o, bequeath; . . v ,. .
same meme in Order to keep'Almu 1th
without any unpleasant exposure”. " '
“ Ah, now “you talk reasonably.” ,. "
the other, visibly brightening. ‘-‘ I: can
exoected to give up the“ company of" in on
child and keep a still tongue unless it" is "
worth my while.” ‘ ‘ '  ‘
“ l have scarcely any money in the 1303!
present; perhaps tomorrow [may 
borrow a sum sufficient to induce you
,us in peace. If I assist you in'ninin
‘ yourself until you can obtain some kins!“
tied employment, will you consent 1',
the disreputable, wandering life you seem
, to be leading, and trouble us no more?” " 
1 Judith Rayner was loud in her asseverafiqfl:
that she would sacrifice her maternal  u
and accede to Mrs. 'Grantley’s  ,
suitable remunesation. ’ 7 '5 '
“ Then matters may be arranged to
mutual satisfaction,” said the latter, , I“
i cheerfully. “Now. Mrs. Rayner,  .
give me your address, you shall hear from '7
in a day or two.” » . ‘
Judith drew nearer to the blazing fire
“I should find it difficult to do‘ajs .531
éme even if I had the will,” 'she   ' L
E “ The work-house or the prison have
[only home this many a long year. ‘
i whiles I go about the country, living ,
i can, and at night sleeping under a W
in an empty horn, I am ahaid at 
as you call it, a letter would hardly
“Then what do you prepose?” beganfi'
with so much nervous trepidation,’fi
woman percein and hastened to in"
“ her manifest terror and m certainty; 
“ 1 don’t mean to leave this home
i either the girl or the money. r Which, ,‘
I please, it makes no difl’eience to 1116,23“
would be rather hard for suchndeli
’ to turn out of this comfortable horn 
§night. Listen to the rain beating
iwindowe, and I never heard the _
more bitterly. Better let-me elcpj, fro
you can raise the need In], then I shell
to say ‘Thank you,’ ‘ Good-by!” ‘ ' _
No remonstrances or entreetiescouid
her; and Mrs. Grantley, uncertain
Alma could lawfully, resist’a-‘mother’ll
ty until she was of full age, did not
use defiance, the only weapon" that 
elfeclually checked the a-diencca‘
enemy. In vain she pleaded and“! p y
Judith was firm as a rock,.‘anfl*ba¢ 3%”
lieu of quitting at present he? so
quarter‘s.  3  " ,  Q < .
The weakerle was forced to f ” '
stronger, and much against the  "
the mistress oi the bonsaifire. 
.mtowhd‘x.to remain;   " '

 
 

  

   
    
      
   
     
 
    
  

 
   
  
  

  

  

    
 

 
  

, noses  A      

  
  

 

would visit the rector, an old and intimate ‘
friend, who would, she hoped, advance a .
‘ z'mcient'sum to rid her of this domestic in-
‘vuta‘si‘ ' '
“I don’t know where you can sleep,” she
 rved, despondingly, with a thought of the
sitor’s drenched and soiled apparel, and the
" pretty white draperies of the one Spare cham-
tea, ;
1‘ “I’ll sleep on the rug before the kitchen
are; it will be sung and warm enough for me.”

so it was arranged that Judith Rayner
Should be given into the charge of Betsy,
Whose mind was too obtuse to be easily trou-
,"b_led "by any doubts concerning the advent of
‘lihis unexpected guest. Betsy should attend to
a‘ér- wants and make her comfortable, on con- :
itioynéhere' Mrs. Grantley laid great stress
hpOh"5/her Words—that Alma's name was not I
stenme'ntioned. .
“01’ course, as a mother, I do not wish to ‘
jute ,«my child by making her the common
italks‘unléssl am drove todo it,” remarked
Judith, loftily, “ though she do turn from me i
snob disdain. I suppose now, pretty one, |
 Would not put your arms round my neck
‘ ’d‘ilet‘ me kiss your cherry lips, for a king’s
seem.”

Aime. turned away almost shuddering, while ,
this unWelcome‘visitor laughed discordantly.

 

,' . CHAPTER III.

,l , A MIDNIGHT CONFESSION.
M’midnight chimes were sounding, yet
31 a: had not retired to rest, well knowing
 pg"muid refuse to visit her pillow while her
"i dwas harassed and disturbed. She half-
lih‘ed‘ .“upon‘ the low window seat in her
' "bar, looking out upon the gloom that
‘iu unison with her own thoughts. A
jd of, sat-reproach troubled her conscience;
thisrstranger, repulsive in appearance and rude
 Washer parent, and as such entitled
' measure of filial regard. It was impossi-
‘l'ei’i’éecould love or reapect her; the sensitive
girl had no ‘feeling in common with the out-
casgi'whosecareer was stained with crime, yet

 
   
 
  
   
 
  

'turn.”

 

   
  
    
  

"acknowledged it was her duty to assume a
rs‘éourteousbeariug, d evince at least the
lance of kindness. o urgent became the
uniptihgs of, this inward monitor. that she '
 not to wait until morning before seek-
tag newlyéfound mother, and making some
 assistant for her error.
tie-cram was over, and from amidst the
V (thing clouds the moon sailed forth in silvery
candor, jag Alma, wrapped in her white
 gm,her bright hair hanging over
‘ “nebddlders, crept softly, down-stairs. A
j _  in the sitting-room; tin-Ough
WWWanoor she' benefit Judith Rayner
at the-table, width-bottle of choice

  

   
    
  

  

  

     
 

.flakes. I had been in the town all day,

Eagiehursti' it said.

cognac (Cutbbert’s special property) before 
her; to judge from her flushed countenance *
and glassy stare, she had been freely imbibing
the contents. In truth, Judith, with an eager

    
    
    
  
    
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
     
    
   
  
    
  
   
 
  
  

longing for her favorite liquor, had seized the

opportunity after the family had retired to
rest to make a thorough search thoughout the
lower portion of the premises, until persever-
ance met its due reward, and she attained the , _
object of her desire. ‘

Alma shuddered at the sight, but it was *
clearly her duty to use such influence as she
might possess in endeavoring to reclaim the
degraded being to whom she owed her birth.
Noiselessiy she advanced and stood before her.
The moonlight streaming in at the window
shed a ghastly reflection on her pale face and
white robe. She resembled a fair phantom
revisiting the scenes of its earthly troubles,
rather than a maiden of mortal mold. Judith’s
eyes dilated as they gazed, her teeth chattered
with fear as, extending her hands to ward oi!
nearer approaches, she faltered, “ She is here
again! How that girl haunts me! I’ve seen
her often, but never so life-like as she appears
tonight.”

“I did not mean to frighten you,” said
Alma, amazed at the strange reception.

“ Oh, is it you?” sighed Judith, with an air ‘
of relief. “ You come stealing down upon a:
body in the dead of night, and give me quite a. ,

“For whom did you take me?” inquired the p 
girl, curiously. ‘ 
“I have always been a bit nervous and ;
easily startled,” her companion rambled on; E'-
“ at least, ever since that terrible snowy night
many years ago. Though it was not my fault .
it the young thing perished; no one could say 
I killed her.” 
She was becoming garrulous, and losing self- jo
control as the fumes of the brandy mounted to 
her brain. 3  ~ 1
“Mother,” said Alma, in an awe-stricken}; ‘
whisper, “ surely you have never been accused;
of murder!” _ ~ ~ , 
“ Why, bless you, child, how could thegy
when nobody knew Imot her? It was 9
bitterly ’ cold winter night, just the mum-0'
Christmas, the snow lay deep over thecountry
for all the world like a large white shtofiilla 
It was not yet over, but falling fast  =

 

 

 

 
 
  
  
      
   

  

to earn a few pence by charing or
errands, for times were bad with us, and  
out of work, as usual. . But just as I read;
the most lonely part of the road coming 
and stood still for a moment, uncertain Whig, __
way to turn—the snow made everything
so much alike—I heard a womanf94v9i0§_..~a , 1
behind me. ‘Will' you please, to

 
   
       

     
     
        

      

   

 . ; harassment. 1

 

 

;:j  “ I stopped and stared at her. She was very
- ' young, and might have been pretty, it she had
.5 not looked so. pale and ill. - fihe shivered from
3 head to foot, and seemed half frozen and so
tired she could scarcely stand. I cwuld see,
even in the darkness, she was well dressed,
though her fur~lined traveling cloak and velvet
hat were nearly coVered with snow. I told
her Eaglehurst was almost a mile distant, and
she began to cry, saying she would never
; __ reach it. It seems she arrived at the station
earlier in the evening, the‘few vehicles on hire
wore all engaged, so she thought she Could
walk the distance. Then came a driving,
blinding snow-storm.
mooned about for hours, till she was quite worn
out, and ready to drop.

“ ‘ Was there any nearer shelter?’ she asked.

“ Yes: there was my cottage, I told her—a
jpoor tumble-down but, it was true, not fit for
a lady to enter. But at least she would have
a roof over her head that inclement night, and

and drink skim milk; though, of course, I
couldmot afford to put myself out of the way
unless she was ready to pay me handsomely.

“‘Do not be afraid,’ she said; ‘I have a
few trinkets left which I believ‘e'are valuable,
though I am no great judge, and my purse is
not quite empty.’

“With that she unfastened the small black
traveling bag she carried, and showed me a
necklace, besides a purse which seemed half-full
 of gOId.

 “‘You need not fear but that you will be
~ well rewarded,’ she said.

“ Then you took her home?” observed Alma,
 gently, as her companion paused, appearing
' disinclined to resume her narrative. “ You
* ‘Would not hesitate to perform so slight a ser-
,ch9.”

. 1 j “I meant to treat her well,” continued
:“F'Iudith, in the dreamy manner of one whose
tlmnights are in the past. “I can swear that
Vb.an I oifered her shelter I never intended a
[hair of her head should be harmed; but‘some-
'I , an evil spirit came tempting me directly
‘ W the little bag in my hand. I had blfered
1  it, and it felt heavy—perhaps it held
~ “more'than I already knew. I remembered
 empty cupboard at home, the empty grate,
ah?-  ialling through the rafters on the

 

 
  
  
   
 
 
     
   
      
   
    
  
   
   

for a bare crust, not enough to keep
 it from the door.
56 night, she would dole out a few shillings
'5 v gymsnt, and depart next day; if 'I could
 that'hag, with all its valuables, I should
’ , 310':- lite. . ‘ .

"Warned divided near the place where we
1. Wilding; one path led to the wood where
 built our hat, the other to the

She lost her way, and,

a. supper, too, if so be she could eat hard bread ‘

iota-age we called our bed,.and how hard I i
If I took the lady in“

2‘99",“

 
   
 
   
    
   
 
   
  
   
   
    
 
      
 
    
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

t . . , 
1 "It was by the latter way‘I took her.” 1‘ _
The breath came fast from Almals 
lips. With hands closely pressed- uponfgii 
throbbing heart, she waited in silent horror for 
the next sentence. ” I   '
“ Why do you tremble, little fool?” mi ,1
Judith, roughly. “ Do you think I raised 
hand agfiinst her? No, no; she saved me
trouble. We had scarcely reached the.th

when her foot slipped upon the snow, and’
heard the dark waters splash as they received
her. It was no use my staying. I made '05:”
fast as I could, her one wild cry for help rigs,
ing in my ears; but my 'Speed never slacker}?
until I got home at last, and sat down to count
over my gains.” y W   w
“ And the girl was drowned? 0h, mother-i“

I Alma could say no more; her heart I, 1.,
breaking. 7 r . 
‘ “ Suppose she was, do you think she wast
, only one who suffered?” demanded Judith;
i fiercely. “Night and day I seem to tears
voice that says I killed her; and though it is,
lie, I cannot choose but listen: Then when”
am alone she stands before me, with -

stained cheeks and dripping hair, just as
had risen out of the water. How"would’
like to look up suddenly and see a dead woman
at your elbow? Even the money neverdid‘hta
good—it was :a paltry sum, after all.” .. The
jewels I dared not sell, lest suspicion 813011111311.
upon me, so I hid them away in‘ thelittle 
bag with a lot of papers and otherrubhighfi
But from that time I hated work more] '
ever, and lost all fear of crime. I pars“,
Sam to seek the company of men who
up to all their doings, and fancied we We“, 1.
to make a fortune without the trouble 0
However, we wanted luck or skill, to I,
turned out well. .He died in prison, and,“
me, you can see how I have prosperedqi’, 
.She glanced superciliously at her 2, ' f
attire, and laughed in derision. , f 
“Mother, why have you told me this?” '
I] at

Alma.

“Because the fit was on me.
thought it would give me ease to unharden
mind; but I never did, for folks” might tall:
get me into trouble. But with you,_,A_
E am safe, for it you betrayed mg”! ] ,
[revenge myself by making you share. in “
grace.” ‘    ‘

“I shall not betray you,” “she said». 
ashen lips. V I  'V V.

“ That’s right, my girl,,and don’t [you -;
the blame was all mine. "Why was shear» .
ing about the . country alone,/.yw1_th so
written in every line of her worn counter;
and putting temptation in a poor body,_s
' with her money andiallalsi 
magnum, ‘a‘ purseproud grace, who, he
300d repute. throughout themountyme

 

answer-the question.

 

 

i no caisson"

has  silent 1 Imagination ,raised a
 picture 0 that bygone night, the

ngsnow, the despairinga'girl stru glin in
g 3

ice Cold river until death released her from
muting, ' A loud exclamation dispelled her

Arie.
"fl-believe this house is haunted.” cried
flit Rayner; “ for yrars I ' have not thought
" g h: upon the past as 1 have done to—night.
ouychild, 100k like an accusing ghost,vand I
mw'just now through the half-open door two
/ seized upon me, shining out of the dark-
 " * .‘B’ool that I was not to let the dead
est?”
iCompose yourself, mother; you are under
“6 ution. We are here alone, together.”

i! talk no more,” obseIVed Judith, de— ‘

veiy ",‘Some things are best forgotten.

' L  word I say makes you hate and despise
‘  than before.”

him approached the unhappy woman and

herhand. .

og‘mothero; I pity you too deeply. Be

class and despairing, lint try from this

lead elite of honest work and patient

financing. I ask it for my sake, if you will

“ leryour own.” 7 ‘ p

3 Still try,” said Judith, humbly. She per-

 Alma without remonstram-e to take

‘ tone! the cherished liquor for which she

, 1y craved, and carry it away to a place

‘ entity. Then, with a whispered good.

the: two so; arated, the girl ascending to.

wh“‘prettily apizointed chamber to weep
_ y for the unrepentant sinner; while
kit-dragged her wea‘ry limbs to the room
' ,_ C'where a thick rug and a pile of cushions
sheen” spread before the fire for her ac-
:  etion. .
fl

 morning, much to the astonish-
“Hester Grantley and her protegee, it
showed that their strange visitor lid

' 'V "leaving no trace behind. i

l

. MISS KABFORD'S‘ LOVER... ~ ,
EAGLEHURST was a massively built mansion
of grand and solemn aspect, with that venerelrle
air which leads the mind to dwell instinctively ,
on bygone ages and generations long since ‘
passed away. It had a. turreted roof, mullioned
windows, and rough, gray walls, to which the ‘
ivy clung. A huge stone eagle, with out- ,. 
stretched wings, seemed. hovering over 

l door; two others, in a state of solemn quietude,

guarded the entrance. . ‘
And now, as the sunshine of a. glorious July

, afternoon streamed on the grand old house ~ '
, standing in its extensive grounds, it looked v

I his‘library, reading.

noble and picturesque enough to justify the

' strong attachment with which its owners, the

Clintons, had always regarded it. ,: ‘
Oswald, now the head of the family, was in 'f—
He was a tall, muscular ;
man, about thirty-seven years of rage, dark "
complexion, with closely-cropped dark hair,

Land eyes of so deep a. brown that one would ,S

scarcely hesitate in pronouncing them to be
black. Most persons admired the statuesque"

, regularity of his features, and the intellectual ,

, expression of his thoughtful face.

1 much pleasure.
Q , s , , l thought you wanted a. companion, when Rosa“ 
In Valuwa searched for some scrap of '

hick should assign a reason for her i
t cours‘e, Rmamond is beautiful. fascinating, a

hehavior. Had she left in a fit of

{or having troubled the serenity of

' ’ life, or only temporarily vacated her
'  intending soon to return and claim
award. for her forbearance! They could

T _‘ ;L« _, » l
' days they waited with a strange feeling, »

suspense and insecurity, expecting every
muted-see the gaunt, shabhily clad figure
its way toward their modest dwelling,_
 ring as the door-bell made them
While; apassin'g‘fcotstep caused their hearts
'  M " ' ~~But as time passed

hsent, these 'aniici- '

a!“ relief 1 tro

wonder as ethe '

But some;
young ladies condemned him already as an“
elderly fogey, because a few barely permntif, 
his silver threads were scattered amid his?“ 
wavy hair and thick mustache, while there «3;:
were lines upon his forehead certainly traced 
either by the finger of time or sorrow. , t '

Presently a gentle tap was heard at the dam-,1 '
His sister Maud tripped in, an open letterin 
her hand. ' f, if.

“ Well, Oswald, the matter-is settled at last] «7..
After all her misgivings, Alma agrees to accept 1.
my proposal. Are you not glad?” . , ,

“ Certainly, my dear, since it causes you so A
Though I should scarcely have

mond—” .

“ Now, Oswald, do not be tiresome! 40$;
highly accomplished; no doubt you are n at
so happy as when in her society; but she ’
not be to me like my dear old school-f 
confidante." , ‘ 7

“I suppose not, Maudie.” v»

“ Besides, the deer girl really wants ,
You rememberher aunt died suddenly m
than a month ago, and Alma is left if
on her cousin’s generosity. She could not; , ,
remain at The Rosary.” ‘ ‘ ' i I ' b

“That is true. Well, letharcometo its;
will try to make her comfortable?“ ‘  '

 

         

n‘tL... r r’ ‘ >.'

’ giving extraprivileges- or higherramun nation.
’ It is to be in all respects like at business trans-

”are to he required and rendered without scruple
~ on either side. I had no idea Alma was so
humble-minded; I fancied she was very high;
’vrspifited.”

“Perhaps she possesses the pride that apes
humility,” answered her brother. “But I
2 will wait until I have the pleasure of making
 your friend‘s acquaintance before judging her
harshly. When do you expect her to arrive?”
-: “I‘shali’drive over to fetch her the day
 after to-morrow.:’
.' “Then I shall not be long kept in «suspense.
‘ And now, Maud, you must excusc me, for I
have promised to ride over to Marford Hall
some time today; and as I have a business
engagement for‘the afternoon, this is my only
opportunity. Rosamond is selecting a. dress
for a fancy ball. This book of old engravings
‘ 80, little Maudie, good-by for

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
    

' Nodding smilingly to the young girl, who,
owing to the difference in years between them,
be regarded almdst as a, child, he quitted the
library.

‘ Maud, standing at the window, soon saw him
slowly riding down the avenue, mounted on
his powerful black horse, Rajah.

' While Oswald Clinton was leisurely taking
his way along the country roads, enjoying the
beauty of the summer day, Rosamond Marford
was sitting in her morning—room, ostensibly
. Engaged in copying a water-color sketch, under
7 the direction of her drawing-master, Cuthbert
' " Grintley. Of course they were not alone.
elderly lady, formerly governess, but new
intimated to the post of chaperon, sat in a dis-
item; corner, fully convinced she was playing
propriety during the progress of that lesson;
hut the day was warm, and the lady drewsy.
fiiumber stole gently over her senses, add the

 

_.,her knee. 2

Gnthbert, who was slyly watching the

ptoms of weariness which he knew from

‘rienee'were apt to overtake the worthy

s, ‘,-drew nearer to his “fair pupil, even

' ring to take her hand.

Mend, my darling ~I may call you
 ’wI'notl‘n-I have been inwardly rebelling

A "the necessity for silence and eelf~con-

1‘3?th ram longing to tell you how dearly

  

 

 
 
 

 
 

      
   

  

” ashes;

  
 

action between strangers; ' rCertain servnces'

An.

 she had been reading dropped neglected
O

I dutiesdevolving' on‘a'lady4comp‘auion,’ without  

‘ made me so happy. True, you are the,“  <
; ter of a rich man, and I onlya poor artist; 

 

..._...e

Gotham: implore you to be cautious. ,
w _, _ ,  not fear" hen
 she}  her nap you 

3i iépgi'gd-m‘hgaiatha sweet twinned

. my mother's fortune, of which. 

girl should love her future husbaxfia?’

.hisrhreath  her nheekfaud she

 

“Do not ask me,”;she murmumc, M
down and blushing: 5"! have 
and impudentenOugii already.” I ;  a 
“You cannot regret an avowal which, .

       
     
      
     
     
        
     
 

  

unequal alliances have taken place, 
the felicity of those whoresteemed. ' ‘ '
and affection beyond all other treat

“’My father will never consent.” .  ,

“We might be married privately. 
found opposition useless, for your  ,
he would forgive us both.” ‘ ’ r '1

ff You are mistaken, Cuthbert.  f
be enraged at my disobedience.” '  .,

“ But if we are happy in our mutual 
tion,” he whispered, i,nsinuatingly—~“m
indeed, you have not sufficient fortitude
dure a comparatively humble lot! I 
pretend, dearest Rnsamoml, to oflfer your;
The Rosary the luxuries you enjoy at Mar!
Hall; yet, if you fear poverty, dismiss
fear as groundless. for my poor talents x j
remitting labor shall provide my was.
every comfort.” , 7‘

“ Oh, as to that,

' ", L w.
£3»?

  
      
     
   
  
  
   
    
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
 
     
   
  
      
  
   
 
    
  
    
  
 
 

 

I am not almid. 

deprive me.”

Cuthbert's eyes flashed with pl i
was wealthy, and independent of,  7_ “
besides being young and handsome. gar-hag
eligible match for an ambitious bacheiw' 
fortunate Alma had refused him! ' ,V  _

Her next words, however, considerfa
damped his gratification. . ' l , g  

“But ours is a luckiest! attachmwtfi‘
sighed, with the coy, yet sentimental, 1 ,
finished coquette alone can give. 
end in sorrow and separation.” " r’ '

“Dearest, what mean you?” ~ _

“I-have been engaged some steam—
ever since I was almost a chime-to” 9.
Clinton.” _ _   ..

This was a slight exaggeration, but "
liked to be still considered a maideniw ,_
teens. I i "  

“ I had heard the report, but 
lieva it. You do not intend to 
Rosamond?” ' . i  

“What can I do?” she answered.
father approves the match, and 
decent pretext for refusal.” ,_ '  a

“ Say that you. do notlove  

   

 

   
  

       
 
       
    

     
   
    

“ Oh, Guthberti howcanlin It
so bold and‘unmeidenly.’?z  2    ,
She saiddthiahis hand  clearing V, '

  
  

manaminnseetsa 
3126 the“  samurai  . " ‘

  
  
 
  
  

     

   
  

 
   
 

    

 

 Hometown? ‘ '

 

1;. Cuthhert had omedanglehurst and its
rent-roll, she would have been far more dis-

 at the. prospector her approaching
marriage, for his flattery and pretended erdor
made her dissatisfied with her loss demonstra-
tive lover. But shewas not prepared to brave
rth‘ sneers, or, worse still, the pity, of her ac-
“ , tance by eloping with her drawing-mas-

r‘ \ . .

f f“ Come what may, you shall never marry
Oswald Clinton!” was Cuthber’t’s answer to
her last speech. “He is not Worthy such a
peerless wife. It you have not moral courage
set yourself free from the bonds with which
a y have tettered you, I will attempt your
' nd,‘my loveliest, rose of the world 1”
They had only time to start asunder. for
 Hill aw‘oke suddenly as the man-servant
red with the announcement that Mr. Clin-
utreated to see Miss Marford.

eel}; “ what an early visitor! But, no,”

verauce; for I know you love me, Rosa— 

“ Why should I be thwarted in all, my plans
by woman’s folly? As to the convict’s -daugh—‘
ter, it was well she was, blind to her dwn inf
terests, as it saved me the trouble of getting
rid of her when I discowred her disreputable
parentage.
ter. Oswald Clinton, you will have to. fight,
for your bride before I consent to relinquish ’_
her!” ' .
By slow degrees the day wore away. The "
sky changed from gold ‘to crimson, then into a
deep purple ;‘ the pale disk of a. full moon arose,
and countless stars became visible between the
interstices formed by quivering leaves stirred
in the soft night breeze. .

The young man slowly rose to his feet, and

"inspired by a new resolution, took his way

toward a deserted, miserable-looking hut stand-
ing on the borders of ' the wood, half-covered}
with creeping plants, that, tangled together in a

- ' ' b d 11 t . '
, Dear, dear!” said the good lady, rousing , Wild luxur1ance,o scure a ex ernal, evidence

.Kcontinued, after’glancing at the ormolu a

piece, “it is nearly two o’clock. How the

' rnjng slips away when one is reading an :

1,,ere3ting béokl ,1 fear, Mr. Grantley. that
issMartord, who is such an enthusiastic ar-
,,- has trespaSSed too long on your valuable
in for it is past your usual hour for leaving
y’fWell, we must detain you no longer.”
‘thbert, thus dismissed, took his leave,
ling upon his unconscious rival, Whom be
stored \ on the stairs; and Rosamond
4, ed herself with equanimity to the task or
,,ee1ving_and entertaining her betrothed.
:While’she and Oswald were together, con-
sing! with that languid interest often shown
“h persons who have not sympathetic natures,
 thbert Glantley stalked moodily t0ward
(ill Eton ’Wood, thinking how best to sustain
attics in the air which appeared in dau-
being demolished. '
nningly had he striven to win Rosamond’s
unwing that she was motherless and her
ten simple and unobservant. It for
"Is his passion for Alma diVerted him from
‘, frsuit' Of the heiress, it was only to return
“rWi‘th renewed energy. Now he felt en~
  discovering his influence was not all-
mint, and that Rosamond clearly had
present intention of dissolving her engage-
"nt; . ' ' ‘~
  could neither compose his mind suffi-
 yto enable him to follow his ordinary
,, __"‘pations, nor even return home, but wan-
dering listlesst into the wood, where the thick
ll ‘ airman)? trees formed a canopy of pro~
, train, the sunshine, he stmtchedhimselt
  ruthlessly plucking and
as breeze every wild flower that

of either door or window. It had certainly been
uninhabited for many years, no one having
cared to take possession of such an uncom-
fortable and lonely dwelling. "

Cuthbert smiled as he surVeyed the dilaph.
dated walls.

 “Judith Rayner has been the last tenant,”‘f§3

1 he observed, “and I should guess from these

' interlacing theme and briers that a strange“

footstep rarely invades the precincts.”  ,
He made no attempt to enter the but, but;
with some difficulty penetrated to the rear,'*»
then paused beside the huge trunk of an 
mouse oak, which, blasted by lightning ands ‘
entirely denuded of branches, stood bare and 
dark against the summer sky. \ , I f ,
Continually peering around to make certain 
his movements were unwatched, Cuthbert. with , i.
great care groped amidst the masses of over
growing ivy until he found the hollow 11 I
sought. ' “- ,
A flush of excitement arose upon his pal?
visage” as from its strange hiding-plaCe .th
drew forth a. discolored, mildewed mass, whit?
‘ proved to be a small, black valise, wrapped,
an old waterproof coat. Large pieces I 
tree’s outer bark had been carefully a
to form a complete covering which furthafilf
tected it fromthe vicissitudes of west 5
that, although many years had passedq‘m
was placed in the cavity, it remained 
state of extraordinary preserve.th
young man’s look brightened as he re , '
“_Will my purpose be served by them
of this valisei” he muttered; “or 6113
taken in supposing that I hold therein, ,
mystery which Oswald Clinton would 
sire to see unraveledl”.    
Withoht waiting ta g  
‘ rapidly. strode ,. homéward.‘ wearin

 

ed ‘r 0t one whom I? 

 

But now it is a. dilferent mat- 

 

  
  

 

 

  
1L WORD OF WARNING.

: A an or almosttropical heat, the grass

'_ brown and: scorched, flowers drooping aslif
, they pined for moisture,corn ripening in the
, .fields, fruit growing ruddier, in the orchard,

 wgsxljm ‘2': v‘

and two girls'sitting on garden chairs under a

~ spreading elm-tree in the center of the lawn at
,Eaglehurst‘. ‘

“ How hot the sun is this afternoon, and how
lazy the warm weather makes me feel,” said
Maud, with a little sigh of weariness. “ Yet I
promised granule to go‘to Dame Duffle’s cot-
tage, and I suppose I must keep my word."

“Is the dame one of Mrs. Clinton’s pension-

: ere!” inquired Alma.

“ Yes; and she wants a letter written to her

’ grandson, who is in some outlandish place at

V the antipodes.

Mrs. Lavinia’s sight is bad, so
in a moment of weak good’nature I consented
to act as correspondent, but really it is a great
deal of trouble.” ‘

“Dear Maud, there is no occasion for you to

I v undertake a walk for which you seem disin-
' clined. I am quite at your service if you will
i aflow me to act as deputy.”

“Oh, Alma, you are so energetic. You

" seem never happy unless making yourself use-

ful.”
“ Perhaps it is owing to my plebeian origin,”

' observed'the girl, with a bitter smile, “ which
 is perhaps a little higher than that held by

burglars and convicts. Why,'Maud, how you
stare; of course I am only joking.”

“I do believe, Alma,” said Maud, after a
few moments’ consideration, “ you are so proud

 that you sometimes feel vexed’ because you

- were not born a princess or a duchess. Never

‘ mind, my dear; perhaps one day the accident

will be rectified. When my brother Oswald is
married to Rosamond Marford, of course they
will give grand balls and entertainments. And
you are so beautiful, Alma—so very beautiful,

= that I should not be surprised if you made

 fancies.

’ some wonderful conquest.”

Alma alternately flushed and paled, as she
said, in a calm, cold voice: "

“Please, Maud, never indulge such foolish
And be sure of this.

 ’my hand, I should refuse them, every one.”

= ',,,',-,."‘Do you neVer mean to marry?” asked
 Maud, aghast.

“ Have you taken what the

 nuns calla vow of celibacy 3”

“ No vows are required to Sustain my reso-

5 ,lution. I stand apart from the rest of woman-

  
        
   

 

 "fhind,~wishing neither to lovenol‘ to be loved.

Friendship, such as I feel for you, dear Maud,
is to be my warmest passion.”
' “0h, Alma, and I bavo been amusing my—

 iulf with thinking what interest I should take
in r youmourtship and marriage, the kind of

suitor. I Would persuade you to accept, the

- t beneath her feet, her fair face, protected 

If all the un-
 married millionaires in America were suing for

  

‘ trimmings of your'wedding-dress,,andithe
- monds‘ you should , wear. ,"You‘fwoald 
beauty of the season, of that [there is'li“!
doubt. Even Oswald admires ,you,"althaugsh
you are not at all the, same style‘asiltnaa’s
mo“ _n, I . ~ it]
“How can you talk such folly?” said Alina,
'reproachfully, ,though conscious of a sighted-r
riosity to hear what Oswald had said concerfia
ing her. ‘ a: , I ’ 
“Folly, forsoothl Now,"to' punish," }  ,
rudeness, you shall not hear one word ‘ .V ’
pretty compliment, unless, indeed, you 
in your prettiest manner.”  w p
“I will not allow/ you to min' ’1‘ sonny
! vanity. Come, Maud, aytruce to 
me where I shall find Dame Dufile’s cottage”,
Maud gave very explicit directions,
" Alma promised to obey. Then‘she
her mission, with light, elastic 
V ly bowed the daisies whiéh Spangled theis'ng‘d

   
     
  
    
   
 

     
     
    
  
  
    
   
    
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
   
    
   
   
  
  
 
 
  
     
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  

intrusivo sunbeams by the broad-brinfiiréd
straw hat she wore. Over the shady law
passed, where giant trees linked their anus t0?»
gether, forming an impervious shelter-treat,» 
beat, down emerald vistas, where  "
«had built their nests and cdroledson'gi; '
come to their lovely visitor. ' _ 
Then, leaving the grounds by a side
she traversed a country. road‘ fragrant ,5, "
honeysuckle and wild roses until she'reaohéd,
small gray church with Gothic walls "I 
stained glass windows. Entering.  
ground reverently, tended and   _,
flowers, through a wicket gate, Alina  " *
her way, caSLing from timeto time ugly“
some lofty mausoleum telling of d
greatness, or oftener gazing on some?\
slab where wreaths of fragrant flowegs  V _
the hand of affection were withering, it:
sunshine. ' ,   . . .-
Alma remembered Aunt Hestef's 
turned aside from the main path to 
secluded spot where the friend of her child};
lay. She had not gone far when he'n a '
was attracted by the tall figure of a man
in a tweed suit, a low-crowned'felt 
his head. He stood beside a 10 V gray  {it
. an attitude either of sadness or‘reflection. 
‘ Once he stooped to remove a small ‘ 1'”
, dead leaves which the village childish 
’ play had thrown there and forgqttedépflfha
stately form, some'inches above the 
, hight, and regular profile were'familiqr g
‘ Alma, who recognized Mr. Oswaldflfllin “
"j Unwilling to obtrude upon his notice, the
I sluckened her pace, and in a tow 
! had resumed his walk, and was soon  
‘ distance. ‘ 4 v r . l   , '
Alma went, slowly on, indulging in'idl‘e 
ulations as to the reason Whittle 
Eaglehnrst. lingered by that humble?

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

 
  
 

 

  
  

 

    

     

   

er‘ffloolrsought the smooth, gray stone, in.
Wh‘edgwith but one word»“ Amy.” No date,
notsurname, nor long panegyric on departed
.brth~nothing to indicate age, station, or
Wdition'.“ It must be owned Alma was slight-
‘ disappointed. :, .
{Has he gone, Miss Grantley? I d‘ldx not
‘ 'f‘toz‘nieet him here,” whispered a voice be—
"',hor';‘iand Mrs. Lavinia Varley, old Mrs.
patron’s confidential maid, stole from beneath
‘ :shadow of a willow-tree which had previ-
 sh'eltered [her from observation. “My
 growing dim.” she continued, “and
' gotta no great distance. Is be quite out
sight?" ‘ "
, you mean Mr. Clinton?" answered. Al-
 rhther startled by the sudden apparition.
think; he has left the churchyard."

  
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
  

 

  
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
   
 

was here."
_, Q’rdmhsmall basket carried on her arm she
 a. cluster of pure'white roses, inter-
, ledgwith' "'jéssamine, and deposited it upon

infield "woman’s entering, my dean This

 
   
 
 

   

 

  

7" hatfihved she would have been a middle—
I woman now, her merry ways sobered
‘ n; :no longer brimming ’over with laughter.

  

    
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

{"‘li‘mrvsmooth white brow? Poor, poor Amyl

' would have changed from your bright

  but not so much changed as when I

« ,,na«-Imv ‘

 or:th her. than?” inquired Alma.

gnawing” That indeed I did! She was

V. dqu sister's. only child.”

 died young?”

'“Died at nineteen. Oh, what a pitiful end
 toll of bright promise l” ‘

j,  l” sighed Alma; and, moved with

,I   er the early dead, she detached 8.

,' fitve'reamy white narcissi that fastened
 ‘quhh'wore around her neck, and placed

Midethe.roses.

E‘hémpinsmr looked kindly on her.

lmk’you, Miss Grantley. You have a

 H You would not have been one of

gwhoicpndemned'her.” Then, after a mo-

th t’spause, she continued: “Amy was only

 

 

 

  
 
  

, trihnd‘ almost as clever. Her father was
strict schQOImaster, my dear. He taught her,
 he knew, and she loved nothing better than
Ehwever, when lie died, I thought it a
- V “lei good luck when the younger Mrs.

 Aniy into her service. It was

 “h by persuasion. Oh, how that
ledge 7  ,‘prey'ed upon me since! I

  
 
   
  

     
      
  
 

  

 

 
     

 a. s   
to’rest in the family vault, yet, that'-

h'ead‘and, revhre’nt gesture showed that}
What-spate” hallowed by a tender memory.

"l-‘Bo inhchthe better, my ‘dear. He is not,

 er birthday. 13 it not strange to think that j

.tc‘o'glm-Kndnpensive; perhaps a few wrinkles 3

my  but handsomer than many a lady :

  

 

sunlight amen he s pleasant to. hast-em?
pretty niece near me. You see, ,Mfi‘ss'. Grantley,
that even then, so many years ago, ijas" maid
to Mr. Guy Clint‘ou’smoth‘er, who headway 
lived at. Eaglehurst, and Amy was to wait
upon his wife. At first all seemed to go on-
well. I Then, by de grees. the shadow of coming
trouble fell upon me. Perhaps I did not watch,
the girl carefully enough, trusting too much to
her discretion and prudence. I know Mr. Ashe
} warned me; but I was blind, and would not, or
could not, see.” .
“Who was Mr. Ashe?” questioned Alma,
with girlish interest in the old lady’s story.
“ He was Mr. Oswald’s tutor, and also a dis-
tant relation. This good young man, who had

taken holy orders and was so pious and studi- I 5"

one that everybody agreed he would be an or-

nament to his profession, once bade me beware

of Mr. Oswald. There were meetings in the
meadows, and sometimes a. few words ex-

‘ changed, after church service, between his pus

pil‘ and my niece, which he thought imprudent

considering, their difference in position. But

how could I suspect harm to happen frOm a

mere youth full of fun and frolic paying a. few

compliments, maybe, to a pretty girl about his
own age? Ah, if I had only guarded her more

carefully I”

A tear coursed down the faded check of vain

regret over the irrevocable past. .

: “ Then, did harm come of it?” inquired Alma,

timidly. .

Somehow, it was painful to associate the
thought of Mr. Oswald with wrong. She had

1 known him but a short time, yet his fine face,

‘ stately bearing and chivalrous manners, had
impressed her in his favor. It was sad to re-

, flect that such a noble manhood might have
been preceded by the follies——nay, the vices of

‘ a reckless youth.

“ I must not make a. long. story of all that
occurred afterward,” resumed the spinster,

E with a sad smile, “or I shall detain you, too
long and weary you. In the short space of one
month all kinds of changes happened at Eagle-
hurst. First, Mr. Ashe received a call. Mr.
Clinton had used his influence to obtainflit. SO

‘ the young man went to. a. distant county, ’

where he died suddenly not many months after,

poor fellow. The best are always taken first.

But the very week he left us the whole house-p“

hold could see that Mr. Oswald and‘ his tetheri-

were on bad terms.” ‘ I V‘

“ What caused their quarrels?” asked Alma.

"They Were about Amy. One of. the 
Van“, hearing their voices raised in dispute, 

listened at the closed door, and says her name
was mentioned. Then-rob, the sin, and shame” ~
and misery l—-—-my niece quitted Eaglehurshf "
leaving no letter nor message to tell usme ‘
she had gone. . _  ‘

“ But did Mr. 03wald‘knowl"

 
   
 

 

 

 

   

 

. _ ilie‘a‘laeréidehieithat: be,  . 
his‘,instig'ation.‘or , ' hat, fie-he'd ought ‘ to dowith’ ' -‘

the matter. ‘ get" hisr‘manner . Was strange;
- something seemed hidden under his apparent
I frankness, Which caused him to be suspected.

For it was not only i, dear Miss Grantley, who,
' remembering Mr. Ashe’s Warning, felt sure Mr. H
' Oswald, if he chose, could give tidings of Amy,
but my mistress, and even his father, bud
’ doubts regarding him. I read it in their looks .
and in hints dropped. At last there were so ‘
many family quarrels, that Mr. Oswald would
bear it no longer, but started on a long Western
trip. When he returned, the affair was hushed
up, and things went on pretty much the same.
aslusual.” ’

“Did you ever see Amy again?”

“Only once. Then she lay pale and silent,
keeping her secret to the last,”

" You mean that she was dead?”

“Her body was found floating in the river ‘
one bitter winter morning. I went and identi-
fied it, for I had heard it whispered that the
drowned ' woman, whose body awaited an
inquest at the village hotel, was my once gay
and beautiful niece. Miss Grantley, are you
ill? You look as if you were about to
faint.” . "

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
  

sari,:and gives me pain.”

young to be familia
If you live to be old
grow duller and colder
grieve over trials
gone before you.

I have recounted Amy’s history?”

;

- make.
Varley, with sad solemnity.

beneath Mr. Oswald’s roof; young and very
 baautiful, not unlike Amy in the flower of her
. youth; conflding and 'muocant—so was she. A
 Wedding ring was on her wasted hand when

 they found her, and who can say what prom-
‘ ises lured her from her home? True that the

hood, and about to ‘wed a lady in his own
‘wliere; true that I have never been able to
prove the correctness of my suspicions; yet
 my advice to you, given in- all earnestness, is
. this—beware of Dewald Clinton.” ,
' With these words, the aged spinster pressed
581" young companions hand, and left her to
_Wrsue he‘r way. . , ,
  gloom had fallen upongAlma. She knew
inform instinct that Mrs. Lavinia’s niece,
.iguppoged“ to. have" summitted self-destruction
father'than beer the burden of remorse and
 was no other than the six-anger who

 

, down to drink, and children returning 1r

it “No, no, Mrs. Varley; but your story is the pure, cool tide.

“Poor tender—hearted child, you are too ' lar part, and Alma glancing toward:
1‘ with Si“ and Suffering lposite bank, once/,more, perceived
, your Synfpmbles “"11 , stretched at full length under 
yo“ W1“ "0‘ “1°11 cigarbetWeen his lips, and newspaperiil
endured by “1050 Who have He had crossed the rustic bridge
And HOW 040 5'0“ guess Why the Stream a little further On, and give

Alma. hesitated, uncertain what reply to girl sighed. Maud had aheadyspokgngo
‘1 It 33 to give you warning,” said L‘Winia that she experienced that sense

“You are an men" which is of all others ,moetvde 883! '
orphan without near ties of kindred, dwelling the gram mind of romantic youthfg. 

l

distended and covered with foam, 

3 She knows the dog is mad, and is hearip
, , , , upon her.
master of Eaglehurst is now in mature’ man— ’
3 young cheeks,

l

. her doom is already sealed.

     
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
  

_ intention. ‘ '
I ,Whatever partOswald‘miglit hate
the life-drama. which ended sonata;
had been guiltless pf I goading to a e? ‘
doom a fond and trusting woman; A
sense of justice had received a cruel  ‘
She must keep silent and join in. the inspii
condemnation, or betray a secret mhfidéfif-
her mother’s lips. Yet why should she  ' a
speak the truth? If Miss Lavinia’siwf'h .
Were correct, Mr. Oswald was snowman,
second thought, except it were one of  , i ‘y
and reprobation., , .‘ , -  '
Absorbed in reverie, she quitted‘ the? en, .‘
yard, and walking on almost mochatjxi,
found herself on the river path.  '
beginning to sink in the west, and  h

.rippling waves with golden radiance},  ‘

giving place to the placid loveliness of, 
ing moon. The boughs of thaweepin'g .. f '
that fringed the bank swayed gently in
breeze, and bent toward the lucid waters": '~
to survey their leafy forms within a 
From the meadows the lowing herds,” “V

expedition to the woods stopped beside ;, .V 
tiny wavelets and laved their glowing {W

The river was rather narrow at 

self up to an hour’s luxurious idleaeéx

ot’ the gooquualities of her indulgent
of dis

5; .

But at that moment Alma sees an},
tawny mastiif rushing toward her”

gleaming, a dangerous fire in his up!

Her trembling limbs almost
their support, the mere die out f ) ‘
leaving them of margl
ness. A death, a frightful death is 
Whether the creature tends her 
until the work is completed, orgies.
expire by slow torture-,mattera’li
stands transfixed; in her excite 

, l

 

In her extremity a timely 
flashes across her brain. Mad 
horror of water; it would not followher
Lethei‘ drown a thousanditimesvra 
feel there'sharpteeth efinetrate‘  

, Y

s

  
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
   
 
   
  
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
   

shing his fangs andbiting the air. Then,
11, one despairing shriek, one piteous cry for
 I she plunges into the river.

'  e ,mastifll, with an impatient snarl of
iflled rage, pursues his career. '

"ril‘he sudden shock of immersion deprives
_;,l§tlla of consciousness. Beautiful in its pallor
er upturned face appears, her long amber hair
unatng upon the water, catching the full
lorry of the sun’s last rays. Fair and pure as
_ immlet’s” Ophelia, she goes to meet a
 dooml» ,

:But no, she is not to perish thus! Oswald
chums attention has been drawn to the terri-
3513109119, and without waiting to divest him-
.ltnt any portion of clothing, he takes a
finder and swims vigorously to the rescue.
“Alma; has disappeared by the time he
thought to reach her. He dives until forced
Wreturn to the surface for air.

tiller a brief pause, by diving once more he
reeds in grasping the flowing tresses, finally
~stinging to support her slight form in such a
,, tine); as not to impede his progress. Then
ih‘d'nialzes for the shore. r

t. seemed long ere be attained that Wished-
3* haven; the weight of his saturated clothes
is himidown and he had some distance to
‘ . .Bravely he struggled on, his only fear
' he had arrived too late to save the iragile
whose head drooped upon his shoulder.
directed his course toward a weeping
ow, 'wbich, leaning over the steep bank,
pfideitsbranches into the river, and by its
  aidextricated himself and his compan-
iromtheir perilous position.
grass, and as well as he was able wrung
 from her dress and hair. It was
«to look round for assistance; no living
 ing was visible in the rural solitude.

“Is she alive?” he questioned, placing his
hand Upon her heart, which. to his relief, he
'iéound‘ was still beating. Slowly the dark,
, ‘thomless eyes'unclosed, and Alma. gazed into
:the’faee bent over her.

f'Whe‘re am ll Did the brute touch me?
*I'safe—L-quite safe?” she murmured, almost
rmcbhereutly. Then, as full recollection re-
 she- realized the truth, and attempted
thank hen preservcr.

 “Clintoninterrupted, though not discour-
Sl-y, her professions of gratitude. He was
"in she should suffer no ill effects from

 

Wraion. ‘

‘ It willtbe the wisest plan to make our way
 the nearest cottage,” he said eagerly. “ One
nay grandmother’s protege“, an ancient
,, i " who has passed‘all her life on the estate,
restless. at hand. She is a civil, obligiug
  will, give you‘every assistance
- my require, It is impossible you can

 

She. waits, until the mastifl is  upon. her, ' 

He laid Alma i

l ‘ Though Oswald had never won her heart,

Walk.“ 99: as anglehnrst in those» dripping
clothes.” ‘ _  ~  '  ‘

Without waiting for reply, he led her away.
His usual air of proud reserve had disappeared;
he talked cheerily, soothed the agitation she
could not quite repress, and was gratified by
observing that she gradually regained com-
posure. Her step grew firmer, a smile 're-
warded his jcsts, and by the time they had
reached Dame Duflle’s cottage, her flower-like
features had resumed their pristine tints, and
the terror she had undergone was merged in a
strange sweet tumult of feeling which caused
her, while listening to the soft, sweet. tones of
Oswald’s voice, to forget the warning uttered
in the church—yard.

 

 

CHAPTER VI.
'rwo unanNGs.

“ QUITE a romance!" observed ‘ osamond
Mai-lord, with a gleam of suspici‘ in her
bright black eyes, and the faintest possible
sneer upon her lips. “ A. timid damsel, whose
g fears of an imaginary danger placed her in
1 real jeopardy, and your chivalrous brother

boldly incurring a ducking for her sake! Do‘
you really believe Miss Grantley fancied thé‘
mastifl? was mad, or was it merely a ruse to
j engage Oswald’s attention?”
“ What can you mean, Rosamond?” said
, Maud, with wondering eyes. i“ Alma was
i nearly drowned, and—J
’ A rippling laugh from her fair companion
interrupted her speech, a laugh very musical in
sound, but bearing an inflection of scorn min-
i gled with its merriment.
’ “ Oh, my dear. do not be oflfended. Young
persons in Miss Grantley’s position are some- ,'
9 times so artful and presuming, that it requires I ,
a certain amount of penetration to avoid being 
duped by their apparent'simplicity.” . 4

“ Perhaps yOu may not be aware, Miss Rosa-

mond,” said Maud, flushing with indignation, _

i “that Alma was my schoolfellow and intimate ' ~
friend long before she came to reside with me
at Eaglehurst. You will understand, when
you know her better, that she merits esteem as
well as affection.”

Rosamond hit her lip, and was, silent.
Strange as it may seem, she, an acknowledged
beauty and an heiress, was jealous of this poor 6
dependent girl, whose fair visage was her only ,

i dowry. / . 9’-

 
   
 
    
  
 
 
   
 
 
  

. is.

 

she resented the knowledge that he had saved
Alma's lize, and evinced great interest and
anxiety on her behalf, while a strong miegiw
ing as to whether Cuthbert, too, would not be,

easily consoled by his. beautiful cousin, when,
she herself should [sacrifice love‘ at the altar Q1

 

;

 

 

 

 

   
 
  
 
   
 
 
    
  
  

’ courtly

.evil spell over Eaglehurst.

 tain you such an unwarrantable time.
' . story is thm‘equel of yesterday’s, and shall be .

_ Haverer lacerated my hand and wrist.

 

{ambit-l, ,' addeda-drop’ more bitterness to the}
infusion oi'gall, which is. too, apt to overflow
when pride andvanity reign supreme in a wo-
man’s heart. “ , -

- Rosamondhad driven over to Eaglehurst in
her low pony-carriage, in order to enjoy along .‘
day in her dear Maud’s society. After paying ‘
a duty visit to the dim and somber apartments
where the aged Mrs. Clinton and her l‘actotum,‘*
Lavinia Varley, dozsd away halt the bright
summer hours, or talked over memories of a:
long-vanished past, the younger ladies had de- l
scended to the pretty room gay with flowers, !
bright-plumaged birds and delicately-tinted 1
drapery, which was distinguished by the name 
of Maud’s boudoir. Here Alma’s adventure of
the previous day was duly recounted by Miss 
Clinton, and commented on by her friend in I
the manner we have already seen.

The conference was disturbed by Oswald’s
entrance. He greeted his betrothed with a
llantry which perhaps served to hide ‘
the abse ceof true lover—like ardor, inquired
after Mr. Marford’s health, and patted the
round cheek of his pretty sister, whom, owing ,
to the diflfereuce in their ages, he was wont to /,
treat more as a potted child than a maiden fast ‘
ripening into womanhood. '

Maud was the first to perceive that his left
hand was bandaged, and carried in a sling.

“ Youare hurt!” she cried. “ Why, Oswald,
I shall begin to believe some witch‘has cast an
Each day brings

forth a. misadventure. ”

“Happily, mine is nothing serious; for an
efl‘iCacious remedy has been already applied to
what might have proved a source of future
trouble.” ..

“ We shall expect to have our curiosity
more fully satisfied,” remarked Rosamond, ,
lightly. “You must amuse us this "long sum- ‘
mer day in Othello-like fashion. by recounting
the perils you have undergone.”

»~ “I will not be sufficiently egotistical to 1Elie-
’ Y

 

briefly told. Early this morning I dispatched I

 ’ 8g party of men in search of the rabid brute ‘1

which alarmed Miss Grantley (no doubt Maud l

I  has already acquainted you with all particulars) ;

g‘bflt the honor of preventing him from working ’

 further mischief was reserved‘for me. I nape 
pened to be passing through "the woods near

 Farm, when suddenly he sprung upon me. l
Fortunately, I carried a double-barreled gun, 1:
«Which I wielded to such purpose, that my ad— "
Versary was soon stretched prostrate before
elm, not, however, before his sharp fangs had
30;
“a precaution from danger, 1 Walked on to
 gin-ray, who cauterized the _ wounds.”

   

: Oswald’s narrative.‘

[scught "to hire and reclaim ja‘    ,

 

 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  

     

- 1-The deep—drawn 'assiration‘p; 
sob, proceeded: from 'Aima’slips.   
entered “thereon: unobserved, and over i 
The startled and
tressed expression of her speaking counter:
displeased Rosamond. ~, " I,
v “flour nerves seem easily shattered, I 
Grantley,” she remarked. with scarcely veiled;
rudeness; “or is it gratitude for Mr; Clinton’"
serviCes of yesterday that makesyou sassy
sympathetic today i” h . ' ‘ ,
‘fSurely you forget, Miss Resamoedfit
Miss Grantley has very recently sesame
severe shock, which may well account. 
any agitation or nervOusness shef ma 
play this morning, ” said Oswald .
with some asperity, before the timid girl
venture a reply. “Many ladies indeed, a ,
have considered themselves entitled; to all ,
invalid’s privileges, and a full week’s 
mint ol‘. Doctor Murray’s professional attends
ance and sugared draughts, after'the
and immersion from which she has’evidiénifiyi
not yet recovered." ' 5 ‘
Alma dared not even by a glance; , , .
Oswald for his timely interference; it“?
nave given her fair enemy another weapon?
which to assail her maiden dignity, that. ’s' '
beneath the unprovoked assault.  25‘
In silence she moved toWard the tombs _
of the apartment, and busied herseltwith':
fancy work which Maud was anxious‘to?
although lacking the perseverance n“ _
to complete her task. ~ , * V 7
"Beware of Oswald Clintonl” Haw}
words were ringing in her ear. ' She 3-
they had not been spoken. Then  ,
have admired and esteemed him, untielnll 
by the inward monitor which now is   f
her for the gratitude springing up so w: I.
in her. heart for this man, who ' ‘
and descrted Lavinia Varley’s nioée, I
ago. ' ‘ r 1“
She never dreamt of inspiring or Fleeing
spired with love; the felon’s daughterdee ;\
herself set apart from all domestic ties, 
she had not known that Mr. Clinton’s‘itift
was already made. ‘ ; I  
But she might have gazed uponth'at, ‘
and noble countenance,_  do; 
seemed to indicate nobility onset, 
than compensated for the loss of. 
animation and brightness; she,i ‘
listened to his kindly voice, and~ ,
blush given him a share the 
stowed upon his sister Maud. ‘   ,. ~
All through the day We kept rather»
fromthe rest, determined not to-ofbtrude
Miss Hartford’s notice, who was, She "felt
secret foe. From a distance‘she watched 1
pretty feminine art's by which the eoqae "

~..

see." her estimation:  while“ the; 

‘ ’d on Oswald, her thoughts reverted to
‘ ;j_j§rtist lever. ' .» That, evening she had con-
‘_‘ ti) meet him iurthe park.
 once married, such disregard of the
reprieties would, of course, be unallowable;
M :“while still free the fair one was not trou-
issuance, many scruples. ‘\ Provided it was not
 ‘ red, a little whispered love-making un—
 shadow of ~ the grand old trees would
 herself and Cuthbert in the present,
333%,!th a. pleasant memory for the future,
JNMI that favored lover must be ban-
 her presence.
 heaved alittle sigh in the midst
playful discourse, and wished that
L _;ghsppy stroke of fortune would elevate
; thtprtGrantley’to high position, even at the
" 1: got his'riva'l, her aflianced husband.
V ,  growing late when the young lady
' » lama: away from “dear Eaglehurst,” as
milingly observed.
Mohamed beneath the portico, after es—
' Lg the! to her carriage, the cool breeze
' - L. :amongtthe short locks that shaded his
 his looks fixed on the receding vehicle.
thoughts were on the fair occupant, though
exgtwere scarCely those of love. She was
fulllful and winning, ho granted; his father
' tip-well have selected such a wife for his
[hollering the alliance would secure his
ess and enhance the honors of their
lit  His father, who had doubted
r word, and died still condemning him in his
V I ’T-“WOuId it have been well to oppose that
hfla,.awi'6h—»to decline a marriage, he had
d as sign and token of a half-forgive-
ffiurely it was wise and noble to suppress
dwarmisgivings, accept‘the oflfered bride,
 make some reparation the sorrow
M‘Wrought. -
' admitted

 Rosamond’s personal attrac—
bub the flaws ol! her character were

' mes apparent. The “ring of the true
4’5 was missing. He began to suspect
'rv-eoituess of manner was more than
seamed, for could she have spoken so
, lyvto‘the friendless and dependent Alma.
ghepossessed that truly womanly tender-
 which shrinks from inflicting pain?
Hennwhile‘ the carriage had quitted the
  ' appertaining to the Clintons, and was
 ngdown the dustyroad that led to Mar-
 -. Myriads of silver stars glittered in
 _, ,thie tree-tops rustled as the west wind
 amid their branches, the moon sailed in
" lmajesty through the cloudless expanse.
* ond’abeart began to .guicken its pulsa-
.Y'Thfl lodge-gates were reached; they
arsedthe long avenue of chestnuts; she al-
j ‘mied she could discern the tall tigers

2 file  distance, But the faintest.

 

new; stagnant is her sashes; "assayed

a‘look. might arouse suspicion andgdefeatfier‘
object. V “ "   ~ »

’ Rosamond Was far too prudent a maiden not .
to fear the breath of slander; she‘knew that
many a fair name has-been destroyed by
rumors first circulated in the servants’ hall.
With her accustomed air of cold dignity she
descmded from the carriage, and made a

, movement as it about to enter the house, than '

paused with pretended indecision. ,

“1 will remain for a few minutes on the .
terrace,” she remarked; “ it is cooler there than '
in the house.” ' ‘ " 0

No sooner had the domestics retired, and the
coachman turned his horses toward the stable,
than she sped toward the trysting-place with:
light footsteps that scarcely brushed the dew
from the grass. As she hurried forward she"
took off the White-plowed but she was wearing,
and drew around her head and shoulders her
black lace mantilla, the better to elude obser-
vation. Bright and quuant she aplflared in
this'Spanish-like array, 80 Cuthbert thought, as
he hastened to meet her, with many protesta-
tions of gratitude for her condescension. .

“I must not stay long,” she murmured, al-
most breathless with her rapid walk, mean-.
while permitting him to encircle her waist
with his arm and lead her into a more secluded
part of the palk. “I am very foolish to com-
ply with your request. Only imagine the an-
ger of my father and M r. Clinton if they but
knew that we were here together!”

“You will not grudge me a few minutes’
happiness,” he returned, sentimentally. “ Mr.
Clinton has been in your society all day, gaz.
ing unrebuked into your lustrous eyes, bask-
ing in your smiles. And yet. dear Rosamond,
be may be unworthy of that great happiness.”

“Not more unworthy than the rest ofvmang
kind, yourself included,” she replied, lightly.

“We cannot tell. There may be a. secret
connected with Oswald Clinton’s early life,
that might cause him to sink in the estimation
of all honorable men it it .wer J blazoned'
abroad. Tell me, Rosamond, wcul your fa?“
ther consider you were bound to fulfill the en-f
gagement with your bethroth'ed it I proved him]:
to be a villain?” 

“ Of course not,”sho answered, wonde‘tringlyg
“ Cuthbert, you excite my curiosity; 'I long to,
hear what you suspect or know.” ."1' a 

“At present I had rather not enter into any ‘ 
explanation. I want you to make a sole“?!n -
promise. If I can satisfy you beyond a doubt,
that a shadow rests on his name, render! ‘
him undeserving your hand, win you deign‘to
reward a love that saves you from makin at?
sacrifice?” ’ ' "

,He flung‘himselt on his knees before it

I with such a good pretense“ of passionate 31$?

 

 

 

\a.

tion, that she might be excused for believing
in its reality. _

“ You will consent to be my wife, sweet
Rosamond; to immolate ambition on the shrine
of love; to forsake a man whose highest honor
is his good name, which I will drag into the
dust?”

Long and tenderly he pleaded until the co-
quettish heart of Rosamond was stirred, and
she agreed, conditionally, to descend from her
high estate and become the poor artist’s bride.

“But remember, Cuthbert, it will only be
in case your cruel innuendoes a reproved cor-
rect. It is a. solemn thing to break a betrothal,
except on just grounds, and I would not treat
Oswald dishonorably, even to secure my own
happiness.”

She gave a little sigh, which Mr. Grantley
interpreted in his favor, though she was think-
ing at the moment how disappointing it would
be to resign Eaglehurst. Rising from his sup
pliant position, he clasped in his arms the wo'
man who was the aflianced wife of another,
and pressed upon her lips a seal of the promise
she had given.

“I must not stay longer,” said Rosamond,
startled at finding herself half-pledged to give
up the brilliant matrimonial prospect which
had afforded her father so much gratification,
and almost doubting whether she was wise in
accepting a lot so far inferior. “And Culh-'
bert, do not triumph too soon. I cannot help
feeling confident that Oswald will be able to
rebut any calumny leveled against him.”

It was a cold farewell, and Cuthbert walk-
ed away with an angry feeling, leaving Rosa-
mond to pursue her way homeward alone. He
leaped the fence which divided the lawn from

- the public road, drew forth and lighted a cigar,
then sauntered on humming a tune, and medi‘
tating on the reform he Would work in his fu«

ture bride’s manners and disposition when he ,

was once her legal master.

The nature of these reflections was so sooth~ I
ing that he did not perceive the approach of a ‘

shabbily-dressed woman, with a thin red visage
and eyes of a. watery brightness, who on her
side was quite willing to glide past him unob-
served had he not suddenly looked up and
recognized her.

“ Whatl you hero, Mrs. Rayner, in spite of
my warning and your own promise?” he said,
angrily, knitting his brows into a frown.

The woman dropped a courtesy, and seemed ,

embarrassed.

“ Did I not command you to shun this place?”
he continued, sternly. “The night you were
sheltered at The Rosery, and I overheard your
confession, I gave you timely notice that if
you remained in the neighborhood I would give

you up to the authorities for the robbery and ,
the murder of the girl whose name and anteoe— ]

 

‘ here.”

Hohoa BOUND. _ 1b

dents I have made it my business since to
ascer'nin ” - 7

" I know you threatened and wheedled until
you had wormed out all you wanted,” she
answered, doggedly. “Iwish I had held my
tongue, and dared you do your worst.”

“I scarcely think you mean what you say, ,

unless you are so tired of life as to wish for an
ignominious and violent death. Certainly a
woman should avoid the least risk of incurring
such a doom.”
“I did not kill her; I told you so before,"
murmured Judith, trembling in every limb.
Cuthbert laughed, and shrugged his shoulders.
“ It might be difficult to persuade a jury to
believe that statement. Your own confession,
written and signed, as you may remember, at
my request, is perfectly condemnatory. The
girl’s property was taken into your own
possession, and you led her away from the
cottage, where she expected to find a night’s
lodging, down to the river’s brink. Her body
is next discovered in the water, a bruise upon
the forehead, so I have been told, and who can
say whether received before or after death?”
“I give you my word, Mr. Grantley—”
“Pray spare yourself the trouble. I draw
my own conclusions,'as a sensible man should.”

“ Why did you make me tell you the whole'

story, and write that paper?” she asked,
savagely. “ Itwwas no business of yours. ”

“Perhaps mine is a morbid taste which
revels in the horrible; but at least I rewarded
you handsomely for your trouble.”

“I know you gave me money, but it was
soon gone. I want some badly now; times are
hard, and one must live.” ,

“ Not here, in the very place I advised you
to shun. Be off by the next train, and dwell
elsewhere in security.” '

“Don't be down on me so sharply, Mr.
Grantley,” she whined. “I am getting old
and weak, and people won’t give me work.”

“They find your character will not bear
inspection, and prefer employing the services
of individuals whose experiences are less varied
than yours. Besides, I cannot imagine why
you should expect any improvement to take
place in your circumstances through coming

Judith hesitated.

“It was not exactly that,” she began. «I»

wanted to see my daughter Alma.”
“ Oh, indeed 1”

meaning, played over his features. “Whit
exquisite maternal feelings you possess, Mrs.
Rayner,” he continued, after a pause; “ but

really, I am afraid you are apt to make mis-V

takes.”
“ I don’t understand you,” she stammered.
“Possibly not. I will make my meaning

He fixed his glittering eyes .'
upon her, while a smile, sardonic and full of .

 

.x..c:'..

4.4....“ _

   

sate

 
   

V    emote important"
’f if  beloved child.”
 II had, it is not, your business,” said
gene“, defiantly." =  v-
' $2911 have said that before“ Let me tell

.yeansep If (men I should oondescend to
 H Veyouracti’ve enemy, you would regret
 not*treated me'with some civil- ‘

 

m not staying here for any bad pur-
’+ she said, after a- moment’s consideration.
“5! as Well tell you the truth.”
Ifiiwould certainly show your wisdom.”
well, then, you remember that I owned
Lyyhid array the black bag she was carry-
wheii I met her in the hollow of the blasted
thatlwas afraid to sell her trinkets lest
felts might wonder how they come
«$37 hands, and so just left them as they

odoubt you reflected that it would give
aWItwardfquestions it a woman in your
 "woes-ed articles of jewelry for sale
dike"? the'bOdy of a yqun {lady had been
inthe river under suspicious circum-
*”,' .

 

giltyou are, Mr. Grantley ; I’ll not de-
  old manhe used to say my
A'hetgthe‘right way ou’ y shoulders;
Writ that I ,was ‘no fool. Now money
V..,talBS, unless it’s marked, which is a
 to do, and taking a shabby advan-
oliid. fellow-creature, so I took that and
e refit.”
reheat-d all this before; you have
ng more to telee.”
, ell, I was thinking that I am miserably
 getting on in years, and that same
net be lying there still.”
became rather pale. Did he feel
 was some resemblance between this
ans outcast and himself?—-that both had
, forbidden fruit? She was in his power,
dnot be said to fear her, yet the gen-
'   could not but confess his de-

,  your-meaning and. advise you to
lthe subject from your mind,” he said,
, s‘dly. ' “ It would be madness to run the
’ wisest risk. Besides, I forbid it, and insist
w yourfleaviug Marford by the next train

“in Starts ltcr whatever place you have
“left” Here, is money, a couple or sov-
,_ which I give merely from compassion
yourfriendless condition; make them last
has,» you, can. Remember how easily I
phtthe', policefdn “your track, and hunt
to a, shameful death. Judith Rays
 chars you will not disobey me.”

 
 

  

  

  

sing to this ,village. than that or payrqu ,

 such impertinent speeches damage -

own salsa facelighted, upwith a;

great of? intelligence assists .itorrent as words- 
poured forth. Guthbert’s change‘of manner ,I‘
did not escape her observation, though she
made no comment. ‘ w ' ' a, . r
“ Well, if I must, I must,” she said, closing »
her eager palm over the moner. ’ A
“And do not forget that am your friend
only as long as you are amenable ,to my
wishes,” observed Cuthbert, as he pursued his
way. ' '

      
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   

 

”—‘

CHAPTER VII.
IN THE GALLERY. , v,

AUTUMN was stealing on space. Already a.
certain coolness in the air at early morning or
when evening dews were falling presaged a
not far distant period when open windows and
light clothing must be abandoned for fires and
urs.

It had been raining fast for many hours. I
The trees at Eaglehurst drooped their heads,
overladen with moisture, and night was fast
enveloping in her vapory gray vail the turrets ,
of the ancient mansion. ' ‘

‘ Oswald Clinton was in the gallery, along,’
oak-paneled room with heraldic, designs artisti-
cally emblazoned on its ceiling.

To this room he often resorted. He was a, 
dreamer, and found pleasure in associating
5: with the portraits of his ancestors. Yet,‘as he
paced to and fro, sometimes gazing on the
relics be valued, but oftener in deep thought,
the shades of his ancestors seemed to gather
round him, approaching him .as a. degenerate
son, who would stain the honor of their house. 1‘
1 Then would he inwardly vow to keep stanéh in ‘ ’ '5
his troth, since an honorable man’s word once 
, given should never be lightly retracted. And , 2
‘if a vision rose before him of sweet. child- ’ 5

like features, framed in golden tresses, he, 

., deemed it a delusion and snare which tempte

, him to dishonor. .. ( V '

1 He heard the wind moaning, the rain dash- ' E‘
ing against the windows. Nature was gloomy 
and in unison with his thoughts; the beams of 
a rising moon, the wild radiance of unnumbered
stars, would have ill-suited his present feelfff
lugs. v p , '?

He heeded not the flight of time. He was!
battling against the impulses of his heart,
pleading and defending his own cause,
sionally enjoying a gleam of triumph, often utfi
terly abused. .1  

The hours crept on unmarked, until 'gi‘ad' ‘g'
ually he grew weary even of thinkingmlu‘ii,”
stretching himself on the low windOw that,
ostensibly for the purpose or gazing out late
the dark and dismal night, reunite a light

slumber. . , '- i I.  . 2,2"

His dreams repeated in a distorted form $116
substance of his reflections. . V  . l

‘ Rosamond appeared in'bridal, attire; 

IE r,

 

 

  
 
 
     
      
     
   
 
 

we

 

 

 

        
  
 

  

 

HONOR BOUND.

21

 

with a bewitching smile offered him her hand.
Yet when he approached, she slyly unshcathed
a dagger carried in her girdle, and would have
plunged it to his heart had not a vailed figure
interposed.

Then his guardian angel-for so he termed
her—snatched away the mask Rosamond had

l

always worn, and showed her real visage, so .

frowning, crafty, and ill-favored, that
turned away shuddering.

And the angel dropped her veil, and turned
out to be only a woman, after all; but a
Woman tender, gracious, and faithful, whose
countenance beamed with purest love, and
wore the lineaments of Alma.

Oswald awoke with a start. The few wax
tapers that lighted the room were beginning to
dwindle in their sockets. and the large clock in
the hall was solemnly tolling midnight.

They kept early hours at Eaglehurst. Doubt-
less all the‘household, save the master, had re-
tired to their several chambers long ago.

He stretched himself, yawning, and was pre-
pared to follow their example, when a bright
streak of light pouring through a crevice in
the door, attracted his attention. .

Who could be moving about the house
so late? The rooms generally occupied by
the family were situated in anolher part
of the building. Indeed, since the death of
Mr. Guy Clinton and his wife, many apart-
ments in the east wing were disc'antlcd and
unused. Perhaps it was because the gallery
was quiet and secluded, not likely to be im-
versed by disturbing footsteps, that Ovald so
often resorted thither when he was in the
mood for solitude.

The light grew still brighter. He started
from his recumbent posture, and glanced
'uround, thinking of burglars and midnight
assassms.

The heavy portal swung slowly open. But
no forbidding form appeared upon the thresh-
old, no brutal visage peered in, intent on deeds
of violence.

Instead, a graceful girl, carrying a small
silver lamp in her band, who came noiselessly
to“ ard him, dressed as he had seen her in the
earlier part of the evening in floating robes of
the palest blue, with a few whi‘e flowers

, (now withering fast away) in her golden hair.

“ Alma!” he said, in surprise, the name with
Which he was familiar in his thoughts escap-
ing his lips in the momentary embarrassment.

“Mr. Oswald!”

She looked dazed, bewildered, and stood
transfixed before him.

A bright idea relieved his perplexity. She
Was unknowingly, perhaps, a somnambulist,
and in that strange, half-trance-like condition
had wandered through corridors and deserted
rooms until she had penetrated to the gallery.
He remembered that it was considered danger-

he;

 

one to awake suddenly persons-in such a state,
and began alrvad v to feel pangs. of self-reproach
at his inadvertence. 'Suppose she should sul-
tain either physical or mental injury through
fright occasioned by his stupid exclamation?
How great would be his remorse! Not only
had the girl’s beauty and amiability entranced
him, but she reminded him——oh, how forcibly!

-—of another whom he had loved in his early '

youth and never forgotten. H

His voice’ almost trembled as he addressed
Alma. ‘

“ Do not be alarmed, Miss Grantley. You
must forgive me if I startled you. I did not
know you walked in your sleep.”

There was a shy, upward glance of gratitude
—a sigh beaver] almost of relief.

“ Have you ever before found yourself act-
ing the part of a somnambulist?” he inquired,
smilingly, with the intention of dispelling her
evident uneasiness.

She shook her head gravely.

' “After all, it was as well that I disturbed
you. If not, you might have passed through
that door on the left, the only outlet except
the one by which you have just entered, and
awoke to find yourself in a long, dark passage,
where I venture to say you have never yet

been, since it only leads to a few uninhabited .
‘ rooms.

You would scarcely know how to find
your way back again.”

“ Oh, I should have known,” she said, shiv-
ering.

“ You are cold! How thoughtless I am to
detain you here! I trust you will be able to
sleep more peacefully now, Miss Grantley, and
have pleasant dreams.”

He held open the door to allow her to pass
through, when by some mischanco a button -ol'
his coat caught in the long trailing love-lock
which hung over her shoulder. As he disen-
gaged it, a sudden impulse of passionate love
swept down the barrier of self-control by »
which he had been hitherto bound. He raised
the silken tress to his lips. While Alma, whose
cheeks had flooded wifli a crimson glo W, vainly
attempted remonstrance, the words dying away
unuttered.

A loud discordant voice at the doorway‘

startled them both.

“You see, madame, I was right. I did not
accuse Miss Grantley withdut reason.”

It was Lavinia Varley who spokc; her gaunt.
form drawn to its utmost hight, her small eyes
twinkling with indignation. Behind her,
gray and grim, stood old Mrs. Clinton, wrap.
ped in a faded dressing-gown of rich brocade,
and bristling with suppressed resentment.

“ Oswald, is it possible you can condescend
to hold stolen interviews with a mere depend-
ant, thus wronging the noble lady so soon to
be your Wife?" she said, in an awful tone.

“I wrong no one, grandmother, although

 

H ' longer,” began Alma.

22

HONOR BOUND.

you grossly misjudge me. As you have dis ’ “You may be sure of that,” returned the

covered so much, with Miss Grantley’s permis-
sion, I will tell the truth. The young lady
happens to be a somnambulist, and in a state
of unconsciousness made her way to this room,
when she was awoke by my sudden exclama-
tion.”

“A very likely story,” remarked the lady, ‘

with ineflfable scorn.

“ A story which, I presume, no one will ven-
ture to doubt when I pledge my word of honor
as agentleman and a Clinton that it is per-
fectly correct.”

“ Unfortunately, Oswald,” remarked Mrs.
Clinton, significantly, " you taught us years
ago to distrust your word.”

“Poor, poor Amy!” sighed Lavinia, under
her breath.

The color rose hotly to Oswald’s dark
cheek.

“ As you are a. lady and near relation, I
must not resent your speech; a man would
meet with different treatment!”

“ lndeedé-indeed, Mrs. Clinton and Mrs.
Varley,” said the trembling Alma, “I never
thought of coming here to meet Mr. Oswald; I
never dreamt that he—” '

She paused, overcome with confusion.

“It will serve no purpose to remain here
longer,” observed the old lady, severely. “ At-
ter this untortunate disclosure Miss Grantley
will doubtless see the propriety of relinquish-
ing her position in this. house.”

"Yes, I must go away; I can stop here no
Then checking herself
and bursting into an agony of tears, she ex-
claimed: " How cruel you are! W hat can I
do? What will heciime of me?’ '

The sight of her tears was agonizing to Os-
wald. '

“ Listen, grandmother!” he cried, impetuous—
ly. “I swear Miss Grantley is innocent of all
imprudence, to call it by no harsher name.
She will continue to reside here as my sister’s
companion so long as such residence may be
convenient and agreeable? to them both. And
while i am master of Eaglehurst, no word shall
be raised against her.”

. , “ You are quite chivalrous, Oswald,” sneered
. L the old lady.

She did not venture to say more, for she
saw his spirit was thoroughly roused, and had
a timely remembrance that his sway over the
Whole domain was unlimited. If she provoked
him beyond suiferance she might be requested
to take her departure. ~

“ Let us dwell no longer on this painful
theme,” he resumed, more gently. “Upon
reflection you will regret having misjudged
Miss Grantley, and I must request that no hint
ot_this business is suffered to reach Maui's
eats,”

old lady, in a tone implying that her grand-
daughter’s morals would receive no contamina-
tion through her imprudence. “Nor shall I
mention the subject to Miss Marford,” she
added, magnanimously.

“ Were I the person alone in question you
would be at liberty to use your own discretion;
but silence will undoubtedly be more agreeable
to Miss Grantley. And now, ladies, it is grow-
ing late; may I advise you to retire?”

As they retreated in obedience to his request,
he managed to Whisper to Alma, “ Miss Grant-
ley, can you forgive my folly?”

I’Vithout answering, she hastened after the
elder ladies. Mrs. Lavinia was muttering to
her mistress, “They may say What they like,
but I shall always doubt them. A silly, head-
strong girl, after all my warnings! And,
madam, did you notice when we first surprised
them, he was actually kissing her hair.”

 

CHAPTER VIII.
A RELIC cr THE PAST.

ALMA has grown pale and silent. Her dark
eyes look larger than'usual, because her checks
are growing hollow. Her pleasant energy has
been superseded by profound depression, and
although she daily struggles to resume her
former demeanor, a less keen observer than
Mr. Oswald Clinton would doubt her forced

‘gayety, 'and more than suspect the effort it

costs her.

But Oswald strives, though unsuccessfully,
to dismiss thoughts which bear a sting. He is
to be married almost immediately. Mr.
Marford has expressed his opinion that there is
no just reason why the marriage should be
deferred longer; Rosamond has consented with
nonchalant grace; there will be ample time for
the bridal tour and return to Eaglehurst to
take place before Christmas. Everything is
arranged on a grand scale befitting the wealth
of the ha py pair. The number of bride-
maids, carriages, and triumphal arches is
freely discussed throughout the village. The
bride’s trousseau is reported to be valued at i

fabulous sum, while maid and matron rejoice -

at the anticipated glorious spectacle of shim—
mering silks, rich laces, and splendid jeWelry
which shall gladden their eyes on the
momentous morning when the Hon. Edward
Mai-ford’s heiress shall contract an allianCa
Worthy of her position in seeiety.

These gorgeous preparations, however, do
not appear to yield any peculiar gratification
to the parties most concerned. Rosamond is
often peevisti and unreasonable; her betrothed
can scarcaly be considered an ardent lover.

Sometimes he finds himself watching Alma
with an earnestness which causes him to he

A,Air&

 



  

 
   

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" > Hometown; 5- 5 4

 

 

 

 

‘» ‘ watched inLhis‘ turnlby grandmother Clinton
 and her faithful attendant, it they happen to
‘: be present. 'But be amide all opportunity of
being alone in the girl’s society, for her sake as
well'os his own. ~“ . ,
, , Maud, an unconcerned spectator of what
may be called the acted enigma being played

 

ireadaches and Oswald’s gloom. without con-
necting with either the approaching marriage»

to which she looks forward with deep interest.

' Why should she not? It isa well-known fact
- that a bridemaid’s dress of white and delicate

 ' pink is becoming to dark-haired young ladies
" ~~ ivho can boast of a good Complexion; and
,. young Mr. Roslyn has said—but it matters
' - little what he has said, though it was enough

render her rather oblivious of her friend.

“Do you know, Alma,” she began, one even-
ing, after having remained absorbed in reflec-
12‘ tion on the inexhaustible subject for nearly
3 five minutes, “that I have a most opportune
 . remembrance? I want to look my very best at
the ball Mr. Marford gives in honor of Rosa-
mond’s wedding, and just nova recollected
that there are all sorts of pretty things kept in
that cld ebony cabinet in the ‘amber—room.’
 One of my uncles was fond of collecting for-
'_.~ eign curiosities, and I might discover an elab-

,~0r;:tely-carved Indian fan, or some antique

_ ornament which, owing to its very age, would
be a novelty.” -

“ We had better explore at once,” answared
’ Alma, rousing herself to interest.

' ‘f Oh, I dare not. My cold is so troublesome.
and grandma desired me to keep my room. I
don’t feel certain that I should obey the old
lady’s injunction,” she added, with a pretty
grimace, “if I were not afraid of looking a
i h‘ight on the important day. You know an
L influenm gives one a red nose, and eyelids
' which are so extremely unbecoming.”

;  his truth could ‘ not be gainsayed, and once
.:  silence fell upon the pair.

 “,Qma, darling," said Maud, suddenly re-
the subject with fresh energy, “I

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 

X” a comparatively small apartment separ-
_ hem the vast drawing-rooms by a curtain
gratin, golden in hue. Tho cabinet'r-tord in a
 ergo" quainl, old-fashioned article of, fur-
. 1‘9, inlaid with“ choice bits of delicate Dres-

were: The doors were locked: but Alma
1,1333: keys successfully, and was soon

 

 

: “News Worn by the‘fiuperstitionsih  l 1

before her eyes, by turns wonders at Alma’s .

‘ foot displaying its attractions beneathth‘

, . f resemblance of no aristocratic 
'to occupy Maud’s most anxmus thoughts, and ‘

 

W. ,éd'bybeinsgembledte the ion hidden  '
 W     .

,ing of a young girl.

 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
    
 
   
 
 
   
  
    
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
     
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
  

Gar-dossier or sandal-wood 

lands, to guard their owner agaihsii the 
eye; a‘ withered bouquet, tied with fade : ' '
hon; Hindoo idols of intense 'uglinos’sfiai',‘
bangle, and an exquisitely-finished  ‘

The latter arrested Alma’s attention
original had evidently been  i ?
without the aid of' c'olors,"£ihe vi:
toimpress the gazer with a sense of her;
lative loveliness. Graceful 'form'aad " " _ , ,
Ey-chiselcd features, luxuriant hair 
heavy braids around a shapely head, and

 

of a simple working dress. For this“ 
she was masquerading fora josh: 3
was she clad in rustic garb, but‘was my
ed as being engaged in the homely taskof
ing a brood of chickens that thrdngdd
her, eager for the grain she smilingly t '
them. , ’ I w .

As Alma viewed these details with i
wondering if it were a fancy sketéhpor ,
happened that this fair girl’s likeness”
carefully press vad at Eaglehurst. 
felf'npon the in] ials “O. C.” roughlfsm
in one corner. ' ' I": " "

The sight gave her a kind of  ,

Was ibis another proof or Oswald“01
acquaintance with Lavinia Varley’ "
was it vain to hope thathe had beean
and libeled by those who forgot“ 
anoes are sometimes against the inn
Supposing this was Amy’s portrait,,anr123hfi
loved her! ,  . -

She stopped, as a shadow fell 
over whiCh she bent. Oswald"
looking down upon her. . i ‘f

“ Miss Grantley, are you Grillin-
drawing of mine? I thought it was; '
years ago.” ‘ . ‘  . 

“I admire it,”.ehe murmured,» we , p .
cast eyes; “and the girl is very 

“ Indeed! I thought so when lumber?
freding the chickens near her fatherly
The scene became impressedupon‘mye a.
could not rest until I had reprodueedf‘it.

“ I do not wonder,” she answered.

Then, feeling it was a foolishzj .
make, blushed vividly, for Oswell? ‘
still resting on. her face.  Q  , _

l-Do you know, Miss Grantley,  ,
fancy I can see a strong 
your features [andherewwppmtmgta that
mg“ You flatter me, Mr. Clinton?  _

p“ Many " ladies  would ~ reel offended
thaiicflat’ered‘ f -

 

   

   

 
       
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
       
     
     
   
  
  
     
     
     

in?
seas: _ .Youmust remember, Miss Grantley,
it years have passed since then. I was a

 

peace”,

“Yaw loved her, then?” ..

 Words half choked her, but she resolved

heyshould be. spoken. -

‘ fleeplyenassionately,” he replied.

Alas {or'man’slovew she said, in scornful

its, recollecting the story told by her
her,,oonce_rning the deserted girl’s last sad

 Kiley and tragical end. “ Is it worth the win-

,'_when~sosooa it Vanishes completely, with-

even leaving the wreck behind?”

You; think it is only possible to love once?”

 moodily. ‘

,  tuous answer rose to her lips.

I think remorse should ever haunt the path-

, im towho’se account can be laid the misery

it.»th or. a loving woman l”

You, too, Miss Grantley?”

Bedeep reproach in his tone stung her to

Qu‘ck. , Had she, too, enrolled herself amid

 

’n‘emiee?‘ ~
I‘see you judge me harshly,” he continued,
.‘ harshly, perhaps, if you knew all; but
kl; indeed rest. I have learned to bear .un-p
the scandalous hints which have assailed,
isobar, yet ‘1 am weak enough to wish you
 9} higher opinion oi! me. Gross vanity, you
Miss Grantley.”
er  drooped lower and lower still, un-
could not see how pale she was grow-

fopinion must he valueless to you, Mr.
lion. 1 am only a young, inexperienced
 sister’s companion; you are a man
11; position, rich, honored, and the chosen
not: a‘millionaire’s daughter.”
on Mar-estimate my advantages. I would
 them all, such as they are, it I might
 9}}er me the shackles which for years
., held me from freedom of action.”
“  leave you,” she shid, timidly shrink-
\‘ dram further confidences.
 what detains me.”

‘ began to replace hastily in the cabinet
uttered treasures.

   

 

  

2,an pale she was. ‘ “ The room is close.

we open the window to give you air.”

gidrew aside the curtain.

deep red light was in the sky, which even

it  increased in intensity, and spread

'lelko meone particular point.

new” he cried, throwing up the window.

 301‘ itQmEaglehurst l” V

shower  . vivid ' sparks "shooting up into
Meadow er, smqaapemnfir

   

   
  
 

 

 

 

embodiment «it .my' most Viromantic é

“'leyouth when that fair face first disturbed

apprehen- ‘

   
 
 

 

, “ I must hurry elf, and make myself-"metal.
I yiear our pretty little ivy—clad church, St;
Monica, is falling a prey to the'flames.”

“ Must you go?” she asked, with a thrill of
fear, for there might be danger, and he, she
knew, was reckless and daring. v

“You would not have me stay away ill,
could be of service; and you are ,better now,”
be said, almost tenderly, looking down on the
fair visage now flushed with excitement. I
“Farewell, Miss Grantley! You must wish us ‘
all success in speedily extinguishing the com
flagration.” ~

And he withdrew to issue the necessary ora
ders for dispatching the engine, which, as a
matter of precaution, was kept at Eaglehurst,
thinking it might give eflicient assistanceto

; the small fire brigade, numbering scarcely a

l

l

' the church (ho w, no one could say); but, main-

4 had sustained much damage. /

 

“Maud will '
Ifinal, arrangements with Oswald Olin 

chii‘ are not well,” cried her companion, .

‘ tache, a supercilious smile, and an e ‘

'pened. The large oakeu chest full of parish

fiercely at that part of the building, and the

dozen men, which was all Mariord Could boast.

 

Next morning the pleasing intelligence of St.
Monica’s escape from any irreparable injury
gave universal satisfaction throughout the vile
lage. ,

The fire originated in the vestry adjoining

ly owingto Mr. Oswald Clinton‘s exertions,
and the large rewards offered to such mem~
bers of the brigade who might best 511ch in
arresting the progress of the flames, they were
effectually checked before the sacred edifice

5

One great misfortune, however, had. hap—

registers was destroyed with its contents.
Indeed, the fire appeared to have raged most

records interesting to so many were consumed, ~:
leaving but a few charred fragments behind.

 

 

CHAPTER IX.
APPEARANCES ARE AGAINST HIM.
IT was the morning before the appoi _'
wedding-day. The Hon. Mr. Marford I w
ridden over early to Eaglehurst to makeg‘i’ few

 
 

   
  

i2;

now business matters having been, ‘ “ _
in the study, was paying his respeoh  ‘
ladies of the family in their morniW
He was a tall, upright man, u  1
years of age, with lint-white hair i 

of unbounded pride resting on his thirty;~
pressed lips, and in his cold blue eyes. f j
dressed in the latest fashion, suitably adapted
to his years, and though, haughty and unicorn
promising in his behavior to them What!!!”
lconeidered his interiors, was not vwantinfit
affability toward such 
’hailfllaelfit  ‘   


3° W? mime -,,‘ 

  

 
  

  

 
 
     
   
   
  

  

  
 
    
  
 

    
 
  

   

 reclined in her favorite .armAchair, with Mrs.
 Lavinia in close attendance, according to usual
” custom. ' ‘
_ . “ You were kind enough to inquire after my
_. ‘ daughter,” he said, in his full, pompous tones,
" iconrteously raised in consideration of the old
lady’s deafness. “I have not seen her this
‘ morning, but she was in good health yesterday

'. evening. A little flurried and nervous, as we 

might expect her to be, Mrs. Clinton, at this
critical period of her fate, but looking charm-
ingly well, notwithstanding.” .
“If only my son Guy could have lived to
‘~ see the day which will ally the two familiesl”
observed the old lady, in her thin, tremulous
voice.
, _ “ I have reason to believe it would have been
s gratifying to his feelings,” agreed the honor-
," ' able, sensible that such a marriage should do.
light any reasonable parent. “Persons in our
position,” he continued, swelling with conscious

’pride, “have a great responsibility thrust upon

them. We must mate our children with those
' Who are suitable in birth, social status—nay,

even the worldly wealth a noble mind is apt to
 despiss. My daughter, for instance, could not
 wed beneath her! Show”

‘ ' The remaining portion of Mr. Marford’s
‘7 speech was doomed never to enlighten the inv

: tellects of those to whom it was addressed. A
' seIVant entered, looking decidedly flurried and
" uncomfortable.

,“,A lady wishes to see Mr. Marford.”
" The. man was thrust aside, and Mrs. Hill,
 C’ with tear-stained cheeks and quivering lips, her
bonnet put on awry, her shawl half dragging
on the ground, made her way into the room,
. aml without any conventional greeting to those
» assembled, addressed herself to Mr. Marford:
 1 “Oh, Mr. Marford, you will never forgive

“ me, but indeed it is not my fault. Who could
' have fereseen this calamity i”-

: “ Please to calm yourself, madam,” returned
59, sternly regarding his daughter’s chaperon
 she stood there wringing her hands and ap»
111mg her handkerchief to her swollen eyes.
 should be glad to hear your exglanatiou of
the reason we are favored with this. visit?”

‘fflh, Mr. Marford, I am irretrievably ruined.
. m} one will trust me with the charge of their

j flanghters, though I have always had the high-
" recommendations, and been most. conscien-
 inlulfilling my duties.”

ik"“l_\_(_,3annot you speak, woman?” he cried, sur-

 

 

 

 

1'“

 
   
   
  
   
    
 
  
  
   
   
  
   

    

‘. out of his aristocratic languor. “Has
_harm happened to Ross mend?”
“The worst of all possible harms. She has

 ' K ';r by. this time sheis married!"
.Gchst’emation was portrayed on every cone-
_. .Qégf‘Wit/h the exception of Oswald‘s, which
Qanmquefinable air of relief. ’
“My , daughter married?
.vhnemistahem? . = s ,' .

 
   

«a»,

Mrs. Bill must:

 

L in all due causing forgetfulness and 

, eyes to his baseness, trusting I shall that“, n:

" will find me so easily conciliated‘.  

'(the girl should have spoken before,»hut’f 

 

    
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

“Indeed, sir, my news is" only "L A  I
Last night, Miss Rosamond 'esi‘ied‘holti
disturbed until a late hour this morning;
head ached, she said, and a long night’s
might do her good. But— when= her 
tei'ed the apartment at the hour appointed; 
found it 5vacant, and this open note
table." “ : 

Mr. Marford almost snatched the paper" ;
the lady’s hands. anxiety concerning hisyhhild

" What does she mean?” he asked,   ‘
over the contents. “ ‘ Can give good pm
for refusing to marry Oswald; must open 7 '

prove her wiser choice.’ I do not think

tell me, madam,” he cried, turning emery:
the hapless chaperon who cowed honest ' '
glance, “the name of this fellow whom. 7
have allowed to carry off my daughter?”

“ He is a talented young man, and 
a respectable family,” she answered, deg.
catingly. “If what Marie tells  

 

to give oflfense) it seems highly probable".
Miss Rosamond has elopedwith her 
master.” , I  I:

The Hon. ‘Mr. Marford’s wrathful e’xW
was fearful to behold. His {loom-lama '
less artist, a poor teacher glad to go"
house to house giving lessons in orde‘rth ‘
his livelihood! ‘ u - V " ’  .

There was the sound of voices in 
evidently a fresh arrival, thengh’j'all‘wero
much agitated to notice anything unu’
Once more the door opened to admit-
bert Grantley and his newly-made  ;

They came into the‘ room, she rather~
ing her husband than being herself 
her eyes flushing with excitement, thew
upon her che‘ek'deepened to an almbstffu
coming glow. 'With a. disdainfnl gesfiur
swept past Oswald, upon whom she 
glance of supreme’indignatiou.‘ '  

“ Papa, I have come here with my’hgfih
Mr. Cuthbert Grantley, that we mayia
enter into unexplanation ’ which will
you that under no circumstances could, I U
consented to the marriage you have“ -' ‘ ’
for me with Mr. Oswald Clinton.”_ _ ‘ 

Mr. Marford was beginning to'storm,‘ bi!
weld laid his hand uponhis arm; " ‘fv 

“ Sir, as a personal favor, may I. g I.
you to listen to your daughter"? ' ' "  i", 3 E

“ You" will soon be yourself 
‘of defendant, Mr. Clinton,”vshelanswered;w
aspiteful glance. :“1 am about to,  ) 
father how cruelly he has been deceived:
antithetical of'yOu’rj character. ‘ 
forithe aflectiim 12mm:in inspiisei’a’" ’*
toward 'Cuthbert, “5 might never'h ref

 

 

 and should have found myseltunited ‘-

,xoarriage to a. villain.” ‘ \ g -

, That is a harsh term, Rosamond”, re-

" staked Oswald, unmoved at the angry lady’s
, fwd“, not retract it. Father, I appealto

 may not that term be justly used to a
 who secretly marries and disowns a sim-
ifié‘ country girl, because her station is not

quarto his own, and he fears to incur the ‘

get- 91 his relatives!" ,
 Very bad!” muttered her father, per~
 and stroking his white mustache.
“,ZBut'worse‘ remains. The unlucky girl
 to claim her just rights disappears
litany at the gates of Eaglehurst, and her body
found floating in the river.”

“Butgwhat has this terrible story to do with 1,

Mamielintou?” asked Mr. Marford, sternly.
"l gimply this. The girl was his wife, legally

W}; led to him nearly nineteen years ago at

“9 church of St. Monica, .which recently so

. V 'Wl’y'escaped destruction by fire.”

 :How have you discovered all thisl” de-

‘ adher father, sharply. ‘
Bya strange chanco,” remarked Cuthbert,
Wetlyy “the certificate of the marriage

;' "einto my possession. You can see, sir, by

awning over this document, that we advance
j ' (but the truth.”

 ' Certificate of marriage between

weld; Clinton, bachelor, and Amy Lavinia

" are, spiuster. This looks authentic. What

,7 to say, Oswald?”
Lde‘ny ‘ever having gone through the cere-
‘, 7‘0! marriage with the lady in question,
innit-give no further explanation.”
“You disbelieve the evidence oi! your own
taperihaps,” cried «Mr. Mai-lord, handing
, the‘p'aper, yellow and discolored with age.
at; you assert this to be a £0rgery?” ‘
 genuine,” replied the younger man,
eras apparently careful examination. “ If
,heen tempered with, the guilt is not
. ,,  ‘

,What do you imply, sir?” said Cuthbert,
 .‘f”‘ptiug;to assume an air of indignation,
 pale and anxious. “Mr. Max-ford.

, easily satisfy any doubts he may entertain
 searching the registers.” '

,“Which were destroyed three nights ago,”
' rked, Oswald Clinton, gravely. “You
a; a bad memory, Mr. Grantley .”
At, least, papa,” interrupted Rosamond,

on have heard enough, to convince you that »

. vaunted: wisely in declining Mr. Clinton’s
 uniting my fate to that of a gen: 1e-
‘ ‘ ‘ endgame his interiorin wealth, bears

whklgmishcdnamefi’ ‘ ‘

.   “mm you.  more

 foil-e is "widower.

 What to think,” scammed-Ibex,

 

. _ , Petunia
‘objectionvto your unioniwith my daughter; nor
,do I nuagine she would-herself 'ha‘ve regarded
'it as an obstacle; But we both detest mys-
teries.” ' ’ ‘ i ’

“Papa, I, would never wed a man whose
deserted wife had died under such very peculiar

the tastings taunts; neeugno 

ly.

interrupted Oswald.
supports your serious allegation; no witness

‘ could be brought forward to speak a crimins, . 1'}:

ating Word.”
1 I “ I would appear against you!” exclaimed
Lavinia Varley, thiusting herself forward, and
‘ grasping his arm. .
She was almost maddened by strong excite
ment, her eyes dilated,,her thin face worked in
agitation. . V
“ I always felt sure in my own mind that,
you were guilty of my beautiful Amy’s death,”
she went on. “ But there was no one to give
me advice, and what could'one-poor old woman
do to obtain justice? You'were out the very
night she was drowned, wandering no one knew
whither, though the snow was deep and the
bitter wind must have frozen you to the bone.
3 When you returned your air was preoccupied,
' your countenance gloomy, your clothes satu-
rated, for which you accounted by saying that

circumstances!" cried Rosamond, significant- 

“You are indeed wild in your accusations,” , '1‘ -
“No tittle of evidence 

you had inadvertently stepped into a high snow-  7'

drift. Nor is this all. Your own man, James
Hardy—dead and gone many years now, poor

fellowl—told me as a great secret that he had,  

found in your room a letter which curiosity
prompted him to read.”
“ And that letter?” cried Rosamond.

“Contained. only a few lines; signed ‘ Amy,’  '
entreating Oswald to meet the'writer at the f '

 west gate of Eaglehurst.” I ..
l “I see that I am tried and condemned

already,” remarked Oswald, with rather a sick-  
“Even Maud, my little sister, V "'

ly smile.

v 

shrinks horror-stricken from that monster-’0! -

iniquity she has the misfortune to call brother.

If ladmit the truth of all Mrs. Varley new '

alleges publicly for the first time, but emphati-

cally deny that on that night I met nastiest, I
for whom I vainly waited until long past the a,
appointed hour, is there one present whom}! V

believe me?"

“ I Will-41 dol”
voice of Alma. “Mr. Clinton. I whiz:er
you are innocent of causing your Wife’s death,
that you never saw her on that terrible even
ing. Only wait—wait untilgl’.‘bid you {allow
me 2” . . ~ ‘5
Quickly she! glided on}: the room, longing
the party assembled almost spellbound by her
suddenspeech antimoretnent. ' ’ " v ’

‘ Mr. guartordfbega’a   

cried the ' git-1st, new »

 

 

? _ again appeared, standing in the doorway, and

 
 

waters charges breesti'esainsb 05mm. Clinth
would” not lead toantopenscandayit not worse;
,. Maud w opt copiously ;'the two older ladies look ed
grave and grim; Cuthbert, telt uneasy. What
“course was Alma about to pursue? Surely a
sense of filial duty, combined with regard
for her own interest, would prevent her
divulging Judith Raynor’s confession? Yet,
after all, it mattered little to him: his
wealthy. bride was won. The marriage

 certificate found in the mildewed and rotten g.

valise, so many years concealed in the hollow
of the blasted oak, had proved a trump card
in his hand. Skillfully rousing Rosamond’s
resentment by expressing exaggerated horror
ot‘VOswa'ld’s treachery, he then, by a judicious
mixture of persuasion and reasoning, induced
her to leave her father’s house, and be married

' :by special license at the neighboring town.

Perhaps he was scarcely prepared for the
strong measures upon which the young lady
,insisted immediately after the completion of
, the ceremony: namely, that they should pro-
ceed at once to Eaglehurst and expose her in-
tended bridegroon to Mr. Marford,-she being
/ aware of the hour fixed for that gentleman's
' ‘ intended visit. ,

Rosamond’s impetuosity, however, bore
down all the scruples he ventured to suggest,
so now it was necessary to brave the dangers
of this stormy interview, consoled by the re-
flection that he had secured the heiress, and
for her sake a father would not inquire too
closely into the means his son-in-law had em-
ployed to obtain his startling intelligence con-
‘ earning the master of Eaglehurst.

Almost entire silence reigned until Alma

beckoning with her hand as a. sign that they
should follow where she led the way.

, Her light dress fluttered before them as she
fussed down the wide oak staircase, through
the hall and into the gallery. No one won-
dered more than Oswald whither she was
about to lead them, when she opened the side ,
door communicating with the long disused east

* wing.

‘  Up stairs now, through long corridors, pass

, ing the closed doors of many deserted rooms, '

where the moth feasted upon once rich draperies

and velvet piled carpets, while spiders wove '
their webs from tarnished cornices or painted

 

upper story, and Alma gently opened a door‘
attire. and of along gallery. - ,

 

CHAPTER

 , V ; RELEASED. 7 _
 noun». Mariord and these who so
competitor] ‘him found ‘ themselves ‘ in: a small
 f   yetnotdevoidot

.-comiort, tor-every 

1 was dying. None who looked upon‘tliatdinfio

‘ sunken eyes, could doubt that the sands of;
 life were numbered, and that she would; "

- foul charge brought against him. 7
, my friends, that I have dared to bringsherk
: neath your roof without your knowledge
; permission; but she was ill, suifering‘, and"

, sleepy” inquired Oswald.
" told me the truth?”

ceilings—ehigher still, until they reached an 

   
    
   

care and thought. A few late autumn
placed in a vase upon the table, shed fire; I,  x
in. the-air; an (pen Bible lay gbesidait'

The sunshine peeped into the casema ,.
was not allowed to enter too, freelyy‘alesh‘
might disturb the broken slumhei‘sv ct aw
and haggard woman, who was lying only,
neat white bed that stood in one corner at j

room. . .‘ ‘

“The woman was Judith Rayneryan'd .

      
  
      
 
 
   
 
   
  
   
  
      
    
   
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
   
  
  
   
    
  
  
   
  

25,

  

check, those sharpened features and

pass away from a world where she:  _, H
sinned and, suffered. ‘   '
Alma advanced and stood besideherg... . .
“ This‘ is my mother,” she shim/“audit
she almie who can clear Mr. Clinton from “T? f;
Pardon“

 

 

titute when she sought me out, and 
me to give her shelter. She conjured. "
a parent’s claims, to allow her to reins, i,
for awhile until she grew better, so she 7 1'
and was able to quit this part of the  ' "
I yielded Weakly—-wrongiy, perhaps;
knew, she could live concealed in ones?
many uninhabited rooms in this Wing-05 .
Maud had often spoken.” 3 >  g ’ '
“And you Were about to visit heryhen '
suddenly appeared at midnight in titlka ~’
and I believed that you were walking iii-3
I “Whyunat

 

“I could not,” she said, iememhering
much she had dreaded a discovery that;
reVeal to her friends the secret of her, '
age, until love, victorious over pride, had,
Oswald’s sake, unsealed her lips. w, "3;  _y

“Why have we been brought here?”- » I
ed Mr. Marrord. imp ntly. “What
this good Woman tell us . r r , 'r . 

“ Speak, mother!” said Alma, gently!  
have often told me it would ease your 
confess all you know regarding the? death ‘ *'
drowned girl who rests in St; Monieaie it, 
yard. Let the world learn that aegis
taches to her husband, Oswald-Clinton

Judith Rayner’s wornrisage had-4,91:
wondering expression, but, 5  
up with intelligence. k: p >  _ - , v

“ You are mistaken, my girl.  I‘wasim as
at first, thenluuderstoodrfibe 
to Mr. Ashe, Mr. Oswald's cousin.” ,

“ Ah i” cried Oswald; 'i‘thcléi  span,
lastii” Forlyeers leave horns calamayfdehhtg
and_mjarepresen tations, {50:1 Weston axed ‘7
 You would  he '

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

      
    
     
  
 
   
  
  

   

 

   

 
  

 

  

  

    

       
 
   
 

   

  

28

HONOR BOUND.

 

divulge the secret marriage of my cousin to
, Amy Monro. Now it is a secret no longer,
and I am a free man who can silence slander
by a frank avowal.

“When I was very young, Amy’s beauty
won my love. She became to me an ideal
being, and upon her I lavished the fresh, warm
feelings of an impulsive nature. I was eager
to prove my devotion by any act of heroism or
self-sacrifice which might elevate me in her
estimation.

“ Bitter was my disappointment when I dis-
covered that her affections were.already en-
gaged. Yet she refused my suit with so

much sweetness, such kindly regret, that, far
from being disenchanted, I worshiped her
more than ever.

“Although I might not hope to be her
favored lover, she was willing to accord me
her friendship. I was grateful for the boon,
and proud of Winning her confidence. Boy—
like, I gloried in my chains, and rumors of my
infatuation for my mother’s pretty waiting-
maid even reached my father’s ears, and were
remembered at a future period.

“Guy Clinton was a. proud man, rather
arbitrary in his notions. I held him in great
awe, so did my cousin, who was acting as my
tutor at the time, and was entirely dependent
on his favor. Oswald Clinton Ashe (his Chris-
tian name was the same, as mine) knew his pros-
pects would be blighted if the curacy at Mr.
Marford’s disposal was not bestowed upon him.
He dared not marry Amy openly; the un-
equal alliance would alienate his friends; but
they could be privately united at St. Monica.

“The rector was abroad, the curate in
charge happened to be a college friend of my
cousin’s, so there was little difficulty in arrang-
ing the matter with the aid of aspecial license.
By some chance I suspected what was in pro—
gress, and they were forced to take me into
their confidence. I was implored to keep the
secret, and Amy—the girl I still loved so dear-
ly—cast herself at 'my feet, a: l, with many

tears, entreated me to make a sacred promise ,

that under no circumstances would I he the
first to divulge the fact of the marriage.

“ Her persuasions were too powerful to be
resisted. I loathed deceit, yet pledged myself
to a course of action which drew me into
labyrinth of difficulties, from which, till now,
I have vainly struggled to free myself.

“ When Amy quitted Eaglehurst, I incurred
the suspicion of having instigated her flight.

‘ My father was furious, and as I could offer no
satisfactory answers to his questions, felt con-
vinced that his surmises were Well founded.
He discovered that 1 had borrowed from a.
money-lender a rather large sum at exorbitant
interest, and as it was not possible to tell him
that it was for my cousin’s use, to enable him

M
L4

to provide a home for his young bride, bitter
divisions arose which were never entirely
healed. '

“A few months passed away, then news ar—
rived from the distant town where Oswald’s
charge was situated that he had died suddenly
of heart disease. His marriage was still un-'
acknowledged, and, until released from my
promise, I dared not reveal it. The note of
which Lavinia Varley has spoken was my first
intimation that Amy intended to return to

, Marford.

1 “ And now mayI ask how the certificate

E fell into Mr. Grantley’s hands, also how the

Eerasure occurred which so conclusfre'p‘ cs-

? tablished the general opinion that I was “w

bridegroom? My cousin, like m;~,_olf', bore the

old family name of" Oswald, to which, was ad-

‘ ded Clinton, his mother’s maiden appellation,

that a narrow inspection of that document

l would convince the most skeptical that a word

‘ had been carefully expunged; Oswald Clinton

I Ashe would have been the correct signat:.re.”

I Under his inquiring glance, Cut xbert quailod

,visibly, and could only murmur a. few in-

i coherent speeches. He was still more embar-

' rassed when Judith Rayner, raising her shrill

, weak voice, accused him of having stolen the

valise containing both papers and i "elry

which had lain concealed for years i .1 the hol—
low oak.

Then. po“ring forth in disjointed sentr..-ces
the narrative with which the reader LS a,
quainted, she expressed most bitter animosity
against Cuthbert for having menaced her with

xposure in order to avail himself of; her con-
fession to serve his own purposes.

“He did not think I had read the docu-
ments,” she added; “but I wanted to know
who the lady really might be, . spelt through
every word before I put “em away. He
would have had it 11 his own way if I had not
been sharp enough for that.”

Oswald approached Alma, who was still be-
side the bed, clasping her mother’s hand.

“Let me thank you,” he said, “for to you
I owe the happiness of standing once more
among my fellow-men with name unblemished
and honor unstained.”

He would have taken the slender fingers she
pressed so closely to her throbbing heart, but
‘ she gently resisted the attempt.

’ "No, Mr. Clinton. The hand of the cou—
vicu’s daughter must never meet yours in
friendly pressure. From henceforth my lot :7 ‘2
life is chosen. When my mother needs me no
more I shall enter some pious sisterhood if

 

they, knowing my story, will deign to accept -

my services and companionship. Indeed,

madam,” she continued, turning to Mrs. Clin- 
ton, “I would not have disregarded your 
wishes by remaining here so long had not this .

. ‘ Crank“

9

   
   
  
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
   
 

 

 

E cred duty detained me. Day'by day I was
praying to see an improvement in my moth er’s
condition, which would enable me to take her
to some quiet cottage where it might work for
her support.”

“You must not——shall not leave us!” cried
Maud, impulsively, hastening to her friend,
and flinging her arms around her.
ling Alma, think what will become of me
without my beloved companion!”

“Dear Maud, be comforted. You will have
many friends among your equals in social
position. Notwithstanding all your kindness,‘
my foolish pride would forbid my being happy
here now that you are aware Of my unhappy
arigin. If I could have borne a name that

had never known disgrace I should have felt "

ix). degradation. Now I should even shrink
Jrom your pity, and a harsh or sneering word
would break my heart.”

“ What wretch would dareinsult the purest
and best of women 3” cried Oswald warmly.
“ Mic: Graniley—Alma—before all present,
hear me say, if you can accept the heart of a.
man many years older than yourself, but who
can love you even according to your merits, be
my wife, and remain at Eaglehurst as its mis—
tress.”

The deep, passionate love unconsciously
cherished almost since the first day that Alma
had been thrown into Oswald’s society, long
crushed behind barriers she had considered in-
surmountable, now surged forth. He, so
noble, so far removed from other men as to
appear almost godlike in pro—eminence, was
Tilling to elevate her to the position Of his
wife, to give her his name, and a love which
should prove capable of creating for her an
elysium upon earth.

Might she, dared she accept him?—-or was it
needful for his sake to cast away the cup of
happiness Offered to her lips?

While hesitating, she heard Rosamond
whisper to her husband, “ “he could have im-
agined that Oswald Clinton in his pique at my
rejection would dream of marrying this low-
born girl?”

The words stung her into new life. With
an air of icy indifference she turned toward
her suitor.

Mr. Clinton, I prefer to answer now. I am
,rateful for the honor you have done me, but
no inducement could persuade me to become
your wife. If ever I marry (which ’is most
unlikely), my union shall be hallowed by love. ”

In his excitement he had almost forgotten:

recent engagement to Rosamond, therefore
miiconstrued Alma’s words as relating merely
to her own feelings. Wounded and disap-
, pointed he turned away, owning that he; had
no right to expect a different answer.
There was a short silence, which Judith
Rayner was the first to break.

' HONOR BOUND.

“ My dar- ;

29 ,

 

“If you will not have Mr. Oswald for your
husband, my girl,” she said, “I suppose you do
not Object to him as a relation? Ask Mr.
Grantley there, who tried to take us all in,
though he had not wit enough to be successful,
whether there was not another document at
l the bottom of the old black bag?"

' “ To what do you refer?” asked Oswald
; eagerly, finding that Cuthbert did not speak.

“ I am going to make a clean breast of it,.- ’

she‘ resumed, “ for I shall never get over this
bent, and it is hard to die with a secret only
half confessed.

one. Her mother was the lady that was
drOWned.”

She paused, seemingly faint and exhausted.
Restoratives were hastily procured and ad-
, ministered, until she was able to continue.

‘ “This girl was a. baby of a few weeks Old,
lying fast asleep in her mother’s arms, care~
fully wrapped up in fiannols and furs, until
you could barely see the little pink face that
‘nestled into her bosom. The lady was very
)old and weary; she did not rofusetolct me
carry the infant as well as tho valiso,-——oven
such light burdens were beyond her strength,
goor delicate thing! SO, when all was over—
l you know what I moan—I found there was a
child to be disposed of, or else left on my hands
for good. Many in my shoes would have thrown

j the child after the mother, but I had a fancy

. to keep the baby, and Mr. Grantley, if he likes, .

can vouch for the truth of a7hatl‘isay-—that
‘ there was a certificate of her birth, as well as

which he robbed me."

“I found nothing relating to Alma,” said
Cuthbert, upon whom all eyes instinctively
turned.
of the marriage, but her name—”

“ Was not Alma,” interrupted Mrs. Rayner.
“I know that. She had a long string of
names, and Amy was the first. But the
things she were were marked ‘ALMA.’
You may call her Amy Ashe or Alma Grant-
ley, whichever you like best. I don’t suppose
it much matters.”

“Why, only to think,” cried Miss Lavinia,
rushing to her newly found niece and almost
smothering her with kisses, “that this is
Amy’s child, and dear Amy, after all, was
Imarried to that good young man, Mr. Ashe!
Though perhaps,” she continued, recollecting
herself, “it was rather sly of him to mislead
me by giving such advice and so many warn-
in gs about Mr. Oswald, who I hope will for-
give ms for having presumed to doubt him.”

, A slight confusion in the gallery, and the

sound of heavy footsteps. Two police oficers
i enter, looking with some surprise at the scene
,before them, until their eyes rest upon the
, bridegroom standing beside his bride.

 

This girl here is none of mine,
though I said she was for more reasons than,

one of her mother‘s marriage, in the valise of

“ A child appears to have been born

r 4......“ _ n 44. Anna“

HONOR BOUND.

 

'3 Very sorry, Mr. Grantley, but you’re
wanted.” _

Cuthbert turned pale, but attempted to
bluster.

“What is the meaning of this insulting mis-
take? Whoever has sent you here, my men,
shall pay dearly for their audacity.”

“ 0h, as to that, we have proper instructions,
and here is the warrant for your apprehension.
You were seen loitering about the premises
just before the vestry of St. Monica took fire.”

Imagine, if you can, the consternation
of the Hon. Mr. Marford and his daughter!

Truly, pride shall have a fall.

 

Nearly a year has passed away.

Through the exertions of Mr. Marford, who ,

spared neither money nor influence to attain
his end, Cuthbert Grantley escaped conviction,
' and Rosamond’s father possessed the poor satis-
faction of pretending to believe in his sen-in-
law’s innocence when he was condoled with
by his friends.
Rosamond, in a stormy interview, over-
whelmed Cuthbert with rcproaches, insisting

upon a judicial separation, as she never wished 
Cuthbert

him to enter her presence again.
attempted expostulation, entreaties, evpn
menaces; but the lady was firm. Sundry un-
pleasant conferences took place, wherein the sol—
icitor of Mr. Marford bore a principal part, and
acted so well in his client’s interests, that Mr.
Grantley was forced to accept a very small
compensation for his wounded affections.

It seemed that Rosamond had no absolute
control over her fortune until she should attain
the age of twenty-five, unless she married
according to her father’s wishes, therefore
Cuthbert had made a sorry bargain. He went
abroad with the sum given him, for in Mar-
ford his occupation was gone, cold looks and

neglect wounded his self—love, and he was‘
thankful to leave a village where his delin-:

quencies were the theme of every tongue.

Rosamond remains in her father’s house,

worse than Widowed, for she has no sweet
memories of happy love, only the torturing
conviction that she was the dupe of a treacher—
ous fortune hunter. She cannot mix in the
world, for her story would follow her and be
whispered from ear to ear, until her folly and
disgrace became known throughout society,
and she is still too proud to endure unmoved
such degradation.

Her husband, once loved as much as a shal- 1

low heart can be said to feel that passion, is
‘hated now. Sometimes she longs that the tie
between them may be broken by his death;
then, in an agony of self-abascmont, chides "er
undiscipled heart, and prays for patience.
The future holds little happiness in store for
the Hon, Mr. Murfprds heli‘Cfii.

Alma, as she still prefers to be called,
although she has assumed her proper surname,
has for the past year resided at Eaglehurst,
ingratiating herself daily‘in the affections o"
the two old ladies, and cherizhoal by Maud as :
sister. Great persuasion has been necessary
to induce her to remain so long; but Oswald
has been traveling abroad, and it was his
earnest wish that she should continue to make
her home with Maud at least until his return.
But now a great change seems imminent.

. Young Roslyn’s admiration for the dark-eyed

 

young mistress of Eaglehurst has expanded
into love and a matrimonial proposal, which
the young lady iemurely accepts, subject of
course, to her mother’s approval. So tWo
rapturous letter: are dispatched to Oswald, at
Vienna, which assum him that his presence at
home is indispensable, and as fast as trains

i and ocean steamers can bring him, he returns

to the litid of his birth. .
The harvest moon, large, full and br" ' 

hangs in the sky like a golden luminary, as he

drives up the cane t0ward Eagle? “ 'st. His

, thoughts are already With those whom he soon

will meet. He wonders what welcome Alma
will give him. EV’ “V. in these few 11. "hs her
heart may have been won, and she be lost to
him forever. The very idea causes his features
to contract with pain. And yet it is worse
than iolly to e‘ pect that bright young being
will View him with feelings warmer than
those it more cousinly regard. Did not the
terms in which she cr'uched her refusal prc
elude hopes that would not be utterly ex—
tinguished although he tried to conquer such
weaknes:

“Surely, at my age, I ought to have more
common sense, and realize the fact that I am

1 too gray and grim to inspire love!” he mut—

tered.

They were approaching the house; the flut-
ter of a white dress catches his attention as its
owner passes through an open French window
and stands upon the terrace. He recognizes
Alma, her upturned face etherealized by the
moon, which, playing on her golden hair, con-
verts it into an aurcoie. Oswald springs from
the dogcart, and tells the man to drive round
to the stables. He rill walk the short remain-
ing distance, and steal upon her unawares.

His heart is beating violently as he draws
near that beloved presence. He has never be-
fore known fear, yet love is fast making him a
c0ward.

“ Perhaps,” he is thinking, “it will be with
aversion that she will gaze upon me, or that
cold indifference which is still more hopeless,
since it can rarely be overcome.”

She turns, and starts as she sees him. A
lovely color floods her fair, pale visage :, 3. new—
born radiance is kindled in her oyu,

 

 

 

HONOR BOUND.

31

 

"He was not expected so soon, she says,
holding forth her hand in friendly greeting.

The words are nothing, lhe accent of joy-
!”‘ul surprise is all. In a moment—he never
knOWs exactly how it happened—he was
pouring forth v0ws of impassioned love.

Alma’s lustrous orbs are coyly cast down;
his eloquence cannot win a reply.

“ Have I offended you?” at length he says.
“Perhaps you deem me presuming and unrea-
sonable? There is a disparity of years be-
tween us, and I am doubly aged by anxiety
and trouble endured so long while I was bound
by a promise to the dead. Besides, you may
rightly believe that youth and loveliness like
your own deserve the untried affections of a
heart which never erected another idol. Now,
I have loved your mother.”

Site would not wait for the completion of
his self depreciating speech. Her bashfulness
was conquered by a generous wish to save him
further pain.

“And I 10% you,” she murmurei. “ May
I be able to atone for all you have nobly suf-
fered for my mother’s sake!”

The moon shone down upon no happier lovers
than those upon the terrace at Eaglehurst.
His arms were thrOvvn around her, her fair
1 ad ‘ested on his breast. The dove had flut-
tered to its nest at lav.

THE END.

DIME DIALOGUES AND SPEAKERS

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A NJ) 11 0M E ENTER TA INMEN TS.

 

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25 I’M IN LOVE and 56 other Songs.
26 PARADE OF THE GUARDS and 56 other Songs.
27 Yo. HEAVE, Ho! and 60 other Songs.
28 ’TWILL NEVER DO To G13 11‘ UP So and 60 others.
29 BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER and 54 others.
30 THE MERRY LAUGHING MAN and 56 other Songs.
31 SWEET FORE ET-ME-N OT and 55 other Songs.
32 LEETLE BABY MINE and 53 other Songs. I
33 DE BANJO AM DE INSTRUMENT FOR ME and 53 others.
34 TAFFY and 50 other Songs.
35 JUST TO PLEASE THE BOYS and 52 other Songs.
36 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others.
37 KOLORED KRANKS and 59 other Songs.
38 Nn. DESPERANDUM and 53 other Songs.
39 THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME and 50 other Songs
40 ’TIs BUT A LITTLE FADED FLOWER and 50 others
41 PRETTY WHILIIELMINA and 60 other Songs.
42 DANCING IN THE BARN and 63 other Songs.
43 H. M. S. PINAEORE. COMPLETE. and 17 other Songs
Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cent.
per copy, or sent post-paid. to any address, on re-
ceipt of Six cents per number.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS.
98 WILLIAM STREET. NEW You. ;

4,

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M

1 A’ Brlde ofn Day; or, lle Mystvry of Winifred
Leigh. B Mnry 1 end (firewall. ,
The G1,.) wife; or, The True and the Fulau. By
' lhrrblny 'l'. Cmnpllvll.
& \Van It Love? 0:", Collegian: and Sweethearts. lly
3 in. Mas-In 'l‘nrrwr, M. D. ‘
' 4: Mun-led in Haste; nr,A YoungGirl’s Temptation.
Bv Rem. Winyvumi, .
7,5 Wlll She Marry Him? or, The Masked Bride.
'  By Mrs. Mary “yell (‘rgwelh -
a Ills Lawful “ “15; or, Myra, the Child 01 Adop-
" ’ Wm. B Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. ,
7 A. Full we; or, Out in the World. By Hartley 1‘.
" Cmnphell.
8 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By Mary
. A. Denimn. ‘
ll liter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By
 ~M'rg. . n‘ry Reed (trowel .
10 , .
I , / By l\ nry (airlm: “alpine. . .
11 The Bride of all Actor; or, Driven l‘rmn‘ Home.
’ 2 L ‘ Bv flu: Author uf" Alone in the Worll,” um. (41'.
" . 12 A p31? 0? Gray Eyes ;' 01‘,le Emerald Necklace.
I , . .Bv Rosie Kennedy. ‘
18 “'fthunt a Heart; 01‘, Walking on the Brink. By
I > ’ Col. Prentiss Inumhnm.
14gAlane [II the W'vl‘ld; or. The Your}? Man’s 'Wnrd.
_ By the Anth-u' of “ The [hide ol'an Artur,” elm, Ma.

The Ih-oken Betrotlml; or, Low versus Hate.

5 Mathilde»; or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart. By (Jul. '

< jgr‘nlzins l4 grul‘Iflm.
‘ fly ’ ‘e .‘acret ll urn-lage‘ or A Dnchessln S ite of
. Nurse i' l3}! Sarafllaxmnl ’ P
ls u- against Mater; or, The Rivaer of llenrta.
'l‘ly éll‘é. Mary Raul (,‘ruwvll. '

a £9 ."t‘flrt: or, l’nlr l’hyllis's Love. By
Arabella gnu/filiwmlll. '
Vll’ltl'or. (mm; M, Almost. Last. By Mrs. M. V.

l(' r.: _

M‘En‘la-figlgd; or, A Dangerous Came. lly Henrietta

. "w '9. y. ‘

1’. )4,“ scgnteg or, The Gambler’s “'ife. By Mrs.
J. . in A.
' ; or, A True Knight. By Margaret

' . when ' , ,
gal 311mm) Agnlnfit 3‘ or, The “'lnthrnp Prlde. By
Clara Angmta - , a
4: A Loyal Lover-r nr,'l'he Lasthf the Grinmpeths

By Aralml la. Snail! wnrllr.
5Th61‘ountrv (Ton-In; or, All is not Gold that
a ' -Gllllura. fiyjtmxe Kennmly. ' >
1 Idol; or, The Ill-Slarmd Marriage. By Mrs.
’ ' Mary Reed Ol'oWull. x
Q Fllrmtllon; or. A Young Girl’s Grind Name. By
‘ r Jan-.ub Alml‘lmnell (Ralph Brutal).
28 Saw and F onevcr; or, Why Did She Marry Him?
 By Henrietta Thackeray.
£19 0”»le Nell, the Orange Girl; or, the Last Heir.
' -‘  rly Aglln thnv.
“um-lotto Temple. By Mrs. Rom-on.
lw thtle "dress; or, Under a Clmnl.
' Wary ‘. Dnalmn.
2 Leap Year 3 or, Why She Proposed. By Sam Glax-

 

By Mrs.

, W tun.

,_  88,111 3mm of llernelf; or, Jeanette‘s Reparation.
' ' ' ‘ " By S. R. Sherwvnrl.
 34 Her FliceWanller Fortune. ByElennor Blaine.
’ x 35 The Cuban Hall-esp; or. The Prlnoner of'Ln Vin-

? », __ ire-aw. Hy Mrs. Mary A. Denlsnn.

.3610nly a. Schoolmlntrcm; or, Her Untold Secret.

4  Ky Arabella Suathworth. ‘ >

“"i“'1_‘he,‘vavérley Library is for sale’by all newsdealers, five'cents per 60m, or ' ’
Sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. - ' . 

A .‘geadza land" Adcuns, PubZiSherS,
 l g  " .  98 William sweet. New'Yar

THIRTY—TWO QGTA V0 PAGES.

48 A Marriage offlonvenlenee . ‘ By sari. Clnxl'ou.’

158' The .Mnnlm- Bride; or. The Bond Secret ol'Hullow ‘1

 

; 87’ The “Winged Meancnger; or, {Faking All for a. -

cart. By M rs. Mary Rem! (.‘rnwe ,

88 “’ns She a Coquette? or. A Strange Courtship.

By ch rlctta ‘l hnckeray.

89 One “’omnn’s lleurt; or, Saved from the Street.

By George S. Kalme.

40 Love-Mad; or, Belrnthell, Mnrrled, Divorced and—-

3' Wm. Manon 'l'nrner, M. .

41 Fur Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Himself. By

Sara (Ilaxton.

42 The Bouquet Gil-l; or,A Million of Money. By,

Agile Penna.

48 Mnrlanu,tlw-Prhim Donna. lly Arabella Sunthwnrzh. -

44 The vaon Musk; or, The M3 sterioun Guardian.
By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.

45 Lucy Temple. Daughter of Charlotte.

46 The ’lhree Sit-tern; 0r, The Mystery of Lord

Chall'ont. By Alice Fleming. - l ‘

4f '1‘ Creole Siswrm¥ at. The

l’errya. by Mrs. Anna .4. I’nrlcr.’

49 'l he \Vlfe’n Secret; or. "I'wixl. Cup and Lip. Iiy

Col. .lunn Lewis.

50 Si.- Areller’n Bride; or, The Queen of Iluarli.‘ ~

By Arabella Sunlhwurih. ;
F51 Led Anti-11y. By Ocnwe Fruillet.
52 "mac/lean; or, Two Orphan Girls in New Ylll'k. By

Al rt. W. Aiken. “

- Ash llall. By Margaret Blmmt.
5-1 l’ledged to Marry; or, In Luve’s Bonds. By
Hm (‘lnxtmn » i

b . ‘ ,
55 Ceciltn Deceit; or,’ The Diamond Legacy. ny Mrs. '

.lmnne ha. is l’lnrtnn:
56 Beatrlce, the Beautiful; ofiHis Second Lava.
By Arabella Svuthworill. _ v ‘
is? “’lthont Morey; By Hartley T. Cnmlrbell. r -
58 The Barcuot’n Secret; hr, The Rival lal ~5Morn.
lly Ham (,‘lnxtnn. {
59 Annex "one, the Actress; or, the Romnnre of n
llnhy Ring. Bv Wm. Manna l‘ur‘ er. I“. l). _ '
60 A “100va “’flcs; or, A Blucr Vcngeance. By
Rmhnl Bernhardt. ‘
61 Did llc Lovr "er? By Ba tlry‘ T. Cmnph ll.

62 Alma“. in "la Power 0', More sinned Agni at} V

« than Silliiillé. By Lilllau» mvcjoy.
(£8 She {Ina Not Love Him. By Arabella Soulln
' wor‘ ‘

l. , > .
64 Bent-lo Raynor. the “Von-k Girl. By «W u.
Mason 'l‘urnur, L . D.‘ ‘ »
Sumhlzo M’Lnst. By Alice

65 A Brave Glrl; or,
- Fleming. V _
66 Lord Ruth’s Sln‘; or, throtlued at the ('nnlle. lly
Genrzlana Dlvkens.
67 A ‘Vk’ ed Heart; 01', the False and Um Trw.l Hy ‘
Sara Clmtnn. -
68 Ill- Heart’s Mistress; or, Love at. First Sight.
l‘y Arahulla Smuhwurlh.
69 The Only Daughter; or, Brother against Lover.
l‘y Alive Flvlnlng.
70‘“'hy I Married Him? or,th ’Wmnnn ln Gray.
By Sara Clnxlon. r r
«71 Jimmy Bound; or,Sealod to §ec'ccy. By L;llina

anryvv.
72 A Man’s Flu; or, “is Lawful W'ife. li)‘ Rut: Win-
wmwl. Ready Oct. 6. I
78 Ill-4 Own Agnln; or, Trust Her Not. Hy Arabella-
Suuthwnrlh. Ready Oct. Ill. .

74 Adrm, the Adapted. By M". Jennie Davis Bur-3X  L

ton. Ready Oct. 2

 

 

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