The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but cents each. a m , null" m- h l “I l: "in will"? l ' illhl i y,‘ Illilmuw‘w " ' ' .> V ‘ l h ‘ I "I: [n‘l'illlrt‘ I ‘ .‘ IQ. flu mull?“ n I“ J,” . , . . g H I I . I ‘ . 1.. ‘ ‘4 ‘ r‘ _ w, .' ‘ l . ,1 b. ‘ ., 1.5"...1‘1... . : 7).\' . I . . . l . ... . Copyrighted in 1881 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. June 21. 1881. 825-50 8 Year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mall Rates. N0. 84. VOL. IV. PRICE, 5 CENTS .— now become month after month—to all intents and urposes quite alone, except for the children. They taught together, there mg but one school- room; walked V t together, for the two younger boys refused to be as ar- PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 9-8 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. ated from the elder brothers; and, in short, spent two-thirds of t air The Laurel Bush W existence together, without let or hindrance, comment or observation, from By the author of “ John Halifax, Gentleman.” an mortal soul. —~———--—-——————- - do nan; wish to make an tm 8138130311 this fstot . 1A yoiunfilwomaln1 of twlenty- . live an a oun man 0 y, per ec y a one u e wor —-orp ans, CHAPTER I. . without brot er gr sister—having to earn their own bread, and earn it hardly, Ir was a ve ugly bush indeed; that is so far as anything in nature can be and being placed in Circumstances where they had every opportunity of inti- - really ugly. gyms lop-sided——hav on the one hand a stunted stump or two, mate friendship, s mpathy, whatever you like to call it; who could doubt what while on the other a huge heavy ranch swept down to the gravel walk. It would happen? e more so, as there was no one to suggest that it might hap- had a crooked gnarled trunk or stem hollow enough to entice any weak- n; no one to watch them or warn them, or‘waken them With worldly-minded minded bird to build a nest there—only it was so near to the ground, and also ints; or else to rise up after the fashion of so many 'wise parents and ordi- to iltllae Egg-idea ' ate. ‘Besideséothe owners of the rden, evidently of practical ans and well-intentioned friends, and indignantly shut the stable-door er the m , m 0 use of it place between a ork in its branches a sort of steed is stolen. ‘ » letter-box-not the government regulation one, for twenty gears ago this had No. That something which was so sure to happen had happened- you might not been thought of, but s. ro h receptable where, the ouse‘being a good have seen it in their eyes, have heard it in the very tones of their vo ces, thou h way om, letters might be depositgg, instead of hitherto, in a hole in the trunk— they still talked in a commonplace way, and still called each other “ Miss ’ near the foot of the tree, and under shelter of its mass of ever 11 leaves. liams ”, and “ Mr. Roy.” In fact, their whole demeanor to one, another was letter-box made ,by the boys of the family at the ins igation and with characterized by the rave and even formal decorum which was natural to vs the assistance of their tutor, had proved so attractive to some exceedingly reserved people, just rembling on the verge of that discoverywhich will unloc incautious sfilarrow that during the the heart of each to-the other, and intervals of e post she had begun a annihilate reserve forever between nest there, which was found by the the two whom Heaven has designed I #5:... ’ boys. Exceedineg wild be they were, and a great trouble their old grandmother, with whom the were staying the summer, and the V young overness—-“ Misfortune,” as they c led her, her realname being Miss Williams-Fortune Williams. * The nick-name was a little too near the truth, as a keener observer than mischievous boys would have read in her quiet, sometimes sad face; and it had been stopped rather seveme by the tutor of the elder boys, a young man whom the grand- mother had been forced to get, to keefi~ them in order.” He was a. Mr. obert Roy, once a student, now a teacher of the “ humanities,’ from the no hborin town~—I be ‘ its pardon— t ; an alovely olcgl city it isl—ot S . Andrews. Thence he was in the habit of coming to them three and often four days in and meant to become one; a com- pleted existence. It by any mis- chance this does not come about, each mayvlead ,a very creditable and not unhappy life; butit willbea locked-up life, one to which no third person is ever likely to find the e . %hether such natures are to be envied or itied is more than I can say; but a least the are more to be res cted than t 9 people who weart eir hearts upon t eir sleeves for daws to peek at, and very often are all the prouder the morethey are cked at, and the more ele- gant y they bleed; which was not . kely to be the case with either of these yOung folks, young as they were. . ' v V They were young, and youth is always interesting and even come- ly; but beyond that there was noth— 7/ . .V _:_«_ \ , ‘ ghgnggglfiéteacf lMgng of mOmTll'lngs and / d/ u \.\'\. .ly/ I} , lng rgmarlkablf %b01fi2;lther. mHe moons. e had vi ‘ 9 x ’ was cotc - s e n s or rat er expected him this afternoori but ill \3 i“ / Welsh. Sheliadthe gear hlue Welsh thin ‘01 a young man and ayounfi mean (perhaps Mrs. Dalziel woul 31?: “gkegd excepgion to the worfldfls - ‘ 1 an oung in man”) thrown toget or do)?6 after my week after week—nay, it had their mndmothermdcarded them \ 3. eye, the retrousse‘ Welsh nose; but . ofllgngohmdvggaifiure efguxiflifn; and \ \ (with ax: prettiest lllttle mguth littl- exac a s—one * n — _. ernea 1 ———flrm, case, an swee ' $031 whom the tutors were tutors \ \4 ' _ full of sensitiveness, but a se‘nsiz an nothing more—she had merely iv“ .A ‘“ . “ tiveness that .,was controlled and Said to Miss Williams as the car- ' ' . \ ' .' a... guided by that, best possession to Efieudaofie 1339,33; u When; Mr. 125 ~\ \ \ . eitlllierfinan or wourfliar‘ii, a totclllglél‘tzrfig . e is no wan ~ . wi . oone co on e tui?dmorro‘w'”' ‘- r ' \ \‘ _ young governess had, what was a .. unanswerth ‘=‘ “i “iimmtimimi’ a . . . ng ’ ave ‘ in r wi 0 er own'” 11 no a. om- :getlhd Elma trouble 0’3 walking “P ‘ , ineering or obnoxious will, which . use (Sufi. for she knew every ‘ . indeed is seldom will at all, but 31131;: poor anflgénfigrgvgvso recious. ~=- . mg‘relytgbstinf-Cfis ‘v'Vm. 7 ~ 1- lug can _ or ores ss ismswasa understand and sympathize with little womanh’or gave the im res- :negaztfizspms as; raw °f film W W i - e rove re an 0 ands and t. away and never thought of. them I oubtifany one would‘have $32.1 giantess mass; be m had an . 3 learn ove er. For there garagatgtgsoetwglégiysglgglglmciefit tvglo lcllisgnct kinds of love, oneali: ce es . _ es s e w ..w is t e e e instructs the heart never interfered With them. nor, in- and the othgr in which the heart tdieed, wastedth a mogilept’s considera- . ' litigants and guides theeye. There onupon‘ em or erconcerns. \ i we eon men who, seeinganu - Consequently the were in the . i known beautiful 'face, have 181111? somewhat rare an peculiar posx- 1W ‘_ “"M sure it im lied the most " beau- i ,1 ti! 8,0. n the world, ursued ' i if }. it, worshipped it, wooed an won it, .__ .. _ *4. l' found the ancy true audioved the . ‘ “ woman forever. Other men there are who would simply say ‘3 I don‘t know it suqb 'a One is handsome t, mmefimes call him behind his back—never to his face. ."erty with him. Though he 2 - THE LA {HEEL B USU. or mtg! only. know she is herself—and mine.” Both loves are nay, it is difficult tosay which is "best. Butthe latter Would be the finest likely to any one who became at— ' tacked to Fortune Williams. . ' ' ‘ ’AJSo,,nerhaps, to Robert Roy, though no one expects good, looks in hissex : indeed, they are mostly rather objectionable. Women do not usually care for a. very handsome man ; and men are” prone to set him down as conceited. N 0 one could lay either charge to Mr. Roy. He was only an honest-looking Scotchman, tall and strong and manly; Not “ red, ” in Spite of his name, but dark-skinned and‘dark-haired ; he in no way re- :‘s'e'mhling his great namesake, Rob Roy Macgregor, as the boys Gen~ “tie” as the young manwas, there was something about him which eifectually prevented a y one’s,taking the smallest lib~ ad been a teacher of boys ever ,.si.uce he wasseventeen-é-and I have heard one of the fraternity Confess thatrit is almost impossible to be a school-master for ten years without becoming a tyrants—still it was a pleasant and _ :ssreet‘tempered‘ face. Very far from a weak ,face, though : Roy said a thing must be done every one of his boys it must be done, and there was no ' use saing any more “about ' ‘ ‘ “ Hi5 thad‘unquestionably that‘raregift, the power of authority; books or in life—and which the present author. owns, after having written many books and seen a great deal of life, is to heralso as great a mysteryasever~Why do certain people like v to be together? What is the inexplicable attraction which makes them seek one another, suit one another, put .up with one another’s weaknesses, condone one another’s faults (when neither are too great to lessen love), and to the last day of life find a Charmin one another’s society which extends to no other human being? Happy love or lost love, a hill world or an empty world, life with Joy or life without it——that is all the dif- ference. Which some people think very small, and that it does not matter; and perhaps it. does -not-—to many people. But it does to so‘rne, and I incline to put among the category Miss Williams and Mr. Roy. * ' 'They stood by the laurel bush, having just shaken hands rather more hastily than they usually did ; but the absence of thechil— dren, and the very unusual fact of their being quite alone, gave to both a certain shyness, andshe had drawn her hand away, say- ing, with a slight blush : ° ' L ‘ “ Mrs. Dalziel desired me to meet you and tell you that ‘ you might have a holiday today. She. has taken the boys with her to Elie. I dare saw you will not be sorry to gain an hour or two for yourself; though, I am sorry you _should have the trouble of the walk for nothing. ” ~ w thisfdid: not necessarily implyself-control ; for some “ For nothing?”———with the least shadow of a smile, not of an- 1 “ «rule everybOdy except themselves. But [Robert noyance, certainly. _ , 5, p , ,7, calm, rather sad eye, and a certain patient express “Indeed, I would have let you know ifl could, but she do- mouth, implied! that'he‘ too had had enough of ended. at the very last minute; and If I had proposed slate mes- ”th'e-hard training of life to be able to govern himself. And sengersh‘ould have 136611 stint to stop you, I am ‘afrardmrt would motodifiicult to. a. man than to a woman. * ' not'have answered.’ . I , p ‘ “1 ' * ‘ ‘ ' ,“0f coursenotf’ and. they interchanged an amussd look—— these ‘fellowwictim's to the well-known ways of the. heusehold ‘ ” I . . awhich, however, neither grumbled at ; it was merely an out- ' {Airllwthjrvmchcven Fortune’s tenéel‘ heart (lid Pot fully take side thing, this treatment of both as mere tutor and governess. Wash? sympathy for him ; {mills tOXISOIQ‘h lonely After all (as he sometimes said, when some special rudeness—— f I, In WOW thafl m..sun3hlnei and With @917 not‘to himself, but to her———vexed him), they were tutor. and a t0 thesdfiéhness Wind] 13 3° apt ‘0 {0.1le self'de' gove‘rnem; but they were something else besides ; Something ‘, the; bluegess a Prougfim'l?h0&¢n which, the inattthd their chainsdwere (lilies! gill“, mad}: them feel , 3-0 POW .Y. r ’ 9- was 3 Q ‘ (file 3 301' free and o ‘ stro ,‘an contort _ em wit ’ acouifort ‘ i’eoniya‘little-reserved, silent, and—except children “39.31.311.235 . as ‘ . . ' V " :‘m.”5ul°' . . 7. “She bade Vme apologise. No, I am afraid, if I te‘ilthe 7 3.1“ “W1 mm. mm .“0‘”: {0’ 51” 30““ him a 10113 absolute truth, she did not bid me, but I do apologize. ‘ ‘ ' f 0g level Linksand noticed that he stopped. “What for, Miss Williams P” . - We to) wok 5“ the? Nf“pmy°rs' H‘was 9' cap“? “For your having been brought out all. this way just to go _ himself, but had never any time to play. Between his ba k » j i r {m Wmand the tearghing by he earned the money to E, F3212“ mind‘it’ I you ,, ‘ " 'ft'e f am every our was filled up. so "he-turned his " r ' r ’; ,. ' . 52,. it on the, pleasant pastime, Which'seems to have suchan ex- Afid as for Eli’flofi 1m“ . I - T"; fixination for those who pursue it, and came On to . e 17°18 m 33°: Wm (we? I" dare 335" _ 1? fict' . daily Work, with that resolutedeliberate step, bent ongoing the“. y me 1380' 59°“ Commg to 3“ (Lind that. It does 'Tditecttu'his point and turning for nothing. _ ‘ ‘ “Giflgn‘fy‘ Twit?” me they are 30mg ‘0 Eng‘ ' 'f’litertana knew it well by this three; had learned to distinguish, w to “113001 Waffle.“ 3:130 baCk £30? ‘- ._ l, {k .jjt;é‘om;ali r others in the world. There are some footste , a *f 'ligfimrem‘” n.'.'§enh. T’Stma’s'- .rs’hgakfe, “h s ' .- a, pardonable poetical license, We say “we shout} ? Wm 93’” _ d0” I “t3 e ’5 so We m 93.315 t a} .: - - r . w » _ r ._ .‘ . « _, am never sure from one week to another what she Will do. , has in our graves, and though this girl did not think ofthat, ,,_ k ha _ a. _m a“. 05 and she m scarcely a poeticfl mu .- , .And what are your plans? You always now w t you fi”?’m’”§“fii§;“w’ it hersehoolm midnmgto k i' eied M” Wireless. '1" " On w e r. 0 com’ ‘ down‘the vol—want, " 33 n 50:” ' . a ’33 l 1 i 3"“ mg- “ e " conscious ofl-{someutgng this people garnet tee! 0f the 53“” things I remeihfiel’ Of my mower W381} ' her , a. in a fifimime. V r I » ~ say of me, that ‘her girl was a 'little girl wmways _ ~ «seesaw, when he agproached'with that kind smile of'his, knew her mains! I think 1 d0: .1 35W 110‘ be always ' brightened. into ouble when: he saw who was able tom“? 1* <3)“: but I. think I know It- » _ I ’%,: I, a): m m awam sense . “‘Of comm, m Roy, absently and Emma-t " V ,, . " 2 and then of Hem “cam... mural)», ashe stood manure laurel bush, pulling one‘of its w ' i 7:» mm. . She coma ‘55 in 3,9 mm guy. a fanny leaves to and locking right ahead. thema- hoe and at sound in world ‘ cares Wham?! 0f Yell?” sands, W11??? $313 mer- ='*eeiiuet;srwhichshehad .-m_ veil. .; Mom and ‘fakehméseao the like having sea. No sea remote than Witness”? _ fisher glitter seemed to have MM ROME»??? into a Roy ” ‘ . ,7 _ ’ ‘ meditation, from w ‘ ., ,§O.W0fd._0fhfla M hi} ’ the came to rouse him. In trn 11W Ye” @fih’tofilk- , . , .. . 4 ‘ é .. i . ,t. amplyfieed, as utterance they hieu y hmduhm, smite satisfied With the mere comic”: his presence. - I am afraid that Fortune Williams Will be considered a very I " " ' , ' a "filthy pusionl,.mntched with mine. ' ‘ a 7 [an “moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.” bathestundespé . gleam meet, was he, ugh neither they nor any one else could have eats I ~ The _. , . ,, ,1 them, mesmemmqmummm, as THE LAUREL BUSH. weak-minded young woman. She was not a bit of a coquette, \he had not the slightest wish to flirt with any man. ' Nor was she a proud beauty desirous to subjugate the other tex, and drag them triumphantly at her charrot wheels. She did not see the credit, or the use, or the pleasure of any such proceeding. She was a self-contained, self-dependent woman. Thoroughly a woman; not indifl‘erent at all to womanhood’s , best blessing; still, she could live without it if necessary, as she could have live without anything which it had pleased God to deny her. , . I She was a creature not likely to die for love, or do wrong for love, which some people think the only test of love’s strength instead of its being its utmost weakness ; but that she was capable of love, for all her composure and quietness, capable of it, and ready for it, in its intensest, most passionate, and most enduring form, the God who made her knew, if no one else did. , . . Her time would come ; indeed, had Come already. She had too much self-respect to let him guess it, but I am afraid she was very fond of—or, if that is a foolish phrase, deeply attached to—Robert Roy. He had been so good to her, at once strong and tender, chivalrous, respectful, and kind; and she had no father, no brother, no other man at all to judge him by, except the accidental men whom she had met in society, creatures on two legs who wore coats and trowsers, who had been civil to her, as she to them, but .who had never interested her in the smallest d rec, perhaps because she knew so little of them. tit-no; it would have been just the samehad she known them a thousand years. , She was not “ a man’s woman," that is, one of those wo- men who thel interested in them aCcordingly, for the root of much maseuline affection is pure vanity. That celebrated Scotch song. ’ “ Come deaf, or come blind, or come cripple, 0 come, any ane 0’ them a’ 1 Far better be married to something, Than no to be married ava." was a rh me that would never, have touched the stony heart of Fortune I lliams. And yet, let me own it once more, she was very, very fond ,of Robert Roy. He had never spoken to her one word of love, actual love, no more than he spoke . new, as they stood side by side, looking with the same eyes on thesame scene. I say the same eyes, {or they were exceed-v ingly alike in their tastes. There was no need ever to go into long explanations about this or that; a glance suffic- ed, or a word, to show each what the other enjoyed; and both had the quiet conviction that they were enjoying it to- gether. Now as that sweet, still, sunshiny view met their mu- tual gaze, they fell into no poetical ruptures, but just stood and looked, taking it all in with exceeding pleasure, as they had done many and many a time, but never, it seemed, so perbctly as now. “ What a lovely afiernoon l” she said at last. , “Yes. Itisa pity to" waste it. Have you anything'Special to dog What did you mean to employ yourself with, now your birds are flown ?" ' “ 0h. I can always find something to do.” ‘ “ But need you find it? We both work so hard. If we could only now and then have a little bit of pleasure l” 4 He put It sonszmply, yet almost with a sigh. This poor gii'l’s heart responded to it suddenly, wildly. She was only twenty-five, yet sometimes she felt quite old, or rather as if she had/never been young. The constant teaching, teaching ofrough boys. too-for she had the whole four. on Mr. Roy took the two elder oil her 7 , _' ; amass“): of winding hurl out ofschool how‘to keepheraelf up in’ Iatin, Euclid, other branches which .69 not usually formpan’ of a - only hams a set lemma. these these-sentinel: to make'her his “in, f , a judgedtill Robert Roy W H may ‘ r m K j, if tom ’ * takealittlmthenatnrfi. _, t of her age—came to the poor governess very sorely, especi- ally on days such as this, when all the outward world looked so gay,'so idle, and she worked so hard. 80 did Robert Roy. Life was not easier to him than to herself; she knew that; and when he said, half joking, as if he wanted to feel his way, “Let us‘ imitate our boys, and take a half holiday,” she only laughed, but did not refuse. How could she refuse? There were the long smooth sands on either side the Eden, stretching away into indefinite distance, with nota human being upon them to break their loneliness, or, if there was, he or she looked a mere dot, not human at all. Even if these two had been afraid of being seen walking together—which they hardly were, being too unimportant for any one to care whether they were friends or lovers, or what not—there was nobody to see them, except in the character of two black dots on the yellow sands. “It is low water; suppose we go and look for sea-ane- mones. One of my pupils wants some, and I promised to try and find one the first Spare hour I had. ” “ But we shall not find anemones on the sands.” “Shells, then, you practical woman! We’ll gather shells. It. will be all the same to that poor invalid boy—and to me, ” added he, with that involuntary sigh which she had no- tic’ed more than once, and which had begun to strike on her ears not quite painfully. Sighs,‘ when We are young, mean differently to what they" do in after-years. “ I don’t care very; much where I go, or what I do; I only want+well, to be hap~ py for an hour, if Providence will let me.” " v “ Why should not Providence let you ?”"said Fortune, gently. “ Few people deserve it more. ” , “ You are very kind to think so ; but you are always kind to everybody.” ‘ t By this time they‘had left their position by the laurel bush, and were walking along side by side, according. as he sag; ge‘sted. This silent, instinctive acquiescence in what he wished done—nit hadhappened once or twice before, start» ling a little at herself; for, as I have said, Miss Williams was not at all the kind of person to do every thing that every body asked her, without considering whether it was right; or wrong. She could obey, but it would depend entirely upon ,whom she had to obey, which, indeed, makes the sole difi‘erenoe lac-— tween loving deceiples and slavish fools. ' ’ ~ ' ‘ . It was a lovely day, one of those serene autumn days to Scotland—I was going to say to St. Andrews ; and an ,_ one who knows the ancient city will know exactly how it ‘ loo in ' the still, strongly spiritualized light of such an attemoomwith the ruins, the castle, cathedral, and St. Regulus’s tower standing out sharply against the intensely blue sky, and on the other side—~01: other sides—the yellow sweep of sand cutting away into distance, and melting into the sunshiny sea. ‘ ‘ Many a time, in their prescribed walks with their young tribe, Miss Williams and Mr. Roy had taken this stroll across the Links and around by the sands to the mouth of the Eden, leaving behind them a long and sinuous track of man _ steps, little and large; but now there was on! > tho meow “foot-prints on the sands of Time, ” as he jestingly calledthfln. turning around and pointing to the marks of e dainty feet that walked so steadily and snaightly beside his own. ‘ 4 ' ‘ ' “ They seem made to go together, those two tracks, ” mid he. ‘ Why did he say it? Was he the kind of man to hilt thus without meaning itl If so, alas! she was not exactiythe wm man to be thus talked to. ' ' Nothing fell on her lightly. Perhaps it was her misiortnne; perhaps even her fault, but so it was. , Robert R did not “ make love ;” not at all. Possibly he never could ve done it in the ordinary way. Sweet things, pzolite things, were very, dificuit to bun either to ‘do orto say. ven the tenderness thatwas in km came out as if by aoddentr’ but, oh! how infinitely tender he mm b“ lb m1?» .qniefiy’ ; . (in Dickens’s touching , any one who loved himidie' just holdinghis hand; ' owwmkm ‘ legion the gum" ', farm mes, _ scouts ; f and " g deatg‘can‘witha youngglrlwhon wing, seen, isable togustain and comfort-her, rd s y , THE 114 UREL BUSH. the last awful moment, by the look of his face and the clasp of his hand. That man, I have often thought, must have been something not unlike Robert Roy. ’ Such men are rare, but they do exist; and it was Fortune’s lot, or she believed it was, to have found one. enough. She went along the shining sands in a dream of per- fect content, perfect happiness, thinking-and was it strange or wrong that she should so thinkflthat if it were God’s will she should thus walk through life, the thorniest path would seem smooth, thehardest road easy. She had. no fear of life, if lived beside him; or of death—~10ve is stronger than death-,- at; least this sort of love, of which only strong natures are capa- ble, and out of which are made, not the lyrics, perhaps, but the epics, the psalms; or the tragediesof our mortal existence. I have explained thus much about these two friends—lovers that may be, or might have been—because they never would havedone it themselves. Neither was given to much speaking. Indeed, I fear their conversation this day, if recorded, would have been of the ,m‘bst feeble kinds—brief, fragmentary, mere comments; on the things about them, or abstract remarks not particularly clever or brilliant. They were neither of them " what you would call brilliant; people; yet they were happy, and -, riheyhours flew by like a few minutes, until they found them- ' selves back again beside the laurel bush at the gate, when Mr. Rowdslenlr said: . a , . ' ‘ ‘ ‘ ,.,"«5ij0 not go in yet. . I mean, need you go in? It is scarcely meanest; the boys will npt be home for an hour yet; the ., it. wantsyou; and» 1—1 want you so. Infyour Englis sense, ” he added, with a laugh, referring to one of their many arguments, scholasticor, otherwise,,wherein she had insisted that to want meant Anglia, to wish or to crave, whereas in Scotlandit was always used like the French manguei', to miss ’ - .é‘flSImll we begin that fight over again?” asked she, smiling; for gym/thing, even fighting,_seerned pleasantftq—day. ’ ’ _’ , have no wish, to fight ;' I want to consult , you serif ‘I vaguely nausea} matter, _if you would not mind taki— i'r.,,_,;tttqnl.21e,.3. I s , V _ v .’ ' » owslosksdsotnfi J'Thétw’a’s one .of the bad. thingsin' him‘men alive havetheir bad things), the prid’ewhich, apes umility, the self-distrust which oftenwounds zui’oth'e‘r("soj Wyn, iijIeréanswer was given With, a grave and simple sin- ,oughtto have been reproach enough; 3‘ " ,.:<=;,_ .;.§Roy,,.117would not mind any amount of : trouble if .I “ basins; roves; 9"} know that” - " ' I ’ i ,gm‘fgorgive me!» Yes, ~do knowit.‘ I‘believe in you and yowgpednessgtothe yerybottom of my heart. ” ' j t f. to. g, say, t. if Thank .you,,”, but her lips refused, to utter a word. It was so. difficult togeon talking like, ordinary ,j , she knew, gandhe must know [she knew," that pigs, gmqre wouldlmake them-L.th friends at. allésome— 3 ssigher-r.$131926.are..WQm€97W*30Will ‘help a’ man on,,g+;§;999seyt9, marry himf ' indeede—Ewhile; he. is under “it? least that .he does it. allhtmselfs ‘but Fortune ’et onepf these. [Shere'mained'Silentand pas- SIVsmiu. agathaasrtrthmshéislioiild Itcarxib=“i'§01iisé thinfithe _s. ._c _,. pf, which, she sets: forgot ‘as long, as she lived; and eggaidgrtwith hisgeyes on bergface, so that, if-it killed , , messenger she and cciux‘pps'ed. as she did»; , i. “YOu‘ know the boys’ lessons end heirt’ysg‘éek. 1' . The’"iw’eel§ is, I haveiairnest decidéd..td got—to India. f \“"_‘To India l” " . W ' ' ' ' ' " "V " ‘,‘ For which, no doubt, you think Eme chaif‘eai oftsngthat I meant. toi~k¢ep to ash? ar’s he a, prefessor. one dgyxgehapsnf ,bysnymeans I n ass: , . .» . elt‘nbw'r meanness gcmgyorridglegl wiSh.to'get IiiCl‘t-gi’, , é. fl“; .shotsaa in," ‘tlrbug‘htil'%e,jhadhot‘lcéoked ‘e answered; “‘ ever mind why. , , y do it, " if ' ‘ ~ v 2: _ist are sale-8%.! . s s t? e an- . 3.3535 .- )l-q -1 it; but‘ n' E _ H.- ' i r. ‘ {‘17: a. ’ yams: stat" so: » :1 firm Jest. . e That was‘ :came between. ' ,_ . k . . ., ., , . ., tuckshrhfis things” ' than .ginfinrtely better, closergdearerg but that .word'washis to " -. ' s w “Bu as , ' ‘21-.“ ought to have faith in people; it does one good. I am afraid my own deficiency is want of faith. , It takes so much to make me believe for a moment that any one cares for me.” Howhard it was to be silentuharder still to speak! But she did speak. I - “I can understand that; I have often felt the same. \It is the natural consequence of a very lonely life. ‘If you and I had had fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, we might have been different. ” o i “Perhaps so. ’ But about India. For a long time-that is, for many weeks—I have been casting about inmy mind how to change my way of life, to look out for something that would help me to earn money, and quickly, but there seemed no chance whatever. Until suddenly one has opened. ” And then he explained how the father of one of his pupils, grateful for certain benefits, which Mr. Roy did not specify, and noticing certain business qualities in him—“which I sup— pose I have, though I didn’t know it,” added he, with a smile --had offered him a situation in a merchant’s office at Calcutta: a position of great trust and responsibility, for three years cer— tain, with the option of then givingit up or continuing it. . “And continuing means making a fortune; Even three years means making something, with my ‘stingy’ habits. Only I must go at once” Nor is there any time left me for my decision ; it must be yes or no. Which shall it be?” ' The sudden appeal—~made, too, as if he thought itwa‘s nothv~ ing—that terrible yes or Ino,~which to her made all therdifi‘erk ence of living or half living, 0f feeling the suniin at. out of the world, What could she answer? ' Trembling violently, she yet answered, in, a steady voice, “You ‘must decide for yourself . A woman. can not understands. man.” ' « “Nor agm’an a woman, -» thoroughly. "There is only one thing'WhiCh‘hel‘ps both to comprehend one another. " j ~ ’ One thing 1 she knew what it was. Surely so did V'But that strange distrustfulness of which, he had spoken, or the hesitation which _the strongest and bravest men have at times 01mm mu; amusements .r ya on, the little is ; and what wands swhy re 1r.»rastea‘or‘lpats.vaguss: but. ufiéxrytte looked“ into thi‘sf‘poorigiri’s its, it: instead-bf 'gkeepinf’g'siietiée, onlylspoken,“one word '1, But‘ he; neither lookefilhor‘ispbke, and the moment passed by. _And there are moments which people would sometimes give a whole‘lifet‘ime to and use differently; but in vain. . g ,” k ' ,i f ' _“My engagementfi‘s'jonly'forgthree' years,’f flie fesunied‘ Wand, then, ,if alive, I’meanto'co‘me back. "Dead'oi? alive“; ‘ was going [to say, but youwéuld notpcar‘e .torse‘e' my presume? ' 1,,beg:your pardon 5 I ought not ftof‘t'hake a ' She felt‘hersehialmost speechless; that in arrother'minute she might burst into séb's‘. 'He saw it—at least he ver‘ylittle‘ ofit, and misinterpretedthe rest- , r ' : “I, Harassed ‘ibu: ’ Take my. arm”: Ybu will soon be "at home new?“ “Then, after‘a ause,:, “You will not be displeased at anything I have said? e “part friends if. ' (No, we do not part; I shall see you everydayforba week,” and be able to tell you all particulars of gofimejf,_1f3?0u care" to hear.” ' ‘ They stood to ether, armfin arm. I The (less Were fallingya sweetgsdfihlilac had'be‘gun tb creep 'over"“the s - emu, faf;aw§y;.sea“-thét“.he was so‘ soonlto“ crossf,5?1fiv‘<§*fifitsfiy~ she clungtoghis '39» heat, yet"'_ so apart'l, fin It be 2. She cameras his sains‘asay. i“? swaths“ " .’ Eliewishedxit}land'spiiiethiflg’whispered re hamlet this? ‘5 ea: to get rich. net for “himself? filbsei“’?",Bnt. Wonl‘d;“onixgspeakliiZOse'ch‘de—ongfi’ time aw: a r Weight 99mgith¢v s the; sets. " 5 . ‘ ' To the‘jtvo’heartsalist Til‘a‘d‘tbnc‘e {smashes ' m 'fnnldts u: 3.: .‘iii ., . g Hill“. ii)?" ‘ 4 WWW ' Meiranww ’ iii, ».«~~4. .. J I -2“ ~ .._:_....1 ’ Walwxmarebmms _ the forlorn, dreary, hard working world. .110 ‘31“? an PaSSiVely. What could she, only a woman, do or endure. VA. ew'fragriientaly facts she had "feminism , . y r , “Certain, because he has to get his outfit still.’ 0h, whatfun . , .fgebo went on, ea y excu ‘, repeatiugfheire : mg ME « ads told themgfor he’ had made them fond of him, THE LA UREL BUSH. , . 3 ‘_g "the keling of that clasp was as fresh on herflfingers as yesterday --_then, hearing the/foot of some accidentalpasser~by, he let it go, and did not take it again. i h Just at this moment the sound of distant Carriage wheels was card. i ‘ e “That must be Mrs. Dalziel’ and the boys.” “Then Inhad better'go. Go'od-by.” ‘ The day dream was over. It had all come back again—— “Good-by, Mr. Roy. ” And they shook hands; “One w0rd,” he said, hastily. “I shall write to you-— you will allow me? and I shall see you several, times, a good many times, before I go i ” . _ “Ibope so?» 7 . ‘ “Then, for the present, good-by. That means,” he added, earnestly, “f God be with you l ’ And I know he always will. ” ' In another minute Fortune found herself standing beside the laurel bush, alone, listening to the sound of Mr. Roy’s foot— steps down the road—~listening, listening, as if, withthe exceed- mg tension, her brain would burst. , The carriage‘came, passed; it was, not «Mrs. Dalziel’s after all. She thought he might discover this, and come back again; so she waited- a little—five minutes, ten~beside the laurel hush. But he did not come. No' footstep, no voice; noths ing but the faint, far-away sound of the long waves washing in upon the sands, , ‘ " It “was'not” the brain that {felt like to burst now, but the heart. Shetlasped her hands abOVe her head. It did not mat— ter; there was no creature to see or hear that appeal—was it to man or God P—that wild, broken sob, so contrary to her usual selfvcontrolledand Self-Contained nature. 7 And then she leaned her forehead a inst thegate‘, _ just where Robert Roy had accidentally" laid his and inopening it, arid wept bitterly, CHAPTER II. _ ’ THE.“eveiy day ” on which. Mr. Roy had reckoned for seeing his friend, or whatsoever else he consider Miss Williams ‘toflbe', proved a failure. Her youngest pupil fell ill, and she was'kept beside him, and away from the school-room, until the doctor could decide whether the illness was infectious or not. It turned out to very triflingma most. trivial thing altogether, yetweighted with a pain most diflicul’t‘to bear, a sense: of fatality , that almost overwhelmed one. person at least. What theother ’feltfshedid not know.” Became daily as usual ;A She watched him‘ some and go, and sometimes he turned theerX- chang‘éd a greeting from the window. But beyond that, she had say. or plan? Nothing. Women’s business is tog‘sit down and y' She had counted these dayséTuesda‘y, Wednesday, Thurs- day, Friday, Saturday—~as if they had been years. And now “the? New all gone, had fled like minutes, lied eniptil away. _ ' . had tofe‘ed on, com icated bxrihebo. ii, their rough talk. _ -, ' ‘ “Mn; oy was. rather Cross to-day. ” “Notkqgfi, Dickmonl dull.”‘ . I H , .“MLRQY'Iaeked why vid did not come in to lessons, and said he hoped-hefiwou‘ld be better by Saturday.” ' ' “MF- Reinaldsood—by to us all, and gave us each some- thing to remember him by when he was out in India. Did Williams know he was going out to India? »‘ Oh, how '0 l l ” . i . l ’ j‘ ' J ’ZYe's, and he sailsnext week, and the name of his ship is 0119873 ‘Qf ’13! SW“; and he 8008 by Liverpool instead efSouth- ampton, because itmstslessmnd 6 leaves StrAndrewson Mon- day morning.” ' " ' ‘ 1 ""Are you Sure he said Monday morning?" Em- that was Sat- , ‘1‘ : ___.;'¥’rv'g, ,zeil had no hesitation in asking her even. in those few months%xpatiating with delight on his futurepareer, as a merchant or somethting, they did’ not quite know what! but no doubt it would be far nicer and more amu- sing than stopping at home and grinding forever over horrid books. Didn’t Miss Williamsthink so P ’ Miss Williams only smiled. She knew how all his life he had loved “those horrid books," preferring them to pleasure, recreation, almost to daily bread; how he had lived on the hope that one day lie-'— bom only a farmer’s 'sonfimight do something, write someth- ing. “ I also am of Arcadia. ” ‘ He might have done it or; not —the genius may or may not have been there ; butthe ambi- tion certainly was. why P Not for mere love of money; she knew him too Well for that. He was a thorough bookworrn, simple in all his tastes and habits—simple almost'to penuriou'sness; but it wasia .pen’uri- ousness born of hard fortunes, and he never allowed it anybody but himself. Still, there was no doubt he did lactate for money, or luxury, or worldly position—any» of the things that lesser men count large enough to werk and strug- gle and die for. | To give up the pursuit he loved, delle to choose others, to change his whole life thus, and: himself, as it were, for years—perhaps for always—éwhydidhe do it, or" for whom? ' :‘a ' Was it fora woman} Was it fOr her « If events- long empty days and wakefiil nights, this last thought 'W- a 1.4:, ed Fortune’s; mind, she stifled, it as something romance. to have fully believed and then disbelieved, Tweuld‘hayekilled her. ‘ ‘T . ;,~.-.: - That she should have done the like forhim—chatorany— thing else involving any amount of heroism: or well, it was natural, right; but that he do That he should change his whole purpose beable to marry "quickly, to: shelter‘in his‘bosomrasgirl who was not able to fight the world-ins" a man could,‘ ‘r—-n‘ot' so ” Very impossible, alter- stile—seemed " to»: her almost incredible l And yet (I am telling a mere love story, mem— ‘ber-L-‘a foolish, innocent love story, withoutrapologifihg‘Tor either the folly or the innocence) sometimes she was Sofa: “left to herself, ” as the Scotch say, that she did believe it‘;""intl;e still twilights, in the wakeful nights, in the one solitary half'hour‘ of intense relief; when, all her boys being safe in 'bed,lhe rushed out into the garden under. the silent stars moan, to speak out loud Words which nobody ‘ y hear. a * r' I; ' “‘ He is going away, and I shall never see him ' I love hii‘mwlove him betterthan anythingéin all, j I couldn’t help it———he wouldn’t help it.’ But, oh 1' laid ‘ -——hard 1” ~ ‘And‘ then, altogether breaking down, she’d like a ‘ child; She like aimissed him so, even this week, after monthsvbeen with «him.- every day; but itwas-lm missing hardware-who was, after all,not~'hser idea? :2' _ :3 child mourning helplessly for the familiar'voiee, the." helpful hand. 'With all the rest of the world .a was an independent, energetic woman, selfacontaitiedéfiaya and strong, as a solitary governess had need to he; ‘hfiwe lilahlert Roy she felt like a child, and shecriedifisnhimiikeaa ‘ “:And with no language buts; . V. , .Soithe week ended and. Sunday came, kept atfiMm like the Scotch Sun-daysof twenty years ago. v ’- No visitor ever entered the house, wherein all the meals were cold and the blinds drawn down, as if for a funeral. , I, » t The family Went to church for the entire day, 31,... being too ‘far'ofi' for'any return home “ between sex-mow” Dalziel’s ' Could he have thrown it all aside} And ' 4' 5.3 ggfid, 0 Usually one serv‘antwas leftin charge, tumrand tumiabeut; -~ but this Sunday ’ Dalziel, having put thergovemess‘iafie r nurse’s place issues the ailing child, thought die might as well ‘ put her in? the servant’s place too, and I take charge‘efthekitchen fire as well as of little ' Being English, Miss“ Williams was. not so exact abducts or- . diseases ’-" as ai‘Scotchwoman would. have been; $133,393,]. the who'le‘day in charge of has: pupil. to remain. at home aides THE LA UREL B USH. Thus faded, Fortune thought, her last hope of seeing Robert Roy again, either at church—where he usually sat in the Dal- ziel pew, by the old lady’s request, to make the boys “ behave” -—-or'walking down the street, ‘where he sometimes took the two-eldest to eat their “pieces ” at his lodgings. All was now ended ; yet on the hope—or dread—of this last Sunday see had hung, she now felt with what intensity, till it . was gone. , - ' Fortune was the kind of woman who, were it given her to fight, could light to the death, against fate or circumstances; but when her part was simply passive, she could also endure. Not, as some do, with angry grief or futile resistance, but with a quiet patience so complete that only a very quick eye would .. have foand out she was suffering at, all. . Little David did not, certainly. When, hour after hour, she sat by his sofa, interesting him as best she could in thedull ‘F good ” books which alone were slowed of Sundays, and then . passing into, word-of-mouth stories—~——the beautiful ‘bible stories . ovetwhich her own voice trembled while she told them—Ruth, with her piteous cry, “ Whither thou goest, I will go ; where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be burie ;” Jonathan, whose soul “clave to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul "—all those histories of passionate fidelity _ agoniaed parting—for every sort of love is essentially the -. they went to her very heart. ,. Oh, the awful quietness of that Sunday, that Sabbath which . washotrest, in which the hours crawled on in sunshiny stillness, ' _ neither voices nor steps nor sounds of any kind breaking the - death-like hush of every thing. i I At length the boy fell asleep; and then Fortune seemed to wake up for the first. time to the full consciousness of what was and what was about to be. All of asudden she heard steps on the gravel below ; then , rang through the silent house. She knew who it was even before she opened the door and saw him standing . ,‘vf May I come in? They told, me you were keeping house . alone, and I said I should just walk over to bid you and Davie ’4 , : _ Roy’s manner was grave and matter-of—fact—a little con— strained, perhaps, but not much—and he looked so exceedingly pale and that, without any hesitation, she took him into the schooluroom, where they were sitting, and gave him the arm-chair by Davie’s sofa. ‘ . 5“ Sig-1.0m to being rather overdone; I have had so much to arrange, «for I must leave here tomorrow, as I think you ~ knew. " , “ The boys told me. ” .1,“ I thought they would. I should have done it myself, but I hoped to see you. It was this little fellow’s fault, I . I patting Davis’s head. “ He seems quite well now, as jolly. as possible. You don’t know what it is to say ‘good-bye,’ David, my son. ” . . v Hrgf'Roy, who always got on well enough with children, had atrick of calling his younger pupils ‘r‘ My son. ”5 , mt‘Wshy do you say “ Good-bye ’ at all, then P” asked the child, a. mischievous but winning young seamp of six or seven, who had as many tricks as a monkey or a magpie. In fact, in chattering and hiding things he was nearly as bad ‘ w as a magpie, and the torment of his governess’s life ; yet she ’ wasfond of him. “ Why do you bid us good-.byehMr. Roy ? Why don’t you stay always: with Miss Williams and me P” -“ I wish to God I could. ” _ V I . - _ , heard that, heard it distinctly, though it was spoken be- neath, his breath {and she felt the look, turned for one moment upon her as she, stood by the window. She never forgot either—e— never, as bag as she lived. Some words, somelooks, can,de-_ i naive, perhaps quite unconsciously, by bemg either more de- ‘ " ' Vmonstrative than was meant, or the exaggeration of coldness to. hide, its opposite ; but sometimes a .glance,“a‘ tone, betrays, or , rather reveals, the real truth in a manner that nothing, attefivard. can ever falsify. For one instant, one instant only, Fortune (all sure, quite sure, that in some way or other she was very dear to Robert Roy. If the next minute he had taken her into his arms; and said or looked the words which, to an earnest- minded, sincere man like him, constitute a pledge for life, never to be disannulled or denied, she could hardly have felt more completely his own. ' But he did not say them ; he said nothing at all ; satleaning his head on his hand, with an expression so weary, so sad, that all the coaxing ways of little Davie could hardly win from him more than a faint smile. He looked so old, too, and he was but just thirty. Only thirty—only twenty-five; and yet these two were bearing, seemed to have borne for years, the burden. of life, feeling all its hardships and none of its sweetnesses. Would things ever change? Would he have the courage (it was his part, not hers) to make them change, at least in one way, by bringing about that heart—union which to all pure and true natures is consolation for every human woe? “ I wonder,” he said, sitting down and taking David on his knee--—“ I wonder if it is best to hear things one’sself, or to let another share the burden P” ‘* Easily—40h, how easily l—-could Fortune have answered this ——-have told him that, whether he wished it or not, two did really hear his burdens, and perhaps the one who bore it se- cretly and silently had not the lightest share. But she did not. speak; it was not possible. V v “ How shall I hear of you, Miss Williams?” he said, after a long silence. “ You are not likely to leave the Dalziel family?” - ’ ' L “ No,” she answered; “ and if I did, I could always be heard of, the Dalziels are so well known hereabouts. Still, a poor wandering governess easily drops out of people’s memory.” ' “And a poor wandering tutor too. any more, and I hope I shall not be poor long. Friends can not lose one another; such friends as you and I havebeen. II will take care we shall not do it, that is, if—— But never mind that. You have been very good to me, and I have often bothered you very much, I fear. You will be almost glad to get rid of me. ” - She might have turned upon him eyes swimming with tears: —woman’s tears-—that engine "of power which they say no man can ever resist; but I think, if so, a woman like Fortune would have scorned to use it. Those poor weary eyes, which could. weep oceans alone under, the stars,'were perfectly dry now—w dry, and' fastened on the ground, as she replied, in a grave steady voice, ' , , “ You do not really believe that, else you would never have.- said it.” " ' Her composure must have surprised. him, for he "looked suddenly up, then begged her pardon. “ I did not hurt you, surely ?' we must not part with the least shadow of unkinth , ness.between us.” , , “No.” She offered her hand, and he took it—«gently, afi'ec» ' tionately, but only affectionately. The one step beyond slice» 1 tion, which leads into another world, another determined not to pass. ' , . For at least half anhOurhe sat there with David on his knee, or, us up restlessly to pace the room with. David on his. shoul er; but apparently not desiring the child’s‘absence, rather wishing to keep him as a sort of barrier.’ Against what himself? And so minute after, minute slipped by; and Miss, Williams, sittingin her place by the window, already saw, dot-l ting the Links, group after gronp of the afternoonchurch—goers wandering quietly home-50 quietly, so happily, fathers and mothers and children, companions and friends-wfor whom was. no rting andpain. “ V ' -. - All): Roy suddenly took out his watch. “ I must go now; I. see I have spent all but my last five minutes. Good-by, David, my lad; ou’ll be a big man, maybe, when I see you again. Miss Wil iams” (standing before her with an expression on his. face such as she had never seen before), “before I. go there was a question I had determined to ask YOU—ea. purely ethical. question which a friend of mine has been putting to me, and I. could not answer; that is, I could, from the man’s side, the. worldly side. A woman might think difi'erently.” ' What is it P” to, he ' seemed. “Simply this. If a man hasnot a halfpenny, ought, he to. ask a .Woman to share it? Rather an Irish way of putting the . 1",. But I am 'not‘a tutor r WW#__... . . THE LA UREL B USII. 7 matter,” with a laugh, not without bitterness, “ but you un- derstand. Ought he not to wait till he has at least something to offer besides himself? Is it not mean, selfish, cowardly, to bind a. woman to all the chances or mischances of his lot, in- stead of 'fighting‘it out like a man ? My friend thinks so, and 1—1 agree with him.” , “ Then why did you ask me 9” , The words, though low and clear, were cold and sharp-— sharp with almost unbearable pain. Every atom of pride in her was roused. Whether he loved her and would not tell her so, or loved some other woman and wished her to know it, it was all the same. He was evidently determined to go away free and leave her free; and perhaps many sensible men or women would say he was right in so doing. “ I‘beg your pardon,” he said, almost humbly. “I ought not to have spoken of this at all. I ought just to have said ‘ Good-by,’ and nothing more.” And he took her hand. There was on it one ring, not very valuable, but she always liked to wear it, as it had belonged to her mother. Robert Roy drew it off and put it deliberately into his pocket. “Give me this; you shall have it back again when. I am dead, or you are married, whichever happens first. Do you understand ?-” Putting David aside (indeed, he seemed for. the first time to forget the boy’s presence), he took her by the two hands and looked down into her face. Apparently he read something there, something which startled him, almost shocked him. _‘ I“ God forgive me I”. he muttered, and stood irresolute. Irresolution, alas! too late ;, for just then all the three Dal- ziel boys rushed into the house and the school-room, followed by their grandmother. The old lady looked a great deal sur- prised, perhaps a littledispleased, from one to the other. Mr. Roy perceived it, and recovered himself in an instant, letting go Fortune’s hands and placing himself in front of her, , between her and Mrs. Dalziel. Long afterward she remem- bered that trivial act~remembered it with the tender gratitude of the protected toward the protector, if nothing more. V “ You see, I came, as I told you I should, if possible, to bid Miss Williams good-by, and‘wee Davie. They both kindly admitted me, and we have had half an hour’s merry chat, have we'not, Davie? Now, my man, good—by.” He took up the little fellow and kissed him, and then extended his hand. ‘ “ Good-by, Miss Williams. I hope your little pupils will value you as you deserve. ” ' Then, with a courteous and formal farewell to the old lady, and a most uproarious one from the boys, he went to the door, but turned, round, saying to the eldest boy, distinctly and . Cleaflywough she was atthe farther end of the room, she r/heard, and was sure he meant her to hear every word : “Emile-bye, Archy, there is something I was about to ex- plain to'Miss Williams. Tell her I will write it. She is quite sure to have a letter from me to»morrow—-—no, on Tuesday morning." . And so he went away, bravely and cheerily, the boys accom- miilng him to the gate, and shouting and wavingltheir hats to lam as he crossed the Links, until their grandmother mprov— 13eg suggested that it was Sunday. , 4 ‘ “But Mr. Roy does. not go off to India every Sunday. 113111131” 1‘ wish we were all going too. Three cheers for Mr. 0y» I , . “ Mr- ROY i§ a very fine fellow, and I hope he will .do well,” said Mrs. Dowel, touched by their enthusiasm ; also by some old’ memories. {95 like many St. Andrews folk, she was strongly linked with India, “and «had sent off one-half of her numerous family to live or die there. There was something'like a tear in her old-eyes, though not for theyoung tutor; but it effectually kept her from either looking at or thinking of the governess. ' And she forgot them both immediately. . They were merely the tutor and the governess. , ' As for the boys, they chattered vehemently all tea-time about Roy, and their envy of “ yolly” life he was going to; then their minds turned to their own affairs, and there was silence. kind of silence, most of us know it, When any one be- . longing to a household, or very familiar there, goes away on a long indefinite absence. At first there, is, little consciousness of absence at all ; we are so constantly expecting the door to be. opened for the customary presence that we scarcely even miss. the known voice, or face, or hand. ,By-and-by, however, we; do missit, and there comes ageneral, loud, shallow lamentation, which soon cures itselfand implies an easy and comfortable forgetfulness before long. Except with some, or possibly only one, who is, most likely, the one who has never been heard to. utter a word of regret, or seen to shed a single tear. ‘ Miss Williams, now left sole mistress in the school-room, gave her lessons as usual there that Monday morning, and walked with all the four boys on the Links all afternoon. ,It was a very bright day, as beautiful as Sunday had been, and they communicated to her the interesting facts, learned “at, ol- fing that morning, that Mr. Roy and his portalanteau been seen at Leuchars on, the way to Bumtisland, that he would likely have a good crossing, as the sea was very There had lately‘been some equinoctial gales, which had in: terested the boys amazingly, and theycalculated with ingenious pertinacity whether such gales were likely to occur again when Mr. Roy was in the_Bay of Biscay, and if his ship were wrecked, ' what he would be supposed to do. They were quite sure he would conduct himself with great heroism, perhaps on a single plank, or a raft made by his own hands, and they con-g sulted MissWilliams, who of cOurse was a peripatetlc. cyclo- pedia of all scholastic inf ation, as to which in or Spain he was likely to drifted to, supposing exciting event did happen. . .. _ , . . , She answered their questions with her usual ready kindness. She felt like a person in a dream, yet not unhappydream, she still heard the voice, stillfelt the clasp of the strong, tender, sustaining hands. And to-morrow would, be Tuesday. f”; Tuesday was a wet morning. ,. They’bright days were, Soon after dawn Fortune had woke up and watched sun-l rise, till a chill fog crept over the sea and, blotted itout {then gradually blotted out the land also, the Links, the town, every- A regular St. Andrews “haar,” and St. Andrews peo—_ ple know what that is. Miss Williams had seen it once or twice before, but never so bad as this—blighting, penetrating, and so dense that you could hardly see yolir hand before you. But Fortune scarcely felt it. She said to herself, “Tb-day'ia Tuesday,” which meant nothing to anyone else, everything to " her. For she knew the absolute faithfirlness, the ; racy, in great things and small, with which she had to r If Robert Roy said. “ I will write on such a day,’,’.he ,Was 35.1mm to write as that the day would dawn; that is, as his on will went; and will, not circumstance, is the strongest agentin thisworld. = - ' r. ‘ 4 Therefore she waited quietly for the this. , n soundedatlast. , ' ' ' __ “ I’ll go,” cried Archy. ‘ ,“Just look at the hear l I shall have to grope my way to the gate.” - ' ’ . 7 He came back, afterwhatrseemed an almost endless time, rubbing his head and declaring he had nearly blinded i by running right into the laurel'bush. ' I ' , .“ I couldn’t see for the fog. I) only hope I’ve left nonevlof the letters behind. No, no ; all right. f Such a lot! . Indian mail. There’s for you, and ‘ it ‘ them out with a merry, carelesshand. . 7 , r _, " There was no letter for Miss Williams—a cincumstance so usual that nobody noticed it or her, as she sat silent in her cor- ner, while the children read noisily and gayly the I'lette‘rs from : their far-away parents. ‘ ‘ . j , Her letter—~what had befallen it? he forgotten. to write? But Robert Roy never forgot anything. Nor did he delayanything that he'could possibly do at the time he prom- ised. He was one of the veryfew people to thisworld who in, small things as in great are"'abso‘lutely. reliable. It seemedsp impossible to believe he had not written, when he said" he would, that, as a last hope, she stole out with a pla'd'over "her you, boys» Ht head and crept through .the side walha'of the gar en, ., gmping her way through the fog, and, like Archy,'smmbling over the low bought: of the laurel bush to the lettereboxgit held. , Her tre‘mb lug hands felt in every corner, but no was there. I -* r ‘ ' She went wearin back; weary at'heart, but patient still, [A ‘" ' ,. cm-» _.-, an“-.- ..,,..;._mu-n.wuumh_-' .- , , -mm. . ,. ...., “Huuu V()IDA l I! V i THE LA URLI B USE g. 4 lovelike hers, self—existent and sufficient to itself, is very pa- tient, quite unlike the other and more common form of the poSsion ;' not love, but a diseased craving to be loved, which creates a thousand imaginary miseries and wrongs. Sharp was her pain; poor girl ; but she was not angry, and after her first’stab ofidisappointment her courage rose. All was well withhirn ; he had been seen cheeiily starting for Edinburgh ; and her own temporary suffering was a comparatively small thing. It couldlnot last: the letter would come to~morrow. 'But it did not, nor the next day, nor the next. On the fourth day her heart felt like to break. think; of all. pangs not mortal, few are worse than this small silent agony of waiting for the post ; letting all the day’s hoped-climax upon, a single minute, which passes by, and the hips with it, and then comes another day of dumb endurance, r ifinot despair. This even with ordinary letters upon which anythin of moment depends. With others, such as this let~ of gobert Roy’s—let us not speak of it. Some may imagine, others may have known, a‘simila’r suspense. will'nnderstand why, long years afterward, Fortune Williams heard to; say," with a quiver of the lip that could have told its’bitter tale, “ No; when I have a‘ letter to write I'never put 61?; Writing it’fora single day.” ‘ ,"As these: days were tin—these cruel days, never remembered maceration of pain, and or wonder that she could have Fl’iv’ed tlimdgh them at all-~=~the whole fabric-of reasons, argu— ments, excuses, that she had built up, tried so eagerly to build up,“f0_r ‘liim"and hersell; gradually crumblediaway. Had she altogether’mis’apprehended the purport of his promised letter? it "some ordinary note, about her boys and their studies- which, after all, he had not thought ‘it-worth while to write?” Yet surely it was worth while, if onlyto Send a kindly and courteous farewell to a friend, after so close an in- noisy and‘fin' bf soindefinite 3 Separation. a ‘A ii'iétid 1‘, Only a friend? “Words may deceive, eyes sel- dom cans there had been love'in'his eyes. Not more liking, but: actual love. She had seen it, felt it, with that ducting" iiistinct that women' have, whether they return \ their their." In-the latter case, they seldom doubtit ; ‘in the formerpthey oftenldo. s _, r ' ,, -' 5 ‘Qoulll Iihave’beenlmistaken a” she thought. with a burn- of shame; " f‘Oh, why did he not ,speak'fi-‘j‘ust one word? . Aftermat, ‘I‘Wcould have borne anything. ” V‘ ' i”, "But he ‘not‘ spoken, he had not writteny He hadilet him~ ‘ filfdfopi billet her liteas completely as a‘ falling star drops “out I , arias sky“, Testis sinks ido'wn‘in mid-Mean, mutiny other pseu— mlrsimt, {under such circumstances by romantic people. ' Fortune Williams was not romantic ;‘at least, what romance wastifi he: lay deep down, and came out in act rather than w'di'd. ‘ Shei‘ti’either‘ wept nor raved now cultivated any exter- nalsigns‘of a breaking heart. A little paler she grew, a little . "messy ‘Observed this; indeed, itcame‘ to be cue ’bf‘hedeeepest‘canses”“ of thankfulness that there was nobody‘to observe anythingmthat she had no liVing soul belongingto her, hellfire?" fadter, mother, brother, nor sister, to pity her or to blame“ her; since to think him either blamable or blamed would have been the she. ', " t torture she could have known. « 7 She, was saved that gimme few other things by being only -’dg0%rh$$ {instead of One of Fate’s Cherished darlings, nestled in ,a‘ 'famil'_ home”. 'She had no time to grieve, except in the and L of night, when"‘therain was on the roof. ”-« It so hap- pened that, after the haar, there set in a season i of continuous, depresSing rain. “’But at night; time, and for theten between post'hour and lesson hour—which she gener- her own room-“if her mother, who died when ten; old, could have seen her, she would have said, ,QlfMy'-poor..c{iildl” - ~ 7 :Robet'lfioj; hadvonce involuntarily called her so, when by‘ac- ‘tiident' odeffif be: rough boys hurt her hand, and he himself _boundiiitfup,Zwith’the indescribable/tenderness which the strong '” know how resume: feel. Wall‘she‘remembered this ; indeed, ‘almoste'reiythirig he had Said'or‘done came back upon 'fifi'ér 'knowmévividly, as we recall the” wordsand looks of the dead f4min led with such a hungering pain, such a cruel ‘fmiss” of " him, ally and hourly, his Companionship, help, counsel, They ‘ l everything she had lacked all her life, and never found but with lhim and from him. And he was gone, had broken his pro- mise, had left her without a single farewell word. That he had cared for her, in some sort of way, she was cer- tain ; for he was one of those who never say a word too large—— nay, he usually said much less than he‘felt. Whatever he had felt for her—~whether friendship, affection, love-must. have been true. There was ‘in his nature intense reserve, but no falseness, no insincerity, not an atom of pretense of any kind. If he did love her, why not tell her so? What was there to hinder him P Nothing, except that strange notion of the “dis- honorable ” of askinga woman’s love when one has nothing but love to give her in return. This, even, he had seemed at the last to have set aside, as if he could not go away without speak- ing. And yet he did it. - . Perhaps he thought she did not care for him? He had once said a man ought to feel quite sure of a woman before he asked her. Also, that he should never ask twice, since, if she did not know- her own mind then, she never would know. it, and such a woman Was the worst possible bargain a man could make in marriage. Not know her own mind I Alas, poor soul, Fortune knew it only too well. In that dreadful fortnight it was “borne in upon her, "- as pious people say, that though she felt kindly to all human beings, the one human being who was necessary to hep—without whom her life might be busy, indeed, and mafia, but never perfect, an endurance. instead of a ' this ypung» man, as solitary as herself, as poor, as hardworking; good, gentle, brave Robert Roy. , _ ' ‘ Oh, why had they not come together, heartto thRSt they two, so alone in the world—a—and everafter belonged to one another, helping; comforting, and strengthening one another, evedn though it had been years and years before they were mar- rie ? ' “‘If only he had loved me, and told meso I”. was her bitter cry. “ I could have waited for, him all my life'long,,<‘.arned my bread ever so hardly, and. quite alone, if only I mit, 't have had a right to: him, and "been his“ comfort, as he was mine. But now—~now——” i i p . . ' ‘ l ' ‘ Yet still sh‘e Waited, looked forwai-d daily to that dread i post hour ; and when it had gone, by, nerving. herself to Adam until tomorrow. At last hope, slowly dying, was kills. out- right. " ' ~ v ' ‘ '. One day at tea-time the boys blurted out, with. happy care- lessness. their short-lived, regrets for him being quite over, the news that Mr. Roy had sailed. . y, . . H - ' “Not for Calcutta, but: Shanghai, a much longer voyage. He can’t be heard of fora year at: least, and it. will befmany years before he comes back. I wonder he will comeback rich. They say he will; quite a nabOh, perhaps, and take a place inthe Highlands, arid invite (us all-—-.-yoti’too,*Miss‘Wil- liarns.’ I once asked him, and he said, ‘ Of course.’ . Stop, you are pouring my tea over into the saucer. ” ' t This was the» only error she made, but, went on filling the cups with a steady hand, smiling and speaking mechanically}, as people can sometimes. When tea was quits over, she slipped away into her room, and was 113‘ " for a. long time. gSo'all was over. ' No more waiting for at vaguez‘somee thing to happen.” Nothing could happen now. Heku far away across the seas, and she must just go back to her old monotonous life, as if it had never been any different—«as if she had never seen his face nor heard his voiee, never 111an the blessing of his companionship, friendship, love, whatever it was, or whatever he had meant it to be. No, he could not have” loved her; or to have gone away would have.been-—-ahe did not realize whether right, or wrong—ebut simply impossible. ' Once, wearying herself with helpless conjectures, a thought, sudden and sharp as steel, went throagh~her heart. He was nearly thirty; few lives are thus long without Some sort of love in them. Perhaps he was already bound to , some other woman, and finding himself drifting into too pleasant intimacy with herself, wished to draw back intime. .Such things; had happened“, sometimes almost blamelessly, though moottniser— ably to all parties. But with him it was not likely to happen. He was too clear-sighted, strong, and honest. He would " uu mam“... . .rv. ,. at. 3'- swu 1H,?o,u_q.-lt;:‘:§w..» , , ".LA. 3 l ‘2 l i l . ‘ IiXsSXiisheianswéred."ésdno more“ ' " ' t are. to .x;l;ittl.e harsh?said§hefséiernesa / THE LAUREL BUSH. 9.. never “drift” into anything. What he did would be done with a calm deliberate will, incapableof the slightest deception either toward Others" «01" himselfi Besides, he had at different times told, her the whole story of his life, and there was no love in it; only Work, hard work, poverty, courage”, and endurance, like her own. ' ‘ “ No, he could never have deceived me, neither me nor any one else, “she often Said to herself, ’almoSt joyfiilly, though the tears were running down. ' “‘ Whatever it‘ was, it was not that. I am filadfiglad. I had far rather believe he never loved me than that he had been false to another woman'for my sake. believe in him still ;- I shall always believe in him. He 15 PC¥f¢CflY 800d, perfectly true. ‘And so it does not much mat- ter about me. ”' V _ ' I am afraid those'young ladies who like plenty of lovers, who expect to be adored, and, arevexed when they are not adored, and most nobly' indignant when forsaken, will think very meanly of my poor 'Fo'rt‘une Williams; They .ma' console themselves by thinking she was not”a young lady at a l—-—o’nly a woman. Such “women arenot too Cemmon, but they exist oc- casionally. ~~ And . they bear their 'cross and dree their weird; but their lot, atyany' rate, only. concerns themselves, and has one advantage, that it in‘_no way injures the happiness of other peop a, A p _ .. A , I Humble as she was, she had her pride. If she wept, it was out'of sight“; If she wished herself dead, and a happy ghost, that by any means she might get near him, know where he was, and what, he was _doing,fthes'e:dreams 'came only when her work done, ,her boys asleep. ‘ Day never betrayed the secrets of the night. She set to work every morning at her daily labors with a” clogged qper’sistence’, never allowing “ herself a minutels idleness w ereihto sit semiarid mou’rn.‘ [ And when, despite will, shelebuldknpt quite'bofiQuer the fits of nervous irritabilitythat; came over her; at'.ti,r'nes-'-when the children’s iri-y , nocent voioesjnsedflto pierce her like needles, and their inces¥ ’ Saritstiseiessxssd arsenals“ ‘ firiwére _a1mdst‘"'ih0fé their sheepuld grieven then, a? She did was to runaway and, hide herself; iota: little, coming _ back ‘With' a pleasantface antihismooth’ temper. Why'bhould she scold them, poor ‘ lambs}; wereall she had to love, or'that 10ved hen: And they did love her, with all their boyish hearts. ‘ ‘ fine day, howevera-rthe- day before they all .lebet. 'Andrews‘ forEng‘lanthhe: twoelder to go to school, maths. younger 91168 to return with her to their inaternalzgrandmother to’Lonv don-«David said something which wondered. her, ‘vexed'her,’ .madeher almost thankful to begging away. "I _ . . ,z a A _, ' ‘ stemmingpressure bush. Whish soméhQW'had‘ifor .hflieaifitrengfizifaeélnation,and her hand was on the i’Iett‘er—b‘ox ’Whichth‘enboys magma Roy had" made. There was a ehildisli . Pl§e$ufeinntquohing ,it, or any thing he had touched. ‘“ / . ' ("I hope; grand, amma, won’t take ,aWay“ that’* box,~f’ said i {55.1.13 might,“ .1331) if in mémoryfof us and 0er’. R93”. HOW Clever 1)? he made it! Wasn’t he clever, ‘now, ’ Miss .,(_.l. “I ' 33:3;th a , better letter box thanyours,” said little Davis, ; -myseaaizslg. up“ Shall I {show it toyou, Miss WilliariiS?‘ "And gathers. {instantaneous lookL-e’the migehievoss” laid! and “yet 6 was more loving and lovable than all the rest, Mr. Roy’sfa— surnames perhaps you might even find a lettering ’iti; Csekaays slashes seen. , 911‘ many a time "watching for at rates from amusements,“hhb‘ishé?” ’ ' ‘v r- if}; nastiness.» {Bells .eook,1s1re'Should_ “inst 'talkt'Bsu'cl; . , {rel ut’seyet hot from head to foot,'and turning, wafiixgd’slrowly " iii-doors. She did inot gonean the,l_aurel,bush again, . , , , 4 ¥ “ ‘ After that, 'she was. almost gladgtd‘; getawayf‘é‘xfi‘dn’gfvetrange (1 Weekendssilhsrfamlistuplafissmhsusvled as:th as: lfi rprldteosisl are.th » 491999? lsisbt' “5 ’ WeandSMnge PRCESM WherfiRoy’s name‘had' never‘ is; _ harass .PPYfifi'saégr'SE-f: ,3 uneasiness. ' ' ‘ ‘ 3,5; 1;; ,, ' . "t1. 3 as: ‘2- , r r < 'f’rflflsr; i,” ¥_. . h ‘ix‘k M-‘hi I;,,*a§..~_.,;s,, ,(r';\v;;-‘ ; , . . CHAPTER III. ‘ WHA'P is a “ wrecked” life? One which the waves of inex-- orable fate have beaten to pieces, or one that, like an unsea- worthy ship, is ready to go down in any waters? What most. destroy us P‘ the things we might well blame ourselves for, only» we seldom do, our follies, blunders, errors, not counting ac» tualsins? or the things for which we can blame nobody but. Providence—if we dared—49uch as our losses and griefs, our sicknesses of body and mind, all those afflictions which we call; “ th‘e visitation of God 3” Ay, and so they are, but net sent-in. wrath, or for ultimate evil. No amount of sorrow need make any human life harmful to« man or unholy before God, as a discontented, unhappy life: must needs be unholy in the sight of Him who in the myste-- rious economy of the universe seems to have one absolute 'law ——He wastes nothing. ' ' ” He modifies, transmutes, substitutes, re~applies material to new uses; but apparently by Him nothing is really ever lost, nothing thrown away. I _ ' ‘~ Therefore I incline to believe, when'I ‘hear peopletalking- Providence." ‘, p a. V' x ' Nobody could have applied'the term to Fortune Williams, locking at her as she Sat in the drawingnroom window of a house at Brighton, "just where the'gray'ofthe Esplanade meets the green of the DoWns—a {ladies’ boarding-school, where she. had in ‘her‘cha‘rg'e two' pupils, lefi: behind for the holidays, while the misti'ess‘y'took a few‘weeks’ repose." - ' ~ “‘She‘ “t watching‘the‘sea, which very beautiful; “the Brighton sea can he sometimes. ‘ Her eyes Were if!!! calm ; her hands were folded on her black silk, dress, her pretty little tender looking hands, lunringed, for. she was still Miss Williams, still ago‘vernessa a w v 7 ~ 7‘ r r I ‘ But even at thirtyofive4-and she, had nowi'eached that age, may, passed it—-—she"was not whatjyou wOuld call “old-maid— ‘ish.”' Perhaps because the Vmotherly instinct, naturally very strongin her, had developed more and more. « p , _, She was one .of those governesses—the only sort wh"o=orrght; ev'er. attempt to be governess—who really lbve children; , 'deév spite their naughtinesses and miSChievousnesses "and warning ways? who feel that, after “all, " these little ones tare/terns kingdom“th ,heayen,” {and that” the task of”educatin’g"“th ffifor that Kingdom somehow often brings'us nearer top‘ourselves: " ' .' Her hEar't,‘ ale/aye tenderfio children, had-v gone'out tothern fore fand more every year, especially after "that fatal year when. aman’ took it andbr‘oke‘itfl ‘ ' ’ " ,No, not broke it, but threw it carelessly away, wounding s ‘ rely that it"‘néver ‘b'ould be ’ quite itself again. Butit a, truei‘a‘nd Warm and womanly heartstili. "j i ‘ ‘ ' . She had never heard of hints—Robert Roy-'4—neV'er’onCe, “in‘. Write to-morrow,” “and did not write,” but‘let herdrop from» altogether likea worthless thing, _ Cruel, somewhat,“ eyes “mere acquaintanceebut to her: ’ ' '“ EWell,’ all ,was past and‘jgone, and the tide of years had; oy'erJit.” Whatever it was, a mistake," a misfortune, 'or«‘a;wrong @1353}; khgtéf anything abéfit it And" he wdund‘ was "even healed, tin assert. 55133333116 'Chiefly by the‘ untonciotis of; these—littléj ministering angels,” ‘ who Wereanigels 'that'nei/ér Hfirt her; ptz'byt'bl‘ot— 'tin‘g their “copy-booksornotjléarriing theirtlessomifi‘ ‘ » “:‘Iwkn‘ow it may SoundTa»‘fidiculons,'tlfil}gyffl?ata forlorn 80“ '61 ‘1’, should}_e‘ niforted’ for "__ lest by‘thélove of'ehils drag; bfitiitis tmétb'néture.” * ‘ ' ,.v...6fi1aa8,_1,iveshave assesses . 3.8%» we, 0 Win ‘2 other" ‘ soda—affideir’iiood; wifefioo‘dfi mam-g ‘ needy inf‘h‘ot’bhe‘ station ' «may. we regret. thE’éne-jliefiire \ it"tUWhifihfit’ii fiéW, - armies-1:1: te-go "back-'1' ,';'1%3:1t,.Forfufielé’life,h§lo Cline,to'makéi‘somefifiqlliries,ionlyfiou say, 's‘o’vei‘v "’l file-Alias ‘soliitely' nothing-+of yourself in your letter; 'irnot be atfalll’cert'ain if you are the same person; ' She ;. ‘ faififlylnanted Daniel; living at , st; stem?" .953le .e :hficl“wtitten- .13.) ,thsmfamiiy, "speeds, but 1g§§p813WerL and r then asked j me,“ , if ' anything‘resulted’ "fi'om; write to, him to the'care of, our; Melbourne ‘31 “#1.“‘Bstrt¢~n’6vvs ever came, ’3’an never wrote to himxfsr; etich'etggstfémh blames me; exceedingly. -; ’Shevthanks' fpti,§ dear to ‘ "41h, forthe kind things you say abdutourpo'or c ild, i ,.au8h‘f§mt'®r' another persist; _ t , , 7 . little. filtration: youngest; andh'dur” heart’s delight." ;_S 'e died site: xitonrs’ mesa. ‘ . : “fl; = "‘ "‘ ] ‘fn' onto" my unconscious/0 ense‘in lgtter, an}; thgllength 'of‘ this brie, I _,remain Willi?le em i ‘ R R C r ' “ >142.) ' t . -» I i -. CY. :‘;f";s‘,.‘iP.-"S;+—¢Ii=ought may; thamhis Mr. Robert‘Roy seemedtbe-l slimy-five, and fol‘tyt,‘ ? fill,:darkrhaired. I walked with ‘9.” iHehadil believe, no near relatives valrltttever,7 1391:11me of‘hin having‘been married," - ‘ t -' ' > ' "vfiqdfitjophbly ' Mitt Williams did well in retiring m‘ her; locking? the she‘openedlth‘e letter. ' It “($5 that‘atthiity-five or forty—mot what fagefi '“Wéiiéh ' l. {once was entrants anoldmaiden‘ 3d” talkingof a, character in abook. ,‘ “He madame,” r, If!" "8, “‘oi'itlieivery .hestmani levet‘y‘lsne‘vij’wioml‘s‘awd " ‘ 'QAIW‘a’firl;”p‘hndététthenatural queries; j v.7; "News died¢ivhil€h§wselétill '1 .”.,'*'Her 'vciideikept its ordinary tone; hati’v-tliere’le'ame a weeks Sudden "quiver 'oie'r‘tlie Wole with-1+ ( . :éhhther‘wqrd. _ " -, , , ; ' ‘ ‘a' were ’now of Fertune‘ Williams; when she .Tfland‘t‘rtslltemfhis “missed this ““Tfififor‘ her againelifebn a new and yet on? the old :vfor it wasistill Waiting, we ‘ «’L—sh'e séeim‘ed'to among those whose lot it is “stand and waxt’,’ all their (13733 " .But'it , fiwhfiwm‘: ‘gbsdhfto darkness and sileqceiv‘hieh it'nsed wbeé"" _ ':~,‘“_»‘ “ "t": ."'4 I“ ll... a‘l ‘ were knewithi‘t’ in 'all‘hum'a'n probahih ' Robert/Roy was alive Yeatsewrher’é, and hope neverécoul' Wholly d‘ieio‘ut ofthé Hisy-eareer, top, if not prosper- hustimwordly things; had heenjonerto make any heart that loved him content-e-content and proud. .For-if he had-failed in his firtuiw, Wit not'from doing what she would niost have wished "hi?! {dab—5th right, at all "costs ?’ Nor had? be quite forgotten Siam Wen late as ’five years White had been making abouthea- Also, he‘w'as then. summed. - ' ‘- ‘ * tlhtim’an; nstnreiis‘weak, and human’hear’ts are so hungry "But ' "We have seven bo , "but > be titled“ gal "certain 330ml: has *nori‘ght which followed were‘no't, as then, ‘astormof, passionate despair ——only a quiet, sorrowful‘rain. ‘ '. ‘ ' V"_ g " j ' ‘ Fer what could she dop?‘ Nothing. New, as ever, h‘er'part Seemed inset? fold) he)? hands and endut¢;‘”1fa‘1'ivé,he alight bef'found' someday ;“bjut‘ now she could not 'fifid'himeo‘h‘, if . 'she' Could !' 'Had "she been the man and he I the Woman—nay, had she been still fherself, “a poor, lonely governess, having to earn every crumbf of herown bitter’bread,‘ yet knowing that he: loved her,jmight not things have been’different? Had she beIOnged to him, they would never‘have‘lost one another. She would have sought him, [as Evangeline ;soiighthabriel,v half the world’ovefr:‘§ 5 ‘L ' e / 5‘ i i ’ And little did hex-two girls imagine, as‘they'Called her dotvn stairs thathlght, secretly wondering what impo‘rlan‘tbitsi‘neSS could make? ‘ f Auntie ”’ keep; tea Waiting fully fiv‘e' mimite’s', 3and set her after tear'to read some ‘of the petty “poet-hf? espeCially ’LongfellOW’s,'which¥ they had a- fancy {0:413:16 did they thihk, , those'twofhappy creatures, listening to their"middle~ eel/7&0} emess, who read so well that isometimes hertvoieethctuailly 5,1- tefid‘bverfitfié lines,:hew there was being misstated under '-their very-«eyes a ' story which in 'lts “constant H anguish fof patience” wasscamely less pathetiethan thatofAcadiat " ‘ », :' w H For’nearlyva yeariafter “that letter :oame‘the littlefiamilyof which Mists-WilliamswasT'the head‘went on itsilnnodent'my, alWays ' lannirfg,i5yet‘-neverg finishing“ 5a «huge, ‘umil' hr: fate 'dr‘ovet emtoitv 72 ’ v *2: :4: -,,r:' :2 '-“Neither Helen nor Janetta were very healthy? and at: 135; La London'dectbr.~gave_as his - absolute fit that {they 'mustoease to: live in meirwarm inland village,= and migrate; intimate :atan rate_;*toabracing Sea-side place. i ' '. {I : . 5 W e‘reupon David Dalziel, who had isomm Established himself as the one masculine adviser. of (the family, suggested . St. Andrew; Bracing enough it was, at any rate t he remem- 'beredthe'windst used almost to cut his nos: off." And items suehfia‘ nice place too, so pretty; with. nichrrexccllent society. j He was ’sure the young ladies would findzit delightful; «I Did ; Miss Williams remember the walk by the shore,‘znd the golfing aeroésthe new . j . ., p ; WQuitera‘sweil Eas youzucmtld have? done, at theiearly age, of; seven," she suggested; smiling. f‘Why are young very anxious ~we1shotrld goto live:at~St.IAndrch?”~ : , -» V r' ydung'fellow blushed all Overhis kindly-,mrm, and then frankly owned he had-emotive; Hisrzrandmoflmr’s‘ got. tage, which she had left to him, the yetingest hex-pet 3;- 'ways, was now 'unlet': ‘ He L‘mean’tt' perhaps, tegoand {live at it himselfawhe‘n-wwhen he was'of and $11.0?th ;~ battle the meanfimezhe‘w’nsra poor Solitarybachelor, MW: 1 I 3 if frfsAnd you would likens. to keep yousnest feel”; 3; you aslsstt..-itt.-;.:YsuWe?““Safe: your: items, eh, vie ?” ' ' ' ' ’ ‘ ' ‘f’Jiist -,Ypir’v’e hit it; Couldn’t wish Eh: flat, I {have alreadymitten to my trustees tordiive the ' Lardest‘ bar. ‘n as lung ‘-.-_,~ .:~ aw ' , 5,. (.TN. . :, "3 «Whitehaeas as in‘genieut modification. hf ’the‘dtflth, wshe afterwardjthendvgrhyt evidentlygthe‘ lad had'setjhiezhém upon thethtng‘: "‘Andlshélfl :2 'Il"1' ’ Wt: - r; 6' At"‘fir8t"sr_lie~”liadt§h f, hijack? fwm- the-plan emu-shim- almoSt. of ifear: .It'whs likef to meet face torfaee some. thing-Amine gnomes; t’fl‘o‘ Walk among the old famil- ’iaf‘places,~tque¢ihe em familiar sedand shore, hay,"t0li‘fe in ‘ thefvery sameéhbuse, . haunted, as houses are 'somttime‘s; every room'- end-everymekggwiifil ghos " yetlwith-suchxianooent ghosts. "iConld sitefhear'iti.’ I . . ' 2 - There’ are some people who have an «acmalte’rmr of the- pastf—w‘ho the moment a thing eeaées to pleasurable fly from it, wOuld' ‘willingly'hu'ry it' out of eighth! But.- others have no fear; of theirharmless dead-tidde hopes, mom-- ories,loves—~«can sit b'y a grave-side, or. ;lookrbehind; them at a dim spectral shape without grief, without dread; only with tenderness; This womaneot'zld.f :3». ‘ t :7. “r ,3 f After a long; wakefiil night ‘spent'lnlverr serious thoughts- for every one’s good, not—xexcltldmgther ~Ownwviiin¢§1there is a . t oasis ., selfish perpetual martyrsmely make very;th .. ads of ‘ ’6’} “l 011,; if the hadon-lygloved me, and told me‘so‘i?’ she said, {‘ piteOusly as age But the tears families—~she said to her girls next ~Inorningfthttt awash: . fl ’ i—read steadily, even w I THE LA UREL B USE. .15 David ‘Dalziel’s brilliant idea had a great, deal ‘of sense in it; St Andrews was a very nice place, and the cottage there would exactly suit their finances, while the tenure upon which he pro- . posed they Should hold it (from term to term) would also fit in with their undecided future; because, as all knew, whenever Helen or Janetta. married each would just take her fortune and go, leaving Miss Williams ‘with her little legacy, above want certainly, but not exactly a millionaire. , . , These and other points she set before them in her practical fashion, just as if her heart did not bade—sometimes with pleasure, sometimes with pain—at the Very'thought of St. An- drews, andas if to see herself sit daily and hourly face to face with her old self, the ghost of her own youth,» would be a quite easy thing. ' _ The girls were delighted. I They left all to Auntie, as was their habit to do. Burdens L naturally fall upon the shoulders fitted for them, and which seem even to have a faculty for drawing them’ down. there. Miss Williams’s new duties hadl developedin'hera whole range of new qualities, dormant dur— lng her ‘governeSS life. Nobody knew better, than she how to manage and guide a family. The girls soon felt that Auntie might have been a mother all her days, she was so thoroughly motherly, and they gave up everything into her hands. . , So the whole matter Was settled, David rejoicing exceedingly, and considering it “jolly fun, ” and quite like a bit of a play, that hisformer governess should come back as his tenant, and inhabit the old familiar cottage. , . ' , r , “And I’ll take a'run over to see you as soon as-the long, vacation begins, just to teach the young ladies golfing. Mr. Roy taught; all us boys, \ you know; and we’ll take that very walk he used to take us, across the Links and along the sands to the Eden. ' Wasn’t it the river Eden, Miss Williams? I. am sure I remember it. think I am very good at remember- mg." i ’ ~ " it: veg. ’9 ' ’ . ‘ , 1 Other ople were also “ good at remembering. ” During the first ew weeks after they settled down at St. Andrews the girls noticed that Auntie became excessively pale, and was sometimes quite “ distrait" and bewildered-looking, which was little wonder, considering all she had to do and to arrange. But she got better iii time. The cottage Was so sweet, the sea so dash, the whole place so charming. Slowly Miss Williams’s ordinary looks returned-the “good” looks which her girls so energetically proteSted she had now, if never before. They never allowed her to confess herself old by caps or shawls, or anyof pretty temporary hindrances to the march of Time. She resisted not; she let them dress her as they pleased, in a reasonable way, for she felt they loved her; and as to her age, wh .356 knew it, and knew that nothing could alter it, so what (it it matter? She smiled, and tried to look as nice as she could, for her girls’ sake. I suppose there are such things as broken or breaking hearts, even at St. Andrews, but it is certainly not a likely place for them. ,They have little chance against the fresh, exhilarating ain'titron'g as new wine; the wild sea waves, the soothin sands, slung withhealth of body wholesomeness of mind. , y-and~ by the busy wofld recovered its old face to Fortune Williams-- mtihe , Odd as she once dreamed of it, but the real world, as she had fought through it all these years. , “l.” was ever a fighter, so one fight more i" as she read some- ,i s in the “pretty” her girls were always asking for . . n she came to the last verse in that passxonate “Prosprce :” r , , ,umauddenfihemtumthobesttothebmve, , _ The black minnto’satend: And the elements cg; Marcieesthatmro , Shalldwindl I and, g / , , g i , ,‘hihflsdfilfimmr' a resume come, during all nominates ' w the at $39: stints, fided, yet hot ‘3 bitvf life) the minglytoloek. To “slimmineven'in otd age, or with death between, was her only desire. Yet she did her duty still, and enjoyed all she could, knowin that_one by one the years were hurrying onward, and the nig rooming, “invwhich no man can work.” . _ y , Faithful to his promise, about the middle of July David Dal- ziel appeared, in overflowing spirits, havingdone well at college. He was such a boy still in character and behavior; though——as he carefully informed the family—mow twenty-one and a man, expecting to be treated as such. He was their‘landlord too, and drew up the agreement in his own name, meaning to be a lawyer, and having enough to live on~something better than bread and salt——-“till I can earn a fortune, as I certainly mean to do some day.” I And he looked at Jenetta, who looked down on the parlor carpet—as young people will. Alas l I fear that the eyes of her anxious friend and governess was not half wide enough open to the fact that these young folk were no longer boy and girls, and that things might happen—in ihct, were almost certain to happen—which had happened to herself in her youth—~making life not quite easy to her, as it seemed to be to those two bright girls. I - " ' Yet they were so bright, and their relations. with ,DavidDal— ziel were so frank and frees-in fact the young fellow himself was such a thoroughly good fellow, so very difficult to shut her door against, edér’fif she had thought of so doing. But she did not. - She let him come and go, “ miserable bachelor” as he proclaime himself, with all kith and kin across the seas, and cast not a thought to the future, or to the sad necessity which sometimes occurs to parents and guardians—of shutting theistable door qfler the steed is stolen, _ _ . Especially as, not long after David appeared, there happened a certain thing—a very small thing to all but her, and yet to her it was, for the time being, utterly overwhelming. It at» I soer all her thoughts into one maddened channel: where they writhed and raved and dashed themselves blindly against inevitable fate. , For the first time in her life this patient woman felt as if endurance were not the right thing ; as if wild shrieks of pain, bitter outcries against Providence, would be somehow easier, better : might reach His throne, so that He might listen . and hear. I ,. ' I ~ ~ The thing was this. One day, waiting I“ we , the laurel bush at her gate—the old fame ' had groivn and grown till its branches, which, , M on the gravel, now covered the path entirelya-r-she ’ explaining to Jeannetta how he and his brothers and Mr. Roy] had made the wooden letter-box, which actually existed still, though“ in very ruinous condition. ., “And no wonder, alter fifteen ears and more. It is fully that old, isn’t Miss Williams? on will have to supemnuahelit shortly, and return to the old original ,letter-box—amy letter— bolii, which I remember so well. I do believe I could find it sti .” . ‘ Kneeling down, he thrust his hand through the thick barrie cade of leaves into the very heart of the tree. _ r “ I’ve found it ; I declare I’ve found it; the identical hole in the trunk where I used to put all my treasures-«my ‘ ‘ T 53’8 nest,’ as they called it, where I hid every thing I could._ d. What a mischievous youn scamp I was 1 ’ , » ; “Vern”, said Miss Wil ms, afi‘ectionately, laying a gentle hand on his cu‘rls—--H pretty ” still, though cro ped Own to the i frightfiil modern fashion. Secretly she was ntgerprond of him, this tall young fellow, whom she had had on her 13? many a time. “Curious it all comes back to rue—even to the very last thing I hid here, the da before we left, which was a letter.” , te letter ”-—--Miss 311nm: slightly started—~“what let- " :- ‘W _ “ One 1de lying under‘the laurel bush, quite hidden by “shaves Itmansoakad with rain. Idrieditinthcm, , and put it is mannerisms,» tailing nobody; furl mm to deliver it mpdfat lull door with a hshpoeunan'arinm, one useitnhlow . You‘r‘ememmg;'>;w .. Shel a 14...; . ._ 15.09.? 111m _. against in ‘ talbush, pale to the very lips, but her well was down-nobody ' 16 THE LA UREL is use. Saw. “What sort of a letter was it, David? Who was it to? content, no real happiness ever had come, ever could come to Did you notice the handwriting?” ' , , ‘ “Why, I was such a little fellow, ”,and he looked up in won- der md'slight cencern, “ how could I remember? Some let- ter that somebody had dropped, perhaps, in taking the rest out of the box. ' It could not matter—certainly not now. You would not bring my youthfifl misdeeds up against me, would you P" And he turned up a half—comical, half-pitiful face. 1 Fortune’s first impulse—«what was it? She hardly knew. But her second was that safest. easiest thingmnow grown into the habit and refuge of her whole life-silence. “ No, it certainly does not matter now.” - A deadin sickness came over her. What if this letterwas Robert Roy’s, asking her that question which he said no man ought ever to ask a woman twice P * And she had never seen it é—never answered it. So, of course, .two whole lives-had been destroyed, and by a mere accident, the aimless mischief of a child’s innocent hand. She could never prove it, butit might have‘been so. ',A1id, alas’l alasl God, the merciful God, had ‘ allowed it tobeso. ' i ' ' ‘ ‘ ' «=Which was the worst, towa‘ke up suddenly and find that our life been wrecked by our own folly, mistake, or sin, or that ithahi been done for us? either directly by the hand of Provi- dence, or indirectly thiough some innocents-«nay, possibly not innocent, but intentionalwhand? - ? In both cases the agony is equillysharp—uth‘e sharper because irremediable’. , ‘ All? these thoughts; vivid as iight‘ning,“ 'and as rapid, darted through "poor Fortune’s-brain during the few moments'that she steed With her hand out Davie’s shoulder, while he drew from his magpie’s nest a heterogeneous mass of rubbishuz-pebbles, snail shells, bits of glass'and china, finginents'even of broken ‘ {Just-look there. ‘ What ghosts of my childhood, aspeOple wouldi say-J“; Deadvanda buried, though. ”“ And" he'laughed merrilyeehe’tin thevfull tide and glory'of his youth." ~ ‘ ’ ‘Fiottune Williams looked down on his happy face. This lad thagfiwea'llyiilcived 'her wou'ldirio’thave hurt her for the world, 4 and I her"dtz‘terrninati9nJ was made. He should ' never know any thing. Nobody‘shouldieveri-kncwany thing; The “,“dead "and buried" ofi age} must bdde'ad andiburied forever: " g ,‘f she said “just out of curiosity, put your'hand ,, -- ' om'bfthat'hole, and see if you can fish up. {‘Thenishfi just-'as'onewould wait'at the edge of ' some Iésg—nqageggrave to see fifth? dead, could possibly 'be claimed moth-neat; @‘ien if «but ailrind'ul“ of unhonored'bones. v ' » .No, it was not possibl’e.?~*~~ Nobody 7cou1d‘ expect it after such a lapse ,offtime. Something “Daifidfif ulle‘d’but-i—it’rhightbe papéi, vitniighbb'e rags; - 'I‘t‘wasi‘toofldrytohe moss breath, betrrofenecoutdi have recognized itasfa'letter. “ ' 3 ' j. 4M Gives; messed Miss Williams, holding out‘ Hei- 'handij‘ ‘Dalvid put therlittle‘heap‘of “rubbish’htherein. ‘fShé’reg’ard’é‘d it‘a moment, and then scattered it on. the gravel—“dust'to dust," aswe’ say inr’o‘ur fitneiral‘service; t ’But she ‘said' nothing; Atlthat moment the young/peoplethey'wcre waiting for came to-theoth‘e‘r sidei ofithe gate, (clubs ’in- hand; 'David andthe two-“Miss M'oseley’s had bythis time rbecomé perfectly madifor gdlfi: as isthe :fashion of the plaice." 1' They receeded‘a’cwssthe', Links, Miss Williams accompanying them, as‘in' duty House? But she 'satdrsheiwss “3‘ira’ther tired,”and‘ leaving them in :charge, ofranother ramparts,» if chaperonslare ever-[wanted or heeded imthoseémerry Links of Stfrflndrewr-‘e-scam‘e-home alone. ' I <. {51%}? 5&1}; '3. v .,,4T*.;,7.~1; i L,. 7‘ vv' , .t ‘7'." . k .: 1‘57“ v a»? 'J H salesman; * , PM!" :1 i: a ; ‘ r‘ W "’ ’ ' " .3“ '" affirms? pathos wishes @9598, 113 wwwfi 5' he; ‘3 H'i." a ‘ it”. “Sir “MIN?! .37 .L—f' .. T til-Eden ‘1 fin s-btis'h‘gr‘eatest ' living '~ et,i {ins tine“- ; ofi ithe wnoblhst . v N v , g»: (a. f a“. .hkliévefi‘)§3medg3"i Andzi; ’flh'th". ‘ simD/fhw/fim' emit pang, momenta am i sandiwhawe hereV‘buet one life to lose lwher-lost‘; tr}, )' ing. They Were . the fashion dragging-glypfminmehdmhbmWk : ’ sudden announcement that. a:;sefitleméritiwitfi’stwéfli rila'ttrhemmiamvahoqlwflie uightiiKé quljviézyi ’ , _ . » her in this world, except Robert Roy’s lave—after this, Fortune sat down, folded her hands, and bowed her head to the waves of sorrow and kept sWeeping over her, not for one day or two days,'but for many days and weeks——the anguish, not of pa—— tience, but regret—sharp, stinging, helpless regret. They earn e; rolling in, those remorseless billows, just like the long breakers on the sands of St. Andrews. Hopeless to resist, she could only crouch down and let them pass. “All Thy waves have gone over me.” ' » ’ Of course this is spoken metaphorically. Outwardly, Miss Williams neither sat still nor folded her hands. , She, was seen every where as” usual, her own proper self, as the world knew it; but underneath all that was the self that she knew, and God knew. No one ever could have known, except Robert Roy, had things been difl‘erent from what they werewfro'm what God had apparently willed them to be. ' ‘ j i . ' A sense ofrinevitable' fate came over her. It was now nearly twO years; since that letter from Mr. Roy of S l ' and no more tidings had reached her. She began to think none ever would reach her now. > She ceased to hope or to‘ fear, but let herself drift on, accepting the small pale pleasures of every dav, and never omitting one of its duties. One only thought re-- mained; which, contrasted with the darkness of all else, often gleamed outas an actual joy. w " ‘ Q i " ’ . ’ ,If the lost letter reallyfwas‘ Robert Roy's—and thoughs‘he had no positive proof, she h'ad'the strongest conviction-remem- bering the thick fog of that Tuesday morning, how easily Archy might have dropped it out of hishand.’ and ’hbwjduring' those days of soaking rain, it might have lain, unobslervedby anyone, under the laurel branChes, still the child 'vpicked‘litaup and wait I as he saidi-‘é-‘it’ Robert Roy ‘had‘ written; to her, i written in any way, he at least not faithless; And he might have low:le herthen; ‘. Afterward, he" might have married, or died,- she ' might never find him again in this world, or if she found him, he might be totally changed : still, whateveru>happened,l,hé had: lovedhér. ' The as: remainede p‘ower'in“earth or, heaven, ‘ could alterr’it} * ,- , x. . And sometimes, even fyet,“éij half-superstitiousifeélihg came" overthersthatfuallnthis'was not/fer ‘nbthxhg; "e "’irnp’ulse'iwhich’ had impelled eher towritei‘to Shanghai,'thefdthersimpulse or concatenation of circumstances,which had'floated'he'r, after so many changesy‘ba‘ck’to' thevo’ld place, the old life; It loOked. like chance; but was it? Is anything chance? r Does not‘bur own will, soon :or late, aegomplish for us what We desire'1?".'"That " is, whom wentrytoreconoileit’to‘the will‘ofGo‘d.‘ ' ' f ,‘S'h‘e ihfiad afc‘cekpted'His ~‘ wiil all these years, Seéih‘g’no‘r‘eason or it- 0 en ee'in 'itlve hardand-cruel- hut "' ‘ ‘ 3" '7 ‘ Andghow? v 1' "V ‘ ’ : ,I; , ’ an?!“ ‘ - .31 am writing- no‘ sensational Stery. Iii it"a‘re no "'"ra‘hd'drarni endpoints; no Dru} eta“ mac/am appearsI to ’rfiake‘ga‘lligs’mbdth every eyent—_—if it can boast of aught so-large as an“evé'tit—-‘-'—fol: lowsithe‘:other "in‘perfectly natural succession. 7" der' Y we al— ways v‘notice‘dzthat ’in‘ life there are rarelyiahyjsta’rtlihg ‘g‘ 'efl‘ectjé,”"' butgradualwevolutions. Nothing happenstby’fiecrd‘éh‘t; and, ' the premises oncegranted, nothing happens bulfVWhat’vwa's‘ (fine. ’ stirsstoyhaptzrenyfollowingthese-1:ix'<=:mi5es."2 WenoveliSt's ddhot.. ‘fi make 3’ 'ourfsto'ries» g? they «make «assesses. " straw“; mannibemgs Jinveht‘their ownfli‘ve'sf do buf.‘uSé'idp the materials given to themmme well f“ some‘ill‘f schismer ~‘ some. foolishly '; . but, ' inf-the? main; ' the‘ dictptii’tfithé ‘1’rEaCher is not farfromthe truth; “All things come'aliké 't'critll.‘"’“f‘.E ' . 3 .;;A:who}e"winter had ' a beginning to lengthen, tempting Miss Williaméi’aild passedih'y, and thief springtwilig‘htsWere ' ,her‘ ' rls‘t‘ ‘* ginger another. half ,beforerthey litotherlampifoarthgievenc: 0mg so, :cozily. chatting W" T fire, after” Eli, ,thhi‘e“ was a. . s i . .' \ . . ,_ z -. ., ' b0 ) wanted to see Miss Williams; 'gHQdésfiiledmm xi. and said 11? Wfifiwsflm detain hertmt>revthm~aifew ’ “ Let him come in here,” Fortune? lwasEjustv‘ah‘cout to say, Witter-siesharsessome be, some Wamw n “5?.” 7, 1,.ee59tlsw .31fibahesizsreamamnhmqm v_ metatarsal). :19! , {scam/5:11:33“? m» wen u: E 1.} ministries}? Wrenches.” We Wm M. . .. : i / THE LA UREL BUSH. I r r p 17 She rose and walked quietly into the parlor, already shadow— "od into twilight; a neat, compact little person, dressed in soft gray homespun, witha pale pink bow on her throat, and an- other in her cap, a pretty little fabric of lace and cambric, 'which, being new the fashion, her girls had at last condescend— ‘ed to let her wear. She had on a black silk apron, with pock~ ‘ets, into one of which she had hastily thrust her work, and her ‘thimble was yet on her finger. This was the figure on which the eyes of the gentleman rested as he turned round. Miss Williams. lifted her eyes inquirineg to his face—a lbearded face, thin and dark. - “I beg your pardon, I have not the pleasure of knowing you; 1—” She suddenly stopped. Something. in the bright, the turn of the head, the, crisp dark hair, in which were not more than a few threads of gray, while hers had so many now, reminded her of~—-some one, the bare thought of whom made her feel'dizzy and blind. “No,” he said, ‘2 I did not expect you would know me; and indeed, until I saw you, I was not sure you were the right Miss Williams. Possibly you may remember my name—Roy, Robert Roy.” , Faces alter, manners, gestures; but the one thing which never changes isa voice. Had Fortune heard. this one—~ay, at her last dying hour, when all worldly sounds were fading away—- She would have reco ized it at once. ' , The room being all of Shadow, no one could see any thing distinctly ; and it was as well. , In another minute she had arisen, and held out her hand. “I am very to see you, Mr. Roy. How icing have you beret) in England? .Are these your little boys 3’7 _ ‘Without anewering, he took her hand—4. quiet friendly grasp, just as it used ,to be. And so, without another word, the 1f "of fifteen—seventeen years was overleaped, and Robert ,oy and Fortune‘Williams had met once more; _ ' " , , If any body ha-l old her when she rose that morning What would, happen berm-e, night, and hap n so naturally, too, sne wouldhave it was impossible. hat, after a very few min- utesfshe could have sat there, talking to him as to any ordig 31317 acquaintance, seemed incredible, yet it was truly so. . “ I was in great doubts whether the Miss Williams who, the told me,.,lived here was yourself or some other lady; but thought; would, take the chance. Because, were, it yourself, I ferrthesake of Old tithes, you might bewilling to advhcmeconcerning, my two little boys, whom I} have brought to lfor‘their education." ' ‘ " ' i i 7 ' “Your sons, are they i" ,, i “No. I am not married.” I I ' _ I i There was . a pause, and then he told the little fellow to go and-look out of the window, while he talked with Miss Wile heme; He spoketo themvyin .9. fatherly tone ; there was noth- youngman left in him now. . His‘voice was sweet, ' hiaéihafirgrarerhis whole appearance unquestionably “mid- ' agi‘Wkeygam'omhans. 'Their name is Roy, though they are fillflgmrmlatim, or so-distant that it mattersnothing. But the“ {very good friend of mine, which mattersa greet'deala » «lie died suddenly, and his wife soon after, leaving their'ah‘axra 'im‘igreat; confirsion. Hearing this, .far;up in the : Australian bush-f where I have been a sheep»farmer for some ' Years: I came {roundabvahanghah but too. late to do more than like You‘fge? 50378 and bring them home. The rest of the famrl are disposed of. .These two will be henceforward mine. ' hat is all.” .i . , . : A very little “all” and wholly about other people; Searcer , a word about. himself. Yet he seemed to think it sufficient, andas if she had no possible interest'in hearing more. , . Cursor-Sly he mentioned having received her letter, which “friendly and kind,” that It had followed him to Australia. back. to Shanghai. But his return home seemed to hatevheenjentirely without reference to itw-sorto her. i ' , {am}; pm, and new ted things as they wore. It was enougln- When a shipwrecke man sees landwever so barren , a land, ever sodesolate a shore-«he does not argue within himw ‘ to the bright warm parlor, glittering with all side. Then she clasped , her. hands with any of the emotions of her girlhood. self, “Is this my heaven I” he simplyl‘puts into it, and lets him— self be drifted ashore. It tool: but a few minutes more to explain further what Mr. Roy wanted-21 home for his two “poor little fellows. ” “They are so young still—and they have lost their mother. They would do very well in their classes here, if some kind wo- man would take them and look after them. I felt, if the Miss Williams I heard of were really the Miss Williams I used to know, I could trust them to her, more than to any woman I ever knew. ” . “Thank you.” And then she explained that she had al- ready two girls in charge. She could say nothing till had she consulted them. In the mean time—~— s . Just then the tea—bell sounded. The world was going on just as usual—this strange commonplace, busy, regardlws wbrld l _ “I beg your pardon for intruding on your time so long,” ‘ said Mr. Roy, rising. “ I will leave you to consider the nes- tion, and you will let me know as soon as you can. am. staying at the hotel here, and shall remain until I can have my boys settled. Good-evening.” . . v -. Again she felt the grasp of the hand: that ghostly-touch, so vivid in dreams for all these years, and now a warm living ml- ity. It was too much. She could not hear it. ,_ “If you would care to htay,” she saidmand though it was too dark to see her, he must have heard the faint tremble in her voice—~“our teavis ready. ' I at me introduce you horny girls, and they can make friends with your litile boys.” .7 , ' The matter was soon settled, and the little arty ushered in- e of that pleasant meal—essentially feminine—a “hungry {tea Robert Roy put his hand over his eyes as if the - lightdazzled him, and then sat down in the armchair which Willth brough forward, turning as he did so to look washers—right inherfariesa—with his grave, soft, earnest eyes. ' , 4 . t . “"‘hank‘ you. How likethat was to your oldw’ays? How very little you are changed I” ,v . This was the only reference he made, in the slightest degree, to former times. . ' . I» And she P 2 v ' She went out of the room, ostensibly to get apot‘ofguava‘ éelly i2 for the boys—found it after some search, and then sat down. ' -t Only in her store closet, with her housekeepingithings all about her. But it was a quite place, and the door 3 " There is, in one of those infinitely patheticOld Testament stories, a sentence+~“And he sought where to t entered into his chamber and wept there.” ; , v v- * Slaadid not weep, this woman, not a youngiwonran new; sheon'ly tried during her few minutes of solitude together up hrr thoughts to realize what had happened to her,- and, who it was that satin the next room—mailer her rook—at her, very-fire- sudden sob, wild; as "r-‘EOh, my love, the love of all my life 9 , Thank ‘ , il'f'v: ,- e evening passed, not very merrily, but peacefull, y; 1 6 girls, who had hearda good deal of Mr. Roy from David: ' rial, doing their best to be courteous to him, and to “ shy little boys He did not. stay long, evidently monumen- , bid dread of “intruding,” and his manner was exceedingly» served, almost awkward sometimes, of which heseemed pain- fully conscious, apologizing for being “ unaccustomed to civili- zation and to ladies’ society, ” having-during hislifein the bush passed months at a time without ever seeing a woman’s face. “And women are your only civilizers," he said. “That is why I wish» myimotherless lads to be taken into this homhold of yours, Miss *Williams, which looks so—so comfortable," and he glanced round the pretty parlor with something very ‘ likea sigh. “I hope you will consider the matter, andletme ' know as soonas on have made up your mind.” i _ “Which I shall do very soon,”she answered. ' . I ' _ » “Yes; I know you wilL And‘vyour decision once made‘you ‘ never. change”? - , _ ’ ' "‘Yer;y~‘”seldom, I am not one of those who are ‘given to ~ I L n r r . - _ r “Nor I.” ' «friend did not know. 18 THE LAUREL BUSH 1 He stood a moment, *lingering in the pleasant, lightsome warmth, as if loath to quit it, then took his little boys in either hand and went away. There was a grand consultation that night, for Miss Williams never did anything without speaking to her girls; but still it was merely nominal. They always left the decision to her. And her heart yearned over the two little Roys, orphans, yet children still; while Helen and Janetta were growing up and needing very little from her except a general motherly supervision. Besides, lie asked it. He had said distinctly that she was the only woman to whom he could thoroughly trust his boys. So—~—she took them. After a few days the new state of things grew as familiar that it seemed as if it had lasted for months, the yOung Roys going to and he to their classes and their golf-playing, just as the young Dalziels had done; and Mr. Roy ceming about the house almost daily, exactly as Robert Roy had used to do of old. Sometimes it was .to Fortune Williams the strangest reflex of former times; only—«with a difference. . - Unquestionable he, was very much changed. In outward appearance more even than the time accounted for. No man can knock about the world, in different lands and climates, for seventeen years; without bearing the marks of it. Though still under fifty, he had all the air of an “elderly” man, and had grown a little “peculiar” in his ways, his modes of thought and speeéh—except that he spoke, so very little. He accounted for this by his long lonely life "in Australia, which had produced, he said, an almost unconquerable habit of si- lance. \ , he was far more of an old batchelor than she was of an old maid, and Fortune felt this; felt, too, that in spite of her gray hairs she was in reality quite as youngas ire-«nay, sometimes younger; for her innocent, simple, shut-up life had kept her yonng. And be, what had his life been, in so far as he gradually be- trayed it? Restless, struggling; a perpetual battle with the world; having to hold his own, and fight his way inch by inch who who naturally a born student, (to whom the whirl of a busian career was especially obnoxious. What had made him choose it? Once chosen, probably he could not help himselftbesides, he Was not one to put his shoulder to the wheel and then draw back. Evidently, with the grain or against the grain, he had gone , it; this sad, strange, wandering life, until he had “made his fortune, ” for he told her so. But he said no more; View: he meant to stay at home and spend it, or go out again to the antipodes (and spoke of those far lands without any dis- taste; ever: with a. lingering kindness, for indeed he seemed to 'the as nnkindly thought of any place in all the world), his . nae-rem. That wasthe word. No other. After her first Warn of uncontrollable emotion, to. call Robert Roy her “ love,”,even in faucy, or to expect that he would deport himself in any love-like way, became ridiculous, patheticall ridiculous. She misused that. Evidently no idea of the ind entered his mind.» She was Miss Williams and he was Mr. Roy—~two ‘ middle-aged; people, each with their difl’erent responsrbilities, ' I 1' their altogether seperate lives ; and, hard as her own had been, it seemedas it his had been the harder of the two—ey, though he was now a rich man, and she still better than a poor gov- emess. ‘ . ' ‘ ‘ Shedid not'think much of worldly things, but still she was aware, of this fact—«that he was rich and she was poor. She did noessnffer herself to dwell upon it, but the c, nsciousness was sustained with a certain feeling called ‘ pro r pride.” The conviction was forced upon her the very first is of Mr. Roy’s retnrnmthat to go back to the days of their youth was as impossible as to find primroses in September. ' If, indeed, if there was any thing to go back to. Sometimes she felt, if she could only have found out that, all the rest would be easy, painless. .If she eculd only have said; to him, “ Did you write to me the letter you promised? Did you ever love me 2’? But that one question, was, of course, utterly impossible. He made no reference whatever to old things, but seemed resolved to take up the present—a very peaceful and happy il‘ v _ present it soon grew to bewjust as if there were no past at all. So perforce did she. ‘ But, as I think I have said once before, human nature is weak, and there were days when the leaves were budding, and the birds singing in the trees, when the sun wastshining, and the waves rolling in upon the sands, just as they rolled in that morning over those two lines of foot-marks, which might have walked together through life ; and who knows what mu- tual strength, help, and comfort this might have proved to both 2———then it was, for one at least, very hard. . Especially when, bit by bit, strange ghostly fragments of his old self began to reappear in Robert Roy: his keen delight in nature, his love of botanical or geological excursions. 'Often he would go wandering down the familiar shore for hours in search of marine animals for the girl’s aquarium, and then would come and sit down at their tea-table, reading or talking, so like the Robert Roy of old that one of the little group, who always crept in the background, felt dizzy and strange, _..s If all her later years had been a dream, and she were living her youth over again, only with the difference aforesaid : a difference sharp as that between death and life—yet with something of the. peace of death in it. ' " _ Sometimes, when they met at the little innocent tea-parties which St. Andrews began to give—for of course in‘that small community every body knew every body, and all their affairs to boot, ofien a great deal better than they did themselves, so that ,there was great excitement and no end of speculation over Mr. Roy—sometimes meeting, 'as they were sure to do,’and walking home together, with the moonlight.shining down the empty streets, and the stars out by myriads over the silent distant sea, while the nearer tide came washing in upon the sands—all was so like, so .frightfully like, old times that it was very sore to bear. ' ' But, asI have said, Miss Williams was Miss Williams, and Mr. Roy Mr. Roy, and there were her two girls always besides them ; also his two boys, who soon took to “Auntie” asuat‘u- rally as if they were really hers, or she theirs. " “I think they had better call you so, as the others do,”5. . A . W1” 25,114., THE LA UREL B USE. 23 right. We are a bad lot-a bad lot. But David Dalziel is, as good as most of us, that I Can assure you.” ' . She could hardly tell whether he was in jest or earnest ; but this was certain, he meant to cheer and comfort her, and she took the Comfort, and was thankful. , “ New to the point,” continued Mr. Roy. “You feel that, in a wordly point of view, these two have done a very foolish thing, and you have aided and abetted them in doing it ?” “Not so,” she cried, laughing; “I had no idea of such a , thing till David told me yesterday morning of his intentions.” “ Yes, and he explained to me why he told you, and why he dared not wait any longer. He blurts out every thing, the foolish boy I But he has made friends with ’me now. They do seem such children, do they not, compared with old folks like you and me I” What was it in the tone orvthe words which made her feel not in the least vexed, nor once attempt, to rebut the charge of being “ old P” ' ~ E‘I’ll tell you what it is,’.’ said Robert Roy, with one of his sage Smiles, ‘ ‘ you must not go and vex yourself needlessly about trifles; We should not» judge other people‘by ourselves. Ev- ery body is so different. Dalziel may make his way all the bet— ter for having that pretty creature for a wife, not but what some other pretty creature might soon have done just as well. , Very few men have tenacity of nature enough, if they can not get the one woman they love, to do without any other to, the end of their days. But don’t be distressing yourself about Our girl. Davidraoisll-kehera very good husgnd. , They Wil be'ghappy‘ 4 enough: even though, not very rich. ” . ‘i Does that matter much 3” . , v . J‘I used tothinlr. so- I had so sore a lesson of poverty in my youth, thatitgave .merm almost morbid terror of it, not for myself, but. for any woman I cared for. - Once I would not have "done-es Dalsiel- has done forthe world. NowI. have . . r room is just a trifle dull, isn’t it, Dalziel? And, Miss Williams, your parlor looks so comfortable. Will you let me stay?” He made the request with a“ simplicity quite pathetic. ' ' One of the mbst lovable things about this man—is it not in all men? was—that with all his shrewdness and cleverness, and his having been knocked up and doan t ,6 world for so many years, he . still kept a directness and simpleness of character almost child- like. ‘ i To refuse would have been unkind, impossible ; so Miss Wil- liams told him he should certainly stay if he could make himself comfortable. And to that end she soon succeeded. in turning off her two turtle-doves into a room by themselves, for the use of which they had already bargained, in order to “ read to- gether, and improve their minds.” Meanwhile she and Helen tried to help the two little boys to spend a dull holiday indoors ———if they were ever dull beside Uncle Robert, who had not lost his old influence with boys, and to those boys was already a fa- ther in all but the name. ' . ‘ .. ' Often had Fortune watched them, sitting upon his chair, hanging about him as he walked, coming to him for-sympathy in everything. Yes, CVerybody' loved“ him, “for therewas such an amount of 10ve in) him toward every mortal creature, except—~. ' ‘ _ r . .~ f She looked at him-and his boys, thenturned‘ away; What was to be had been, and’always would be. That which we fight against in our, youth as being human will, human error, in our age we take humbly, knowing it" to be the will of By-andsby in the little household the gas was, lighted, the curtains drawn, and the two lovers fetched in for tea, to behave ,themselvesasmuch as they could like ordinary mortals, ingem eral society, for the‘rest of the evening. ' A verypleamn‘t ing it was, spite of this new element ; which Was of as much as‘possible by means of the window recess, where }s- netta and Davidencamped composedly, a little aloof the changed my mind. At says-ate, David will, not haveone «misc» rm fortune, to Conteiid with. He has a thoroughly good opinion ' ' of himself; poor fellow! He will not suffer from that horrible self-distrust which makes some men let themselves drift on and on with the tide,.instead of taking the rudder into their own hands and steering straight ova—direct for the haven where they would'he. Oh, that I had done it I” Bespoke passionately, and then sat silent. At last, mutter- ingsometlung about “begging her pardon," and “taking a liberty,” he changed the conversation into another channel. by asking whether this marriage, when it happened—which, of course, could not be just immediately—~would make any dimer- ence to her circum . ' » Some difi'erence, she explained, because the girls would re— ceive their little fortunes whenever they came of age or married, and the sisters would not like to be parted; battles, Helen’s money would help the establishment Probably, whenever David married, he would take them both away; indeed, he had said as much. ‘ ’ ‘ “ And then shall you stay on here i” A, “ I, may, for I have a small income of my own; besides, thereon your two Little boys, and I might find twoor three more. But I do not trouble myself much about the'future‘.‘ One is certain, I need never work as hard-as I have done all my life.” “ Have you worked so very hard, then, my poor—--” He hell the sentence unfinished; his hand half extended, was drawn back, for the three young people-were seen coming down the garden, followed, by the two boys, returning from their classes. It was nearly dining-dime, and people must dine, even though in love; and boys mm be he _ to their School work, and all the daily dutiésof lithmest he one. Well, perhaps, for many. at us. that such shouldber ' "I think it was as wen for poor Fortune Williams. ' . , I a. ’ .— . {The girls inset Masaryk“ one either are uncommonotfit ‘3. spring. and it seemed likel to last all day- Mfr 09" thefmdmrst it. f n ’ I v , p I ~ In wee er like this our hotel coffee it , e m. 2”“ i ,v, I, ' “Ihope they don’t mind me, ” said Mr. Roy, an amused glance in their 'direétion, and then adroitly manteuvring with the back, of his chair so as to interfere as little aspassible with the young couple’s felicity. ' i 5' r . “Oh, no, they don’t mind you at all,” answered Kellen, at. ways affectionate, if not always wise. ' “ Besides, I' say, you yourself were young ones, Mr. Roy.” : x - ' “Evidently Helen had no idea of the plans for'h‘er'future which were being talked about in St. Andrews *Had he? No person. He retired‘behind his newspaper, and said not-shine gle word. . . ‘ ' ’ ' Nevertheless, therewas no cloud in the atmosphere. body was used to Mr. Roy’s silence in company; and he never look or a harsh word. He was so comfortable to live so unfailingly Sweet and kind. ‘ x » ' Altogether there was a strange atmosphere of peace in the say very much. Now and then Mr. Royread aloud hits out of his endless newspapers-he had a truly masculine for newspapers, and used to draw one after another wtof his . eta, as endless as a conjurer’s pocket-handkerchiefi . And e liked to share their contents with any body that would listen ; though I am afraid. nobody did listen much. might except Miss Williams, who sat beside him ather sewing, in order to get the benefit of the same lamp. And his readings he often turned and bolted at her, her‘bent head, her smooth soft hair, her busy hands. j x . 2 Especially after one mtenoe, Out of the “ Varieties” Gimme Fife newspaper. . ’ den , but finished it. ' itmdefiafifin‘lfyulof; words; “H m 3W3 par 1,, M, 1:, ,’, 3. “m; m; Max:553 awranssmrm~ Tharistruei'?_ , ‘ Ho. '_ only/these threefrmda’ine-«a veryloew mafia, i 'Hi-lmk‘ahedid not . it~—- use rm ' , rmuinig'it seem "poss‘ib ‘ ‘ eliesomeone.tofistare earth a thing" as day” one could even speculate with such an exceedingly We ‘ troubled any body, not even the children, with either a gloomy teenage that evening, though nobody seemed to doany thing‘or L He had begun to read it, then . ;,"‘®8.¥¢Ptis"darksm I m‘ a ,. ' l; as 1‘24 L THE LAUREL BUSH. About nine 9. n. the lovers in the window recess discovered that the haar was all gone and that it was a most beautiful moonlight nigh ; full moon, the very night they had planned to 'go 'in a body to the top of t. Regulus tower. ‘ “I suppose they must ” said Mr. Boy to Miss Williams adding “Let the young folks make the mosltI oatheir youth; it will never come again.” ‘ 0 “And you and I must go too. It'will be more comma it out as people say." So, wit a alf-regretful look at the cozy flre, Mr. R0 marshaled the lively party, Janette. and David, He andthe two boys; e ing to get them the key of- that silent garden 0 graves over whch St. Regulus tOWer keeps stately watch. How beautiful it looked, with the clear sky shining through its 0 en arch, and the brilliant moonlight bright as ay aimless, but softer, floodin every alley 0 that peace- ful'spoti ‘It uieted even he noisy rty who were benton climb ng the tower, to ca a view, such as is-rarelyfigglualed, of the picturesque old city and its been bay. ' “A ‘eomfortablelglace to sleep in,’ as some one once said to me in a elbourne churchyard. But ‘ east or west, homeis best.’ I think, Bob, I shall leave it in my will that you are to bury me at St.“ Andrews." / “Nonsense, Uncle Robert! You are not to talk of glue. But on areto come with us to the top of e tower. r Williams, will you come too?” 5‘ No, I thhk she had better not, ” said Uncle Robert, decisivew." “ She will stay here, and I will keep her 80 the young 16 all vanished the tower and the two elder tilled silentl aidng side by the quiet graves—by the hearts w ch h ceased heat- ing, the hands which, however close they lay, would s ,never c one another more. “Y Andrews is a pleasant £1 " said Robert yet last. “1 its in jest, ut meant in ; I have no to leave it sin. And yous" he added, seeing that she answe not ' -_— ‘w at have you? Shall you stay on at he ' . these oung people are married?” " , , likely. e are all fond of the little house. " “Nowenden They say a wandering life after a certain, number Wears, ninettles a man forever; he , rests ' goes on wandering to the end. ' But free! the contrary. I think permanen mammal. Youwfliletme come about your Guangzh‘ like a tame cat,’ as that foolish fellow ' calledme-wlllynu not!” Butat "lune-time she felt there wasa'strain a which she could v .. . n bear. ohesonear, ye sofar' so much to him, and yet so little. She esire to run away some- -was , ofawildd “an t l t w . _, w escape :0 a ongin, g o. bed ‘andkam the sea, up away among all a. voilce he turned to 5003311”, an that, , was eadily e, an verlng * will” ' r I: ' ins ‘., or:_.,oumu‘comeuer V griddedés ‘ say and I‘willtake‘ygfi me at once. Boys," he caller“)qu the , ' now _ like jackdaws at t e top o the “a mean. m... “minimises giggalight made.’ "‘Tiiey. must all ‘ «I mean “Wig young people], be very long, do .you ask totake care of on." v . 1 . , y he did, wrapping her was in the half of his laid,drawmg her head under his arm and holdi it Eben—how it close and warm at his heart all he ‘ and ‘ sthe Links; scarcely- ana _ is wordwuntil they reached the gar- en “the there he held it still. if myour girls coming, so I shallleave you. You are warm now, are you not?” it H « . . “ I ht then. Stay. Tell me ”-—he spoke rs .' ‘ with much agitation-r“ tell me ust one \ amid: wfilhnever‘trouhle on again. ydid you not were letter I wr ‘ to you seventeen . use” ' ' ' FM 2 . . . “Mover » letter. it never had one. word from ' ll] , ll, you bade ine good-by, p u: w" ' s . And did firms,” 11 he passionately“ ,“I Rested u with my own 11%. You should have got outlie'Puesdaymorni .” _ ' v r . _‘ _ the urelbush, that fatal laus rel bush, and a few breathless Words told him what, Bevin hedsaid aboutthe hidden letter; . ‘ It must have begs my letter. Why did you not ‘ tell the this before? ‘ “flow could 1?: I never knew you, had written. You never said a word. In all these years you have “a eagleword." .. -.~ , I _ , bit y he turned away. The groan that, , In—aman’s groan over his lost life-40st, not w through ate alone-was such as she, the ‘ , w Winn had been sorrow, passive sore edgy forgot in all her days nemdenennmmm” ,-ihensaid: “Have you no idenwlm was in the letter?” is or v / v' ‘ WTWJ’ va'gwfiA . ‘ Visit may whispered—whens mud in ' ’ 5+ lrhadrdeter- i fatalit came over her. Alas! these lost ears, that m ht ave been Such hap yyearsl At th she ‘ faintly, “Forget it. t was not your fan t.” ; “ _t was my fault. If not mine, you were still, yourself-J ought never to have let you go. I ought to have aske again: to have sought through the whole World till I found you again. And now that I . have found you—J’ “ Hush! the girls are here.” fl‘hey came along laughing, that merry grou —— Wlth' whom life was at its spring.who had ost nothing, knew not what it was to lose! ' , “ Good-night,” said Mr. Roy, hastily. “ But— to-morrow morning?” H Yes. 1! “ There never is a n'iaht to which comes no mom,” says the proverb. ich is not always true, at least as tovthis world; but it is true sometimes.” That April morning Fortune Williams rose with a sense of strange so'lemnlty—neither sorrow nor joy. Both had gone by; but they had left behind them a deep peace. . A ter her young gople had walked themselves off, which they di mediater after breakfast, she attended to al her household duties, neither few nor small, and then sat down with her needle-work be- side the open window. It was a lovely day; the birds were singin , the leaves budding, a few early flowers_making a the air smell like 5 ring. And she—With her it was autumn now. e knew it, but till she did not grieve. ' Presently, walking down the garden walk, almost remembered iti—Ro y game; but it was still a few minutes before she could go into the little par— lor to meet him. At last she did, entering softly, her hand extended as usual. He took it also as usu and then looked down into her face, as he had done that Sunday. f‘ Do you remember this? I have it it for seventeen years." . was her mother’s ring. She looked up with a dmnb inquiry. , “M love did you think 1 did not love you—you alwa s, an Only you?" ‘ So , e opened his arms; she felt him close them around her, just as in her dream. they were warm living arms; and it was this war (1, not 4 the nest. All those seventeen bitter years seemed amt am, annihilated in a moment; she laid her 9h on shoulder and-wept out her happy heart * t l t '1' ' t . O The little world. of St. Andrews was v much astonished _ when it learn. ed that Mr. nfiy gsgoini to m , not one of the pretty Miss oseleys, bu their 1 , ad andformer governess a lady, not by any means young, and remarkable for nothin ~ except great sweetness and geod sense , which ma e ova-{body respect and like her, thong no ' muc excited concerning her. Now peopleha been exoitedaboutlfr. Renaud some were rather so ‘ for him; thought Bethaps hehad been taken in some story of i ving bee , attachme , ’&W,Wes?edh&iem ofco ‘ stii ;' the good olks werehalf him. , and old maid when e might have 11 his choice .0! a (loser: young ones! when, with his fortune and character. he mtg t, as We so. - as theyhadssidof that other good‘man, r. Mose ey .e“have-m.ari'iedan bod 1": ’ ,’ ‘ They forgot that . was one of those men to whom he woman, whether foundearl for, alas! in this found early and won ie—is the - one woman in the world forever. Poor Fortune-— ‘ rich Fortune she need not be afraid of her fading cheek her silvaiflnghairihe would never see either. )The things he loved "her for were quite a , ,from’ . anything that youth could either give or , e away. Ashlie said once..an she lamented hers, “Never ‘m. d,,;iet it go. ‘ You will always. be yourself-east! «1111118. . - l s « ' 5 This wase o ._ He loved hen: ‘He aiwa s loved her; audit ‘ y he; 1italiltghfully to the eddi ,_ e ,wasav .uetw anus one. -“Wh should thgryga‘t? they 135d waitegeggg long _ .,” he sai ,-wtth some bitterness. But she feltnone. With herall was ace. ~ - r. fey. mfimther ve foolisclli, gingwihiiggl 'I wanna so ‘recemmen » , v e: aged bac elor. marrying his wigs? he mar- ried her whole family , of the difliculty, and neither of them was inc ed to be content with hep iness, leaving duty unful- ' filled. So he took the l st house in St. Andrews, and brou ht toil: Janetta‘ and Helen, till. David Dal- slei them: likewise hi boys,_.. until t went to Oxford; for he meant to send-them w “513' if“ "u: h'te'ogen’ family can 9 “waste. era e r eons ' bu the twofheass of it here their burdentwith‘ at 'thosin‘l “that 1‘ tO’ha . life huts-a" 43°" m m 3...... E a n‘ ' eygrew, j rt v - ‘mi L ‘ “ad .346 to Heavfn “ m‘ tom p n‘s summeralmost - 'I.’ _ were?»beth...t® wise .80 m V W‘ to. Even, the n m m >1 3 with the same firm step of years ago—how well she ‘ bent Bo was twiud uan‘fol " who have 9 particular '6 rate marry “anybody,” la e— 8- , .58 The Enos Miss. . Mrs. need. Crocus .. g8AI’C’1,Imv1i;’s“hintslé B Rachel no fear butthgthe would love 3 ' y 'Je “I” ; , . here; and bring them up in every ,' i :na cheerfulness sale som mes r' 31% a e w’ihchtaa the, iméstgshadow pt Still, foralo time there_ lay at the bottom of? that strong, gen 1e heart of his a kind of romorsetull tenderness, which showed itself in hes. ing his wife with every luxury that his Wealth co (1 bring: betw ter than all, in surrounding her with that unceasing' care which love alone teaches, never allowing the wind to blow on her too roughly—his “ poor lamb,” as hfi sometimes called her, who had sun ered so muc . v They are sure, humanl speakin , to " live very happy to the end of theyir days.'5 And I almost fancy sometimes, if I were to o to St. Andrews, as I he to‘do many a time, for fem as fond of the Age City as they are, that I should see those two made one at last, after all those cruel divided years, wandering together along the sunshiny sands, or standing to watch the ay golfin parties; nay, I am not sure that Robert woufii not be viable sometime in his red coat, clu in hand, crossin the Links, a victim to. the universal insanity 0 St. Andrews. yet enjoying himself, as golfers aIWays: seem to do, with the enjoyment of a very boy. She is not a girl,far from it; but there will be a l- ish sweetness in her faded face till its lastsmile. d. to see her sitting besxde her husband on the green slopes of the pretty olden—knitting, perha while he reads his etern newspapers—is a pe cot ic- ture. They do not talk very much; indeed, t s were neither of them ever great talkers. But see knows the other is close at hand, ready for an need-v ful work, and always ready With that alien sym—v pathy which is so mysterious a thing, the rarest. hing to find in all human lives. These have found’ it, and are satisfied. And da by day truer grows. the truth of that sentence w ch Mrs. Roy once ,dis» covered in her husband’s pocketbook, cut out of a. newspaper—she read and replaced it withouta, word, but with something between a smile and a tear-—-“ 17mm loos is passionate old love “fad ad '- but the very tegtderest thing in. all his world is 3mm. returned." . . ' use no. .: averlgL. 96 Wrrnoor A 'Hmnr. By Col.’Preutiss?Ingrabam' .. ? By fienrietta Thackeray” 27 Was Sun a , 28 SYBIL Cases. Mrs. Ann S. Ste hens.- 29Foa HmDm n. BySamClhxtoa- . 80 Tea Bovqmrr Gran. BfiAgile Penna. 31 A Mm MARRIAGE. B aryA. Dennison. ~ 82 MIRIANNA, m 01014. BEA. Southwertha. 3 Tan: Tunas SISTERS. ,By Alice eming. 84 A Manner or Convenience Bymciaxton. 35 spear. B " as 87 38, as 40 , 41 .42 ' 33” labde 1th. . e a u we '50: saunas. Byfirs. Alienation- 51 Two Yours Gram. By Alice Fle . 52 Tnn'WncemMsssmenx. ‘By .R.CroivelL. 53 Anne Hors,mAe , W ~ , ‘ Moss Womb HEART. », :1 :3 «Bus DID Neréyiovulim. . By m.- Geor es. Kama, , , A. uthworth. WilliamMason {artisan-1)." - Alice Flemin Love-Mm. 57 A 13am: GIRL. 61A W1 IDHEAM‘, ,3 Sara I» 62TH cBnms. h M := 63 Tau Canons Sismss. §y Mrs. MerJmo n s :3 ' - usv m. ‘ . I .r 65 Tm: Wm's SECRET. Bye?)th ' Bernhard ‘ . ' , A Bao'rnnn's 8m. .By. ohd , t.. ' Foasmnns BANS. 'By Arabella Southworth. fiSWISAVERG. Wm. B madam“, .2 There wasno’otherwa out A69 CAM finamdnflm ‘ . 7i MYYo eWm- 7 yY. ,Iii'e’ mm. 72 THE T353 Wmowséfiy Annie homes? _ , 7:1 23:32: Mxonnn. Bzyngaade Hill‘gn. ' - V a. 0mm. , AGE. outdo. . 73mm Buck wires Dom. = B J. 8. fella-nu. Cnnismu Gum’s Mrsmx . B ‘ are! ‘ "John Hawaii, Gentlemang’ ' y ~ ‘- ~ ire M2 some Husmn. B -.. 79A, . yMyseR . up... “was? WW». it ,~ r " Has, Abanmmmmr w I 39-an Tum; ' , 82 Long LA i a email? Halifax, Gentleman): .- Aswan" 1. By om is!!!“ $ m ‘ ' ‘ ' ’ ‘ if is . , ,86 W’s-Wm: 33%! _. . i ,r ,