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1:16. 83. VOL. IV.

PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y.

PRICE, 5 CENTS.

 

Playing for High Stakes.

BY ANNIE THOMAS.

CHAPTER I.
Miss TALBOT COMES nous.

Tunas was very little light left in the sky on the cold, murky January night
on which this story commences. The moon was young and easil over-
shadowed, and though the first watch of the night was given to the “ re planet
Mars,” he kept it unseen b the citizens of London. Fog, in fact, reigned
supreme when the ' 1 who 3 to play the first part in this drama got_ out of a
respectable-locking rougham at the door of a tall house in Victoria $treet,
Westminister, and prepared to enter it, and upon the career through which we
shall follow her. .

The broad blaze of light which fell out to meet and welcome her, as it were
dazzled her for an instant as she went up the steps and into the hall—a hall
that, in the language of advertisements, was really of palatial proportions and
up from which a spiral staircase curved away into space. A fire burned in a
huge stove in the center, and a burly porter sat in a huge chair by the door of
this hall. Altogether there was a discomposing air of magnitude about every-
thin that waso’gpressive to a tired traveler who found herself in London for
the rst time in er life.”

“ I am Miss Talbot; can I have come to the ri ht house?" she, asked.
of a grim-looking servant in ray livery. who h come out on the step 0 meet
her. And he conveyed to er mind the fact that she had come to the right
house; that it “ would be well for her to walk up stairs; and that master would
be home to dinner in half an
hour," in the low tones and suc-
cinct manner of well-trained servi-
tude.

Co-existent with the op ression,
there had been a sense of e ation at
the size and splendor of this home
to which she had come. But the
elation vanished as she mounted
flight after flight of the broad, cold,
clean stone stairs; and it was borne
in upon .her mind, through the
agency of several brass plates on
several doors, that many families
were resident in this mansion; and
that it was a fair pedestrian feat to
mount from the street door to the
topmost “flat,” Where her brother,
to whom she had come home, dwelt
in bachelor freedom and comfort,
which he was about to break up for
her sake.

Elation was her portion again
when she came into the brightly-
lighted, thickly-carpeted hall, and
caught glimpses, through the 0 en
doors, of several luxuriously- ur-
nishedvrooms. There was an at-
mosphere of more than comfort
over the home Edgar Talbot had
prepared for his sister. There was
refinement, elegance—“ warmth and
00101?” top—or she, with her warm
and 810W tastes, would not have
sympathized With it all so suddenly
as She did, even while walking along
leisurely to the room that was at
once pomted Out to her as hers, and
seeming to glanca carelessly about

er.

She enjoyed it all with such a
hearty, oung, strong a preciationl
Enjoye it for itself, “'1 hout giving:
much thou ht to the pos31ble motive
which had rought it about. For a
few minutes, as she stood between
two subtlely-adjusted glasses that
reflected her own perfect fl re and
all the delicate ap ointmen s of the
room, she forgo that a brother,
whom she had never seen to re-
member, was coming home to din-
ner in half an hour. Then she re-
minded herSelf of it and the old
“388 about first impressions; and
then she went on to attire herself
for the meeting, with all the kindli-
gfflénggim'ies ofi lgiin which she

Beet an

mg]:  n y reorganizing
. 9'0 'been little lot little
incident little action in or 'life as

et~ 'I‘Wenty years she had

on left (a baby of two to the care

uickly, -

 

l

 

of an old maiden aunt of her mother‘s. The latter had lapsed out of her life
soon after the death of her husband; who in turn had died after a feeble wrestle
with fever in Calcutta leaving four children, for whom he provided as follows:

To his eldest son, E gar Talbot, he left the whole of his business and personal
property, charged with the following legacies and bequests, viz.:

To his widow £150 per annum only, “ because her tastes were simple, and
more would be unnecessary."

To Lionel Talbot, his second son, five thousand pounds, and a recommenda-~
tion to go into the army when he should be old eno h.

j To lMarion Talbot, his eldest daughter, one thousand pounds and her mother’s
ewe 3.

To Beatrix Talbot, his youngest da hter— not even so much as a mention.

There were many reasons assign at the time for this cruel and unjust
caprice, by people who knew noth rig about it. Men said that old Talbot must
have had ood cause for making suc an invidious exception with regard to the
bab Bea rix, and Mrs. Talbo heard the sayings id’silence, and bent her al-
reag bowed head still lower, and offered no one an e lanation. Hard words
and harder suspicions were bruited abroad, even in the days of her widow-
hood, about the pale, retty woman who had meek] borne the burden of being
old Talbot’s wife for lrteen or fourteen years, an who now could not be got
to declare that there was anythin unfair in a will that not only left her youn-

est child and herself paupers, bu that put them under a heavy cloud. Without

emur, or replning, or reproach, she accepted the position, ahd let evil tongues
wag unchecked, unehid, until her boys’guardians relieved her of their charge;
then she brought her daughters home to the house of her aunt in the English
country, and presently f ed away under the influence of the cloud which had
ngriflvefiiiici’mg" di had ed Mari f

e c ren s ar ans _ remov an rom that uiet old home at her

mother’s death. gut Beatrix had been suffered to remain Elm—there were no in-
structions about her. Marian went to
school and grew and prospered; and
at nineteen~flve or Six years before
the opening of this story—“ married
vet-{y comfortably,” every one said,
an she never contradicted them;
and, together with the rest of the
Talbots, concurred in forgetting the
little outcast down at Stoke Basing
—who had. meanwhile, develope
from the baby Bee into a beautiful
girl, known as Miss Talbot through-
out the country-side. A girl from
whom the shadow cast by her
father’s neglect was lifted as soon as
she was looked upon. A bright,
brave, thoroughbred creature, who
had grown into every feminine grace
without care or culture, or consider-
ation from the brothers and sisters
who were but names to her.

When their mother died, the £150
which had been left by the Calcutta
merchant to his widow for life, was
still, by the clemency of the man-
agers of Edgar’s fortune, remitted
guarterly for the benefit of the child,

or whom no provision had been
made. The same arrangement con»
tinued after Edgar attained his ma-
jority, and took matters into his
own hands. On this £150 Beatrix
was a Brincess among the people of
Stoke asing. It prov1ded her with
every comfort: more—with every
luxury she had ever heard. As a
child, it gave her a pon , and music,
and dancin and-drawmg lessons——
“ the best t e ne hborhood afford-
ed,” her aunt, old 155 Lennox, was
wont to assert. As a grown-up girl,
it gave her freedom from the mis-
eries of small economies, a riding-
horse and little basket haeton- a, ,
considerable power of re ieving the
want and squalor which abounded
in that flourishing agricultural par-
ish and a certain independence
which showed itself in a bright
chee toleration for whims an
_ ueru ous manifestations of author-
: y, which would have been irk—
some to the oint of non—endurance
had the gir not felt that it was
within her power to break her bonds
at any time. 0 ,

For Miss Lennox was not at all
the ideal aged relative of romance.
She was a hard-mannered, good.
conscientious, narrow Aminded WO-
man, who, though she Would halve
charged herself with her niece 's'chlld
at any cost and under any circum-
stances, never failed to count the

'  7‘ /.‘ /
THE BANK OF

 

 

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PLAITING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

former and bewail the latter as among her many crosses.
There was compensation in the conviction Miss Leno:
had that these (the crosses) were giving her a high place
among'the elect of Stoke Basing. And there was con.
solation in the reflection that the cost would have
been greater, and the circumstances more lamentable,

had Beatrix had nothing a year of her own instead 01”

160.
On the whole, it must be confessed that it was merely ‘

the sorrow of surprise and uncertainty—merely the
shock one feels at any long-continued habit of living
being abruptly rent asunder, which Beatrix Talbot ex-
perienced when old Miss Lenox died. The great dif-
ference the event would make in her life did not present
itself to her mind. She was conscious, vaguely, that it
would necessitate some alteration in her mode of liv-
ing. She would want fewer servants and a smaller
house; shewould want some one to, spend the long
winter evenings with her;.and~—~there her plans became
wavy, and she felt that she would need to consult some
friend, and knew that she had none whose counsel she
could care to take.

But before the funeral day came Beatrix was relieved
of the responsibility of herself. Her eldest brother,
Edgar, wrote to her and oflered her a home with him in
words‘that read'like an order. She was to go to him as
soon as she could convenientl ' pack up her personal
belongings; and she was “ to’ lieve that henceforth
her happiness and welfare would be the chief objects
in life 0 her afi‘ectionate brother,

_ ‘ ' I “EDGAR Tanner.”

She was very glad to believe that, or any thin else
that sounded ind in those early days of the dose ation
that always sets in after the death. of any one-- lad to
believe it, and anxious to go up and verify it. 8 is was
on the point of doing the latter (she hoped) when we
parted how her just now. ,

She had done away with every trace of travel-stain
and weariness when she came out of her room in re-
sponse to a communication she received that Mr. Tal-
bot'wal waiting for her in the drawing room. It was
so natural to her to be cerent and fastidious. and to
study the becoming at all times, and she had never
felt the obligation upon, her to obey this natural in-
stinct so strongly as she did vto-night. “I should like
him to think me nice at once." she thought. as she
movedvalong to the meeting, alternately depressed by
the fear that her brother might find her rustic and un-
cultivated, for3 cheered by the memory of the last look
in the glass.

As she went into the room. a gentleman. a young
man of \nine-andowenty or thirty. came forward to
meet her. He kissed her on the forehead, hoped they

should get on well to ether, and then held her on to
gave; look at what he baby Bee had grown into," as
5!  O

x AsEdgar Talbot leaked down into the welbopened,

leafless eyes: as he marked the expression that swept
over her has as she felt the intensity of his observa-
tion—4m expression that was a quest combination of
blush, and frown, and smile—me read a portion of her
character, and recognised all her beauty. There was
plenty ofpride, plenty of self-possession, and lonty of
self-will in this country-nurtured sister of is. She
looked as if she could be very devoted and very defiant,
if she were called upon to be either. He liked her very
much already. Liked her for the cod looks that would
surely make her remarkable: lik the turn other head
and the tone of her clear full voice; liked her for being
unmistakably a gentlewoman, that even his fastidious
tute could and no fault With anything save the density
of her mourn ass.

Therhznwas ii ' e {Likeness tgetvieen thgm; gilt], died
you pared ritbyv e nowege a ey
were  and sister, a taint resemblance would
have made itself manifest.

’ ~ fiomquiet in manner, quiet in voice, quietin style.
Beatrix, to when his occupation in life was as un-
known as his local habitation had been before this day,

' put him down for a follower of one or other of the sage
A:  of law or physio. He had very much the

, to home! one who was wcntto ve advice and to

 it ta! . His tones—though h voice was low
 unmarkedby inflection—were quick, mpt, de-
’ he Journe

raided. Beatrix had been accompanied on

’-  {born Stokellasingby anticipations of libortyigg h -
er

1 fraternity. Those mticipations fled as he
in to ; inner. and planted her on a chair at the head. of
an is, and general] took care and command of her.

Gradually, as the inner went on, Edgar Talbot
evoked some old memories about their father and mo-
ther; and their old home in Calcutta, that had the ef-
fect of ' making Beatrix feel that, once upon a time,
there had been a link, however slight, between them.

“ I can just, sndonly just, remember momma," Bea-
trix said, in :- use.
can remember er, from having heard Aunt Leno: talk
about horse much. Her hair used to be loose and soft

and to hang over her faces ood deal.” .
“ i have no doubt it did," alga: answered, ssavision

- of‘witat used to strike his tigh , nest young mind as

4 untidiness’in his mother crossed his memory. "Marian
is very like her mother; she will be here to see you to-
morrow." - '

"And Lionel i“ . ‘ t .

“Lionel willooma‘in byond by, I Iaskedhim todine
with no. but he is veg much engaged just now with a
W a; his who is , .” ‘ '

gifts; like-Marian an? £01332”»Ev _ r
 ,‘schnnfinswmsn.- a, cry ‘,
 nothing to do with her is Quitodelightod 
 fist you will have much,‘ to with”,

 

“WI-dou’tlo’okupoa life is} 
Warsaw Ikaowhiaato'ba one of 

5

 

' swered.

“ It may be only that I think I ,-

 .r/znucywv

     

mien a ‘ imym‘pomato 
Ari-«f, _,, ,~ , "on , ,, - u . '
 mtg-eves ‘ _, 

 

 

And, for the first time, there was a touch of feeling in U

Mr. Talbot’s voice. .

“ He is in the army, is he not ? ” Beatrix asked.

“ In. an army the ranks of which are rather too
crowded for there to be much chance of speedy pro-
motion. He is an artist, and a clever one, too."

" And now tell me about Mr. Sutton, Edgar." Beep
trix said, calling her brother by his Christian name for
the first time.

“ Mr. Sutton is—Marian’s husband. His mission in
life is to be always on the look-out to save hiswife from'
the consequences of her own folly, and to do it without
being detected. For a few weeks you will be very much
with Marian. I am sorry to say it is unavoidable ;
and I tell you again that you must be careful with

er.”

“ It is almost impossible to put you on guard against
the” precise form of mischief she may, work. Once ac-
cept the fact of her being false, even when there is not
the remotest poesibility of her gaining any thing by it,
and you will be all right. You will soon be indepen-
dent of her. I have secured on unexceptionable chape-
ron for you."

“ Will she live here l—with us ?” Beatrix asked, in a
dismayed tone.

“ Of course she will live here," Mr. Talbot replied,
laughing. “ My dear girl, you did not imagine that, in
our position, you could be left to take yourself into so-
ciety, did you " ,

“ Shall I not go with you, Edgar? I really know no-
thing about it, remember, only I thought "-——av '

“ That you could live a life of picturesque indepen-
dence in London. No, no ; you will soon see the advan-
tage as well as the necessity of having Mrs. Lyon with
you‘ll

For a few moments. Beatrix struggled against the
conviction that she should not soon see either the ad-
vantages or the necessity of the invader; then, even to
herself, .she seemed to conquer it. It was flattering
that her brother should have such a high sense of
what was due to her, that he seemed bent on using all
the precautions in his power that might aid in placing
her well. Or was it a high sense of what was due to
himself only? She had no time to consider the ques-
tion, for, immediately as it arose. Mr. Lionel Talbot
was announced, and her store of family interests and
feelings was at once increased. .

Her heart went out affectionately to this second bro-
ther on the instant, as, just placing a hand on Edgar's
shoulder in' passing, Lionel came up and greeted her
with a loving kindness that brought her nearer to him
at once than she ever could be to Edgar, she felt. He
looked as ‘he was, several gears the junior of Mr. Tal-
bot. There was still a goo deal of boyish irankness in
his face, and boyish fervor in his manner, and boyish
freshness in his heart.

He was a bright-hearted man, who unconsciously im-
pressed others through the agency of the inborn trust
he had in truth in every conceivable form. The son-
timent Edgar had expressed was a very general one
about Lionel Talbot. " Lionel and I don’t look upon
life in the same wt ; but for all that I know bimto be
one of the best fe ows that ever breathed," was the
unspoken thought of most men whose ways of life were
much with the young ainter who was playing for
high stakes almost unwi ugly; ‘

“ Affectienate as he is to me, and honestly glad as he is
toseemo, I wonder he never found me out at Stoke Ba-
sing.” Beatrix thou ht. Then she worded her wonder—-
his clear blue eves, is open brow, and the smiling lips
which'the yellow mustache partially concealed, invited
confidence. '

“ I have spent my life in Germany and Italy," he an-
" I only came to England a month ago, Bea-
trix. I am almost as great a stranger to Edgar and Ma-
rian as you can be." , - - V

" What is ?" Beatrix asked, when Mr. Talbot
had been summoned to peak to some one on business.

" He is on the Stock Exc e." Lionel replied.

“ It's like gamblin , is it no 7" sheinterrogsted; but
Lionel only replied y putting ssong before her,_and
showing her how to sing it. ' .

 

CHAPTER II.
 surrou' I: mark.
" Mamas is going to call on you at two—she will take

youi’or a drive if you' will go,” Mr. Talbot said to his
sister the following morning, as she cams into the din-

ing-room. He was standing up with his hatinbis
hand. “I could not wait for you,” be ex 0., hur-
riedly. " You will not mind break!“ 3 alone, I

ho i” .
33h no—not this morning; but I'll get up in future.
and breakfast with you, Edgar."

-" Or perha you would rather have it in your dress-
ing-room? am often taken 1: a good deal withlet-
tars. Will you mind meeting arisn alone? Shall!
take you round to her house, and introduce you, or
will you wait for her hero.” 7

"I will wait for her here.” , ,

“ I'm led to hear you say so—glad that you didn’
feel all sdmpon , a sham sentiment abon it. W .
good-bye, dear!" e stooped andkissedlror. “Take
care of yourself.” ' > _ , ‘ r
" she put her hand on his shoulder team him,
«unanswered: ‘,  ' ' é _
"Myrna, Edgar. very much." j ‘

roa- «negro: me’so. ilikeiL—eiii Illicit .o‘

   
 
  

r _ do,
j . tussle-flatten:
can , ‘i- J :» ' y‘ 

   
 
 

     

 

. owing
‘ nothing of the kin .

 

 

 

“You don't want to get rid of me yet i" she asked
Iau hin . “ I had a vision, as I traveled up yesterday
of cap ng house for you, as Ruth Pinch 'did for her
brother.” ,

“ And of passing happy hours over. the construction
of asimilar pie to that immortal one that brought
about her ‘fate.’ as you would call it, I suppose? No;
you re not the Ruth Pinch or Dame Durden type of
woman, Beatrix—thank heaven for it 1”

He went away now, laughing and noddihg to her
gayer at heart and  gait than he had been for years.
There was something very enlivening to the keen
young business-man 1n the sight of that beautiful girl
sittiug‘there, leaning her elbow on the table, rating
her chin in her hand—~something enlivening in the
Sight Of Fer, and 183381114118 1n the recollection that
she was his sister. He had never had youthful com~
panionshi in his home before. There was a fair prom-
ise of goo refreshing interest in the presence of one so
full of the glory of life as he saw her to be. As he went
away be congratulated himself heartily. “ She has the
best gift that a woman can haVe—beauty—luckily for
agile tgought; alndd giefigeitl‘legected with pleasure

at rs. yon won all rin that a
well into the light of day. gins be my

“I hope ,what I have said to her will neutralize
any thing Marian may toll her about Blanche;
for Mrs. Sutton is safe to shoot her little bolt at ‘
Miss Lyon," he muttered, as he passed clear out
of the home atmosphere, on his way to a very
different one. .r Then 1 he -was soon joined by oth-
er men, and his mind becarhe absorbed in some
other tickets which he had dravvn or might draw
in the_lottery of life. He was aware of a sort of exult-
ation in his Own mind as he'lwent along—an exultation
that the majority of men must experience more or less
frequentl ——a sense of there being a great deal tobe

at out that portion ofhis life which was outside his

ome. Many of his ends could be furthered by his
sister Beatrix, if her will would 0 with bier-many
others were utterly beyond, entirely above(he almost
behaved) her aid and understanding.

Additionally, away in the most secret corner of his
heart, he had an interest that no one could share with
him—a hope that was ntiully bright and feverishly
warm, and that was at once the sweetest and most
painful element of his life-15, love that foughtwith
every determination and resolve he had ever made.
Up to the present he knew himself to be well fenced in
from a danger that was dear-to him; but in the Weak-
ness of over-reliance in his own strength, he was oing
to lay down his arms, open the gates of the citade , and
let in an enemy whom he believed to be unconscious
of her own prowess, and so innocuous. He had given
himself a great many beautiful reasons for this rash ‘
stop; he had called it duty toward atoo-lon neglected
sister.and earnest desire to see her so well bro ht
forward as to insure her own happiness and his
aggrandizement in the future. 'But when all the
beautiful reasons were given. and blindly accepted .by
himself, the truth remained. Es sighed nor: the ire-
agent fight of a woman who had stamped herself upon

so and made him love her—sighed, yearned.
thirsted for her presence, though he never meant to do
more than sun himself in it while he could; and knew
thatwhen it was withdrawn he should perish in the
chill which must ensue. And the woman he loved was
Blanche Lyon, for the sake of whose strange glances he
had secured, at an absurd outlay of time, money, and
falls reasoning, her mother's services as chaperon for
“it”? it 1: ‘

1 e sy were as aw: rapidly. Tm o’clock, and
the immediate prospect 0 Mrs. Sotton's call was upon
Beatrix before she had learned the rooms and rec ans
ized them, ashngtnenbwith talstle are sure to was to
no we. as eensoe thereolmofthen-
hole rer heretofore. y , P

Miss Talbot was not affected to the point of either
anxiety or enthusiasm by the anticipationofher sister’s

t. _
Still she was not insensible to the fact of there being
a , flush on her cheeks and 9. hr! hter'li ht inher
eyes In usual, when the door 0 and a y came
fluttering in—a lady with a sin . pale, fair face, which
was adorned with halfsclosed. large blue arch. and nut-
brown brows and lashes, and a grit littlefielicately‘
pointed, turned-u nose. Ind 9: We. Tanned. wide
mouth, over whio the most subtly-sweet smile played,
A lady with fascination 1x321! inscribed on every line-
ament; fascination that aged “the reasonin facul.
ties oi the majority who met her. and deadened ham to
the first keen irresistible impression ofherbeingafalse.
Werofifl, idangerlons oresid 
“ am aran,”s esa ,pntm h
meethervsister: “ and I am vs 3 :12:
there can be no doubt about your ng . '
Mrs. Sutton had a shrilly-sweet voice, and she had it
well under command too. It said little tmder things
about the joy this reunion th, Beatrix afforded her
very tenderly ; and little, sad, sealant-reprth
things about never havin known Beatrix before very
sadly. After those soft, c ear, pathetic inflections Bea-
trix a voice sounded deep and full in her own cars, as
she answered :
f‘ Never mind about the non-intercourse of the past
I 3 we must make up for it in the future. so
you're married 9 and I have stupidly gone unthinking
“Jim “ “ .9“ line 'na I agree 
~ wuamereo w on m _ ." i._8uttcn
replied, with a gorgeous disregard o the fact of her-
Mn v well that she had been“:
"1 women child a an I mar-8'
m, by me five years have made me a , , ’
fixes-ohm voice as she said it, ends: 
 seemed to‘be‘ ’ "

  
 
 

   

I),

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH smxrsfl‘

 

 

Tabot exclaimed, eagerly. The eagerness was as much
the result of her desire to check Marion’s tears as it was
to know more pf the other member of her family.

Marian lifted the graceful head, that was covered
with black lace and crimson roses and nut-brown hair
in a way that rendered it difficult to determine where
nature ended and art began, and shook out a gentle,
sensitive laugh, by way of recovering from the emotion
she had been displaying. 4 -,

“ I can’t bring it as a sacrifice, certainly, for I did it
with my eyes wide open; but I was very young, and
didn't know what I was undertaking to endure, and
Edgar—but I must be careful how I speak of Edgar to
you.”

Beatrix leaned forward in her chair, and clasped her
hands together, and wrung them hard in a mall ex-
citement. v

“Yes, you_must be careful," she said, ringing out
her words With a bright, proud decision that Mrs. Suto
ton (for all her subtle inflections) never knew. " You
must  careful—if Edgar has been to blame don’t
blame him to me; let me love him without a shadow of
doubt. He has been the one to bring me back to my
own—my own must not set me against him in ever so
smalls. degree."

"011. Trixyl ‘set you against him! Would I do it?
Why, I shrink trom doing what would be the greatest
comfort to me—talking over things with another
woman—a sister—because I won’t say a word about
Edgar that mi ht possibly make you think him less
kind than I’d 1i 0 you tothink him.”

“Marian I" ‘

It was only one word. But Beatrix Talbot uttered it,

and Marian Sutton heard it, and both these women

had a marvelous power of expressing and understand-
ing. There was reproach and condemnation for the
invidious onslau ht on a brother in a single word
which the one s star said to the other. And all the
reproach and condemnation was meant and felt.

“Then don’t ask me a word about my marriage,”
Mrs. Sutton replied, “but put on your bonnet and
come out for a drive with me."

" We are not likely to see many people I know in the
Park now,” Mrs. Sutton said, as they fell in with the
thin string of carriages—the speech might have been
made with egal truth atauytime of the year; but
this Beatrix dnot know. and so it sounded in her
ears as if all Mrs. Sutton's friends and acquaintances
were away at their res tivs country-houses, which
was preciselfi the way . Sutton wished it to sound
--“ so we wi only drive round and look at the Row.

The Bow was deserted, conse uently Beatrix neither
was not seemed to be impresse by it. "What a dull
_ lace to waste one’s time on horseback in 1" she said,
‘ caning forward to look u the vista, that is unques-
tionab y more striking in true than in January. “I! I
ride it will not be there." '

Mrs. Sutton laughed. “ y dear Trixy, if you ride it
vinyl}; tgere, and nowhere else."

, "Because Edgar will not consider you riding there a
“waste of time, and you will sogn learn that Edgar’s

wishes are not to be disregarded.

Mrs. Sutton sighed as she finished, and held her throat
straight, and bent her head slightly on one side, and
looked altogether as it she spoke trom sorrowful expo
fimfi’m of... t “no...” “film” 33““??? “d‘i.”°“mw°‘

ou spec e o, m e w 0
had brought about the excellent marriage of his oldest
flit“. whose fate seemed not altogether shadowless.

Mrs. Sutton recovered her spirits again, and. changed
the topic by asking:

" How do you like the idea of the Lyons coming to
live with you 7” »

“ The Lyons ‘I Am I to have more than one duenns l"
Miss Talbot asked. ‘

" Oh 1 Edgar has not mentioned Blanche Lyon to you,

v itth ?"

Marian smiled significantly, and gave her head a lit-

. itle shake, as iflldgar's reticenoo on the point had been

clearly forseeu by her.
“ No, not a werd; is she Mrs. Lyon's daughter ?”

"You," Mrs. Sutton answered; and the large blue
«eyes that she had ke t half closed all day opened and-
denlymns a light 3mm out from them—the cold,
clear, pitlless light of hatred. "Yes; Blanche is Mrs,
Lyon s daughter, and a precious pair they are. or

. will rue the day he brought them into his house; but

Foe would never forgive me for as in it to on so
you must keep that secret also for mye, xy; slid now
we will speak of saunter things: You slunonel

too) are to dine wi us to-m .
nel chmmg r, arrow mght Is not Lio-
" He is indeed l" Trixy answered. with a certain feel-

:in of Lionel being the only am foo h .
his”. " I long to see no mam???“ " ° “‘1 m m"

Mrs. Sutton laughed. " I long to see one, an i
a partitait' of myself that I want him to t1 
Academy this year; but ’10 u may my ther, and
does not seem snxiousto undertake a task that other
monhaveboggodflorssaboon." I ~

" Why did on refuse, if any one of them could have
don it as w I?" Trlxy asked. There was something
was hard to determine whether it was sublime or nay.
eulous, in the intense air of vanity with which has.

Sutton had made the assertion about the begging ma

“9., old rm? Wisdom taboos

  

.' dunno-caveman Imighthsvs

hmyrm posse."  in

 as! I 'mamdifi’
, 70' ,\ , y _

. . .. .Wmflmoneuowm.

’ '5

in the brig}: Bag" ter‘alr; working

GIG
' 1” sorbod him—" The Battle of the Bards «sputum into

. too-am: had been moans g

 

CHAPTER III.
muss DIPLOMACY. .

Tn house? to which Mrs. Sutton was driven after.
leaving her sister was a handsome, tall, heavily-porti-
coed house, out at South Kensington, just opposite to
the barren wilderness where the Exhibition of 1862
stood. The size ' and situation of the house spoke of
wealth—so did the carriage and dress of its mistress
and the number and orderliness of her servants—so did
the interior arrangements and furniture. They all
spoke of wealth—but of wealth not long possessed—of
Wealth that had not come by inheritance: everything
was terribly fresh—there was the glitter of recently-
made gold about it all. .

It was nearly six o'clock when Mrs. Sutton walked
into her house, and after looking at the cards and let-
ters on the hall table, and selecting three or four of the
latter for private perusal, asked if the master was come
home yet ‘9 On being told yes, she went on to a room
behind the hall, and into the presence of her husband.

He was lying back in a large arm-chair before the fire
when she entered, but he got up at her approach, and
pushed it back a little, for her to take a lower and more
comfortable one by his side. Standing up and smiling
a welcome to a woman whom .he worshiped, Mr. Sutton
was seen at his best. What that best was shall be told
briefly. ~

He was a short, thick-set man, with a large, fat, florid
face, surmounted by a quantity. of smoothly-brushed
straight, yellow-brown hair. His forehead was broad
and strong over the brows, and his eyes were of a cool,
steady gray, that would have betokened something like
fixedness of purpose and strength of will had they not
been contradicted by the loose expression of a large,
unwieldy mouth. He had been many things before he
became a successful speculator. But-under every phase
he himself truthfully averred that he had never been
mean or dishonorable; and Marian added that he never
had been and never would be a gentleman. ~

Indeed, at the'first glance, all the conditions which
must be fulfilled before a man has ' a right to that
proudest word of all, “ entleman,” stamped upon him,
were wanting in Mark utton. The son of a small
country-town tradesmen, without aclassical education,
the trick of manner, or the racious gift of a good ap-
pearance, he belonged clear y and unalterably to the
people. Yet for all that he had worked his way up to
dine with princes (only at civic feasts, certainly). and
to be the husband of a beautiful, refined, well-bred
woman, who never sun‘eredhim to forget that she was
I'Talbot.

“ Well, my Marian !" hessid. taking her hand kind-
ly, as she seated herself. “ You have been to your sis-
ter ; what do you think of the stranger ‘2” .

It was a habit of his to put what he knew to be the
one in the form at an assertion to his wife when
questioning her about her daily path. Ifhe seemed to
be sure ofa thing Marian was under less temptation to
tell astory about it. Under “ less tem tation," but
still not entirely free from it. For the ation of
falsehood wasstrongly upon Mrs. Sutton. and she rare-
ly told the truth—never. when she could avoid doing

so.

" Yes ; I have been with her at ’s all the time,
Mark," she answered, brightly. “ he is very pretty
now. When I have polished her u a little she will be
very perfect. I gave up my w e afternoon to her,
instead of going to Hortense, as I intended.”

" I have seen Ed or this afternoon; he seems to have
page very canal rate plans let his sister's com-

or ."

Mrs. Sutton shrugged her shoulders, and went away
to'dress for dinner soon after that.

It was not late—only about half-past nine o'clock-
when the lady was aroused from the corner of the little
oouchon which she had settled herself by the sn-
nouncement or “ Mr. Lionel Talbot and Mr. Bsthurst."

Frank Bathurst was the last person in the world who
would have been selected. by people who are not fond
of pairin others according to their own tastes. as the
friend of onel Talbot. It is true that they both loved
the same things; but they loved in such a widely dif-
ferent way that the manner of their worship ought to
have sundored their souls more effectually than reach
had bent before another shrine, and was a bigot about
every other form of faith. Frank Bathurst had
been left lord of himself and ten thousand. a year
when he was only nineteen. and, in defiance of the
bird's opinion to the contrary. he had not sound it a
heritage of woe. He was spainter and a musician. and
he spread out the power his money gave him in all
directions, like; polypus. in order to and the means
to further the aim he had; namely.to attain perfection
and gain theme in both these arts. lie had birth and
place; he was known as a man of ashion unculti-
vation——his good looks were a sure p rt to the
lover of every man and woman on whom he turned his

dsome face; and it was not enough for him. He
sighed to write some notes that should thrill some
world where V was not cherished—to point a pic-
turs that shoul tell some noble story: nob! to do
something good, and grand. and, above true.
The two men had cost in their lots other for a while,
and were working in a studio in bank athurst‘s house,
unremi y

a thing)
h alter Bathurst at a greatlpicture that oh-

 

hunt

the contemptuous overlooking it would be sure to re-
ceive at the eyes of the eager votaries of art on the first

> of May. .

It was the first time Mrs. Sutton had seen the man
whom she emphatically declared to be Lionel’s only re-
spectable friend. She had persuaded her brother to
bring Mr. Bathurst, under a promise of showing him a
certain quaint old line engraving of some scene of court-
ly confusion, which seemed to have much in common
with the one Mr. Bathurst was trying to depict irom
" Tannhauser.” '

And so they had come, as has been seen, and the en-
graving proved, on inspection, to be a snare and a delu-
sion, as for as the faintest possible resemblance between
it and the grouping of Mr. Bathurst's picture was con-
cerned. But, as she said, her “ stupid mistake prom-
ised to be the basis of an agreeable uaintance," for
Mr. Bathurst pledged himself to make one of the family
party which was to dine at Mr. Sutton's the following
day. “ Only a quiet little dinner, given in honor of the
return among us of my sister, Miss Talbot," she ex-
plained. And even while she was saying it she made up
her mind that she would not do as she hadiutended
doing before she knew that Mr. Bathurst would be with
them—go around to Victoria Street in the morning, and
suggest a charming toilette for Trixy, in order that
Trlxy might tell Edgar how considerate Marian was, and
possibly induce Edgar to feel that he had been unwise
in not trusting Miss Talbot’s future in'her married also
ter’s hands. A v

But it is time that Miss Lyon should come forward.

 

, CHAPTER Iv.’
BLANQBE.

’ " Dauan 8mm, Belgravia,” was theaddrsss which
Mrs. Lyon gave to all such correspondents as the do-
siredsto hear from. Her letters would have reschedhe'r
a post or two sooner had she surrendered the truth,“
permitted ‘- Pixhlico'" to appear on the envelopes. But
"Belgravia" looked better, and Mrs. {gen saw grad
cause for studying the look of things at . 'I

" Denbigh Street, Belgravia,’ is my temporary abode.
while my daughter is staying in the'country," she had
been saying in reply to all inquiries as todther her
house or her child during the last six months. But
now Blanche was coming back to her, a ehmgs'iwfls
about to be made; and Mrs. L on Iva-glans! tom
hopefully to a time when odgings and {faculties
about dinnersman overwhelming sense or utter 131's-
bility to keep; litter" in the “her-
self" should ' on less Mills: terms. ~' ' . .

Miss Lyon was expected home to dinner. She was to
arrive in town a few day-after Miss Talbot. and tube
told on her arrival ofthe plans that had been lot-med
for Miss Talbotfs welfare. Mrs. Lyon was to bother
mmmuniomt; and Mrs. Lyon, at the moment cilia:
introduction into these pages, was looking forward
tremblinglytoher task. -. .. ‘

She was a middlecaged, neutral-tinted mm
had always found herself less well placed in mm 
than she had confidently expected to be. and who yet.
withsl, had never expected much. She had gone
thro‘ggh lite obeying mild impulses that variably
ten tooonvey her further from fortune and all the
delights appertaining thereto than she had been before.
Yet all herreverses, all .her never-ending deeming:
upon some position still lower than the one she had
before occupied, had been powerless to wrinkle her
brow, or deepen the lines round the softlyomonldedm
thatched never been known to utter a severe ore
sen nee. -'

The nearest approach to a town that her brows 
ever known was upon them now. a she not between an
table and the tire-place, awaiting her. daugth ado ,
vent. She was sorely lexed and annoyed that
two or three things. The o let one was a message that
had been brought up wordily from the kitchen to fire
efleot that if Mrs. Lyon did not have her chicken
now that it was ready, it would be burned to a cinder.

" It may be Magi; up the instant mu Lyon was“ ‘
«not before." she answered. almost dopreostiugly:
andthenshchadgousoutogldntotbomt
whose usual manner was one o insolenos, '
enlivened by Minority, that, “Now Miss Lyon was
coming, things must be dlfl’sront: they really mint.
for Miss Lyon was most particular."

Presently Miss Lyon came. She washmdglvlng
directions about her 1 in the hall; than she
came running up stairs, and 1- mother advanced half
way to the door to meet her, and than fell back to alter
the situation of a salt-cellar, and then filtered
again, and finally involved herself with the door-handle

out as Blanche was coming into, the room: involved
smell in such a way the some hos on her alone,

caught in the key. and brought it to the floor with a
clatter that bewildered‘her.»and vented her losing
Blanche's outstretched hand. on Ms bent down to
and exploit:-

kiss her.
While Mrs. Lyonw extricath

mam”, it mate pauthat the ksyshould have m
“subjunctive and tozhgtegyW’m a
ype u t mother
may, to make do :- comfortable at once.
Blanche swept on into the full light of the . as
why the dre,lookinghsl£impatiently. half -

wummmumhummmm _.
.Ltgfiorthe lamphadu’evor mm on a trim:
‘3 »tbisone.8hehsdsM-thstwss v
oughttahcloudy,  in ‘

I

 

  

qr.

 

 

 

 

 

our anxious, thought across her rather low, square, clever
brow; the quick, clear tones that never lost their culti-
vation; the lithe movement that was never lounging;
the rapid esture that was always refined—all spoke of
suppresse flre—-—all made one marvel at her being the
daughter of her mother.

Rounded, but fine-drawn in figure, lacking in those large
proportions which made Beatrix Talbot such a glorious
type of woman, but with a grace that was all her own,
and'that was inferior to none; a grace that clothed each
action, making it seem the fitting thing to do; a grace
that came from perfect proportion, and from an artistic
appreciation ofall the powsr perfect proportion gives.
A woman—~in a wordy-possessed of that most “ gorgeous
cloak for all doflciencies’“-——an inimitable manner.

How- splendidly she stood the test of the strong light
after the long day’s travel! Standing there, her hands
_ “ in her muff still; Iner hat on her head; one well-bred,
i high-instepped little foot lifted up to the top bar, to
the detriment of the shapely boot that covered it; her
lon drapery falling away in graceful folds; and her
lit 8 delicately-pointed nose and chin held aloft in-
laughing contempt for the chaos she had created——
Blanche looked well worth any man’s love, and any wo-
man's envy.

,Blanohe had come home charged with good resolu-

.  Among others, she Was not going to suffer im-
‘ , ticnoe to o tsin for one minute 11 her heart against
he weak one who should have been her on port,

f_ (who in all things had to lean upon her. Ad tion-
, she was going to spend the three or four months'

0 day she meant to take in learning some language or
accomplishment which should ilt her to take some
better situation than she had hitherto held. The con-
sciousness of being fraught with good intentions came

 aid happily, and tided her over the irritating
half hour.“ confusion, complainin , and explanation

- which succeeded her advent. Mrs. you was a woman
. itle in ' of letting a fact s for itself. The
dinner was the dinner is apt be very late where

_ Wu: fun and one female servant reign alone.
’ ‘ 31inch could have borne this with composure, as she
. hadnctsother hopes on dining the moment she ar-
riysdl. What she found hard to beer was being told it,
' was intend why it was late—s stream of narration
"m"’“”‘ ‘3" “lift? “‘“n‘éfni’ it it” “"123”?
g o s on com: ng e nouns c-
 vmnfioned. It wss hard, very hard indeed, for
the who had a good heavy weight upon her, made
.up elm-sly thingsfic listen patiently to the tale of
v the' , grocers laxity, the butcher-boy’s poocadih
loss, and the servant's general ini uitios.
 ,"I donot mind for myself," . Lyon wound up
with.,-whan the wooded Blanche drew a quick breath
"  was at macho: a sigh as a sensible woman can
: ,vsyorfncrmitthlf to heave, and this not of impatience
“thymine ills towhich the livers on narrow in-
:  when. but at the mannor- of their recital—" I
do not mind formyself; I never expect to-be anything
. , .«baltrvo‘u'lsd’ and uncomfortable ; but I~wishrto mak
' ’ fyour home pleasanttoyou." ‘  _  - t
2;" ‘ ,. , “Thenymothor, let me do all the fault-finding,
 ' t panache answered, brightly. " ,You sit down and take

-thi):sleaefit.s‘< -  . .. .
s  ‘91 h i”; . Lyon said, shaking hex-head, and risin
 u laboriously to move two or three things that migh r
a fifth perfect propriety have remained where they were, ,
.3 :‘tit’s-casy to talk ; your poor dear father always spoke
 as it regulatin arhousehold, and having» things nice
vvhnd».oomfortab e, was no more trouble than: taking a
t  n ' ‘

, “ But you don’t have things nice and comfortable,
3:57.19): all themes: you maker? Blanche. onlythought
sentence, she did not say it. All she said was, “ I
 say you are right, mamma; but comfort is a'most
.winnoomlortabld thing." Then she took off her hat and
. .zthrew it back on . the sideboard (when Mrs. Lyon, fol-
:--lowo‘dit wit it might have done some damage to the

Waldewmtions of that piece ofiurniture,,if it were
'notioarofully supervised), and than she threw off a good
. docket thexbrightness :with which she had come into
“tint-m.» and sat downrather sadly. under the convic-
than mother-good resolutions would be utterly routed

 

 

 
 
 
  

 

, . ,   , ‘ ‘ q
* we ’lyimnmdho‘dsy I have had l——not a moment to.
y j _ wow!) since! got but of bed, Blanche I" Mrs.
’ Lyon commenced, pitoously, when the chicken made'
gmsmicm at but, and the two ladies/sat down to-

 

 

 

 a»
(aflfifionéhappy yourmustz have been it’lBlanohc sn-
usworsd'. with roost .injudicious truthfulness. , It was a
_-. ,m§.mg,t»um. Lyon never was so easy in her mind as;
i“ a-‘iwhsn‘ushsawaswtlvely employedin contributing to:
x r ' contusion; but“: was a fact the, mention of which she
: :flWfiflXemt-edf . .
_ , "Happy!" she~echood, pausing in her employment
sitbmtithel‘tomghfit 'part of “the wmg. " Happy! 11; is,
.-mzry;iittlo hep mess. I have known in life, Blanche—
very little. as l ave told your poor dear father over
, “and over: sin.” , . ‘
,.,;- ‘.‘f:_WM?coxulort it must have been to m fatherto
 hmrmsayaso-w Blanche had remember her good.
‘u-ll'Blolntlans Within time; so, though shocould not
~ g. .. resisth the speech, she made it in her lightest,
 ’ :' plemntcstmannsr. ‘

 

 

, _ V before the escaped- Meanwhile the,
vine otters consumma-
o‘botfil , 3mm

bus:
,. r

, ’ ' 4,1,1 m? maid ‘he cared very little (about it," 

' PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

the original subject which it had professed to treat of
at starting, cleverly avoiding that, and embracing in-
stead a variety of topics that had no connection what-
ever with anything about which Blanche ever had heard,
or ever could desire to hear.

The truth was that Mrs. Lyon was striving to brace
herself for the leap she had promised Edgar Talbot to
rise at by taking a conversational preliminary cantor.
She rather dreaded the look the announcement might
call into life in her daughter’s great, gray, honest eyes.
More, she rather dreaded a definite refusal on Blanche’s
part to accompany her to Mr. Talbot’s house, there
to play the part of social guardian-angel to Mr. Talbot’s
sister.

Mrs. Lyon broke the tidings in what she conceived to
be a singularly diplomatic way. She waited till
Blanche (tired out with her journey and several hours’
hard hunting alter her mother’s meaning, which had
been, as usual, sedulously concealed in many words)
went up to her own room and prepared to go to bed.

To bed, but not to sleep; for Mrs. Lyon followed her
with a glass of warm sherry and water—a beverage
with which Blanche was unsympathetic, the mere sight
and faint odor of which brou ht back memories of
childish illnesses and general ebility. Mrs. Lyon fol-
lowed her with this draught and the words;

" My dear Blanche, what do you think of this plan of
Mr. Talbot’s ‘1” laying a slight stress on the words "what
do you think," as if the‘matter had been before Blanche
for some time. and had been a subject of free discus-
sion between Mrs. Lyon and others.

" Mr. Talbot l—Mrs. Sutton’s brother? I don’t think
I remember any plan of his," Blanche replied, raising
herself up, and leanin on her elbow.

"Then I may as wel tell you to-night, to give you
something pleasant to dream about," the elder lady re-
joined, with a little afieoted air of joculsrity that was
vorgdpitiable. Then she went on to tell what Mr.
Tal t had thought, and she had thought first; and
thon‘what each of them had said to the other, and then
what each had thought the other would think, and then
what both had said what Blanche would think, until
she swam away into a haven of satisfaction out , of the
dangerous diflculties of the ocean of words she herself
had created. " There now, go to sleep and dream about
it, and ask no questions until the mornin ,” she inter-
rupted, rather querulously when Blanche ’ an. “ But,
momma." The interruption fell on deaf ears, how-
ever; Blanche would not go to sleep and dream about
it just yet. I

“ To manage Mr. Talbot’s house and his sister! What
is his’sister? on infant or an idiot ?"

“ Really, Blanche, no one, to hear you, would believe
how careful I always have been in my own language.
Choice! I was considered. uite choice in my expres.
sions when I was a girl ; sn . I am sure for years after
my marriage your father never heard me say a word
that the whole world might not have heard."

“ I dare say not, poor papa I” the girl cried, with

ulant irrevarence.
to-night, though, mother ; tell me more of this lan ;
tell me some hing I can heat with patience; to me,
you have not agreed to put yourself and me in the po-
sition of servants in Mr.- Talbot’s house.” '
She spoke fast and earnestly. Her mother, in describ-

tofithe. sympathizing Mrs. Sutton, denominated them
“ erce.” r . ,

“ I am to be Miss Talbot’s chaperon.” .

Blanche laughed out merrily. The absurdity would
touch herself, she knew ; still she could not help ses—
ing the . humor of it all, and laughing at it for the
ime. ‘

“ And I—what am I to be ?” she inquired. .

“ You are to be Miss Talbot’s companionetreatod

uite like her sister ; and, really, Blanche, I do not see
t at a companion is so much lower than a governess,"
Mrs. Lyon addedrhurriedly. Then she went on to cry
a little; and tosay that this was a prospectthst opened
up something like peace, and comfort, and security to

“ Never mind my bad language

ing the tones Blanche used on the occasion, afterwards,‘

hem—things (she would mention incidentally) which,

had hitherto been denied to her. But of course she
should have to ive them up. and go on living the life
of privation, no to say misery, for which she had been

oxgresslglbornl .

. hen anche had to perform a humiliating task _; to
argue against her'own judgment, for the sake of rescu-‘
ing her mother from the watery abyss over which the
latter insistcd'on hovering. She reminded herself that
she was. not sure of being able, to do better for Mrs.
Lyon than Mrs. Lyon proposed doing for herself, and

was unworthy of her to imagine that there would be
any degradation in going in a subordinate position to

of her fair, .insolent, skilful antagonist brought er
Worst qualities vigorously to the surface. “ If she does
not keep‘the peace from the first-41mm the very first-
has it'fatrly. and never try to deal me I foul blow,I
wi strike—and wound her, too," she thought, as she
turned her: hot, throbbing brow from the light, and
r resscdit into the pillow, when at last her mother left

abalone—but not to sleep. ~

 

. _ g
1 CHAPTER v.
n  run FAMILY rnnrr. I
 Ins. Horror had certainly not neglected one of the
may duties of woman on the night of the family
‘ a: %to which she had asked Kr.'3sthizl'st.
Show ugherbest; néoounfi
Elissa; gigs 1:15:30 rich mitigate-'th , '
in iu'inovtruiivsnoss. any!!! smiled, u in: 1min;
rummafiom going to  mm
of has dross, she was rather di

 

Lyongepllcdl pathoticsll . Then she shed a tear or.
v :swomhdwod to atomic them down her cheeks.
’ w? campus; obchadi thus to wonder
 p r i had been quite ,wortbwhileto‘spend the.
.whcisidssnrin Wand stri ,
 . 'W‘VMmcbievcd. ..
    i     «W    .-
 ‘   " hens? ,,' gaudy: Ana
’ as 9% um 17on renounce

 

  m...
I"   ‘ I V ‘

appointed ,
. 7“ gm’s entrance, that the hint- would am

   

she sedulously strove to cultivate the feeling that it

the house of Mrs. Sutton’s brother. The more thou ht‘

amines. ‘
‘ to

 

fl

been superfluous, Miss Talbot having dressed the situs.
tion capitally. Securely as Mrs. Sutton stood in the
center of her own draperies, she did feel her heart.
hardening against the younger sister, who, coming
straight from the wilds of the country, dare not alone
to know what to wear, but how to wear it. ,

She banished the sharp expression of savage jealous
before Beatrix had time to see that it was more than a.
welcoming smile—banished it, and substituted one of
young matronly dignity, that sat very graceiully upon
her almost girlish beauty, Frank Bathurst thought.
During the first ten minutes of being with 'the two
sisters  Bathurst made many profound and original
observations to himself on the superiority of perfect
tact, grace, and style over more “perfect beauty," as.
shown in the favorable contrast Mrs. Sutton offered to.
her younger sister. It did not occur to him at the time
that the contrast might not. have been so markedly in.
favor of the married woman had she not happened to he
apparently absorbed in something he himself was saying:
to her. When he mentioned afterward to Lionel that
“ Mrs. Sutton talked well," Lionel knew enough of his
friend and his sister to feel certain that the latter had
listened sdmiringiy.

But when they got themselves seated around the
dinner-table, the inferiority of perfect beauty was less
patent to Mr. Frank Bathurst. He saw that‘there was
a touch of nobility about the girl opposite to him
which her pretty married sister lacked. 'Bentrix had
not a vivacious face, but she had a face that was capable
of very mtense expression, and this cspability made
itself manifest to the artist at a very early stage of the»
dinner, and brought him very much under her banner,
thou 11 he was ignorant of the cause that called forth.
that ntensity.

“ Trixy finds the room :09 hot; she is nité flushed,"
said Mrs. Sutton. “ Take my advice, gar, and have
snice perforated oak screen'putu in your room lie-4
fore you begin giving dinners. do the Lyon-
come to you " , , '

The diversion was perfect.‘ Mr.lBsthui-st ceased in
an instant to admire Miss Talbot's expression, and to
ponder over what could‘hsve called it into bein . ’

“ The Lyons,”he repeated, addressing Mr. gI'nlbot;
“ do you know any Lyons ?" ' '

" I know a. Mrs. Lyon and her daughter," Edgar ro-
plied rather stifliy. He exceedingly disliked having to
offer up explanations concerning is relations with tho:
Lyons to chance questioners. '

“ We all know Mrs. Lyon and her dau hter,” Mrs.
Sutton went on to explain, “ and we are sl very much.
mirage” of Mrs. Lyon and her daughter, are we not,

“I am more than rather interested. ‘ I have some:
cousins-distant cousins—of the name of Lyon. Is Miss
Lyon callcdlBlansho ?” ' v ' p ‘

“ Yes, the children used to call her Blanche
times,” Mrs. Sutton replied. I

“ Children—what children '9” _ ,,

“The children where she was governess," Minsut-
ton said guietly. And something in her tone brought.
the bloc to the brows ,of the two men to whom
Blanche was nearest, the one through his love for, the.
other through his relationship to her. Frank Bathurst
was the first to speak. _ ' ’,

"bile went out as a governess. did she ? A high—
spirited girl, as she ough to be, coming of that stock."

As scours the two sisters found themselves alone in.
the drawing-room, Mrs. Sutton realized that she must
talk very fast and very- forcibly in order to keep Trixy
from uttering the reproachful words she was evidently
burning to utter. She had no distrust other own pew-
ers of managing tosvoid hearing unpleasant things.
A few minutes spent in saying pretty things fluently,
then a few minutes' sleep, or assumption of it, and.
then the men would come in, and " decent sisterly feel.
ing would prevent Trixy” speaking. Mrs. Sutton was
great about many things, but perhaps she wasgreat'est
ofhall about the moral and social responsibilities of.
ot ers. ‘

3 Accordingly she commenced" at once. while wheeling
onelittle couch round neurontothe fire, to make “ Trixy
comfortable," and pushing another book into her own,
pet corner, where were low seats for satellites.

. 3 Very good-lookingDamon and Pythins are.” ,

I " You mean Lionel and his friend ” Trixy asked.

“ Yes, of course I do. ,What a fortunate thing it isfor
us all that Lioneldld not so into'the bondage of'an'ar-
tistlc friendship with 021,8 of the many untidy and poor
young men who paint. and whose name is is ion 1”

Marian paused, and Trix! was on .the poin of saying
8. word as to th6.P0881bi11ty (if the untidy and poor
young men being Pot utterly devoid of merit. , A mo-
ment's consideration saved her from the error. Manna
had not impugned their merit; she had only said H W“
a comfort to the family that Lionel had not formed ‘
friendship for one of them. Probably she was right-

-- It is an immense satisfaction 'to me that he is what
he is," Marian went on. " I am far too fondof my bro-
there,” she added, piously. “ not to feel it my ‘3‘“? ‘0
secs great deal of them; a married sister combo 0f “Ch
immense service to s oung man, can she not 1"

The climssts wag. Beatrix had micelles her
painful inferiority and. utter useleuneu'u' on “ unmar-
ried sister." but shows- partially-minted hr the up.

".1. have .no doubt, that the...“  lib“ You or ,
Marian.” she re lied. .llughiug. “  I“? 800d ems;

some»

   
  

extend to theifr. ' 1.1m," g j .7 g  1
owners.  age  mug...
v0, , I  ,( haw
i in... 5:39,.  gwitlscut,mggmfm;
1“! ,  scoot menmgh'   _ mm.
M“ snail? “flefiit‘m-W’.‘ 9"” 3°! 
"mhl‘figwmmomssbommw " " 
“'90! crown!)  
lately necessary minus-lips snd och“.  . a.

 

 

--JI.__.‘, ._ ..  

 

,ing of mafiutton’s claim

PLA YING’ FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

 

have played no part in the past of the one who might
hope to win her in the present. She did not hold this
absolutely necessary. At the same time, it would be a
first condition with her that she should reign, and reign
alone. Se now she said : '

"My experience of men with heavenly blue eyes is
'yet to be gained, and will notbe from Mr. Bathurst.”

“ I have heard those decisions ainst a man’s suit,
before it has been predated, made ei‘ore to-day, Trixy,”
Mrs. Sutton said, in her most dulcet accents, stretching
herflfeet out so that the dainty silk shoes, with their
big rosettes, just escaped below her robe. " Don’t de-
termine too reso utely against Frank Bathurst ; his
eyes wm upset your strongest resolutions, if he ever
brings them to bet.“ “POD You."

” I will give him up to Miss Lyon, she has the prior
claim, " Trixy. said laughing. And then Mrs. Sutton
sat up and pushed her brown hair back off her forehead,
and sugared her eyes to scintillate.

“ You will be weak-weak is no word for it—you will
be foolish and wrong to the last degree, if you suffer
that girl to be in Edgar‘s house for a week, Trixy ; she
will marr him and ead him like a blind dog 1"

“Audi she does 1"

“ If she does—you ask it coolly enough now; but
take myeword for it, you will know the reason why it
would better she should not, before she has been his
wile a month. She is artful, designing, unscrupulous,
and clever."

Mrs. Sutton spoke fast and forcibly, but neither loud-
I or coarsely. She panted out her denunciation of

ss Lyon much as a silver bell mi ht “ ring out" the
fineness of the epoch with its tinkl ng chimes. In the
.face of the knowledge she had that Marian could diverge
from the truth to suit her own, convenience, without
chart or scrapie, and dos its her brother Edgar's can-
tion on the subject. Bea was conscious of being con~
sidgrably carried by the fascinating homilist on the
so .

"‘ You know something to her disadvan e, Marian i
«you uld not be so bitter against this gir- for noth—
ing,” yasked, un uardedly. And Mrs. Sutton said
to herself, " I wish I d," and to her sister:

"‘I know nothing; but I have my instincts—a pure
woman's instincts seldom mislead, Trixy," she contin-
ued. with a brilliant rapid assumption of the best
British matron manner. Then they had to cease from
the subject, for Lionel and Mr. Bathnrst came in to ask
if they might take their codes there.

The pure woman, whose instincts seldom misled
Sher, thouggilt it well, on the whole, since she desired to
's y with Frank Bathnrst, to devote herself a
greed d to her almost stran er brother this evening.

here was a good deal about ionel that was very inter-
esting .to most women. He was intelli out, with a
bright surface intelligence that does no always—or
often-go with the deeper, more intense aesthetic feel-
ing for appreciation of, and proficiency in, art or litera-
ture. Further. he was good~looking, line, well-grown.
and graceful. There was no need for him to be ticketed-—
no woman seen with him would feel called upon to
give a hasty explanation respecting him. She would
rather take pride in Waiting and hearing the speculac
tions to which his appearance gave rise, since all of
them were flattering.

If there was a cod deal that was interesting to wo-
men generally a out Mr. Lionel Talbot, the young,
already . well-reputed artist. there was even more that
was particularly interesti to his sister, Mrs. Sutton.
She saw in him a good, a song, legitimate step ing-
atcns to a higher place in the social scale for herein ,

She saw that he was made of more ductile materials

hen Edgar; moreover, he knew less about her, and was
more likely, therefore. to come under her influence. If
only he an antly. she would attach herself
to. and identify herself vs much with him. In an
nuance of this idea, she tol him she was sorry be ad
established himself with Mr. Bathurst at Bayswater.
". You could have had a capital studio here, Monet, and
I could have pooped in on you sometimes, without fool.
‘ing that I was interrupting Mr. Bathurst,” she urged,
in reference to her proposition. , , .

“You can do that new, Marian; the 'Battle of the
Buds' doesn't occupy much of his time just at present; '
he has at an idea of another subject from the same

in s heath—Venus herself luring Tannhauser up

0 fatal mountain; so he is lettin himselflie fallow
111}? . he can most with a model for onus." ..

wander if he will find one,” Mrs. Button replied. v
lookin  toward the man under discussion and
her  . g The latter looked fair enough to be a model
for the saddens ofbeaat at the moment. The notion
that Frank liaihurst m ght think her so, and perhaps
let it be ism that he amalgam the overthrow-

s first always, roused
3:11 the l r  “gross vanity that was always there,
even itcouo '11 . ill-Mama's character.

“ I was loo‘m“ Trill. hoping that she would do,”
she said, carelessly turning toward none; man; u we
hit! 5100‘1 feituru-PW. I suppose they may be
called-41nd nice violet eyes; but she is no Venus."

“ Bathurst will not readily and a better type."

, " It's a very “Bud 311811811 type, however,” Mrs.
Sutton pursued. She could not bear that her own
brother should admire her own sister. “ A very usual
English type—line and fleshy, and “flamed; more .
Juno than a Venue, isn't she, Mark 7" .

Mr. Eutton, who had just come in with ‘ Talbot,
seated himself by his wife before he answe :
: " I» am not sure that to ideas about the
goddesses are very clear; w t is the question 1" ,

" Mr. Bathurst wants a face to paint Venus tram;
Trir will not do i”

" 0; but his cousin, Miss Lyon, will,” Edgar Talbot
“exclaimed. Then he felt annoyed with himself for say.
This it. or.th it; and more horribly annoyed still
fit the o! the relationship flatnglto his recollection.
‘ r ' moths: otherswlll harass anche into marry-‘
his the  he thought, angrily; and «than he da-

3!

termined that he would tell Lionel to keep his friend
away from his (Edgar's) house on Trixy’s account. “ It
will never do to give him the freedom of the place;
Lionel will quite understand that,” he said to himself.
Yet it did not give him any great uneasiness to see that
already Trixy and Mr. Frank Bathurst were talking a
duet, apparently very much to their own satisfaction.
“ My experience of men with those heavenly blue
eyes is, that they fall in love with every lovable earthly
creature they meet." Trixy remembered her sister's
words, as Mr. Bathurst looked at her while telling her
some art story, until he grew confused in the telling.
Trixy was not sure that she hoped her sister's experi-
ence mi ht be exceptional; but she was sure that Frank
Bathurs '3 eyes were of the most heavenly blue.

 

CHAPTER VI.

KIN AND KIND.

A few days after, Mrs. and Miss Lyon, at Mr. and Miss
Talbot’s earnest request, took up their abode in Vic-
toria street, and now the interest of this story com-
mences in the meeting of Blanche and Beatrixuthe
two women who were born to cross each other's paths,
to pain and injure one another—to whose introduction
to each other all that has been written has been but a
preliminary strain - 1

Mrs. Sutton had landly volunteered to come herself
and to bring her husband and Lionel to spend the
first evening, and to obviate anything like awkward-
ness. She had made the ofi‘er to Beatrix in a sweet.
considerate way, that won Beatrix's immediate accept.
ancc of it. Miss Talbot had her reward when the time
arrived, and with it Mrs. Sutton, for Mr. Bathurst ac-
companied them, and Mr. Bathurst had in the course
of a few meetings recommended himself ely to
Trixy. The one drawback she permitted hersel to feel
to the pleasure of his society on this occasion was,
that Edgar was palpany a touch less than pleasodeto
see Frank Bathurst. Trixy would not permit herself
to search for a reason for this almost imperceptible
shade of difference; indeed, she resolutely looked

away irom it when it obtruded itself upon her notico.’

Sutton was ess scrupulous.

“ Let us hope that the kinship is a well-established
fact. lor they certain? seem more than kind to each
other," she whispers to Beatrix, while Frank Bath-
urst was pouring out a plaintive, low-toned reproach
to Miss Lyon for not having replied to his advances
towgrg a good understanding long aso. And Beatrix
rep 3 :

"And why should they not be more than kind,
Marian? I now of no reason ;" and ached to know
that there was no reason, so far as she was herself eon.
corned, and checked a little sigh at the specdy,seem.ing
deflation of this man whom she had onlyknown the

other day, and tried to think " what a well—matched]:

pair they would be," and could not heartily approve
them ne'Vertheless.

They were a handsome, bright pair—a pair that
took to each 0 er joyously and suddenly, causing Mrs.
Lyon to undergo most wonderful transitions of feeling
as she marked them. Mr. Talbot became a mere noth-
ing in her estimation, and Frank Bathurat stood re-
vealed at once as the fittinng d proper man, fore-
doomed by nature and old . Lyon to marry her
daughter. She almost deported herself haughtin to
the Talbot- under the influence of this conviction. and
judiciously murmured her belief inits being a well-
foundsd fact into Trixy Talbot’s ear. .

So it camoto pass that more than one heart ached
and be“ hi and painfully beneath Edgar Talbot's
roof thatni t, after they had separated on the agree
ment of all meeting at Frank Bathurst’s studio the.
following day. I ’ 4 v ‘ ‘ ’

Ito attempt has been made to ‘deplct wnat were the
prevailin sensations of Miss Talbot, and Blanche Lyon
on this sir first meeting. The external aspect was
fair and pleasant enough, for they we’re both gracious-
mannerod women. with a good deal ofcultivation super.
added to their innate refinement; and it would have
jarred upon their tastes to show other than a very
smooth social surface. But they did not conceive and
instantly develop adevoted attachment and enthusiaso
tic admiration for one another. To a certain degree
Beatrix Talbot was in the place of power, and the half-
consciousness that she was this may have been the
cause of the shade of restraint which made itself mani-
fest in her demeanor two or three times-us shade
which she strove to dispel quickly in her sunniest‘
way, but which remained long enough ror Mrs. Button
to rengark it, and to fathom the cause of it to a certain
exten .

“There is a something very incbn one between
Miss L en’s position and her cousin; which do you
think or best adapted l” the married sister kindly
asked Beatrix; and Beatrix replied: ,

" I won't indulge in vague speculations about her : ”
and then immediately added. “ there is something in-
con one in Mr. Bathurst's cousin being about in the
wor d in this we ; it must strike them both painfully."

"No, pleasnra 1y rather; he is at once patronizi
and adoring, lord and lovernKing Cophetua on a smal
scale—and a grath artist. Poor Trixy ! your reign is
over.” .

" It never commenced." .-

“ Indeed it did, and was .not alto ether inglorious;
‘ es of your rule are to be seen in is studio; he has

etched on in for his Venus, and I don’t think Miss
Lyon wil succeed ‘you’there. for he would have so
much trouble in idealizmg her nose into proper ro-

portion that he would weary of that type sooner t an ‘

fiyours. We will ask Lionel what he thinks about it.
one i ’ ' ’
Lionel cable at her call. and listened to’ her remarks,

no then declared himsblf incapable bf throwing any

 

 

inquiry, " Should you say he is a marrying man, Li-
onel 7” Lionel answered, " No, indeed; any more than
I should say he is not a marrying man."

“ Should you like him to marry Beatrix 1" She whis.
pared this eagerly, cutting Beatrix out of the conversa-
tion by the low tone she used. Lionel's reply was
made in an equally low tone.

“No, certainly not." '

“ Then you know something about him—something
against him i"

“ About him, yes; against him, not a breath.”

v" If he does not marry Trixy he will that Miss Lyon,
mark my words."

Lionel turned his head and looked at the pair men-
tioned. “ That would be better far,” he said.

" Why so? you do know something against him, Lio- ,
no! i" ,

“I only know that he has the germs of inconstsm‘o
in him; the latest thing is apt to be the best in. -is
eyes. If the shadow of a change fell, Miss Lyon would
either arrest it or be entirely uniniluenced by it. I am
not so sure of Beatrix." ‘

" Then you'll all come to our studio to-morrow 3"
Mr. Bathurst exclaimed, interrupting the conversation ‘
at this juncture by coming up to them. " Miss Lyon
refuses to be considered an art enthusiast, bistable is
good enough to be interested in my works. Whattlm i
will you come ?” -

“Shall it be two 1" Mrs. Sutton suggested. , I

“ It shall be two, and it shall be luncheon." It.”
burst replied, And then Blanche joined them, and re— '
commenced the old game of selfiassertion, by saying: 5

" Until I know whether or not the plan suits my mo— A
that I can say nothing." ' I :

" Nor I, of course." Beatrix put h, hurriedly.

.“You can go with me," Mrs. Sutton said, with a -'
well-marked emphasis on the "you," which complete-
ly excluded‘Blsnche from the proposed meat. ‘

“ Thanks; but Mrs. Lyon will order my goings new. '
Marian,” Trixy replied, with a humility she would not i
have expressed if her sister had not adored a slight to
Blan . Then Mrs. Lyon rejoined them with  g;
knitting which had been specially _ ed ‘for ' this 5
eveni ’s employment, toward which ’ it had been ’
carom y put away in the most remote cornerof her
lar est trunk. She was acquiescent and anxiom so -’
obi ge everyone on the plan boin mooted to‘her,,and"
then she was assailed by madd g doubts as to here
being wanted. “ Young people liked  by; them-
selves,” she observed; and t on at once  to
qualify that statement by declaring that‘she “ should
not think of letting Miss Talbot an manohogo alone,
not for a moment." - .

1‘ Then it is settled, mamms, we go at two $313:ch x

sud, hastily. , . ,. I I _ , ::

“If that hour; suits Mr. Talbot and Ha. Batman-t.
Mrs. Lyon waavpainfully anxious to propiflate av I
one. . - . ,

“That is all understood," Blanche explained; and
then they parted, Mrs. Sutton whispering to her sister
as she took leave, “ Your duenna is a del' ttul person;
your position will be a touch less ridlc one than her.
daughter’s—there is consolation in that." , - g

" Thanks for ofl‘ering it," Trixy replied., wearily.
Then she had to give her hand to Mr. Bathurst. ‘ i

" You will see to-morrow what cause I hereto be
grateful to you, Miss Talbot,” he said. as her great,
violet eyes met his rather reproachfully ; an . also.
could think of nothing more brilliant to reply than
“ Shall Iindeod ?" i   , 2

“ Yes, indeed you will; and I owe you another debt :.
you are the cause of my knowin myccusmat but.“ ;

“Ah! good-night I" Trixyv e dently wantedne 
bad reward for this good deed; she turned away alum-t:
apatiently from his thanks to saw “ Rood-by 1" to hut-l

t Ola ' .. .,‘ .._; Jami."

Presently, for the first time that evenings”; hm:
found herself near to Lionel Talbot.  r. ., ,,  .  '

‘9 May we see your picture, too?" she asked; . '.; _, g», ,‘

" I shall have great pleasure in showing it Wynn.” ;

She laughed and shook her head. : ~ , y. w - g

“No, rim—neither pleasure nor reluctance, nor any;
other active feeling. You won’t care a bit what was. .
think—and you will be so right.” She hast}:- ‘
voice suddenly in utterim the last words;  f
uponhissarsalone. , , w 1.; 

He felt that he could not conscientiouslysay that he»: , ‘
should be very much interested as to what boy
of his work; therefore he did not answer her tors. ‘. {
moments. During those few moments a. alightfltrailder
tion took placein his mind respecting his inter-locum;
and so he told her, honestly eno ii. that new.
cars for her 0 inion: “ and you is give it totmhmtl.
me alone, wil you not ?” he added. earnestly. .’ . «31' ‘

“ So be it," she said, Slightly. " hay! , 161! the.
same , promise to my cousin. I should give name
promise to a dozen men, if they asked Md pros.
be.ny break it.” . a ' ‘ - -‘ .

She oked up questionineg into his face as she put
the pro ability before him. >

“As far as I am concerned you will keep it?"

" I think I shall." r

" I know you will." .

“ And you will not care whether I do or not. Praia.
or blame, it’s all [alike to you, Mr. Bathurst “and” ,

“ And as a rule he is nght,’ Lionel re lied, ,- V "
and Blanche felt for a moment thati wouldbbiplaoi  '
aant to be the exceptionally regarded one. ' j;

v

 

CHAPTER VII.

It will be easily understood that the plan of 7%
the studio was a specially obnoxious one to Edgar '
bot. He '8! stmhgly moved once or twice :to you! 313
face inst Beatnx’s going, and, by so doing. ,,
an en to the arrangement. But herein that

 

light on his menu's final election either in the matter he did this it woul be wiggling some or the authority
0' Venus or anything else. In reply to I use. Button’s over his sister which he ' formerly crested inf 
afli ‘ wk. 3

 

 

 

i

a
l

 her hand at lar

. is “somehow; and the “spirited”
on? -

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

Lyon. In his heart he called that lady a weak-minded,
nnreasoning, injudicious simpleton, for her ready ac-
ceptance of the invitation; and the full force of his own
transparent folly in having gziven her the reins came
flooding in upon his mind. ut for the time, at least,
he was bound to pluck what he had planted, bitterly as
it pricked him. The authority he had vested in a fool-
ish-woman must be upheld by him for his own credit’s
sake, until Blanche married him or marred him by
marrying some onevelse. He was quite resolved now,
nothing but her own will should stand between them.
So, out of consideration for his own reputation of con-
sistency, Edgar Talbot placed no obstruction in their
path to the studio the following day. Nevertheless
they did not reach it until an hour after the appointed

e, divers unforeseen accidents and events having
occurred to delay them.

“ By-the~way, I left my model when I came to meet
on," Frank Bathurst said to Miss Lyon, as, with her
y his side, he led the way to his studio. Then he went

on to tell her what a wonderful effect Lionel had suc-
ceeded-in reducing with the representation of waves
alone. " e’s b way of being a genius: there’s not
a boat, or a ago 1. or s. light-house, or anythin but
Rater on his, canvas; and still you get pulled up efore

When he paid that tribute to his friend's talent
Blanche felt that there must be an immense deal in

_ ,_,Bathnrst. She rendered up her hand to him
with delightful readiness, who offer to help her over
the threshold, and then down the flight of steps which
came between the, back and front part of his studio;
and she spoke out her admiration for his " Battle of
therBards,” with hearty eloquence when they paused

.j'llow I want to show Miss Talbot something," he
exclaimed, impatiently, as he saw Beatrix walking on
as hefirnhrother; f‘I hope that fellow won’t point it out

1. ’7’ v

455.60. , :stop his doing so," Blanche said, quickly.

4% , Kr,- Bathurst took her advice; and presently Lionel

, it, came and joined Miss Lyon, leaving his sister
very happy by the act. ,

I ‘ffl'here k s. good deal of spirit in that,” Blanche said,
go toward the huge canvas
mercenml‘snnhauser” was depicted, in the midst of

a well-dressed mob, giving vent to the defiance:

~“ Grim bards of love who nothing know,
Now ends the unegual ht between us;
asldaredlto ores go,
And taste love on the lips of Venus.”

“ "A great deal of spirit," she repeated, feeling at the
moment utterly unable to ofler any other art criticism.
~‘~‘ Yes,“ he replied, " I wish Bathurst would work at
it, incised of wasting’his time-on the other one."
" What is the other one '1’”

. “Oomein‘sndrsee-it." .

": "Kano," she said, as she glanced in the direction he
would have taken, and saw her mother in mid-distance,
and Miss Talbot and Mr. Bathurst further on: “ 1 want
to see yours arms: - '

. “The! cone and look at it." And he led her to the
other end oftlie long studio; and they stood alone be-
me 4:!“ waves that « had steeped his mind in admir-
ation for « their wild; beauty long ago on the Cornish

 stood in .silence for a while, not only averse to.

but incapable now of offering an opinion, respecting
, the ‘ the more for his being the painter ofit,
and a ter- the more for the painting being his.
Let her admiration for both react upon each other,

inter», with asubtlety that women often employ in

measles. ~ ,
, "Whatpare you going to callit?” she asked, at

“ Mus-st suggests as a motto for the‘Aca-
:dem catalogue, ' What are the wild waves saying ?’ do
you sit? .

"Yes—were you alone when you got to love those

we?” r J .' ‘ ' a - g

a!“ to .aloue,"hsreplied; and then as she almost
to sigh in relief as she looked up at him, he re-

' : Waters emphatically still, “ Quite alone."

If‘he had repeated the words a dozen times she would
not have been satisfied with the sound of them, but
would have crisdinvher heart, "That strain again! it
baths dying fall.” It was music to her. sweet, lull,
fibrillmt. Music to her, that assurance he gave
her that the wild waves said nothing to him of one
when: he had loved and looked upon when he loved
andlooked upon them. She was quite contented with
that implied assuran ulte charmed with the fitness
of the motto—quite sa fled with what the “ wild
waves Were saying," and quite oblivious of Frank Bat-

nrst. .
Beatrix Talbot's impulse toward Lionel had been a
true one; her brother was her best friend. ,

 

CHAPTER VIII.

\  DAPKNE.

 Thunwas a conservatory at the garden end of the
studio. At least it had been a conservatory, but was
new cleared of its plants, and occupied by a dais for the
models to pose upon. From one end of this part of the
studio a spiral staircase led up to an observatory on the
leads, where a delightful view, consisting of a bit of
murder and a slice oerensington Gardens, could be
. Up this staircase the four young people walked
Winnie; lesvin Mrs. Lyon (who had been more on»
grossed y, the lay sures than anything else) to follow
at her leisure. ' ‘
, ., . ” the waves had " none to tell” to her. " Vs»
nus”- on the mountain made her uncomfortable, and
I thick all her doubts as to the wisdom of have
_ composition ofthe
t1!) of the Bards seemed to her simp y it represents-

 

tion of an infernal orgie. But she took a calm pleasure
in examining the magnified doll, and trying how its
joints worked; thus innocently destroying some folds
in the drapery which Frank spent along time in ar-
ranging that morning.

“ A nice room wasted—entirely wasted,” she said to
herself, as she surveyed the studio.

Frank Bathurst had been at considerable trouble and
expense about this studio. He had first had two rooms
on the ground floor thrown into one, and then he had

put up a groined‘ and vaulted oak ceiling, thus spoiling

the rooms above it. It had a richly-colored window at
one end; pome ranate-hued curtains of soft sweeping
velvet fell in fu l folds from ceiling to floor. It was en-
riched with oak carvings, with ebony brackets and
bronzes, with perfect casts from perfect originals, with
rare old glass, with deeply-embossed shield resting on
some sort of stand of metal in which Quintin Matsys
had had a hand. The sunlight, what there was of it on
that winter’s day, fell upon the floor in broad, rich
masses; the shadows lay in unbroken grand depths;
there was nothing slight, nothing pale, nothing puerile
about the room, and Mrs. Lyon deemed it very dull.

She had been uncertain whether to. go with them
when they Went up on the leads or to stay behind;
While revolving the uncertainty in her mind, their
voices sounded faintly in what seemed the far distance
to her, and at the same time a tall, curiously-carved
screen, drawn across in such a way as almost to cut oil‘ a
corner of the room, caught her attention. So, with an
emphatically-worded observation on the folly of people
taking so many unnecessary steps to see so little as
could be seen from- the top of ahouse in Bayswater,
Mrs Lyon walked toward the screen, and proceeded to
curiously inspect it.

It was an elaborate piece of workmanship, modern,
erfectly artistic in proportion, and delicate in .detail.
itsnia, Oberon and Puck wreathing themselves and

each other in fanciful garlands in the center, and wood-
niylmphs and sstyrs doing nothing remarkable at the
3 es.

" A. nicely- ined piece of wood spoiled 1” Mrs. Lyon
thought, ass put her hand upon it to see whether
the dimnesi came from dust or not (in order that she
might do a goodturn to the helpless cutlemen who
owned it, by denouncing the dusty proc vities of their
house-maid). She put her hand upon it; the screen
turned easily on a swivel at the lightest touch. and it
revolved, leaving thacorner exposed.

Mrs. Lyon uttered s little cry of mingled horror and
virtuous satisibction at having unearthed the cause of
it,.for there, in alarge arm-chair, her head thrown back
upon the “ velvet violet lining,” a pretty, yellow-haired
girl lay sleeping. \

The girl and all the accessories were so pretty that
most people would have been content to keep silence,
and look on the scene as one of the fair sights in life
which, perfect in themselves. may be suffered to pass
by on uestioned. But Mrs. Lyon liked grapple with
difhcu ties that were not—loved to nd what was
not assailed, delighted in putting things tralght before
they were crooked. “ I can ml: eve my eyes."
she exclaimed, believing them thoroughly the while,
and quite ready to do battle in the cause of their trust-
worthiness, should anyone hint at optical delusion. “ I
can scarcely believe my eyes; young woman, this is

shameless l” r

The girl, who had 0 ed her eyes at the first sound,
sst u at the last war and suppressed a yawn. She
was eased in s costume for which Mrs. Lyon had no
precedent, though Frank Bathurst had given much
thought and consideration to it; and on her bright,
{snow-haired head she had a little es of black velvet,

rdemd with seed pearls. In fact, I was the model
" princess ” for whose heart and hand the bands were
singing ; and she had fallen deficit” waiting a lon
time for Mr. Bathurst, and now e woke up, stsrtl
and rather cross. r I

“ This is shameless," Hrs. Lyon repeated; sndthe

l, thinki she was being rebuked for drowsiness

1‘15 i tiess of every other oflense, w

pet ant with be old lady who came instead 0! the
smiling, handsome, agreeable cntleman whom she (the
model) had expected to see. e was a pretty girl, and
her beauty was very much in favor ths year; accord-
ineg her time was fully occupied, and she was getting
into the habit of giving herself little airs of conferring
a favor when she e t an appointment. Moreover, she
was a good deal miredinscertaindancs in one of
the pantomimes, for she joined the rofession of ballet-
girl to that of model. On the who , it will readily be
surmised that she was not likely to be meek under the
reproof of Mrs. L on.

"Then he sho d have come back," she rotor-ted, on
the supposition that she had beenwmted and missed
while she had been sleeping. And. she pushed her
bri ht yellow hair out of or eyes and glanced up
do antly, instead of bein crushed to the ground, as
Mrs. Lyon half anticipate seeing her.

“He should have come back 1” Mrs. Lyon repeated
the words in sheer amazement at their audacity. “ He ”
was her remote relation, “ he ” might be good enough
to, marry Blanche, if no awful discoveries were made;
and this “ minx," as she called the model in her wrath,
dared to speak of him thus familiarly. ,

" It is too late for anything now, so Ishau go," the
girl said, rising up and casting a glance toward- the
arkening shadows that were falling over the di
where she sat a princess in the morning ; then lib
stream of Mrs. Lyon’s virtuous eloquence burst the
banks of astonishment and indignation. and she Poured
forth a flood of, words that were utterly incompre-
hensible, but at the same time intensely aggravating

to the model. ,

“Too late! lost! lost! unhappy creature I”

“ Ch 1 it's not of such consequence as that l" the r1
interrupted. hastily tossing her head; then she ad ed
something relative to Mr. Bathurst missing her more
than she should him—a statement which caused Mrs.

 

Lyon to tremble and pronounce the word " abandoned "
under her breath.

As the girl leisurely put off the jacket and tunic and
velvet cap of royalty, and inducted herself into the
bonnet and mantle of this period, Mrs. Lyon gazed at
her, and made profound reflections to herself on the
callousness which could be so unmoved under detec-
tion and the irivolity which could attempt to disguise
vice in fanciful splendor. Then she thought that it
would be a good thing to remove this fair young rock
on which he might split out of reach of temptation-—
at any rate out of reach of Mr. Frank Bathurst; and
then she calculated the cost of the charitable act, and
wondered if she had money enough in her pocket to do
it, before the young people came down from the roof
of the house. .

" If yon would alter your mode of life I might assist
you,” she began, drawing out her purse; and the girl,
who was adjusting the bows of her bonnet-strings with
great care before she went out, stared at Mrs. Lyon, as
if that lady was beyond her comprehension, as indeed
she was.

" After my mode of life? not on an account, thank
you;" then she thought of her Terpsic orean triumphs
and determined‘to very much dazzle the old lady. " Do

on know who I am ‘1’" she asked; and Mrs. Lyon
coking a horror-stricken negative at once, the girl went
on glibly: “ I'm Miss Rosalie St. Clair, there—good
morning,” and walked out, happily unconscious of the
meaningless sound that name had for Mrs. Lyon.

The skirmish had been sharp, but brief. Mrs. Lyon
had almost a feeling of triumph when she reflected on
how quick] she had, as she thought. routed the fair
invader: ow the danger had‘ departed, she began to
make many hazy, but comforting conjectures respect.
ing it. After all, it might not be Mr. _Bathurst whom
the girl had spoken of as “ be.” Mr. Lionel Talbot was
very quiet; but—~ah ! it looked bad—very had. She re—
membered now that he had eaten no luncheon. At.
this juncture she remembered that the girl had used

. Mr. Bathurst’s name, which proved him the ofi'ender.

“ I declare one had better be in a lion’s den at once,”
she murmured, pathetically, “ and then one would
know what one was about." Then she fell to softly be«
Wailing the combination of circumstances which had
brought her into this difficulty, and wondered whether
she had better tell Mr. Talbot about it. and wandered
what Blanche would say now (Blanche being quite in-
nocent of all former thought or speech on the subject),
and " ho Miss Talbot would listen to advice another
time" (not that any had been offered to poor Trle). and
was altogether hopeless and helpless, and overcome by
a sense of responsibility. .

“ What could they be doing up on the leads
all this time i” The leads, in Mrs. Lyon's imagi-
nation, ‘was a place of gruesome horror. slip-
pery, flat, with no parapet. She wished that she had
gone up with them. She wished that she could put
old heads on young shoulders 9h“ last wish not being
weakened by the faintest doub as to the goat superl-
iorlty of her own over every other head 'belongl to
the party). She wished that they had all stsi at
home, and that Mrs. Sutton had come with them, and
a great many more totally irreconcilable things.

Meantime those on the house-top had been so happy,
so entirely unconscious of the cork and care, the tumult
and tho strife that was raging at the foot of the spiral
staircase. There was a glass erection on the leads—sis
eminent photo pher had livsd there before Mr.
Bathurst took t e house—and under this glass they
stood about and were happy.

Very happy, on the whole, all of them; though)

Beatrix Talbot went up and came down in her spirits in
the sharp, sudden, unreasonins way that is specially
s ptomstlc of the disease an or which she lsbo
fiver-y manner and the very looks which won her more
and more, which drew her nearer, and made

to Trlxy. She had reached the s s when s vague feel-
ing of theloved one being unjust s born. He had it
in his power to make her so supremely happy—do exalt
her, she fondly believed, above all women—by telling
her and all the world that loved her, and he did not.
avail himself of it. She would have dissvowed the.
feeling, bad it been'placed before her in the bald, cold
words I have used. She would have disowned all'con-
nectlon with it, and probably have‘declsred it to ha
unwomsnl , forward and vain; and she would my,
tried to be love that she meantwhat she professed, and
taken herself sharply to task for Venturing to love be.
fore the u object " had naked for her formally in holy
matrimony; and all the time Would have gone frett
and loving, and heme happy and miserable. as it is, an
has been and ever shall 6-

But though he had it in his power to make her our
premel blessed. and did not seem at all likely to do it,
she too the good the gods gave, and was grateful, It
wits something, in default of security of passing halite
in the sun of his presence, to be warmed by his smilu;
and he was no niggard of these, vtng them hymn?
when he pleased—and he was ways pleased when
pretty women Were by, especially if they liked mm-
Their beautyand his leasure in its-esotean “Ch
other. The better pfiraased they were with d
prettier they looked; and the prettier they 100“ the
better pleased he was with them. It was‘ Chmed
circle. and Frank Bathnnt delighted it’dnwins it
closer and in strengthening it; and generally. in Beth-
efinil his roses while he might—w]; 13 they grew well
within reach, where he could gather them am?“
there was no charm in difficulty to him-

“If- she Blight me when I.‘(’,?v

I will scorn and let her 2°;
he would carol ayl , on the smallest sign of
coynew-it needs hit to be “ 001539.“ "
ing itself manifest ,in the demeanor of the Gym
this of the minute. Indeed; 1‘0" 1* We only.
Blanche Lyon’s more openly “0" Pleasure in

Bath:
urstdssrer to her, became so many sources of irritation

v;
1'

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

{7
n

 

 

his society that was swaying him slightly from Miss
Talbot. According to his gay, brightnpractical creed,
life was too short to waste one hour of it in looking for
anybody‘s hidden motives. The frankly- expressed
joy, the readily~vouchsafed sympathy, the open; pre-
ference, were so many tributes to his vanity—and his
vanity was great. It was so glancing and sunny that
Blanche, who to a certain extent appreciated it already,
saw in it nothingto resent or regret, and so fed it a
little—-" pandered to it.” Trixy Talbot termed it, in her
anger ; for Trixy felt the vanity would be a perman-
ent rival to her—and still would not have had the
smallest change made in the man who was vain. He
was a genuine "source ofjoy and woe” to Miss Talbot,
but he was a source of joy pure and simple to Blanche
Lyon, and she showed him that he was this; and so
he took the turning that should eventually lead him
into error.,

Mrs. Sutton htd been compelled to remain away, by
reason of a very unforeseen and inopportune event,
which Will be duly ’chronicled. It was an event that
caused hora cod deal of savage sorrow, and the sole
balm she cou d find for the wound was, that the " affair
would be a failure without her.” She felt quite con-
vinced in her acute mind that Mrs. Lyon would by
some over-anxiety or misapprehension, mar the " fair
form of festal day ;" and she was gently pleased there-
at.after the fashion of Marian. If in fancy she could
have seen the quartette upon the leads, the ground
rogld have been very much out from under her

so .

It would be dimcult to define the ingredients which
went to the composition of their ecstatic satisfaction
that day. It always is dimcult to ascertain what
makes people who are in love so an erbly satisfied
with each other; for they are rarely bri liant or at case
under the circumstances. But this difficulty does not
do away with the fact of their being so.

Frank Bathurst, in reality the most thou htless of
the party knew quite well why he liked it. ose two

iris, with their lovely faces, good figures, and grace-
lly-falling draperies, alone would have been enough
for him. But he had another source of pleasure.
Lionel Talbot and he were attached to one another. A
good deal of boyish enthusiasm mingled itself with a
good deal of genuine affection. Frank respected Lion-
el, valuedhis opinion, especially when it coincided
with his (EMk's£ow.‘ They had the spirit of com-
radeship upon t em strong y, and it pleased Frank
that they should be to ether. When it happened so,
Mr. Bathurst liked to ave his taste for beaut and
grace and inclination indorsed by his friend. hen
his friend could not indorse it, it must in honesty be
added that Frank was perfectly resigned. But in this
case it was palpable that their tastes matched ; and
Frank was not at all jealous, but magnanimoul, as be-
came’him—grscious in calling Trixy's attention to the
graceful hearing of the other pair leaning inst one
of the supgorts of the glass walls—nony in instant to
the fact of lanche lowering her voice to a tenderer
tone when she addressed Lionel than Mr. Bathurst had
ever heard her‘use «to himself.

"Isn’t it strange that we should all have come to-
gether ? I wasjust going to ask on how you thou ht
you would like my cousin, Miss albot, forgetting t at
she is my cousin, and that I mustn’t express curiosity
about her."

"But you may—to me at least ; and I think I like
her very much, very much,” Trixy replied, with a little
more earnestness than she would have em loyed if she
thought so. “ ‘ Won by beauty ’—-we are al liable to be
than you know, Mr. Bathurst."

" Yes—and she has beauty—marvelous beauty,” he
answered, warming to his topic at once. “ Look at her
maiden! think they're the sweetest little hands I ever
as ." .

Trixy assented. Her own hands were equally pretty;
311:“ was scarcely her place to call his attention to

“ And her head i " he went on -animatedly. “There
is something wonderfully takin in the turn of her
head-4 way I never saw in any 0 or woman. Do you
notice it ? ” '

He turned a uostioning glance towards Trixyas he

ks. She fixed her eyes steadfastly on the rl

I , believed tobe her rival—her lashes were lave ed,
not lowered—her brow was bent painfully, and her lips
were alittle more com ressed than was usual. Alto-
gether there was a 100, of sad, yearning interest in that
ova-fraught face that stirred some fibres in his heart.

She was as beautiful as Blanche—quite as beautiful ;
"1‘1 PM had this brief advantage, that Blanche was en-
glalgloxd with some one else. at the moment, and she
( 1) VII not. He felt all sorts of compliments to
Egg}; “‘0 mot. and longed to pay one without seeming

His dimch about it served him in cod stead ; for
Trin marked it. and an it to be the mgst graceful one
he could h's’ve W5 hen , " Mrs. Lyon's patience will be
exhausted. she exclaimed. blushin a little. " We are
forgetting the time altogether. W you ask Miss Lyon
tocome own? . As he moved to an M13, Lyon “to
come down," a bit of daphne he had worn in his coat
fen mine ground. They all moved in close tagether.
Blanche Lyon dropped 1181' 81076. end herself stooped to
piokit up ; and when Mr- Bathnrst. the last of the
party. looked for it. the daphnewas one. The color
msaeven to his brow, and he turn a careless ear
the sour tones with which Mrs. Lyon met her an; ‘.
tori and indirectly reproached them all for having been
so one. ,

Presently thev separated, the ladies going back in
bleak silence to Victoria street, and the two men driv-
ias 1: totheir club. Almost for the first time in m.

p .‘ , k ‘Bathurst was glad of the excuse his irited
 gave him of concentrating his atten on on
themnoiho neglect of Lionel Talbot, who sat by his
side. Hsrhsd’nsvsraeen Lionel so completely resign

 

himself to the charm of any woman’s society as he had
this day resigned himself to Miss Lyon. He (Frank
Bathurst) had been void of all active feeling on the sub-
ject at the time—all feeling save that of pleasure at
seein his friend pleased. But now l—he had seen
Blane e bend down for the fallen glove ; and he re-
joiced more in the loss of his daphne that he had done
in its possession.

 

CHAPTER Ix.
"Bacon IB THICKEB rum warns.”

Six years ago, when Fate had graciously bestowed
that white elephant Marian upon Mr. Sutton, he had
made an earnest but fruitless attempt to arouse her in-
terest on behalf of some members of his own family.
His father and mother were dead, but his brothers and
a sister were alive and in high health, and anything
but corresponding circumstances. Mark had been, as
has been seen, the successful one of the family. _The
rest had laid their respective talents up in a spirit of
over-caution that had kept both excitement and wealth
from their doors. They had all given vent to warning
sounds, and been ready with fluent prognostications of
evil things to come for him when Mark commenced
the speculations that eventually floated him on to for-
tune. They had stood afar ofi' from him, prophesy-mg
that he would go up like a rocket, perha s, and down
like its stick surely, and had generally een senten-
tious and given to declaring that the paths their par-
ents trod, and the lives their parents led, and the mod-
est competencies their parents made, were good and
great enough for them.

But when Mark succeeded-J—when he went up like
the before-quoted rocket, and seemed very unlikely to
come down again, they forgave him for having falsified
their predictions, and aflab y borrowed money of him
wherewith to increase their own business, and were
alto ether afiectionate, and much imbued with the
f y mind toward him, as was fit and wise.

Mark Sutton being a plain, practical man, opposed

unconsoiously to vain expectations of people eing
nobler than they were, accepted the change in the fin-
ternsl sentiments tOWard himself, and seemed to con-
sider them as the reasonable offspring of common-
sense and expediency. He knew that they had all
thought him wrong in by~gone days. He knew that
the had been wrong in thinking this, and he knew
tha they knew that he knew it. But he took his
triumph meekly, and never reminded them of any-
thing that they evidently wished to fo et,and alto,
gather conducted himself for a while quits after the
pattern of the ideal rich relation of romance.
n His only sister had married a farmer and er of
the name of Bowden~a man who was rich in coke and
herds, and who commanded to. good market. He had died
shortly before Mark Sutton’s marriage with Miss Tab
bot, leaving his widow and four children all girls) am-
ply provided for, under a will of which k Button,
who was also his nieces' uardian, was sole executor.
Shortly, after Bowden’s th Mark Sutton married,
and made that earnest attempt which has been chron-.
icled to interest Marian in his relations—principally
in Mrs. Bowden and her daughters. And Marian mute-
ly refused to be interested, and Mark tacitly accepted
her decision.

Still though his sister girded against him garrulously
down in her own locality, in the heart of a midland
county, for letting his “fine lady~wife wean him from
his own flesh and blood," the management of her
affairs continued in his hands, and her store increased.
From time to time he borrowed money of her, money
which was always quickly returned with heavy inter-
est; and at length he persuaded her to let him specu-
late on her account, which she did, until at the date of
the opening of this story the well-to-de widow had be-
come a very wealthy one. ,

When Mr. Bowden died his eldest daughter, a sharp
little girl of twelve, had been removed from school “ to
be a comfort " to‘ her mother. In sober truth, Mrs.
Bowden stood in no special need of particular comfort

‘ at this juncture, for the deceased Mr. Bowden had never

been much more than the bread~winner to her; and
she was a woman blessed with a sound digestion, a

cod a petite, and an aptitude {or finding consolation
fn soil comforts. But she Was a decorous woman, one
who never put herself up in the slightest degree against
public opinion. So when the clergyman of the little
country town where she lived told her “ she must live
for her children now,” and two or three of her neigh~
bors added that if they were in her place they " would
have Elly home; none could say how much better she
would feel if she kept the dear child under her own
cyst—when these things had been duly said, and en—
forced with the sighs and shakes of the head that are
ordinarily and in iciously brought to bear on the be-
reaved, Mrs. Bowden took Elly home, and at once
ceased to_think of her object in doing so.

Her uncle and
perhaps that he could do nothing else, since his wife

ad made it im ossible for other than more business
relations to e at between his sister and himself. So
without lot or hindrance Miss Bowden came home from
school, and grew up in the atmosphere of a country
town—grew up just what might have been ex ected
gromdher parentage, her wealth. and the liberty s e on-
oye .

Now it happened that though Mark Sutton was much
older in years, and far more experienced on the stock
Exchange than Edgar Talbot, that the latter had ob-
tained a business ascennd over his brother~in~law
man ascendancy of a mark and csitive character—-
an ascendancy which Mr. Edgar Tal t did not hesitate
to employ . hen it suited his purpose. _It had suited

 

111$ urpoae ater to raise heavy sums of money from
Mar Sutton, and additional} to make Mark a sort of
partnerin his. ventures. g at those ventures were

guardian agreed to the plan, thinking hi

 

need not be told here. It would be easy to introduce
facts connected with the Stock Exchange—easy to em-
ploy technicalities in describing them—easy to pad this
story with any quantity of business matter, but I shall
refrain from doing so. The high stakes for which Ed-

gar Talbot was playing were a brilliant, unassailable

social position, and a power of influencing divers gov~
ernments through his treasurics. The alternations of
his luck will be marked, but there is no need to de.
scribe each card as he plays it. ’

The last efi'ort of this embryo Rothschild’s mind over
Mr. Sutton resulted in the latter attemptin to nego—
tiate aloan with his sister, Mrs. Bowden. He adevery'
reason to suppose that she would accede willingly to
his proposition. The fortune her husband had left had
been more than doubled by her brother's judicious
investments. But Mrs. Bowden was a cautious woman,
and now that it had come to Mark wanting to borrow a

very heavy sum of her, she suffered no sentiments of ,

gratitude for the luck that had hitherto attended his
speculations on her behalf to intervene, but resolved
not to give him afavorable answer until she had seen
him, learned his views, understood his plans, and won
through his wife an introduction into society for Miss
Bowden. '

London life-«at least the London life led by Mr. and
Mrs. Sutton—doomed largely in the atmosphere of that
lively country town where Mrs. Bowden lived. Partly
through ignorance, and partly through pride, sheave):-
rated the position of Mark and his wife. In his quiet,
and unobtrusive way he had put Marian before his own
people as a star of great magnitude ; and so Mrs. Bow.
den, away out of reach of the crucible where Mrs. Sut~
ton’s pretensions could be tested, fell into error no-
specting her sister-in-law, and ictured her as one of the
most brilliant, persistent, an powerful votaries‘ of

leasure and fashion. It may be added that Mrs. Bows
en’s notions as to the career run byone of these favor-

ed beings had been gathered h-om a diligent sal of \

the novels of the silver—fork school. What ‘ dad un-
gency to the desire she had to introduce Elly to .
Sutton was the .belief she had that through that lad ’a
influence Ellen would marry well—at any rate, be -
duced to forget an old friend who had grown up loving
and loved by her.

8.0 when Mark Sutton asked a good big favor of her, ‘
she determined to make the granting of it Well worth p

her own while. I , * .v
“ Before I lend the money to you I should like to
have a conversation with you. It would be idleto seek
to draw Mrs.Mark and you out of the gay vortex b" in-
viting you here, soI shall take Elly up to London or a
month, starting to-morrow. when we shall have opium
tunities for meeting.” ‘ _.

Then she went on to 've him her London address—4.
good family hotel in ‘ccadillf;i for it was no part of
her plan to force _.herseli‘ upon ‘m at his house until
he entreated her to come.

He had received this letter (only the housemaid who
lighted the fire the following morning with the torn co-
pies of itvknew what it had cost Mrs. Bowden in the in-

cting of it) on the day the Lyons' advent at Edgar
Talbot’s house. During the evening he had communia
cated the contents of it to Edgar adding that he had
said nothing about it yet to Marian, as she shrank from
all association with his family. ’ ,

“ She must get over that falsely fine folly in this
case," her brother said, almost harshly; “you must
make Marian civil to your sister; Then he took Mrs.
Bowden's note and glanced over it again, sneezing and
wiring to himself at that phrase about t ‘ " ay vor-

and added, “she comes up 150-6831} 5683 3°11 ,

must make Marian call on her tomorrow. ~
Somehow or other it hurt Mark Sutton to hear thin
tone used about his wife, even by her own brother. "I

i will ask her to do it," be answered. curtl .

" Ask her, and you know what she’ll six. oral; 1am
what she will look, if on “ask ‘ her in that tone; you
must make her do it, k,” '

Edgar Talbot spoke abruptly and in; rionsly, and
Mark Sutton had to fall bac upon the d, ever-recur-
ring situation of, accep ' what Edgar spoken, in
dread lest he should spec still worse things. it was
always well within the bounds of probability that Ms-
rian might have been guilty of some set of folly with
which her brother was acquainted. though her husband
was not. _

" Ifher regard for me ” (Mark Sutton spoke in a very
low, humble tonal.“ If her regard for me rompts her

to please me by calling on my sister, Ish begratstul
to her; but I will not coerce her." . - '
He spoke so decidedly that Talbot said no more

to him about the matter. But t e following day—long
before Mrs. Lyon had got hersvif and her scruples un-
der way for the studio—Mr. Talbot had called on Mrs.
Sutton, and made her see the propriety not so much of
calling on Mrs. Bowden without delay, as of obliging
m.

“ You will be prepared to meet them then, I hope, for
I am sure I shal not know who else to ask," she said.
scorni‘ully. To which he replied~ ‘ - ,

"Oh, nonsensei that sort of thing is all nonsense;
women's minds arealways running on thenecessity for
organizing dreary social gatherings. You need not ask
me or any one else to meet them~only be civil to
them.” - ‘

"'1ng 2‘91”: t

" a save 0 you." he replied, rising up to go
away. " I only tell you takes no time about it."

so it came to pass that Mrs,8utton, instead of BONE
to the stodio, went to call on her husband's sister. '

It was about as distasteful an employment as could
possibly have been conceived for her her worst one-
my. The widow was turn-om being ' s most terrible

part of the trial to Marian. Mrs. Bowden was ahapay‘i r

earty, large, buxom Woman, who made a merit 

v

‘3

 

 

PLA YIN 0' FOR H I G'H STA KES

 

 

.l'eveled in her lack of refinement. She was honest, out—

spoken, healthy, and aggressively high-spirited and hi-
larious. There was a touch of sly humor in the way
she made manifest her perfect understanding of the
causes which had brought Mrs. Mark to call upon her
at last; and Marian‘recognized this touch, and appreci-
ated it'as a species of cunning insight into other peo-
ple’s feelings that ‘was twin to her own. Moreover, for
herself, MN. Bewden wanted nothing ofthe fair, selfish
lady, whose power of giving was gained entirely from
Mrs. Bowden’s brother A course of shopping, method-
ical and unceasing, during the week, and a course of
musical services at one of the churches most celebrated
for its choir on Sundays, was all Mrs. Bowden desired
for herself in the way of metropolitan gayety. But she
asked for more than these things for her daughter.

The girl was standing by the window when Mrs.
Bowden came into the room, looking out upon the
careless stir and excitement in which she had no share,
and half wishing herself at home again, where every
spot had its interest. and every hour ts occupition for
her. She looked out upon a butcher’s shop, a publish-
ing once, and a cab stand. There was nothing visible of
the glory and rsndeur, of the beauty and fashion of
which she had card and read. The high street of their
own little country town could show them brighter and
more seductive shop windows than any she could see
from her act of observation in this excellent family ho-
tel: Ove aden omnibuses-they seemed overladen to her
whorribg horsed cabs. and ion lines of earnest, anx-
ious-loo ng pedestrians! The " cart of the country
fifl sank down as she looked. out on these things, and

t de'spondiugly that she had nothing brighter before
her fora month. As this conviction smote her, " Mrs.
Sutton" was announced, and she turned and acknowl-
edged that something brighter was before her already.

Marian has been already described. Picture her now
aa’she came in with a bri ht, light, rose tint on her
checks, the eflect of the w nter air and of annoyance
that was hardly subdued. She looked pretty, graceful,
smooth. There was a promise about her a pearanco of
those better thin s which Miss Bowden ad vaguely
I expected to find in cndon. She welcomed them, and
made manifest her sense of the relationship that existed
between them in a few simple words that seemed to
my Bowden the perfection of sound. Mrerutton was
neither too warm’nor too cool to them. She had, in
tru is, made a little study of the manner it would be

sable to bring to bear'upon them, and she was per-
foct in her part, hard as itflwao for her to play to such
an audience. ‘ .

To the girl who turned from the window to meet her,
ms. Sutton took a contemptuous dislike at once.
Theoretically she had always despised the flawless,
and hold aloof from them, as has been seen, and now at
sight of them she declared to herself that he! theory
was justified. There was no appeal against that deci-
sion, no softening influence in the mother’s evident
pleasure, and the 1’s evident gratitude to her for
having come at al . She contrasted Miss Bowdeu’s
healthy. mottled, plump cheeks with her own little,

delicate, fair face; and when the t1 put a great, hearty,
rather red hand out to her Mrs. utton had strong need
to remember all her brother's injunctions before she
could bring herself to touch it with cordiality. _

“ I bring a message from Mark; he will give me an
hour here alone to at acquainted with you, and then
he’will call for me,' she said, turning to the beaming
Mm Bowden, who forgave the outrun ement at once,
after a generous fashion that Marian wen u have thought
utterly incompatible with her sisteriin-law's manner
Sid- provlncialisms, had she given herself to the con-

deration of such trifling causes and enacts. And then
Mrs. Bowden, after declaring that she " should be glad
to use her brother at any time," grew affectionately
communicative to his herald, until Mrs. Sutton had to
strengthen herself by the reflection that an hour is only
fixgg‘minutes, and that “ everything must come to an
on . .

‘ Brand-by Mrs. Bowden made an excuse for banishing
her daughter for a while, in order that she might dis.
cuss some other own hopes concernin Ellen and Ellen’s

' character with the new relative. abou whose magically

.re h touch Mrs.Bcwden permitted herself to be
» very .

“'II t -,our oldest daughter?" Mrs. Sutton in-

quired, as went away from the room, re-

luctfltly, ' in obedience to the maternal behest, to
search forums ' that she had grave doubts as to
her mother having ought with her, and no doubt at
2 alias to her mother not wanting. 1 Mrs. Sutton made
r this in order that it might be understood that she had
never pursued the subject of Mark'srelations with keen
interest. In fact. she was keeping the " word of pro-
mise” she had given Edgar Talbot “ to the ear, and
broakln it to the some” in that there was nothing tan-
giblolnfiier manner, of which Mrs. Bowden, a woman
' who was acute enough in her feelings, could take hold
and 6931811! even to her own .heart about; so she
news now in perfectly good faith : ~

“ Yes, my oldest, and though I say it, who shouldn't
say it—mthough why a mother shouldn’t I have never
been. quite sure—as good a girl as ever lived; foolish, as
youngpeopm will be, you know, my dear, very foolish
indcas. ’ ,

g " Indeed.” Mrs. Sutton replied, with the faintest
possiblle accent of interest.

" Yes," Mr . Bowden responded warmly, to even that
mint tone of interest. for her heart was wholly with her
children, and shegrew ve thoroughly in earnest the
instant aught concerning hem was mooted. Then she
went on to tell how Elly had given her heart to the son
of an old neighborof theirs. a " young man who was
deserving enough, but who came of a stock who. never
could-do more ban pay their way. and whose way was
shard one. I have uothin to say against John Wil‘
mctx’shssddedmnd Mrs. uttonylcoked serene _ indif-
ferent  thingthst could possibly be urg inex-
haustiono crlamaiice against him, " than nothing

live with them.

 

to say against John Wilmot, but Elly might do better—-
and she will get to feel that alter seeing more of you.”

In a moment the indirect flattery made its mark
The insatiable, grasping vanity of the woman who lis-
ened made the commonplace words of the one who
spoke dangerous, and productive of evil consequences.
Mrs. Sutton liked to feel that in her more graceful pres-
ence was the power of making a true-hearted, contented
girl feeble and dissatisfied. There would be a double
dissatisfaction in doing this. She would at once revenge
herself on these people for being connected wih her (in
herself an unpardonable audacity), andshe would prove
to her husband and her astute brother Edgar that they
had erred in forcing this personal communication upon
her. There was nothing Mrs. Sutton liked better than
hurting some one else when she was offended. If she
could make the offender suffer it was good; if she could
not, she would in some way wound the next nearest, and
be satisfiedc These Bowdens were innocent of all wrong
toward her (save the original one of being her husband’s
kin); but not the less did she mean to make them smart
if she could do so with such a smiling exterior as would
save her from being found out. '

“ When people put themselvos out of their proper
glace it serves them right if they suffer for it," Mrs.

utton thought placi
Bowden's hopeful predictions concerning the future of
her daughter, if b any happy chance John Wilmot
could be at out 0 her head. The thought that she
could def 1y put his few refining touches of sorrowful
experience on the canvas of Elly’s life, almost recon-
oiled the elegant aunt to the prospect ofthe companion-
ship of the inelegant neice for a time. The girl had,
during their short colloquy, betrayed something like a
genuine love for the home and the friends she had so
recently left; and this had roused a spirit ofantagonism
in Marian, who had note genuine love for any thing
save herself. “ If they force her 11 n me she will go
home and find her, John Wilma tame, dull, an
unprofitable,” Marian thou ht, when Mrs. Bowden had
finished her unwise revels ions. “ They will all bore
her, and she will never be lit for anythtn better, and
it will serve her right for putting hersel out of her
proper place." It would have been malevolent on the
part of an old, ugly, unattractive woman to harbor such
thoughts as these. For the wording of less hurtful
ones old women have struggled in horseoponds, and
been otherwise tortured by their more enlightened fel-
lowa as witches, dan erous to the community. But
Marian Sutton " was air, and young, and beautiful ox-
ceedln ly;" moreover, she did not work her thoughts,
nor dig she suffer the reflection of them to appear on
her nice as the rippled through her mind. Both Mrs.
Bowden and on were delighted with her, and with
the suggestive hslbpromises she made of future inter-
course—delighted with and charmed by her long before
Mark Sutton came to fetch her and welcome them.

There was rather a fuller exhibition of family feeling
made when he arrived. Mrs. Bowden had restrained
herself with difficulty before, but when he came she
would ask what be t ought of Billy? and point out in
what respect that young lady resembled the Suttou's
more than the Bowdens. “ She favors her father about
the eyes, and her hands are the same shape as his; but
in all else I see our mother in her, don’t you, Mark ?"
Mrs. Bowden asked, looking with sflectionate, admiring
eyes on the blooming, buxom r1, who lapsed into awk-
ward consciousness of aterrib y crushin nature under
the ill-advised observations.’ It Won-i Miss Bowden
and nearly made her cry to see Mrs. Sutton‘s eyes
settle upon the hands quoted, and travel slowly over
their length and breath. They grew redder and thicker
while the tour of inspection lasted. The handsome
ring the girl wore seemed to make the finger it was
upon stand out in cruelly strong relief, in a way it had
never done before, poor Elly could have vowed. Miss
Bowden's sole previous experience of great ladies (in
her amiable ignorance she placed Mrs. Sutton at once
in her list) had been gained from the squire's wife down
at Bayford, a kindly old lady, before whom Elly never
trembled and distrusted her own hands, But this re-
membrance brought lier no relief now, as she sat won.
derin what it was that made her so diner-cut to her
uncle I wife.

a..—

CHAPTEB X. .
sm-nncnmon.

Tan winter months wore away, speedin for some of
thece people whose fortunes we are following, slowly
for others, surely for all. Mrs. Lyon, for instance,
found the life she had undertaken to lead for Miss Tal-
bot's benefit very different to that which she had an-
ticipated leading. There was less variety.1ess excite-
ment, less dining out and dinner ving, less dressing,
less dancing, less amusements a1 gather, and, conse-
quently. less occasion for her to urge faint ruteets
against dissipation than she had confidently loo ed for.
ward to being able to do. Accordingly sometimes the
hours lagged, and the days seemed long. and everything
a mistake. On the other hand, Blanche, also, found it
all ve diflerent to her preconceived fears. Now that
Mr. T bot had established Mrs. Lyon as Trix's chapercn
and guardian an cl in society, he seemed quite con-
tented to keep rlxy‘ very much out of society. In
short. he instituted a quiet, regular routine, which
Blanche saw established with very great pleasure. and
which she helped very materially “to maintain in un-
broken integrity.

“I have a co deal on my mind, and I do not care to
go and stan about on other people’s staircases just
now; you must go without mc.Trixy." Edi!” Talbot
said to his sister, when an invitation for the whole party
(which Mrs. Sutton had (procured for them) arrived
shortly after Mrs. Lyon an her dau liter had 'come to
{ "Nor do I, not a it. Eds“. ' 'I‘rixy
replied, eagerly. Then Mics Talbot had gone on to 3in

y, as she sat and listened to Mrs.

a self.

 

her brother several excellent and unanswarable reasons
against her going out for a while. And he being glad to
keep his home circle intact, accepted them after a brief
protest.

“ But the Lyons 1 It’s not fair to cage Miss Lyon here
in solitude,“ he said to his sister.

'l‘rixy moved her shoulders with a little impatient
gesture. Something had made the girl very clear-sight-
ed about many matters, and she saw, as in a crystal
ball, that Blanche Lyon was as averse, or rather
as indifferent, to miscellaneous gatherings as she was
herself. Miss Talbot accounted for this fact very readi-
ly and very bitterly, when she condescended to take
counsel of herself ooncernin it. The two young
painters—the enuine artist an the dashing amateur—
were not abou in the set to which Edgar and the Sut
tons had access ; “ and she only cares to meet her
cousin," Trixy thought, indignantly, as she answered:

" 0b, a home life suits the Lyons best; they say so.
Pray don't think of them.”

But Ed ar did think of them, or, at least of one of
them, an pleased himselfharmlessly by thinking what
a good thin:i it was that “ a home life suited them
best ; " it s ted him best too. When some of his ships
came homo—when some of the schemes now trembling
in the balance between failure and success were as.
sured of the latter—when, in fact, the scores of brilliant

robabilities that had rather overset his judgment of
to, and made him rash, resolved themselves into ac-
complished facts-then he would speed his wooing, and
Blanche Lyon and he would have a home life worth

livin . . r

80 fie thought, and he d,and planned for the future, .
and meanwhile tried , be very well satisfied with ,
thin s as they were. Blanche Lyon was evidently be-
com ng interested in him, he felt. She showed it in the
thousand delicate. minute, almost imperceptible ways
in which a refined Woman can show it, he assured him—
She was interested in his family, interested even
in that praiseworthy but minor matter of his brother’s,
success. In, a conversation she had with him one do. —-
a conversation in which she was uite carried on of
her customary calm which marked or demeanor to-
ward him—she spoke out some of her thou his as to
the relative merits of Mr. Bathurst’s and v . Lionel
Talbot’s works in a way that nearly cured Edgar of his
jealousy of the former. “ You compare them 1 You
actually compare them i " she said, in thgipetulant tone
of one who is stung out of allvpower proving the
comparison odious by its ha ng been made at all.
“ They are on such different levels that you must pull
one up or drag the other down in doing it ; it's not fair
to your brother." «.

" The time has not arrived, in your estimation, then,
for Caesar to be praised without derogating from Pom—
peyJ' , ‘

“ Your quotation hardly fits the subject. Ifyou do.“
not feel what I do about it, Mr. Talbot, it is hopeless to
try and teach you. I iglprooiste all Frank Bathuz‘st has
done, and is trying to o, and thinks he is trying to do.
I think it is very good of him, in a way, to make the at-
tempt to be something more than other people have
made him; and I hope his. icture will be . hung and
well mentioned, audIthen _ econ go on painting and
having somethin to think about; but I it’s absurd to
compare him wit your brother.”

She was a woman who emphasized her words over so .
slightly, often laying the stress in the wrong place.
In thi case she rather softly breathed upon than em-
phasized the last word of her sentence. And Edgar '
Talbot felt that it would be well sometimes, perils ,
for his wife to be well disposed towards Lions , align-
his SEdgar's sake) of course. Among other things,he
had ately invested Lionel’s money in some dazzlineg s:
promising shares on his own account. When the bark
of fortune cam: saillin‘g in,hhe felt that it would be.»
sgreeableto so now 8 go t atom in obligation to
Lionel, by giving him as large a 1333:?" he ohm to I
take in the home life he (Edgar) contemplated. "DO
you really feel this about my brother Wile asked.
almost tenderly; and Blanche turned her face, not up”
him, covered, as it was, with a quick, hot 1113-th the

replied, " Indeed I do; indeed Ido, Mr. Tall» ’ 'He
was resolved to bide his time. But his'dnum of'blils
promised Very fairly, he felt. '- . .a

Meantime Mr. Frank Bathurst, in blast unconscious?
ness of the exact nature of his cousin’s sentiments
wardhim, went on painting in and painting out his
Venuses, and enjoying his life, and abolishing his own
notions regarding the dsphno. and find!!! the quiet
evenings Lionel and he nequeutly Silent a Ed ar Tal-
bot's house better than any other tom of en attain-
ment his wealth and position procured him. For some
reason or other best known to himself, Mr,‘Ta1bot hm
not iuliilied his throat of requesting Lionel to kee Mr.-
Bathurst from fazniliar communion with the one)»
circle. Markin Blanche’s manner to Mr. Bathurat
with the nature 137 impartial and unprejudioad c as of" v
a man who was in love with her himself, Edgar aibot
still saw nothing and feared nothing that could by any
possibility afi’ect his peace of mind about her.» She was
very‘ frank and cordial with Mr. Bathurst; indeed, she
talked a great deal more to that blithe and-wellvsatisnod
gentleman than she did to any one also. but—4nd in
this, i at least, Mr. Talbot did. not ' deceive himself—’
though she talked to Frank Bathurst more than to any
one else, he was far n-om being the moat interestin
person to her in the room. She talked to him. In
openly expressed pleasure at seeing him; and that the
p easure was unfeigned was P5361!t ‘0 my 0119 Who
chanced to glance at her when the two young men
would be announced, and she let him see that the re.
lationship he so ardently claimed was an agreeable'fsot
to her, which, indeed. it was, for the reasons given in
a former chapter. So all these circumstances combined
to make the quiet domestic evenings exciting and d6,
lightrul to Frank Bathurst. They were excl each h
to'mxnm; but. path-re an! 013° Wald Judi».

 

 

 

PLA YING "FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

fled in declaring them to be less than delightml to that
young lady, as " her eyes on all their motions with a
mute observance hung " in a way that spoke eloquent-
ly to Lionel. »

They were not seeing very much of the Suttons
about this time. Mrs. Button laughed at the “ new order
of things,” as she termed it, andin addition to laughing
at them all she had taken to opposing and irritating
Edgar. Whatever hold Edgar had upon her formerly
was weakened now, evidently. .She ceased to maintain
the smallest appearance of respect for his opinions.
She openly charged him to Beatrix with being un.
scrupulous about other peeple’s feelings, fortunes,
happiness, honor almost, when his own interests were
at stake. Whatever his influence over her had been,
she had h'eed herself from it; and she gloried in the
freedom. and Was more than extravagant and vain,
‘ more frivolous and conspicuous than before; and
Ellen Bowden was with her a great deal, and Mrs.
Bewden began to hope that John Wilmot would soon
cutie to be a stumbling-block in her pretty daughter's
pa. .

It may be mentioned here that Mrs. Bowden had
been very acquiescent about that matter which had
been the primary ob ect of her journey to London.
She had not only vanced money to her brother
whoss own capital was farmed out under Edgar Tal-

P’l advice), but she bought shares in her own and
children’s names inmore than one promisin specula-

tion. "Mark was so prudent, far-seeing, onorable,
and Min _ altogether, that there must be
safety following where he led," she argued, when

some of her steady-going old country friends warned
her against being ed away and dazzled b the brazen
images that were 6 reigning gods of t eStock Ex-
change. Her argument was unanswerable, for Mark
Sutton’s character for probity and caution was unassall-
.able. Nevertheless, hints to the efl'ect that "even he
‘might be mistaken sometimes," were offered to and
disregarded by her. The greed of gain, the fever of,
fininwn a large scale. had seized Mrs. Bowden.
at. been all-sumcient was now as nothing to her;
and as her mental grasp was not broad, nor her brain
remarkably bright and strong, she grew haggard and.
harrasscd over the ceaseless efforts she made to work
out (theoretically) infallibly successful combinations.
The occupations, interests, and pleasures of the pres-
ent were all poor and tame to her by, comparison with
these might fall to her lot in the future, if every
thing went ill, she mi ht soon bereduced to‘such’a-
‘ oaition as would cause 4 or present necessaries to loom
store herrsgreti‘ul vision in the pro ortion ofluxuries.
Her mind was much disturbed by‘ t ese opposite ‘ res-
ponsibiiities, yet she had not the courage and resol‘u»
tion to line herself from their wearing influence by
"realizing," even when she might have done so'ata
great gain. Golden dreams always led her on. Vague
i‘ancy beguiled her into believing that the feeling
of unrest would pass away with the novelty.

She began—being essentially a good-natured
woman—40 worry herself as to the way
in which she should make her old coun-

try i’riends, with their rough manners and tones, quite
at home and at their ease in the society of those new
ones which her gold would gain her. Moreover, she
was a good deal disturbedyabout Ellen. _ The girl had
been left behind with the aunt, who seemed so anxious ,
V to eit'ace all, memory of her long-continued neglect by
great kindness nowmleft behind with 'this‘aunt very
much against her (Ellen’s) will. Miss Bowden felt
miserab y dull and awkwardly out of place at first in
the d- solitude to which Mrs. Sutton condemned
berg ,len) while she was unconsciously undergoing a
process of polishing that was to render her a more use-
ful instrument in Mariau's hands.
possessed any principle and any honor, she Would not
have been a bad companion for a young, "(informed
 country girl. As it was, Ellen Bowden insensibly
can ht a slight reflection of the perfect grace, the un-
_ ru edease, the smooth refinement which lcavencd all
that Mrs. Sutton did and said. Marian had the art of "
, telling her cprupil what it would be well for her who
without ad easing her directly. It must not be under-
/ Blood by this statement that Mrs. Sutton was guilty of
the vulgarity of talking at her guest. But she had a
, VF!- of telling Ellen about other girls who had the un-
; mistakable stamp of“ gentlewoman " upon them ; and
she, would put in the salient points of their man-
ner .Ymh a firm “clear touch or two that was not
lost, pen Ellen, who grew more uniformly quiet, and
at theflme time less censtrsined. i ‘
Anxious as Mr. Sutton had been that his sister and
, her family.“ least should be known to and'lrindly
treated by hiswmihe had not gone with the latter
cordmny when she proposed that Ellen should ’stay
with her for three or four months.- “You 'mean it so
kindly, (he mm a would think the best of any act of
Marian s), ’“that hardly like to throw cold water on
your plan; but I can t 1311.0! that she will be the better
for the change. or much of a companion for you - be-
sides, poor girl, she has asweet-heurt down there", '
“Idid mean it for thcbest. ,However, I shall say
nothiu more; the onus of deciding shall be’lel‘t with,
her mo her and you 110W; Mark} . ‘1 .L'fsni sorry you
should show them you think me a b 5 “companion for
thezil‘l.”. . *  1  
;. Mterthat Mr. Sutton offered no opinion on the
/ ject‘; and .Mrs. llnvden decided that Ellen.shoiua.m_
maian "her aunt so lrlndlyinvited her. I, 
.Amer that little period of probation or polishing/up.

Button give her young charge plenty of change, 113,912; x.
c u‘ ‘v

01‘ " by, ien‘ty of'c portunity of target'tin r
.  and) the vows gab. had exchanged M52 him!
31;” 9 .mnteréinfiueucee was“ "st work, of which Mrs.

8W6  m-ringuor marvelous ball

~56th1 flavor fission to do, and Harlan was open-
=nommn¢ that the grin° r

" W; buthe “gm

 

If Mm. Sutton had“ H

I like home.’ I'have

 these two I oung men

Wand , tednothin . Mark Sutton new: 
N I tapes 3; ?

could not help valuing more highly than she did any
of the things Mrs. Sutton lavished upon her. His gift
was a good, genuine, uncalled for opinion.

“So you're going to marry young Wilmot, Elly ?“ he
said to her, when he was alone with her the first even-
ing of her stay in his house.

“We both mean it now, I believe, uncle,” the girl
replied, blushing a little. ' ,

‘fAnd you would be mightily annoyed if he was the
first not to mean it, I suppose? But I would rather
see you keep honest of the two. Don’t make me curse
the atmosphere of my home, Elly, by seeing you change
in it. Try to keep tlrm and true; don‘t get talse and
fine in it, child,”

The girl looked up wonderineg as he stopped,
choked by a sob. He had his handkerchief upto his
face, and was trying to cough and cover his emotion,
and, by so trying, making it much more apparent to
the girl, to whom it revealed many things that he would
willingly have concealed. ‘

“Idon’t think I shall ever disappoint you in that
way, uncle,” she said, ibelingly. her sympathies
were aroused by that sudden rent in the veil which
habitually fell over'Mr. Sutton’s domestic policy. All
her sympathies were aroused, and yet she feared to be-
tray the she ielt any for him, or rather that she felt
that there existed cause for her feeling any. It occurred
.to her, with painful force, that the atmosphere of his
home must have been bad' for some one, or why
should he have warned her against owing “ false
and fine." The graceful lady who rule 'his household
and shared his - name was line in the sense that a
delicately nurtured and caretuil tended flower is so.
It was just probable that she mig t be false also. Ellen
thou ht, as she looked~st the grieved, humiliated ex-

ress on which came like a cloud over Mr. Sutton’s

onest open face. r

80, though Miss Bowden’s stay with the Buttons was
prolonged hr beyond the original term of the invits.

old love, but remained for several months, at least, as
entirely without reproach as Mr. John Wilmot was
without tear on her behalf. Mrs. Button gave her

lenty of amusement, and the girl liked it, for Marian

ad taken her niece's measure correctly, and only piped
such airs as Ellen would care to dance to. Mrs. Sutton
was possessed of a fine tact,.that would have made her
remarkable in a worthy way if. she had been a better
woman. Asit was, it only aided in making r con-
temptiblc, but not contemptible to her e yet.
Indeed, Ellen Bowden constructed. rather a my charac-
tor for Mrs. Sutton, and described the same. inwsrm
words to  John Wilmot in one of the ‘ my letters
that Msrian’was much too judicious-to mark upon.
If the girl haddared=to do so,” she Md not-leared
wounding the kind heart that so evidentlyprefe'rred
feeding upon-itself, she would likcdto' have given. her
unclethe assurance that his wife never strove in the

But after that one emphatic caution to her Mark Sutton
had resolutelyheld his peace, and had given herno
excuse for touching on the topic. Accordingly Ellen
nursed her notions respecting the absolute freedom of
her will in secrecy, and Mrs. Sutton marked the girl's
sense of security in her own integrity of purpose, and
took care not to disturb it. Meanwhile Ellen was be-

untiring illustrator, on her own person, of her increase
of knowledge on such matters, .under- the auspices oi

in more waysthsn one.

 

cums xx.
DOWN AT HALDON.’

Mn. LIONEL Tanner’s picture was hung in the middle
room in such a situation that it could be seen, even on
the first of May, when a rapturous sense of art and a
few other motives urges every one in London to go ‘to
the Reyal Academy. "The Battle of the Bards,” had
been rejected; and “ Venus and Horsel ” was unfin-
ished, in consequence of the artist having tired of‘that
type of beauty, since the day the daphne was picked.
up.’ .So Mr. Bathurst was, not represented at that
year’s exhibition—a thing he had set his. heart upon
being. The disappointment may seem slight to those
a who read of it ; but in reality it was strong enough to
make him take a temporary dislike to the scenes ‘in
which it'had come upon him, and the'haunts where
,it was well/Lknown. He wanted to go into the coun-
try, and he wanted Lionel to go with him. He
owned aplace away in a far-oil county—a lace that
had been left to him by old Mr. Lyon; sn hegrew
eloquent upon its delights one evening at E Tali
bot s, interspersing' his‘ narrative concerning t with
soft-regrets and gentle remorse for having neglected it
so’long. "I have never» even seen it since it has been
my own,” he said. .“Now I want a place to hide-my
diminished head in, I remember that ."there is no place
ven Lionel afull month to go and
study the works of s contemporaries-«a euphemism
for going day afterday and gazing fondly at his own
picturess-éeven his insatiable vanity must be satisfied.
so! shall drag him'with melt , 3. . , _ »
' Th races of all his auditors underwent considerable
changes of expression as bespoke. They wet-satin;—
though going. out more than they had done st first——
leading aoomparstivel

brightens mentinlt.--, . . f  _‘
"How we shall-missyoa, Lionel l“Bcshfixsxclsimed

Wy,_\  J v, p.  1,; ,- 
runs how we shall now you both, 1’? L709

“NM Malt War Talbot. ‘ in mouth. Juno ems
twinn-  no hrs-33o:

 

‘tion, she was not dazzled out of her allegiance to her,

“her having no other interest 

slightest degree to turn her into any dubious. path. =

coming an ardent student of, color and form, and an-

the clever dress-maker to whom Marian owed so much, r

niet life. The presence of.
ccmetchs'considered the was

rm :sm’ ‘ :one ‘ by

rosesahdmurmnrof:
' .MMswyoame-mm can?

 

and lassitude. “ I never felt anything like the heat in ,
tut: city to-day ; you iellows are lucky to be able to get
on of it." , .;

“ Lucky indeed, Mr. Talbot." Mrs. Lyon spoke with ,f
a sort of ill-used tone—an expression of being debarred ‘
by perverse fate irom all such delights as the country
in J une. 4 ’

“ Why can you not all come and stay with us ?” Frank p
Bathurst asked animatediy of the whole group. " Miss
Talbot, do say you would like it; your roses want reno._
vating. I speak as an artist, not as a man, you know 1
Get your brother to agree with it ; the change would
do them all good—wouldn’t it, Lionel '3” '

“ I hardly know," Lionel answered, sbstractedly. He
had caught Miss Lyon’s eager, hopeful glance, as it
rushed out to search for scquiescent looks. “ It’s not
that she cares much for Frank's ' society," he thought;
“ perhaps she wishes to see the place of which she
might have been mistress—oi which she may be mis-
tress still, if she pleases. Do you care to go," 
Lyon ‘1’” he asked aloud, abru tly. ' », . ‘

She had let her hands and tar work {all into hex-ls ,
in the excitement that possessed her while Frank ~_
urst was wordin his invitation. She could not ‘sucfi
coed in raising 1: cm and oing on untmmblingly; so
she put her work on the lo and rose up, as ‘ : '

“ Care to go I fee. more than I can say—if ha whale
party can go. don’t care to see the circle 
you, Trixy "’ . *

“Oh no, we must all go,”lTrixy replied, alx'nost 
conscious of what she. was saying, by reason of 
thinkin at the some time. “ She moans Frank." Bunnie
tsneou y Edgar Talbot was thin , " She moans me}?
and Lionel was thinking her " vary 0 _ .”” ’ ’ . . . '

“ Talbot! we wait your decision," Kr. nutsald,
anxiously. “ Let us all go down and take possess on of
Haldon to-morrow; or Lionel and I would go hammer
and prepare all things for the recs on of the lsdiefs
an on the day after; it so!” at r

‘ y, we. are go o 0pm the hi often?
Mrs. Lyon suggested, a accents in which the icing
of many feelings might

x y , . , . .
interposed that slight obstacle the Opera. but lit;
Talbot swept it away; it was one tor» him; 
Blanche wished for the country, in wished. (or. his
presence there. She should have both. « , 7 -
“ We will golf the, rest like the plan as well seldom
he said, cheerfully ; and alter thstthere wanna NW9
about it. Blanche Lyon was very charming and 531ml
tehim for thereat orthe eveni  to
' s
jected visit wasmsde doubly sure bg his staring to ,
" What if Trixy‘ should come away cm H don pledg-
ed to go back as its mistress 7” and her replying. {‘1
hope she will—[I should like it of all things." ' /  '
“Really?” heasked,ses.rc 1y. , , “'" , . i
" Really and truly,” she answered,,,honestly _; f‘ltis
one of the dearest wishes of my heart that my cousin
should marry your sister.” 5 ~ ,, V - .1 ~  
“ Will you hold the same language when you , hose
seen Holden?" . . I . (r ' v ,, g
“ how can I tell? I shall thinkithe some: thought—-
whether or not I shall word it so is more I .1 can
answer for.” ' . - ‘ -' , ..  _ g
' “"Don’t you think that it’s, just probable that? on
may regret that you did, not follow the .plan oold 
Lyon chalked out for you ‘9” ' »  .  3‘ -
She shook her head decidedly»; .1 .  . ‘  
‘ “ Noycrw-never a bit. It" I had douche I: 

‘ s

f

a ,‘v

~ never have known ”~—-- She almost stopped but, -

ed, to think better of the weakness, and  6
words “ any of you,” blushing warmly. it was a very
unexpecte move to him on- [her part, this dark com-
i‘ession‘ that in knowing him there Was full compensate
tion for any loss of riches and power.» An £an
A’daring'move. 'He had always heard, and-always

thought, that there was something, ruminine 111,3.

girl meeting a man halfway ins" declination  
But now, though it seemed to him: thatshe was meet-
ing him half-way, he could not accuse her of anything
uniemininc. It made his heart Ibaat higherwswith a
better hope than. he had ever, known  this
thought, that in afew days he might  . .
through some sunlit forest glsde with this 
man by his side, and no stern necessity {or .' _' .‘Me
the city before him. He almost 
the-only one who would be :without la special 2;. .
down atstldon. x .- . ~ ».  mu"? m an...
The following morning, While they were bum in ‘1

paration ,for their ten days' stay in “the country. 
Sutton came to see Trix‘y,’ and learnéd'the~m0ve-' that
was to be made the following days The it'wo' s, '
Blanche and Beatrix, hadmnderi thviniiuenee » the
sudden excitement of this unewa break lather
routine, come to rather a fairer understanding turn
was usual with them. It hadnashod upon with
an almost blinding li ht that Blanche was: tmmmi-‘v'm
the sort of motions indiflerence' she professed for
Frank Bathurst. _ They both guarded their respective
secrets Jealousy: and so neither liked torrent openly
to the othersbout that Which was nearest to the other“:
hear-t. Still, though this , reserve w ’mflntfi‘ned
Blanchehadspoken ofher cousin toms: ‘ 'Jm‘dh’sd
m' away, seemed to withdraw-from any claim on 
tention. In“ short, Blanche had porosiv'ed it list, 
her i‘rank friendliness of demeanor towsrd’ her 

, , misintergeted by  Tglbot pinto shirts»
flan. And ,, i this ,  on “I.an
bot much. misery. 80 o, hsd'hold  _ “
Bathnrst, andbytbis meme half ‘   ’ ,. , h‘
 who was  Ii  ‘ ‘ ‘
having Kiss Lyon's motiyc: !,  . 

  

   

"Ism’not am > rised'staa '1’ 
 steamed». "1.:  , ’ , 

   
  

 

 

16

measures dealt to them as sane ones when their schemes
fail and 1001: black; but you! what makes you anxious
:10 adorn“7 Miss Lyon’s train when “she goes husband-

un 1} 

. “ Re 1y, Marian, I cannot agree to such things being
said of Blanche—you quite misjudge her." »

“ Do I 2”,Mrs. Sutton replied, mimicking her sister’s
earnestness. " Perhaps I misjudged her whenI found
her flirting violently with my husband in the Grange
garden ?——askin him ‘ to take her part against his wife,’
and fooling him ‘ cause there was no one else to fool."

" I can‘t believe it of her.”

‘ "Well, dear," Mrs. Sutton said, pathetically, "Ionly
hope that when you have a husband she won’t quite
poison his'mind against you; but those frank women
who express, the liking they have so very openly, that
-‘ there can. be no guile in it,’ innocents think—don’t I
know them ,well i are they not dangerous ? Frank
Bathurst is just a bit of wax in her hands, to bemould-
ed as she pleases.” .

, “ Why take any interest in them when you think so

' bad-i _ of them both'iWTrixy urged, bitterly. Mrs. Sut—
ton lladmade the girl’s heart ache again with the hard;
est ache the human heart can know—doubt of the one

loved. '

‘ “‘ My interest is vicarious ; you (are my sister, and I
don't want to see you left in the lurch, either as Miss
Talbot or Mrs. Bath-urat. through Blanche Lyon’s mach-
inations. , I shall never forget what I felt that day when
Inssrd *her talking so» shamefully of me to Mark-40.
tually tr‘aducing Ym’e to‘my OWn husband ?” (Mrs. Sut-
ton in: raved this episode, it may be mentioned, each

time ‘ reverted to it.) 3"Think what it would have
baker?de ,, if I had married him for love l?’

- y can‘t, think, Marian," Trixy ' said, do ect-
 " Immense-tirade: thinking about it; an let
her'talte Mr. Bathurdt‘ in Heaven's - name,” she added,
:suddenly; "I want-none of them." 7.

, , " Exalted sentiment that you will desert, it strikes me,
if ‘ofiev of them: manta you, 'Trixy'; if Irwere you I
would just beaten-mind what I said to you once about

,‘men with those heavenlyqbluo eyes and their powars of
mung » 'nrlove with evorylovable earthly creature they
W, accept the fact, marry him, and make the best of

" Perhaps I should, if I were you,".Trixy replied. and
then liltfiutton got-yup to oaway,remark , sweetly,
F“ It was no wonderthat » got cross. abon it—why
didnft' she make azstand against that Lyon companiom
ship at once mdforevorl” , i

"  I have nothing to my net her,"'1‘rlxy
answered, pluckinguup a small. spiri at parting." be-

cause I really do he her very much—~50 much that» I

ghats'to hate her as you always succeed in making me,
Knish, and—come now-becauso I think she likes my
Mother as well as helikes her.“ , .

“Then, goodbyffllrs. Sutton. replied. with a shr
and a smile ; “ ask me to Eamon in the autumn, an
get Mr. Bathnrsmo concentrate his energies on another

picture, that it maize ready to be rejected next year,

while I am there ; attentions rather bore me, good-
by-woome back with brighter roses in
Trina—pallet makes youétsok old",

your cheeks,

Set kissed and IE: .

mm 0, while . Sutton was kindly employed
in mawhinggagmant by her sym thy and air-
4erlyad to . Mr. Bathth an Lionel Talbot

wore-on their way to Holden. It was not an eventful
, therefore the events of it need not be chron-
I'or theiirst hour of the journey the two men
amused themselves» over Pumh and the mornin
 Then they tried to talk to each other, an
ad bireason of havin nothing articular to say,
and 0 think a at; then they
proceeding on a bright, clear
June morning. I Then they reached Swindon. and
’ intoa carriage were they where free to smoke
 be happielbr the remainder of We journey. At six
o‘clock in evening they ran into the station that
macaroni to Holden ; and at half-past seven a fly,
figured from that station, rumbled up to the entrance-
' ' ‘ ofrfialdoa House.
A» «It was shows that, at first-sight, seemed wanting
 - with the grounds hrough which they
haddrlven togain it. The broad stone-bastioned tee,
unmounted «the Lyons' crest. a hand hol n a
hatchet,admi them into awide turf-bordered vc.
 . thick woods undulatad up and
~ W the hills through which the drive was deftly
‘ bend in a way that deceived the
,  to the extent or the park in the most hon-
 orable and picturesque manner. Gradually this drive
. ; lost its open: character : the woods on either side thick-
, - ened and  themselves upon it, and presently
took a bold round a precipitous bank own the
' at which an impetuous little rill  lediand
. igusedunderulongup to the principal 03 o the
cues. betweentwonne rows of beech-trees throu h
whosstoliage the sinking sun had a hard’stru logo
. antennae much as the reflection of one ru y ray
“is? W- < '
-  a 0; i, p _ fleet was not impdsing. The entrance
‘7' door was camel! Gothic mistake in the flat, plain, gray
mass 9! that side of the house. The windows were
. narrow “assassinated. and there was nothing but
. arid ‘ vol immediatel under them. From the right
. widths-homes n aw of lawn’led the e e

=1

.3. m tea-liver lake, wh a were his ed heavi y
-  . agent-varietyeiilowerin shrubs an _ ,
77.; gracent twinned ; e «which waste-
-»i. min $136 limpicyetgr_,. oyfién‘otheleft
 fl  ,  theiraitaad
. ..  .mmchmmmml .3? inmate. a
' mmmorderodwith . 7 h
 , ,.  .vr   are ' ,
m _, ,_ by L odvorodwlth ' grunts.
 away to‘th'o,’ ' and out-bu I. In
spite ‘0! that severely plain. somber- ooking front,

    
  
  

 

,I

' on, gi

 

there was both beautygand grandeur in this house, to
which Mr. Bathurst brought his friend for the first
time—the house that might have been Blanche Lyon’s.

He had never been to Haldon since it had been his
own, and now he was surprised to ilnd how different
an aspect it assumed to that it had ever had before.
The sense of possession brought out all his powers oi
appreciation as he drove along the avenue and finally
stopped at the door. .Feeling elated, it was only natu-
ral to Frank Bathurst to give voice to his elation.. “ I
wish I had let you come alone to prepare for them,
Lionel l" he exclaimed, as he got out and turned his
eyes on the lake. " I should like to have come down
with them. I should like to see what they will think
of it all as they come up.” ’

" Can’t you do that as it is ? Go to meet them,” Lio-
nel suggested.

“No, no, that I won’t do ; I should have to go in a
station cab—an ignominious way of going out to wel-
come them."

Then the door was opened, and their portmanteaus
and themselves taken into the hall; a small band of
mucbstartled servants, headed by a housekeeperwho
would have felt more pleasure at the sight of them if
she had been prepared for it, came to meet them.

“ The serfs are not glad through Lara's wide do-
main,” Frank Bathurst said, laughing, as he went with
Lionel into a room that the housekeeper declared to be
the only one fit for use. “ It will do ver well,” he add-
ed, turning to that potentate. “ Mr. Tal ot and I want
nothing better until to—morrow; tomorrow we have a
large party coming down, and then I should like the
house to be in order."

This expression of his hopes brought a terribly long
explanation upon him ; but Frank Bathurst was one of
those good-natured men who can listen to an ,“ o’er-long
tale ” with a smile and a certain air of interest, even
satisfaction. Mrs. .Kennet had few servants, as he

knew; the establishment had been greatly reduced at
'her old master’s death.
venture to say it was very fortunate~that she should

“ It was fortunate—she would
happen to have her sister in the house just at present ;

her sister had lived cook in more than one place where

they was that particular that she saw no fear of the
dinner: being ' satistactory." Then another for-
tunate. fact made itself known-4191' ."sisteris hus‘
bend chanced to be there too-Hand (a still more provi~

dential circumstanor) he chanced to be a butler out of

lace.” In fact, luck seemed to be very much in Mr.
thurét’s path, forthough he had come down without
note of warning, fate was on his side ; the two dau h-
ters of Mrs. Kennot’s sister, both of them house-mad ;
both, by astrangcfreak of fortune, out of place, both
pearls of great price, were “ here in the very house, and
might, no doubt, be persuaded to remain."

Indeed, the whole family were persuaded to remain,
and Mr. Bathurst had every reason to take them at
their relative’s valuation, and be grateful for the boon
of their services. Haldon was quite far enough re-
moved from every other human habitation for an un-

expected raid, such as its owner had made 3pm it. to
be an inconvenience—more than that, a faculty—-
to the one who had to cater for him. . Kennet

was too replete with dignified sense of her own unspot-
ted character as a manager to make a sign that might in-
dicate adoubt before her young master. After puttin
the state of the household before him impartially, an
making him feel the full force of the obligation he owed
to fateland her family for the latter being there~she retir-
ed to bestlr her inventive faculties about a dinner for the
two tired travelers. It was all very well for her master
to say " Anythin will do for us to-night, Mrs. Kennet;”
but this was We esday, and she had nothing in the
house for him, and if she sent to the village (two miles
off) she could not count on getting any fresh meat.
There was nothing for it but to rise to the occasion,
and heroically sacrifice the sniper she had designed for
herself and her friends to the ungry, unwelcome, and
unex ted ones. .This being the case, it ‘is small won-
der t at both Mrs. Ksnnet and her sister, who had to
cook it now in another way for other 1! , should have
lost their tempers over the chicken an rabbit they re-
s tively , roasted and curried—or that the butler

ould havmhed over the vanity of earthly hopes as
he was 0rd away to the lsnd-baillil's house to fetch
the key 'of the cellar, in order that the viands which had
been designed for him might be washed down with gen—
erous droughts of wine by his master.

" They will have to work to get the place as I mean it
to be by to-morrow night, won t they 7" ll'rank Bathurst
said to Lionel, as they strolled about from room to
room, and marked the desolation and decay that had
come over everythin . " The library’s good," he con-
tinued, openin the nor of a dark, finely-prmrtioned
room that was totally lined irom floor to co with
books; “ but it's too dull to venture in to—night; ere's
a small attempt at an ancestral portrait gallery in the
corridors; shall we 1goendlook at it and see if Blanche
is like any of them ’

'"Ifyou like," Lionel answered, turning round sharp-
ly, and commencing the ascent of the stairs at once.
Mr. Bother-t followed more slowly, still talking.

" I wonder what she will think of it all, Lair it will
be queer for horto come here and feel that she mi ht
have had it all if she hadn't been such a chivalnons it-
tle t that she couldn’t rice to seem to an and
flatter t a poor old fellow. much-these Mme.
are they ? might be better lighted to, eh i Every one
ofthem’got in Wardens street,” he continued. 10 -
in; along intros: ofthem with his head: in his Doc ~-

mgrsz stench ache :-“it’a
utterly 1m , bio that 1er could have pointed every
one‘s. ‘ , you know: nor not one of
themgblfli emanohe. I shall gather to aittams
abscesses down, and  portrait .theplaca
oftmisthogahuz in aruth
clear out all than an I '
  with!“ own works. I’maot algal).

 

hero “firmness , -ai‘o , couldn
into such a m or gel-ea *

so I’m not bound to respect these shams; I'll hear what
Blanche says about it.” ,

“ She’ll weed outs few of them willingly,” Lionel re-
plied, when’ Frank Bathurst ceased speaking at last;
” but only transparent shame—any that are good she
will five the benefit of the doubt.”

" T at’s a good pose,” Frank said, suddenly stopping
before the portrait of a. lady, and then stepping back to
get a better light on it. “ Look, Lal I there is some-
thing in that l—-—three blues—fillet, dress, and shawl all
difl'erent shadeswyet harmonizing perfectly; I should
like Blanche to sit to me in such a velvet dress. Why,
she has a bit of da bus in her hand !”

“ And what of it ?" Lionel asked indin‘erently. He
thought the picture superb in coloring and composi-
tion; but he was tired of hearing Mr. Bathurst's artis-
tic plans relative to “Blanche,” and the daphne said
nothing to him.

"'It’s about the most extraordinary coincidencel ever
heard of,” Frank muttered, as he tore himself away
from the contemplation of the picture‘at last. Then
he went on to wonder what Blanche would think when
he showed her the picture, and her bright glance fell
on the flower the lady held. Would it speak touching-
ly, thrillineg to her as it did to him? Then there
darted through his mind a conviction that everything
was tending toward the desirable end of Miss Lyon
having. what would have been her own had she not been
obstinate. He—the happy possession—was m ani~
mousl ready to love and marry the woman who
please his taste better than any other whom he had
ever seen. She, Judging from the daphne incident, was
equally ready to love and marry him. Even the weather
seemed likely to favor the wooing—th amid the lat-
ter but speed fast and favorably in such leafy glade’s as
were around on every side, under the clear blue sky
and the warm, bright sun of June? ‘ r

80 he'thought, as he walked lightly along, whistling
a waits, to Join Lidnel, who was standin looking ra.
ther dull at the end window. It struc Mr.“ka

Bathurst as he came up that there was something ra-
ther inconsiderate and ill-timed in Lionel looking dull
or feeling dull, when he (Frank was just realizing how
very happy and prosperous he was. The view of his
own pleasant lands—the prospect of his own future
bliss—the thought of the rich reward he'was contem-
plating bestowing upon worthy beautyo-were one and
all such enlivening considerations that he felt Lionel
to be wanting, in that he reihained uniniluenced by
them. A friend who showed himself slow to" rejoice,
whether he saw cause for it or not, when Mr. Frank
Bathurst rejoiced, was not a friend exactly after Mr.
Frank Bathurst’s heart. " What's the matter with you,
Lal,” he asked, languidly, as Lionel continued to gaze
gloomily out of the window; “ are you thinkin that
this part of the country will do as well as Wales or the
sketchinflour in August? I am."

" No," onel replied; " I was thinking that perhaps
we all work the same mine, rich as' it is, too ireely; I
shall leave Wales to men who have something to ti
them near home, and go to Algeria." ,

“ Has anything gone wrong with on, Lal?" asked
Mr. Bathurst, with a wistful ook in is blue eyes, and
amost unusual hesitation in his tones. onel
shook his head, and Ian bed so cheeril at the supposi-
tion, and met Frank’s w stful eyes so untlessly, that
Mr. Bathurst was quite reassured. “ Let us 0 down
by the lake and smoke a cigar by the moonlig t," the
master of Haldon said, taking his guest by the arm and
leading him back alon the corridor; " you fri htened
me for a minute, Lei, y talking of Algeria; w tever
comes to me, old boy, I can’t spare you.”

Then they neither of them spoke sin for some
time, not until they had reached the ho er of the lake
and sent up several 1i ht wreaths of smoke. Then
Lionel Talbot looked bac at the massive pile, the finest
side of which fronted them now, and said:

"Whatever the autumn sees me doing, Frank. you
on ht to ve up roaming; such a place as this deserves
to inha ited.”

"Yea—es," Frank answered, lazily. The rippling lake
at his feet, the star-studded sky, the beauty of the
moon-1i hted scenery around. were all shedding their
soft in uences upon him. His memorial of, by-gone
days and nights under southern skies, by lovelier lakes,
were dreamin reawakening. It was pleasant to him to
think and remember; so he Went on th s and re—
membering, and paying no manner of head to Lionel's
suggestive speech. It was onl
one-of his gay selfishness to rather inattentive to

anything that did not interest him at the moment.

“ Who was the fellow who wrote something about a
lake ‘2” he asked. Presently.

“Several fellows have written something about I
1.1”," Lionel answered, laughing; and Frank withdrew
his cigar from his lips for a moment. andsaid, as he
sent many perfect rings of smoke circling awn“P into the
air. " I 11163!“ Moore. I was thinking of:

‘ that lake, whose gloomy shore
S ylark never warbles o’er,’

and congratulating myself upon my lake being "11111011
more congenial‘to my warmest.” Then buttoned
on flow yards into a hr r moonbeam and "em on
to remark on the fact of its being a " small wonder that
the one for whom Mariana was swear! should have
kept her waiting so long. since Tennyson 03°“ to Plant
her in a house where mice shrieked in monidering
“mms’iismiii‘” “dawn”; “We
mar of 03 _ so: a nu -

n  ht have been

“It's not possible that
rth he braving those 8 lights," m.

m hamgone
_ n ,
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fallen in and her hair thin, and a general an of dowdi~
uses about her by reason of her dress, being old-lash—
ionod; that's what it would be if one realized the sub-
ject and projpierlylpainltiec‘ii it."

“ nt" one re s .

“ 3&1, ’I'm not likexly to.” Frank said; then he added.
rather inconsequently, “but I was looking at that little
island there, and thinking what a Jolly sort of prison
the Lady of Shalot had:

‘ Four gray walls and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle emboWers
The Lady of Shalot.’

There we have it all. That laurel rises like a tower in
the island. All we want "-—- ‘
“ Is the lady," Lionel interrupted.

“And we shall have her to-morrow night,” Frank,

replied ; he was thinking indii‘ferently of both the
beautiful women who were coming. But Lionel
fancied that his friend thought only of Blanche. Per.
haps it was that his fraternal pride was Jealous about
Beatrix. ,At anyrate, he made no response to Frank’s
remark about her being there to complete the pi ture
tO-Inorrow night ; andso the conversation flagge , and
they soon felt that it would be well to go in._ _

“To-morrow night she will be here.” This was the
text on which Lionel Talbot preached a brief, bitter
little sermon to himself, as he stood at his bedroom
window looking out over Frank Buthurst's lawn and

ake. "To~morrow night she will be here; she, with
her keen eye for the beautiful. will be glancing over
glode and alloy, terrace and turf, lake and island ; all

' be spreadout belbre, her, and she will remember
that all might have been her own, and then, naturally,
she bein m  , her heart will warm to “the man
she has cheats and the thought will arise that it
may be hers still, and by the time the thought and the
wish and the love she’ll soon feel for him are realized;-
Well, I shallgbe in eria.” . I .

It wearied, worrie , tantalized, and perplexed him
through all the visions of the night. “ To-morrow
night she will be here,” that bright, brave, beautiful.
young gentlewoman born. who had carried , on the
wearing strife so gallantly, who had never flinched at
poverty, and to whom it would now come pleasantly
and easily 'to be rich and mlgpy at one stroke! It
seemed to Lionel Talbot that ank was just the man
to win any untouched heart. He had pretty well
fathomed poor, Trixy’s feelings on the subject, but
Blanche's were. beyond him. Love was Often born of
expediency, be reflected. 0n the other hand, Blanche

was scarcely the sort of woman to create asentimsnt 1;-

out of an obligation. " God bless her! however it

nee," he thought, as the g9. dawn chased the laqu
guns night away ; and he is $51ch from sheer weari—
ness. .~ 7 ’

Frank had remained awaits a very little time, think-
ing so adany and kindly of every one of whom he
thought at all. He was delighted with himself, tor in-
stance. for having thought of coming down and of col-
lecting such a pleasant arty as it promised to be.
He was enchanted with don! or old it had never

used half the charm and importance it now held

or him. He had often suspected that there was a
rich vein of humbug in that phrase that _“ the poor
man who walks through a besutitul park has as much
leuure in the some as the noble lord who owns it."
ow his suspicions were verified, and he was very sure,
tom the most agreeable experience, that he preferred
being the noble lord. He was satisfied with Mrs. Kennet,
and with his good fortune in coming into undisputed
possession of such excellent servants, and with the
prospect of the companionship of the two girls who
were coming the folio ‘
tentions respectin one 0 them, and with everything,
indeed, save Lions Talbct’s resolve to e to Algeria.

“That won‘t do at all," he mutter sleepily‘ " we
must all talk him out of that." Here his amiable in-
tentions w vague and undefined. and he slept the
sleep the waits on sound digestion and an untroubled
conscience. «

The empire of the night was ace down at Haldon,
but up in Victoria street it was ribulatiou and woe for
one of the mom of one household. Edgar Talbot
had been at home the ester art of the day. Itwas
astonishing. he said to imsel , how greatly the neces-
‘ny lessened [or being present at the centre of business
suction when a ' man decided u n putting himself
£30115 £4; bility‘iol’hattefi‘:l wt for some game.

. r3.» seer . “your: '3'
declared it the whole of the day. Very gnuch to
their surprise, 0 had attended the two is on a little
. shopping (Expedition they made, and. s 1 more. to his

own WWW. be found himself liking it, for Blanche
L on conllflm 11,18 taste several times, declaring that
t- Lionel Talbot a brother must know better than she
did which color would well with another. It was
very flatterins to him. ' Talbot on that Blanche
should think so highlyot his brother. It made him
think more kindly than ever of Lionel. and be always
had thought kindly of and been affectionatel disposed
toward Lionel, be t remembered. : He bou it his sis.
. ter a wonderful hat to we“ down at aldon, and
oxahanged significant glances with ‘ Bunch when the
latter said that " it was just the shaggifat’Mk nde
--no feather tumbling over the so mu m“
rtoct outline.” Then he had gone gayly hum. with
am rather early than he wished. as they been
declared that they'had a great deal of packing to do,
which must be done by dgzrlight. " You don’t 
what time mu‘slins take, . Talbot,“ Blanche said to
himvhen he tint they 0- should g; V am.
new." " re'n sad wantofpro‘gofl Mm
 wears going to make, and strum pm.
8 . ‘ toput twin." 7, ’
"I   as you ass- on coolant
. "  buyout-solves tpaeking
“4: 190m sm.m.cmr manna rem

l'vq ,. '

‘very near, and that then he wo

day, and with his own in-_

cordially approved

loch"
l", *9

 

“Ah, you don't know what mighty efforts are requi-
site to obtain even such small results. I should be
sorry to answer for the efi'ect on Mr. Bathurst's nerves
if we appeared before him to-morrow in the damp of
the evening in these dresses that now strike you as allv

suincient for the whole time oi our stay. No, we must .

go home.”

Accordingly, he went with them, and found Mr. Sut-
ton waiting for him in a little room with a window in
the roof, that was dedicated to interviews. One glance
at his brother-in-law’s face showed Edgar Talbot that
there was something wrong.

“ You have got rid of those— ?" Mr. Sutton said, in-
terrogatively, mentioning some shares in a projected
railway from one little-known corner of the earth to
one even more remote and less frequented.

“ Not exactly ; that is "—~Edgar Talbot stammered,
hesitated, and then cried out, " you don't mean to tell
me it’s too late.” "

“ Read that,” Mr. Sutton answered; and Edgar sat
and read—in what words it matters not—it is suflicient
to say that they told him that one of his barks of for-
tune was wrecked in port; one of his golden dreams had
melted away, leaving him a very much poorer man, not
only in reality, but in the knowledge of the world who
knew of his investments. ' -

He felt himself to be considerably crippled in his
resources. and when he was able to realize it he confess-
ed to Mark Sutton that he was so crippled, and that he
regretted having tied the “ millstone of this establish.
ment ” about his neck. “ You’ll right yourself in time,
if you’re prudent,” Mark rejoined: “ meantime," he sd~
ded, feelingly. “ it's a good thing, a very happy thing.
that you're not married. Let Beatrix come to her sisa
ism that will be a fair excuse for dispensing with Mrs.

you." ~ . ,

“ Thanks; but I can’t do that‘well," Edgar replied.

“ Wh not '3" , . . l

“ Oh, I can’t do that well," Edgarrepeated. He could
not bear the thought of loosening any link that might
be formed between Blanche and himself. In the midst
of the sharp pain he felt at: having lost a fortune there-
was alleviation in the thought of Blanche Lyon. The
vision of her in her bright, bonnie beauty, as she had
walked by hi side that day, made him feel this life
worth having, the eternal battle of‘it worthlilghting.
She was a good motive power. otherfortunes were to
be won, and should be won for her. . His was notlby
any means a nature to turn to pleasure and shirk pain.
Still, now he could not help feelin that tomorrow was
d be on his way to
sen, with Blanche Lyon.
or a while at least he won d banish his business and
turn his back upon trouble; for a while June, and
Blanche, and flowers, and fresh air should have all his
heart and soul. Mark Sutton marveled to see the am-
bitious your; man bear the first blow—Ithe'tlrst sharp
reverse he ever met with—so well. It touched the
man. whose heart had ached sadly with sorrowful tore-
bodin ,-when called upon to tell the tidings, that Edgar
shoul receive them so steadily. It touched Mr. But. 11
more to hear ‘Edgar’s parting words, “ Good-bye, old
follow; I'm glad I haven't crippled you, anyhow 1"

CHAPTER XII.
wuvmo m IPILL.

Pasronu. pleasures have been sun in every key. and
when circumstances render it desire 1e thot we should
leave London. it is wise and well to remember that
"God made the country. animal the town." The
greenwood glade. and the ripplingbrivcr, the dark pur-
ple moor, and the sky unded ed y smoke, the peace,

flowery glsdes and forest.

the urlty, and the other rivileges of the rural dis-'
9 E

tricts, have a good deal in t em for which we on lit to
be grateful. But there is traverse to the slate d. It
may do intelligent human beings good to be scci
“ desolate " at times. ~It does do them good indeed, for
it throws them, back upon themselves, and ob
them to assiduously cultivate their own best {or ’s-
traction's sake. But it does not improve them tabs
" dumb " because they cannot, without permission,
" 3 ask in the congre ation of fools."

don Hall stoo well in the midst of "what
was generally designated a “ very good neigh-
borhood." A tair number of county families
had centuries sggflboen planted in the soil sur-
rounding the don acres—had taken root in
the same. and in some instances had flourished
exceedingly. Additionally, they were scattered
about several more or less favorable specimens of “ new
men "'who had in some way or other set their mark up-
on the times in a remuneratlve way. Moreover. in sev-
eral instances the clerical once was filled by scholarly
divines—mon who had an apt Greek quotation to utter
on every subject that was mentioned before them, but
who for all that are only one shade less dull than do.

vout.

Notwithstanding all those advantages, it may as wall
be acknowlsd ed at once that it was a dull neighbor-
hood-a neigh rhood that was by no means wax to re-
ceive new impressions. however much it mi ht resem-
ble marble in its power of retaining them. In ad never
of Mr. Bathurst’s long-continued
unbroken absence. It could not cordially approve of
his presence now " under the circumstances! -
. The " circumstances " which were a stumb block
in Mr. Bother-st“: path to instantaneous popular! were
Blanche Lyon and Betti-ix Talbot, and hisopen devotion
to my pupaavotion that was shown so gladly, Rankin
and in ninth» mambo quickly came to take it as
much granted as she did thespmhinqand m to
final ‘  , odaududdensdbyitssshohsd
nmer‘mlr mogyonrthin  mt  ,d

From our Edgar : ’s ' i _ , .
Kudos ii humorous-sh to some! 3% that 111

r 1: him. ens-coolant WWW

in; her byinvestigstlng them.” she answered,
'none to give}? rather more daci
nature of the conversation; and Blanche anchor! rather
painfully under the consciousness of being thought friv-

 

- and hearted woman might unseen-

him, as entirely as was to be expected, considering ho
had been the mainspriug of the move they had made
into the country, The holiday for which he had so
wearily sighed was evidently little more than an empty “
period in which he had a freer opportunity for the in-
dulgence of undisturbed anxious thought than was his .
portion to have in London. Those who thought of him
at all in the first days of the Arcadian intoxication which
made them find the mere act of living all-sufficient, felt
that ” a vague unrest, and a nameless longing filled his
breast."_ But even they did not stay to question the
cause of it. Beatrix was sorry for him, but was not
sulficiently intimate with her eldest brother to tell him
that she was so. She was sorry that he alone of the
party should be drawn in by some stern secret necessi.
ty from the lawn and the river and the wreathing roses
of June, to answer letters which had arrived during
breakfast and spoiled the same for him. “ For all the “
good Talbot gets out of all this he might as well, be
listening to the last quotations in the city," Frank : 3
Bathurst said one morning, as, together with Lioneland :
the two girls, he sat on the bank, of the lake. They had
left Mr. Talbot in the library, writing quickly and ner-
vously, and there had been that in his manner of reply-
ing to their oli'citations that he would 5‘ come out and _
do nothing with them all the morning." which showed
that his correspondence was of very- genuine interest '~
and importance to him. . ‘ ».
" For my part, I believe that Mr. Talbot snio it t
quite as much aswe do," Blanche Lyon said, unifies ,.
5‘ The sun and the scent of the roses both manage to -
get in at the window, so he can enjoy them, and mako ,
money, and despise us for, wasting time simultm :
ous y." ' , ,-
',‘.And they are three pure and undeniable sources .01 '
pleasure; let us count up our joys, and see if we are in, ‘2
a position to i137 him for not being ‘ one of 118.59ka ~,.
Bathurst re 'e . g , V g ,
“There shall be no reserves; we must set down each _.
item of pleasure fairly. I ,wonder if we can do *it i"
Blanche said, with a blush be inning to rise on her
face. Q" You commence, Miss-Tel 0t.” , ' , »
Trixy shook her head. “No! what moral is there in
being fair? What is; the use of trying to analyze hap.
piness? we ’can’t do it—no one, can do it; can W0. :
Lionel ?" ‘ ,
“ Any how we can try,” Iii-link Bathth interrupted. 
Eeloreillionol could reply, and Blanche encouraged him
y say ng : . .
“Hear the laughing philosopherl I believe you dog.
know, Frank! I believe that you are the exceptional
being who is nbither above being happy or saying what
makes him so. You don't vainly gig attes- pcrtoct else ,
ments that are never attained. We will hear your not
first; it will nerve the rest. How begin. 7
py because "-———- * , ‘
“ That sounds-like the answer to aconuauram, or the
commencement of a game, ‘1 love my love within '8.’
because he is stupid and not psychological.’ Ky list d

2

joys do you want! It is a short but all-sufloient one. I

am with you in idleness and June !" ~
" The reasons we have assigned for Mr. Talbot'l con-v
tent are sounder,” Blanche Lyon replied, coolly. “New -
fox’i‘xyfiurs,£iliss Talbot 1” m
h grown pale as . Bathurst spot, ‘ see-pm
with t e pained consciousness that the man also loved,
was speaking words of better that were still worded,_
truth to the careless winnero all hiaktndest thoughts. '
" I am with you in idleness and June," he had me,
writing himself down 12 the utterance as much Neon
lover as Blanche‘s. “ e was a selfish ”«. \
told herself as she looked at him lying there on tho .
sword that was warmed by the sun—the sun that follow
ed the fashion of sublusnry things, and, as it seemed,
touched Frank Butburst more tenderly than it did the
girl who was gazing on him with the gas a!
genuine “faction-it dazzled, bewildered. bot;

ally for when the heart is hot and restless external: are po~ -

tent, then pleasure is a pain. Those words that, he had
said to Blanche Lyon were soft and sweet. claimant!
gentle in themselves, and so only were what a man's uh ~
terance ought to be to a woman, but they sounded harshly
and horribly in Trixy’s em. “ I am with you in idle.
ness and June.” His list of the joys that made lit-lib
so pleasant a thing at this juncture an and ended in
that one sentence. Trixy's heart so as she took thtt
truth home to it—but she went on loving has in“:

wells" mime" n Talbo Blanch repeated 4
“ ow or your at, Miss t," * s ' '
and Trixy replied, “ I have none to give," :
She was not at all well inclined to more a of In:
own sensations, for she more than no that“
too curiously inspected there would beacon tho “litfio '
rift" which should by-and-by “mated! assistants"
in her soul. The r nest that she wouldtnamo the. 
causes which conduofi to her happiness made has \ 1

other he . She We conscious “being
jealous, 1, an)?

a man who told ’ moth

clout joy to him to be " with herein idlenm and June.”
“ When sorrow sleepeth wake it not,"

of good advice. Trix: resolved that She would not may.
thoroughly arouse the three pension: that were Samoa

dedly than outta! the

olouns. by Island wrong. :uggr, ,

". vs on none 7 an” .my- ,.
JV. 1493;}. h , 1‘ Frank
“34.11 , to Blanche ands
on. sin! 

v , ya

flm‘mto sternum. "the poor _
WomM*Mmmud ‘ ' _
masthemmtdmmmmmoooduw

i

m

d  it
i

A.;

likedto hear aswostvoiee “minimum a ;.

 

An

usually of feeling suppressed with difliculty and called
into being by him. But Beatrix, who was faltering in-
.Kwardly, made an effort out of that partly inherent, partly
taught “ self-respect ” which makes women hide the
dart which wounds them the deepest—she made this
eli‘ort, and her tone seemed stern, “ utterly devoid of
that soft, sympathetic inflection which marked
Blanche’s," he said to himself, when Miss Lyon backed
his appeal to Lionel by saying:

“Will you say you have none to give, Mr. Talbot ?”
And Lionel’s eyes fixed themselves on hers as they had
never done before, as he replied: ’

“ Will you saythat I am merely plagiarizing Frank's
happy thought, when I give as my reasons for "happi-
nose the facts that ' I am—and am here ?’ "

“And they are enough—for the present," Blanche
said, (suickly. "At any rate they are the very ones I

* shoul have given if I had been clever enough to say
exactly what I meant and no more; but you would
soon want more than ‘idleness and June.’ "

‘1 You are not quoting me fairly," Frank Bathurst ex.
claimed. "You say Lionel would soon want more, as

. if he were very superior in his requirements to me. I
alsoshould soon want more than you have mentioned

it - -you have left out the chief ingredient I named."
' i‘Doss he not utter false coin neatly l” Blanche asked,
a. turnin her head gayly toward Miss Talbot. In a mo-
ment he quick, kindly, womanly instinct made her
glanceraway again, for Trixy, though she got out her
“ Yes, very," gallantly, had the tell-tale look of terrible
_ amtness upon her, and superadded to that earnest-
ness wasthe dread that the coin might be real in which
the flattery was paid. I
‘t I have another, source of joy,” Frank Bathurst re-
sumed. “The aborigines have not been down upon us
Whelminglyr yet; ' I am beginning to hope that I
V have found the s at of earth where civilization is hr
enough advent: for a man to be credited with the sen-
sible preference for dinin ln'comfort in his own house
rather- than for going in comfort to his neighbor's."
“ We have only been here one week,” Miss Lyon re-

“ c 'f ' '
Mandhcw he might have suffered in that time—mot
from dinners, but from the anticipation of them!

V1.» .

V,
k
L.
a
e.

 

For my part, i - e's sands may cease to flow, false
pleasures to delude,’ ere I forget the claims of gratitude
this neighborhood has established on me for letting me
.aloneito enjoy myself in the way I like best." I
*I'm quite as alive to the negative favor shown as
you can be, but Icon not forget that we have only been

our second appearance in church to-‘morrow we may as
knwell go back to London forrall the peace we shall

ow. '

fine you mean that the native hordes will pour
them-elves into our Holden? Cease to exercise your
prophetic gift, sibyl, if you can foreshadow nothing
1) tor» concernin our future. ‘Trained to the
chase, my eagle ,eye' seems unmanageable bodies of
borcstin the stance. n You have made me very miser-
ably-Miss Lyon; casts further spell around me, and
soothe me back to bliss a sin." ~ 4 - '

m.‘rBathui‘st gathered mself up from his recum-
bent’position at' his cousin's side as he spoke, and went
intosa halfokneeling- ture‘ at her feet; and she, falling
lute-his humor for-t emome‘nt, said, as she plucked a
gomonmsm poppy com the bank :at her side:

It ‘ _ shall be-' he Childe’sfdestinyf lellbind
glns'jfiower‘fit induces oblivion, you know)" on‘your

mw‘i‘  . . . » . t .

 

 

   
 
 

“ 3' 51’11 sign you with a sign: . . .
. ,. . V 4 Nofwomangs love shall ight on thee,
x j” ., , No woman’s heart be thine.’ ”
.flfio‘w can you say such things, even in what you
call {on P"? L'l'rixy asked, inJa-low tone. - ~ ’
"'4 Ldefysmh*Mls;" Mr. Bathnrst said, as he bent his
hésdilower‘beiore the lady Who was fixing the poppy
in  : And Lionel Talbot chanted :

‘  so mistress ofthe hidden skill.
1" N333“? 39‘1‘1‘ttdngei‘dm’r hm
. . 0 . ,
F4»  ills sltarsforhimfl’ , ,
  talking about ‘2” Frank asked, imp»
n y. , ' ,
“ abettingmss Lyon that I knew the source from
whence she  her spell; or the words of it
rather.fi’~1dml,roplied..l“s.re you ing to promise
himflofbrightestsmfles that ever auty were, and
theiriendship which is only! not love,’ Miss Lyon ?”
“{ No,” should, throwing her head back a little; and
_ he 7h” hand up. to command attention still. . “ No,
a verse, fits him best. Begrateful tome, Frank,
x. 149:3...12 . ~ ’~  '
’< (5 3"! Lfli‘chsx-m thee from the "  1
or 535* ~ Which othersdfiae‘l cording"
- "J‘rqman eran mJeao ,.
4 , . From oubt and from dsda n.

2 3 t 91 bid thee wear the scorn of years '
'  ‘  the cheek of youth, '
;  curl the lip at passion‘s tears
« g. .Andshake the hesdas truth.
‘- w “While there is bliss in vol
' ’ V‘ ’ ’ 3W3“ ess‘ln wine re“ 17'
 . . ‘ r Button from woman’s love as free
e . AI woman is hem-thine! ’ ” -
»"~'663&¥”~ 11661405. lumping u , " while there is, and
' l V whileth 1‘ bliss ,lu tlgcse 1 thin ” . ‘Now you
 my Misfit his. I will are was as
from the some 017an tell you that-the who in:

.«vww‘vuw n. I“: A

    
  
 

 

   

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,  formawbércnt:

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. " as, thoroughly; but you must alter befo c you will

 

Women are never rcperly grateful for being neglected. asked

a week; this is saturday. I prophesy that after

  

. emphati .l V , x  ,.
 ;‘?'..99..'§)¥:'butm win in}. gww ..

:- :Y‘ltmnightmnortom” ' r? 
  4-,....eamrrieningu-ne?    

PLA YING FOR HIGH STAKES.

be able to take anything worth having. ‘ The lips are
lightly begged or bought; the heart may not be thine,‘
unless you alter and grow earnest,” Blanche replied.

" We shall see. It‘would be against your own inter-
est, and successful prophetness, to teach me to be earn-
est, Isuppose ?"

“ I never could be in earnest with you,” she said dis-
tinctly; and as she said so. a doubt as to the real destiny
of the Daphne crossed his mind for the first time. Cir-
cumstantial evidence was strongly in favor of Blanche
having gathered in the bloom he had wasted; but
circumstantial evidence is false frequently, and “ wo-
men are rum animals," he reflected, as he remembered
all Blanche’s past sweetness to him, and all her present
cool assumption or the poesibility of his never really
loving or being lrved.

He did incline to this brilliant plum ed bird very
kindly indeed. Perhaps his reasons for oing so were
not altogether above reproach; but at any rate, as
reasons go, they are all suflicient for the purposes of
this story. It was quite upon the cards that he should
surrender his own Judgment to her, if she would ac-
cept the charge, and feel no shame, but rather a con-
scientious satisihction in so doing. He felt intuitively,
without working out the problem “ why it was so,”
that she was as good as she was fair; not an angel—far
removed from anything of that sort, but a very wo-
man. goodand graceful too, and perhaps ever so little
digitised to show that she was both things without
9 o .

“ Good,” and “ graceful,” and gifted with, the war
of putting herself in a good light before all men. 1:
Bathth prided himself much on the perfect tact which
led the woman he was  (and who was doubt.
less admiring him) to make erself “charmln ” to
Lionel Talbot as'the‘y walked up to the house. I may
be that, if he had heard what the pair under considera-
tion were saying, his appreciation of Blanche's tact
might have been less perfect than it was.

" You seem to be well acquainted with Praed, Miss

approval l”

“I think it's his generosity." she answered, quickly;
“ I never thought a out wh I liked him, until you
me; his rhymes all la! in in beautiful order, and
that pleases my ear, of course; but he’s always kindly
and generous toward us women, even when he lilts the
lay of thejilted. He ‘never will upbraid,‘ and that is
so nice, because he had it in him to 11de sobitterly.
Do youknow that poem of his, “The Last ?’ " -
“ know it," he said. They were some way ahead of
Frank and Trixy now, and Bianche’s beaming face was
held toward him eagerly, inspired by the interest she
felt in the discussion of the moral (merits of Praed’s
poems. He knew a great deal about the girl in a min-
ute. He fathomed much that she had felt and was feel~
ing. He realized that life is short; and the truth of the
aphorism that ‘4 the devil takes the hindmost "in most
races came home to him. 'He was thrown of his bal-
m? in fact, and so he spoke too‘soon, and he said too
6. ‘ _ ' « .
"Yes, Iknow ‘The Last;' my favorite verse atthis
moment is the fourth: "

« " ‘ I think thatyou will love me still,
: Though far our rates may be, ‘

And that your heart will fondly thrill
Whengstrangers ask of me... . g

“ ‘ MVraise will be your proudest theme .
hen these bright days are "past;
If this be all an i is dream,
'It is my last i” ’

There was interrogation-.meaningdeep and intense
in the tone in which he uttered these words. For a
few minutes the woman’s \Weakness conquered. the
woman’s will, and Blanche Lyon, desgerate in love, was
feeble in action and inincere in wot . y . ‘ .

. “ If I dared, ii_I,dared," she, stuttered; and while he
was thinking‘vthat she dared not“ love him still,“. sud
“ proudly thrill " tohis praise,because of some prior
claim on her—while hewas thinking still, and she was
hesitating only because he did not bid her not to
hesitate, the others came up, and, the opportunity was
. one. . .. , . .

8 He had spoken too soon. He felt that he had spoken
,too soon as he looked at thehome they, Were. nearing,

‘ and knew'that it might be Blanche Lyon’s .if no one

intervened between, her, and Frank. And she felt
bitterly that he had said too little, and thought. hard
things of the socialbonds Which prevented her inciting
him osayalittle more, and found Frank Bathurst's
animation oppressive, and was altogether lndisposed to
believe in the silver lining to this temporary cloud.» ,

“ ’Misfortunes, rarely come singly! listen," she
quoted, irrelevantl- } (forgetting. that the others were
i norant of 'what s edeemeda misfortune); then they
s followed her example, and paused to listen to the
sound of wheels, and presently a .ponderous carrirge

. swept round the curve of the drive,’and they knew

that thedood~gates',of society) were opened, and that
their happy 10 tie-eating days were over.
.9 Let. us begraterul for that it has been but a brief

‘ infliction," Frank said, when the visitor—a lady who

hid come inekindliness to ask them to an archery meet.

V lug—Jud departed, sin, feeling very dissatisfied with,

Mrs. Lyon's fitness or thepart of chapercn, and vs

muchstaggered at the midst ropriety which mark
the demeanor of the V ng lilac. Lyon, who “had 1'6-
fusedh‘er father’s Mum. and her uncle's fortune. ma
“git had new we dewnto try andcatch Mr.

HQWFB' 3".  . T - '
filmmaker most picasant,"  Lyon interposed.
hastily; "mostples‘sant and" with." she repeated.
y. And Frank, re- edf 

 

when i-

came in, commitm- of grumeds in my

 

.nowa cloud had arisen on her horizon!

Lyon; what characteristic is it that has so won your .

'be rivaled b

of utter commercial discomfiture;

“.t

 ‘i‘
= Eitmfl. we.» 1*

 

g,

mustache, and dead leaves on the back of my coat, and.
an all-pervading sensation of disinclination to speak to
uninteresting people. Miss Lyon shared my senti-
ments. 1 could see by her' face that she was bored——
that we were sympathetic again, in fact.”

He spoke half laughingly, half tenderly, lookin at
her the while with a clear, full gaze, that seems to
make sure of being kindly met and answered. He had
often looked at her so of late, and Blanche had accepted
the frank offering frankly. But to-day another had

one deeper into her soul than Frank, with all his

right-heartedness and easy satisfaction with himself,
could ever go. She moved impatiently under his ob-
servation; she resented his declaration as to the
s mpathy between them. “ Miss Lyon did nothing of
t e sort; she was bored about something else," she said.
wearily. “Sympathetic 1 You are far away from
knowing‘the meaning of the word if you think I was.
that with you just now.” .

“ You are growing quite earnest in your denial. And
don’t I know the meaning of the word '2" He was a.
vain young fellow, but there was something winning,
in his vanity, at most times, to most women—some.
thing specially winning in it to Blanche. But to-day
she lacked fiatience for it among other things. She
had known im for a butterfly all along, she told her-
self; and she had thought that a butterfly must ever
be a pleasing and welcome object about ons's path,
whatever the weather. Now she found that sunshine
was a chief condition: the butterfly was out of place
It irritated
her that he should seek to put her in the position of]
understanding him more clearly than the others did,
when she did not desire to understand him better. It.
roused her esprit dc corp: when he repeatedin his
merry, vaunting, successful manner, " Don't I know the
meaning of the word ? More women have been sympa-
thetic with me than Iwould care to count." Anec-
tionately fond as she was of .him, she could not resist
remixing when he said that:

" porello sings the list of names. A genuine Don
Juan would scorn to proclaim his own dou hty deeds.”

“I wasnot boastin ," he exclaimed, 156k .. And
his fair face colored li e a girl’s as he spo e.

" Were you not 1'" Blanche replied, carelessl .' "There
was atone about the speech that we may. forgiven
for haying mistaken for boasting—may we not, Miss
Talbot ?" _ ‘ ‘

“A tone .you have never been hard upon before.”
Trixy replied. She saw his faults too; but she would
have touched them so tenderl herself that it almost
painedher to see them rough y torn into the light by
another: especially did she dislike seeing them tom
into the light by Blanche Lyon. It was hard, woefully
hard, to Trixy to see the man she loved laying himself ,
open to the feminine sarcasms of her rival; to see him
acce ting rebukes, rather than nothing, at Miss Lyon’s
han s; hard to mark him as so willing to puthimself at
Miss Lyon’s feet; and perhaps harder still to mark that
Miss Lyon did not deem it a priceless been that he ,
should be there. To be rivaled at all is horrible; to
one who does not even deig‘n to seem to
care is hum 'ating}. So ’I‘rlxy Talbot said that Blanche
"had never been ard upon that tone before;" and.
Frank’s blue eyes sought his cousin's, and seemed to '
implore her to indorse the statement.  ~' 4 v w

_._.

.. CHAPTER XIII.
AN noun or Buss. _

THEY had sun-she. the woman he loved, among the»
number—spoken of him and his 'possible occupation
so li htly and carelessly down by the lake ; and in-‘very’
trut he had been knowing much bitterness. The-'
shadow of the‘blow that had fallen was upon him, >
even When he came down to Haldon ; but the blow it-
selfhad not descended until this morning, when he :
read at the breakfast-table that the company!!! WhiCh -'
he had been well warranted, by- most exemplary exam-v
ple, to have trust, had engulfed. itself. and all‘Who had
faith, or at least money, in=it,'in unqualifiedruin.

Edgar Talbot was not endowed with'the mil/“Que
that enables a man to rise up buoyantlyunder a sense
Perhaps the men
who can do this are» about in the world somewhere, »

but it has never been my lot to meet them out of print ;

and as Iseek to paint from the life I will tell of that
I have seen alone. while his sister and his friends,
and, above all, the'women he loved, were dew}: by the
lake, “gatherln ” the Odorous rosesvof love and youth, ‘
of idleness an duper-while they were doing this,
according to their different degrees. Edgar Talbot was
goin through several phases of well-developed agon"
and espair. . - '  v,
From the date at which be commenced thinkingabouo ’
life. and the responsibilities or life at all,"he  set.
himself the congenial task of amassing such a fortune

- as should make his family (that is, himself) imparle

and considerable. In the fulfillment of this: resolve he
had exercised self-restraint and denial of no mean or.
dot for many years. He had rigorouslyord 9‘1 hi3
course. abstaining ‘t'rom much that was harm can be-
cause it was not profitable, and from a little that was >
profitable because it was not harmless, it 1m!“ “1de
0 his credit. He had held aloof from Wigwam“.
wine, and other expensive things; and, 311s _ A his 1'6.
wtard for thifi abstinence int.1 beinu g wellrdpnieigdgggfif:
a antagewfen’msny of-  t  .
indicted for being such reprobatesss to be MmPOIIed
o retrench. It had been very well with  in fact.
whenhenrst saw BlancheLyon. Thonhccommenced
p' tratlnga series of  ’16 £011 in love.
wit 'a"toc ' ‘ ‘ '  fithenhe,
resolutions concerningyhe; u like, no: the

': mdlzflnfiwxr L  h - 

" .    such;

on for hi it Withou costto his 

co nee. And now the and had come 1

   
 

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH MAKES.

 

13

 

 

. The end i Such a black, bitter, hard, ruinous end
as it was too! He had lost slithat was his own, and
much that was not his own, and he knew that all
would call him a fool,and some might call him aswlnd-
'ler. He had advised others to act' as he had done. and
the others would not now be slow to remember that he
had so advised them. He had impoverished one sister,
and left another penniless. He had no hope,reasona-
his or the reverse. of ‘ever entering upon that exciting
career which had been as the breath of life to him. His
life, as it would and must ’ be, stretched itself

out before him in vivid colors and clearly-cut

line ; and he looked at it, and saw it as it was——
a life of toil and obscurit —-and knew that he must
live it. His career-that w ich is to a man what love
is to a woman—was dead, and he stood at its bier know-
ing that there would be no resuscitation. As this
knowledge was driven deeper and deeper into his mind
he went through some of the hardest pains of the
.most horrible Inferno. There was no compensation to
.hign in any lrobable combination of circumstances that
-m18ht bef 1 him. Had he been able to realize it at
,once‘he would not have accepted the love of the woman
for whom he had a passion as part payment for what
he had lost. In one way it was all over with him, and
he laid no flattering false unction to his soul on the
subject.

Still, devoid as he was of that sort of half-poetic,
hall-weakly sensibility which makes some gentlema-
‘tured people turn tesrfully to friendship and love in
(all troubles that mail them—devoid as he was of this,
he did think once or twice, as he wrote responses to the
notes of ruin which had sounded in his ears this morn-
:ing. of Blanche Lyon. He did not tell himself that he
(should turn from ambition to love—find consolation in
her caresses. and an incentive to ignominously-obscure
industry in her wifely smiles and womanl satisfaction,
with the poor let he could ofler instead 0 the rich one
he migh have offered her. But he told himself that
(come what would she should be his wife, if he could
, at her. He was a practical man, barren of all poetical
: eeling to a degree that may or may not be rare, but
that at any rate was great. He was also a passionate
.man, and his ion for Blanche was of the sort that
:made him too that any fate which could be endured
by him could be endured by her. ‘She came into the
consideration of his plans, which may be accepted as a
proof that he loved her. Whether that love Was selfish
or not is a hard question for a third person to answer.

“Talbot looks as if he had had, a tight time of it,"
fFrank Bathurst muttered to Lionel, when Mr. Talbot

came andioined them at the luncheon-table at last ;'

and, Lionel. looking at his brother's face, road there
that it was even so as Frank said, for the of the
warfare in which he had been worsted were a ut him
still, visibly about him; even the ladies saw‘the s,
and were more subdued than the day deserved ey
.should be. .
"We're almost by way of being strangers some way
‘ or other,”Frank Bathurst said, in continuation of the
:subject, later in the day, when he and Lionel were
alone together; " otherwise, if anything is a little off
the line, it might be righted again ; but a fellow doesn't
r- to brooch the business with a reserved man like
a at.” 4
“ I am afraid something is more than a little oil‘ the
line," Lionel replied. " Edgar is not a man to be beaten
by a trifle, and he is beaten now. I’ll give him a chance
‘- gigging me if he likes byoand-by ; but I will not press

" Give him to understand that if I can help him, and
he does not take my hel , it will be a all ht on your
feeling for and interest in m, for you'll vise him to,

i, won’t on f" .

"Advise in what ?"

“ To let me help him.”

"If he is beaten, asI fear, it would be watching at a
_ straw simply to take such help as you could give him,
' hank ; however. I shall hear. '
He did hear him in time, but not that day; there
V couldbe no good ained. Edgar Talbot argued, by talking
about things be’ore he was compelled to talk about
} them. Lionel would know quite soon enough that his
gown £5,000 had gone the way of the bulk of his father's
H y "d  while her mind was undisturbed by the
"knowledge of the utter ruin in which her srdian
brother was steeped.
seemed to see light in thedarkness. Eiasister did hold

 V is her hand if she only played them roperly.
itil ' .
(“on y . , Murat for a brother-in law Kc might

" D0 lion/know what Bathurst has a ear 1'" he asked
“gull”! 03140361; and Lionel replied:y
mvefizoggtgv$$$€agd ibiflieve," and fell into a

, _ w
angled by mmcgelg‘yun. e her or not it would be
6:7 never at no over, their wine after t e 1' dies
had lett them in this "Minn Bohemia of anal... ‘The
daylight was but Juli? dying- oif the sky when Lionel,
allege: iby Frank  came to the two girls in

e w lag-room . “ Which was to rei u to.
night. moon ' ht or melody ‘3" y ,3
I 5‘ Put the ternatives more clearly before us, Mr.
Talbot," Blanche answered, moving a little nearer to
the window, which was open, as she spoke.

“ Well, shall We go out on the lawn, or shall we sit by
the piano. and hear Trixy and you sing ?" >

“You won’t hear Trixy sing filo-night. Lionel." that
:Jou lad put in, hurriedly.

" st oes Miss Lyon say i” r . 4
,1 “ The lawn is so 1213:3311 exacteBiithsg my ordvoioelmt
zamgoin out to o ," one 9 rep 6 2V5 8
 the window as Zhe spoke. Lionel followad her
“filmy caeu$,-and so it came to pass that Beatrix
,:f.ound herself us with Frank Bathurst. or as good 3!
, alone. lira. Lyon being at the for and of the room fast

\

l

, ;mperty. Trixy would play the cards she held in her ‘

As Mr. Talbot though this he w

 

She’was very fond of him—so fond of him that she
forgave him all his little attentions to Blanche and all
his little inattentions to herself, though both Were very
patent to her—so fond of him that she was ready, ay,
ready, to hear the faint sound of encouragement which
her own heart ohered to herself as she marked that he
did not seem very anxious to leave her and follow
Blanche. Certainly he did say, “Do on not care for
the lawn to-night ?" but when she s ook her head in
the negative, and seated herself on the window-sill, he
drew a low chair close opposite to her, and placed him-
self upon it, and looked quite ready to resume his old
fervent admriation for her hair and eyes.

"Why will you not sing to_-night i" he began.

" I am not in tune."

" Nor was I quite till I sat down here and looked at
you. I am sym athetic. whatever Blanche may say to
the contrary. our low spirits acted on me; and now
that you have brightened, I have done the same."

Beatrix felt her brow burning. She was conscious
that she had brightened at heart when he planted him-
self opposite to her, and now it was made manifest by
the manner of his as at her—a gaze in which there
was a little apgesffimd a good deal of admiring
audacity—that s e had brightened in the face also.
Feeling herself thrown ofl her guard, it was but natural
that she should endeavor, to disarm him, as it were. 80
she spoke of her rival, and spoke iniudiciously.

“ Miss Lyon cast a spell over you. Have you forgot-
ten it 1’" she asked, significantly; and he accepted the
double meaning, and disappointed poor Trixy by say-
ing, lsu hingly, with the fresh, frank, outspoken van-
ity whic eminently characterized him :

“ Forgotten it—no, indeed ; I have set myself a glori-

ous task, Miss Talbot, to make the prophetess prove the

falsity of her own prophesy."

“ Glorious, indeed," Trixyoainswered. ’

“ Shall I find it ‘ love's is lost ’ do you think i" he
asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice, and in-
tensely appreciating the graceful bend of Miss Talbot's

head as she sat with her cheek resting on her hand be!

fore him. It so glossed his taste to have the friendship
and companions ip and interest of lovely women that
he almost felt inclined to take Miss Talbot into his con-
fidence concerning his fwlings for Blanche. But he
forgot this inclination, or, at any rate, fathers to gratify
it, when for answer to his last question Trixy gave a
little angry sigh, and covered her eyes with her hand.

He loved beauty, softness, sentiment with all his
heart and soul. It Blanche had not been before him
there would have been a counteracting influence in her
brilliant presence; but as it‘was, the seductive softness
of that sweet, reproachful sigh made him forget every
I in the world but Trixy for a time. Itwas so very
mile a habit of his to get all he could out of life, to
gather every flower,,to listento every sweet sound. to
push every pleasant feeling to the verge, and at all times
to let his fancies lightly turn to'th’ou hts of love; it»
was so very much a habitof his to do , 1 these things,
that it never occurred to him that he mi ht be playing
with fire. 80 now, in accordance with e dictates of
this gay second nature of his, be bent toward Beatrix,
and asked her very tenderly if he had annoyed her.

-"No,” she said, “ not annoyed me.”

“ What is it then ?" he whispered. " Look up at me
and tell me that I have not unwittingly said something
that pains you.” And then she obeyed him; dropped
her hands down, and glanced up at him with her great
loving eyes. And the beauty worshipper could but
look lovingly and earnestly into her’a in return, and feel
very sorry that the lamp and tea would come in present-

ly, and dispel the soft light and softer sensations— m

looked at her so lovingly and earnestly indeed, that she
trembled at being so, near (as she believed) to the bliss
she craved, and so said she would “ o and look for Ed-
gar," and made as though she wcul rise as she ke.

But he stopped her by putting his hand down on er's
and saying : __

" ‘ No. no, stay with me lady while on ma
For life’s so sadwthis hours so swget.’ ” y.

Then silence reigned, and as his clasp grew closer she
forgot that “ life is sad " in the sweetness of that hour.

“ What a newling wilderness this will be to m and
me when you’ll go I" be said at length, and his speech
slackened the , and Trixy felt herself able to com-
mand her feelings and release her hand.
“ Oh; you will get on very well without‘us,” she said,
uttering a commonplace truth because it was the easiest
thing to utter at the moment. Then the lam and tea
did come in, and Frank sprang up and one her his
arm, and proposed " that they should go and call the
others in." r

She accepted his proposal with a shy delight that was
born of the hop: she had that when once he at her
into the garden
their being there, and think of her alone. But as soon
as they were outside he proved himself to be very
much in earnest in the search by giving a series of call
whistles, which were soon answered by Lionel. Then
the all met, and the two young men sang a German
atu ent’s song with an hilarious refrain, and romance
was over for that night as far as Beatrix and Mr. Bath-
urst were concerne .

 

CHAPTER XIV.
mmsusrmnnm.

Tm: had been nothing definite said either by Lio-
nel Talbot or Miss Lyon during that stroll the had
taken about on the law's. But somehow or M or it
came to them both to have a great feeling of satisfac‘
tion and security about each other and (the future be-
fore they came in to tea. The strain ofthe morning was
not resumed; nevertheless. Blanche could not make
any complaint of there being a lack of, harmony. For
the first that! Lionel Talbot spoke to her of his future,

9 would forget the nominal 0 eat of

 

assumed that she felt an interest in his hopes and pros.
pacts, and,“ for the. first timealso,” he said, hef.‘ began
to take an interest in these latter himself.” _ ,

“ I shall never sacrifice the means to the end,‘ or
practice my art less worthily forbeing animated by the
hope of more commercial success attending it," he had
said to her, and she had replied ; i

“ I thoroughly believe you. I feel that it will always
be impossible for you to seek any reward for the mere
sake of the reward; but what has come to you that you
should even think of ' success,’ Mr.”l‘albot? I ' don’t
own you,’ as old women say, when you utter such sen-
timents.”

“ Do they seem ignoble to you ?"

"No, indeed, no; but the others, the ones I heard
from you, or rather heard attributed to you. atnrst
were so very different. I thought you were the sort of
man to go on working forever, and to be 7&7 careless
as to whether the work was ever known, or seen. or
valued, or paid for, so long as you yourself had theat-
isfaction of knowing it to be good and true work." '

“You must have thought me an unpth idiot."
Lionel said, laughing; “ yet, to a certain, degree. you
judged rightly. I did love my art, with a. perfect love
that cast out every other consideration than ital honor
from my mind; now I know another love. and it shall
ennoble my art, and my art shall exalt it. Do, I still

seem inconsistent? do you still refuse to 'own me?’ '

or do you understand me i” ~

" I think 1 do—«I hope I do,” she, had answered.
hurriedly; and then hank Bathurst’s whistle sound-
ed in their ears, and the talk about the truss.
lation of some of Lionel's theories come to an
end. But Blanchehad hens-done h tomato herbal
sisterly and sympathetic toward trlx and Mgr.
“ Poor Mr. Talbot, he has been by himself. writing t-
ters all day," she said; “ one ofus ought to take his: a
cup of tea, and beguile him back among us. You look
tired, Miss Talbot ; shall I go i" r . .

She looked for an answer fromLionel, but he gays it
quickly, remembering, with a pong. that it walks and
0nd time this day that Blanche had remarked on his
brother's absence. Was his (Honors) claimnpm her a
vicarious one, after all ? Was, the interest she d
for him but the offspring of‘the regard she felt  Ed.
831‘ z ' ‘

"It would be very kind of you to do it—very 
indeed." Then he held the door open for has, ‘i
Blanche sailed away to the library, within ’ oftea‘in
her hand, and the comforting thought in has ear-tins:
she was on the way toshow a graceful, womanly singu-
“.‘i‘ ‘° ‘ m“ “our?” law be...“ m
oersworeao e 60.70- 

in that he seemed to stand outside it all. - ~ -

Itwas a s ty of hers toswse about softly, how
ever fast so freely she walked. er garments never
rustled, nor did her silk dresses go off in crisp crack: a
she swiftly moved about. Her step was so i t’ and
true, her progress so noiseless, that Edgar re-
mained unconscious of his solitude being‘broken in‘u‘p-
on until she gained his side and spoke. ' r ‘

“ Mr. Talbot, I have brought youvsome legend I am
charged with a special commission from the rest {to
take you back with me.” * e V w 

Then he got up from the chair in which he had'bebn
seated with his face bent down toward the grand in in»
tense absorbing thou ht.th up, and took the clip
from her, and then too both her wrists in no hands,

and made her face him; which she did, wouderlng‘iyfi

“ You have come to rue—will you stay‘with me i” ;
"flora? in this room? Ohyes, if! can help you}:
" You can’t help me,” he replied, 1m

‘atientlyg 
idea of any woman's assistance woul have “d
W conceit at the brightest time; at it
seemedssu tion fraughtwith the most I ’ t n
his folly. 8 he wasi love with they'vomoiw 0
had made it, so he contented himself with ' ',  ‘ 5“
can’t help me at 311;" and‘then adding " '

     
 

9 y I ‘
ing with me. and hearin what I have to say. ~ 1 have V
bad news for you—very news.” Then , ,
one other bands, and cked up a mm-hmwhmnno

balanced cleverly on n s a r, as snail). to eloquence.
apparently, for when he got. it into
he went on, "I have bad news for on. up”: '
in thinking that the tale of my r ,; ' . .
connected with ins—will sound hmhll’xvin  “ em 3”
" Harshlyl Oh! Mr. Talbot, h 
There was no aversion manifested in the error
MW

in.
pressed, no falling awe from him. Her W a
and her eyes softened, t not unto hm. 
back a step under the; blow he dealt. r Thcnahe

gave his hand a 00d hearty H, , lone! premium
note of friends p, should .hgnever need ity-and went

on. "It would sound sofeebleif “old on, that I.

am sorry, and the worth would not
that Ismz‘women's words. and 'vnys, um mu; no
so weak when it comes to the point.” Then she paused,
out of breath,.with sympathy, and the reflection me
he had said "all connected with him "

ery; and she     be  have L

to lfnmfort Lionel; end her heart rose may 1,9 tn.

" liour words are not weak; I a soon know
whether your will is equally stronghglnot. Many a
man situated as I am would try to work on your ten-
derness by telling you he was a beggar. I do. not-tell
you this, for I never could be a beggar, and I don'tliko
xggfingfbmghxbfiéhe lot that 1 have to can.

9 mil -

wig you 3:8“ it ‘9" e “an 9’ began“ in 7t" '
'very ruth, versed as she was in all theflgns‘ of
men s love, this came upon her as a surprise-v-aaur-
prise that wounded, shamed, hurt her in semiann-

P‘Nntl , for shebo ’ -
tieb fashion. wed her he“ mm” it in no 

“I would not have had you say such words  r

world," she whispered presently; "forget 

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get that I have heard them. Oh 1 Mr. Talbot, you have
made me miserable ?—-end I have liked you c." A.

She spoke as one who was bitterly disappointed-on
one who had steeled herself to bear ill news, but not
such news as this. Edgar Talbot had never realized be-
,fore that it is possible to put a woman to very painful

' confusion hymposing to her. He told himself that

her cousin, ank Bethurst. had been in the field before
him, and he did for a minute or two, hate his host very

' , heartily.

“ You have seemed to like me,” he said.

“ And I have liked you, and I do like you so much—-
so very, very much—but not in that way.“

“ It" had said these Words to you down at the
Grange, when I knew you first—when I first loved you
«your answer would have been different i" ‘

"Yes, it WOuld," she answered frankly, “for I hadn’t

.V the feeling-the liking for you had not come then to

giro me 11-.

“"And was arich' man then.”
"Youdo not believe what you imply," she said, in-
d antly: “Ah! my words are weak, indeed, for I
that ital spoke forever you would not understand
meyyou dew-tong me when you hint at your change
0! mrtuneiuil’uencing'my feelings about you—you do,

1 but you will never believe it."

She spoke seriously, standing before him with her

' angers interlaced and her hands held down‘ low before

her; She had been humiliated at first by the feeling of
self~reproach which assailed her for not having seen,

«and stopped this before the words Were spoken. But‘

 now she asked herself why should she suffer delicate
 mples on behalf of aman‘ Who could misdudgevher so

 .Meanly'as Edgar Talbot was doing? His brother would
i not have done so; and at the thought of his brother s‘he

 softened to'ward'him' again, and looked up to see if she
, I might obey the womanly instinct to comfort him with.

out being misunderstood.

" ‘.  his a fact that: a woman cannot for long think hardly

e.‘

of a man who either tells or shows her that he loves her,

however lowly she ma rate his} regard. “Ah‘ection

. Wkwested," for if i enrich not the giver, it decided-

,' ly elevates the recipient in her own estimation, which is
' a readingoi his verse never intended by Longfellow. In

this case, thou h Blanche Lyon was honestly sorry".
- "~ that it shouldfin

so,” her sorrow was qualified by a

'. certain pleasurable feeling of increased appreciation for

. , Go north
,i’rkdglslbotfs best, and looked up and. longed to comfort

   

Atom
 pro-en, occupation contrasted fordny with the

7 .. tbe'man'who caused it. A woman is alwa s sureto

discover a few more'commendable or admiral) o touches
in thesis-rector of a man who avows that he loves her.
lsnche remembered all that she knew of Mr.

m. ‘
.3. was standing. still carefully balancing the paper-
eutteron his linger, still resolutely making it keep
" r , ahair's breadth too much on either side.
, . ballad but lately gone throu h~this was
to tile andthey were so large. Yet she new that he

' was not frivolous. It must be that what he willed to
a. do he would do. And he had willed to love and marry

er! .
a sudden, irresistible, intense belief in the magnitude

_ of. man's mind and the strength of a man’s wil swept
“ across her soul, and her desire to eomiort him was

A

' should let her alone."
; he:

,

h

' - me
. “emu the
1 “Win novels,"

no.4

chm
gwhgn he came togear ofit? She would be re
a‘ commonaplacc,

” . «sum:

'  in a desire that he would not oppose or quell
a.

any way, or as she worded it to herself, that " he
‘ She felt very nervous
my bad sacred her marriage and accused
motives. If he held to his course,


a _
 her past interestin him to have been. a

sentiment which would have ripened into love had his
fortune not

0d,,where should she be with Lier

as
, flirting, also, vain, interest creature
'noneluu‘one who had an led in every stream for

A' _ :W‘Wflthe Thedreado being so madehermis-

 brsve at the some time, and'she spoke
may «dwell. 1 " ,
‘ filingmbot. will you be very mercifulin your

will you forget what on have said. and let ~

f,
Wittoomudbeairiend me?’ _ .
‘  cent of school girls and virtuous-
einterrupted, impatiently. And,
was let: that item would have her appeal . heard she.

x-multaiiateit‘tex tho  . . . , , _ .
 "‘ka' ,then, 1‘ you keep this secret, because, if
. fi ‘3 “3“. '

own, it would prevent the man I love loving
_ ,u’r‘e candid." ‘
, "I’m-more ban confirm audacious; and I know
it." But I who! you; you keep my secret-i"
“ '" lost men would‘call it theirs. .
3"" Ito-t men would be wrong, then. we mine, inas-

mu

1' ' menu the betrayal of it would harm me more than
‘ “would‘hurt u; some of my friends would find it

" i impossible to

eve that I had not been to blame for

 more than blindnessin' the matter." . ~

“ You are great at making mistakes,“ he said, quiet-l

fly; "now  are attributin all manner of flue feeling

- love.
" ’ nothing of

..v

which helices not possess . o the mun you fancy you
I know him better.” ’ .
“ You on hi: to know him better, but .you know
I gim“"if‘you say that.” . r

" He will always seek what other men seek, and
strive to who what othermeu want," Edgar Talbot went
on, disregarding her; " his love isnot worth the name;
it will always flow in the courses other men open up to

his vision; he’s sctlngiau unworthy part now toward 1

you and toward "-—
" Toward whom i" ,
" Toward another woman. ; I will not mention her

name; you'wili know it in time. .He’s weskmvain. and

e paused. and Blanche cried ;

epimpressionsbiea—and you prefer him to me i

" “* have staid here too long,” she said, turning to go;
and then he followed her, and stood so that be barred
her 9 tram the door. ,

1'. I ave. more to say, Miss Lyon, and you must bear

before '

 

She bowed her head‘acquiescently, and then stood,
resting her chin in her left hand, and holding the sup-
porting elbow in her right hand, in that attitude of
‘izningled resignation and impatience which is familiar

0 women.

"You shall bear it, and you shall not forget it. You,
will follow your own path now; mine seems too dreary

for you to tread. You will marry; you will, be happy
for a time; then he will neglect you, and you will re-
member my love, and turn to it." I

“ Heaven forgive you these words 1” She shuddered,
and looked as though she could not be kind, as she
prayed Heaven might be. ,

“ Whether or not, they are spoken, and you will
feel than that you‘have not been guiltless in this mat-

er.” .

He spoke as if he were very much in. earnest. She was
woman enough to feel sorry for the sorrow that would
be worded; she was 9.1le woman enough to feel sorry
for herself. “ Love turned to gall ” in the bosom of
{Aerie} Talbot's brother might prove a bitter element in

or a.

“At least believe that I have not been guilty in de-
sign,” she pleaded; “ it never seemed to me to be pos-
ei is that you could be thinkin 'of me in the way you
have done me th‘e‘honor to thi

He shook his head in disbelief.

"What reason had you for thinking me so” blind or so
cold as not to see your beauty and be touched by your
sympathy ? You have seemed to like me; you have
s own so marked a, preferenCe for my society, and so
unmistakable an interest in my prospects, that, Iam
justified to myself in expecting to have a. difi‘erent au-
swer from you. I had discovered nothing in your cha-
racter or manner to lead me to suppose youa weak,
vain, or false woman ”——-— , . ,

“ And you are not justified in judging me to be either
of these things now." . ,

, “ I will not judge you—at least I will not word my
judgment of you, but I will ask you to judge your-
self when I have put your conduct before you plainly."

“ Mr. Talbot-mot even the houoryou have done me

of me.”

entitles you to take up the position of my accuser in

this way ; conscience, free as I am, I am still bitterly
sorry that I should baVe been the means of leading you
to make a mistake : that is all I can say—I am bi terly

.0 ’ll

5%“ so bitterly son-yes I am, not ' that I should
have ' made a mistake,’ so that it should 'be a mistake ;’
you are the first woman on whom I have set’ my heart—_
you will be the last, yet you can calmly'tell me, ' I have
made a mistake, and that you are conscience free.’ Miss

Lyon, men do not 'make mistakes’ nor are women‘

' conscience i‘ree ’ in such cases; we call acts criminal
that do not carry such a train of evil consequences with
them as this of yours." I , '

- He looked so uelled, so miserable, so hopeless, and
reckless as he as (1 this that she longed to soothe him
back tcbetter feeling, both for his own sake and an-
other’s. , But she dared not do it. The man had charged

her plain! with havin before this shown signs of love '

for him w on she h not ‘ felt, and she could not tell
him that the love had been not for him but for his
brother. She must be content to be reviled and re-
buked, maligned and mitunderstood for a time. So she
accepted his last harsh words in silence, and when he
ceased speaking she tried to pass by‘hinr quietly once

“ Don’t lg) yet,” he entreated, in softer tones than he
had used eretofore: "from this ni ht mine will be a
black, barren ad; bear with mep‘a ently now."

The altered tone broke down her hardlyssustsined
resolution. She turned to him with all a woman’s
tender pitifulness in her blushing lace and tear-filled

eyes. _ ,
" Mr. Talbot, you willbreak in heart unless you tell

me you forgive me for having ded to your troubles.

I shall never be happy again if you do not promise me

to go out to meet your alteredfortune brightly and

bravely as a man should.” ‘

" Such going out is easy in theory."

“ And in practice tool Ah! you smile; but I am not

.' peaking as ayfool entirely without experience."

You speak as a woman.” . I. .
.',‘ grant than—as, a woman ashpuld speak who has
foug t alou monotonous light without hope of glory;
and. who, that shevcan. light itover, again on- the

sameinoneven harder terms, without .replning or re. ‘

gret. . . . _ _ .
J“li'ight it with. me; the terms will be harder, but
you have the heart to fulfill them gallsntly."
“It cannot be now. I wish it could. I think it

would if I had known you as I know you now before I

ot to love. some one else better than my life.

had
‘ times? I'd fulfillthe hardest willin ly with

the man Iloved who had the courage to say be hard

truths to me that you have said."

“Do you mean that for consolation? because if you
go, I must tell you that it falls short of your inten-

on!” . . '

“I scarcely, know what I intend it for—yes Ido; I
intend you to understand through it that I under-
stand and sympathize, and, to a certain degree,
you very warmlyfihard as you have been on nae-mout-
tingly’as you have tried to make me feel that I have
been weak, and vain, and i'alse.” Then she paused.
came down n-om her impissionate height. and added,
"What will they think of us in the drawing-room i”

" They will ‘thlnk ’-naturally enougha—that the one
who came to seek staid tocomfort me; they will 'know'
nothing. more, unless you tell them."

" You do think very poorly of me”. "

“ bio; butI think it more than possible that in some
unguarded moment you, may utter the truth concern-
ing me; not in the ,‘rit of a, vaunt; you will not
boast, but the daylw come, surely, when you will
feel proud of having gained my love, and then you will
tell that you rejected it."

“Never 1" she exclaimed, earnestly. 'SIt is much to

  

proud for you.”

had been, and fathom

 

be proud of, I know that ; but my pride in it makes me

Then the resen difficulty beset her
again, and she asked, “ Had not better go back to the
others '2” '

" And gratify any curiosity they may be feeling by
looking a 'tated; no, go up to your'own room if you
wish to. e spared question and remark.” Then he.
stood slightly on one side, and she knew that she was.
free to pass him, and then the will to do so immediately
left her, and she hesitated. This was a crisis in their
lives; she felt sure of that; things would not go on
after it as they’had one on before it ; and she remem—
bered only what h been pleasant in the later past.
period, she sighed and regretted, and wondered what
would be altered. V

“ May I feel sure that we part in kindness?” she

asked. _ .

” If I told you ‘Yes,’ the tellin would. give your
mind, or conscience, or heart, or w atevcr chances to
be vexed on my account, no ease when you came to re-
flect on it; kindness does not overflow the heart of a.
man when he finds himself balked at every turn ; it is
being given a stone when one has‘asked for bread, to be
ofi‘ered kindness instead of the love I wanted—the love
I l‘cilénkedhfor fromhyou.” t th ' ,

hen e said t at in us e same tonein which
had reviously said the she " had seemedto like himlj’e’
she ingered no longer, but went away as he had sug-
gested, to her own room, where she‘specdily became
absorbed in the perplexing question of whether or not
the love of one brother would militate against her in-
terests with the other? The result of the debate be~
tween hope and fear was, that pity for Mr. Talbot
became submerged in anxiety about her own love ; and
then she suddenly cast all selfish considerations aside
as the remembrance struck her that the fortunes of the:
Talbot family were at a. low ebb-that Edgar, the head
of the house, was a ruined man. '

 

CHAPTER xv. I
snoran comm.

my had all begun to speculate Iii no in their 0‘ ‘
minds as to what could be detainingQBlalnche long be:
fore Mr. Talbot walked into their midst, which he did.
very soon after Miss Lyon left him. ' '
V “ Where is Miss Lyon ? I hoped she would be here to:
veus some music," he said as he came' near to then
1 me round which they 'were gathered. And when:
Beatrix had answered, " Why, Edgar! we thought she:
went to the library to you," the dimculty which Miss;
Lyon had foreseen as to what “ would be thought of'
her in the drawing-room," was got over to all outward:
seeming, for no further remark was made. Later in the.
eveniu she came back to them, and then Hrs. Lyon'
insiste on their all being struck with the fact of"
Blanche looking as thong}; she had aheadache. and Mr.
Talbot noted Schiller himself to the efl‘ect that
“ fins stupidity even the gods fight in battle.” ,
. Talbot had gone through a hard task this night.
He had pleaded earnestly—ardently for him-40: the
love of a woman in the face oi fortune .and he:
avowed preference for somebody else. The’ task
had been very hard to him, but as he entered upon it
after much deliberation, so now he had no self-reproach~
fol thoughts about the manner in which he had per-
formed it. Whatever there was of mistake or mortifi-
cation in the matter ought to be and was with her.
He had not been led away by his own teen?- more
than by her manner. “She had seemed to li e him,”
and in such seeming there was shame for her. not for
him, since it had ended in this. On the whole, deeply
as he loved her, and desperately as he desired to win
her even yet for his wife, there was more justice than
mercy in his judgment of her. He used no shallow
euphemisms in naming what be conceived to have been
her conduct to himself. She had been gull of the
despicable gulls of‘ “ tender artifice; aridfiatte “Elm-e,
and feigned interest,” so he thought, and she used
these despicable means for the more despicable end'of‘
luring him intoa false position. 'As she set before mm
trying to be as she hadbeeu hitherto to him andito
them all, and he thought these things, he felt pun.“
toward her, and toward that la: mode I 1
endure a women to pursue such a course, and still con.
“fink” an to; we»; an” i.
was eavysecre 1' e 'W ‘e with,this
knowledge which he had imparted toh’er that commer-
oially his car-earned come to a close. It made her feel
most pitii‘ull tender toward the rest, and specially
pitiful tower ‘him,"the Iuckless head of the house who

had wrought its ruin. Kel' heart aohed as she glanced ’

remedy at him. andeguessed what some of his hopes

a good deal of the hopelessness
that m his portion now. But she dared make no
sigh of such tenderness and pity, for she knew that did
she do so the others would fall to ,wonderin about the
reason why she came to be better informe than they
were, and he Would misconstruo her again. So she sat
and glanced furtively at him new and again. and
wondered when he would be frank With the rest, and
she would be free to speak some of the sympathy she

felt.

The following day, long beibre he intended being led
into it, the discussion of the “laggct was forced upon
Edgar Talbot by circumstances. ntrary to his usual
cutom, he Went‘awsy to the stable with the other two
young men immediately Wt breakfast, instead of, as.
usual, shutting himself in the library, when Mr, Bath-
um occupied himself, and strove to interest his guestsy
.by Enlarging on, and showing ed, the beauties and ex
cellences of three new riding horses. Boon Mr. Bathe
,unfwu‘away on one which was reputed to be a. famous;
fencer, along a slip of turf whereon a few hurdles were.
put up for practice ; and the two brothers, as they"
sauntered after him nominally to watch his progress,
suddenly found themselves on a topic which hm .
fetal fascination for them both.

rn code which »

- fl

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

15

 

“ That more is too slight for Bathurst,” Edgar ob-
served, as she visibly flagged on a space of marshy
turf, and Lionel replied : ‘

" He has an idea of iving her to Miss Lyon.”

" Has he that ?- hen Trixy’s chance is over,
for Miss Lyon will accept the mare first, and then
the man. She has played with ,a most shameful
cleverness ; until‘ last night she did not know
which of us stood to win ; then I frankly put my-
self before her as a ruined men, and she enacted
surprise and confusion, and made the usual plea. of
misconception of my intentions." Then he grew more
bitter under the sting of being so soon superseded, as
he imagined, by a man whom be regarded as something
inflitely lighter and less worthy than himself, and add-
ed, " Blanche Lyon is a. clever woman, but her tactics
are transparent to me and she will repent them." -

" God bless and prosper her, whatever they are l”
Lionel lnterpoed, heartily. “ But you, Edgar! What
do you mean by placing yourself before Miss Lyon as a

‘ ruined man ?”

" That I did it~that I am one ;” and then Lionel ut-
tered an interjection, and then the whole story, at
least as much ofit as couldbe told,'and was necessary

be known, was narrated by Mr. Talbot.

The elder brother did not put himself in the posi-

‘tion of one who has erred, and repented before Lionel.
" I did what I thought was best for the family, and my
indgment has been proved faulty.” He said when he
had finished, “ It I succeeded, you would all have bene-
fited as lar ly as myself by my success ; as I have fail-
ed, I shrill): the greatest sufferer. I wish I oeuld be
the only one.” * ‘ , - '

"Don‘t‘f'eel that [am asufierer in the afi'air at all,”
Lionel said, feeling that he was called upon to say
something. “ Such plans as I have made will carry
themselves out without let or hindrance from this busio
ness, save so far as Trixy is concerned."

“ Trixy will still be my charge," Edgar replied, ilrm-
ly, and he was very much the head of he house still as
he he. "Trixy will be my char e. I shall begin at
the 0015 ‘of the ladder, and she mus be content'to take
her stand there with me. I could have willed that
she had married Bathurst. As it is, the best I can do
for her I will do ; Miss Lyon has put it out of the ques-
tion that any wife of mine can inter-tare with ’my sis-
ter." When he said that he smiled With a sort of cruel
triumph over himself, and Lionel knew that his brothv

fr was sorely wounded by this woman whom they both

"1511 think Miss Lyon has given on reason to feel
by her decision 1’“ he sat .

. m “I
‘ 'ggsvo not a'doubt of ltAnot aidoubt of it. I am

' net‘s man to msely construe every little feminine ar-”

. tines into a special flattery tor myself ; she meant me

‘ to believe what I did believe."

g , " She hasavery ,ous manner," Lionel said ; and
at that gentle protest against further censure of either
‘ll‘lmlllyon'a motives or manner Edgar Talbot grew ir.

e.

" I tell you," ' be said, " that she meant me to be-
lieve what I did believe—that she would marry me if I
asked her ; she spurns the notion of bein considered
mercenary ; but now—after seeming to li e me as no
other woman has entered herself to seem within my
once—sitar this she has me, pleading her

love for a richer man as a reason why she can

‘ not marry me. ‘ Gracious 1’ Such graciousness is
devil-born." , _

" She did give you that reason ?"

"She didL—gave it out with what she herself rightly
called more audicity than candor." I
. When his brother, said that, Lionel Talbot once more

‘ determined that Algeria should be his sketching-ground
d the smut autumn. For himself, it was not

_ his habit to count or that any thing was (mod to him

‘ on account of 'thst"‘grsciousness" of Blanche's. But

. for his brother! He was hill to acknowledge that if
Edgar nothing extenuated, nor set down ought in mal-

: ice, he had been been wronged by this Woman. whom
Lionel could still only pray might know many blessings -

_ and much proaperity.

 

OWE XVI.
A autumn.

"mu or later they must know it all; so the
sooner we come to an understandln with the women
about all this the better,". Edgar bot said to his
Mather when they. found themselves at the extreme
end!!! the slip, with Mr. Bathurst so far in advance of
themes toinstiiy them in no longer feigning an inter-
“this performances with the bay mare he designed
for his  in. Talbot, as it will be seen, did in no
way seek to involve any other than himself in‘ the
tangle of wrecked fortune and strained responsibility
in which he was caught. Still he did find it a all ht
" something to lean upon.” that knowled e be had t at
in the coming explanation Lionel would near to aid
him verbally. at my rate- - ,

“Sooner or later they must know it all, therefore the

sooner the better.” Lionel answered, and in that answer

there was a touch more of poetical feeling than of sound
comman-sense. For a time—85y only ,for a few days—
matters might with safety have stood where they were.
No one could be benefited by any immediate and abso.

lute declaration of the neCessity for a complete change.

and it was well within the bounds of possibility that
some in ht be worsted by it. “Trixy will be my
charge a luthat, of course; butshe must mush it,
When she came to me I hoped to veher a 09:1 estab-
lishment until she gained one for erself. ow all that

is at an egd; still sheis my charge. and I shall fulfill
‘ r ‘ t.” ,

‘ , “You will let me help you i" the younger brother
asked

" No. .As thin have'turned out, I can take no man’s
help With reg ‘ to 'l‘rixy. I, who have done her the

.had been short-s hted or

injury through my overhaul, must be the one to make
her amends; besides, she would still be within sound
and sight of that fellow, if she cast in her lot with you,
and she, like me, will be better way from them alto—
gether." ' z . '

/ Then the brothers spoke of Trixy's too evident love
for the man who loved Blanche Lyon better than their
sister—spoke of it delicately and with reserve, and in a
way that proved to each that the other felt the common
family honor to be his very tender care, and finally
came to the conclusion that, since nothing better could
geldevised, it would be well to leave Haldon without

e ay.

But not to go back to London. The man who had
lived in luxury there shrank from taking his sister
back to some draughty suburb to live in cheap ob-
scurity. “ If it were not forfthis about Blanche,l could
desire nothing safer and better for Trixy than to live on
with Mrs. Lyon; but that will hardly do now—Trixy
could not stand it.”

“Neither of the girls could stand it, if Blanche mar-
ries Bathurst,” Lionel suggested. - " Miss Lyon is a
quick-sighted woman, and a tender-hearted wernan; she
would never agree to testing poor Trixy cruelly; but
we are, after all, arguing on iusuificient grounds; we do
not know that Blanche cares for Frank; that gracious
manner of hers is shown to us all alike":  '

"She made no secret of caring for him," Edgar re-
plied, emphatically; “ she spoke as plainly as a woman
can speak; far more plainly than a woman ought to
speak.” Then‘ he bent his head down and brooded
over the words she had uttered, and‘was as sick at

.heart in his angry outspoken love‘ and‘ wrath as was

Lionel, whose hopes had been raised with tar more
cause. There was no unselfish consolation to Mr. Tal-
bot ia the thought that the woman he loved was es-
caping a black,.barren-loo,king late by remain to marry
him. He had a theory that such love as was is to give
was all-suflicient to brighten the darkest road to any
woman. Therefore now he g against Blanche for
leaving him to travel it alone.

'fShe made no secret oi caring for him—she spoke
more plainly than a woman ought to .” Lionel
listened to these words with a deep conviction that
they were ringing the knell of h I ‘pinessior him. Last
night that sweet graciousness of ers made his future

* seem so bright, his work so, noble, his aim so lolly, his

prospects, so many! Now he knewthat it had been

shown, to him because he was Frank Bathurst’s friend.

Many women being imbued with the amiable, tho
Weak notion, that it recommends them to Damon to
agreeable to Pythias. ’

“Have you thou ht of letting Trixy go to Marian for

a time i” Lionel as d. r
" Not while I'm alive and in authority; moreover,
Marian will not be too likely to stretch out a hel as
hand out now, for this last business has di pod 5n
consi rably, and she will be sure to at ate his re
verses to me; not until her daughter’s altered pros: .
poets causes Mrs. Lion to take a orgeous tone I shall
take it for acted t at she rem no Trixy’s cha ron.
I shall get nto harness at once myself. and then shall
know what arrangements I can malts for them.”
Then Lionel urged once more that they should stand
or fall together, bringing forward, in support 0! his
claim to help. that the mistress he served row her
honest votaries in a right royal way; and still the head
of the house refused the cadet’s claim, and declared
hiiaeintention maniully of sufficing to himself and his
a 1-.

But although Mr. Talbot would share this actual
practical responsibiliti with no man, so long as it
could be considered is property, he still did shrink
train the more puerile duty of telling his sister that he

‘ uckless rather. To Blanche
Lyon he had to it out boldly—not being altogether
unconscious that there was something inspirin and
touching in the manner of his telling it. Blanche V you
was very much endowed with the eve of all that is
ohivalric and drain ., _ there was, somethin very
daring in Mr. Talbots tale and the tone in w 1: he
had told. it. As she had said to him, itshe had not
already loved another man better she could have found
it in her heart to love him very well indeed. She was
sympathetic to that power he possessed of bearing the
worst, and hearing it buoyantly, not stolidly; and he
knew that she was thus sympathetic, and so he was
able to speak out to her as became a man.

But. with Trix he felt very differently. Truth to
tell, he know litt e more of his sister than that she had
lever violet 'ey s, and a large luxurious figure, ands.
lady-like bearin that entitled him to hope that she,
would marry very well. He was proud of her, to a cer-
tain degree he was fond other, but he was not at all
accguainted with the tone of v her character or the turn
or or mind. She had been a delightful sister to him
while he had been well off, and ho ing to be still better
011'. But whether or not she h it in her to hear 0
such a reverse as be had to tell her of without looking
crushed and reproacth he did not know.

80 it was borne in upon him, partly by reason of his
selfishness, and partly out of that natural dislike to the
sight of tears which most men have, that it would be
well for him to so far avail himself at that offer which
Lionel had made. as to make the latter the messenger
of evil to Trixy. “ As you were saying, the sooner they
all know it now the better," he remarked. “ I don't
mind your telling Trixy this morning; we shall not go
back to Victoria. Street; if she has a preference for any
particular part of the country it will be as well that I
should know it before I leave here, and then I may
manage it for her." *W

" The telling will come better from you, 1 many,”
Lionel re lied, in all simplicity, not because he shirked
the unp easant duty, but because he really thought
that it would be better for. Edgar ,to receive the solace
of Trix 's sorrow and sympathy with him at first hand.
Then  Talbot, being tooproud and stubborn to ask a

h

A groom
'yard,andss

{ had been‘s'peaking‘; and new the

 

 

second time directly for what he had indirectly st-

 

tempted to bring about,said, " Perhaps you are right,”
and went back to Haldon in nolpleasant mood.

He left Lionel still leaning against the hurdle at one
and ot the slip, dreaming a day-dreams-oa, dream that
was incongruous in such a place at such a time.’ For
the glories of summer were over, the land now. The
odors of wild thyme and roses, oi' migno‘nnett‘e from
many a sheltered garden, of clover from many a shelv-
ing field, of meadow-sweet from the banks of thepurling
stream, the ever-sounding ripples of which permeated.
everything; all these fragrances mingled and intensified
themselves in the golden sun-fraught air, and were
gifted around and about him by a Edging wind. . And

a grass under his feet was green, t 'ck, and Spmgy;
and the sky above him was bright and decked gra-
ciously for the eyes with fleecy clouds 01 silver gray ; ‘
and the bee bummed an accompaniment. to the air the
stream sang; and the worldwas as full oi'beauty asthe
man’s heart was full of care. ' ' ' ‘ 'y '

80 in the bosom of that gorgeous mother, at the
shrine of the god whom all artistsmdore, at the feet of
that royal mistress who never s urns aloving slave, so
here alone with Nature, Lionel - albot dreamt his day-
dream, and it was somethin alter this _,; , ‘

" The s ell she wove in i leness for ‘ ‘ she ha.
wrought reality and bitterness for me. , j “ “g "

“ No woman’s love shall lighten me, A
N o woman’s heart be mine.”

The sun shone on still, andthe‘ lark sang, and thebee
hummed, and the river 1131936 just as though God's
grandest creation, man, {h 1 not been makingman'h
most. unpaturalvow. In therntteralroe of those two
lines Lionel was binding: himself to celibacy in the
event of Blanche L on marrying‘any other than, him-
self. wh’lle . anche‘ L on and Tram: 

were coming to an understan ling. ; 3; ‘
cums}; mt.  ,. 9
Br Tums: A , ,,
m mare which in. Talbot 
slight tor Bathurst” had carried

Ii"

. J

, .t’o'bemtoo
“Wt 893W . 1"?

away trom the brothersciong,’before the conversation

which has just been recorded had come to a‘ close. ‘Bhe

M'“““” “880d. '8 M been, narrated, by”; ‘ m?“
mmhl’. spongy turf and then she badges 1,3353”

gether, and lantly borne him- over a’ antenna
away on a htly slo ing icon of ground interthe
extreme edge at the 4 on fluid.  he had
pulled up, quoting to him the line. finishing
place—stand still, my,steed._;1ctm'ereviswthemost
all his way of’getting back to the  shit out
ing in with those fellows again. I don't “want 1
new Th“; 1‘0 .Sfid'i" 1.1111130,“ hwlweume
about him fora short cut babk to‘ths house. , may
he saw one thatlooked promising—4n  fifiue
in full foliage, throu hwhichhe couldgall "unobservd
byanyone whomi tbeon'the  " ' .
“0h, ride as thougtflyou were am i” ' he sang ’ out
the refrain of the liant Irish , , heartily as the
mare bounded into her stride, and the , goalfhe sought
was brought nearer to himbach‘lmtaht.  went
alo , conscious of looking well in, the binoij
west, er, swinging easily and  to cachfmove-
meat of the mare's,’ benefit that Blanche
"1' “93ml,” not“; WW‘W‘“
oxraor cones one. so  cos,
for with his clairng bestows lowover his brow.
his handsome lace owing withthe‘ _, ondthe
exercise, and his bold b no eyes brilliant th‘exciw
ment, he was no unworthy object merely mo
artistic pointofview. v " " - * ‘-'
came out seine/claimed handyman the

the mare'was led‘oll‘ with-howl ' sides
and soothing flanks, he turned to go toward talisman,
and met Blanche. ' ' ’ ' a '* ~’

{‘What a‘mad rider au‘m,h'mkl” fie‘siidJe-r U
proochfull ; "why me haste when the very air is '
lan id? owyou‘haveheated thatpoforhofiei" -

" was anxious to setback," he’ssid; «no then
Blanche tried to pass on nearer-to“ths  he
oifered her his arm to stop -‘ ,
mind the more now‘; she‘has’beeb‘onvmm ’ , .
I have been putting her‘lthi‘ou ’  her ' ‘

order to see Whether she wills tyogern’  Ibsve
decided that she will suit you-’40  inflate.” ’ '

Sh; shook 1:3} head. ’ ‘ ‘ '

" ousre,‘ ‘gorgeousiu ureaml’bf 33%,.
a’sort of man wh’o would orderyreound "more ‘
withas dagrsceuthem  ‘did."Bhe
must :1 be mine, however, the 2 tr darling. I
should have, a all ht (amenity 1!! harmful:-
'nishedl in wn." " , t ' .

Theyuh sauntered slowly out «has yard while she

 H'reachedabend
in the drive tram whence two pat e leading direct
to the house, the that bearing-away to the 
digs-god. She halt inclined to the formerpath, but he
w per-ed: ‘ . w
“I o, nwmg dowgbty‘ tile lags." -

1‘" am I. 0 can a o e." s e'said uttin her
hand it to her bare head as she spoke: '" much but
withou shat to get a row flowers; and'then I saw you
and forgot my flowers in the agitation yonri’urious rid-
ing caused me.” ’ ’ , . .

j! There’s a depth of shade under that 'old lie: that.
Will more you from an {ear orsunstroko.‘ Do me.
BM H clue.”ed ' ' I "

emov on with his left arm sleeping hers as it
rxttgdhpn his right at , and she was constrained to go ‘
“:62th have you done with, the Talbots-l" she
' “0h! never mind the Talbots,”lle replied. ,

" But I do mind client them -_partloularly," ind
then—woke could only think it, she  not  ll:

  

 

“71W..,..N‘mvm, ma. .. .

.yx

 

 

diffuse»;
‘ O
 " "'“ Fairs

gratitudmflflche." don’t, bembfrest’less; you give your '

 '{Ial‘most

16 .

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES,

 

 

one who knew—she went on ;‘ “ I am afraid things are
Est]?ng as well with Mr. Talbot as his friends could
s .' ‘

‘;,‘ I am atraid that there is something wrong with
MdsterEdgar," he repliedcarelessly, “ but he’s such a
queer, close fellow, one can never make out what he’s“
after; however, as our thinking about it won’t hel
him, we had better not think about it, eh ? ” I

“ Frank, you are so funnily selfish." she said, laugh-
ing ; “ there is a grain of truth and honesty at the bot-
tom of every selfish remark you make which causes me
to regard it more leniently than I should otherwise do,
sir; still you are selfish. and it is a pity.” ~

" I will take the rest of your rebukes sitting down, if
you will allow me," he replied, smiling ; “ there is a
place for you, here on this mound by the roots—the

light will {all on your chi on in a mostfmsrvelous man-
1nor. 2nd your face will in shade ; so i may I sit
ere ” .

He seated himself close by her side, even as he asked
it; leanedoa his elbow. and looked up very lovingly
into hsrkfaoe. “ I wish you would let me go 7and get my
'hat,'*‘she exclaimed, turning her face slightly away

in his bent, earnest gaze. ' I
‘ " so. name-l ”

" There you arel selfish again! it pleases you that I
should sit here and search my brains because the light.
fills, asit seems good to you that it should fall, on my
c gnon.”

. "Blanche! not for-thatonly.” . ,

,  was a little more serious than any she had
overheard (rem him before. She looked round at him
gummy andserutiniaingiy. and then said: ,

‘ _ r her some equally frivolous reason. then, I am sure l"
Thedg‘il'orgive me, Frank. ior saying that. :1 really
begyou‘r gotten, but you'are so muc what a brother
‘wouldbe “ me "that Ihann‘ot help talking to you as it
you were my brother." ‘

" I don’t seem to care to see that sentiment strength-
ened," he said, drylgtu , j .

"Iam sorry for t at, for it has been strengthening
dail from the day I ’Brst'saw you."

fagihot did on think of me when you saw me first i"
rgeb—no I do not—I liked you; and felt
as well-disposed tow ' you as one does toward the
 o yeopltafii1 stairs! direction does not develop

ow. , . " ‘ ‘

in an instant; you ,1 ' , .
,"Iden‘t'care what natural affection does, but the
immortal; slave each, other at first sight, and love is of
em;ft. ‘ v ' ’ ' .
Y'.‘ lam sure! shall get a sung—stroke? Blanche said,
he _ ‘ .: "fiit'youwculdgouly let me go and get my
hat. I‘slionld like you so much!” , r , "
" Pei-h? you would not come back if’
.“Ye’s V‘ would." i ‘ ‘ ‘
”"" Perha you would not come back alone i"
' may Occur to you to remember that Miss
ii if it dull none with momma.” ,
b “'0! itr‘ she" will find it delightful with
' at: , 'rato, I and it delightful that she'should
, momma while I am here with you.

mm

chalet", ‘ ,b  to Talth or to La], and you grudge

me a  ma?!” , , I memo talk to on about"——--
,"About w tr", she i tori-opted, aughin‘g. "I can

tell you'wi’thout you. , , any trouble: you want me

' tos‘peak to you Q! ‘Tannliaus ,' without waiting for
f any Mliu‘nm' on; you. lab to enjoy the sun in

* ' silence. and as; (you ‘

Emu”?

0}? that I am well contentedto
you will condescend‘tohsten to
rattle on, without givin himthp
nod her

m l
3W; 1 $1 a to b t be
p  " 9 1” W. i' n

“W” “15 “reverse.” he said. "As arule. jouare

' right insomniac that-while you spoke I soul desire

..to

(

mom .ocsmwhanato hear 512911;;thu’t0n this
oc , a: A ,7 ,an yeumus sen.’
" How we the house looks from here 1" she said. .

‘fg-Yes; the mark is eculiariy, relevant toythe point
I» was» 4, , .is t .not?" heanswered smiling.
"ensure that museum be sitting herelookin at
the house, ., .twould have been your own if you ad
not beenoysraprcud and over-generous to me." ,

,\ “ Not ovemgemrous to you. I knew nothing of you;
you; watch mete me. a'Bathurst’s be ' papa used
callyou.” Then the remembrance o the proposi-
tion that lied. been made, with re ard to "Bsthurst's
boy " by, herseliflabout, herself she across hermlnd,
and she blushed and laughed. _

."The man is very teml ior the good you vs the
boy." he said, .801, ; “I almost, feel as .i lowed
myself to. yomblane e. What an obscure fellow I
she L ‘hgv‘e‘ been if you had seen and conquered old

a  u . r " ’ . I . ‘v

“Pager-tn "or, at any rate. want of wealth,is not

necessaril 'obscnrlt ,' " she replied.
no sh y ed his bifoulders, as if be rather doubted
the truth that'aphorism. -

"You would have. been an e ually good.and per-

haps a far tsr' man, if you ad been left to your
own devices, ‘ nk, than you will ever be now; you
have nothing to~bel atei’ul to me for/i

“Give ,me: somehin to be grateful for.” he said,
Winningl'xr audits put h white, well-shaped hand on
her-‘8 88 he I 9103- “;Will you give me something to be
grateful for will you‘ Blanche ?" .

"Yes; I will give you excellent advice—do not resent

A it. Remember what I mite {gun the other day when

we were all down 
the remark I made about it."
" Is that your advice. i” 
fl Yea.)' ,

" Why do on offer it ?" « I 9 _\

lr‘lit'hy, in 1'! she said, with an assumption of a
careless airy, “ I think I can give you a cogent reason,
thon'hfi- iahould like to see you ow earnest, for, as

e spell I repeated, and

. I tel 'you;_-'rthc heart me not be bins, until on do

I , smoothness? to we!

heart wouldvbe well worth havihg.’

. -,  a

 

vex-long for “.1017; ,1 J y'6 ,

n In that your advice—eth'at I should endeavor to gain»

Miss Talbot’s heart ?" he asked, and if he had not been
Frank Bathurst he would have looked mortified. Being
himself, he merely threw an additional im loring ex-
pression into his eyes—an expression whic Blanche
steadily resisted, for the reasons that have been already
assigned.

" Indeed I do—if on can.” ‘

He threw himse I back with an air of confidence on
the subject that was not cults pleasing to the woman
who loved Trixy Talbots brother. “Frank, you are
woefully conceited, I am afraid," she said, reproach-
i'ully ; “ and I feel rather guilty, for I know that I have
aided in making you so."

"No, not at all; your conscience is quite clear on
that score," he replied, almost bitterly; “you have
been kind to me; but this morning you are determined,
for some reason or other, to make your manner coun.
gergallance all that kindness. I feel very much, re-

“ e .I’

"Now you make me feel guilt of injustice, folly and
rudeness. Wh should I reb , you? To me you are
all that the kin est brother could be; let me regard
you as such, Frank ; it" will be such a comfort to me."
" But it will be no comfort to me," he replied. “It is
all very well, Blanche, but Platonic afiectibn breaks
down between ,friends, and fraternal aflection will not
answer; between cousins, when I am one and you the
other arty concerned; if I had never seen you, I
should ave fallen in love with Trixy Talbot; but I
seen you, and I'm a one 'coon." '

She would not t o it as adeclaration; she would
not allow him to suppose that she could for one mo-
ment think he intended it to be expressive of-a desire
to marry her. She did not belong to that order of
women who look upon every word, even of avowed
sn‘ection, as it etc ' toward the alter. So now she began
to sing out, s’wee ly and blithely, the words :

“ ‘ Thy words of courtly flattery. such fall like morning dew ;
For oliilgilove takes another turn, t1? Mr and the true.
Likin ,t as ours was never mean .
It was amoment's fantasy, and as, such it has passed.’ "

And when she sang that, Frank very wisely resolved to
cease from further tender treatment of his subject that

da . ,

Byut he’was very far from givinglup his int ; for all
his gay, light manner, for all t at ha t of seeming
never to care for o e thing long. he had great tenacity
of purpose, espe ally when, as in; this case, obstacles
arose Where least they had been expected. The hare

.that doubled most, irequently was the one he most

cared to‘course’; the “deer that gave the hounds a hard
run was. the one he loved to follow ; and the woman
" who warned the touch while winnin the sense ” was
the one he wished to woo, and win, an Wed.

' "Is she afraid of being Seriouslyiregarded too soon ?"
he said, coaxin ly, when Blanche had quite finished
her little strafn'. “ Melodious Mentor i tell me the
way to be tender and true according to your song."

" Like" the Don as,’ “ she exclaimed, eagerly chang-
ing the topic. ;‘ " ‘ ouglas, ,Dou las, tender and true 1'
Oh, those dear old border ball . Why have we no
hard to; sing likewise in these days 2 In lace of those
genuine rhymes we get verses oi socie y that small
critics  good enon‘ h to call Praedcsque.’ Poor ma-
li ed Pracdi why a ould he be made to father such
to ly i" 7

" As what i“

9' As the tinkling lines that choke the magazines.
We have lost our guilelcss belie! in the ‘brave and
noble,’ and so none are found to sign it. We have lost
our genuineness in most things, and specially in the
artisticth of our nationsiit ; have We not, Frank 1‘"

" Ihave not given my min to the subject very seri-
ously,", he replied, demurel : “ but I do not think that
wehave lost our ' go’ in po‘e ry or in any other branch
of art; there is an immense amount of fervid trash
written and ublished, but a few young lights are rising
up whoseb azsis hot and clear.” '

" But no one to be cempared with Scott. or Byron, or '

Shelleycwhom I don't’ half understand.

" Scott, whom you mention how with such wholesome
awe, was named less reverently by his compeer in
' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers;' : I“ '

“ ‘And Shaka are, Milton, Dryden all to .
Resign theirpfiallowed bays to Walter Boo t.’

‘ Time tries all.’ you know. A few of those whom you
n0w look upon as producers of mere 'tinkling lines'

'msy be found to have good metal in them before the,

D

century is old.’ ,

“ I wonder whether there is anything - in it all i” she
said, in a low voice. “ Sometimes it all seems such
vault and vexation of spirit, and nothing is. worth
any t ing, and all is emptiness. Were the mighty men
of old happy, I wonder? Homerdid not enjoy life a bit
morefor his works living on through all the ages. Do
you think he was happy ?”

“ I‘ should not be surp
Frank answered, lazily. “ The fellow who wrote the
“Art of Love‘ (from ex erience,'let us sup ose) must
have had a ioll time o it; but the knowi go that he
is to he learns a. few hundred years hence by little
boys who object to you can bar ly add to any man's
happineig.”

" Fran ," Blanche Lyon said, suddenly turning her
head towards him as he lounged at her side, " you’re
nice, and witty, and shallow—frightfully shallow. I
am sure if I had been a man I Would have done some-
thing good with my life._fcr I haves horror of hearing
the littleathings that we say in joke about the mighty
things that have been. I lack veneration for many
things; I know that,- but I do respect so many
things that you treat facetiously because you fail to
understand them." ' "

“That’s all Lionel Talbot talk-«treated accordingly,
he said, laughing. "Lal is a charming iellow, With an

a. .
gr #‘ say I

 

rised to hear he~.was not,”

 

immense fund of faith in the true and the beautiful,
and all the things that are generally written with capi-
tal initial letters; and you have picked up some of his
notions. ‘ Done something good with your life ifyou
had been a man,’ would you? What a boon it is to the
rest of us that you are only a woman, and so not that
colossal bore, a shining example ! Here’s a chance for
your ameliorating the mental condition of your sufl‘er-
ng fellowvcreatures still—do something good with my
life. I am quite ready to place it in your hands.”

“ Were my brain steady I mi ht think of accepting
the charge, but the sun has en too much for me.
‘ Ohl flex-tree—ohi lien-tree, how faithless are thy
branches !’ They have let the rays in upon me, so that,
if you would not see me ow red and unbecoming,
you will let me go in out o the way of them."

“ It is a mistake to say ‘man never is but always to be
blessed ;' that applies especially to women,” 1:
said, impatiently. “ I thought we were very happy

here, so of course you find it too hot. Well, I am your

slave, Blanche; We will go in if you like. I will always
do what on like." '
He h taken both her nands, and was lilting her up
from her sitting posture as he spoke, and she was look-
ing up ladly and gratefull into his adly and
grateful y l and he rally eserved that she should
shower such glances upon him, for he had been very
generous in saying no more when she had given him
to understand that he had said enough. Asshe hiriy
balanced herself, and stood steadily upon her feet, Lio-
nel came over the crest of the bank thatroso annexe
the water, and Blanche blushed with the miserable
consciousness that beset her, of seemin other thin
she was; and the two men felt that the. t p to Algeria,
which Lionel, had contemplated, would be a desirable
thing after all. ' '

CHAPTER XVIII.
“race are so mun, an» rm so ran."

Wm Mr. '1‘ bet went back to Holden, leaving Lio-
nel leaning. . st a hurdle, he war) was, as has been
told, in no p easant mood. He su ted that his
brother should bear the burden of the ad news to his
sister, and his brother had, in all si le—mindedness.
pointedout .to him that to do so was is, the elder's,
part. Mr. Talbot was far from feeling convihccd‘that
this was the case; at the same time he was equally far
from being capable of again hinting his desires on the
subject. Accordingly, he went bac to the house just
about the time that Frank Bathurst and Blanche
emerged from the yard, and the glim e be caught 'of
that pair lazily sauntering awa tower the water did
not brighten his tern er or his gearing.

He found Beatrix s tting by the open window, down
on the threshold of it, in fact, in the same tionshe
had occupied on the revious night, when Bath-
urst had faced her— ooking eloquentl all his rem-em
admiration for her hair and eyes. e had a little
workrbasket on her lap, and an open book on aehair

immediately byher side. But she was neither reading

nor working actively-+- she was thinking, and her
thoughts interfered with her executive power. ‘7
" Can I speak to you here, without being liable to
interruption by Mrs. L n at any moment '2" he asked,
lifting up the open boo, , and placing himself on a chfir
113% her side. '“ If not“, came away somewhere 6156.
xy'll ‘
"I can account for Mrs. Lyoni’or the next hourrshe
 gorge down to the village, to look at a cottage that
s 0 e .”. ,
“ What on earth for i"
" Blanche—Miss Lyon told, her this morning that a
friend of hers mi ht ossibly want a small country
house con; and s. you, it seems, delights in home
hunting. So she made inquiriesof the servants, heard
of this cottage, and has gone oil‘ tolook at it." ’ ' "
“ And can you account i’or*the others ?" banked.

‘ carelessly; but he watched her with mrtive keenness

as she began trinin with
basket, and answers : , .

" Miss Lyon has gone out to gather horrors-Aha
others went out with you, did they) not?"

"She is gathering flowers that loom unseen by us,
then, for I saw her ging down to the lake with Bath-
urst as I came in. owever, that is not what I wanted
to tell you Trixy. The truth is,,things have gone very
badly with me, and it is time you should know it,“
you will be a sufl‘erer." ‘ , '

She looked u , startled and sil’ected as much by the
tenderness wit which he addressed her as b the
tidings his words conveyed; but before she 11 said
anything he went on in a peevish tone: ,

“Don't go white and ed about it. Of all' things I
hate 9. scene. The less said about my business the
better, since no amount of talking can set it. straight.
I have been unfortunate to an extraordina degree.
having lost not only my own money, but Lionel's
and a ood deal of Mark Sutton's into the bargain "-——-

She nterrupted him here by holdin herfaceup to kiss
him; as be bent down to her he saw hat her eyes were
full of tears. :

“ For mercy’s sake don't cry, Beatrix." he muttered.
“I can stand anything better than Women's, tears. It
is hard on you—very hard on you, I allow that, but you
shall feel the change as little as possible—that I swear.”

“ Oh 1 Edgar, do you believe that I am thinking of
myself ?" she asked repmachmlly. .

“ Of course I do—it is only natural and human that
you should think of yourself. It is shed thing for you;
a very bad thing. In a'little time. had I been able- to
hold on, you'probably would have been independent of
me. Is that chance over Trixy ?--tell me honestly.“

“ What chance ?” she asked, crimsoningt painful! .'

“We have come to such a pass that it is feeble you
to attempt to evade my natural anxiety about you out
of false delicacy. How do you stand with Bathurst ?“

" Edgar! how can you ask me? If I stood in any

the contents of her work:

 

- :a time wit

“may both to

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

1k

 

 

vother relation to him than is apparent to all the world,
:should [not have told you? or rather, would he not

have told on so '1’"
“I amynot so sure of that—about him, at

least.” Edgar Talbot said, shaking his head.
“New. look here, Trixy—you like him; of that
I am sure. I’ shall more bitterly 1; my loss

of fortune onyour account that I do already if it were
the means of separating you from him. I have been
'very‘plain-spoken with you-far more so than I should
have been if I did not feel that, even at some cost of fine
feeling toyou, I am bound to make you all the repara-
tion lean make. Be equally candid with me. Would
it not be reeable to your wishes to live down here for
the Lyons, rather than to return to a less
comfortable home in London than you have known
hitherto." '

" To live down here i—no, no, no i"

"'Nothere at Holden, but in the «village. I am not
the one Miss :tyon had in her mind when she spoke of
.some Mend hers possibly soon requiring country

u . . '
a.“ How did she know i"

" Because I told her last night." -

" How you all rely on her judgment l” Trixy cried
out bitterl . " I thought till now that it was only
Lionel and r. Bathurst who turned to her on all occa-
sions. as if she were the best guide, fphilosopher, and
.friend they could possiva have. Now I and you give
her Your confidence before you give it to me.”

“ Circumstances compelled me to give her my conna
deuce. I want her mother to continue with you still,”
he answered, evasively. “ And now tell inc-what ob.
jection have you to remaining down in this n hbor-
hood. provided a suitable house can be found Vic-
toria Street must go—I tell you that fairly; and I do not
think it will be to your interest or to mine to take you
into an inferior metropolitan locality; besides, it will be
cheaper here." ' i)

“ Wh not some other neighborhood ‘9" she urged.

" why some other neighborhood?" he replied,

“ It will save time, trouble and money if I can establish

you here with the Lyons; should any change arise it
will be eas‘ totaks you away." - '
‘ What e are you contemplating?” '

" Well, to put it broadly, and in such a way that we

ly understand the other-4hon Bathnrst

marry Blanche Lyon, I can quite feel with you that the

village would be no fitting residence for you; but we do

not know that this is likely to be; and, therefore, unless-
ths plan is positivelth toyou, I shall ask you for.
o- ‘ '

o

my sake to agree t

« 1 submit entirely to your judgment," she said, cold-'-

Jy. It seemed to her that her brother was betrayin ' a
callousness as to her feelings in the matter which

sailed his claims on hersil‘ection, however it might be
about her obedience. He was evidently determined to
play her—his last card, however she might sufier in the
publicity of such staking, and however keenly she
might be wounded if he lost. Plainly as he had spoken
to her, she had not been able to bring herself to speak
with equal plainn‘ess to him in return. He had assumed

‘ that she was in love with Mr. Bathurst and she had not

denied the assumption. On the other hand. she had

. not acquiesced init even when he had said that he

"' could quite feel with her that the village would be no
fitting residence for her in. the event of Bathurst’s
marryin Blanche Lyons."

Incons tent as it may appear, after the cool manner
of her submission having been commented upon, Boa-
trix Talbot was conscious of being glad that she was
not to be. entirely removed from the society of the man
she loved. The inconsistency is admitted, and the ar-
tistic proprietyvof it defended, for in real life the great
madorit are consistent only in inconsistency of feeling,
if not 0 action. Some subtle adjustment of her senti-
ments regarding Frank Bathurst made her- glad that
she was not to be taken away from his atmosphere al-
together; at the same time, she was sorry that any other
than himself should have proposed her remaining in it.
Moreover, she was partially rejoiced andpartially griev-
ed, in some intricate way. that this social convulsion
was coming about. Hatters with themselves dif-
ferently after such throes and dissolvings or {former

_ habits; and she argued, after the manner of women,

that the worst whio certainly might ensue would be
better than this unquiet in which her heart now dwelt.
80 she then ht, comforting herself ior a few moments
after her lug speech to her brother, and than she began
to stab herself again by picturing what she should do,
and how she should feel if, after she was safely settled
in the cottage with the Lyons,-ur. Bathurst came and
took one of the inhabitants thereof away. leavin
(Trixy) to solace Mrs. Lyon's declining years. I was
not a pleasing picture. but it did not last longer, fortu-
nately, than such when mental paintings are wont to
do. a sweeter on set, in more glowing hues, spread

. itself over the canvas of her mind presently, as she

thought of the hi ht before, and how he had looked at
‘her when he had eclared himself. to “be sympathetic,
whatever Blanche might say to the contrary.”

“ Edgar, I will live wherever you wish me to live, and
be as happy as possible.” she and, suddenly, in uite a
difl'erent tone to the one in which she had pre ously
agreed to his desire. . Then he got up and want away,
thinking that itwas impossible she could have looked

‘ so absurdly hopeful all in a moment if she had not some

reasonable foundation for believing that Bathurst was
in earnest about her. a u

"If Blanche Lyon should elect to go away, he said
to himself, " Tri would carry the day: he can’t resent
the ‘ present ' so influence." Then he despised Mr.
Bathurst very heartily for that power of loving all that
Was lovely, which was so eminently characteristic of
him. and at the same time made up his mind to adopt
all the ameans he knew, in order to compose the desira-
‘ble on of citing Frank Bathurst for a brether—in-law.

Meanwh la the trio who were left a short time since
«on the sloping bank, looking at each other, and each

 

 

wishing that the other was not there to be looked at,
had met and spoken as civility dictated, and had withal
done these things with adegree of embarrassment that
gave a false appearance to what was really an innocent
situation. It may fairly be questioned whether any

bod ever came abruptly upon a pair of human beings

wit out the surprised and the surpriser lookin as if
somethinguntoward had Occurred. In reality, ‘he
Lyon was very glad to see Lionel; his presence relieved
her from the necessity of continuing that flow of words
without meaning, which she had let loose in order to
save Frank from going too far and putting an end
to their cordial relations as at present existin . Per-
haps there is no greater bore to the womanw 0 does
not want to marry him than a man she likes should
persist in hovering perilously near the brink of that
precipice-a proposaL. His attentions. his devotion,
his warm regard, are all such pleasant things that she
cannot help wishing to has them on as they are. But
the serious offer of his ban and heart is quite another
matter, one that intensifies the poetr of the mood-
iug only to kill it the more eil'ectu ly. For hold it
true that as it is impossible for a woman to think other
than warme and kindly of a man who has let her
know that he loves her, so it is impossible for a man to
think other than harshly ofa woman who has suffered
him to drift into the declaration when she can make
him no fitting return. In the court of love there is no
appeal against love turned to hate, wounded vanity,
and the sense of having been lured into a false pesition.

Blanche Lyon recognized these truths, and so, as she

did care very much for Frank Bathurst's liking and re-
gard, she was glad that, the h he had very distinctly,
given her to understand that e loved her, he had not

'put her in the place of either having to rflect or accept
,his love as a thing which must last her

l-sumciently
through time.

Still, though she was glad I the interruption had
come, she wished it had come in another form than in
the person of Lionel Talbot. She knew very well that
he was not at all the sort of man who sighs for that
which ought not in honor to be his; he had not at all
the order of mind which covets his neighbor‘s posses-
sions. For some men’s minds, the fact of there being
a soupcon of doubt as to the ultimate end of their en-
deavors to create interest in the breasts of the women

who most interest them has a fatal tascination. For

Lionel Talbot Blanche Lyon feared it would have
none. He was not one to sigh to‘ prove himself a
stronger man than the one alreadyin occupation of
that citadel which, according to his creed, could only
be fairly rendered up once—a woman's heart. He
would be incapable of running a race for any favor with
any man. more especially with his old friend, Blanche
thought, sadly. even as she talked brightl to both the
gall as they walked one on either side of or up to the

ouse. ‘

Without being deceitful or desperately wicked,
Blanche's heart was made ofthe material thatnever
suffers its owner to say’ die while a possibility of living
exists. Even when she was miserable she would seem
to be happy, partly out of pride for herself, and partly
out of good feeling for others. “Icannot bear to be
pitied for being depressed, or to depress others by
looking down-hearted," was the reason she had once
given when rebuked for an external air of joyousness
that did not accord with what her mamma declared
she ought to be feeling on some melancholy subject.
80 now, in accordance with the dictates of this con-
siderate creed, she seemed to be very much at ease.
very gay, and full of vivacity, when she was in reality
restless, nervous and unhap y. . .

One of thechiei‘ causes of or disquiet was that, after
this. bar relations with Frank would of necessity be
altered. She then ht that it would be impossible {or
him to be as he been before to her. Though he
had saved himself front actually asking her such a di~
rect question as would have - involved her giving
him a direct answer, he had sun’ered such a tone to
cree into the conversation as could have left no reap
echo is doubt in the mind of either as to the other
havin perfectly understood the position. And she was
sorry or this-r-more sorry-than she would have. been
had she more clearly fathomcd Frank Bathurst's mind
and feelings. It was notin him to give serious thought
to what was over or to what was inevitable; it was not
in him to regret anythin for long, or to bemoan him—
self for having wands into any sort of error, pro-
vided he could get out of it gracefully. On this occa-

sion he told himself. with some truth, that he had got’

out of it gracefully. The sweet things he had said to
Blanche would never be refitted by him; be was far
too gallant to repent him of t utterance of tenderlwords
to a woman. .

Moreover. as he walked on by her side, looking down

upon her bare head as she moved it in its uncovered.

glory from side to side, alternately address Lionel
and himself, as she did this. and he was struc afresh

,by the beauty of her rounded cheek and clearly-cut

profile. he felt far from sure that he had made a mistake
alter all. Blanche was {not the sort of woman to exact
a considerable amoun of wooing before she would
show herself ready to be won; she would never make a
mistake and show that she expectedsomething serious
when there was nothing serious coming; she would use
her womanly prerogative to the full; freely as she might
flirt, she would not go out weekly halfway to meet an
offer of marriage. All these things he told himself, re~
covering his spirits most rfect y during the telling,
waxing more charming an satisfactory to himself and
his companions as he seems more charmed and satis-
fled each” instant wit the view of the case which he
was offerin for his own inspection. He banished all
memory 0 the advice Blanche had given him—her ad~
vice that he should gain Miss Talbot a heart if he could.
At least he only remembered it as a superfluous sort of
thing, reminding himself as he-did so that signs were
not wanting to prove that the " endeavor " would be a
work of supererogation, since Trlxy's heart was already

manifestly well-disposed toward him. Trixy Talbot had
it not in her to carry on the war against an intruder’s
suspicion of his intrusion on a secluded scene being an
untoward event, in the way Blanche was doing it now.
He could but admire her, and her perfect actin of a
part for which she would ' never have been cast _ the
choice had been iven her. 7
One grand con ‘tion of woman's success was always
here; she dressed with a perfect taste that always gave
her a feeling of security and case. She never permitted
herself to be liable to the weakening influence of the
knowledge that her effort was marred by an ungrateful
line or an unbecoming color. It is next to impossible
for a woman to be anything but awkward in a costume
that violates the harmon of either proportion or hue.
Blanche never did horse I so much injustice as to let
herself be put at such a disadvantage.
So now she moved along secure n the primary con-
dition of ease—she knew that from every point’of view
she looked well. Her luxurious rippling hair-was band-
ed with fillets of the clearest maude ribbon; her tramps.
rent ileatin dress was of the same color; her-waist wits
well definedg by a satin band, and the lace round her
throat and wrists was narrow, neat, and straight
to satisfy the most rigidly tidy. As she  a
raised her dress a little in hunt, and then coming out
from under the white drapery were seen a rofmnsll,
highly-arched feet cased in black-ribb silk shoes.
Both these men who looked upon her were artists. and
though one preferred painting wild waves to women.‘it
3:; hard to say whose taste a s most thoroughly satis-

“ Did you ride far, Frank 1" Lionel asked. as get
themselves in line and turned toward the house. , . n
he remembered that his question might seem to them
to savor of a desire to know how 1% they had been
together, and he was hastening to . “lineal: how
di she carry you ?” when Blanche calmly answered:

“ gcould not have ridden far, for he has been back
with e a long time. I went out to timetable-yard to
meet him, an then was gracious enough tcoomeou
here. risking a sunstroke without my hat; yonnsver’
can be sufioiently. grateful to me, Frank.” _ ,_ ,

She said this by way of growing to Iionel that than
really was nothing behin this outward show which
had evidently discomposed him when he came upon
them by the lake. He will understand that if there
iwere anything particular to me in Frank’s having cogs
blink tgtme 1:100:33J sheilildfiot liave man. tinned, a

0:13 ,an s u eonsy one wasthinkiug, . e
is honest, at least; she wishes me to at once sh
the Iterm; gay stanii «in :fihtfiach other. .-

" ro soon 0 emare  worthy
even of the one for8 whom I design her. ' I ' ‘

“,What a conventional expression. Frank 1 I hope the
one for, whom you design her will give more other
attention to the gift than to the manner of the giving.
unis; you strike, out some more original form ~ of
wo 'Ai - - ' . , , ' A “ '

N You are the best judge of that.” * ‘

" Of what? How vague you are. Well, never mind
your meaning new; I want to ‘say something to .

albot while I remember it; how very few. pan 9
speak closely—say just what they mean, and no moral."

" Edgar doe’s;I think." Lionel replied. , _,

_ "Yes, Edgar, Mr. Talbot, does indeed. He says out
his meaning alittle more plainly than is well at all
times. Franknever does, of course not. He natt’cg-s.
don’t you, Frank 7” she questioned, laughineg. , _' "

“ You say so.” '  ,

"And yours is not close to your meaning converéa-
tion, Mr. Talbot," she continued; "it's suggestive talk
—the best of all." " ‘ ’ i

" Now that you come to critically analyzetho nature
of my conversation, I remember that I say very little,"
Lionel replied. ‘ , _ ' j ' ,

"Shows what an’attsntive listener you have in Kiss
Lyon that that little has made such an'im ' on on
her," Frank Bathurst put in good-numb y". There
was an utter lack of jealousy, and of all the littlenesses
that proceed from jealousy, about this man that the
infinitely taking. ‘ . ‘  ‘

" I like suggestive talk and suggestive verse,” Blanche
went on, stoutly disregarding Frank's application; “that _
its willy I like ‘The Wanderer,’ and al the rest  ,

00 8.” . .- r ‘, ,

“All the rest of whose books? ‘The Wanderst'b?‘ I . .
don’t knowhlm.” ‘ U “ , r V‘

“ No. Owen Meredith's.” ‘  ’ ,‘

Frank laughed and aifected to shiver. .

“ Save me from suggestions of earl loves sndprlm. '
rose faceswho and only start up menace:
cypress trees, to disturb a man’s peace of mind,
he is enjoying ‘ Trcvatore ' in Paris; you haves
iii; taste if you incline to him—I am notwi

re. ’ ' '

" Are you not with me in my admirationmng,
not my admiration-em}, love for that Poem. Hr.
Talbot? " ‘

' He shook his head.  t

“ 'I don't think I either love or admire the mixture of
the very commonplace and the impossible." ' _

" But then nothing commonplace has a place in that '
poem; m: all love. and luxury, and light.” - ' ‘ v '

“it 6111“:th (1 th u l
u 3 even .an e t of as, and'the
luxu snupholsterer'sapprenticgan cats:g . ;no,
no; i '3 garish; you Will feel it tobe so, it you come
pare it with the supernatural element that comes out
so gravely in 'Fmst.‘ for instance; there is a, noble
awestiveness about that which all who run cannot
r , unfortunately." ,

“Sayhfortunately, rather. ‘Faust' is not for the.
masses, Blanche said, letting her head go up
haughtily. . v z _. .

fi‘ Pardon me. it is for all humanity ; it is like one of
the great Bible stories to me—a thing to be read humbly
and- solemnly." ‘ ' '

“ Fancy reading anything that a man wrote who was

when
. col.
93°“

 

y,

is?

 

 

18

PLA Y I N 6’ FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

addicted to heart-rending flirtatious between high
rows of well-covered pea-sticks, with plump German
maidens, humbly and solemnly l " Frank said, scoli-
in l .
5 file was essentially human,” Blanche said, apolo-
etically ; for all his great genius one can get near to
film, after reading that wonderful biography—he Was
so very human.” '

“ He was essentially selfish," Frank put in, warmly,
“and rather mean about it, I can’t help thinking, after
readin that wonderful biography which has turned
your rain a little, Blanche. Whenever distracted
maidens or prudent parents sou ht to bring him to

‘ book, he took refuge in the clou s, as it were, soared
up to Parnassus, and roasted there until the storm
blew over.” ’

"His shortcomings ought to be glossed over, ought
they not, Mr. Talbot ? " Blanche asked.

".1 (think not,” he replied ; " surely not ' glossed
oval-5" you do not mean that ; but regarded as evi-

jdences' of how the mighty may fall, and as special

_ reasons for lesser ones to continually pray against being
"led into temptation. ,

‘ ’ "Aiter‘all’, genial follies are readily forgiven,” Frank
said, with an abrupt change of feelings about the sub-‘
ject’under discussion.

" Yes,,by those who do not suffer from them,” Blanche

' said, hoping that the amendment would find fiver in

ijionel’s eyes. ‘ 1 -

‘ "And even by those who do suffer from them. They
blamednot the bard, though he did them most fright-
mlly amiss." Frank put in. anably. “He was his own

' Mailman, and he makes the ideal woman wall for him
is be: dying agony-those last words! it was worth
being born to have heard them." ‘ '

. “ Loot r words! how grand some such- utterances
mfibeml More light! The sentence is a poem in

" The « craving for fuller intellectual satisfac-

‘ tiers, for clearer mental vision, appeals to you,"
Lionel said to Blanche. “ Do you remember some that
are equally striking in 'a simpler wa bathe last words

v “To: the Obi-lotion gentleman who sai in his dying hour

' " to mum-law. ‘ Be good, my clear 1' I like them bet-
" tee  an other: I have ever heard; they are, in
themselves a , perfect, and suflioient rule of life——

‘ it's all maxed up in those four simple words.”

’ “Altai-all,- it is easy enough.” Frank said, in his soft-

’ attendant! with his suavest smile; “it is mg opinion
that the temptations to go astray are extrao ary. I
margileave undone what I ought to do, and I

' don’t th I sigh to do what I ought not, and I am not
Wfiom‘n v r

i' You'ars exceptionally wollestisaed with your own
successin doing right," Blanche replied, “ and that is a

“fiulttostartwthfl ,
write-var aged, I mean well,” Frank gswgred; " We

mean we , ea cially‘ your mamma, one e."

Blanche smiled“6 and frowned. , ‘ ' .

“I wish we all meant as well ’as lemma," she said.

j aobarly; " we should not. in that case, mystii‘y one an-

.fiotlxer _ _ lly for long”-—-- 'p

" Are we  of-us mystifying each other painful!
now, may I ?" Mr. Bathurst interrupted. " I thin
that at least I am rose of that charge. I am 0 n as the
day; no one could long be in doubt as to my mentions

’ about anything." ‘ .

“You madvancing your c in to the sin of conceit
IV _ , moment, is he not, Mr. albot? New I will name

~ not or of your faults for your penitential considers.
tions-mg? lazy, otherwise the second subject from
'Tann 1 ' would be finished by this"-—-- -

"Which I deny. I am so on the advice of the dis-

interested art critics who so a nuously recommended
me to lie follow for a time. By , Jove! if the law of
encapsulation works stall, what warm usrters will be
awarded band-by to some of those is! ows who, have
‘ "new tly thrown cold water on aspiring art and
”‘ lite urs ”

y "We  be better for it in the future," Lionel said,
imnmhimself, by the speech in the castigation
\, Which Frank implied hat he had received at critical

:x _ , i, «guinea not,“ Blanche said, quickly and 11an

y ’ _ ‘ looked gratefully at her, but at the same time 'he
gave her baa her flattery by saying}:

"I! you could make .me believe at, Miss Lyon, you
 rob the; of the aim that is best worth living for
‘ah-lhe’d‘cflre and the hope of advancing. I shall ave
. Wendy life, and lived it. to miserable purpose, when

, I shall sitvdown satisfied with what I have done.”

‘ _ «You Will be satisfied with what you have done, if,
two years hence, you cagflget ten thousand pounds for
. one picture, for the cent are of which your wife
has latter a model,” Frank I d, sing round and lean-

his arm on his friend’s shoul or.
“That is your_low view of it. Mr, Talbot will want
no? and will get more than you can :- or in.

a II

"You bro 9., nice sibyl when you (fear into the future
1’0? . « From mylow and sordi point of view ten
_ thousand pounds is not so despicable, and I can perfect.

' _ 13.191136“: deli hts.” .
* “ mercenarym ded man! You to set up a claim for
bola an aesthetic artist, and not to hope for something
far a ve gold for our and l”
f‘ The smiles an ap bation of Miss Lyon l”
“ He has them already," Blanche said coldly.

“ ‘And woman’s smiieibrsver hath
‘ A spell to make ambition sleep,’

somebody has said. Avoid the den , Lal l"
v ' ‘“ Ne woman's smile will make in s ambition also ,"
 i‘Blanche ansWered, interlacing her fingers, and puttaig
them up before her eyes to make a more com lets
' / screen tom the sun, as they came out on the open awn
close to the house, “ because any Woman whose smile

 

 

he could care for would wake his ambition even more
if possible; would it not be so, Mr. Talbot?"

“ If she cared to do so," he replied. “ But I think
some mistake was made in the incantation yesterday.
The spell you tried to throw over Frank has fallen on
me instead.”

“ What portion of it ?” she asked, with a glowing
face.

“ ‘No woman’s love shall light on thee,
No woman’s heart be tblne.‘ ’7

I She trembled in every nerve as he spoke, and had she
been alone with him she would have spoken some
words then that would have broken the ice between
them, dissolved the spell he named, and brought a
kinder one into being. But Frank was round by her
side again, and so she could only hope that silence
would indeed be golden.

So she stood for a few moments, wishing and willing,
with all the force of her soul and mind, that something
would occur to take Frank away from them, if only for
a minute. This opportunity passed, the passion which
possessed her might pass into a phase of fear of results
from which she was strangely free at this moment. It
seemed to her that a crisishad come now when she
might fairly give some unmistakable si n of love for
Lionel, without compromising her feminine/delicacy
and dignity. But she could not do it with Frank stand-
ing by ; and‘Frank looked so well inclined to stand by
the whole time.

" ‘ Thou art so near, and yet so far,’ ”

she half sang. " Do you know that song, Mr. Talbot ?"
be" Yes; Frank sings it," he replied; and Frank on this,
an '

8' “ ‘ Beloved eye, beloved star,
' Thou art so near, and yet so fan.’ ’.’

in a voice that Orpheus-like, might have softened the
rock? and trees; - but that, as evidencin the probabil-
ity 0 his remainin longer with them, ardened
Lyon's heart agains him yet more and more.

m

. CHAPTER XIX.
osusn non novnr.

Gm certain conditions, and every woman, however
little of a diplomatist she may be naturally, will make a
subtle scheme, and carry it with a bold stroke.
Blanche Lyon bore the restraint until she could bear it
no longer. and then, the conditions being granted. she
developed and executed her scheme in an instant.

“Frank,” she exclaimed, suddenly, " will you do me
a great favor ?"

“ Will I not i What is it ?"

" Go and look for a cop of that song that is set for

‘ two voices—you will no it in the leather case on the

piano—and persuade Miss Talbot to come out here and
sing it with me."

Frank loun forward a few steps toward the door.
Then he evo ved a better plan, as he thought, and
loun ed back a aiu.

“ tou had be tor come in; it requires the accompani-
men ."

She seated herself on the base of a huge stone vase,
full of eraniums. "'I have made up my mind to sing
it out a." she said, resolutely. “ No, Mr. Talbot,
don't you go, please. I have also made up my mind to
exercise so much cousiuly authority as to make Frank
fetch me one little song when I ask him."

“ Frank resigns himself entirely to your commands.
Bein a one ’ooon, I have no appeal.” v

“ ul ll the whole of your mission, now," Blanche
cried after him. “ Persuade Miss Talbot to come, or the
copy for two voices will be no use."

“ I fly," he shouted back, laughingly; and then he
went on into the house, and Lions! and Blanche were
alone at last. She was mistress of the position, and
still she could not seize it.

If only he would look at her! But he did not. He
stood looking away into the distance, with a quiet,
earnest expression on his face, that made her fear that
she was not in his thou his-sa-minon‘ look, unabsorbed
look—and Frank would sure to be back in a minute. .

" Mr. Talbot 1” > ‘

He looked round at her now, as she sat leaning forward,
her arms folded on her lap. her «head thrown up, and
her eyes earnestly bent upon him. As he met her
she was satisfied of one thing, and that was, that bew-
ever it had been a moment before, she was very much
in his thoughts now. , ‘

“ You have been with your brother " (she could not
dash at her subject, and give him the word that should
go a sign of her love, as she intended), " and you have

fihe paused. She meant that he had heard of Edgar's
ruin; and the thought of that min, and all the evil
train of coalefiuences it might bring upon the Talbots,
choked her. e attributed her emotion to the wrong
cause; he thought she meant to od‘er some explanation
to him, as Edgar Talbot‘s brother, as to her rejection of
Edgar Talbot's offer. So when she paused he said:

" Yes, he told me. and I am very sorry for him. I feel
for him very deeply and hug.

" And not for yourself at 1?”

He colored fast and furiously. up even to his brow, at
her question: it seemed to him such a stran e one to
come from Blanche on such!) subject as he be loved her
to be speaking of.

“Tor myself, I can bear the hardest things.”

" I know that: and hear them beautifully. As I said
to your brother, when-writes he was speaking to me

the other night, women’s words, and ways, and wills

are so weak, when we wonldgive our life to serve We
condo nothing but sonow."
He began to understand her now, and to feel that she

was more directly referring to their loss or worldly -

   

 

~—~,——.

wealth, and to the possible blight it might be on his
career.

“Borrow and you should not be named on the same
day, Miss Lyon; but your sympathy is very sweet to
me."

" Sorrow and I have clasped hands often," she an-
swered, soberly. " You donot quite realize that I have
had all my life to take most earnest heed and thought
for myself and others. I seem to you to be‘just what
I seem, in fact."

“ And you can be nothing better.” There was no idle
flattering tone in his words. She knew that he meant
them thoroughly, and her heart beat high. “ You can
feel that, and say it of me ? Then Ihave not lived, and.
striven, and endeavored to ‘be good ' in vain."

“ Nor would it have been in vain even if I had not

felt that truth and worded it," he said,'kindly. “My
approbation would have been a mean guerdon to strive
for.” .
“ The best I could have." Then she rose up, and
temptation never came to a man in a fairer guise than
it did to Lionel Talbot then,’to speak out and tell her
that he loved her. But he wrestled with it for two or
three reasons; among otheI‘S, this lately-born one, that,
while his sisters needed his aid, he must not charge
himself with a wife, even if the woman he wanted was
willing to be that wife. .80 he struggled to seem indif-
ferent to that which almost upset his jud out, as
Blanche made a step or two toward him, g him
that his approbation was the best suerdon lhecould
have-«and meaning it too ; of that he felt convinced.

“Oh. gentle time, ve back to me one hour which

‘_thou hast taken 1 B anche often thought inafter-days,

when she recalled this hour, and the poor use she had.
been enabled to make of it. For at this juncture Frank
and Beatrix came out to them, Frank hilariously carol-
ing, as became one who was never defeated, never heart-
sick, never doubtful as to the blooming issue of all his
brightest hopes; and Beau-ix, with the unsatisfied look
on her face that is indicative of feeling aggrieved with
one's self for one’s weakness in granting the small re-

Miss guests of the loved one who abstains from making large

emands. It was impossible for Beatrix to refuse any
favor or concession asked of her byFrank-t M She
knew that it was, andwas indignant with herself for
its being so; and still she could not help herself, but
went whithersoever, and did whatsoever he asked of
her. It was stinging to her, this being looked up and
required at the last, when Frank awe for a
whole sunny hour( erfectly oblivious of her
lake with Blanche. g
noble-natured Trixy. to hate Blanche, as she came upon
the latter “ standing and charming Lionel." as Trixy

y the

. worded the situation to herself, when Mr. Bathurat was

not by. She did not suppose for one instant that
Blanche was in an equally evil case with herself. Our
own private grief is always the mightiest in the world,
before which all others dwarf themselves to the mean-
est roportions.

" am not very much in the mood for singing, but I
came out as you sent for me," Trixy said, as she came
up to them; and then Blanche, who reall could aflord
to be generous and tolerant toward Trixy,put her hands
kilzlixdly on the girl’s shoulders, and said, almost in a
w spar:

“ Please don’t think me heartless and tho htless,
dear, but your brother will not bear this bad ow the
better for seeing you depressed by it ; ve me if I
seem to think less sorrowfully of it than I have thought
—will you, will you 1’"

She was so strangely winning as she spoke in her
earnest, pleading tones, with all the force of her earn-
est, winnin beauty, that Trixy felt much hagpier.

" I think could for ve you almost amt mg." 6110
said, aflectionately, an Blanchel had and replied :

" in that one little speech you a a couple of pro-
visos; how'ever, forgive me for having beat for you
now, and let me sing second to cu.” ~

They sang the son “ glorious J! as Frank declared,
and in he found imself very strongly directed to-
ward iss Talbot. At any rate here was tine enough,
he told himself, to make resolutions and carry them out
when the glorious summer, during which one should
only feel and exist, was over. So the sybarlte snatched
the hour,‘aud pleased himself acco to his wont'in
bein very leasant to them both;in Blanche's heart
sch ho bly because she saw that Lionel fancied she
overrated her 'ay cousin's devotion. '

By-cnd-by rs. Lyon cams heme from her tour of in-
apection over the cottage that, was to let in the vill e.
“ It was the very t she should like for herself,” a e
said, a" and she was most sorry that anybody else
should be going to live there: the garden was the very
style of garden that was most pleasing to her, and the
green-house would be lovely when repaired '; u to the

once, well. the never had liked London houses. and
she should like them now less than ever; give her a
placein the country where you were not overlooked;
that was all she asked.”

“ I think I should like it, too,” 363th said, de~
murely. ‘ '

" Get'your brother to take it for 3°“ “1mm” quart
ters, Miss Talbot,” Frank exclaimed, He had yet to
learn that some such nhan of residence would be a.
matter of necessity, not oho . with the Tnlbots.

“ Do you know," Blanche whispered to Beatrix, " that
it will bejust as well to manage all this without telling
the truth to momma ? I know everything, Trix ,, dear,
and I thought of sending momma to look at the house
for an im inary friend; the concealment is harmless
enough. 0 you agree to letting her think that her
wishes weigh in the matter ?"

u n' that Ian is decided upon,” Trixy said, an.
blousl ; an as the other three Were all speaking mi.
mated y at once on the superior advantages of the

" country over: the town,’the conversation between the

two irls was unheard.
" y should it not be decided

u ,1) e h
questioned, eagerly, POD Blane o

"‘ If you like it, why‘shculd you

teame even to the true- earted, ,

. ‘~e,

,,_g,-‘.',..;) in»

 p e' V g
' “ honest, foolish youngilellowrunhappy, and in pro
to mm ‘

 ‘himthat

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

19

 

 

not stay here where you can have human companion-
‘shi when you reel inclined? Mr. Talbot wishes my
mo or to live with you still; it would be very dull
‘for you in astrange country place with her alone ; here
you will have my cousin and your brother Lionel
.nen l’y

“ And you always ?" Trixy tried to say it joyfully.

“ No, indeed ; me Very rarely; I shall go out in the
world mun." . ’ g
, mfg eyes questioned “ Why '1"

u on, it’s not only men who must work in these nine-
teenth century days,” Blanche said, smiling ;  I rather
,wmemessity, too. I believe I have more of the

than the butterfly in me."

"when I shall lose you," Trixy said.

Blanch looked grave. , . , .

“ Will you promise never to lose your liking for me 2
N. am verygreedy of that."

'f There is nothing that could happen that could
snake me not like. you, I think," Beatrix replied. and
‘ she did not quite mean what she said.

" .". can nothing happen to give you cause for
likingim less," Blanche answered, heartily; and she
did mean what she said, and did wish to give Beatrix-
- some comforting assurance respecting Frank at the
"same time. : Then they all get themselves, to ether
Wain. and. talked about the cottage in. the age,
which, to use Mrs. Lyon‘s words, “ was the very place
shevwishsd to live saddle inf? And presently Edgar

came out to join them, and it was pro osed and carried
by universal consent» that t shoal
 luncheon and judge of t merits oi thedwelling

vforthsmselves., ‘ a  .  .

« “.1 have heard from Harlan todaydi Edgar Talbot

2 said, When luncheon Was nearly over. fisherpuetends

‘ to hem distress about her husband'anieco; there

0 was some cert obunderstanding orcngagement between

r the girl and some young fellow in the country. and, as

 usual, Mrs. Sutton has marred-the harmony."

“ What has she done ?" they all asked, eagerly.

.' Theme of how? the course citrus lave has been made
, once. .

" ' cos, she speaks as the injured 'one-a sure sign with
“Marian that she has been very much to blame. Even
’Mark is “angry, and that is a state of things thatdoes

‘__‘not at all agree with Mrs. Sutton.” - A

~ , " Yoursister is one of the most fascinating worried I

‘ ever on *' Prank Bathurst said-modmaturedly. ’

‘~ “#801 aboard," ‘repl’ .

’hav been crowned in making a oiod,

V

‘every is a rake at heart:‘ we hag

‘ " every reason to be ' rend of our sister'- genius {or mak-

psople raiser-ab e.” -
 ~ o spoke very Bitterly, for'ldarian's latter had been
very bitter to him. She had reviled him for that which

‘ he‘cenld not help‘his own ruin, namely—and she had

= upbraided him for'having wasted her husband's and
husband‘s sister’s money. After a page or two of this

“ matter, she had goneon to tell him how a misunder—

'. standing had arisen
young man to whom Ellen was engaged, and she had ;

between her niece Ellen and the

.

dedwto this statement a sentence which had gr it-

' I .
 aggro harshly than all her revuins- upon her MOW-

 W- I

a

, I leafless. . .
‘ Winsome up totown a day or two ago to reproach
; but unwit ly I e a sop to Cer-
bcius,.-and now he would on rgo t etortures of a row

 n his lady-love evergeek’,£;ovided thereoon, cilia-

,‘on-soeno may take p no my auspices ; he is
I a perfect Apollo, andonl wants a polishing to

- insulin: the most perfect eav ier in the row."
,This was them}: in her letter that most sorely

i wounded her brother: these were the sentiments that
' made himsa bitterlth they had every reason to be
* proud of . It seemed to Lionel to change
' hetopte,-wbioh he did by as ng:

v shall we divide ourselves to go down to the

 

     I
"s'mi'u'aozmuamm!u

 

tf‘~~"

  suderod’the others teadvanoe rope.

  tolet’. It
, ., . toaddcoulusiontochaos by opposing w
- r

aitions respecting the manner and the means to em-

Wlnwting down to the village to lookat the cot-

was not at all in h wayto

was not

i even halt, catch ed, an , ointing out the weakness
that would»,le assert itse t

" The distance is nothing—let us walk. I have walked

it in conferences-aims tooda  Mrs. L on said;
leaningbaoklnb ’ ’

er chair, a comfortable luncheon.

and fanning herself in away that was expressive ot~

fatlgllee. I, , . , ‘ -

n has have thew onette and all go together,”
Frank Bathurst PWPOGB . He felt that t are would be
a difllculty about ettin to be alone with Blanche, and
he didnotoare 3. out eing alone with any one else

‘ Just then.

ff! don’tsee that there is any necessity for your an
, uttihg yourselves out of the way to go down,» Edgar
Eflbotpfld: "Trlxy and Miss Lyon will part”, a walk
“Wmltfih'me. and you could wait here torus come
back afidfill in'with your plans, whatever they are, for

the afternoon.“ , , ,
" I. should like toga down again am. Paint out one of
two little things," Mrs. Lyon said, in the tone of one
- who felt that whatever she did the others would not
suflciently appreciate her excellence in doing it—“ I
- shes}th to go down again and V
little thi that are not as I sbo d like them to be in
the house.  film looked from one to the other, appeal~
ingly so she spoke,» if she rather expected them to
' den her even this small been of tiring herself, form)
goo end, more completely than she was already.

all drive down m

to {roam roughly always meets with an attentive audi‘ *

"Well, hate... ..

, She was holding her head up

at out one or two .

 

 

“ Walking is out of the question {or you, momma,"
Blanche said, firmly. .

" Then my wagonette plan is the best,” Mr. Bathurst
said, with a sort of " that settles it ” smile.

“ You drive, I suppose ?" Blanche said, persuasively,
looking at him as he pushed his chair back and got up.

“ Yes. I will drive.” *

“ And Miss Talbot will have the place of honor by
your side, ands—you are letting me arrange it all——in~
tending to coincide with my arrangement, are you not ‘9”

" Unguestionsbly,” he replied. .

“ An mamma and Mr. Talbot will sit just behind
you. I shall ride: you will lend me the mare you
ofl‘ered to give me ?" -

Her accents were very seductive in their subtle
sweetness as she addressed him ; but for -,all that sub-
tle sweetness they grated on his ears. She had por-
tioned out the places of all save Lionel Talbot; and she
designed to ride, and Lionel Talbot would be free to
go with her. . , . .

“ Of course I let you arrange it all. I must propose
one alteration, however, which is far them being an
ainendment,” he said, gallantly ; “- the mare gave my
wrist an awkward jerk this morning. I doubt whether
I could hold‘those young horses to other or not. Lal
had better drive them, and I will r1 with £21." :

He came nearer to her as he spoke, his fair flushed,
and his blue eyes dancing with the consciousness that
they were all perfectly alive to the root of his desire
for thisnchonge. His infatuation, formations amused
toxnseli’ so much that he liladixotlthe ancilallest ob’ection

itsamusingot erpeope. a esaer agree, own:
as wilful as a woman about carr g his own point. but
Blanche opposed him with a a ,lrdeeper wiliuiness.

“ Let me look at, your wrist,” she saidand then when
became close and extended his hand she laid her slen-
der white fingers firmly on the part which he had do.
clared had been ven an awkwardjerk. " I will streng-
thenit for you,’ she said. in a low voice. bin her
handkerchief tightly round it as she spoke l “ please
do not frustrate my Politicawbatever they may be;
drive as you promised " ' 

She spoke ve hurriedly in fear of being overheard
béthe others, in o, as is usual in most cases, misundero
s od her manner and motives. and believed her to be
flirtln at him, her cousin host, with vigor and deter-
minatfon’. But then '11 she spoke hurriedly she spoke
angibly, and Frank is t that“ behooved him to attend

81.. , ,

Blanche," he mnttaredf,“ what is it 1 You mean going
alone 7" .

"I do not mean going with you at any rate. Behave
yourself, Frank; hands that are appendagch sprained
wrists ought not to have the power of pressing so n-
fully; let my hand go, sir, and promise me you ve."

“ I promise," he said, shrugging his shoulders, " any-
thing you like; I will order the horses.”

As he left the room there was a general movement
made, a sort of faint among the party of going to get,
ready, and it chanced that Lionel Talbot and Blanche
were brought near together.

“ The blunder of narrow doorWays." Blanche laughed,
as IAonel stepped back for her to pass, him, and she
stepped back oeurteonsly at thesame moment; steps
which caused their detention in the room alone after
the others hadlei't it. " Anal to ride alone. Hr. Talbot "
she said, suddenly. .

" You seem to prefer the groom's escort to Frank's,”
he rig-115m thing- : as kind, a th 11 '

“ no a , e an e com unever
been mentioned. Will you ride withgilne? That is a
plain and straightforward way of'putting it."

“ I had better not, recious as the silica of taking
charge of you, if only or a short time, would be to me
-I had better. not.’ ' ' - V , '

" Why l"_sbo said. And than the“ linked her fin
together, and let her hands hill down: front of er.
‘ g , roudly, but her eyes
were downcast, hidden by their ashes.
repeagi‘eg, as he looked at her most lovingly. but spoke
no w . 't ' . ' ' '

Why?” he echoed. "Because—will you have it-my
reason?" '1 ‘ '

" Yes, I will have it—I will hear it. You shall tell me
so plainly that there can be no alumna about it," we
said, excitedly. , ~

"I had better not take char 3 of you, because the
once is too precious to be hel with impunity to the
holder for only a short time. Forgive me, Miss Lyon,
you almost forced the truth from me.”

Eton as he asked for her forgiveness in broken, sub-
dued tones she came nearer to him, with asot‘t, loving
triumph that was inexpressibly thrilling to him, in her
face and bearing.

"'1 have forced the truth them you for no lbw, vain
end,” she said; and her hands were extended to him...
were taken—were pressed to his heart, before Lionel
Talbot remembered that he was acting a very imprudent
par , - .
“ Because I love you so,” he said, assionately—
“because I love you so. it would be otter that I
should never be with you again, unless I should be with

you forever.” . ,. ,

“ And is there anything to prevent that bein the
case ’1’” she whispered. And then—she was, for
bright bravery of her mind and manner, a woman on-
dowed with that infinitely caressing way that cannot
be withstoodp—then she lowered herhead a little, and
eighingly lot it find a resting place on his shoulder.

“ You feared your fate. too much, Lionel,” she said.

,“It was too bright acne for me to Note hope to
touch it. Blanche! be when time, my, darling; think
of what you are relinquishingbefore you suffer me to
let my whole heart go out to you in so full a way that
Inlay never get it back and live. I have so little to

 

"Why 1’" she.

the said

 

ofi‘erhyou beside that heart, sweet child—Frank, has so
muc .” 4

“Which will be surrendered to Trixy before long.
Perhaps you will submit to my loss of Haldon with a.
better grace if it is Trixy’s gain?“ She asked this in a
li ht tone; but she added soberly enough an instant

r: “ Never regret your want of anything for .my

sake, Lionel ; if poor Edgar had succeeded, as he.
believed and hoped he should succeed in his ventures,
it would have come to this between you and me, and I
should have basked idly in the sun of that success, and
been very happ . As it is—well, I have it in me to fight
for fortune wit you against the world."

She looked so joyously confident, so 'radiantly sails--
fled with the existing state of things, so bewitchingly
hopeful about the future, that Lionel felt that ~ '

Poor wxsdom’s chance
Against a glance." "

was weaker than ever. However much. more brilliant.
her late would have been if she had given her heart to
histriend instead of to himself, the intoxicating , truth
that her heart was entirely his now. came to him un-
alloyed by a shadow of doubt. Still he strove to render
his grasp upon her looser, less that of " lord and lover"
tor a moment, as he said: .

" Take care, Blanche! .I-can give you up new, and.
never blame you in word or thought for having got me
to tell you that it will be death to me to do so ; but-
ilve minutes of this, and no earthly power shall make:
me give you up—you hear me ?" . r _, . , I

" Andmark ’ youtoo," she said, holding her 
book, and shaking it winningly, with an air of satisfied
acquiescence in her decision that was strangely sooth-
ing to  "You shall have the five minutes ; as for
the opportunity of defying earthly powers, I am maid
youtenacity will notbe pot to the test, unless manu‘na.
intervenes." And then they both la bed. I
l “ Mammals intervention may: y «hasten the:
unionof the principal powers," he said.

" Momma is safe to , funny about it,” Blanche
said, gravely, " it gees without saying thatslae will be-
that ; she will view the matter from the melancholy

inter view, if not tram the laehrymose.®ra while;

t it will all come right brand-by." , ,

“ Yes, 0! course it will, if we make our own arrange
ments and abide by them, without enduring let or
hindrance‘h'om others.”- " - '  ‘ ' 'v * ~

“Come nearer to the li ht,'that on ma  to tie “1 be“ them “mi 50“. M "u m. 530119 whim--
' ray ban ‘ becomingly,"8he said, angina; drawing "as ‘m “n3 ma blah “S ; "5° wt “230%?” 817‘
her after to the window. “ That's we 1! flow, hm“ “3"”! “a” With me- will Y0“?

"' Will I not 9” he answered, very fondly,‘is she got.
herself away through the doorwa which she had
(3th 13st nwéato be a blunder?" do.

"ye on’ he a room; lam oin teridewith
mes Lyon," Liane said to Fragk gathurst when.
Blanche came down and joined them just outside the: :
hall-door, where the wagonette and a couple of sad-
dlehorses were waiting. Lionel said it with that:
assumption of intense indifierence which generally
first betrays to otziurn tire iact of a man having utterly
gurfeigdered to the one or whom he does not speak‘ as

e ee 8.

“ Areyyou so i. very well,” Frank said, rather coldly :
and then he turned awa without relating to help '
Blanchaontoherhorse. fiencnwersfflcndqlntho.
bestssnsoof theword; bntitisahsrdthingter both.
when friends love the same wom . ‘

" Earthly power number one is u
Blanche said, in a low tone, as Banal stoo Gar her '
to put hertoot in his hand; “belisn‘mo,though.
Lionel, I would not speak of it if I were not sure that
with in)? fllit isle passing cloud. Frank will. not be.

w on o ." ’ * '

“95%

one,”

not. owswest you look in our riding -
gear!" encl replied. Friendshizgstands’ a r
chance of being ably considered w on love puts in his:

in.
It was hard upon Mr. Bathurst; it was very hard

upon Mr. Bathurst to have to see that pain go o: to-
‘ '01

'gether,.and to be doomed himself to play the

ohsrioteer to Mrs. Lyon, Edgar, and Beatrix; knit is a
fact that a woman in love, and at the same unto m
that the one she leves loves somebody blqu very
much a: Mdisadetage. p13; whale of  11%
scene 0 I go atom in n n ‘
Trixy's mind. B anche's absolute pow. gothp‘tzg
men who loved her and the man she loved more pain-
ful sights to the girl who had no apparent po

anyone just at the time. Manon"! plan of ’makin

one‘man radiantl ha is riding with him, '
3’ apu‘ii sings "“

another man dolei‘ull drl 7 with hi ,
was a gift that not ally'l‘rixy's Christiurfimty coulfii
compel her to think good. fl‘he brother would have.
been surrendered with a good'graoe to the brile
rival, but human nature must cease to be use}: begun
a long: can ble’gi‘gn uphgracigugiy.
r we ay roug suc we 1 ; ‘b

such high- ankcd, rich. garden-ilk? 11:11:53 i 6:33;:
the time of roses. and consequently, the time for most
of our lair-est wild flourers to bloom. The beauty of“
the unculfivfited 8101433 parterres through which they
passedmade matter ior talk for them fora time; but.
presently, when the fast trot of the cabs had carried-
sigmoggogfigotgaf aliead of them that it was safe to

_ . 00 {a all ht reason on the rear
rein-brought Lionel’s horse clgoserlto Blanche’s. and he

“ Concealment is always bad- if we fairl understand
each other, darling, it seems to me to in? only fair ‘0‘
the others that they should understand-hates.” _

. Hurried disclosures are as bad ascencealment.” she
said. We do fairly understand each other, Lionel; of
course we do; butwhy make talk about that under”
standing before it is needful? Circumstance is In
mighty monarch; abdut ourselves we, and we chill.
have to consult him: meanwhile wevhad better not com
suit other people. I think."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

As she spoke she lifted up her hand to switch the
air with her whip. Lionel caught the hand and heldrit.

“Icould have gone on suffering silence to' reign as
‘to my feelings about you if you had not let me speak
‘to you as I have spoken this morning; but now that
course is closed to me. I cannot look upon you as my
:future wife in secret. My love has gone out to you as
I never thoughtit could to any woman. You have ac-
cepted the love; you must submit to the show ofit."

“ Submit! As far as I am concerned, I accept all
show of it with do and gladness," she said, softly;
" but for you, onel, avowed engagements fetter a
:man who is lighting with the worl ' . People will not
overlook the fact of success being essential to him be-
«cause he is goin- to be married, and so, often the hand
that is playing onestly and lovingly for fortune's fa-
vors is rendered unsteady or weak y the too keen ob.
.servation bent upon it. Play freely, dearest, for a
'time. at least."

“Freely, but not secretly," he said.

“ You have it in you to be very rash."

_. ,“I have whenlam very fond. Bash, do you'say'!
No, Blanche; in this case the" rashness would be in
concealment. If I shrank from proclaiming that” you
.had rmnised to be my own, you would be the first“ to
co emu my weakness in thus shrinking; and yet wo-
use: air? so consistently inconsistent that you urge me
. 0 .IF _

" For our mutual good, I am sure.” ,

“ How would it for our ,mutual ood that we
should be held in check—cut of! irom he confidence
that should cheer-us 7" ,

. " My cowardice is not for myself," she answored,
blushing Nightly. “I only feel that for yon it might
“be-better not to be supposed to have the obligation laid
upon you othsviug to make money enough to support
I infétorsfime; butif you will riskthe drawbacks,

on I!” V

‘ , " You will agree to their all knowing that you are
:going to be. my wits," be interrupted: “ and the sooner
theyoknow it, and the sooner it is, the better. Be sure
«of one thing—I am not going to let you out into the
world againiwithont me.” -

She looked up at him gratefully, proudly, fondly.
‘“ 0h. Lei, it was only for your sake I counselled con-
cealinent for a time ; for my own I thank you for your
decision, and accept it, as I will every one you make
henceforth without appeal? _ r .
As she finished her sentence they turned into the one
little crooked street of the village in which the cottage
that was to let was situated, and fell under the obser-
vation of the party in the wagonette, which was pulled
‘up to wait for them. .
‘ “ I wish Blanche would not behind in that way,"
Mrs. Lyon said, rather peevish y. It seemed to the
good old lady a wicked waste of a golden opportunity
that her daughter should linger behind with a com—
jparativeg or artist. when a rich land-owner was
ahead. e ore anyone could reply to her the air on
horseback came up at a sharp trot, and sometging in
.Blanche's manner told Frank Bathurst that the“ game
was gone."
I Need it be said that as soon as this conviction smote
him he accepted the situation with the blithe amiao
r'bility that characterised him, and became on the spot
their warmest ally. From the bottom of his bright,
‘warm, wide heart he had wished for Miss Lyon for his
wife: but since he could not have her through some
distortion of her own judgment. he was well
«contented that his friend should be successiul. At any
rate she would not dro out of his orbit, and belost to
his beau «loving sigh . It would still be withinhis
powerto' eas- her elk, to see her move about with
that subtle seductivenees of movement which no other
woman , . The link of friendshi should never
"be broken between the two tamilies, and lanche would
atill bones. to charm him, as only so clever, fascinating,
and beautiful a woman could charm him. He watched
her as “and helped her irons her horse, and when she
reached the ground he managed to make her eyes meet
 For a moment or two hey looked «unflinchi ly,
and when each slowly turned awa item the 0th '5
{gene the understanding between t em was as honora-
 le and complete as if it had been legally drawn up and

‘ ratified. They were to be friends,iree and unfettered
in menu and in mind, without a back thought or

wegretabcut anything between them.

‘ 'one momsnt,” he muttered, as they were passing
white the cottage garden in the rear of the rest, and he

ut his hand upon hers as she spoke, "one moment.

’ wrist is strong enough now, you see ; it does not
"tremble as I tell you see what has ha pened, and
rejoice in it, dear Blanche, for myoid ends. God
bless you both! You will be very happy." ,
“And so will you, Frank ?" she half asserted, half

interrogated. ‘

"Yes," he said, gayly ; “I don't think it is in me to
Ibo a despairin swain.” .

‘f If you di despair I should say you were blind and
“void of all taste," she answered, hurriedly, as the
others looked back at them from the already opened
:dgor, and, they had to hasten their steps to rejoin
~ em. r

It was a churning cottage. The " two or three little
drawbacks ' which Mrs. Lyon had anxiously volun-
"tecred to point out were no drawbacks at all in the eyes
of the young people. When looked upon in cold blood
'it must be acknowledged that it was an irregular and
defective abode; for the drawing and dining rooms had
been added to the original structure, and the original
'atructure had the air of disapproving of the additions
and of hoidin itself aloof from them as much, as pos-
esible. The col ngs had given way in one or two of the
rooms, and the kitchen range was a monstrous rusty
enigma to Mrs. Lyon; but despite these hides the cot-
tage was charming. ior it was prettily paper-ed. audit
.had Frauen windows, and its walls were («tanned y
1093;; and its garden sloped away in privacy to the
1170 ‘

   

am: it'is furnish

like a man, " we will settle it when it comes.”

' with Miss Talbot here, or anywhere

 

“ It's a perfect little paradise," Beatrix said aloud; and
she thought how sweet it would be to share such spars-
dise with Frank Bathurst. -

" It isjust the house for a pair of artistic- minded
young married people,” Frank himself said, gravely.

“ Well, Mrs. Lyon, what is your verdict ?” Edgar Tal-
bot asked.

" Ivonly wish it was going to be my home,“ that lady
answers-l, with the bright admiration that came from
her feeling over-confident about it’s never being her
home.

" Then I may as well tell you at once what I should
shortly have been compelled to tell you in any case. I
am going to break up my London establishment—why
I need hardly tell you—and I should be glad if you will
continue to sil‘ord m sistervthe same countenance and
protection here whic you consented to give her in Lon-
don. May I hope that it will be so, Mrs. Lyon '1"

" Live here 1" she exclaimed.

“ Yes; live here for a time at least."

"Mamma, you can have no better plan to ,propoae.”
Blanche said. reproachfully: and then Mrs. Lyon shook
her head dolorously, and said ;

,,"Oh no; of course not 1" adding suddenly, “ Would
it not be far better to go into nice. uiet. convenient
lodgings in London, where every com ort would be sup-
plied to us, than to live here ? Consider the butcher.”

" I really must confess to considerin my own and my
sister's convenience before the butc er,” Edgar said,
laughing.

" Imean, think of the distance we arerfrom him; not
but what I shall be very happy to stay here, if you all
wish me to doit; but how are we to manage? there is
inc-furniture l" and Mrs. Lyon, as she spoke, looked
from one to the other as if she would ask their pardon
for mildly appealing against that want of considera-
tion of them which made them expect her to joyously
acquiesce in the prospect of living in an empty ous'e.

“ The furniture shall be sent down from Victoria
Street if you will eagree to live here for at least a year

," Mr. Talbot replied. '
" Then it will not fit,” Mn. Lyon said, like a woman.
“ Never mind it’s, fitting the house," gar replied

“ What am I to do about the range 7" Mrs. Lyon said,
dejectedly. “ I am sure I shall be deli hted to remain
so, for a year ;
but Icould wish that range altered, or I shall never
have a moment's peace: ‘ Fit for a young married cou-

le with artistic minds l’—-well, it may be fit for such ;
1 ut Iguow what the cooking will be if that range isn't
cake to."

" Let us take the house and ask Trixy to stay with
us," Lionel whispered; “ and let your mother go back

to the delightful London lodgings, where .she can be

free from the burden of that range." But Miss Lyon
turned a deaf ear to that sug cation- She was not made
of the materials to marry in aste, with the possibility
before her that circumstances might cause the man she
married to repent at leisure. Accordingly, she only
shook her head in reply to him, and then said:

" The greater good of the greater number is the point
to be considered by all of us. Momma, this will be the
best place for you to live in with Trixy."

“ Where shall we all and room?” Mrs.
querulously.

“ I may not be at home for long,” Blanche replied. ,

" I will have no more governesaing," Mrs. L on said,
emaphatically. "You - shall not go out in t at way
ag n.'f I , . A

Blanche laughed and shook her head. '

“ I promiseyou I will not attempt to do it," she said.
“I am more ambitious in these dayd; you shall know
in what way if I succeed."

“And you will tell me even if you tail, will you, my
own Blanche ?” Lionel whispered, as they went out
together, and he prepared to ut her on her horse. But
Blanche in reply to this only nt her brow with that
look of sudden steadfestness which had a habit of com-
ing over her face, as she replied:

“ I won’t promise that, Lionel; failures are not nice
things to talk about." ,

" Why venture anything on your own account? why
not trust yourself w oily and solely to me? there is a
great deal wanting in your love wh is you refuse to do
this."

Lyon said,

She was stung to, quick speech by his supposition.
" You know—you must know that I would brave any-
thing, relinquish anything, do anything, for the sake of
being your wife.” she said; “ but I won't consent to fetter
you; to impoverish and lessen you in any way would be
frightful to me. Lionel, I would rather crush my love
than do it. I will crush my love, if it comes to that:
do you believe me?"

“ No," he said, as he slung himself upon his horse.

“ No, Lionel.”

“I do not believe that my own love for you is so
weakas to be incapable of overcoming such scruples.
Oh, child! you are mine now to have and to hold against
the world; even against yourself. Don't let me hear
any more about your 'fettering,’ or ‘impoverishing,’_
or ‘lesseniug ' me. When you are my wife I will teach
you that your being that is ample compensation for
everything else."

She began conning the lesson he was willing to teach
her, with such a pleased, happy look' on her face as she
turned it toward him. _

" Oh, Lionel! after all my wise dent speeches,
what will you think of‘ me, whenl 11 you thatllove
you desperately, darling, desperately 7"

“Think! that I am surer of you than I, was before
you ave yourself out to speak the truth," herald;
fen y; " there must be no going back from this,
Blanche; we are bound to lay for fortnne’s favors; to
fight the battle of life toga er."

   

CHAPTER XXI.
JOHN wrwor.

WHEN John Wilmot had started with Ellen Bowden
on the occasion of the latter’s leavmg 101' London he
had bemoaned himself bitterly and openly, as became a
loving, frank boy. and Ellen had shown superior self.
command, and had developed that almost cruelly com.
forting manner which the one who is soundest at mt
alone can show. He had been leariul, jealous, new.
about her and her stability,and she had sought to seen
these various passions in her own aensible,aflectionpte,
truthful way, and had failed while she was still present
with him. But when they were wide apart, andJohn
Wilmot was iree from the painiul excitement of hearing
what might befall Ellen in London perpetually disc
cussed, he began to reassert his own masculine superi-
ority to absence, distance, and changeato 0011le him-
self with the reilection that his own true instincts
would have saved him from the snares ofa false woman
for his first true love, md to be generally sanguine.

So he continued for the first few weeks of Ellen’s-toy
with her aunt, Mrs. Sutton; so he continued long after
Ellen's letters became more circulars apologizing ior
not having “ written before," and 101- “ not writingmore
now " (for the amnion whose frequent exit  her
house Marian sagsciously cred contained little more
than these. sentences); so e continued until. further
patient continuance would have been a weakness; and
then he took thought as to the path it would be well
for Elm to pursue, and finally decided on going up“
see er. r~ - , ‘ ,. , ,,

He did not much care whether or not he would be
welcome to the presiding powers obthe house in which
she was dwellin ., He loved Ellen Bowden', and it was
Ellen Bowden e whom hehad to consider. Such
love aside for the girl he had known all her life her
uncle and‘aunt would be werless to compensate her
for, if they caused her to use it. So he went up with
the determination axed firmly in his mind that she
should not lose-it if fond adults of his could teach her
hog tokeep it    . ~

swasa oo coking young fellow,with the 0d
hicks of heilg xt egg health, 0301:3136 honestyyfirk,
c ear-comp ex on ,o .ey ,w ort. curl brown
hair, and the uprightlfi‘tfling and slinging ate; of. one
who is no stranger tothe carrying of a gilan the
breaking in of .a thorough-bred colt, He had received
greater educational .advantalgles' than the sons of y'e’o- ,
men usually receive, for he ad been a private pit” ’in
the house of the vicar of father's ' , the
vicar was a gentleman , and a scholar; and he was a
young man gifted with the grace of making the most
of these advantages, for he had kept his mind irom
rusting by geing through a course of (reading of the
English classics, slowly but regularly, since he had
come from the vicar's supervision. Accordinglinhe
had shone , as a .star of some magnitude in ‘en
Bowdeu's little world. v His selection of her had been
deemed an honor ; for report said that the, vicar'a
daughter would have smiled upgi himif belied t
her smiles. Altogether, Ellen wden was regard I
herself and (fithegas a vtehrytioaiitnnate girl, when it be-
came genera y own a e was 0' marry
yogi: Jghn Wilglkoet‘.‘ th 1 8 mg to

e a never epanofher Din,“ tom.
don to be polished, as her mother caliegi its  *II
quite polished enough for a iarnxer’s wife," big-ad,
" and he never wanted her toseem; or. to be thought
more than a farmer’- wife.” They were yeghgand
happy, and they loved each other dearly, and thrown
nothing to stop their wedding immediately and, being
free to show how happy and lovin the were—nothing
to stop it, save this ireak of Mrs. mains "that Ellen
should go up to London to see life‘ and be polishedgby
intercourse with Martin's ladgife, Mrs. Sutton. 

He kept up a hopeful heart a ut this girl with whom
he looked forward to passing his Mandi , _ letters,
from being brief and cold, ceasedal , ether; M was
her aunt's influence, he told h ‘ ,hslflad'y stint,
who probably did not want further). “collection-with
rough country people, and who perhaps deemed Ellen
p‘retty enough to command a better match in town.

owever, it was certainly not her aunt's mission in lift
to atepmbetween him and his wife, for that Ellen would
have en by this time had she not gone up to be
polished. Accordingly he resolved to go up and see
f0owl‘til;ixrligshwfre goingI-hreso‘ . laid to 0 ‘up and battle

2 ' g ainst can a ue’uccwhich
weaning his 10v:ng him. * I".

He had many dark and mgry’thou hts about Ira.
Suite; in his mind as he traveled up. 0 pictured her
to hireself as a high-nosed, haughty.mannered,"hand.
some, heartless woman, who would try teem. m
uncomfortable by being cold and distant to'hiau.‘ if
she was thighs told himself he would put it plainly to
Ellen that she would be wanti in some or the fine
respect and consideration a woman should have for her
future husband if she did not at once side with him
and leave her aunt. It would be their lives—Ellen’s
and his—that would be welded to ether ;' notenigorary
alliance with her aunt ou‘ ht to be maintained :7 the
girl at the cost ofa rift in eh- i‘uture permanent one.

He reached Mrs. saucy; house about six o’clock in
the evening. and before his appeal, at the dent'ku
answered the trampling of horses made him look round
to see Ellen, accompanied b a lady and gentlemhn,
rid° up to the steps. The ady was you ,mr, be.
witchingly pretty, and ‘ entle looking.‘ e no or
thought for an instant tha she could be the terri le
aunt whom he had come up to heard in her own den.
Indeed he did ' not think of anything, it‘ must, be
acknowledged, for a minute or two, as Ellen stooped
forward and held out her hand to him as he started
forward to meet her, and exclaimed: ’ N .

"0h"! John, how you fri htened me! Aunt Marlyn,
let me introduce Mr. John ilmot." >

 

 

«Quite a oung A 0110," was Mrs. Button's mental
remark as age bowe gracefully and languidly to‘fthe '

 

_.‘._.I-__.__~_.

x3“... .—— :, ‘~n«

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

l.

 

 

young man whom she feared might interfere with
several of her present plans. Then she dismounted
with the aid of her cavalier, and determined to “ disarm
Orson by courtesy.” _

" Let me hope that you will dine with us at seven,
and go with Elly and me to a concert afterward," she
said, sweetly. " You must have a great deal of home
news to give your old friend, and I cannot let her stay
to hear it now, for we must go and dress; but dine with
us at seven.”

John Wilmot mepted the invitation with a greater
amount of embarrassment than he had ever before he-
lieved'it possible he could feel in the presence of any
women, even if she were a queen. He was not quite
sure of what it behooved him to do. Should he go in
at o 0 into the palace of this fairy queen ? or
should he retire to the depths of his hotel and dress
himself in the most fitting array he possessed for the
ban net? .

“ will come-I shall be very happy," he stammered,
and than he looked round to see whether or not Ellen
VI! V617 happy in his acceptance of the invitation.
But Ellen was springin from her horse at the moment,
and he could not catch or eye. .

 

CHAPTER XXII.
Ins. ms’sum nntlnn.

Jams Winner had an extraordinarily good physique.
He was one of those men with small heads, set well on
between square shoulders. who, by reason of their

y strength, rarely look mentally weak. For in-
stance, on this occasion, though he had gone through-
sevcral phases of nervousness between the moment of
receiving Ins. sutton's invitation and the moment of
his it, there was no trace of the torture upon
him whenat length he walked into Marian's drawing-
room. v lady vherself,,turuin round to watch his
approach and welcome him. nowledged that the
young yeomsu might almost be a gentleman.

His nervousness had been a vague feelin , created
by vague causes“ Unlike a woman under s ilar cir-
cumstances, he had not sought to give form and sub-
stance to the experience that was about, to come to him.
He had only i'elt strongly convinced that he should
that evening had himself in a society, and amidst sur-
roundings, of the usages of which he was utterly nigno-
rant; lie had only feared that this ignorance ght
manifest itself and lower him in the eyes of Ellen.

.But now. when he came into the room, he exercised
so much constraint over himself as to seem, even to the
keen bluesyss. ef'Marian Button, to be very much at
ease. The two ladies, the aunt and niece, felt the fact
with a throne; surprise—~the latter with. a throb of
pleasure that he bore himself as best became him;

that tne‘happy, medinminannerexisted in a quarter

where they could not reasonably have looked for it.

“Itis like old days to see you again, John,” Ellen
said, as JohnWilmot came over to the side of the chair
in which she was lounging and fanning herself.

“ Yes, it ' mu‘st seem as though you had only been
separated for a day or two,” Mrs, Sutton put in; " it
always does seem so, I notice, when intimate friends
meet, unless either has altered very much.”

“ Then one of us must have altered very much,”
John.anot answered, decidedly; “ seeing her in this
way neither reminds me of old days, nor makes me
thinkthe old (1%” anything but long past."

- ,“Bs shall mark the difference .more before I have
done with him]? Marian thought; she said aloud :

" hstznonsense we talk about 'old times.’ to be
sure;. when, if the truth were told, there is not one in a
thousand wholywould wish,tolive' them over again. I
would set for one; would you, Elly ?" I ,

“ The present is so pleasant to me that I can’t, wish
for any change, Aunt Marian,” Ellen said, deprecating-
ly; andthen John Wilmot could not help feeling that
the change from this room, with its delicately-papered
walls, where itteri _ mirrors reproduced the ro-
fusely scatters beauties of art which Marian ha de~
lighted in collectiiilifi, to the best parlor of the house
is:de to make on mistress of, would be great,

an: eyes mirrored his thoughts, as he let them fall
questioning , regretfully, lovingly, on the girl who
h promise to marry him She was chan ed; she was
changed; she was very much«changed. His eyes told
him that she as improved- but his heart rebelled
383-171“ the, imgrovement. It was not of an order to
eondueetotne comfort of the homely-appointed farm-
house Where he): lines would becast if she were faith-
ful to him sunlight-3311‘, ' . _

The Change was too subtle for the blunt, honest mind
0‘ the Nun} mlllfio analyze it. - It was expressed in.
everything; in Posture. in dress, in tone; and still.
when he tried, he could notdeflneithimself. He had
seen her in, silks end mammalian, of old; this robe
that She W0” now W“! 0m! 3111!. and yet it seemed a
far more. exalted metal“! than it belonged to women of
his order to wear- A}! E11911 went on speaking to him,
still leaning back lastly. With % Wpoesession that was
newato him in her, still slowly, waving, the big black
Spanish fill! '50 and fro, he 13%“ 611“ like would be incon-
gruousin his best parlor. , , , ' ,4 .

" _ h v k is away from home, Kr.wilmog;!m
Sutton laid..p.l‘asently, “ but we have not victimized
you to the extent of making you our sole escort, A“.
mama coming‘torlsu‘t it gorgeous othhn f"

I ‘lwfixd’fiohnWilmotneked. ' ' v _ *
=1 "91!. mature commands that gratitude be felt and

 when Arthur Eidsle sacrifices himself at a con.
amzingsquletdlnmtopreeedeit." the inhabited.
& ’ ' _ .

_ macaw».  r. , , 
 gin-2s diam-mt seven. omens. a . Jan!»
in: Weizmann dissipation» ~ ohmfiilmet's
mind. hadbeenhisproudmdwmtdfihnd
thrssortoururthwatomnsiealmetingsinths market

 

town where Ellen used to live; and these had been gala
days to him. He had worn a flower in, his coat on} one
occasion he remembered, and loves that were too tight
and that hurt him in the wris ; but he had been happy
in hearing “ Come into the garden, Maud,” sung y
some one whom the local papers the next day declared
to be a formidable rival of Sims Reeves. He could not
understand why gratitude should be felt and evinced
to Mr. Arthur Eldale for sharing such pleasure in such
company. But before he could be instructed as to the
reason, Ellen said :

“ He will make dinner late, I know, in order to get
out of the first part."

" I shall be very glad if he’ does," Mrs. Sutton
yawned; the trio for the piano, violin and violencello
will be sweeter to me unheard."

“There’s afantasie, too, iii the first part that will be
:11; awful bore," Ellen said ; “ onairs from ‘ Trovatore,’ I

‘nk’n

" Wh do you go if it's such an awful bore, Ellen? "
John ilmot asked ; “ you used to think enough of a
concert it it was good.’

“ I never heard a decent one till I came to town," she
said contemptuously. " Oh, Aunt Msriani you can’t
realize how our cars used to be tortured by people who
would sing when they had neither voice, nor method,
nor talent, nor anything else ; ours is such an over-
looked corner-of the worldthat it has cut out of the
route of the stars.”

Mrs. Sutton smiledlangnidly. " Poor child l I am so
sorry that we can’t do anything you like better to-
night; Eldale has made us [discontented by talking of
that new piece at the Adelphi."

“ I suppose you have taken your tickets for this, and
so you must go i " John Wilmot said, innocently.

Mrs. Sutton smiled again. “ Unfortunately our tick-
ets are given to us by the giver' of the concert,” she
said. “A young lady, a friend of mine, makes herdehut
to-night ass pianist yahe issure to be a great success,
and I am much interested in her; thstis our reason for
gain ."

“ Oh! and you know her ? " John Wilmot said, with
rather clumsy surprise. Just then Mr. Eldale was an-
nounced, and the four went in to dinner.

Then John Wilmot's surprise increased. He had ex-
pected to see a handsome room and a good table; but
Mrs. Sutton knew what she was about, and wastesolved
to make both him and Ellen mark well the diflerence
that existed between them now. It was not a noble-
minded thing to do ; but Marian had not a noble mind,
and so she' did it. I

The dining room was brilliantly lighted, and the scent
ot‘mignonette filled the room. The arty was» small
today that the lady of the house h ordained that the
repast should be served on a small oval table near to the
window—e littering oasis, in a desert of Turkey cer-
pet. Mew mot had dined at audit dinners, and at

other great agricultural feasts, but he was, for all these

experiences, a little thrown off his balance by the sight
of the means bywhich his hunger was to be appeased

to—night. He felt himself—«this son of the soil—to b_e~

large and common, as he sat ‘down before the snowy
damask, andwondered if he was to drink out of each
one of the many-shaped and colored wine-glasses, that
shone, and glanced, and gleamed at his right hand, and
the vase of roses in the centre, and the graceful speci-
men glass, with asinglerare flown in it standing by
the forks, they made  how far more fittineg
Ellen was situated among them, than she would be in
a room whose floral adornments consisted of asparagus
in the fire-place, and'a conglomeratiou of many-colored
flowers in what his mother called the bow-pot on the
mantelpiece.’ _ - ‘ '

Mr. Arthur Eldale, also, was not a tranquilizing ele-
ment to John in this party of four. He was a man of
about thirty-live or forty, dark, distinguished-looking,
and gifted with 'a glibness of utterance, a facility of
articulation, that made John’ Wilmot feel as if his
Words would all tumble out of his mouth the wrong
way. And Mr. Eldale talked of so many things, and
had been to so many places, and was apparently "up"
in all the sports that the young farmer had hitherto
thought were specialties of country born and bred
men. .

The dinner went by like a dream to the young man,
whohad never dined in such a, way before. Really like
adream; for only in a dream could .he conceive the
possibility of savory dishes being waited before him,
and white‘clothed hands filling many-colored glasses
with sparkling liquids that made ' the voices of the
others sound far away. Only in adream could Ellen
turn from him impatient to listen to a stranger 1 Only
in adream, could it come to him to feel. that he was
unworthy in some way, though he had never in all his
unspotted young life been guilty of one unworthy or
lowering act. _

It was over at last, that-sparkling feast, whereat poor
John; Wilmot had been at such a disadvantage. It was
overrand the two ladies were gone up~stairs to get
their cloaks, and gloves. and fans, and the two men
were left alone. 'And then John Wilmot did indeed feel
that all his good angels had deserted him, and thathe
was not feeling as a man should feel beta-e man in the
presence of this stranger. who had the gift of being

nod’ensive ofieusively. - .

Just at first Mr.E1dale ks t silence; and that sunk
John Wilmot in his own es motion. , ,Then Mr. Eldal’
kc; and that, sunk Johnstill more, for he wa's‘no.
0 car as to what it behooved him to answer. " I suppose
you know your fate, ch 2’,‘ the gentleman obscured.
.oooll ; and poor: ohnWllmot wondered whatnoti Mr.
Eldalg meant his( ohn's) fate with Ellen, and what it
wouldbewell forhim tony. Atlasthesitdf 

“ I am not surerthat I do  it. ’

e



. \"Seadou'nim that {in
gigging: re
.1 . i :31  ,Hfl. ,, d_  ,

 

 

leaning his arm over the back of his chair. .“ You’re to
be taken to hear a trio in C minor.

“ What is that ‘9” John Wilmot interrogated.

“ The very devil when you have to listen to it when:
you would rather be somewhere else." the other re»
plied. Then he added, quickly, " That will not be the
case with us to-night, though. Ah! ‘I said she was
fairer than Dian,’ ” be quoted, rising up and going to
meet her with an air of homage as Mrs. Sutton, in dies
allilanous drapery, floated into the room, followed by, 4

en. .

Once more, while they were waiting for the carriage-
to be announced, John Wilmot felt strangely o pressed:
by the mystery of the difference that had come Ween.
him and Ellen. She looked kindly at him, and she—
spoke kindly to him, but she did these things
without that sympathetically kindred air which had.
formerly existed between them. Ellen, playing with a-
fan and gloves, and a scent~bottle and a pair of lorg-
nettes, was an utterly different Ellen to the Ellen of ‘
old, who would probably have dropped half of them in.
country-girl clumsiness had they been put into her-
hands when he saw her last. The change of manner in
his eld familiar friend, though that manner still lacked
the subtle refinements and delicacies of Mrs. Button’s,
'put Ellen and himself farther apart than he felt him
self to be irom Mrs. Sutton. It was strange. but it
was so. .

The dream-like influence of the dinner was about him:
still as he sat in the small room at St. James's Hall and.
listened to strains that made his ears tingle. They
tingled with two sensations, those unsophisticated 
of his. In the first place, he felt com uncth for hav-
ing ventured to institute a comp son between the
melodies that had been sweet to him in his native 
with those that went swelling up and down in the gas
lighted hall, and that issued from the musket-those"
whom he was staggered to find " looked like real ladies
and gentlemen.” He did not dream of unending; he.
was only superbly ignorant of all thin out of his own;
orbit, when Arthur Eldale bent forw to Mrs. Button,.
imploring her to “ye him an introduction to asyonn
lady who had jus won an encore from hermennero "
singing "Clear and Cool.” " t ’ ”‘

“ Don’t be impatient; on shall meet her at dinner at:
my house“ next Wedn y," Marian replied; and that
John executed his errand, and said: ’

" I thought Mrs. Sutton was a tip-top swell, Elly; does:
she visit such i”-—-— .

" Such what ?" Ellen asked, sharply, and before he»
could explain himself she went on : ' " ’

“ Pray don't make speeches of that sort, John; you
don't know, and I can’t tell you now, b‘ht it’s sgreatv
honor-'—well, not that exactly, but quite a  to be.-
prond of to know artists.” ‘ ‘ _ x

" Painter's?" Jehn asked in uiringly. ‘ ‘ ‘

" .Yes, painters, and—an -—o i all sorts afar-tilts who-
sre any thing—great singers, and great actors.” ,

“ Our squire never takes any notice of them down in.
our parts,” John argued, stoutly.

“ Our squire is an ignorant, old-fashioned old trump,”
Ellen replied, heretically; “ he’s just a little kin down:
among you farmers, but he would quickly find h elevel.
in London.- You see you are his inferiors,”,she went em.
in an explanatory tone, “ but in society he would only
mix with his social equals'or his batters, and honor
one.” '  ’

“ Who is Mr. Eldale '9" John asked, when he had 
tially recovered about the, most severe bluff agirl could.
administer to‘a man who loved her. ‘ ‘ . .,

“ on, everybody knews Mr. Eldsle," Ellen. replied,
impatiently, and then she remembered that her young
agricultural friend was nobody, and ’ consiaerate};r
added, ‘ at least not to know him augurs’ yourself um
known; he knows ’everyone and goes everywhere, "
he is so clever ever so many way_s~paints, and sings,
and rides like an. angel; and he has such a house, Ogre
Court, near to Hyde Park, and such‘lovely benefit)
was one of his horses I was riding today," the girl
continued, blushing with pleasure. ‘ ‘ ' r 

“ He’s very rich,‘I suppose ?” the young antler 
ed, slowly. ' ’  ‘ f

" Immensely. Aunt Marian says he draws at legit ',
ten thousand a year from a great brewery.” ii;

:‘And so you’re in love with a rich brewer}: Jen‘s
Wilmot’s attempt at Jocnlari‘ty was painfully clumsyii

“ Don’t call him that, pray," the girl said, 
“ Several noblemen, earls, and dukes‘ have shares. in
things, monster hotels and things of that sort, in fig
speculative age. In love with him i” I‘ Thigh-:1 as it
be in love with the Prince Iniperial. Mr. E! j s’might
marry any one, Aunt Marian says. Don’t talk trash
about him and me." i . ‘ * ‘ ' "

“Any one might be glad to marry you. Elly." John
said, with the feeble infatuation of a lover; "I only
wish I could to-morrow." , _ 

" Mr. Eldale is a gentlemana you’re difl‘erent, you
known", And Marian heard her pupil ' :7 this, we
thought it was time to cometo the rescue. ' ‘

She came so gracefully. 95 W38 her Wont. ' These
women who woundg‘with silver knives and bind the
same with has linen are likeable, thoughthey are dari-
r erous. Theyat‘e nimble because of list habit the)

we a: Mag their hands over rough or more pieces
m17,_with the tenderness that comes of  of
manner and self- session of mind, and that has noth-
ing whatever to o with the heart. 80 came for-
ward now, just, as though she, had (heard nothing, and
saw, uo;neeesstty for “oncoming forward. and ut 
self and her kindness in sh , contrast with 
gratitude toward the old fri ‘ 'whom the 10M (“1331
she muhsmed ofhim. , ‘ I -, l .K
in“ want are you wish' '.about 

  

,“Are on, , .w 12%;!" .
m.g;nmmn§asve§§zmh’ria§  "
yaw , ween twelve and two? ,Ihfiare.  Jul}!

  trig”.

 

in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

«humane»...

 

so .

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

*ting rough, you know, and it does worry me that he
should lose his paces."

She said it all with an air of regarding Mr. Wilmot as
one who was perfectly cm Jait with all that concerned
herself and her horse. She was an adept in the art of
putting men on good terms with themselves, which
was only a preliminary step to their being put on'good
terms with her. She pleased that she might be leased,
in fact, and she generally got good interest for or out-
lay. ,

“I’m not much cod 'cept cross country," he said,
,grufliy. How hearti y he wished he was going " cross
country " now, nndismayed by supercilicus glances of

' Mr. Eldale' and his. own old love, Ellen; ” and I have
:nothing to ride up here,” he added, with an abrupt ex
-ercise of his reflective powers. '

“ You can get a capital mount from Blackman,”
Mrs. Sutton replied. " Go there to-morrow
,morning and suit yourself, and join us in the

Bow at half past twelve.” Then she remembered
that John “ilmot might possibly be ignorant
of who and what Blackman was, and (unlike

Ellen in this) she would not crush him by
seeming to see his hesitating comprehension of
the, situation of the well-known notables. “Let
:me assure myself that you will be my escort, our es-
cort, to—morrow, Mr, Wilmot,” she went on, winningly;
“ let my groom take the responsibility of selecting a
'horse for you, and start with us from my house to;
marrow the quarter past twelve, will you ‘2”

Would be? What man under similar circumstances
would not have done the same thing as John Wilmot
did gladly-namely. promised to be with Mrs. Sutton
at an hour, and to ride with her on any horse she
liked And when he had remised—a little more
loudly than was perhaps we 1 in a tem orary lull in
the concert—he looked at Ellen, and trio to make her
eyes speak approval of his acquiescence. ,

 

p.

sumac xxm. I
IN THE BOW.

Mus. Senor was already dressed for her ride when
John Wilmot went into her drawing-room the, follow-
gfidfiy. She was standing by t e window ently

to ng her side with her whip, with a look of mp:-
tience on her face. She turned quickly as the door
opened, and the impatient expression vanished in-

ltantly.

‘1‘ Ah! it is you,” she said; " I have been watching
for you." Then she gave him her hand kindly, so
kindly that it made him think how different the niece,
his old love, was to her aunt, his new friend.

“‘Ellenis late,” Mrs. Sutton went on: then they
heard theshnrp trot of a horse rapidly s preaching,
and Harlan laughed, and added, ” the sl for her to
make her agpoarsnce is sounded.”

"What 0 you mean. Mrs. Sutton ?" the young

farmer asked.

"washes horse's boots," she replied.

. It was on the tip of his tongue to exclaim—

“‘ Does she care for him. then ?” but he refrained, and
fl  ” ls Ellen going to ride his horse again to-

y n '

" Yes," Mrs._Sutton said' and than she heldher hand
out toward him and asked him. " Is it not abomin-
able that suntlet loves should only be made in sizes
'  euor me ? hose bag and make my hands look

"That they don’t," he said, bluntl . Sore as his
beerth about Ellen he could not b p seeing Mrs.
Sutton’l hand, and seeing it, he could no help admir-
ingit. ,It was slovely hand in truth, a far prettier
hand than had ever been held out in friendship. or flir-
tation to the young farmer before. Clearly it belonged
toeclm above him. He felt this, and sighed as he

. remembered that the lady who owned it was the aunt
at the girl he wanted to marry. He recovered his
spiritual» reflected that she was only the aunt by
mun-1:, no blood relation at all in fact.

"h: 11 Mr. Eldale would lend me such a more as
mun rides," Mrs. Sutton said, presently, a little com-
 “ my horse pulls at me cruelly always when

an ri ‘ with other people, especially when! ride

with Ellen, forshe lets her more ull ahead of mine,
and Cavalier can’t stand that. W11 you be my escort

to-day.”’she Id ingly, "and so save my poor
iron from torn to pieces ?"
‘ “ Yes, if oul ‘," he replied, alittle disoontentedly,

and than _ on come down and they started, Mr. Eldan
ma Ellen filling behind at once, and Mrs. Sutton ab—
sorbing so much of the rustic Apollo’s attention as she
could playing 01! (through the unsuspected influ-
places 0 sspur) every trick of “riding ” that she knew.
‘ He felt aggrieved in a measure. this rustic Apollo, on
whom th graceful woman of the world believed her-
self to be conferring a colossal been by noticing him at
all. Be felt himselfto be aggrieved for all this con-
densation. He had come up expressly to see Ellen,
and to win Ellen back into the right way of thinking as
' . If. Helm! come up for this, end and

no other ; and it had been in his przfirnmms that
would-hold lumen aloof, not haugh y, but inde-

'19!
133
“ M311.  such of her people as had chilled her
toward

. These were the ends he had '

come up tor. and he had not fulfilled one of them.
How should he have done so, when he had nothing but
his honesty of purpose, and hisigncrsnoe of all thin
moo. ‘iis farmyard and turnip-solos to oppose

 
     

 

nounced after the first keen, apparently careless
glance bestowed on the youn man whose seat, hands,
and clothes Were all perfect ; ut who lacked the name--
less something which gentlemen possess. -

John Wilmot was very silent, and for this Marian
was heartily grateful.
fore any of her friends, his pronunciation would have
broken down her plans of keeping him away from El-
len, and so giving Ellen a chance with Mr. Eldale—
whose money in the family was to be the family's sal-
vation, Marian thought. But John Wilmot brooded
over his inability to get speech with Ellen in silence
when they paused by the railings, and when they were
centering down the Row, he might say what he liked,
no one could hear him. . . . ~

She was very like a cat playing 'with a mouse in her

manners to this “ son of the soil," as she called him to

herself. She know every art, every trick, every bit of
finesse by which the taste of man can be touched, and
his heart turned toward woman. And she practiced
all she knew. Giving him attention, sweet smiles, kind
words, asking his opinion on subjects of which he
might reasonably be supposed to have one, and general-

ly not sufl'ering him to feel himself at a disadvantage

while he was with her. And all these things which
Marian did Ellen left undone, being deficient in that
line tact which would have made her aunt please and
flatter both men under similar circumstances. ‘
Meanwhile the foiler was being foiled. Externally
the arrangement which clever Marian had made was
carrying itself out beautifully ; but in reality it, was as
complete a failure as it deserved. It was all a waste, of
time and talent that Mr. Eldale should have been lured,
into offering his horse to Ellen, and manoeuvred into
a, position at her side in the crowded Row, for he was
chafing' in spirit the whole time, and laughing bitterly
at the weakness which could conceive itself to be cap-
able of compromising him into making an otter to the

-vul or little country girl to whom he was only kind

for he sake of her amusing, pretty, interesting young
aunt. Mr. Eldale had anaptitude for many thin s, but
he had no a titude for being married against will,
and it woul never be his will to marry Ellen. 1

V Already the cor girl was beginning to pay the penalty
demanded of hose who all? with fire. She had cem-
menced by re arding Mr. ale as the stars above her,
and as she had said to John Wilmot the night before, as
the Prince Imperial. But at last he was so kind and
considerate, and he seemed to wish her to ride his
horse and other versions of the King Cophetua story
would obtrude themselves on her .mind, and she was
only a woman. At last love began to mingle itself in-
sidioust with admiring reverence, and to poison all the
future to her when she fancied that she might have to
pass it with John Wilmot, instead of with the graceful
gentleman who would sooner have cut his throat than
marry her. ,

It made her tremble, and her heart went down with
a dull thud, when r a short , trot they oiled up at
some distance from . Sutton and John ilmot, and
Mr. Eldale broke silence by saying:

" I suppose it is coming to a c imsx b la belle aunt
devoting herselfto him so entirely: he anne young
fellowuwhen is it to be i" ,

“When is what to be?” Ellen Ituttered one, with a
mixture of pain and mortiflcstion that she had never
experienced about the subject before. She knew what
he meant quite well, and it hurt her horribly that he
should spook of the man he supposed she would marry
us " a fine young fellow," just as though John were
nothing more.

Then pang the second smote her. He was "a fine
young fellow,” and be was nothing more. Her heart
spelled with sorrow that it should ever have been
given to one on whom Mr. Eldale looked down. “ Why
did he come up to shame her 1’” she thou ht, with the
tears in her eyes. ,And then Mr. Eldale coked at her,
and marked that she sat badly, and that her face was
puffed up with heat and suppressed emotion, and won-
dered w y he suffered himself to be seen with such a
pair of bum kins. " Why does not Marian get rid of
them both; at them‘ 0 back to their native wilds and
marry; what can herl ttle me be i" he soliloquized,
as he saw and understood t a full force of the order of
the little airs and graces which Marian was bringing to
bear on the “ rustic Apollo."

That morning's ride was not toopleasant to any of
them, for each wished for another companion, or for
that com anion to bein another mood. Vague dread
~vague epressing dread of an unhappiness to come
which she could not avert, darkened Ellen's soul.
Whatever out-look she gazed through she saw nothin
but pain and disappointmwt for eitherJohn or hersel .
And this feeling of utter inability to avoid giving pain
to one who is dear as friend still. who has been
dear as lover, is agonizineg painful. If he would
only “ speak out,’ as she called it ("he" bein

. Eldale), and John would only go away an
wear his heart out in silence where she could not
be a witness of his entering. the sun of happiness
might irradiste her path once more. But, “things
were now, it was scrunch as she could do to keep up a

exterior, and not seem the despondent, love-sick,
untrui‘iisd-in-the-art of concealment, country damsel
s e was. >

at plans for to—ni ht l" Hrs. Sutton

"What are
asked of John ilmot, when at sbou half t one they
turned out of the Row, and wooded th way home-

word. It's useless, I sup

e, expecting you to sacri-

subt. ‘rcfitlrls sunflowers»: bred and born who ncetousstkettledrums five 7" .

mention. trunnion plans. , _ "Whatisthat?" he asked.
= rmauseymy managed him well. The new on "one of our latest, nicest mum; tossed M)! be.
gravest: many. of Hrs. auction's mgusintsncss manner. Will ouoom thoughtorcoursoyon've
"1 I '-'i“ii*°oin.§:ili"y".l‘a° dignified.” m .mfh‘s “311$ a” ewsgeyi’: 

 r ‘. w a." van, s’ a
m ‘ *_\toknovgrbolra8uttemhnd men: in r «romanwugmum, Wvam-Jor
W: ,torms Wiles ,‘mwwwmxmmtom,m
  WW“ ""W W im- im  caesium you have

Had he insisted on talking be- .

 quickly: and

 

a great deal to do—still be with us at five, will
you 7’”
" Would he ?" of course he would, when the neatly-

‘ worded invitation was backed by sucha pair of appeal-

ing eyes.

" Now—see how exacting we women grow in propor‘
tion to the 'concessions made: will you drive with us
after luncheon ? I can introduce you to the best ices-
in London, so I am worth going with, I, assure
you." ,

"Is Ellen going '3" he asked, bluntly.

Mrs. Sutton nodded assent, and then John Wilmot
felt that he had nothing whatever to urge against her
propoeition. Surely, during the course of the drive,

' he would be enabled to say those few potent words to

Ellen which he had traveled up town expressly
utter. .

They went home to luncheon—to I well-ordered
luncheon, that, like its predecessor, the dinner 01. the
day before, made John Wilmot fancy Ellen far above .
him again whim she was eating it. Still, for all his
fidelity, he could not help comparing Ellen with her
aunt. It came to him to see that. the elder lady
managed her figure and her movements in her habit
better than his afiianced bride. The narrow, clinging
folds of cloth did not hamper or letter . Mrs. Button in:
the slightest degree—it became drapery of the most
becoming description under her treatment. But
Ellen looked far from at home in the garb ; she was as
bewildered by it apparently as soon as she. came off her
horse, and this John Wilmot felt sorry for and surprised
at; for he did not know that it is not, given’ tetohe
woman in a thouSand to be a perfectly'“ free mdfearless
thing"‘in a habit, when walking on the earth. l , . 

The luncheon Occupied a long time; and then Mr.
Eldale took leave of them, and the ladies went off to:
dress. ‘ By-and-by the carriage was ready, and Mrs“
Sutton came down alone, and so exquisitely arrayed
that John Wilmot almost forgot that she was “Disaster.
a minute or two. She had been a bewitohing beauty
to the unsophisticated Apollo in her hat and habit:
she was‘sir'nply bewildering to him now in one ofxliorw
tense‘s highest triumphs. ' ' - ,

“Won’t Elly come ?” he recovered his judgmentato
the extent of asking this question, as he followed the
lady, who was flattering his boyish pride so easily,
down stairs, Mrs. Sutton just looked back over her
shoulder—and the gesture she made was very graceful
—--and laughed. I - ’ r

" She has a headache, Mr. Wilmotmo you must once 1:
my society alone, in default of better. Ellen will
better by five o'clock: can you put up with me alone 1’"

He made a clumsy snort to break the chain that was
beginningl to encircle him. ~

" You on't mean what you say," he blurted out;
” you think I on ht to be pleased enough to go with
£011? igpu can pu up with me; that’s what you mean,

n I! ' -

He faltered a little as he asked this; it would have
hurt him so much, oor follow! to be told the truth,
though he asked for t. , '

She was giving him her hand to help him in even as
he kc; and she gave him Just a tiny pressure as be
com: uded. '

“ How exacting you all are 1" she whispered, smiling;
" you will have the compliment in words as well ll
deed always. Why should I ask you to go with me if I
did not wish it ?"

“ I hardly know," he exclaimed; and then he got in
by her side, and the door was ban ed and the my Put
up, and they rolled on“. be thin ing what a blessed
thing it would be for him if Ellen were only lit. her
aunt, and she thinking that the former was not worth
the candle; that her vanity would never, receive
suflcient atltlcstion from the adulation and motion
of this rus io to compensate her for the strain it was on
her to entertain what she denominated " merely chand—
some clown." I

John Wilmot thought it strange that. in 7h“ _ '
peered to him to be an interminable. womb e
wilderness of streets and squares, they should meet 
Eldale. They had pulled up at Gunter?! 500“: 3nd
Mrs. Sutton was placidly satin an ice. and think“:
what a superb footman John Wiglmot would make. on
John Wilmot was half blushin at W“ the escort of a
lady who was committing who be had been taught to
consider the solecism in manners of eating in the street,
when Mr. Eldale sauntered out, and came up *0 Milton's
side of the curl e.

" You here ?" s a said, lung -

"It surprises you very much. 0681* not ?"

" No; nothing urprises me." She “Minted. carelessly
handing the plate to John Wilmot to carry in for her
royally~likewise royally leaving it to him to pay for
her luxury. " Nothing surprises me that you do.” she

repeated.

" Do I not do what is pleasing to you now, Marian?”
he asked, in; low voice. h I ha“ , ’

"Mrs. 811 on. you mem."s e a bed, ‘ nail!) »
her hand warninsly- "No, you dongnot do what is
pleasing to me when you insist on remembering who!
You 0‘18” ‘0 ford“. ind on forgetting what you ought
to remember." 1 I / -

“ What do I for eti—very little, I assure you." he
rs. Sutton had only thee tony
be careful." before John Wilmot come back. ‘

“ Where now, Circe 2" Mr. Eldale asked, moving tram
s recumbent to an erect tics, and drawing on the
one pale gray ovo whlc he had taken of while he
“wanking Hrs. Sutton. : p

" at s simple one I should be!" she - ,
shrug her shoulderl. “Whack—well to th
truth, havemsndbeonmlonongh to-d‘ . Ishsll

o for. diet drlvolnhlchmosd Pork.  some

ms at vs and tell no thorium". - I
And she drovo cit, noddingo and laughing to a“
m,wzmwnmc Mania, and (to:
mm other) to wonder wbm__b¢r W
«ammonium  .w '.

to

 

' own name, and to take all the

; onlyansrtiot can an:

 

_.several at his pictures.
“Place

we di

ems, oueantellan
"gem y

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
SILVEBPGILT.

LIONEL TALBOT and Miss Lyon had gone through the
first, and perhaps the worst phase of an engagement.
They had declared their intentions, and to many whom
it did not concern, even remotely. This latter state-
ment must, however, be accepted as a truth without
questioning; for if the subject Were sifted, ingenious
gossips would prova (or  nearly ” prove, which with
the majority 03‘ women is enough) that everybody who
has ever spoken  or Seen a bride, or bridegroom, has a
right to onerfelmltlons, so dubiously worded that they
sound like condolences, and to suggest the existence of
causes and impediments to the union of the principal
powers. I

It must be home in mind that the neighborhood in

which the fact broke out was a country one; that its
interests Were small; that its older inhabitants existed
:rather than lived; and that, socially, and, above all, in.
tellectually. stagnation reigned. These conditions
fully understood and accepted, as one learns to accept
:measles, bores, and other drawbacks to life indifferent-
1y, the results are to be guessed with precision. No
man or woman would be wronged by the marriage
when it did take place; but for all that, when the first
report of‘ it was heard in the land'that was so barren of
news, the teeth of envy, hatred malice, and all un-
charitableness were gnashed‘ upon the pair, who had
not even the grace to smart under the bites,
, While Mrs. Sutton, up in London, was trying to re-
cover thc ground her husband had lost through her
brother in the menetary world, by putting John Wilmot
and Ellen asunder, for the sake of securin Mr. Eldale
and his wealth in the family, Blanche an Lionel had
beenusing their brains in a more legitimate manner.
There was astrongi‘amily feeling—a good, true-toned
«chord of sympathy between the Talbot brothers, and
Idohel's desire, for she was strongly possessed by the
womanly weakness of liking for the man who would
.have loved her best. ' /

He had taken the tidin s of his brother's on age-
ment in a far better spirit t an they had dared to ope
he would have done.» Beatrix had been deputed to tell
.him about it; and Beatrix had done her duty well.

had been dull and void. As it was it was such a fitting
accompaniment to the brilliant strain love made of life.
The girl was almost too happy. Both as woman and
artist she was being so well dealt with by fate. " And it
will be dearer to me; it will come home nearer to me,
when I get it in my own name, Lal,” she said to her
lover: " to read sweet phrases of one’s self as the
‘author of so-and-so,’ is sweet ; but it will be sweeter
now that I have made up mind to write under my own
name; and it will be sweeter still,” she added, ,“ when
it will be as your wife that I win whatever I may win.”

“ We had better live in town, that you may have the
advantage of literary associates,” he said.

"Yes, just long enough for me to get to know some
of the stars in the. literary heaven; then we’ll come
and settle here in some place near to Frank and Trixy
(for that will be Lal)."

“ Won't you find that dull ?"

" No ; surely anyone who cares for our society might
come to us in the autumn ; there are just three or
four, Lal, whom I began corresponding with as strang-
ers, when I commenced writing, that I should like to
know more of when I am settled down here.”

“ A little of the Bohemian element down here will
be like water in a dry land," Lionel said, laughing ;
“ how will it ever arrive toyou to entertain and be en-
tertained in a countryolique, Blanche? You’re wish-
ing more than you wot of, child,” he added, seriously,
gin proposing that this should be your permanent

ome.”

“ When I sufl'er ‘more than well "twould suit phi-
losophy to tell ' we can go off for a breath of more in-
vigorating mental air ; and, after all, Lal, in any place
we can live for each other and ourselves; we need never
be bored : whoever is wisest ,and brightest in this
country-side is sure to be drawn toward the sole re-
presentative of current literature ; and it‘s the mic-
tress of a house makes the society of it, remember.
My house can never be dull." _

" People may say it is not decorous if you make it
too pleasant,” Lionel said, smiling. - , ,.

" Then they will be stupid, and against stupidity
even the gods fight in vain, as you know- I am not
afraid of anyone whose thoughts are worth my think-
ing about considering me ought but decoraus; are you,

Them to as she had told him quietly, and she had In”

never seem to see how pale he got, and then how

flushed, and how his hands went up and covered his

face for one moment of abandonment as he listened.
When they all meet inthe evening, just belore din-

.ner. there was no parade of the fact that mi ht be -

painful to him made. Blanche was speaking to ank,
who was as buoyantly happy on the occasion as it be-
.came Frank be; and Lionel was ing a notice of
an exhibition at Manchester, to which she had sent

am: domes.” Edgar said, gain
Blanche; " my heartiest wishes for your hop
'1 was astonished.” ,

" 80 was I,” she said, laughing and bluhing a little.
And then Edgar turned to his brother, and gripped
.Lionel’a hand; and the congratulations that would} be
the hardest to odor were over.

A great many poo is were good enough to declare it
tobean“ill~advise match; for was Lyon had the
reputation, among the broad-minded denizens of the
neighboring nooks and corners, of being "inst," be-
cause the was ascinatm ; and extrav ant, because
she regarded beauty, an would have t upon and
about her if she could. Naturally their list of acquaint-
ances was a small one. and they did not mark one " in-
‘timate'irien " upon it. But when the few who knew
them down here come, curiosity developed intimac in
a manner that was most marvelous—the battery 0 in-
quiry being chiefly directed ainst the mother, who
was willing to tell everything t at she “6‘34! only it
would have appeased them. ‘ v , ,

" Rather a rash thing for Miss Lyon to do, is it not i"
one asked. And when Mrs. Lyon, with a ghastly vision
ofIdonel’s having a first wife in the bee ground, and
be! h and-by trans rted for bigamy (else wh
be rash for lanche to marry him?) asked:

tedly, " Why 'I" the lady went on :

" h! unless he can maintain her, of course: if he
can, as she has been accustomed to be maintained;
bathe must have more than anybody supposes if he
on I l.

up to
see; but

, “Five hundred a year won't keep them, as she will
want to 11v?" another Judicious Mend observed; and
I you repeated this prophecy to Blanohe,
“ replied, brightly:
We shall raise tha be ween us easily enough, mam-
inquirlng blends.
" tofu l" Mrs. Lyon cried, in horror-stricken
ocean“: you re not going to disgrace yourself by 0.
ing out as governess again,
mulled". i th t
“ ever 931' o . mama; Ishall never to com-
bine such conflicting elements “7
Then she got up, rathernervously, and added, “ I have
a greater surprise for you than the announcement of
my marriage. I have made my mark in a way that all
who love me may be Proud of. I have written a book
that has put me on a platform where a queen mi ht be
proud to stand- and now I an: sing on to writegn my
odors that come to me
own, to in self." ~ ' r

when .
the lat!”

tomyself’ um vs ,
Hrs. Lyon «it’d no understan her daughter’s elation;
thine with one ; but am '3.
rejoiced to hear that oocu ation into which her
daughter had thrown herself wit all the bright W
71303? characteristic of humus so glorious

. ind , _ one.
- And then Blanche. whose head was just a little turned

right that a lot at re.

3%“ _
Ami! W“ tmtoflmmd rise.
\ other lite ;' it would

,[ moons of hen bro ,
 aloud.qu evedinthswo will
*   their humeral-toenai- in

‘ “are!

' have  trainees:me to her :avonnmhmm

hes- ianer‘liie; be:

 

especially when you to

again, believe me.”

 

" No," he said, “my darling ; you are all that a wo-
man should be, and that a man can want."

 

CHAPTER XXV.
corms.

Tam can be no doubt about the'faot of wedding:
being very wearyin things to all whom they concern.
From the moment at it was openly decided upon'that
Lionel Talbot and Blanche Lyon should take one ano-
ther “ for better and worse," ve soon bustle and con—
fusion reigned lords of all in t e two funnies. Mrs.
Lyon shed a few tears as econ as the matter was moot-
ed, relative to the impossibilityof her getting things
ready for the marriage.

" Iou must be married from your mother‘s house.
Blanche ; and I have no house for you to be married
from,” the old lady said piteously, when Lionel loaded
for an early day being named; and then when ancho
u that all that they either of them deemed essen-
tia was a church, a ring, and a priest, Frank Bathurst
started forward with the announcement of his intone
tions concerning the nuptials of his Mend.

“My cousin must be married from my house, Mrs.
Lyon,” he said, eagerly. “I am her nearest, male rec
lativo, though we don 't bear the same name unfortu-
mtely”——-he added, sotto coco. “I’m bound to give the
weddin breakfast and her away, and I will do both
vary )0 y. It's settled so, eh i" ‘

“Yea.” Blanche said, quietly, " settled and sealed
with our heartieat thanks.“ And when she said that.
Frank rejoiced in having had the resolution to brave
the pang it cost him to ofl'er to give her away to an-
other man. r

It was useless to delude himself with the assertion
that it did not cost' him a pan . It did cost him one,
and a very sharp one too ; but a bore it manually, be-
traying it only to Lionel. not to the, woman who caused
it. The love he had felt for Blanche, slight as she
deemed it, and superficially as it had been shown, and
made him very loyal. Iionel's wife should have no
reason for thinking with a too pitiful tenderness of
Lionel's friend. , ;

Beatrix was to be the only bridesmaid. Blanche Lyon
was not. the type of girl who has made sacred romises
to at least a dozen dearest friends as to their a ndsnce
u on her at the altar on the most important day of her
11 s. This rather pleasing truth came out when Frank
Bathurst said, one night:

" The auspicious event is so rapidly approaching
that it’s ettin time for us to ma 0 preparations to
meet it. cos ‘ ig boxes that are always arriving moon
that you are doing your part well and truly. Blanche ;
but how about the procession i"

"There willbo ourselves to go," Blanche answered.
" It doesn’t much matter how we go provided I and
Lo! et than}; h w ! heme“

" y 011' you ave a re or army 0 n
tulle, to see your train safely up the» aisle, and you
safely through the service ?" ,

“Indeed. nor was Lyon said, laughing;

yod Kerwin to any one's Reich;
3 friendships the loot. asarula, one month. “nix:

ism most intimate friend." ,
" never would see the .ad'fintogo of being
with her own not,” Madman um, laminating»-
‘y. "I or" toll berth» it is: mty,sndvmfishe
I has first I outright sometimes:  but
a: very obstinate, very  mood. Hr.
mmmmmahs said.  «, «mu may but

" I never

. - «.

  

never make 1123- -~

when:

an: area .pandiasvsailsdtflr
sfiharhimoryogogaemthele-Mh. comma:

 

it with safety; but Lionel might feel obstinacy to be
an impediment, and I might be ignominously jilt ,."

" If I thought that of him, I would not trust my
happiness in his hands, if I were in your place," Mrs.
Lyon said, with as much severity as she was capable
of expresslng. Severity was not Mi‘s. Lyon’s forte.
Blanche was not crushed by it; but it is irritatingto
be told by a person whose knowledge of the case in
question is slight, what he or she would do were he or
she in your peculiar plight. In spite of the real,
genuine joy she was knowing in‘ the radiation of her
love-dream, Blanche was‘irritated out of all happinefl
for the moment by her‘well-meaning momma.

“ If I didn’t think everything that is good of Lionel
I should not marry him. You may be very sure of that.”

"Ah, one never knows a man till one marries him,”
Mrs. Lyon replied, shaking her head. " They seem all
that‘s fair and plausible beforehand; but afterward”‘--—-

Here Mrs. Lyon paused and shook her head, as though
her recollections of what happened afterward were the
reverse ofagrceable.

“Well, mamma, what arrangement would you sug;
goat that might remedy that evil ?" Blanche said, when
her mother hesitated. " The good old rule'that we
take each other upon trust can not be amended, in, my
humble opinion." ‘ . ' ~  ’

"Ah 2" the old lady said, shaking her head in a w
that was burlesque on wisdom, " girls don’t know when
they’re well on, or they’d stay as‘they are and not bola
such haste to marry, wouldn't they, Mr. Bathurit?
But so it is: theyareglad to leave their motherl, who
have thought for them and waited on them from the
hour of their birth, for the first stranger who ssh
them." ‘ _ ‘ ‘

“ You see, Frank, momma desires you'to‘ understand
that I have ‘jumped ' at my first ofler, as my on
would say," Blanche said, laughingly. , Shehadreoovv
eredthat seldom-lost good-humor of‘hers,vr‘hicb could
stand any strain that was made on it now save fit
that ight be interpreted as a slight on Lionel. t
she could not tolerate. All the love-loyalty within ha‘
rose up in rebellion at the bare idea, causing her to feel
that love was lord of all with her, in a way that did
make Frank regret her very keenly fora minute ortvto.
So, having recovered her good temper, she vs a read-
ing of her mother's speech that she woul not have
givenifit had been the right one; and Frank accepted
her allusion in the way she intended him to acceptit,

and replied : V

"Poor girl, couldn't she et any follow to make it
what the entle hard of m cm domestici  ‘ his
chief aim life’ to win her for his wife ’ Idol loll

into the snare ?” I v j I u
“ My daughter has not been so utterly. devoid of op“-
unitios of marry :5 you Seem to i _ ." .
on saidquickly. bri ng her hesdasab’espoko. “Of
course every one now vii imagine. from the Music
of the whole of this afl'air, that she was anxious to get a
husband, and that I was his atient to see her settled.
It's not at all the aspect I ll e—not at all." ‘

" What a lucky thing it is that Lal and I as W—
ont to the aspect l" Blanche said, carelessly. “Ryder
mother, you do cause yourself such cork and core for
nothing. Life would not be worth havingii manpdd
such a price to the oompopuli as you do."

“Blanche will and in time that she cannot disregard
the opinion of the world 1i htly, as she esteem- it
new," Mrs. Lyon said tom , in a tone of W,
for her daughter that was touching. “ Inavs soon more
of life than she has; but she never would take my Id.

00 I, I

" My dear mother, what part of it have I ' ord-
ed ?” Blanche asked, quietly; then she added “more
uickly, “ Certainly I went out as agent-mu arm you
t ought it better I should stay at home in sublime II-
clusion, and starve rather than lose cute; but in what
elaebavs I opposed you i” .

" Bhois not fit to be the wife of a poor man.{’ In...
Lyon said petulantly, to Frank, as if he was in amm-
u‘re responsible for Lionel’s poverty and formations”-

redilection, for sharing the same. " Not a bitter it.
glint they will do I don’t know.” -

" The best we can, momma,” Blanche said. buoy-

antly.

" Ah, it's easy to as that," Mrs. L complied, M.
" You have not trio it yet. Wefl; there, my 
never is taken, so I may as well hold my tongue.”

And Blanche, who could not help rememboflnf that
her mother's advice had never bro ht bunny mg
but boredom, and that she (Blanche) ‘ been worm
sole maintenance, chief counselor, and only gum. lbs ,
man years, entirely coincided with her mother’s latest »
c on. I . ~

I)" Look here, Blanche," Frank Wurst said, some.
what nervously, a few hours later in the. some day;
‘Lal and you must start clear and comfortable, that's
certain. You won't be too proud to accept crediting

sent from me, will you i”

" I should be very much d1, ted with you if you
did not give me one, ” she repl ad, laughing. {then re.
member-lug that Irank’s liberalit might lea.de to
give more than either Lionel or s e could Wu
secs t under the circumstances. she hastily “dog
"begins chases my present, may 11—. Mums—
because I'm fastidious to a fault about china, and I as!
that your tasty will be perfect.” -

f‘All WW Funk 381d. dryly; “ you shall have that.
But you must let me exercise the brother‘s ‘
and so you what I think you ought to have. ' l r *

" 0‘1'” £00 800d to me,” she sold, in a low voice.
The rec action that this man had wanted bum his ‘
m... “ “ml-- to  r.
sexist-om 0 or, , . ' >

“1‘00 good 5 you? That’s  (lone.
Blanche," he went on, as new  a
"1'11 , my say to yowbeforomflad ‘ 

defiant.me j

 

 

 

 

24

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

fellow in the world, and that I am glad he is so lucky.

You in return must show me that you don’t think my

love for you both is an utterly worthless thing by letting

me use my own Judgment in giving you what I think
. Say you will ‘r”

"You want unto give a promise blindly," Blanche
said, afleotionstely; " and I think we may dare give it
to the one who has fulfilled my old conceited fancy
about ‘Bathurst’s boy,’ and taken such a fancy to me
as I am proud to have inspired.”

“That’s neat,’ Frank said, approvingly. “ Waste of
words, though, rather. If you had said ‘ I will,’ it
would have saved trouble. Naturally, what you will
Lal wills also. Well, then, Miss Lyon, my idea. is, that
it's best for a woman to be independent of her husband,
so far as money-matters are concerned, so I shall make
you independent of Lal."

Lionel Talbot’s blood rushed to his face as
his old friend spoke. The proposition could
never be acted upon. He felt that at once; but
he also felt that the rejection of it must emanate
from Blanche. All his use sensibilities were in revolt
at the notion of his wife being offered, by a man who

- had wooed her, that which he (Lionel) could not give
her—an independent settlement; but he could not, for
his 's sake, make manifest that he was so revolted. ‘
He must trust to Blanche to show to others that his
' 4 t to her was a real one with which no man might
in erfere. .

“Frank wants to find out whether or notAI am the
“pleasantly strong-minded Woman momma most un-

[y represents me as,” Miss Lyon said, uiokly;
" so he tests me by offering me what women w 0 go in
 sex’s rights sigh for—a state of independence.
Doss-Frank. how ted you Would have been if I
had fallen into your trap, and had not had the courage
to aver that I belong to the old, Weak, womanly order,
that prefers being indebted to a lawful lord."

“By Jove l you're right," Frank cried, heartily.
"You're right, and I was wrong to think for a moment
that you could acce t an ungraoeful offer. Can you
forgive me. lel on ma , I think, for my folly
$3M: ht 01,1: abit of Blanche s best—her pride in you.

Ow

“ That shall never be decreased b§any fault of mine,".
Lionel replied. “ Forgive you 1 es, I think I can
lbr vs what flatters me so much as your a preciation

_ ohe's deserts does; but for your com ort's sake I
will tell you, Frank. dear old follow, my wife won’t be
beholden to me for anything, as old women call it.
She has amine of independence within herself in the
making of many books. ’ »

'7 I’ll its her a lot for her next.” Frank said, laugh-
ing; "' "e story 0 a modern Damon and Pythias lo ng
thesams lady, and Damon surrendering her, and hear-
ing no malice about it. She can draw from the life—
the dramatic persona: are before/her.”

Ho‘gave a half- usetloning, half-pleading glance at
Blanche as he spo e. His bri ht, 'llgh’t love for her

was not awn», and Lions . felt that it was not I
,8 .

dangfitous; the avowal of it was only a touch less
than sinful to the one‘who thought so humbly of
hints f that be deemed he had only won by a head.
 “Daruon would never be guilty of the meanness of
mentioning it if he meant it," Lionel said, quietly; and
whsnhe said that Blanche realiZed that the love of the
,one man and the liking of the other would give her a
 part to slam ~ ,

"And three would never be sensitively jealous if
.Damondi " she put in, hurriedly; " at least not if he
res ted the lady of his love as the loved 0t Damon
. N-Pythias deserved to be respected. Since Frank is
kind, sue h to give me the materials for a story, Lal,
you must, t me tell it in my own way. Ishall handle it
all sqharmoniously forlthe lady, and for Damon and

Both—mg, .~ » . ,

 ‘fAn when shallwe read it ?" Frank asked, ezgerly.

The momentfor half-sentimental’izing with m was

3039; and he could be blithely gay about the business
11. '

u ,‘-‘When? Always when we are together, and I
,, hope that may be very often,” she said, gayly;
,f'and then both men felt that however it had
i been before, her heart was when Lionel’s DOW—:30
ywholly that she had no 'fear 0 herself She had
4. 'got'herself past some terrible uicksands in safety;
auditwas no slight thing to ave done. Had she
steered one half point to the right ‘or left of that
straightforward course which it had been her choice
. and policy to pursue, she would have brought the lit.
tle bark in wh ch Lionel and herself had shipped for
life. into troubled waters. As it was, she had, by means
of a steady hand and an eye undimmed by vanity or de-
r. oeit‘ ggehdirsct to the harbor of refuge Lionel’s love
e or.

CHAPTER XXVI.
. trauma,

Rumours. Minx'Sorros came down to Haldon
the the wedding, accompanied by their niece
men , ydmin whose favorBlanche had relented, in

so far as allow! gher to be a bridesmaid went. Not one

n

s the bride herselfgwers in very

pirits on the marriage morning. Now that it

had really come to t 9 point, the mo men who had

,lovod.Blanoho felt it ’ o beharder than they had fancied
to'loss her. . - : , w .

, ."I-hopo from my hoary}. ld fellow, that on will be
sshs y as you both  to be,” Iran Bathurst
said, m $5.3?! 013,530 shoulder. "Don't you feel

 v “n l,’ ,' ‘

wane". 13min“ led. ,

3.". you!” s b so! nerves. f'ysh‘oul " ~~' _
 l .  regiments i" use  a» a.
" ‘" fiwfully nervous ii" I stood on the brinkof at

W

 

' seems

it
she had loathe “spirit. shows- his'wery truly, in- m 
' a toward his: ass Mondwent ;., _

 

similar mm to the anew is on just now."

 

“So should I,” Edgar said, “ especially if I were no
more sure than Lionel is that I could keep my wife as
my wife ought to be kept."

" on, as for that, m will be as ri ht as a trivet,”
Frank said hurriedly. The conversat on had taken a
turn that. might reasonabl be supposed to be the re-
verse of agreeable to Lion ; and Frank was sorry for
this, and also sorry for the cause of its being thus
turned. There must be a considerable amount of bit-
terness, he knew, in the heart of a man who could utter
so thinly-veiled a reproach to a brother on his wedding
morning. n

" Any way, I am not going half-way to meet any
trouble, much less one that Blanche will bear with
me,” Lionel said, coolly.

“ You will be obliged to work a trifle less conscien-
tiously, that is all," Edgar said, laughing.

“That I shall never do. I,will pay my wife the re-
spect of, at least, not deteriorating."

“ You will do well enough, probably, old fellow," Ed-

ar said, with sudden heartiness ; “ quite as well, and
getter too, than most men; but you’ll study the simple
expedient a little more attentively than you have done
hitherto, if I’m not mistaken."

“ You are mistaken. I cannot stay to try and con-

‘vince you of it just now. for we must be ofl'.”

Then they went away to the village church, the bells
of which had been clanging in hilarious dis-harmony
all the morning.

To be married in a large town, in the midst of a con-
course of people who are superbly indifferent as to
whether one is going to be married or buried is a
calm and comfortable proceeding when compared with
being married in sylllage, where every one has some pet
theory to account for every change of complexion and
variation of expression in the faces of the chief objects
concerned. The bridal party would have deemed them-
selves blessed had the inspection lasted only during
their progress through the church; but the church-
yard gateway was too narrow to admit a carriage, con-
sequently they had to get out and walk between rows
of observant fellow-creatures, on a mu h gravel path,
that was, as Mrs. Sutton felt with angu h, detrimental
to her boots and train. Ellen Bowden, to whom six
months before, the scene would have been one of fairy-
like beauty and splendor, had dreamed a more gorgeous
(ix-gain lately. and so rather looked down upon this
re y. .

"If I am ever married, it shall not be in the country ;
I am quite determined about that," she whispered to
Trix ; and when Trixy replied:

“ dare say Mr. Wilmot will agree to any place that
(good to you." Ellen blushed with confusion,
and sai :

“ One never knows how things of this sort may turn
out, does one, Miss Talbot ? Aunt Marian says it is so
foolish to speak about engagements ever, for fear they
shouldbe broken off. Do you know Mr. Eldale, Miss
Talbot ?" I -

" Only by repute." '

“ Oh, I'm sorry you don't know him," Ellen said, in
disappointed accents. She wanted to talk about him
more than she had wanted to talk about John Wilmot
for many weeks. It was hard upon her, she felt, that
Miss Talbot could not take the wild interest in her sub-

ject which knowledge of, him would have surely

given. v
i “I am very sorry,” she repeated. " He is so charm-
n .F! . '

hen her poor little foolish heart throbbed high at
the thought of how grand a thing his wealth and taste
would make her wedding with him, if she were so for-

, tunate as to have won him as he seemed to be won by

her ; and this thought caused her to look rather scorn-
fully on the small band that stood by the pair. “ I will .
have twelve bridesmaids ;’and I‘shouldn‘t feel married
in such ’a plain white dress as she wears ; but it’s all
right enough for gieople "in their position, I' suppose,”
the daughter of he deceased grazier thought of the
daughter of an .old and honorable house. . y
“ It Was not half as bad as Iexpected ; still I am very

lad it is over-so led and happy, Lal,” Mrs. Lionel

albot exclaimed to er husband, the instant they were
out of the church.

“ And I shall be glad when we're off,” he replied, ten-
derly ; " for Edgar is breaking down fast. If he does
utterly, my darling, there must be a gulf lbetWeen us ;
no man, not even my own brother, must show love for
my wife. Let us leave them to eat the wedding break-
fast without us ; let us be off at once.’ *

f' As you will. Whatever so wish to do I shall be
sure to like to do," shesaid, enderly. So they were off
at once, after just shaking hands with the others, on the
brief trip that‘was to be the prelude of that earnest bat-
tle of life they were bound to fight together.

» , “ The artist and his wife hada very humdrum wed-

ding,” Ellen Bowden wrote to John Wilmot. He had

' forced her to write to him from Holden; and she
5 kept her promise, though she kept it unwillingly.

“ There was no style about it at all. I couldn't endure
such an afl'air; but I suppose it was the right'and
groper thing for people without money. Some people

lame them very much for having married on nextto

nothing: such matches never turn out well. I hardly _

know when we go back to town; so I‘ should be sorry
for you to waste more of your time in waitin ’ to see us
on our return. y uncle and aunt unite w th me in

in kindest re srd‘s. ”
* “ ours very truly, - .Enum Bownns.
“I don’t think that Arthur nil-dale can think that a
com A sing letter, if he should ever chance to see
it,” so thought, and s'self-complaceutexpression,
' ore toverheriaoeasshethoughtit. Shehadviolated
- no commuting herself-to “swam min" at

least she had not violatedtruth in the lonelith

s

as being milled posed

, but to herself she confessed that she would prefer being I

“9...: .43.;    r ,

for the distance between you to be felt as a trial.’

tenet lik

 

a friend to him at a distance for the future. Her retro-
spective regard for him in the abstract was a colossal.
thing; still, colossal as it was, it was liable to collapsing
suddenly into the most diminutive proportions on
the influence of the dread she had that it might mar
her future prospects with another.

Meanwhile the newly-married people whom she was.
pitying were all on their way to the place they had de-
termined to pause and take breath in before commoner
ing the actual fight for fame and fortune which they
both were resolved to make. It was a sweet, quiet, 3e-
eluded village in a midland county, where they made
their first halt, a village about half a mile from the
banks of the Thames, in the heart of the fairest of that
flat, fair, midland county scenery, which is so fascinat-
ing in its park-hke prettiness and uiet. Sheets of'
silvery moonhght flooded the scene w on they reached.
the little inn that stood on the brink of one of the.
tributary streams that fall into the Thames. The house
itself was able-ended, thatched, covered with creeping.
Plants, , re olent of the presence of roses. As they
stood tofiether at the casement-window, looking out.
over the ower-bed-studded sic of grss, and on the
shining river, the doc , tender appiness of love, realm
iaed so fully that it dealized everything, flooded the”
hearts of both, and the woman spoke :

“ Lionel, what have I done to deserve this; to be
placed here in the midst of such beauty; to be enjoying
it with you ?"

"Accordin to my idea, you have done everything to
deserve it," e replied. " You have made me supreme-v»
iy'happy by giving me your love and the right to enjoy

"' Such a poor return for the wealth of ours," she
said, rather sadly. " Lal, the one thought t at crushes.

‘me a little new and then is that I may be, not a ' bur—s

den ’-—I won't insult you by suggesting that you could
ever feel me to be that—but a sensibly-felt weight. If
I ham r you ? IfIimpede your progress? The mm
thong t of it half maddens me." ,

Then he put his arms about her with that air ‘ of
tenderly protecting strength which comforts a woman.
against her will—against her reason, very often-and.
told her that he was so strengthened and elevated by
her love that his progress must be an upward one; and.
that even if it were not, she would be by his side to
share it, and to see him make it. '

j‘ But if you are impoverished by your in e, La] 1"
Life is a little harder to the man who has to fig t for a.
wife as well as for himself.” I

“ Harder perhaps; sweeter undoubtedly. Listen my
child," he said, putting his hand on her brow, and help—
in her face up to fairly meet his gaze. “ Listen, and.
be love me, Blanche. I never lied to any one yetalo
you think I should lie to the one I love best ? Believe
me whenI say that I mean the words I uttered this
morning. Whatever comes to me of sorrow or joy, of
wealth or poverty, I thank God that you have vowed
very solemnly, my sweet, to share it with me."

“ Oh, Lall what a lovely opening chapter it is i" the.
easily consoled woman—who showed her love b bein
thus easily consoled-replied, as she let her he nest “on
forward trustineg upon his shoulder; “ What a lovely "
opening chapter it is 1” she repeated, earnestly. r .,

“Yes,” he replied, laughing; “ and. as 'is right, there:
are only two figures in it. In the earlier stages ofjl'or
mances, whether of real life or not, it is well thatwthe
two chief figures should stand quite alone—should be.
clearly outlined." ‘ ' I =

CHAPTER XXVII.
uer “norms. .

Ir was late in the autumn before the your married.
people left the little inn on the brink of t e stream
for a settled home of their own. " Theprettiest, quiet--
est place we can afford, without ganglia ‘thought’to
the social consideration it is, heldfin, Kw lbs; the place!
for us," Lionel said to his wife, when the uestion of
their future abode began to be first debate : seriously
between them; and Blanche agreed with. him in this, as
indeed she did about most things. ' v I ' ‘ -

“ I think you are right,‘Lionel. I- will go to High.
gate, if you like, or to Camberwell, or to an other out,
of the way district in which you may see t to place-
me; it will be all one to me,s0 lens as you are with
me; and I have something nice to look at from the win»
dow. We have no old swell friends to be affected bi
our decline and fall out West.” . Then, as she ‘ m;th
speaking. she remembered that Marian Sutton had, With.
recently developed sisterly affection. promised to call
on them as soon as they (the Suttons) caine back to-
LODdOD; and she added, "Even Marian will forgive the,
locality for her brother Lionel.” ,

“ Marian and you will never be sufficiently intimate-

Llonel replied, I .
. “ We are better apart, I think," Blanche said, hes-rt-
illf- “ Nothing would give me the necessary amount 0f
faith in Marian to make constant or even frequent, in"
temourse between us desirable. I do " 9

She'paused, and her husband said: “ You do what,

81‘ ? V , I .

“ gbe I had better reserve my Judgment. SW8
it can 0 no good.” ' , _ I

a“ But {would rather that you did speak itxlgme,

even though youjudgment of my sister may besevere.

You are my wife, and I have a right 1:9.th your

thou hts. Tell me. darling! _ _ I ,
r “LE1, what a mean-hearted wretohI should scenic
myself if 1, la! a thoughtless word (Kiwi ‘30“
think less we than you do of our sister. , V will on
her; but Lwill , ,inlu tics to her. that
Ibelieve. first! only disliked... .119: km. .6139 a. 1
not likens. My vanity was piqued; Isms   .
“At am that wasryour reason; but, ow about new? _
MNow Idou't think he; tug; _ isml-dqnot
take to her," we women cal it. 1th shehsss

   

D v

 

PLA raver For: HIGH STAKES.

25

 

 

1.8006. deal of scratch in her, and if her soft, easygoing
existence were disturbed, I think she would let her
.nearest feel that she had it without the faintest scruple.’
Lal, how can I dare ,to say that of asister of yours?
What a wretch I am i"

" At least you can love Trixy." he said. evading ms-
‘Wering her direct question as to how she dared to ques—
diontne moral veracity of his sister. I

The young, loving, tenderly-regarded wife Went down
gracefully on her knees before the low lounge-chair in
which her husband was sitting. , v

" Shall I confess, Lal ‘2” she asked sweetly.

“ To me, always, or Heaven help" us both I" he ane-
wered, solemnl . ‘

“ Well, then, ove is a orgeous gift, and I don’t give
‘it readily. I have like , and liked warmly, and been
deceived and disappointed, and seen the object fall short
of that oi which I expected of it, ever so many times.
Now, for some time. I have left oil'lavishing it. I like
what pleases me. and interests me, and ympathizes
with. me; but I should scorn myself if I were to say
'that because a woman is your sister, for that reason
alone I loved her." ‘

“ And can’t you love Trixy for herself ?” he asked, in
.1. hurt tone. _ " She, at least, might command the high-
-0“ lympfithles; sheisgood. true and clever; what do
you want more i“

“ ‘ Like Dian’s kiss, unasked, unsought.
ve gives itself, it is not bought,’ ”

Blanche said, shrugging her shoulders. " I’m wrong
,monlly. I have no doubt, but I am mentally ri ht.
.You must know that when I took to loving you be ter
than myself, Trixy and I ware antipathetic to each
other to the last degree, on account of another man for
vwhom she did care, and for whom I didn't care, and
who did care for me, and who didn’t care for her. Now
our ‘relations are altered,’ as political reporters say;
nevertheless I can‘t aflord to say that ,‘I‘rixy is the one
female being in the world who can make life sweet to
no simplyrbeoause she is your sister."

_ ‘Lione albot was silent. Conventionally he knew
his wife to be wrong. She was refusing to take up the
regulation burden of family affection for “ the people ”
0f the one whom she had married; but rational y he
gnaw her to be right—there was no sufficient cause for

F'h-ixy and you will right yoursel es in time," he
said, steeping forward and kissing in brow. " Mean-
while, don't imagine you owe me anything that your.
own true heart is disinclined to pay.”

[owns xxvm.
» - non: rumor mos-ion.

"Tun ettiest, quietest place we can aflord without
givin s bought to the social consideration in which it
is 11.15, will be the place for us," Lionel Talbot had said
to his wife when the subject of their future abode had
been underdiscussion. But pretty, quiet places that
are accessible to bread-winners who must travel by
omnibuses, are rare shots that slay those unfortunates
with fatigue who are compelled to search for them.
Lionel, and his wife traversed many a weary mile of
London suburb, lured on by the fallacious hopes the
penn paper advertisements of “sequestered cottages
in, safubrious localities" had raised, before they fixed
upon the spot in which they would first pitch their

tent, and set up such humble household gods as canbe '

procured by young people who marry on love. and
whose fortune is in the future.

It was s small six~roomed house in a lon , airy road,
with an open space at the end of it occupie in imagina-
tion by a church, that Was Mrs. Lionel Talbot's first
married home. There was nothing pretty or romantic
in the situation—nothing graceful or elegant in the
interior arrangements'.‘ 0n the contrary, the view from
the windows was of other houses precisely like unto
itself, and within absence of decoration reigned—to.
gather, it may be added, with such a perfect love for
each other an cast out all doubt and fear. -

But though there was nothing pretty or romantic in
the sit ‘ on, nothing. aceful or elegant in the interior
of it, the ouseperfec y fulfilled one condition which
theyhsd'msds: it was quiet; and this quality in an
abode has a mstohless charm for those who are seeking
to curry favor with fortune by their pen or pencil.

They went to work with hopeful hearts and willing
hands so soon as they were settled-nwent to wark at
their respective arts. separating early in the morning,
hard ail was to do so inlthese early days of hfe's re -
ized romance. and not meeting again till the late dinner,
which was eaten with the a etite that only comes
from the knowledge that the a or and burden of the
day is over. I Once! the six small rooms was made into
a studio by Lionel. and another on the floor above it
was given up exclusively to Blanche and the one luxury
she had afforded herself—s writing-table of fair propor-
tions on which the sheets of Ms._could be thrown about
withOut distracting care being given to the position in
' which they fell. , . .

They were. very happy In these days—very hap y,
despite being so entirely " out of the world,” as 3.
Sutton declared them to be when she came at length to
- see them.  g l ,

“You can‘t expect people to call on you'here." she
said to Blanche; and when Blanche repliyd. “I neither
expect nor wish them to call on‘ me. Mrs. Sutton
added. considerately: “And how bad for you as a writer,
and 1.9.1 as an artist, to be living out of the world in
this way!‘ You’ll both get bored; and when 0116’.
bored one‘s best goes."

"I quite agree with you; when we are bored our best
will " rs.Talbot replied, coloring ikeely. .3116 was
vertex? ,being put in the position of the pihed and
imp: . hut cushy this woman who had been opposed
to her, from the very commencement of their inter-
sourle. _ ‘_ ' . , ~

 

 

“ Of course you think that you are all-sumcient to
each other—you have been married six weeks, I be-
lieve ‘3" Marian laughed.

" Did you think Mr. Sutton and yourself all-suincient
to each other when you had been married six weeks ?"
Blanche asked, innocently. Then Mrs. Sutton got up,
carelessly dragging her shoulders, and saying : '

“ Not at all; but I knew that his money, and the com-
forts it would surround me With, to be all-sufficient,
and I have not proved mistaken."

Then she leit Blanche (whom she had ruthlessly in-
terrupted in an installment of a story for a magazine
,that was overdue) and went down to Lionel.

“ Shall I disturb you '3” she asked in silvery tones,
giving an impatient rap at the locked door as she spoke.
The instincts oi the artist overcame the instincts of po-
liteness, and Lionel answered:

“ Not now, Marian ; I’m really very busy."

“ But I’ve something 'to say to you—something you
ouvht to hear; do, Lal, let me in."

e opened the door quickly enough, and she glided in
at once. and held up her face for him to kiss.

" I am very penitent for interrupting you, Lionel; but
I did not wish to leave your house the first time I had
ever entered it hurt, and sore, and unsoothed."

" Hurt and sore 1" He repeated her words in aston-
ishment.

“ Yes.” she said, softly. “ I am only your sister, and
she is your wife, and I suppose knows how to please
you into forgetfulness of brotherly feeling."

“ giro you speaking of Blanche '3”

" es." v

" Give my wife her name, then," he said quietly; " she
is 'she ' only to me." .

Marian caused her eyes to look placid. The secret of
sudden tears had been thoroughly discovered by this
woman. '

" Mrs. Lionel Talbot does not need you to take her
part, Lal," she said, softly; " she can hit very hard now
she dare."

“ What do you mean i" he asked, wearily.

" What have I ever done, Lal, to her (or to anybody
else for that matter) that she should suddenl rise up
and ask me, in taunting tones, when I spa e of her,
young married happiness, whether I could speak with
the same satisfaction when I had been married six‘
weeks? It was hard of her to say that, Lal, when she
must have known how it would cut me. Her life's ven-
ture has succeeded; mine has failed. Did I not know it
already, that she thought it needful to take such igno-
minious trium )1 over me ‘I”

“ I cannot in go my wife unheard."

“I do not ask you to judge her, for your Judgment
would deal hardly toward me. Lionel, I am very

mbsing happy; and when I came hem sister-1y kin -
noes, I Was met by s Jeer at that over which I am power-
crless. I have my troubles as well as the rest, thanks
to our estimable Edgar. If ever a girl was sacrificed to
her family, I have been." , ‘ .

"Poor Marian l” Lionel said fondly. He was entirely
ignorant as to how her family had benefited by the sa-
crifice, still, as amsn, he could not be harsh to her when
she asserted that she had made it.

“Lionel,” she said, quickly, looking up, " I am ve
unhappy; I am frightfully pressed by Hortense. and
dare not ask Mark for money. Can you give—lend me
fifty pounds ?”

" At the present moment I have not quite fifty shill-
ings in the world," he said, dejectedly. , p ' ~ ‘

" Yet you married,” she said, scornl‘ully. ' = i

He knit his brows a little, and looked her firmly in
the face. , '

“ I married, trusting to God and such talent as I have
to su port her. I married without-.4 allow that—any
clonal oration for other people’s milliners' bills. ’ What
t on?" '

"I beg your pardon-«I 'forgot,” she said, hurriedly.
" I omitted to tell you . that Mark's last impoverishing
enort was made to give Edgar the means of laying for

the redemption of your pittance, which you sve Milly

allowed him to risk and lose.“ '

“ Has Mark sud‘ered too i" he asked.

"Mark suil'ered too," she repeated after him, impa-
tientl . " Do you call it suitor-in to lose all he has ever
gains ; and not that only, but

he bargain-4:0 lose it through Edgar l to lose it through
my brother ? Oh! I owe my family much."

She bent her head down and burst into a passion of
tears; and her tears, as they streamed over her face.
scolded her brother's heart.

f‘ Thin are worse than I thought them, We are
men—-— gar and I ; and our losses ought only to nerve
us to further exertions, which I am ready to make.
Don’t reproach me, Marian ; the risk Mark ran for the
recovery of my pittance was run unknown to me.
Blanche and I will not forget it. now we do know it."

Mrs. Mark Sutton lifted her face up in an instant,
smiling through not tears.‘

“ You have great faith,” she said. " Your wife’s, Mrs.
Lionel Talbot’s (I hope I speak of her respectfully
enough) knowledge of the position into whic we are
plunged is likely to avail us much, I should imagine."

“ You are speaking bitterl , Marian.” he said calml .

"I am speaking the wor of soberness and trut
hard as they may sound to you. Granted that she h
the will to help the family into which she has come
(only to further encumber itl-grant that she has the
will; she has not the power."

“ Not at the present hour."

"Nor at any time in the future. Lionel, you are in-

fatuated,_blinded, deceived, if she has led you to sup V

pose that the choicest works of her imagination are
worth much more than the paper the are printed
upon. Why, if she writes the tips of her,
can't make more than a hundred in. year."

“ We will not go into the question of what she may
make. or what she does make. Iknow this other, that
when she can give hel she will give it.” ~ ‘

"Easy generosity}, at time will he never.” libs. Sut- _

is sister’s money into.

gers ofl‘, she le

 

ton said, turning to leave the room. “ Spare me the
humiliation of letting your wife know that I have been
driven to ask you for money. Promise me that.”

“ As you will," he said drearily. His ideas had been
rudely dispersed; his working hours roughly broken
in upon ; his wife had been attacked ‘ d he
hadnot been quite able to defend her. Altoge or his
future was a touch less bright when he went down at two
o'clock to luncheon than it had been when he left
Blanche after breakfast. She was sitting at the head of
the table when he entered, looking paler and more wes-
ry than he had ever seen the brightly-colored. active
woman look before ; and it was not in him at the mo-
ment to cheer her up at once. i

“ You look tired, Blanche," he began.

" I am ; by what I cannot tell. unless it is by my ut-
ter inability to write three consecutive sentences of
sense this morning," she replied.

" What is the obstacle ?”

"It is thus; and I can’t define it; Suddenly I lost
my vivid interest——my heart—in my work. Hy plan of
the plot seemed weak, tame, and unprofitable-4hr; lat.
ter ecially ; and when I attcm ted to let the gay
fancy esd me my pen became Btu born,“ I an to
doubting the grammar of every word I wro ."

“You have been vexed about something," he II“.

on estively.
" y something indennable, then," she mam.
quickly. “ It wil all be well with me again very Icon.- r

if I could only feel that “very soon' would suit our
pu so as as well as ‘ now.”

" on’t be despondent, my own darling. Remember
whatever burden there is, it is not your back that“
bound to bear it."

Inan instant she made thsteflort to cast of care
which women can make when the care is crushing the
spirit of the man who is dearest to . .

“ My back is ready to share it, dearest."she said. .
goin over to him fondly. “Come, Lei, the-truth shall
be to d now. Mrs. Sutton disheartened me a little—vim
alittl (1 then all fancy for glib fiction find; and
I 1;;V8 been feeling very unworthy of you and of my-
se ." ‘

“ But you feel so no longer ?"

“ I fee so no longer. Honestly and with all in heart,
I can assure you of that. How'sbont yourself?V What
have on been doing ‘1'” '

“ ell—not much." ,

" What do you call ‘ not much, Iisl ? Your ' little ‘
means s t deal generally." ‘

“Iwis it did mean a grestdeslto-dsy,"he suds
little moodily. “I had a Ion talk with “lei-inn." v

."tht did Marian say to row your out of gees!”
his wife asked, coaxingly. ' ‘ . " “

" You can’t get on with her,” he answered. abruptly;
$131 Mrs. Talbot shook her head-and laughed ’

“Ito, no, Isl, that is not your grievance ; the root of
the evil lies doe 2. Tell it to me." i '

He looked at er, and he could not tell her so harsh‘
a thing as that his untruthi‘ul sister hsdbeen'able to-
give him a pang about his truthful wife. Love and
reason both opposed themselves to-such an exercise
of veracity on his part. Marian had made him uneasy ,
and suspicious, and in his heart of hearts he did
feel that the weapons which she had used were not true
and don ht ones. But for all that he could not help
teelin ha there was a little to be u in ex- 1
term on of Marion also. If Blanche had , uttered
but a few words with even a 11 liter malicious ,,
meanin , of the sentences which - bod II-
cribed her—if she had done so. then Blacks,
was to blame and Marian was to be pitted. As he
thought of this possibly extenuating clause in the I
page of Marion's misrepresentation Idonel felt that}!
was well within the bounds of possibility ibr am to»
be less perfect than she of six weeks’ standing was on
the day 'she became one. '-

“Tell it to me,” the repeated; , y the sum of your
troubles, and I will cast them zip—and“ out,’ Ihops."

Then he told a few of the things which mm ‘ had
told to him, reserving only the taunts which Hrsfiutn
tontchad uttered relative to the expediency of the,
ma h. ‘ ‘

I.

u The Suttons ruined! Marian poor. I donft realise," r ;

that at all, Lionel." ~
“ They will have to realize it soon, I fear."
“And how fear-fully hard such realization
her, poor thing ! Lionel, I am quite strung up

‘Sain -— ,. . . , .

“ the thought of another woman's xii-issues?" be
asked? laughing y, and in stone that showed he? he did
not mean what he had said. 7

" No, but by the thought that I may relieve mt pri-
vation in the glorious ‘time to mmo,’ in ,which we
artists have so comforting a faith. Wan 
her faults," Mrs. Talbot went on, with'the 3:161 sir
which is the safiety-vslve both of the most sympathetic
feeling and the sincerest spleen—“ Marian may have
her faults, but we ' will forget them. all now, poor
thin l” '

'I‘hgcn the young husband. $030th by the exceeding
generosity of the sentiments that were strong in theory,
and that had never been Put to the rough test 0! pm
tice yet, gave prudence her canoe and went into further
details respectin , Marian 1: interview with himself. .

“Wonderful-t as it is that you women contrive so
utterly to‘ misju a one another,” he said. " Hen
never, or very rare y, fall into that error. Now there's
Marian thinks that you dislike and would almost dos.
stray her, I believe. when in reality you would aid her
to the utmost.” r - '

" 312st did she say that could make you think that.

She did not say much, but she let me seethst 31:6 «
felt hurt at our reminding her that hers was not a
marriage of a ection,"Lionol said, deprecatingly. ‘3 g

“ She said I did .thakwhat next l"

 

wmseto'

“ Nothing next. you dear ferocious little 

 

 

s,
3
1})
i
:1
3
a‘
:3
'3,

 

 

 

 

a"

 

26

FLA TING FOR HIGH STA KES.

 

Lionel said, smiling, as his wife came up to him and
laid her crimsoned cheek upon her forehead, and
grasped his hand in her own small, muscular, sensibly-
strong white one. ,

“ Nothing next l‘nothing to account for my remark?”

" Oh yes, she gave me a leading one on the happiness
you seede to be enjoying; she did say something
about that, I suppose, Blamme.“

“ Yes, she said something about it,” Blanche replied.
absently. She was cut to the soul by this first evidence
which had been given her of Lionel deeming it possible
that she could be in the wrong—and resenting it.

“ And you replied by contrasting your relative Easi-
_ tions rather more freely than you would have one

had you liked Marian better," Lionel replied, gravely.
‘ ~“M poor darling, it was hard on you to be inter.
rupt when you had got yourself into a good groove
for work; but deal more gently with the erring another
time for my sake.”

“ For your sake I will do anything,” Blanche replied,
passionately. “I will say all that I can say now to
make on feel my fault less; I was too hasty, too se-
vere ,Jtogother on Marim;" and then she halted, and
did not add that she had not beenaltogether untried.

,“Ihat ample confession Would gain absolution for
far severer sins, my sweet," Lionel said, gently. Then as
his wife went away, rather soitly and sadlyto her work-

again, he did'wish that he had not forced her to make,

confession quite so ample; it savored slightly of humil-
iation, and it had been far from the wish of his heart
to humiliate her. For the remainder of that day this
consideration haunted. him, causing him to paint less

li htly and brightly than his subject, “ Forming the

ousohold of the Fairy Queen,” demanded. But he
dared not to, break in upon that time which was money
and honor to himself and his wife now by going up to
her quiet room on a mission of reconciliation.

She meanwhile was having a tough tussle with her-
self up stairs in that little _ room where the fairest
creatures of her brain had been born and were being
nurtured. She had been throw out of her grooves,
‘ ruthlessly throWn out of her grooves, for no sufficient
end-for nothing, indeed, save for the furtherance of
vexation in her spirits. Worse than this—far harder to
bear than this orginal, upsetting, im Iduration-destroy-
ing fact, was the one that the man s e had married
seemed to think that she was in some trifling measure
to blame for the uproar in her mind. She could not
tell her husband how his sister had spoken of that mu-
tualpoverty which made their marriage such stock-
less hin as her (Marion’s) eyes. She could not do this,
for the bloom~ of slight reserve hung about the lovin
intercourse of the young hue and wife as ye .

, only. but femininely, she deemed it better to
miss burden of a secret which might pain him un-

by him than to give it half into his keepln , and

cpl Menthol we ht on her own mind and sou . In

trut , she had it :1 her to be very generous—othe pity
f of it was that the fruits of such generous growth do not

ripen quickly,-

“ "l‘were long to tell, and vain to bear ”

how log, how fiercely, and how unsuccessfully she
str 1 with her-oi . and still was powerless to do
sums? or at any rate to do the thin she most do-
Itred’to o. This first arring together (i did not quite
amount to amisunders ng) of the chords which had
been so finely attuned hitherto in the souls of her hus-
‘ bmdvand herself. cost her such a twinge of anguish 'as
can only be experiencad once. The horrible truth came
home tof‘her that it was in her to give stance to Lionel,
and in Lionel totake ofi'ense with her. He had done it
now on what she, looking at the sub ect according to
I to. which were by no means m. was Justified
in ', 3 'very small provocation. She could not
.wrlte of fictitious joys or woes—she could not evolve
plot: or t characters that never existed-she could

not wield pen of a ready writer, with this crushin

‘ mall new down upon her heart. How she hate
this I on suburb in which they dwelt when
this too first came to ! How she loathed
the le locality, an long for the inacessl-
ble  in some ms country district, where
the burr of rivers that ran away and lost them-
selves in remote bays, and that rose in even more re-
} nominate, and thecoo of the wood-pigeons, would
be the sole sounds she should hear! ow she re-
ed herself for having been petulant—for having
riskedheralldzor life’s hafipmess, on such a trifle as the
rise of this misunderstan ng now seemed to her! How
eagerly she listened now and in for some sound of
Idonelaome sound that shoul forewarn her that he
was comin up to condone her little oflense against his
family 1’ l Bow slowly and sadly the day were it-
' self in wearlnessl and ilnally she rose up as the dinner—
hour struck. with her day’s appointed work unfinished
awith her head aching, and her heart sore, and the con-
viction strongly upon her that she was very much in

the wrong. I

 

, CHAPTER XXIX.
. “ m none atom a marine LIKE rnxs manure ?"

Wm Ellen Bowden returned to town with her uncle
and. aunt Sutton, after the Talbot's marriage, she found
that Mr; John Wilmot had not regarded her wish as to
his not wasting his time by waiting to see them. There
was a note from him among the other letters on the hall
table, telling her that she would see him as soon as he
could possibly come to her after receiving her acknowl-
edgment of t e receipt or this missive, and that when
he came to her he should come with the determination

‘ of knowin what she purpooed to do with him, and
‘wfth horse f. . ‘

She took in the contehts of the letter as she ran up
stflmtand when she reached her own room she sat down
and'trle‘d to think what answer she should give him.

a

. your

 

, 3,.

She could not trifle with him. Independent of her strong
feeling that he would not suffer himself to be trifled
with, was the equally strong one against doing it to
such _an old iriend. She was very sure she could not
trifle with him, but she was equally sure that she could
not marry him. A vision of Arthur Eldale, and all the
glories with which Arthur Eldale could surround her,
rose up to prevent the possibility of, her making such
a mesalliame. But how should she tell John Wilmot
this? That was the question. ‘

“ I will speak to Aunt Marian,” she said to herself, at
last; and then she got herself into her dressing-jacket,
took her letter in her hand, and wended her way to her
aunt’s dressing-room. That lady was lying on a sofa,
with a cup of tea in one hand and a long bill the items
of which she was lazily overlooking in the other.

" I’m in a small trouble, Aunt Marian," the girl said,
nervously, as she entered the room.

" And I’m in a big one," Mrs. Sutton replied, captions-
ly. “ Hortense does impose on me in the most glaring
manner." .

" Why do you go on dealing with her then ?”

“ Simply because I can’t pay and have done with her,
and she knows it. I have more than half made that
women’s fortune, and now she is insolent to me ;,that is
just the way with people—you load them with favors,
and when you’re down they turn upon you."

" But—J down !'——you’re not ' down ?’ ”

“ No—oh be Joyful: I’m ‘not down in one sense,"
Mrs. Sutton said, rising up quickly and casting the long
bill carelessly into an open drawer; “ but that woman
thinks I am, and acts upon her thought. Now tell me
your small trouble." ’

“ It is about John Wilmot." Ellen tried to speak
very steadily, and failed.

“ Well, what about him '3” Marian asked, sharply.

“ You may read his letter, if you like,” Ellen replied ;
“ there is nothing in it that you may not see, as you
know so much already.”

Then Mrs. Sutton read John Wilmot’s letter, and as
she read it a little satirical smile fleshed out from her
blue eyes and flitted over her mouth. ‘

" I .suppose you believe every Word he writes or says,
do you not i” she said, contemptuously, handing the
letter back to the girl. '

“Yes—I do."

“ Then there is nothing for me to say." Mrs. Sutton
shrugged her shoulders and sat down again.

“ ! Aunt Marian, don't say that ; I really want
your advice ; will you not give it to me, dear ?"

“ My advice would be quite thrown away upon you
while you are in such a childish state of blind faith in
a man. What would be the use of my telling you how
you ought to act about John Wilmot when we think so
differently about him i"

“ I thought you liked him very much, Aunt Marian ;
and—I don't very much more than like him now."

" Don't you really? My dear child, do you really
think I‘had not discovered that little fact long ago?

But what is the use of it while you believe in him to,

the extent you do ‘I I like him certainly, but I estimate
him roperly. which you do not.”

" 0 one can more thoroughly appreciate John Wil-
mot than I do,” Ellen said, so on ly. ,

“ There is such a thing as over-appreciation : now, of
course, I cannot say whether he has blinded you, or
whether 3311 are blinding yourself; but this I must say,
you delu yourself abou him if you think that much
more than his vanity will be hurt when he finds out
that your love has lapsed into only liking. Young men
say a good deal more than they mean to many people." ,

" I cannot believe that John Wilmot does that—he is
too honorable." . ~

“ Of course he is,” Mrs. Sutton said, sneeringly ; " too
honorable to actually proffer vows of love to more than
one because that might be actionable ; and your un-
sophisticated you farmer is wise enou h to steer clear
of damages, but no too honorable to see to make more
than one in love with him, and not too honest to be
mortified when he falls in doing so."

" But, Aunt Marian, he never has been a flirt ; there
was not a rl in our part, down there, who would not
have been 3 ad to get his attention: if she could." ,

“ He told you so, I suppose ? Poor silly child i From
his own report you are of course justified in pronounc-
ing him to be a most honorable moralist. The ' girls
down there.’ I can understand why temptation did not
come to him in their guise."

‘ “ Don’t make me doubt him.” I v

" Why not ? Your are anxious to break with him ;

on don’t wish to break his heart ; and at the same
ime you cling with absurd tenacity to the belief that
reakin with him will make him very miserable:

this is incons stent.”

" I don't like to think him dishonest because I am
weak," Ellen said, dejectedly.

“ ' Dishonest i" that is a harsh term to apply to that
amiable ‘ humbug,’ which men bring to bear upon wo-
men whenever they ilnd it answers. John Wilmot will
(fifiso’le himself very quickly. Don't you doubt that,

e. ‘

“I shall be very glad it he does console himself. I
do not wish to doubt his doing so,” Ellen said, with a
slight trembling in her tone.

“ No, you will not be any thing of the kind, my dear."
Mrs. Sutton said, with an afl‘ectation '0! being Va
tolerant to the weakness she was detecting; " you sad
not be glad if he does console himself. I am a woman,
and thou h I have not had to bear anything of the sort
myself, I now that you will be mortified: but 011 will
be less mortified if you hear reason beforehan , than if
you go on in blind faith believing all he suggests to
you."

"when what do you‘think I had better do ?" Ellen
asked, dejectedly. ‘ r >

" Do--oh i let me see; why write and tell him you
have got his letter and will be happy to see him; be
courteous, of course; but when he comes tell him what
you want to tell him—you know best what that is.”

 

 

 

 

Z" Aunt Marian l he will think so badly of ms.”

. " For what ‘2"

" For not going on with it and marrying him.”

“ Of course he will think badly of you for not goi ‘,
on with it; men always do think badly of women w y
do not ' go on with it,’ as long as it is the men’s pleas-
ure it should go on.”

“ It will break his heart I believe,” Ellen said, quick--
1y. “You don’t know about it all, Aunt Marian—you.
can’t judge.” .

“ Come here," was Mrs. Sutton’s sole reply; and
Ellenh went over and knelt down by the'side of the
cone .

“ Now look here," the elder lady went on, patting the.
younger one on the shoulder as she spoke; “what ob-
ject can I have in speaking save to spare your feelings.
in this matter? tell me, do you think I can have any
other ’2”

“ None whatever, Aunt Marian."

. “ Well then, listen, and don’t be a little goose. You
hardly like to Sly it, but you think that John Wilmot.
is devoted to you, and you alone; that he could not care
for another woman’s love; and that no other woman
can win his; that is what you think, plainly worded." -

Ellen was silent. .

“ You need not speak,” Mrs. Sutton went on, aftera
pause of a few moments; “ you need not tell me
whether I am wrong or right. I know without your
telling me. Now I am not vain enough to fancy that
John Wilmot is in love with me; but I tell you this, he
has tried to make me in love with him." ‘

"In love with him l—you 1” poor Ellen stammerod. 4

Mrs. Sutton nodded.

“ With you—a married woman ?”

“Not criminally so,” Mrs. Sutton langhed‘li htly.

" Your virtuoust brought up birdie would shrin hot.
ror-stricken from that; but he is what men of his
stamp call “taken with me" to the degree of Wishing to
make me feel a rather stronger than mere n'iendly in-
terest in him."

I" I can't believe he means it in the way you think he
does, Aunt Marian." Ellen stammered. ' ’ ‘

. " Naturally; it is hard for you to believe that it is any
thing more than a vicarious tribute to you," Mrs.
Sutton said, lau hing. “ I am so likely to deceive
myselfabout anyt ing of the sort; the liking of such a
young man as John Wilmot would be such a dazzlineg
flattering thing to me! My dear child, do not pin your
faith on any man's constancy, or you will find yourself
so egregiously mistaken."

" Where is safety, then i” Ellen sighed.

"Where! in good settlements and the marriage ser—
vice, certainly not in the selfish emotions of young
men who would have girls waste their best days in
waiting on the forlorn hope of marryin by-and-by.
However, you must please yourself; only, gar your own
sake, don't cultivate the romantic notion that any man
will break his heart about you. Now you had better
leave me to dress; leave your note tillafter dinner."

Ellen did as she was hidden; and after dinner it was
too late, Mrs. Sutton said, “ to send a servant out with
it." So John Wilmot did not get the answer he had
asked for until the following day. It was a very slight
and unsatisfactory answer when he, did at it. It was
even cooler than the last one to him w ch has been.
read in these pages: '

“ Dun John: I could not manage to write last night
when I came home, and I had to dress for dinner. I
shall be at home sfterluncheon todayif you like to
come. ,

“ In great haste, yours truly, ‘
' “ Elm."

He stood looking at the letter for some few moments
after he had finished reading it, with 1111MB burning
and his heart beating. He had waited for it so anxious-
ly, and now it had come, and it was so cruel. Shecould
not “ write to him because she had to for dinner:"
and she should be at home after luncheon “ if he liked
to ' come." The poor young fellow, Found his teeth
together as the truth came home to him that he should
go to very little purpose. ‘ , ‘

He had not staid'at a hotel all this time, buthad one
into lodgings in one ofa row of houses that stan in
that new part of Kensington called “ Albertopolls.”
They were neat, clean, new rooms that he occupied
over a furniture shop, but they were not cheerful.
There was more cheerfulness in hem than there W88
in his heart, as he re-read Ellen’s letter in the vain hope
offlnding something kinder‘in it than had been apparent
on his first reading. But he did not and that which he
sought, for the simple reason that it was not there to
be ligand. d a l _

e morning appeare V61? ong one to him. He
had not the habit of takin sufficient interest in the
topics of the day to enab 6 him to be absorbed, in a
newspaper. London hours and London haunts and co;
cupations were 30 many Bealed books to him. There-
fore he could not go out and while away the time until
the moment for keeping his appointment with Ellen
came. _H6101'{ged with a pained yearning lon ing for
the quiet ofhis own home, and the comfortab e occu-
pation his surroundings would have given him; for
here he was quite alone—quite alone and vs desolate-

It hadbeen his hope for many years that on would.
be his Wife. Now, when there seemed, to be a prospect
of that hope being dashed to pieces, a vision of what his,
life down in the old familiar place that had been so
dear to him, flashed before him and nearly broke his
heart. His whole life to be darkened because of theidlo
folly and vanity that had prompted her mother to send
Ellen out of her proper sphere. It was too cruel, too
hard to be borne, and yet he must bear it. _

How he had deceived himself about Ellen! This

change that had been wrought in her toward himself
had been her own work entirely ; this he never doubt-
ed. He never for an instant, during thewhole of these
latter hours, suspected that the ‘ bright, sweet-looking
my

lady, who was always so warm and kind to him, had

 

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share in it. But though he did not suspect pretty Mrs.
Sutton of being his secret emmy, no other solution of
the dimculty occurred to him. He could only feel that
his love had been lightly esteemed and wronged, and
sorrow that it was so ; that was all, and the “ all " was
very hard to bear.

His inquiry for "Miss Bowden ” was answered satis-
factorily about two o'clock that day at her uncle’s door.
Miss Bowden was at home alone, and he could see her.
Clogs seemed to fix themselves upon his feet as he fol-
lowed the servant to that same room in which Mark
Sutton had begged his niece to “ keep honest and true in
order that he might not curse the atmosphere of his
house.” ’

His name was announced, and he was in the room
with the door closed behind him before he saw that the
lady advancing so gladly toward him was not Ellen, but
Mrs. Mark Sutton. Then he did not know whether to
be sorry or glad that it was so, when that lady, giving
him he! cordial hand and genial smile the while, said:

,“Not left town yet? How very good of you to stay
to see us safely back i ” *

" Didn’t Ellen tell you I .was coming to-day ?” he
asked. bluntly ; and Mrs. Sutton shook her untruthful
little head and said : ,

.“ No.,1ndeed ! did she know it i "

“ Why, of course she knew it, Mrs. Sutton,” the poor
boy bmke out, vehemently; “'of course she knew it. I
wrote to her beg ‘ng to see her, and she sent me anote
this morning say ng she would see me after luncheon ;
isn’t she at home ? ’9 ,

“ Ellen is a very extraordinary girl,” Mrs. Sutton
said solemnly, evading his direct question as to Ellen‘s
being at home. f‘ What I would have given to have in-
spired a true noble afiection in the heart of a good
man i ". . -

“ You i ” he said, admiringly ; for the lady before
him was very touchingly appealing to the taste and
heart of aman—she was so ovely and so gentle. and
at this moment) so tenderly sad. " You 1 Why, Mrs.

bitch, you have done it ; you must have done it.”

Mrs. Sutton put her little white jeweled hand up to
her fonehead, and pretended to push back her nut-
brown hair in utter weariness. ,

“ I started in life thinking I must do so. I was
young and happy, and had my dreams ofjoy for a time;
but—well, it does not fall to every woman’s lot to be
really loved,1su pose; I have had an indul ent hus-

bafid,whohasl (mm to myself—very muc to my-
30 .ll .

She sank her voice almost to a whisper as
she said this; and John Wilmot pitied her

profoundly as he saw her glance at her wedding-ring,
and then turn her eyes away from it suddenly, as
if the recollections it recalled were more than
she could bear. Beauty, unappreciated, appeals stro -
. 1y to the better feelings of most men who are not leg -
ly called upon to appreciate it : but worth and gentle-
ness, such as Jo n believed Mrs. Button to possess,
appealed to him still more. He felt very sympathetic
toward this fair fellow-sufferer, and he looked very sym-
pathetic: and Mrs. Sutton read men’s looks very
readily. ‘

,“I suppOSc we all have our troubles," he mut-
tered. *

"Many people make their arm troubles—I at least
can not reprmch in self with that," Marian replied,
virtuously; ‘.‘ mine ve been made for me by others ;
homer, I don’t see why I need bore you about
my . ' v .

"I should neverbo bored with anything you could
fiy," he said, heartily.

“Ido'feel that we are very true real friends," the
ma ml h gretemlly ; " there is some comfort in that to

" Yetigfihn Wilmot said; but in hisheart he felt con-
scious that there was very small comfort to him in
mm. Button's friendship while Ellen staid away from

“ I wish I had known you ears ago," the lady went
on, abstractedly, apparent y forgetting that " years
ago " John Wilmot Was a very little boy, while she was
a grown-up young lady ; " if I had known you, I might
have been a happier woman than I am."

His honest brow flushed to the roots ofhis hair as he
took in the full force of the dangerously obvious allu-

aionsMarlan had made. It s cred him; and yet
“ there could be no real harm in , since cod, sweet
Mrs. Sutton had made it,” he thought. till, it was

abbot-rush: . Married women who spoke the truth,
and the who 9 truth, with respect to their domestic
happiness or misery, had not come within his limited
experience before. He wished more earnestly than
ever that Ellen would come down ; and Mrs. Sutton
2&1!” M81103. and took a faint pleasure in thwarting

e . r

“ Girls are so weak and foolish,” she went on, as if his
visit there Was made solely for the urpose of discuss-
ing the subject ; “ the exercise of a ttle moral courage
would often save them a life of wretchedness~would it
not 1’”

" Yes," he replied, not knowing at all at what she was
driving.

"We geiflengaged.” she said. softly and sadly, " and
then, no matter whether or not we discover that we are
not loved, or that we do not love, we think we must go
on with it. If I could live m life over again. how dif-
ferently I would act ! if I h daughters. how cautious
I Would pray them to be i”

“ But you wouldn't pray them to change their minds
and break their promises for every idle new fancy they
formed, would you ’I" he asked ; and Mrs. Sutton tried
not to blush guiltil as she replied:

“ No; but I wool not presume to decide as to whether
any new tancy they formed was an idle one or not. A
woman's'in’stlncts tell us when she can love on and be
loved on for all time ; she should obey her instincts ;
no other Vman’s opinion can avail her ; am I not
reaso

 

" Very reasonable ; but why do you say this to me,
Mrs. Sutton ?" he asked.

“ Because I do like and regard you so very warmly,"
she said, in an irrepressible burst of very neatly por-
trayed genuine feeling ; “ because I should really be
very sorry to see you with an unloving wife."

“','Then you think Inlen does not love me ?” His voice
shook : but she was very pitiless. A

“Do I, think. she loves you ?—can I or any one else
think she loves you, as you want to be loved by her?
She likes you as an old friend and neighbor, and as the
first man, probably, who discovered any charm what-
ever in her; but as for loving .you as you deserve to be
loved, Ellen Bowden is not capable of doing it.”

"Why, I thought , you liked her, Mrs. Sutton," he
said, quickly. Mrs. Sutton might be wounding to heal;
it was uite possible that she was being kind as well as
brave; ut this was certain, that she Was “ wounding ”
very deeply.

“So I do like her ; she is a great, unformed coun y
.girl’, not gifted with the grace to value the inco re-
hensible love you lavish upon her; but as for liking
her as a wife for you, to tell you the simple truth, I do
not."

“ I don’t suppose I shall ever get her to be my wife,"
he said, dejectedly ; and then Mrs. Sutton held out her
fiend to him, and he had to get up and go over and take

“I will forgive you this folly," she was saying, and
withdrawing her hand from his at the same moment,
when the door opened, and Ellen Bowden came quickly
into the room. She stopped at once, looked from one
to the other with a mortified, suspicious look for one
moment, and then said:

" Good-morning, Mr. Wilmot; a thousand pardons,
Aunt Marian; but Madame Hortense is here, and she
asked me to give you this.” The girl threw a sealed
letter'down on the table as she spoke, then turned away
and left the room in silence.

“ Is she mad ‘3” John Wilmot asked, angrily; and Mrs.
Sutton shrugged her shoulders, and opened the note.

" Poor girl! she has been madly extrav ant," Mari-
an said, with a sigh, when she had finish the note.
“ I don’t know what you would say if you saw this
bill." The bill was her own, and for fifty pounds, but
she did not intend that John Wilmot should see it.
“ How ang her mother will be," she went on g “ and
I can't pay t : poor child 1”

“ How much is it '2" he asked.

“ Fifty pounds."

“I will pay it, if you will promise never to let her
know that I have done so," he said, with an agitated
voice. “ Let me ; I am not quite such a poor country
1forages as you think me ; let me do that for her. at
on .”

" If she ever finds it out she will never ‘1’ yo me,”
Mrs. Buttonsaid ; “ but I cannot allow you— will not
allow you. What am I to do ?” .

“ Do take it," he pleaded; “ I will go back at once to
my lo ings and draw a check, and won’t trig: see
her age 11. Thank you for all your kindness—b you
for it 1"

Mrs. Sutton shook him heartily by the hand, begged
him to write to beyond a minute afterward he was out
in the street without ha ing had that explanation with
Ellen for which he had en pinin *. That ui ht Mul-
ame Hortense was pacified, and El on was tol by her
aunt that “ John Wilmot- had accepted the situation
her (Ellen’s) coolness compelled him to take very
quietly." ’

It was not a pleasant evening that which the aunt
and niece spent alone together. Mark Sutton was
absent on business with Edgar: Ellen had been stung,

subject of John Wilmot’s facility for falling in love with
other people the day before, and this day she had, as
she believed received ocular demonstration. She did
not knOw (and Marian would not tell her) that Marian's
speech, “ I will forgive'you this folly," had reference to
somethin else, not to his “ folly ” of having taken Mrs.
Sutton’s and in his. " Mr. Wilmot entirely for at
that he came to see me, Aunt Marian,” Ellen said, try ng
to laeulgh about her discomfiture, and Mrs. Sutton
re li :

RYou will be less scrupulous than you were last
night about doing whatyou want to do ; he is a very
weak young man.’

“ He may be that,” Ellen thought, "but what must
Aunt Marian be to encourage him ? " However, she did
not word her thought. Still, it was not a pleasant
evening, not one bit more pleasant than the one John
Wilmot spent alone, endeavoring “ to realize it all."

r

 

CHAPTER XXX.
IN mourns!) warms.

SMALL as Mr. and Mrs. Lionel Talbot's establishment
was, it took them some, time to get it into perfect work-
ing order. Bright and active-minded as Blanche was,
domestic arrangements outran her at times and became
unmanageable. Indeed, it must be acknowledged that
Lionel’s dinner would have been more punctually
served very often, if his wife had not entirely forgotten
to order it until very late in the day. That dream of
“ working on steadily in happy unbroken quiet,” in
which she had indulged before her marriage, was
quickly dispelled. The knowled that Lionel was at
work in a room near to her. and t at if she pleased she
could at any moment go in and be welcomed warmly
and lovingly by him, was disturbing, though gratifying.
It led her thoughts oil from the people whom she was
portraying, and steeped her in a dreamy, hadppy idleness
that was not conducive to the successful oing of the
real “ work ” there is in fiction writing. , ~ A v

Each night Mrs. . Lionel Talbot . made excellent
resolutions, as to the way in which she would on the

 

'to her husband’s studio, and each day she broke them.

v

and made to smart very severely by Mrs. Sutton on the -

former days, and that co

 

following day abstain from making unnecessary errands r

“ Before, when I had nothing to look back upon, and.
nothing to look forward to, when I knew that the even-
ing would bring me no relaxation, I could work on with-
out wearying; and now that I am so happy, and that I,
know the close of the day will bring me your com-
panionship, Lal, I do. little besides draw faces on my
blotting-paper and yawn, when I am not rushing in.
here to bore you," she would say to Lionel, by way of
apology for sauntering in to see “ how he was getting
on." Then Lionel would put down his pallet and.
brush, and waste a good deal of time in reassuring her
as to the impossibility of her ever "boring him," and
so Mr. and Mrs. Lionel Talbot got into ‘the habit of
leading what some practical eople without half their
power of work termed "an id e, desultory life."

At last, when they had been married about three
months their privacy was broken in upon in a way that.
at first promised to make them very happy, and that.
afterward made them very miserable. Beatrix wrote
to her brother from Mrs. Lyon’s house at Haldon, and.
asked him “ would he be surprised and sorry, or glad,
as she herself was, when she told him that Frank
Bathurst had asked her to marry him i” Then she
went on to ask if “Blanche would have‘her up with
this? for allttle time? and if it was not all very delight-
fu U

' It was very " delightful " to them all, especially
when Trixy came up to—day with them, and Frank wrote
to Lionel in the best brotherly Vein. Mr. Bathurst'a
happy knack of ignoring that -which is best ignored,
was too well known to Blanche for her to have asingle.
doubt as to the way in which he would meet her now-
that hewas engaged to Beatrix. But it was not known to
Beatrix, or if it ‘was, she chose to forget it on the occa-
sion of Frank’s first coming out to see and be hearty to
her brother and his wife. Beatrix was of that order
of women wholov'e wholly and devotedly, and (if they
may) éngro‘ssingly. Ker afi‘ection for Mr. Bathnrst was
the one eeling of her life. It was very terrible to her-
to know that, four months ago, he had been quite an
readyto marry some one else as he now was to marry
her. It was even more terrible to her to know that.

this " some one else” was her brother’s wife, likely,

according to all the laws of chance, to have ncnt
intercourse with them. - She Was fond of Blanche. and
she thoroughly believed in the purity and probity of"
her predecessor in Frank's heart. -But not the less did.-
she chafe under the knowledge that Blanche had pro»
ceded her, and that Frank would neither be forgetful
nor ashamed of the fact. , '

'Down in the solitary lanes and wooded glades of"
Ramon, Trlxy had, 01 the v' last three months‘
almost forgottenthat , had not always been de.
voted to her as he now was. But the recollection re»
turned in a little sharp spasm, when she saw his face.
kindling with joy at the sight of the cousin who would
always bedear to him, though she would not be his.
love. In this» Beatrix, who adored him, was more.
nauust than Blanche, who did not adore him; she over»
estimated his regard for her sister-in-law, and the extent.
of Blanche's influence over him. As both Mr: Bathurst.
and Blanche were unconscious of this, the elements of
mischief and unhappiness were}in their midst to a Gan-—
gerous degree. ' ‘

There was another element of unhappiness in their
midst, too, that would soon, Blanche feared, make.-
itself manifest in most cruel form~aud this was pay--
arty. They had married on hope and love. and tho
possible proceeds of their respective arts. New, 
love was still as active a power as ever. hope was.
fading a little in the woman’s heart. So hour
grew weaker she fancied, because ofthat undefined dis»
turbancein her mind which money amenities are 
to create. Still she he is her sorrows of doubt and fear-
to herself for awhile, est Lionel’surtist power unfit.»
lessen under what she felt to be ignoble W. I , « ”

When the depressing conviction first struck her that.
she did not write with the physical energy and vigor-cf
uently the mental energy
and vigor which had mark her works was wanting,
Beatrix been With them a week. So in order that:
there might be no cloud over the glorious sun which,
was shining on the bride elect. Blanche suflered With”
smiles on her face, and seemed altogether , aye: than.
Trixy had ever seen her (Blanche) before. it first 
pleased the sister, who was willing to take it as a--.
tribute to the happiness-conferring power of
brother; but after a while the eflort which Blanche.
could not entirely conceal struck Trixy, and reads he:h
watchful for a reason for all not being so hit I! 1*-

She searched about and dwelt upon the subiect until
she found one that seemed all-suth her. Blanche
was not quite happy, that was evident; andth she wan
so lately married. and Lionel loved her sowelll Then
the jealous suspicion arose, that Blanche could not be
quite happy in the presence ofFrank Bathurst, or oitbe.
woman he was going to . It made Miss Talbot.
very miserable, and she dared not lighten her misery
by wording it.

In absolute unconsciousness of the dark error into
which Trixy had fallen Blanche deepened that error at:

times by her manner. Out of the great desire she had. ,

to thoroughly understand her husband,‘ in order sine;
we might save him every sort of unnecessary annoyance,
w a habit of talking quietly about him to Frank, who
$21 known her husband i’amiliarl so long. This habit:
became one of sore annoyance to Beatrix; not that she
wronged either Blanche or Frank to any greater extent-
than thismnamely. that she believed Blanche tobemenr
taggimoro congenial to Frank than she herself
( - s mind-jealousy is harder for some women to bear
than a heart-jealousy would be. No area! of
coarse unfaithfulness can implant such a sting in the

, breast as does the dread that the man who is loved may

find a higher pleasure with another than with the we»-
man who loves him. The coarse infidelity ma bode»
spised; thecontempt it shows may be met
tempt; but, the leftist feeling that is gratified by W"

her: v

th cone"

. . unlxlfiu.“ sum, ....

 

 

 

 

 

 

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darts wi

” ,  did for hem”, Mrs.

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iloftier sympathy cannot be despised and treated with
contempt. Again,‘through all her dread of its being so.
Beatrix had a strong feeling that it ought not to be so,
that there was no good and suihcient reason why Frank
.nhould not to the full feel the ” higher pleasure " in
conversing with her that he had in conversing with
'Mrs. Lionel. When she came to think about it thor-
oughly, she could but discover herself to be possessed
«of certain mental ushties that were superior to those
possossod by Blane e. In reality,the things she thought
about most of the topics that were broached, were more
logical, and more sensible, and more cageble of being
defended by sound argument than Blane e’s thou hts
were. But Blanche had the knack of so wording are
without hesitation, that they made their mark. Con.
Blanche always seemed to send forth her
tll a brilliant aim, because she cared little

' which special ring of the target that was the topic she

.struck; while Trixy was best on hitting the gold, and
the gold only. V

But Mr. Bathurst never seemed’to appreciate this
wonderful, floodlit-sworn“) of thinkin before she
spoke wbic Trixy had. His attention rs her seemed
to be riveted hen mascne's brilliant darts came flash-
‘ y in. The he would look ugxwith an admiring earn-
o‘s ens, with allstoning watch lness that made Trixy
 with the sickness of a jealous dread that she scorn-
’--ed herseliior feeling, and still could not kill. Still,
than is it all they were as filendly as sisters-in-law

‘ 'usual y are; so Blanche had no idea of the vitality there .
was inthfhsort of bitterness which had been implanted

are had been a great question in the family as to
whose house Beatrix should be married from. Mrs.
1hr); Sutton had came forward magnificently, with an
forts: of providin the breakfast, and at Mark to give the
bride away. Bu this offer Beatrix had refused. “ Her
brother , Var had been her first friend in her own
email ," she said; "he should give her away it he
wen}. , and she would stay with Lionel till she was
married? , .
I, {gm tints “ till she was married" was a very sorry
 with thsjllalbots. All Blanche’shi h irit and
I , resolves were not‘sufflcient to keep
_; , ;which she had shipped afloat. Lionel, it was‘evident,
‘ , the money-getting power; she did not wish
 to have it .at the sacrifice of one higher thought or
:lesling. But the want of it would soon, leave them in
signers strnight, and the wreck would be seen by all. “ If
we could only hold on till May his picture would be
xbought, and then”——-- But t was hard, nay,

possible, to .“hold on till May” outhe small 1

proceeds ofa few magazine articles,,whioh she would
notation have him knowshe had written, because they
were not worthy otthe‘ woman he had married.
yltwas a sorry time. She had to best” much from un-
conscious ones, “who wondered she did not sell her
books to attendee mafia the same prices Mrs. Sound
[I g , ark Sutton came out as a trem-
 strong‘ private critic oaths subject of her sis-
jtardn-law’s books. " I assure you, I hear it remarked
iin._,societ » that. until you depict higher types, your
books 1 be failures,’ she would say, with a great air
M being grieved at the truth of her own remark. '.' Peo-
 are sicko! sensation; the do not mind it in real
,. g , but they will not have t in fiction; what they
want now are strong characters, and strong incidents
strongly panned; not sensation.” _ ‘

" Itls so easy to draw the line between ‘ strong inci',

 strongly painted,’ and sensation, is it not?"
‘ V , gluetly; and Mrs. Button shrugged her
shoulders. and. said : , ,
' “F,th easy,_hut quite worth tryin to do, I should
imagine; I‘m not speaking of you, 0 course, Blanche.
totally the twaddle one has-to get through in most
gets from the library must be very

,   I wonder you do not attempt something
‘ , a ‘ o '. _ ' , ,
* iil‘rlot is uzthziuy strong point,” Blanche tried to speak

 “It  lytbouglhg ymilthad trio? in ogre 3r two,
W _ mousse , u e ropery;wat oyou
 your strong poring?” p

r ' "I wash one. since cyan yolufhavenét fraud it out,"
1 .  WM . angri ; " allele new some-
‘ .‘thi 'ofcharaoter.” y ’

, “ ominous said, amiabelg~it always made her

We what: she had altogesi f in iirritag. lilg Blanche,
., m, , magma” e o socet sore ous-
‘ ‘ to depict it." . y y

“ oils of character, not society ; perhaps you don't

_ I , _ there is very little of the first in the last.”
" Your point of view at the Grange, for instance, was
ssh-d  you. know." Mrs. Sutton went on, kindly ;

- V" you never get such a clear idea of anything when you

‘5»...

look up to it, as when you look down upon it.“
"lasts very clearvidea as to all the guests at the
c," Blanche said, smiling; "perhaps you will

  that‘stateluentasstrengthening to your argu:

men 3‘ ‘
“Goodsb . Lal.” Mrs. Sutton said, shortly after this,
going into, r brother’s studio. " I ventured to make

Blanche about her books, and I supposed

- dtmnydiherdor she tells me she always looked

‘ « down upou'ms wbou’she met me at the Grange.”

 

"mome to no 1'"
time haters Edgar Talbot could make

 “1s  along

_ up hislnind to go andssohls brother and Blanche to-

 

‘ other as man and wife- Eer,_turnin from him in his
roubieto‘lionel had embittered or Talbot very
much; I  fully-aware or, a three of his
bitternesaand of its injustice,_he we ; d not 0 near
thsmfgwllila he I. could stay away. But when rix
basis upon a visit to the bride inst beforanhs became

r ' a  there  just so much courteous coon

N we bar]: on r
“Ihaven’t risked a failure,” Blanche said; "solos.

 

 

cion used in the matter of inviting him as compelled
him’to go to the inaccessible suburb and see them. 1

Out of genuine good feeling for the man who might
still be supposed to have rather a sore feeling about
her, Blanche decided that Edgar should not find them
alone. I " Let us ask the Buttons and their Mr. Eldale
and Miss Bowden to dinner to meet him, Lal,” she
said, suggestively ; and when Lionel, who would have
acqéiiesced in any proposition of hers, even if it had
em raced inviting the moon and the stars to a family
repeat, when he nodded assent she added:

“ Not to a swell turbot and Palestine soup and chablis
and oyster dinner, you know, Lal ; but I feel that a
dinner is the only thing that will bring Edgar here
comfortably."

So the invitations were sent and accepted, and then
Blanche found that a dinner in theory is easier than a
dinner in raotice if the establishment be small. It
was smoot sailing enou h solong as she was sayin
what she would have, an how she would have it. Bu
their one domestic was that most unmanageable of all
animals, an obtuse human being, who would act on
her own instincts, which were invariably bad. Accord-
ingly Blanche's hopes of “ things going ofl’ well " were
much dashed during the mornin .

“ The table will look sweet—til the estables come
upon it,” Blanche said to Trixy, “ for Lal, in his
character as artist, has ickod up a quantity of quaint
old German and Venet an glass ; that with twa or

three fiowars "--—- V
g’st the flowers and the wins

" But where will you
for the old German and suction glasses ?" Trixy ask-

ed,laughingl£. “They won't walk in to see clyou by
dinner-dime, lanohs. and you haven’t orders them,
have you ‘i"

“ No, I have not,” Blanche said, candidly ; " but ale
and sherry Won't taste the worse for being drunk out
of antique oblets that are meant for hook and Cham-
pagne; as or the flowers—well, they are a dlfllculty,
fines I can’t toil up to Covent Garden Market for

em."

4 “I am afraid we must
said, pensively. “ It is a p ty,
' , a rose is nice to look at.”

ive up the flowers," Trixy
because, if other things

can't be very badly fried, can they? unless they are

spoiled by malice intent; and mutton can't be burnt

in boilin ; and the weakestiminded person canton how

lon chic one ought to be meeting; as for the sweets, I

oils 1 tackle that part of the enter ainment myself.”

" It really is not worth the trouble," Beatrix said,
d1 . ,

“ o—g’rou swell in anticipation; I quite s with
you as far as you‘re concerned,” Blanche said aligning;
" but it’s Worth all the trouble Ishall have, and agreat
deal more, if it brings Edgar among us comfortably
again. Oh, if I had some flowers, what a sWeetrnook of
a drawing-room I would make of this part of the room
beyond the alcove! even you should not sigh for your
palatial chambers, young lady."

g Vé’hat shall you do, as we have no flowers i”Trixy
as e .

" 0h. make the best of it: easy~chairs we would have
them when we were furnishing), and mi 3, and sherry,
and the strongest codes, and t 6 best intentions; when
these pal upon our guests they may go home."

" You do make the best of things, “ Trixy said, in a
sudden burst of good feeling. “Poor dear Blanche !
ought you not to e writing? ’

“ Yes ; I always on ht tobe writing-4nd I can't al-
ways be doing it. ow, 'I‘rixy, the present need is
always the greatest to my mind; it’s four, and they are
coming at seven. Before that hour, a complete trans-
formation must be effected in my house and in my
person; and 1.8.1 must not be disturbed through it
at all; so for two heurs I must be a housemaid.” '

As she spoke she put on along brown holland apron
with sleeves in it, and armed herself with a duster ands
brush, 'and under the dextrous management of her
supple hands the little room and the alcove beyond it
soon assumed a different air.

“ I always think it tprettier to dine near to a window
instead of in the mid ls of the room," she said, pom
the table to where the one who would sit at the
would be shrouded in the curtains; "and in ;our case
beauty and expedienc unite: it gives more space for
the tree movements 0 the excellent man who sold me
my potatoes this morning and will serve them to us to-

ni ht.“

gluon she paused, out of breath alittle with her exer.
tions, and wished once more for a few flowers, to
brighten that air of barrenness which might make
Edgar think that there had been more haste ban judg.
ment in their marriage. ,

It was therefore no trifling pleasure to her, when she
came down dressed at last to or little sitting-room, to
find one of the chairs occupied by a trayiul of choice
flowers. As she bent over them, inhalin the sweetness
of their blooms, the feeling oi’ intense do ight in having
them at all overcame all curiosity as to how they came
there. There would be nothing wanting so far as the
pride of the eye was concerned, she felt, in a room
adorned by these flowers. They would redeem it from
all that plainness and somberness which she had been

, feeling‘rather acutely this day. Then she remembered

that s shad no specimen-glasses, no three-tier vases—-
nothing which modern art has designed for the fitting
holding of flowers. So she set towork at once to im-
provise'something. Takin a soup-plate for the founda»
tion, placing «- 1am tend fn
ting a tall, old-{as ion’ed ale-glass on the *0!) 0f “13
lam tand, she achieved a very fair result. When the
who a structure was decked with carefully-disposed
flowers suds great deal of foliage, the “ fair result 3’ be-
came a glorious one. , ‘

Sheforgot how time was passing as she hungover
her flowers, they ‘- were . in such luxuriant masses,
though it was midswiuter- she groutged them every
wherein  the firstplosstiro or a kind slashed

_ 5

' silence, and Edgar watched her closely. So,

the middleof it, and put- '

 

 

had since she left the riverside hotel which had been
the scene of her honeymoon happiness. An hour slip-
ped away as she grouped crimson camellias with thin,
dark, glossy green leaves, in small old china bowls on
brackets against the white watered paper. The plain,
rather narrow, white marble mantle-piece supported ~
the broad, georgeously-beautiml leaves of altars foliage
plant so excellently well that Blancho's love of the
lovely kept her idly gazing far too long. Then sudden}
a knock at the door startled her, and she stood still sur.
rounded with unarranged flowers, waitin the advent of
her guests. Feeling gulltily that she be neglected the
prose of life for the poetry—«knowing that she ought to
have gone to the kitchen to see how matters progressed
there—that she ought to have laid out Lionel s evening-
dress for him—«that, above all th , she ought not to
have been surprised in this state of confusion by Mr.
and Mrs. Sutton, now the hour she had named for din.
nor had i‘uliy come.

“ Some good genius. knowing my love of- flowers, has
sent me a whole green-house. andIhsve been fascinated
into forgetting how much room they ‘take up,” she
said, apologetically, as Mrs. Sutton came into the room.

Perfect as Mrs. Sutton‘s tact was, she never would
exert it for the purpose of making thin pleasanter to
Blanche. So now, when she saw that anche was em.
barrassed by being thus taken unawares, Mulch added
to that embarrassment to the best of her ability. She
smiled a very faint smile as she gave her hand to'
Blanche. and muttered something/relative to " fearing
they had mistaken the hour.” I

" No, you have not," Blanche said, gathering u all
her flowers as she spoke. “ Dear me! where can any
and Idonelbe? Do sit down in here” (she indicated
the alcove), " and I will look for them; this" (laughing)
" is our only drawing~room." ‘ ', " ’

Mrs. Sutton glanced at the alcove. and then walked
into it with a little si 1: 0! real nation, and a slight
movement of her sho dot-s whic was not lost upon
Blanche. Nor was it lost upon Miss Bowdon, who
deemed it the correct thing to fellow in her aunt's
footsteps and be supemilious too. * '

“Latins hel yo "mark Sutton said, ndly taking
the tray i‘roln he} “ where shall I t them 9’"

" You must not trouble yourself, Mr. utton."

" It‘s no trouble to help on, and you shouldn't
treat us like strangers," Mark. d; and than Mrs. Button
made a remark to the effect that“ really th could
not complain ofbein treated too ceremontous y."

Blanche went up airs considean mortified at the
untoward commencement of heron -meant entertain-
ment. “ I’m sure I did not mean to be pretentious or
negligent,” she thought, “and I seem to have been
both." Then she knocked rather humbly at Trixy's
door, and asked that young lady if she were "ready to
go down and help to amuse Marian l”

' "Are they come ?” ' a 

"Yes—and caught me in conmsionqmngmg, on!
such lovely flowers." ‘ '

“Where did on get them 7” Beatrix asked, briskly
coming to the cor. _

“I don't know at all. They came, sent by my kind
star, I suppose; they’re superb t" ’ ‘

" And you don’t know who sent “them l” Beatrix ro-
feated, her pale face flushing a little; "that is singu-
ar ’1 L '

- Bomethingln Trixy’s tone made Blanche blush tail is

anidea smote‘her. . Then she said, boldly: - ‘ ' ‘ “
"Ihave not thought so before, but now I think it

must be Frank; do you know. Trixy l” ’ '

" 0 dear, no I” Trixy replied; “ know nothing-about
it. Yes, I am ready; I'll go down." ’ '

When she said that, Blanche went on to Lionel’s room.“
feeling sadly that through no fault of hers Lionsl’s sis-
ters were both antagonistic. ‘ - ' ,

She got ample compensation from Idonel‘for all this
worry and wear and tear oi spirit. " My darlin , don't
distress yourself about what you can’t help,” c said,
aflectionately. " What it they didnnd you arranging
your flowers, and it they have to wait half all hour for
dinner? Because I can't give on an establishment.
they don’t expect my wife to a slave. Oomfi 0n: J
come down." ‘ f , .  ‘ ' ‘
I " In your velveteen, Lionel ?" . « r t

" Why not i” he asked, laughing, "You say We be.
coming and artistic, and I know it’s comfortable. A.
dresseoat means so much more than we are going to
give them that you must let me wear this.”

So she said nothing more against it; and when they
went down Mrs. Sutton said to Mr. Eldale. who arrived
just at the moment, that she was sorry to see her
brother had grown so negligent about conventionall-
tiee; “he used not to hes-4 comes from his having
married a thorough Bohemian. ' I

The whole party had assembled now, and still there
were no signs 0 the approach of dinner. Blanche’s.
heart began to go down: 1: seemed impossible to Watt:
‘rtl ' _.
create a diVersion. and Partly in pursuance , her
of beinfiperfectly open with regard to her relations with!
Frank athurst. she asked "if she had to than): him
for the lovely flowers?" adding quickly, that "' it was
so kind and thoughtful to send themmjnst what she
expected of him.” , . ' I

“Then I’m sorry to disappoint your expectations-
Blanche," he said. “ I never thought of them; I know
nothing about them." _ " ‘ , ,

" Who could it be ?” she asked, wonderln ly looking
,tound the little circle; and Mrs. Button rep led:

“ Some other thoughtful and considerate friend. How
nice it must be for you. Id’onel, to have a wife whole
80 Warmly re ardedl What lovely flowers you got i"

“ Perhaps t’s some herowarshi ," Mr. Elders
suggestedm“ some one who has your last work,
and dare 0111' to lay floral oderin at your shrine.

"Accept r. issue's reading 0 the mystery, Blanche.
You will find compensation in it for your last bad re—
view. ‘It‘mnst be delightful, to be an authoressL" ‘

- Minn spoke very slowly. but the dialect tones did.

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

29’

 

 

 

_ not conceal the latent sneer; and as Blanche crimsoned

under tne blow, Edgar Talbot said, quietly :

“ Do not you be fired by the spirit of emulation,
Marian. If you wrote from experience you would give
us such hideous pictures of society that we should
not like to show in it again.”

" Mrs. Sutton would act the part of censor, then,”
Mr. Elma said. He was the only one who was outside
the pale of relationship. It was not pleasant to him,
therefore, to hear the hard fraternal truths which were
being told.

" Marian, whipping the faults and follies of the age,
wouldbe an improving spectacle,” Ed ar said, laughing.

“ A panoramic view is not the best} allow. One who
who had mingled in those follies would whip them bet-
ter than Mrs. Sutton,” Mr. Eldale said, eagerly. " Do
you remember what the stinging little poet wrote:

“ ‘ I know the thing that’s most uncommon
(Envy, be silent, and attend);
I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.‘
" ‘ Has she no faults, then?’ Envy says, Sir.
‘ Yes, she has one, I must aver : .
When all the world cons ires to praise her,
The woman’s deaf, an does not hear.’ ”

“Your long quotation goes to prove that Pope had
not Marian in his mind’s eye when he wrote those
lines.” Edgar said; and Marian put in:

“ If I were not so stupid I would say something neat
about Edgm being so opigrammatic ; but he might
take me to task as to the exact meaning of the word,
and that would be fatal.”

Just as she said that the tardy dinner came, and poor
Blanche partially recovered her spirits as she sat down
to the table that seemed to be lacking in nothing by
reason of the multitude of flowers that were upon it.

To narrate each little drawback to the perfect serving
and ordering of this well-intentionod banquet would be
to descend to dreary, dull details. Accordingly, though
dreary. dull details make up a large portion of the sum.
of life for most, they shall not be dwelt upon here. It
is enought to say that the dinner was not what it would
have been had a French chef cooked sndan attentive
tootman served it, and‘that the shadow of each short-
coming was mirrored in Blanche's face.

“ The has not been worth the candle," she

thought. as she led the way up stairs to her own writing; ,

room after dinner. " Marian despises it all 1; Edgar
cool to me and to his brother ; an Trlxy is put out by
the lover mystery. Why should she suspect Frank of
meiotic trig such small deception, and why should she
mind it he had sent them to me ? people are very
funny.” As she thought this she tried to .arrangerthrec
rather dissatisfied women in a small room containing
one euynuair, and the attempt was a failure.

"Thanks ; it’s hardly worth while my sitting down,"
Marian said, with ill-concealed rudeness ; “ we are so
far from home that .we must start soon.”

“ Don’t you dislike having nothing but a blank wall
to look at when you're writing, Mrs. Talbot ?" Ellen
Bowdcn asked, patronizingly.

"I don’t think the view of the blank wall the love-
liest in the world," Blanche said, good temperedly,
“ but when I am writing I have no time ,to look up.”

“You haven’t much time for anything but writing,
have you ?” Mrs. Button asked, turning her head round

' over. her shoulder to look at Blanche, with anair of

constraining herself to take an interest in her hostess
that was scarcely concealed.
,"No’; very little time for anything but writing.”
"Rather a bad thing for a. married woman,” Mrs.
Sutton said, considerately; “ if you can't look after
things yourself, with. Lionel’s means, you will soon
and yourself in an awkward position.” ‘
‘ “I hepe not," replied Blanche; “I hope not, for his

' sake much more than my own ;” and she did not add

that she Was Wearing out her youth and strength in
trying to add to his means, as it was her pleasure and
duty to do. , ,

",WellJ' Marian said, "I have pointed out one ele-
ment of success that is lacking in your books; if you
takeruy advice you Would be read by peeple who
would, not have your novels in their houses now. I
oftenrecommend your works-but it’s no use."

Blanche’boWed her head slightly in acknowledgment
'of the~insolence, for it was nothing less. How dared
this woman come to her house and insult her in this

' say}, It had indeed come to a. strange pass when

Blanche had to stand by and listen to Mrs. Mark Sut-

‘ ton’s statement of how she had recommended Blanche’s

books, and heard them rejected, in silence.

Thingswere a little better when they all went back
to the alcove that was her drawing-room ; for by that
time the men had warmed toward each other-Land
there was only abouts uarter organ hour longer of
each other’s society to e endured. Then at length
Edgar spoke to her, . ' ._ , ~ g

‘ I have been fortunate since I saw you, Blanche.” he

said; “ my dream of regaining all that I have lost is.

over' but I do look forward to bein regarded as some-
thing better than the black sheep o the family sgainJ'
“I am very glad to hear you, have been ortunate
again—I won’t call it being ‘fortunate’ onl ——to"hear
you, have been better rewarded for our exo ans.
"can you guesé what has been t s first entravagance
I have indulng in sincemy return of luck?
She shook or head, and he turned round and took

' ape group’pt that-crest flowers which had been sent

‘ 3‘“! sin  you liked them." he 881-5- "1 “M1 “m

  
 

  .1 war nowtoadd'to the hap-
  onel snd'youbetter than
frantr'ssnossru .  .

7m  lea arousal-inn ' m druid: been .5...
in these pawl: it would be scarcelyfair to inflict anoth-

 

er upon the reader, It is enough to say that Frank
Bathurst and Beatrix were married—married under very
difierent circumstances to those which attended the
ceremony that made Lionel and Blanche man and wife;
married, in spite of all Trixy’s doubts and fears as to
his love for her not being as powerful, perfect, and pure
as hers was for him; married, and so, according to the
ordinary routine of fiction, done for.

Their tour was a triumphant progress: a very difi‘er-
ent sort of afi'air to that quiet one which inaugurated
wedded life for Mr. and Mrs. Lionel. Mr. Bathurst
bore his wife to Rome, when she was made happy by
the sight of the studio he had worked in with Lionel;
when that close friendship with her brother had been
formed which had ended in this—this happiness which
she still regarded tremblingly, in terrible fear that
something would come to mar it. ‘

They were home again, back at beautiful, quiet Hal-
don, before the fear was realized. It waslate in April,
and in May they were going up to town for the season.
The little cloud came from an unsuspected quarter,
from Mrs. Mark} Sutton.

They were such early risers, and the post-ofice was
so far from them, that they had generally finished
breakfast and were walking about on the lawn between
the house and the lake before the bag was brought in.
At any rate they were doing so this day ; and when

Frank had taken out the contents of the bag they went so

down and sat under the tree under which Lionel and
Blanche had lounged with them long ago, and sorted
their several epistles, and began to read.

"A tolerable budget from Marian," Mr. Bathurst
said, tossing a thick letter into his wife’s lap ; “ she is
sending you all the fashions, I should think."

“ How dull she must be to send me such a long let-
ter 1” Beatrix said, laughing. Then she opened the en.
velope and began to read.

It wasa long letter, a very lon letter, and it need
not be transcribed here in full. 1; commenced by Mar-
ian’s telling Beatrix how grieved she was to on
human being, much more “ one whom she h always
regardedas aslster." Mrs. Sutton was not above the
vulgarity of dashingords on which she desired par-
ticular stress to laid. Those that stand in
inverted commas were triply underlined. Then she
went on to say that Beatrix might have heard of old
Mr. Talbot's will ; she (Marian) would quote one son-
tence from it :

" To Marian Talbot, his eldest daughter, one thou-
sand pounds and her mother's jewels.”

M The jewels were not worth much, excepting as ar-
ticles ofcurioslty. They were too heavy in their bar-
baric massivenoss to be. agreeable to wear, but they
were very curious. The bracelets, for instance, were
some ofthem perfect little boxes. Marian had been
amusing herself by looking than over and trying to
find out secret springs in them lately, and she hadsuc-
ceeded, to her own sorrow (she begged Beatrix to re-
member always very much to her own sorrow), in
lighting on such a secret as would be a spring of grief
in the family. .

Poor Trixy had read as far as this, when her
husband finished his letters, and asked her “What on
earth Marian could have found to spin such 8. am
about ?” '" I don't know yet, Frank,” she rep led;
"sonic ‘ secret' she says, but I have not come to it

“ I'll just stroll round to the stables," he said, rising
up. " By the time I come back perhaps you will , have
come to it, dear.” Then he walked away leisurely, and
Trixy went on with her letter. ' _ ‘

Presently her hands fell into her lap, and she. threw
her head up as ifshe wanted fresh air, and to face the
Worst- There was a hot flush on her brow and checks,
and her eyes were flashing painfully. She had just
read this paragraph:

“ I am sure you will pity me for having been the
one to find it, but my conscience will not allow me to

conceal the truth from you now that I have discovered

it. Whether I consent to conceal it ' from your hus-
band Will be a matter for after~consideration. A, paper
that I found behind a spring in one of mamma 3 old
bracelets proves that you are not my father's daughter.
He knew it, and left you nothing, as you know. You
had better write to me on the subject and say what
you mean ,to do.”

What she meant to do! It was hard indeed to say
what she meant to dowwhat there was left for her to
do; Her first impulse was to tell this terrible thing
to ' her husband, and leave him to direct her.
Her next was to conceal it from him.
Frank thought so very much of pure descent
and no one would be wronged by the, concealment,
of the fact that she was basely born. Basely born l
the mere utterance of the phrase to herself nearly
crushed her to the earth. She could not tell Frank.
set would write at once to Marian, and beg her for the
sake of all good womanly feelin to keep this secret
which could harm no one, and w ich, if made known
to her (Trixy’s') husband, might estrau e him from her.
That was the rock on which she spli ; her horrible
dread that anything might occur to entangle: the man
she worshiped from her. The feeling, good , itself, -
came of undue weight, and swayed her out of
the right honest course.

She got u at last, pale enough now,
miserable. A housand doubts assailed her. She
married as “ Beatrix Talbot;" her marriage even might
be invalid, since ebb had no right to the name. What if
Frank should repudiate her for it! Men who had loved
their wives for more passionately than her passionate:
MW?” mudkvhgke I ambition al?ma-- 
 l .0?” v y; '3',

'1  so might feel about as new
Vinsan attrition?!“  
some gas  the loosed.  Thesswoulr one
thin for-karts do. south“ waitsthrows, hem , _ lfupon

ins

 

V V ‘  s I " ' 3'“ ,
Shggudderzd as she thought this, for she know what

've
hsdbecn'mfi

hank  let] u roomy sister}! lotto

Marian’s tender mercies were likely to be were they
very much needed. Still Marian could gain nothing by
giving the secret forth, and she mi ht gain something

y keeping it. Then herispirit revo ted at the notion.
of bribing any one, and she nearly decided upon taking
the only safe path and telling her husband the sad truth..
concerning which she was only unfortunate, not blame»
able. But again the dread of losing the smallest par»
ticle of his esteem and love, or of his pride in her, set.
in, and she felt that she dared not tell him.

How coldly Nature mocks such a social misery as
this on a fair spring day in a beautiful country! The
trees decked out in their earliest, loveliest reen; the,
lake, whose silvery shimmer was only br on by the
slow, majestic progress of the swans across it ; the.
white cloud-decked blue sky, the cooing wood-pigeon.
in the distance—none of these things were less lair or
sweet to her because she was baser born. Yet in the.
eyes of her kind, she would be a different being should
the truth get known. _ , -

But it should not get known. She quickened her
steps almost to a. run as she thought this. She would
write her letter to Marian at once, get it of! her-
mind, and then try to occupy herself with'something:
that should take her thoughts’ofi’ the subject till‘lu’n»
cheon, when she could meet Frank with an unnamed,
brow, with her plumage in such order as he loved to
e ; in fact, when she should be so perfectlgow and
bright that he should forget to question her a at that.

luckless letter of the morning.
She wondered if this thin would ever be other than.
a gnawing pain to her-12 s 9 should ever it",-‘ or-
w on.

come to think lifghtly of it, or cease to tron:
the possibility 0 its being made public  to
her. Her mother had been very cruel to leave this:
heritage of woe to her child, this luting’shma, this
woun for which there was no balm Sévgy moi; to
work such a change in any woman by her i  ~
Trixy saw ith surprise was wrought in herself asks
came into or room and faced herself in the glass. 
was looking so pale and hugged that she I I no
dread the 00k that would come upon her but 
face when he saw her. The tears would an her-eyes.
and break from them, and tears always left their mark.
upon her for hours. _ g ~

Her hand was shaking and her heart was strolling-
when she sat down to write to Marian. She undo her-
appesl very briefly. very strongly, veryesrnestly; Since
no one could lose by, the terri le truthgbeing withheld,
and she might lose fearfully by'its’ being vcn out, she:
implored that it might be withheld. as she wrote
she greweasier in mind, for she deemed that such an.
aptgheal tram woman to woman must tell. --

e letter was soon written, and then she arranged,

her hair n‘eshly, ’and reorganized some cfthose dolled r
details of dress which give a new look to a woman”
Then she took up some work and Went*'down'- to the:
library, where she generally sat with her husband be-
.fore luncheon, and found him turning over the super-i
and rather disgusted with her for having stsi away
from him so long. , «  

“What have you been about, child Wills asked, as
she came in. 3‘ I, went back to look ’for‘ you by the
lake, to bear the Contents of that wonderful letter, ands
you bedded." ‘ ' ' .  " 'T ‘ ~ ' r 3

“ And what did you do then 9” she said; " sat 
and smoked, Ibelieve." > , t

“ Well, I did smoke, and thought what a bore‘it‘m
that my wife was not thereto read‘the papersrts' ms:
what have you been about ", . . , __ ' “v3

' She held’ up‘her‘ hands, in'whic‘l: she held
shuttle and a commuted some fine cotton; to indicate
that she was “tatt'ing.”  ‘ - * l ' ’ '   
“What nonsensel what’s, the at it?”
contemptuously'. ' "    ’ .  I ' '
“ It trims things", she said. . , V , s i , 
' “I have had [letter omjLal today}? than:
said; “he is very hopefu about! his picturej-‘it’s‘sc-
oepted,and wall hung, and Blanche‘ has inducedlhi‘lfi t0~
put swinging long ‘price‘on'itfl- -   i ' ‘ -‘

" :lr-HQU

with a moderate price.” 7 . , , _

‘.‘ I advised» her to advise Lal to do it." ‘ f p,

“ Still I think it silly,” Trixy repeated} 'F‘r’lttsf‘sogos- -,
sential to their well-being that his pictures , I sell
at some price that I think it silly to be exomtait: his.
picture will be unsold at the end of the season-J’s -

' “ I tell you I. advised her to  him tape it“? Frank
said, uickly; “ I shall take care ' hat it does not keratin
finlsol‘uat the end of the season, for if no one else buys
m ., . _ , . , ,
. . " It's a pity you can't publish herbaokfii $00."? Trixy
said. quietly; “ what sums she d . . how
many editions you Would force than? into, and whet a.
success she would secure in the columns, of the dilly

“ She will have a better success than anygnercm We _

for her. Poor Blanche! I should like to see heron the
top of the tree. :00 you remember how Huntsman

 

‘ reset" , "

were married. bf ’ 11119 Madrid 1 f4 flows i
what does Willy you to-dayggfyé "» ‘3’  y’
n on, Mai-isms latter would not interest you,
“as, feeling dolefully the while what congenial

r rul interest this letter Would hate for him. .
«1139; your pardon; they (loin mo ‘ly:
the are per-toot Itudimraof can: tend; ' . I .
1mg upon :11 self as “handed-oi   innocent
amusement w on you won'tist  a let-

;u'N'ow'  .. _; gm v.4;
Frank ifyousaythsthggogmmtl

ter- mdn’vgnmd’tstofl“ iii: to '
3. ,0 H ’ u l - .,

 

to We -';b¢ddei.' may 
 - ’ with for other” "cast '

" That’s silly' of her; she should “have been  a

tried to crush her'when we all Killed. thererbedcro‘wo; L

1
l
l
2

i

 

 

 

 

  

"fir-3": ,
naiy,‘ ,

 

 

 

30

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

 

spoke to seem very much absorbed in her tatting.
Every one of the kindly sentences he had spoken had
gone straight to her heart, cutting and lacerating it
with the keen consciousness of the deception she was
practising upon him. She almost made up her mind
to tell him at once; but she hesitated; and then the
luncheon-bell rang, and the opportunity was lost.

When luncheon was over she could not bear to mar
the soft, smiling, quiet beauty of that spring afternoon
'by referring to a disagreeable topic; so she tried hard
to put the thought of that letter away from her own
mind even, and to thoroughly enjoy the glorious pres-
ent, when Frank said to her:

" Shall we go for a ride, Trixy? There are two or
three picturesque, little sequestered villages about
here that I should like to show you; they are as lovely
as anything I have seen in- Switzerland; will you
come 7"

“ I shall enjoy a ride; yes, Frank." ,

"‘ It will do you good, too; you’re looking pale.”

“ I'm always pale," she said, quickly.

" But you're awfully pale to-day; get ready, dear, and
we will start.” 7

They were soon as; she on a horse whose canter was

as the easy undulations of a rocking chair, and Frank-

on a good strong roadster, who was highly accomplished
:in the matter of opening gates. For a time their
' course is alonghthe high-road, but at last they turned
out ofi on t e brow of a hill, and rode down a
steep narrow declivity, where the hedges rose ‘so high
above them that not even the fresh April air could be
felt, and the stillness of the place was as the stillness
of death.

. 1"‘How completely out of the World. Ican hardly
imagine life and death going on here,” Beatrix ex-
claimed, when they came at last to a village—or, rather,
in sight of a couple of villages, for a narrow arm of a
tidalriverran up and divided the two sets of houses,
whiohbore respectively the names of Bosen and Cass.
A rustic bridge crossed the water at itsnarrowest art ;
and on this towns up their horses, to t e in
what Frank doc to be the best View of the valley.

Quiet, intense quiet, that was its prevallin charac-

teristic. The hills rose abruptly on either si e of the
' Valley, along the centre of which the river ran. For
somelittle distance u the base of the hills, small
houses crept and po themselves in perilous places
—-or, at leastin places that seemed erilous when looked
at from below. Bound most of hose cottages apple
orchards, in mu bloom now, were thickly clustered.
Down quite in the hollow, a couple of houses, of rather
more in} 113 aspect than the others, covered with
pale monthly roses, and backed b stacks and
1am \ uildings, gave out si s and soun s of agricul-
thral extinction, in the low 3 of cattle, the grunting
of pigs. and the nick sharp cackle of geese and hens.
.3 gar _ thebrl go, boats turned keel upwards, nets
 the sun, ands few pilohard kegs and crab
We lichen! the chief trade of the quiet little
' I ’ ' looked as Beatrix said, " no more than a
"  the coast.”

“ituoutof the world,"Frsnk said,,after apause.
“Incubus!!! , social laws obtaining here. or so-
cial obligations being regarded; yet, I can believe their
lire. are tar more pure and moral than those led in

we bgrime!

, " Yes, I do eve a country life is that,” Beatrix re-
m silently. Then she roused herself, as some little
9‘, children came out of a cottage near at hand, and

added: ,
“ he look, Frank, what wonderfully pretty children!
as that yellow~haired one, with those intensely blue

‘ ' \ down and held out a penny toward the

little one she indicated.

, " Come here little woman," he said, " the horse won’t

. Shut you.”

1110 child advanced with all the honest fearlessness of
his age (it was only about three years old), took the
. 3". up lied, to it that invariable childish test, its

' ’ e, on then made asudden, tumultuous, tumbling

' , rush at the horse’s leg, round which it clung con-
fidfily. ‘ ‘ 

“‘ on pretty tm, take care !" Trixy cried. "Take
it away,” the ad looking round at a bi ger child
- who lied kept its distance contemplatively. ut before

' she could be obeyed—before Funk could rescue it—all
in one moment. as it seemed. the im atient horse struck
out with its hoof, and thc'llttls c d lay senseless and
crushed on the ground.

‘ . Al ma as she could conquer the sickening sensation
which overwhelmw her for a moment or two, Beatrix
mug new her horse, and went up to take the child,

' was  in her husband’s arms. It felt limp
«Ind icy can when she touched it. and she asked, in a
m , tone, "Is it dead ?" ,

1 film! think not; but where can one get a doctor?
,qwhm’s‘ its mother? Some of you tell me where to
totem"? hooded... three or four of the idler: that

‘ ' f 1 from nowhere in an instant, oven in

r I " “ , mommundhim. ,

, In  mm of the county, which I cannot do
mucus is writing, he was directed to a little out
clunky:  he wended'his steps, his helpless
little burden still uiot as one dead in his arms. '

Beatrix '_ owed quoting. Ber great dread was
the child's back was broken; it hung about as if it

wire boneless. What should they say to its mother!
shetbought. Bowshould they ever make her under-
lie; itbsppsnod. and how blameless Frank had

:i  some-door" ’opmdat'tbdrknochandthsy

 ,fl sushi quiet scene. nelduly woman sat

.,   ;thohsartbwlstflmuidttd :1

= ~ figsgtho'window-smletths t in
._ "a .

 ' x

,,  Mandolinth

 , ultwubyexpossretsqun

 

 

tags to the cliflh, dear; the sea breeze wil brin back

 

and wind. She had the some wonderful blue eyes,
fringed on both lower and, upper lid with black lashes.
Her hair was auburn now,but yellow gleams through
it proved that it had been golden as the child’s. She
was very handsome, very composed, until she saw
what Frank carried ; then she started, dropped her
ironing-box and came hurriedly to them.

“ She has been knocked down by my horse," Frank
said, gently ; “ she came and clasped its leg, and before
I could save her, poor little darling, she was down.”

“ Thank you, sir,” the girl (she was scarcely more
than a girl) said, taking her child irom him.

“ We are so grieved,” Trixy said, softly. " You are its
mother ‘2” i -

“ Yes, I am its mother,” the girl said, blushing furi-
ously. Then, while Trixy was marking that there was
no wedding-ring on her finger, the elderly woman came
zip to them with acourtesy, and said, in a querulous

one :

" Yes, m’m, worse luck, for it's a chancechild. Don't
take on, Milly,” she added, almost roughly, as the girl
began to cry ; “better for it to die than live, poor fa—
therless thing 1 ” And the old woman looked for ap-
probation of her sentiments toward the beautiful rich
young lady who stood by.

For a moment Beatrix stood silent. Then, as the lit-
tle child opened its eyes, and smiled and stretched it-
self, and they knew it had only been stunned, she went
and knelt down by its mother’s lap, and kissed its little
white innocent brow, and nearlybroke her heart with
her strong fellow-feeling for it. What the old woman
had coarsely called the baby, she (Beatrix) knew herself
z{Elbe}. Was the fact to be thrust before her perpetu4

yi .

CHAPTER XXXIII.
nastmnon.
THE accident, which might' have been fatal to the

' child-,the dread she had labored under for a few mo:

merits of Frank being blamed for that accident—the re-
mark of the little girl’s grandmother—or something,
she could not quite decide what, preyed painfully on
Mrs. Bathurst's spirits as she rode home that day.

" It’s all right, my darling. What makes you so sad
new ?” Frank said, rather reproaohfully, coming close,
and laying his hand on the pommel; “I can’t bear to
see you looking so cut up." -

She tried hard to smile at him. She knew that this
gloom, which would assert its sway over her, was a
poor compliment to the man who had married her, and
was bright and happy in his love for her, and who was
kept in ignorance of the cause of such gloom. But
she could not help herself. The smile was a very poor
performance, and they both felt it to be so. A

“ My dear Trixy," he said, very seriously for Frank-
“ my dear Trixy, are you not well ?"

“ Yes, I am quite well, Frank," she said.

“ Then are you not happy '9" he asked, quickly.

“ Very happy with you, Frank; do believe that."

“ Then what are you not happy about? Trlxy, it's
no use. I seem to be very lit and careless and unob-
servsnt, andall that sort of 1: ing; but where I ’love I
am not these things, and I love you; tell me, darling;
I have a right to share your sorrow, if you have
one." » V

" I was a little shocked just now, that was all," she
said, falteringly; “ the poor little child looked so help-
less, and the mother seemed so hurt andgrieved about
it, and the grandmother seemed so hard and_callous ;
it upset me a little."

" Yes, the old woman had an eye to the main chance,”
he said, contemptuously; she thought to make an
appeal to the pity and the purse-strings of the young
married lady by being pitiless to that poor thing, her
daughter."

" And she only woke all my pity for the poor little
child,” Beatrix said, sadly—“ the poor little innocent
chug,1 who does not knowqet 'how much it is to be
plti .” "

“ They never do feel it much in that class," he said,
carelessly; " they have no traditions "—

“ Frank, don’t speak in that wa ," she said, implor-
ingly; “ I can't bear it—I can't, in end i”,

“ But, my dear child, simply they have not."

" They have the traditions of virtue and purity just
as much as wa~as antlepeeple have."

“ Yes, but they n't fall from such a height into
such an abyss of shame as we do if anything of the
sort befalls us,” he said, energetically; “it's a living
thing in our order, that family pride which we may
feel in looking back through generations and saying,
with truth, 310.15  the final: wtere br:ve, fid Ilnl as
women spo ass; ’5 a . ng . n r 9
land; a—«surely you agree with 111%“?

" I do: indeed I do.’ ,

" Why, on earth, then, do you look as though I were
sdvancin iri htmlly heterodox or startlingly-new
opinions ’ on. after a minute’8 901189. he' added,
" It's not worth our while to argue on the subject the
poorllttle child introduced, thou h. W us at darn

e co or
the flight banished. I willmske you d do on a subject
for me. I want to take a view on the coast, and you shall
tell me which to take. Glorious all this is to be sill-6.}.
This time of year down here is like a poem of East I

“ What will have happened to us. I wonder. before

‘ Autiimu bold,
With universal tinge ofsobef Midi

be all about us i" Trig-said, as they turned into a nar-

row lane, in which the my a tit of seemed to
hsnbsonsmbodisd. Though; of the high
hedges were y covered with and
th {is sung Lurlytgndl of 
" one, o o . , . ,
W '... ..,.. mt '

mm _ mm
mm. Eouoyasucklodnthiohlullolm

l .'

wreathed itself about the hedge-tops. The dark-green
leaves and purely-blue flowers of the periwinkle went
along in sinuous curves, and a few large-eyed dasies
starred the wayside garden, which no culture could
have improved. There were such depths of velvety
moss—such imperial clumps of golden form—such dark-
ly-shaded nooks, wherein water trickled and hardy
young creases grew in delicious profusion—such daz-
zling masses of red. gold king—cups—such long, feathery
grasses—such a wreath of verdure and color, in fact,
that onehgrew to fear that nature had been too prodigal
of hergiits in that lane, and that she must, of strong
necesSity, fall short of her favors as soon as she got out
of it. But (and here is the wonder)in this lavish west«
ern land nature enriches every spot alike. Even her
cliffs are covered with a daintily-colored carpeting of
moss and lichen. Her rocks have shades of red and pur-
ple over them; her sands glitter with crushed crystals;
her caves sparkle with stalactites. Her pastures and
commens are green with the greenness on which the
eye rests lingeringly, lovingly, to which it longs to re-
turn. Her moors are magnificent mosaics; “for thereon
red mosses and purple hether, yellow gorseand wild
white flowers, forget-me-nots and pimpemel, bluebells
and wild thyme are mingled by afaultless Artist's hand.
And her lofty hills draw the clouds, and her dense
woods shelter the land, so her beauty is— never jun.
burnt, but is always fresh as from a recent bath,

Mr. Bathurst's thoughts were. very ihr‘ from the
beauties of the land when they came out of the lane
and got upon a wide down, at the extreme end ,of
which the sea tumbled and reared over and amidst
rocks that were limpet and weed-covered- She had
worked herself up into such a miserable state of mind
that no external object could appeal to her. As she
dwelt more and more in bitter secrecy upon this deep.
terrible truth, which Marian had made known to her to-
day, she could not clear her brow and vs the smiles
that he sought to the husband Who h just asked for
her hearty coincidence in his belief that it was a living
thing in their order, the “pride in being able to look
back through generations and avow that all the men
were brave and all the women spotless.",

She was very miserable —pitiabl v miserableeand
there was no acting blood in oor y.’ She could
not seem to be more bright an ii t-heerted than she
really was, though she knew that or depresan would
give rise to suspicions which she could not satisfac-
torily allay ; moreover, she was one of those women on
whom mental suffering has a speedy physical ill
efi‘ect. Her side began to echo, and her head to feel
heavy, and s e could not at all enjoy the glorious burst
of seawiew w ich Frankhad told. himself “ must surely
rouse her.”

“ I don’t believe you care for the country a bit.
Trixy," he said, disappointedly, when they had stood
for about five minutes contemplating the surging
waves in silence. .

" What, Frank i-indeed I do i”

“Anfiway £011 don‘t care ior this. You look bored.
You w i be a icr when we at up to town, and you
can go out an pace about in t e Bow.“

etically; “ I do, Frank ; I like being here for better;

am he pier here.” ,

“ My our child, you'll give some of your old friends
rather a queer notion of your happiness if you look as
you do now when you go back to the world. I confess
I don’t understand women." Frank spoke as if he were
both hurt and offended.

“ But Frank," she began.

" Oh, don't trouble yourself to left anything that
you would rather leave unexplain , Beatrix,” be inter.
rupted, rather stiflly. ' i

" You don't understand me,” she said almost pita.
ously. And then she was going on to tell him that. as
far as he was concerned, she was very ha , and P“-
fectly well satisfied, and that he must not _ a she
was sad or regretful whenever a shade of thought crept
over her face. But he would scarcely listen to this.
beta nominally anxious to get “ along the coast.”
pad 11 reality being pained out of all power of listen-

ng.
" Frank," she said, when they had ridden Homo way
in silence, " be a little lenient to a woman's foolish
nervousness; I was very silly to Infill“ myself to be
ilpsct, gust I admit. You won't be gloomy to me any
on er "

" it to me that the charge of gloominess this day
applies 1" Mr. Bathurst replied. carelessly. “ I should
not have thought so if I ad been called upon to de-
cide ; however. it doesn‘t matter, gloom or sun-
shintefle we evidently are not always to have honeymoon
was r."

have .slwsys had it till today, Frank, and to-dsy the
gloom has come "—-

" Heaven knows how i" be interrupted; “I don't. 3*
least. I'm delighted to hear that it was a more 3
cloud ; sadness and darkness don't wi 11 me.
Dull looks irritate me, Trixy, If you have anything to
be dull about, tell me, and the more speaking of it will
exorcise the demon ; if you sit and breed over things,
and make yourself look old and ill, I shall be a
good deal more annoyed than you will care to annoy
me, I fancy."

“ I am not in the habit of brooding over t ."

" Yes. you ore. All women are. No, I don' think
Blanche would brood over anything. I believe she
would have it out and have done wit it, whatever the

consequences.” .
mx‘ hurt antobeatpeinfull atherth
spoke.’ IIt seem to her that run; must have j”

inkli of the truth, otherwise, why should .h.
on Misti” duty and proprie I of consuls in mm
so extol Blanche for u "in... which

 

sndtrnt
shehsduotbeonosllodu to i “an
jam,th couldho  

 

“ I wish we were not going to town," she said, ener- 

"Don't say that," she murmured, shin mm , Moe ,
of yearning, pleading affection at the songie time? “ we ,

,
a

 

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

31

 

 

'be lost,” silo repeated to herself ; “ he would never be
quite happy if he had the knowledge that his wife was
'basely born 5 and if he were unhapp about me, I
should never know a peaceful hour.” Then she fell to
thinking the subject over again in all its bearings, and
no amount of thought made it more manageable or less
terrible, while it did, on the other hand, make her dull.
sad, and silent again-

“ It’s rather unfortunate that We should be going to
spend this evening alone. Trixy,” Frank said, when
they were riding home. " A third person would have
proken this monotony, which is becoming oppressive

0 you.”

" Nowryou know I am never so happy as when I am
alone with you. Frank,” she said, looking at him with
tears in her eyes.

“ You are very good to say so,” he replied, laughing ;
" and as there is no one but Mrs. Lyon to be got to
relieve us of ourselves, I wish I could believe you.
It’s that letter from your sister, Mrs. Sutton, has done
it, I feel pretty sure. I suppose she has narrated one
of her creditable escapades to you, and you’re disgusted
01f ‘Wounded/ as women call it, at being connected
with her. Now have I not hit the right nail on the
_ head at last, Trixy ?"

“NO. indeed, no,” she said, wishing heartily the while
. that her connection with Marian had been a far better
authenticated thing than it was.

“ Then I give you up for this evening.” he said,

laughing. " and shall fall back upon my original idea
of. asking Mrs. Lyon to come and dine with us. She
will talk to me and smile at me. and you know how I
must be ed to and smiled at. Shall we stop in the
villa e an askher?"
‘ ‘f es," Trixy said, eagerly. She foresaw in Mrs.
Lyon's presence a guard against further questioning and
remark for that evening at least. Accordingly they stop-
ped It.Mrs.Lyon’s cottage and asked her if she would be
ready, as usual, if they sent down the carriage for her,
and she acquiesced in the arrangement, and so Trixy
had no great strain on her powers of concealment when
she met her husband at dinner. That is to say, there
was no positive and actual present strain on her powers
of concealment ; but, after all, it was but a brief
respite, and so widely diii‘erent in its resting power to
a total cessation of dread. By «ndby, in one of the
many lon hours her husband and she must of neces-
sity open with owl: other without the saving pres-
ence of a third person, his mind we d surely revert
to Marion's. letter and the way his Wife had received
it. Audition, when his mind did so revert to the dis-
turbing cause, in what way was she to set it at rest
again! now was she ever to satisfy and reassure the
man whom she had deceived. whom she had been com-
pelled against her better judgment to deceive, because
of the sins of others. -

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
1 row 1

Tu and of May saw the Bathursts settled in town for
them and (Mrs. Bathurst. at least) satiated with
society. The pretty, well-placed, newlywarried wo-
mm was horribly unhappy, and her unhappiness was
{Light to her husband, and the cause of it was a sealed

. Very much to the surprise of the two or three

who had known Butrixbest in her unmarried days, her
tastes and, foclin

in the matter of friends and so unint-

, 0 have undergone a complete 0 snge.

I an. shunned Blanche and sought Marian. and this was a
change that didnot commend tself to Frank Bathurst;
101' 11* “Pita at all the toleration shown and precautions
taken by Mark Sutton, hard thiiags were said of his
wits. The presence of Mien Bow on no longer ave a
coloring oft-osth to the intimacy with . El-
gone home sorely discomnted and

dale, for Ellen one one.

Ellen Bowden
very sad. For several months she had seen bright
$3°§§..“‘t‘ll°t“°‘.i“".“’“$i “‘1 “"“sMiES

pe’ oaweoa realit. he

been dazzled and delighted into calling 03' something
almost resembling affection for this pretty aunt,
who was to her the tan his representative of the
hbled world of fashion. 1: was hard on Ellen. there-
fore. to have that feelingldashed to pieces after months
of cultivation by the . scovery that she had-been a
cat s-paw in the fair hands of Mrs. Sutton. The dream
of We in. Eldale had been Bjoyous one. The
waking tot. know! 9 that she had been deceived
only by her own vsni y and Marion’s vicious deceit

the man himself had thought too little of her even to

17* to deceive her) was seruel one.

So she had gone home humbled and heart-strickenw
gone home to wake to other truths which were equally
hard and c . * The old love of her childhood, which
she 1nd sighted and scorned, and foolish] tested, had

0

snapped. She could have turned back to aim Wilmot Tri

now and have loved him a well as over. As well ? she

could have loved him better. tor she had learned to apo »

Freak“ on Of v 9mm”. from having
and that others lacked them. But it was too late.
He could not love her again; he could nottruse her
as; It ind beans tern lo wrench tonic nmvhen
o' first forced it from her; but though the snorting
' was not over now, the hand that hadwounded m

ation and his presents to herself; and aftera time her

vanity grew, and she became more reckless, even to the

filling of boasting of thesethings, and then people
6 t

" Whether there’s harm in it or not, they know best
themselves,” Frank Bathurst said, angrily, to Beatrix
one morning; “ all I know is, I won’t have my wife
mixed up with it. You shall not be driving about with
Mrs. Sutton in abonnet and burnous that Eldale has
given her."

“ What can I say to her when she asks me ?”

" Say what you like; the truth is the best. Say I
won’t let you. She’ll hardly urge you to dispute your
husband’s authority, I suppose. If she wants a reason
for my disliking it I will give it to her.”

“ Oh! pray don’t Frank," Trixy pleaded. She was in
thrall to Marian, she knew, although they had never
spoken of that secret which gave Marian the power.

“ Then you must keep clear of her."

"I can’t forbid my sister ,my house,” Trixy said.
proudly; “ if you like to do it you will, but I cannot.”

“ I don’t want you to forbid her your house; let her
come, but for Heaven’s sake let her come respectably,
and not bring that fellow Eldale. She goes to the
theater alone with him, and parades his devotion as
none but a mad or bad woman would ."

" Oh dear, I’m miserably placed,” Trixy said, sadly;
“ it will make a quarrel with Marian, but Iwill tell
her if you like.”

" Make a quarrel—who cares l" Frank replied. " For
my own part, I so thoroughly dislike and despise
Marian that I can't bear her to come in contact with
my wife. Make a quarrel-the sooner the better—with
such a cmhbination of deceit and frivolity as Mrs,
Sutton.”

" Then I am to tell her”-—Beatrix began, but Frank
interrupted her. v

‘: Tell her what you like, dear, only for my sake don't
beseen so much,with Marian. She tells her husband
she’s 'coming here’ or she’s ‘going out with Trixy,’
and he thinks it's all right, not supposing that Eldale
is at her side always.” 7

" I will try to see less of her,” Trixy said, quietly.

“ You don't mean to tell me that you approve of
Marion’s conduct ‘2" Frank asked, nickly.

She would tell the truth where s e dared.

“ No, I do not; no, certainly I do not," she said, em-
phaticall y.

" Then why aid and abet and encourage her? My

Trixy, you are inconsistent."

“ I dare say I am,” she replied: “ every one is more
orless inconsistent. apparently, to those who do not
understand or care." ‘

" When you tell me Idon’t understand you, you state
afoot; that is your own fault, notmine. When you
say I douft care for you, Trixy. you tell an untruth.
Marion's atmosphere has been more fatal to you than I
feared even.”

He left the room saying that, and Trixy was left to
chew the cud of most bitter meditation alone. Here
she was, through “ no fault of her own,” she told her-
self, “getting:l wrong with her husband in these early
months of t eir married life, which ought to have
been their happiest time.” Through no fault of
hers, and certainly through no fault of his, for Frank
had not spoken until he had received great provocation.
Mrs. Sutton was carrying on a flagrant flirtation with
Mr. Eldale—a flirtation that apparently justified the
hardest things that were said about her, and the things
said were very hard. It was no wonder that Frank
desired his wile to keep herself aloof from the contam-
ixgtlog there is in such an example as Mrs. Sutton
0 ere .

But how was she to keep herself aloof from it ?
Throu h the thin veil of cfl‘ection and sympathy for
her w ch Harlan draped herself in, Trlxy saw the
utter, calculating selfishness of the woman. It was
not love for her sister, and longing for wholesome fe-
male companionship which prompted Mrs. Button to
tease Mrs. Bathurst and display herself as much as
possible in Mrs. Bathurst’s society. It was simply

but she wanted the protection of Mrs. Bathurst’s
mantle of respectability to be shed over her. While
her husband confided in, and the Bothursts counten-
anced her, the world had no right and no reason to
talk, she said.

But this countenance and support from the Baths
ursts was to be withdrawn. and Trixy knew that Marian
would bitterly resent such withdrawal. What 1m her
resentment would take was a sad mystery still to Mrs.
Bathurst ; but that it would fall upon her heavily
she did not doubt for one moment.

Marian came to her as usual that day just after lunch-
eon—came withran earnest request that "Trixy would
help her with a little dificulty. Mark had wanted her
to go to Lionel’s house with him that evening. and
she had refused, pleadin I previous en agement with
xy. If Mark should c 06 to ask xy about it at
any time, would she be careful i" y
“ Yes, I will be carotid, Marian," Trixy replied; “ that
is, I will not say you had no engagement with me. I
can’t tell a story for you; besides, why won’t you so to
Lionel and Blanche? ’ .. . M

" Because I hate Blanche for one reason,” Marlon
burst out, vehemently; “and because I have some~
thing better to do {or another. You are scrupulous

powerless to heal. John Wilmot had buriedhisdssd. enough about deceiving my husband-410' about do-
nd could be friendly with her. but his 10" Will. gone calving your own 1”  .
, , her and the solo oomlortshe hadvrsstu the as. “A: 31;, “to, my deception toward Frank is not
section 1 ' another means that it would never center on practiced to his t in any way; it is hem I re-
finished”. Theirs had been a brief romanoogabut, m. 1mg. am his MW .9 m a“ x
'M'  , the blight did not come to than. _ ,3 mt. . ‘ J H
m.mlit to the great majority alike-011W ~. “And." I keep minaret the same rm.”,m
M  worsen who live and die alone md constantly laughed. “ lurk would not be  any  ‘38
 dew: lo tune in the as mm 1  he??? i ' '
-, r  ’u m ‘ Focus ['0 a  a
w ‘ . '  masons». arm-muons to on   amt. .wsam

mt .. at”!!! , 1' , todalccbim to
 armadmtmamwna

 

dos-lost: 4‘er horde nit-microcosm”
be  it cantaloupe!»

 

ful to me to wound his line sensibilities now than it
would have been some time since; for he has been
cool to me lately. I: he is asjust, and kind, and lovi
as you declare him to be, he will not blame you."

“ He will now," Trixy said, in a dejected tone. “ Oh,
Marian, how could I have been such a fool as to have
trusted to your generosity? How can you take pleas-
ure in the prospect of making us miserable ?”

“ I don't——lt’s the principle of self-preservation at
work within me,” Marian replied, carelessly. “ Besides,
I like to see romantic sentimental boasts proved the
windy things they are. You wearied me with your
vaunts of Frank’s disinterested afl‘ection; his love is
hardly worth the name you give it, if it failsyou for
such a trifle."

“ I have made it worse than it was at first—I won’t
sufler it to grow weightier by concealment any longer,”
Trixy said, suddenly. “I will tell him myself." ’

Mrs. Sutton got up from her chair, and went nearer
a]: bier sister, holding down her face to kiss Trixy‘s
c cc '. '

“ Don't be rash because I was cross and unkind for a
minute,” she said, in her sweetest, softest tones;
“ don’t you, poor reckless child ; don’t risk your life’s
happiness in that way; you would break your heart
if Frank grew cold to you; and" (she continued with
cancer) “if you wound his pride he will grow cold to
you, for your husband is no hero, Trixy-Lbeliove me."

“ I had better risk my happiness myself than let you
wreck it.” ’ r

“ But I will keep your secret still," Marian said,
contemptuously. " You will not speak a word to help
me, but I will hold my tongue to aid you." ,

“But, Marian, you do not want my help for any
good," Trixy said, earnestly. “ Frank was saying to-day
that—the "—-——- r ’ ' ‘

“ That what ?" Marian asked, sharply. . , * I ~

“ That people are talking about your flirtation with
Mr. Eldale.“ ,

‘f Blanche has been at him," Mrs. Sutton slid, wifli
her face burning with blushes. “ Blanche and Lionel
believe the worst of me, and they will make Edgar and
Frank do the some.”

" We rarely see Blanche and Lionel ; they work hard
and we are idlers ; our hours don’t 9. ." ‘
a “You may not see Blanche very often—but Frank

oes." ' ' -

“ Marian l"

“ Curb your indignation: he does, _I tell you ; he
want: there yesterday morning, for Mark happened to
c -!l - E '

" And why should he not be there 9" asked. 1151.
patiently. " My own brother-surely my hum may
go to see him 1"

" And his old love, your brother’s wile ; ‘ those who
live in “glass houses,’ you remember ? Frank had better.
not m c any more remarks about Arthur flue and
me. We are coming to luncheon with you t marrow."

" Indeed you must not, Marian; indeed it is not right;
while such reports are circulated I will not receive Kr.
Eldale and you alone." ' r

Marian laughed. I

“ How grateful you are to me for respecting your
secrets—it’s not much I ask you in return." ‘

“ It is too much. Marian; you know it is too much;
it quldhb: is bad return indeed if I encouraged you."

"‘ n w a " .

" In your mad course: where can it and? day“ ever
ask yourself t question i do you ever tell yourself
that there is sh
you try to make at man love you ‘2"

“ Try! I have not to try very much.”

agnd you can boast of it! Oh! Marlon, 
en .. 

“ Perhaps—well-—better than you think,”
plied, in confusion. " At any rate, on ,
you won’t improve the case by thwarting me and
throwing obstacles in our path ; let us be friends,
Tiny,” she added, suddenly holding out her hand;
" help me and I’ll help you.”

“ I cannot enter into such a comgct ; you crammed
by a wild, wicked hope—do it. Marion. ‘ Bet
you ’ in such a matter—how can you ask me to do it ’

She put her hands pleadingl and lovin ly on In.
Sutton's shoulders. " Give up t man on his flatter-
ies,” she whispenad; “save yourself—let me help you
to do that 1”.

But Mrs. Sutton put the hands and the piss aids.
and went away in anger, leaving Trixy feeling W 391‘-
rowi'ul and uncertain about many things. _

It was true, as she had said, first they at very little
of Idonei and Blanche. London distances are great ob-
stacles to intercourse between people whose ways of
life ditl'er as widely as did those at the Bothursts’ and

a.

,1‘0'
that

and wickedness in the way in which.

a, .

Lionel Talbot’s. These latter had but little time for I

other recreation than each other’lsodoty in their in-
tervals of work. ‘ It was a weal-in business for them to
get from their inaccessible sub, to Iii-ant Bathnrst's
house in Belgium; and wheatth did get there the
reliability was that my was out, and nothing wu
oft for them to do but to ' t home again b tiresome
bewildering line of on: use: which he; brought
them. untrue thottbeywentto-diunerpsrties sud
dances at the Bothnrstl’. but then Trixy was “innocen-
lble techs individual as their suburb. Orton, too. ‘ ‘
Bother-st and her husband would decorative“ to
national and Bimbo; but the former would toxin
theatudloondthelstterwrltingintboroomobove
him. and the visitors could not Isl the
ideothst theyme inter-m on that:

5‘

hostess «Exponential: of em. Altogether flue r

3m "ding-outlive subject, whichmmcie worded»
we ' poor. audio

 

 

 

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» a

in her husbandjs breast. There was a sting

'I,_'this;——as she r
’ truth home to her hear that “being married " did

 It  y
incognito favorites
 favorite, and! am not going to sacrifice myself

' 32

PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.

 

u—w-

  that the less we are disturbed the bet-

“ But I don’t like the idea of your not coming to us

is deal,” said. -
‘ And I should 8 the idea of coming often im-
mensel , if it didn’t involve so much trouble; if,
when get up with my brain aching and my imagi-
nation worn out I could refresh both by getting on
horseback, or into a comfortable carri , I should
seek aged with delight, Trix-y; but I can 1; do that; I
have walk out and find an omnibus, and then get in
with all sorts of unpleasant peogle, 've often, and
travel alon in a state I hate; y the ime I reach
your house ’m worn out and not ood company for
you. Now isn’t it better 1 shout sta at homeend
make myself memble to my husban l"

“ Well, cert y it is,” Trlxy said: “ but I shall be
lve’i'y glad when you are not poor and busy any
on or.

“ we,” Blanche said, laughing} “mean-
time we won’t misunderstand each other.

This conversation had taken place some time be.
fore that one which has been recorded between

‘ Beatrix and Marlon on the subject of Mr. Eldale. It

did, therefore, am very strange to the con
wife that her h (1 should have seen the one
without mentioning the fact to her. She
brooded over the strangeness of it m solitude for a
time after Marian left her, and at last she

her can-lg with the determination of
in: tome ’would tell her of Frank’s vigi‘t:
' . altogether o 11.
Before she left thghouso Frank came and spoke to

 has been here, I find,” he sai standln
holding the door of Trixy’s dressing-toga: in hig

“ Y she has," T said, hesitatingly.

“33's you w to tell me?" he questioned,

ly, Bea rix thought.

‘“ g g ‘ ," smiled, coldly; then she looked at

» ropes herself of the coldness, and

went over to h m and t her arms around his neck.
“ Frank I to herabout Mr. Eldale. I

. Y .——
hmfir, l (oar—at any rate I annoyed her."
on

made her understand that you would not
lend yourself to that unhealthiness? for it is moral
unhealthiness; you made her clearly understand

“ I did—and she was very much annoyed.” _
“Andisthatall on have to tell me, Trlxy?" he
laid, holding her a and looking at her very fondly
 fixedly. .
"“. I do you ask?" she said nervously. .
‘n‘aWhy do I, indeediaogg Is)ai ,d moving his hands,
V  awe . “ 2 , . ear— ou’re goi
' I see. ‘ worst question ygu again; . as
I i the door as he said that, and she stood

_ . V . a minute wonderin , and fee a little ,
had he gal “"3

d that he “would not

11 her if?" Had he a doubt—a suspicion?

3&1! he had. y whom had they been implanted? “
‘ , e turned

back to her glass and finished her

dream fee in a f ——feelin how futile that
waé—nowleebiex an for allgthe futility and

nice ' e'ss of it, how much the reverse of womanly

ltw‘as! {Futile and feeble! does not every woman

, feeling her wrath , to be such, at some time or other

her life, echo the Egyptian

ueen’s cravi
'masouline stature: " adl “g

E inches, thou

' ,shouldest know there wasa heart , g pti", ‘

., Some one had‘ implanted adoubt an sens lolllon
0 er
inthat; Visit there‘was a sharper sting in the dread
she had that. Blaficllge had done iii—Blanche, that
cousin'whom her , band h
whom he called in secret now! She coul not ut
on he: bonnet to lease herself as she thought 0 all
eagzedr her helplessness and took this

not mean independent 1: ss 1) an means. ‘ ,
Blanche was at home when rs. athurst inquired;
‘ was “very bus ,” she said, asshe came

‘ ut Blanche
forward into the room and old out her face to kiss

w—‘f very bus finishing a little ‘ star

‘ .17  , , f V
~ that I'haVebeen asked to wr to for a. new magazine, ,’

she continued, in: tion; “and I dare not be
. , copy, on see,_Trixy- they could do with-
out me very we and theywou diet me feelthat fact
if, I werenot prempt in an plying their demand.” ‘
“ You never have time or morning visitors, have
you?" Trixy replied. . A
“No, cover. I really never have time to spare to

on sacrifice yourself sometimes to special
' .1 You’re a special friend

to. mthismorning for instance. I am to
wtgtgeo’ mil: to Lionel,- and to excusegomgme;
3 “Amaziamnonw Mrs. Bathurst muttered to
herself," Mrs. Lionel Talbot ushered her up to
newsman; “ thoflrst writers of the daywould

not we . as such airs about a little
a... 8t... § a...” Am...” A.
«cums, shot that thenrst writers of the

doycan  reduction where and when
Wyvm;tho€ewhose feet are stillontthe
roundotaths

ad loved once and on»

'ht I be loved by thee like these of yore. .
ght feet, dark-violet eyes, and parted hair,
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and heaving

breast, .
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest,
Till the fond fixed eyes forget they stare.”

It was a lovely realization of Keats’s glorious ideal,
and Tri felt more kindly toward Blanche as she
stood az ng on these pictured charms.

“I elieve you do des erately adore Blanche,
Lionel,” she said, after 100 at it for a few mo-

ments.

“ I should rather think I do,” he replied; “ Blanche
can make any one adore her.” .

“Blanche might be contented with your admira-
tion, now, I should think,” his sister said, qiuckly.
Then the strong need that she felt for help and -

ath overcame all her little, unworthy 3 cos

rea and she exclaimed: “Tell me, Lal, was
Frank ere yesterday?”

“ Yes,” Lionel said, gravel , “he was here, Trixy.
You are not unhappier for havin been here, and
for what Blanche told him, are on? ’

“ What Blanche told himi—w t do you mean?”
Mrs. Bathurst asked, nervou . “ Eve body seems
to have somethi to tell my usband. rst Marian

tens me, an now Blanche—” .

“Has rendered Marian’s threat of no avail, hap-

pily,” Mrs. Lionel Talbot interrupted, coming into
be room, followed by Frank Bathurst; and then
thiere was a little scene of explanation and reconcili-
a on.

It op red that'Marlan’s secret res ting her
sister‘s irth had become known tOMark utton also,
and he had confided it to Blanche. The latter, for
all her own press of work and “ busy "-ness general-
ly, had found time to see and regret that constant
companionship betw6en Mrs. Sutton and Mrs. Bath-
nrst which was so offensive to Frank. Blanche un-
derstood her two sisters-in-law, and, understanding
them, she felt seemed that there was some other
cause than congeniality at the bottom of the inti-
macy that was working ill for Trixy. some
talk with Frank during which Trixy’s uneasiness
on the receipt of n s letter was mentioned, Mrs.
Lionel Talbot came to the conclusion that Mrs. Sut-
ton was exerting undue influence over her sister.
Then Mark Sutton, rememberin hls old misc of
being “ her friend," should the c nos 0 being one
to her ever beoflered to him,oame and gave counsel
to Blanche on the subject. “Poor Trixy has been
weak,” he said “but she will never be happy till
Frank knows all she does about herself. You see I

speak to Frank myself without blaming
Marian andnoman shall ever hear me blame my
wife, Mrs. Talbot: but he ought to know it; indeed
he ought; no good comes of a woman deceiving her
husband in ever so small a thing.“ v

“ What would youvhave' me do? I might be blamed
for interfering.” , . ~

“Risk that blame. You’re a brave-woman, and
this stake of .Beatrlx‘s neglects: is worth playing
boldly for; Don’t blame: rian to-Bathm'st more
than on can help-will‘-you?” he added, wistfully.

“ o, I will not,” Blanche had said, with tears in
,her eyes: “and we will set Trix . straight with
Frank, and he shall feel that your share in it coun-
terbalances an’s evil counsel.” » 1

“Thank you,” Mark Sutton said. I can’t bear
anyone to think hardly of Maria-n though she
doesn’t care much for what I zfeei,” she. ad ,
attempting to smile, and; breakingdown in the

attem t. .

'So Blanche had writtsnto Fra and Frank had
°°m° flout. “list “limit” ° if” 13”"?
3110 _ , y or es eso ’s ppi~‘
nesslltgf hadptofilbglm the secret whichh been so
terrible to Beatrix. And he, quite satisfied with
the strength and purit of thaBathurst family-tree,
root and branch, had

Button. the better however hard. my decision
Inayseem to dear old Lark,”
s on. i I 4 ' . A

rincipal members of the family, whose fortunes I
ave traced through a period of adversity. After a
while prosperity dawned on them again, for Ed ar,
thoug he did not make a fortune, made enoug to
repay Lionel the mono he had lost for himnand so
'the a ame sooner t n Blanche had anticipated
see e on s an soc 0 ms.
th ir d d fulfill ial lai

marred in a measure by a step

 was
which .Button took. She sloped with Mr. Eldale,
and explained her reasons for doing so in a cleverly:
wo _ _ letter of attain vindication to Beatrix.
“ My' iratiohs Were d‘ by my family when I

, m 1,”. she Eirote‘ “Iwasigroediinlto $113,001):
e marriage- ‘s realize emw en
reedom We divorce; then Arthur Bugle 
marrym‘e at'oncei” A ‘ ‘
of who t doctorsicaiied “heart com lalnt ” before
:33“ Ygrcltehcoulde, mtlzeprocurod. Butt his‘h stakeS’
skilfully \ sheyl a Directly
s i . tobe interestinfto
. ,. , imitiil‘ffifiifiii’iil
‘bocharmingggeforehemet with Mrs.
mam “so wicked ”

     
  
 
  

 

go  " ’mm

 

km
from ' : ,
   find vii”, an

.m” ' “may

 

declinedito, be shocked,,.or ‘
so , or shamedb the announcement of his wife‘s :
nigh to mohair-sin ster. “ But the lessTrixy sees of ' -

he «said, inr-conclu-r ?
So peace-perfect'peace—was restored to the I

s 0
when the were neither “ too busy nor too poor” to _

.She regained ,hor freedom, for Mark Sutton died .

wid whad la edwnh'wickea'
outfitters.y .Shebe.‘

‘Waverley Library." T i

I THE MAstD BRIDE. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell-
2 WAS IT Lovn? By Wm. Mason Turner. ;
3 THE GIRL WIFE. Bartley T. Campbell. i
4 A BRAVE HEART. Arabella Southworth. Ii
5 BEssIE BAYNOE, m on Gun... Wm. M. Turner
6 THE SECRET MARRIAGE. B SararClaxton.
7 A DAUGHTER or EVE. B rs. Mary Reed Crowell.
8 HEART TO HEART. By 'bella Southworth.
9 ALONE IN THE WORLD. BBy Author of “ Clifton.”
10 A Plus or GRAY Ems. y Rose Kenned .
11 ENTANGLED. By Henrietta Thackeray.
12 HIS LAWFUL WIFE. Mrs. An S. Stephens.
13 MADCAP, THE errLE AKERESS. B Cushman.
14 WHY I MARRIED Hm. By Sara on. I
15 A FAm FACE. By Bartley T. Cam bell.
16 TRUST HER Nor. By Margaret Le caster.
17 ALOYAL LOVER. By Arabella Southworth.
18 HIS IDOL. B Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.
19 THE BROKEN ETEOTHAL. By Mary Grace Halpine..
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21 Now AND Foams. By Henrietta Thackeray.
22 THE BRIDE or AN Aaron. By Author of “Clifton.”
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24 HER FACE WAs ER. FORTUNE By Eleanor Blaine. 7
2a: a,er A Scnololmisrasgs. CglralbglauSouthwox-th.
rrnon'r A EAn'r. y . u ssIngnham.
27 WAs SEE A C ? By Henrietta Thackeray..
28 Sum. Cams. 3 Mrs. Ann S. Ste hens.
g A

 

FOE Han DEAE EE. BySara axton.

THE BOUQUET GIEL. B Agile Penne.
31 A MAD MAEEIAGE. B A. Dennison.
82 anmu. m Paw NE . BEA. Southworth.i
88 THE Tm: SISTERS. By Alice eming. . :
84 A MAEEIAGE orCosmmcE. BySara
35 SmurnAoArEsr. ByClaraAugusta.  ., _ v:
86‘ 8m Anna’s Barns. Arabella worth...» ‘ .
8‘7 TEE Comma! Comm. Rose a' ' .

no .

Southworth.

43 TEE BAEoum’s SEoEEr. 'By

44 THE ONLY DAuoanE. By Alice Fleming.
45 ‘HER HIDDE FOE. By Arabella Southworth.
46 TEE errm EEss. Mrs. M. A. Denison.

47 BEOAUBE SHE LOVED Hm. B Alice Fleming.

48 In Srmn or Kansans. By S. Sherwood. v
49 Hrs HEAn'r’s Mismss. Bfirabella Southworth.,
BOTEEOUEANHEmEss. By s. A.Denison.;
51 Two YOUNG Grate. By Alice Fle .- , , -
52 THE WINGED MassEEoEE. By Mrs- Crowell.;

53 AGNES HOPE, THE Acmsss. Wm. .Turner.
54 ONE Wom’s BEAM. Geo e S. Kaime.
55 SEE DID NOT LovE Has. A. uthworth.

56 LOVE-MAD 'By

. William Mason Turner, M. D.
57 A BEAVE Gran.

B :Alice Fleming.

58 TKE‘EBO‘N MAsx. y Mrs. .Reed Croweih
_59_ Wmow’s Wines. fly Rachel rnhardt.
60 ’s DEOErr. By rs. Jennie Davis Bu

.81 A WICKED HEART. B Sara Claxton. r g .
62 THE MANIAO BRIDE. §MargaretBlo it .
63 THE Canons SIs'rEns. yMrs,‘ ,a 7.Porter_ »
.64 WHAT JEALDUSY DID. I By Alice . , _
.65 TnEWirE73 Snow. B 001. (WAD . w . . .
_66 A BEOrrEEE’s Sm. By chel Bernhardt. ' ', g .
‘67 Fonsmnns Bus. By Arabella Southworth. ,, 1
68 .WEAans AND Wns'r. B MissM.Jll. Braddon. . ..
69 CAmLLE. By Alexanderfimmas.

70 THE Two 0

     
  

arms. B Din;an . - q in»;
“fidmhwa WW Belly You rlvife’snusbanm
T72 TaETwo WIDows. By Annie   V

01113.8.
73 Ram MICHEL. By Maude Hilton. ’
.74. EGIL CAsrLEEAINE’s GAGE. By 0
75‘ EEBLACE LADY or DUNA. B J‘.
,76 CnAano'rrE TEMPLE. By Mrs. ,  a
77 Cnmsmn OAKLEv‘s MISTAKE. By V
, .‘ John Ha ax, Gentleman”, f , .
78 Mr YOUNG ossAED. By Myself. ‘ V A
A 3mm: Anonosr WOMEN.‘ By the author of:
“ ora Thorns.“ ' V , 
Hm LORD m Mm; By Florence Marx-yet. 
8! Limit TEMPLE.
82 A Land 'rmn AGO. By Meta Orred. 
83 PLAYING’FOR'HIGH Suns. By Annie Thomas:
84 THE LAUREL Buss. By the author of‘“Jo :
' Halifax, Gentleman." * , -
85 LED Assam. By Octave Feuillet.
‘86‘JANET’s REPENTANCE. By George Eliot. I  I
87 Roman or A Poor. YOUNG MAN. By Feuillet;
‘88 A TERRIBLE DEED. By Emma Garrison Jone’eg-V. I
, A new issue every week. , . , ,, ,
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