CI Yr Complete in Vol: IL ni — ee Sowing the Wind. BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL. CHAPTER. I. THROUGH) THE DARK VALLEY. An» Indian-summer day was drawing near its close, and’ a cooler, more, westerly wind sprung up than had»been softly blowing all the: golden, hazy afternoon.»':The: sun was going dowh» royally behind , the: low» range ‘of! hills that shut)/in the horizon, and the calm: and Copyrighted 1877; by BEADLE AND ADAMS. BEADLE “AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, No. 98 Witiiam Street, New York. thought how good a) thing» it would be if: the! | train might ‘only go on forever: and’ forever;) | and she: with it: Hers was a face | that: impressed. one: at the: first. glance, it was so eloquent with a high order’ of intellectiuality; and’ so full of»silent, haughty suffering that lay like'a vail over the sweet, winsome beauty of the face that had | been her curse five years back. | » Her features! were ‘regular as those of a sta* tue; and, as she:sat. there in the weird light of the dull, flaming lamps that only made the | gloom of..the!ear more distinctly visible—one Za LI LL PRICE 10 CENTS. eee ee track of heartaches and bitter‘agonies anid des- perate resolve’ on that pure forehéadand. in the violet eyes, and/around the beautiful mouth that seemed made for nothing less sweet than a lover’s ‘kisses, She ‘sat there, never noting the stoppages ati the stations, nor the srapid thinning out of: her fellow-passengers} scarce choting the flight of time, or the many; many miles: traveled;: only’ praying, in awild tumult: of despair and an- | guish, that she might goon, ahywhere, ‘for? | ever, if by going ‘shes might “fly from the life | behind: her, the life she-had endured ‘since ‘the peace that come with autumn sunsets as they) | could see ‘she was) as: pale, and apparently» as; day her.beauty’ had been her curse, five years MT KK / F | \) 5 )) CARI THEN HE BOWED HIS HEAD ON THE MARBLE MANTEL BENEATH THE FLOWER- WREATHED PORTRAIT.—Page .19, come. at. no other, time .of, the. year, ;seemed brooding. like..a silent. blessing. over the fair country landscape that, had not entirely doffed its living greenness, although .it had. liberally donned the gorgeous autumn tints. The express dashed, on, through short tun- nels, over frightful trestles, past..smiling mea- dowlands, under hanging hillsides, dashed and swung along through the slowly-coming.twi- light, jike some terrified. thing, sensate and con- scious of hot,..wrathful pursuit; and Rose St. Felix, sitting at one of the open windows, passionless..as a statue. She sat there, only moving as the swaying of the train. moved.her, her. exquisite, well-bred hands,. gloved in silver gray kid, lying lightly clasped, her dark eyes —splendid soulful eyes of a rare, intense shade of blue-violet—-gazing straight. out..into the blackness of, the night as though she were see- ing visions —visions that horrified her,.yet en- chained her gaze with steady fascination. Her waving purple-black. hair was pushed back from her forehead—low, broad, fair, as a woman’s should be, but you could trace the ago, the life-from, whieh, like a bird-in,its cage, she had. struggled,‘and_ bruised , her,.wings .to free herself, only, to ingloriously fail—until to- day; until to-day when she had)necklessly taken, her fate in, her desperate hands,.and fled, she knew. not—cared not where.: ont In her pocket: was a telegram, dated, San, Francisco, that had comé to her. before,,her breakfast hour that morning; and thus it read: ‘HARE Sr, eee. ote p spaow spat a my w: " se (incest, ey SERS Danese lion, ¢ ERNEST. 2 THE FIRESIDE LIBRARY, It lay in her pocket—that mute, eloquent horror; and she had read it over and over again with wild, desperate eyes since the mo- ment she had first seen it, and then, flown from her untasted breakfast, up to her room, and hurriedly exchanged her demi-toilet for the traveling-dress of quiet gray serge, gathered her money in a crumpled heap and stuffed it in her pocket-book, and then rushed to the de- pot, and bought a ticket to the furthest point on the line, and then—sat down trembling and exhausted, to wait the few moments that seem- ed eternities for the train that was to take her as far from the home Ernest was coming to as she could be taken, She knew she need not have been in such desperate haste; she knew that Ernest could not have reached home within a number of days, and that she might as well and safely have waited to mature her plans—if there was such a condition as safety for the woman Ernest hated,and goaded as he did her. That telegram was so characteristic of the man—its imperial announcement of his return, his authoritative command as to what he ‘‘ex- pected,” and—sickening horror! the utter mer- cilessness of his gentlemanly threat. ‘* There would be no use to attempt,rebellion,” Rose Sti Felix knew it, from ‘her soul, knew it-with a faintness of repulsion and fear that théré was no use to rebel against: Ernest—that there was equally little use in; defying him and thwart- ing him/as she was doing by flying from. him; but she was making the attempt, and with wild, incoherent prayersin her heart that God would open a way of escape, Right into, her raging torment of thought there came adowly voice, close beside her, and even, amid,all, her misery Rose St... Felix thought what a beautiful face the girl had, and what winning, well-bred tones. ; “T beg your pardon, if I have annoyed you: but do you know if we have passed West- word? Iam astranger, or I would not have troubled you for information,” c Rose St, Felix listened with a sort of be- wildered consciousness to the girl’s gossipy little sentences—it was sucha break upon her thoughts; then she inclined her head in a sweet, gracious courtesy, » “I am equally a stranger, or I would be glad to give you the desired information. I have not seen the name of ‘Westwood’ on the time-table,” - The young lady settled her gray traveling- dress with a pretty little gesture, “T presume it is not on the schedule, be- cause it is a private depot, and stops only on signal-at least that is what my cousins wrote me. I think I will ask the conductor when he comes through, that-is if he takes the trouble - to visit this car that has only you and Iremain ing in it,” She laughed, showing how really beautiful her fair, happy young face was; and Rose St. Felixfelt a thrill of almost envy that it was so, while she— . “The fact of your ticket not having been taken up is conclusive evidence that you have not passed Westwood, ‘Yes, we are alone in the car. I shall be quite lonely after you leave it entirely to me.” Somehow, the dainty-faced girl attracted her, and she discovered that it deadened her heart-ache to have some one to speak to for the first time that dreadful day. “Are you going through? Iam so glad I am not... Not that [ donot love traveling, but I am almost worn out with it, I only arrived in ‘America yesterday, and I came all the way from South America alone. “Wasn’t I brave?” She laughed again—such a sweet, girlish, fearless little laugh, and Rose St. Felix looked at her in amazement, “From South America alone? You surely are a traveler, and a courageous girl to at- tempt it.” aa little shadow fell on the bright, fair « Papa died in December, and‘ there was no , one belonging to the consulate who could come or who would come, for that matter. You may think it odd Iam not in mourning, but I promised papa I would not wear it. He was ill so long with the dreadful malarial fever that he thought I ought to rejoice at his release from suffering.” es Rose St. Felix felt her heart thrill at those last words. If only God had spared the father of this bright girl and released her! a were a little harsh as she an- sw : : t : ‘You should be glad if he bade you, But even if you grieved deeply, the edge would wear off at your age.” . The girl smiled—she was so joyous and care- “My age! Why, are you, too, going to take me for a baby? Every one does; and I am twenty-two—just eight years younger, to a day—the 8th of April—than my cousin is— Florian Ithamar—at Westwood, where I am going to stay a year or two, and I shall sur- prise. them all, for they do not expect me for two weeks yet.” ; Twenty-two! Rose St. Felix’s own age; and she thought, with a pang of almost rage, how much older she looked, and really was, than this lovely girl who was on her way to a home to which she evidently was delighted. to go},to a place not only of rest—and she so longed for rest’ herself—but of wealth and: luxury, doubtless, judging by the girl’s own appearance anditalk. She made an answer very quietly; “You are just my age. You see how trouble’ can age people. We are quite alike, externally, I think, Perhaps I am a little taller ‘and my eyes are darker. Otherwise, God grant you may never be like me!” . ; The girl’s sweet, soft eyes grew bright with woman’s ready sympathetic tears. 7 : “Oh, fell; me; what is the trouble?!) You! can’t tell how I like you, already, Let: 2he introduce myself——Miss Iva Ithamar, “Won't you beas frank with me?” tw : IvaIthamar! The melodious name lingered | almost lovingly on Rose St.: Felix’s eaits; and the sweet, earnest face beside her seemed plead+ ing for confidence—the confidence .6f))the blasted life of the woman whose brow twas0sd pure, whose eyes were so wistful, sv desperate, whose lips were parted in some answer that never came, Instead—a shrill, thrilling whistle from the engine; a horrible jar that threw them from their seats; a wild scream from the girl be- side her, and Rose St. Felix thought the re- lease had come! But only for a moment, To the sharp, sud- den shock that was not pain, or fear, and yet that came of both, succeeded clear, keen con- sciousness, and Rose St. Felix took in the con- dition of affairs almost at a glance, and knew that there had been an accident, that the coupling between the last car, the one she oc- cupied, had broken when that sharp jerk threw her and her companion from their seats, and that the car was alone by itself not its own length from the broken bridge through which the rest of the ill-fated train had) passed. _ From afar, she heard the shrieks and cries from the providentially few passengers who had gone down with the wreck; then, rising from the floor where she had been violently thrown, she remembered the girl who had screamed so wofully, and fallen, with her bright face on the aisle floor, but was now so still, horribly still. on Rose St. Felix lifted her up; there was no one to whom to appeal for help, not even a brakeman. She saw a dark, ghastly cut on’ the beautiful little head, from which the blood | was oozing in a sickening flow. She laid her’ hand onthe heart, that throbbed back no re- sponse; and then, with a little ery of: horror, accepted the fact that the blooming, lovely girl, Iva Ithamar, was dead, killed by the crush- ing blow on the top of her head that she had sustained as the jar threw her headlong from ans seat against the iron-framed seat oppo- ite, A A quiver of horror and natural fear. cur- | dled Rose St. Felix’s blood at the idea of being alone with the dead girl; then, the old woe and anguish surged over her again, forcing a groan from her pallid lips, : a ; “y Why wasn’t it I? My God, why wasn’t it She laid the lovely form tenderly along the floor—there was no shrinking now—and look- ed at her, by the flaring lamplight, so beauti- ful, so young, so like what herself would be if! she were happy. a a. ' “ And she was going to such a welcome, such happiness and such rest! And I, ed to suf- fer on and on! Why wasn’t it 1 who either could have died, or had the future she had be- fore here? What haye I done that my life is. such a curse to me?” . F Sey The pallor on her face deepened; she leaned her head on her hand, listening to the pitiful sounds so near her, yet feeling ‘so awfully alone. She saw the-gleam of the dianionds on Miss Ithamar’s fingers, that clutched the Rus- sia leather pocket-book; she noted the supple beauty of the form—graceful even in death; she smiled bitterly to think all the girl had missed—just the very things she would have enjoyed herself, the forbidden far-off things she would never enjoy. And then, she sprung suddenly, almost mad- ly to her feet, her eyes staring, her breath pulsing between. her parted lips, her hands grasping each other; and then, a perfectly wonderful glory glowed on her face, a glory of sudden, dazzling hope that for a second seem- ed to transfigure her, as her thought, that had come with the sharpness and distinctness and unexpectedness of a lightning-flash in a sum- mer, sunshiny sky—as this awe-full, over- whelming thought framed itself into silent words. : “Why not? Why not? It can do her no harm, and it may save me! Oh, my God, can I do it?” She heard: voices.approaching, and she stood rigid and indecisive. fora second., Should she do it? She saw the jleam of a lantern as men came near the isolated car; should she do this thing?. She heard the tread of feet as some one stepped on: the platform—and the die was east, for good or ill, God only knew! Rose St. Felix snatched the pocket-book, the rings, the handkerchief, the shawl, the little sache’ that Iva Ithamar had with her, and which bora her name in plain letters in some .| partror other; put her own portemonnaie and Karidkerthief in the seat where the girl had sat and Waited for the men to come, with their subdued voices and solemn faces; waited with all agitation:past, with every nerve steeled to ifs:utmost tension with desperate determina- tion.) os The men paused at the sight of the pale, still ‘forms thenylooked up into Rose St. Felix’s face, into her wide-open eyes, whose expression was so naturally construed into horror at her po- sition. “‘This. has been terrible for you, madam, alone with a corpse. Do you know her? Was she traveling with you? Heavens! What a fearful blow!” And the violet eycs never quivered, or the mouth tremble, as Rose St. Felix answered: “I know nothing of her beyond what she in- cidentally told me. I understand her name was Rose St. Felix. I am Miss Ithamar. Is she really dead? Can I be of any service?” A moment of terrible suspense followed that seemed like ages to the pale, silent woman who looked down into the stiffening face on the floor. Then the man looked up, and his fea- tures wore a solemnity that gave answer be- fore his simple words: “Dead, madam!” CHAPTER II, GUARDIAN AND WARD. “WESTWOOD,” the magnificent country seat of the Ithamars, lay fair as a jewel in its cas- ket, with the setting October sunshine lighting up its scores of western windows until they shone like polished gold. It was a grand inheritance, and had justly been the pride and delight of the family for _ the three generations it had been in their pos- “session; for, like the true-hearted English aris- tocracy from which the Ithamars had come, they prized above all other wealth the family seat, and had considered it worth all the ex- pense and improvement and beautifying of which it was capable, until, now, it was the most perfect place for many a mile. It was a large stone mansion, that formed three sides of a square, and presented a most ‘imposing appearance from any point of ap- proach; and, surrounded as it was by the far- reaching park, where miniature groves and sunny slopss, shadowed Jakes and shady islets, stretches of upland and green, quiet valleys; where fountains played and statues gleamed, where deer roamed and swans glided stately as enchanted princesses—W est wood, with all these outside beauties, under a golden haze of autumn sunshine, with a cool wind stirring the gorgeous- hued foliage, was really @ fairy scene, upon which‘one might ‘gaze, with bated breath, for fear a wave of the invisible enchanted wand would dissolve such wonderful beauty. Within, luxury, magnificence and refined taste marked every object, from the blue-black and silver livery of the hall porter who sat in his gothic-backed chair, ‘in the marble-floored vestibule, to the magnificent observatory in the large’ towet, where "Florian ‘Ithamar spent hours alone with Nature and Nature’s God, ae FS SOWING THE WIND. and studied astronomy, and made observations through the grand telescope. This lovely autumn sunset was bathing the landscape in warm, red-gold beauty, and light- ing up into warmer beauty the grand face of the gentleman who was standing on the west- ern piazza; a grave, handsome man, in the very flush and vigor of manhood, with thought- ful, pleasant eyes, deep set, and dark gray in color, with fair, gclden brown hair that was partly curling, and brushed carelessly, yet be- comingly, off broad white temples, with a heavy, drooping mustache of warm, golden brown that did not conceal the rare beauty of a mouth whose expression of sweetness and firmness perfectly balanced each other. A handsome, courtly gentleman; noble, brave, generous, frank, with all this glorious heritage of Westwood for his own, and an em- barrassingly large income, and his Fifth ave- nue winter residence, and his yacht West Wind, that had never lost a race—everything that could make a human being happy, and yet —one could see in Florian Ithamar’s splendid eyes a want, a wistfulness, an unsatisfied long- ing. te stood there, in the flood of red-gold sun- shine, watching the shadows lengthen on the velvety sward, not hearing a swift, light foot- step that came over the long marble-paved pi- azza, nor the soft rustle of skirts that swept nearer and nearer, until a dainty little hand was laid on his arm, and a sweet, bewitching face laughed in his own. ‘*A silver quarter for your thoughts, Guardy —or am I not to know?” And then, by the sudden lighting of: the grave, grand face, by thesudden glory that ir- radiated the thoughtful, wistful eyes, as Mr. Ithamar turned to the girl, one could read the secret he kept so sacredly guarded—his great, overwhelming love for this fair, beautiful girl, with the sweet contralto voice that thrilled him to the very soul, and yet that had never spoken a word beyond the frank, undisguised regard she entertained for him as her very best counselor and friend, to whom she owed every- thing that made her life the joyous, sunshiny day it was. It was little wonder he loved her, for hers was a beauty, and a sweetness, and a witching- ness, that never fail to reach men’s hearts— that had made her the very priestess in the most sacred recesses of his soul. It was no wonder he loyed her—for all he suffered the deadly pangs of such jealousy to- ward Kenneth Richmond as only chivalrous, patient, sacrificing natures as his can suffer, he could not blame him that he, too, adored his darling; for she was so passing sweet and lovely; and he looked at her now, so blooming, so fair, with the cool summer breeze blowing across her peachy cheeks, with one of those torrents of passion that were so hard to re- strain, but that he always did restrain. She was so bright, and pure, and guileless, looking straight into his eyes with such fear- less unconsciousness of the secret beneath them; with such a tender, girlish mouth that he had so often watched display every tinge of wo- manly feeling and delicacy—lips so piquant in their ripe bloom, lips yet untouched by a lover’s kisses, for all she was the idol of this man’s heart; with her rippling, dusky brown hair, that seemed to Florian Ithamar like cling- ing, caressing fingers as the breeze laid the silken, perfumy tresses against his shoulder; with her beautiful large brown eyes, whose ex- pression changed with every passing emotion; with her delicate rose-leaf complexion, where the pink and white blended so perfectly. Beautiful, and as good as beautiful; with a gentleness, and a spiritedness, a girlish frank- ness and a womanly dignity, with a heart ca- pable of strongest emotion, and a character that would not fail to stand the tests that self- sacrifice or heroism ‘would demand, refined, cultivated, tender and true, Jocelyne Merle was the ideal of Florian Ithamar’s grand, noble life, his one love, his only darling, who had sat beside his hearth ever since her dying father had sent her to his sole friend, young Ithamar of Westword, ten years ago. He had Slintciet the look he feared was in his eyes, as Jocelyne spoke to him, and answered her in his own kindly, tender way. “J presume the subject of my thoughts would think you rated them too cheaply, Jocelyne. Iwas thinking of my cousin Iva, and the letter we received from her last night.” “How glad-wo will,be..to. see her, Guardy! Just think how barely she escaped being killed in that dreadful railroad accident! There were some killed, were there not?” Her sweet voice was full of sad pity and in- terest. ‘A number beside the lady who occupied the same seat. with Iva—you remember we both spoke of the oddity of the name—Rose St. Felix. Thank God Iva escaped!” Jocelyne pressed his arm sympathetically, ‘‘ When will she be here, Guardy? Did her letter say? Shall you go down to meet her and escort her to Westwood?” _ Her girlish interest was pretty and genu- ine. “She will probably reach here to-morrow; and, according to her request, I will not go to New York to meet her—indeed, she left with her letter, I understand, and is so nervous and ill since the accident that she takes the journey in short stages, Are you anxious to see her, Jocelyne?” He had taken the fair, ringless hand under his arm, and the two were promenading slowly along the piazza, Her face grew thoughtful, “Oh, yes, I am very anxious to see her, and Tam all the time wondering if she will like it here—if she will like me?” Mr. Ithamar had to choke back the words he would have so truthfully said; instead he play- fully answered: ‘Whether or not you admire Miss Iva is a more important question, I think, dear. Sup- pose you tell me what impression you have formed of her?” _ Jocelyne tried to look wise, and sueceeded in looking bewitching, and Mr, Ithamar watched her face with keen interest. “Well, Guardy, you know you have de- scribed her to me, in lieu of any picture. Tall, fair, with dark hair and blue eyes, pleasing manners and a liberet education, That is the reflex of your remembrance of her, you know; but Guardy—don’t scold, but somehow—some- how, I feel dissatisfied about her. I can’t tell why, or how, butIdo. And yet I want very much to see her. Do you think she will look at all as she used, when you saw her last, fif- teen years ago? It’s a shame she never sent us a picture, isn’t it?” Mr. Ithamar smiled at her eagerness. “T imagine there will be a vast. difference between the girl of seven and the young lady of twenty-two, Jocelyne. The eyes will be the same color, and in all probability the hair; otherwise, I would not know my cousin Iva will prove herself one of us, I recollect her voice gave magnificent promise in those early days,” r Jocelyne gave a little deprecating laugh. ‘*-then’ smiled;"such:a’ smilé as-would: have reminded: on6 of) white; frosty "nioonlizht: om!ac barreny, blighted fieldthen announced her’ decision :to: herself in distinct phrase: f The dieis cast.) "Rose St. Felix. has found her releasé;: henceforth Tam Iva Ithamar,' the, heiress; Iva Ithamar; the anxiously-looked fory | #ladly-expected guest ‘at! Westwood.’ From this moment ”will take dinner in my roometo-hight again—-at seven.” , be"Awhalf-hour later: a» huge: array of trunks covered) hér ‘floor; arid: then the first. active business of'thée campaign began. One by one she ~openéd and examined’ them, | discarding many "of the toilets Miss: Ithamar had worn in South ‘America, and reducing! the contents of the trunks until @half-dozen sufficed to carry “the books; papers; letters, ‘underclothing and gifts Miss Ithamar had:intended for her stran- ger friends at! Westwood, and:which were neat- ly and plainly labeled. ; The clothing »répacked,, and. {dinner.eaten, there remained! the nidst ‘arduous, task of all— the'careful reading: and studying. of the pack- ages of letters that were to inform, her of the private: life; ‘character and circumstances: of ‘the farnilyshe: had adopted, and ‘from, which she wa8itoigather the information that was, to successfully»enabley her: to personate her as- sumed character. , it .qoola 'I£heéteawere Several packages of letters, la- beled;:‘“From Cousim Florian,” and from them, and copies of the answers! Iva, had. sent, and amarked as such, she gathered a perfect fund o tmowledge, and events and names,» fs “There Weréd several well-filled diaries, ex: tending over a period of ‘years, in which she s0 plainly saw the mental development of the girl who had made her entries so profusely and minutély, in! whith ‘she ‘had’ painted, ‘al- midst like @ panofama, all the ‘detail of her life abroad, and her’ memories of: life at home—so distinctly and ‘succinctly that it Fequired less tact than even this desperate-woman possessed to! obtdin ‘ a clear,. perfect ‘sight of the road ahead: i : It was midnight when the letters and diaries were: finished, but Rose St; Felix’s eyes had no suggestion of sleep in them; her task had .ef- fectually bartishéd all thought, even of rest un- til everytidtw of itwas* accomplished, and. the next was to subeced in imitating Iva:Tthamar’s handwriting sufficiently to excite no suspicion! ~ Atid she ‘accomplished it; so-that when thé gray cMmomming? lookéd ine it- saw sa well+filled sheet she had written ready to be mailed: later to! Pioriui Ithamar} ia! which! she: detailed ‘the accident, her nervous condition consequent on. the terrible shock, her desire .forsa; few days: rest, and the contiitiance’ of her journey:on. a day metitioned, sv0lxzes yiey 4 do» Jf DHE lkttérowas sealed) addressed and mailed; and, for the first tinie-sinéo she had seen ‘Ival Ithamarlyiig) paler and still beforosher, “Rose Ste'Relix |gave herself upto test.) CAnd, strange | though it may seem, she did »restj-calmly,: | sweetly as’a childs andorly awakened>when a servant rapped on the door withthe anmounice= | tient that the-carriageshe*had ordered was-in: waiting. tton io 5 lol i Shé rose; btdered™ breakfast in’ her room, then dressedin ‘a’ quiet! suitot¢black and de- scended to the carriage, giving her’ first-diree- tion tothe “oachman toa noted lair-dresser on Broadwayy in°whose private rooms she was shown all the different styles of hair-dyes and selecting: therefrom a! dozen bottles of liquid golden dy6 that should: transfer her dark hair to the required golden. tinge of the girl :whose identity she had assumed! i . Dien, she droyé from store to store, making her various purchases, with never a quiver of | her fingersds"she handed out'the money that Iva Ithamar’s fair fingers had touched: ~ Later still, she drove to another hotel where | she secured "a roomy dnd where: in an ‘hour or | sosheemertred almost ‘dazzling imher magnifi- cent! contrastof sunny golden hair and shining | dark eyes—so strangely like, yet) so strangely unlike ‘herself that she had ‘been surprised and startled atherself in the glass. © Then’ sho«‘was’ driven ‘back to’ her own hotel, and«stepped'from the carriage just in time to'seé a tall handsome gentleman of un- exceptionable style and appearance leisurely saunter away’ “fron! the ladies’ sentrarice, ‘up Broadway: !¥ ) Seveb x er LA little gasp, of horror escaped her white lips, and for a second she sunk back against the door. vida £ bet#@aeat God! Hrnekthere J Can he know? 4o110!he tnust' have | heard+-he must think I am deddittg olivil-guiccrsco s dove of osthusog oe Trembling! like ‘an’ aspen-leaf;/she» got her- self: intd the office and asked for’ her» bill, and directed her trunks ‘to be attended to, and as she stéod before the registry-book she saw the ink'yet wet and’ glistening on the name‘of the Yan she feared, from whom she had ‘fled, ‘and ‘for whose’ sake niore than her own she-was erimsoning her soulwith sin. ©. She set her lips together firmly as she took her seat in the elevator. ; ‘It was in/all the papers=Iisaw it myself. “ Rose St. Felix, killed, And to thihk he is heré—the! first train away | ismot soon enough: for! me 'tor go. One’ little hour longer, and I will be en route: for rest, and’ “peace,* and! happiness! One! short day longer, and I will be the welcome guest inthe splendid: honie whére no trouble’ or care or an- noyance can come, where the new life will opén in beauty;andthe old. cease’ to! be but a dark meihory!” :«2i2 om ebsox off J! But; df she hadoknown! oIf her eyes could have! foreseen thé end:of the path she was! en- CHAPTER IV. THE ORDEAD OF) EYES. Westwoop was in a pleasant state of waiting expectation andowelcome ‘for the coming among its family circle of, the. supposed Iva ithamar, ‘and Jocélyné, with a thoughtful ‘refinement of feeling! had? décorated’ the rooms assigned’ to ‘Iva with flowers and‘vines — from the con- setvatory; making» a very bower of beauty of the elegant little sitting-room, apa THE FIRESIDE LIBRAR Zand hé must know it! | « _ sciousness that he ha _ shown so plainly her | thing like love for: him—of, what Jocelyne had | said—that he should fall in love with and marry Ye room, and the cosy dressing-room, with its bat!» room adjoining. It certainly was the essence of loving, hom>- like. welcome, and Mr. Ithamar watched, th; girl’s proceedings with keen, admiring. interes. and thought, with great throbs of pain, ho she was fitted to herself beautify a home—ho * she glorified his, and how soon she would tal ° her royal, dainty grace to another man’s hom ’ ee Richmond’s, in all human. proba: ility: Jocelyne paused a moment in her.intereste:, taskof arranging stemless, flowers in a broad, shallow silver basin, ani looked around at him, as he stood, leaning against the piano, in the lit- tle parlor of Miss Ithamar’s suite. *“Do you: like it, Guardy? — Is ‘the: effect ‘ood ?”’ nm She meant the exquisite contrast of vivid green leaves and white tuberoses, and. crimson petaled fuchsias, He looked at her lovely face, as fair as an unsunned snow-drift, her dusky hair brushed in loose waves off her low fore- head, her joyous dancing eyes of darkest. tenderest beam, and he answered that the éffec' was good, with a little smile on» his own hand= some faee, at her girlish innocence and igno-. rance.;" She went on with her task, with a,deft, dainty touch, talking in a light, joyous vein. “‘I do hope Miss Ithamar will feel.we are so lad she is coming. It seems:a little odd thet she did not wish = to’ meet her’ in New York, doesn’t: it? .Oh, Guardy, what: a lovely. tubo- rose 1? { . ¢ Mr.Ithamar answered, with) a, glance at: his watch:.; aa “Hardly odd, Jocelyne, when you take into consideration the remainder of the long, weai'y. voyage unaccompanied by any one. It is timo thé carriage was back now; the train was in fi! teen minutes ago.” © He left: his: ‘post:at the piano; and went. down stairs,| not thinking so much. of ‘any. special satisfaction he, expected. to. derive, from the coming of the pienaet relative, as of. the con- j t he. faithfully performed his | duty in making himself the friend and_protec- tor of the orphan girl, and of what Jocelyne had said in’ such gay earnestness, that : eart was guiltless of any his cousin Iva. And, the keen, poi t pain, and repressed endurance that was always with him’ deepened: their pangs, as’ a ‘vision’ of Jocelyne’s beauty and winsome graée’ passed a & SO carriage wheels: rolling rapid! updihe pt issi atedithe thes nbs hee frequency and strength were sopitif agoniz- ing, and with the cee eae and courtesy that made Mr. Ithamar a king amon; men, he went out on the veranda, and waited, bareheaded, to ‘welcome to her new home the stranger-guest. f . He saw the footman assist: her down—a fault- lessly-attired lady, with a graceful, easy, mien, who took an eager survey of him -and..the sur- roundings about him, and then smile beneath her double gray vail—a smile he nor no one saw, : Tt was Rose St. Felix, come to the first crisis of this new life, and although her heart had been almost a as the carriage drove rapidly from the Westwood station, yeb mow she arose, equal to the. emergency of this new, strange position...» 0} u She recognized Mr. Ithamar at once, from the hotograph of him, and extended her hand as 6 went up to her. ° ; / “Cousin Florian!’ : T ' Mr. ‘Ithamar "grasped her’ warmly’ questions whosé answers would ruin her. :Whiy,; why had she not counted the cost more thoroughly before she attempted this thing? . A deathly horror seized her at the awfulness of the undertaking before her, that, reason as she had done, never presented such a certainty: of failure as at that moment, when Jocelyne’s pure, sweet eyes'were watching the increasing pallor on her cheeks ‘with pityand ‘sympathy, » never dreaming but that it arose from physical causes! ‘‘T think I had better leave you alone, Iva, for a few hours, and let you rest: I will:send: you up-a cup of tea} and by dinner-time ‘you will feel recovered and strengthened.” brow, and then left her alone. The moment the door closed, Rose’ sprung from her chair in an impulse of nervous éxcite- ment, and paced to and fro; with a keen;sudden appreciation of the fact that the crisis was at hand—that upon the interview that was to; take ‘place that evening would depend) at Once ‘and indisputably ‘her future life: ‘So far it was. alk right, and yet a little thrill of horror seized her when she remembered that even Jocelyne Merle, yy WY) TT YY “4 SILVER QUARTER FOR ¥OUR THOUGHTS, GUARDY —OR AM \I.NOT.T0 KNOW ?’—Page 3, who had never seen her, had an instinctive idea of some sort of a difference between herself and the real! Miss Ithamar... What if;Florian Itha- mar, who had seen her; who knew her so well, ; shouldnot be deceived?, ; ‘ 8 She walked through the suite of, rooms,, 80 luxuriantly ‘furnished; elegant:enough , fora rincess, with slow, thoughtful tre § rom a délicate Sevres cup the steaming tea Jocelyne had:ordered,and that had the requisite effect in a overstrung nerves. | She walked through, noting every, appoint- ment, with the kéen. appreciation of which; she was so capable, looking from the window upon. the fair domed of Westwood that spread.as far as she could see, with its rolling uplands, its, detise groves, its level park, its lake, that, glit- wooded banks, lay like an opal set in emeralds. Her heart suddenly swelled with a; satisfied; pride, and a new, exultant courage. | 9.) , ‘It is what I enjoy, what I) desire, this fair heritage 'that Iva It r-has lost—through no fault: of ;mine—and what I will gain—what_ I will gain! . After that brief trailing of her colors when, fairly in» sight of the enemy, ber,excitement and daring partly vase: and she ‘dressed with unusual care to go: down to dinner—dressed in a heavy trailing black silk, with no jewelry, She leaned overand kissed the fair, womanly , Sipping, tering in the. sunshine, and fringed by low; Fy VU and) Only) a spray of -jessamiine. in, -her; lovely, golden hai, } She was not perfectly at her ease, though sur- passingly lovely, when J ocelyne, tapped, at. her door to escort her downsstairs, but. she, met her with a sniile as different, from the wan, pallor of arose hours previouslyjas could well be ima- gined. ‘‘Guardy said perhaps you had. forgotten the route! to. ‘the dining+room, Iya,.and.he wished me to escort: you; down; It is just-time. ; How lovely you are, dear.” Rose could | not, -help_ smiling. at .Jocelyne’s frank, unselfish admiration, and her heart thrill- ed proudly as she walked :into,the dining-room- a magnificent apartment, with floods of brilliant gaslight gleaming on the,.massive, silver, and marble and,rosewood. bouffet, and, handsome furniture; and, the elegantly-appointed - table, andthe servants, in the Westwood livery. And yet there was borne,uwpon her some awful invisible weight of fear and) woe, as she waited for the one second before Florian Ithamar came. forward to meet them; one. second ixito which wis crowded an infinity of emotions that almost suffocated, her, as she watched Mr. Ithamar cross the room: looking closely at her, with keen, earnest eyes, that seemed. to her,,to express his intuitive knowledge; that there was something ramiss. She stood, as if, transfixed, in the full flood of a i gaslight; that, revealed, every feature, every nerve, every line. of her grandly, beautiful. face and figure; her, heart throbbing in slow,,-stifled pulsations. He came up tothem with that keen, piercing” scrutiny still in his eyes, and;a half; puzzled, halfsadmiring. look on, his. face: as he took her hand, ; A rye “ Pardon my seemingly, discourteous curiosity, but my first; actual.sight.of you surprises mo beyond: expression. Can it be possible you,aro the same. iva Ithamar, I) remember as so. very. different?, Cam it, be-possible?”., : He laid his hand on her arm—so «fair, 80 white and, firm, and.looked, straight in her eyes......., “And Jocelyne Merlo, stood by, looking..on with smiling face, never.dreaming of; the hor- rible fear and desperation in Rose St., Felix’s heart. Sig Ry CHAPTRE: ¥. GOUDEN DRA MS, Conscious, 6f the points of actual difference between herself and the real Miss Ithamar, it was a terrible.prdeal for the woman -who ‘stood there, so. fair,and perfect-in seeming, so false at heart;,for, with every passing moment of her assumption of the character she was.so desper- ately determined to carry through, she was con- scious of a decided drifting from goodness and 6 truth and honesty; for Rose St. Felix, standing there in the flood of brilliant light, with Florian ’s hand on her arm, his close, intense scrutiny of her face, it was the most deadly, horrible moment of her life. In spite of her- self, her defiant determination not to fail, a cold, horrible tremor seized her that she could not control, and she averted her eyes in a despair of fear, from Florian Ithamar’s face, which, to her own conscious , seemed eloquent of his hor- ror and indignation at the fraud being perpe- trated. It was only one second—it seemed an eternity —that it lasted, this fearful ordeal, and then there was a quiver of kindly sympathy in Mr. Ithamar’s next words—kindly, tender =. thy, because her shivering, the ave of her face, her exceedin leness, which had not es- caped him, made believe the agitation of her home coming, the natural emotion of the occasion, had caused them. “T can see now that you have not changed so very much, Iva, but so very decidedly for the r that I must congratulate you. You look like your mother did when she was your gt The sudden revulsion of feeling was almost as intense as the first keen horror; but'thererushed. over Rose such a torrent of wild thanksgivi such a mad cena relief; that it requi her self-control to keep herself in bounds. As it ‘was, she lént herself to the task so entirely that her success was complete. “T feel greatly changed, cousin Florian—the years.and the life we led in South America, and pene death make me feel very old. Time has ealt very gently with you; you are not a day older, in seeming.” They were ese the table now, and Joce- Paw was doing the honors with her sweet, grace- Mr, pene smiled at Rose’s speech. ar : am flattered that you remember me at va. She was looking at him earnestly, thinkin; what a glorious heritage of beauty his was, ani wondering, with a glance at Jocelyne Merle, whether or not the two were lovers. The dinner progressed pleasantly, and the trio laughed their low, well-bred laughter, and chatted in low, well-bred tones, and the lights gleamed and the fire sparkled, and the wine es in the tiny glasses, and Rose St. ‘elix was at her ease, and ate and drank and enchanted the two whom her grace and wit and beauty had so well won. After dessert, while Ithamar lingered over his walnuts, and solitary small glass of port, the two ladies went to the drawing-room, w Jocelyne played on the grand piano, and which she had not een permitted by Rose to leave “—_— Mr, Ithamar eee : Sus ‘You improve eve’ , I think, I wish you would sin; tae is and I—that ttle German ballad ‘The Floweret.’” Jocelyne laughed 1d vacated the stool. “No, thank you, Guardy! You surely forget what a contrast I would make to Iva’s i have you forgotten what a Gee voice she has—at least according to le from her papa?” She turned her face toward Rose, and Mr, a instantly went toward her. that ee Slo ae of the magnificent promise of your voice. I am very ous to hear it—indeed I remember be’ charmed by it when you were but a mere chil Tam more than anxious to hear you again.” A sense of confusion seized a sense of ril and dismay that was almost a panic. She read in Iva Ithamar’s letters, and copies of letters, and in her diaries, of the wonde: ess of--her voice which charmed all who heard it; she remembered how the girl had rejoiced in her splendid talent so genuinely, but it had en- tirely escaped her until this moment. If it been possible to have evaded the question’ she would have done so; but it had come wens her so aan te a a ane eee prepar parry it, and a8 Do ‘Y capal wf ing, for she never had sung g note in r life Suddenly she raised her eyes to Mr. Ithamar, and it was marvelous how it expressed mourn- ful yg and passionate i “Thave never sung a since papa died— we were so happy together over my music—and it was so different and lonely afterward—and— I lost my voice, cousin Florian; I lost my lovely ice—and—” Jocelyne was all tender, 1, thy, and fiteqeed Rove's hand indy’ Bie, feared face expressed his own a pity and commiseration. ever mind, Iva, we will do what we can to restore it—how deeply you.must have grieved for my uncle!” Rose compressed her li restrain emotion that would surge. too wildly if allowed the least liberty; and Mr. Ithamar saw ee apparent self-control and admired her for “Shall we come and sit near the fire, Guardy?” It always is so cosy beside a grate fire, and we must make Iva as happy and com- fortable as we can.” So they drew their low, easy chairs in a little resolutely, as if to your pardon, but it had escaped me | di semi-circle before the bright sea-coal fire, and then Rose delighted them and surprised even herself, by her accurate information. concern- ing friends still in South America, and complete- ly satisfied all the inquiries put to her by Mr. Thamar; in his genuine desire for news from abroad, or curiosity. vate She was charmingly entertaining, well-read, and intelligent in the diffusion of what she knew, and the evening in the drawing-room tended to strengthen the cords of love so ready tobe strengthened by Mr. Ithamar and Jocelyne which should bind Rose to them, even as. i strengthened, on Rose St. Felix’s side, the determination to never abandon the path she was in. “Tt was an inspiration—a glorious fate that pointed out this way in which Iam walking !— nothing less than the very kindest Teah OGD of destiny that induced me to exchange es and. identities with that dead girl. She loses noth- ing—nothing! and I shall gain, not only the rest and relief I desire, the immunity from misery from a bw ate Her eyes roved around the magnificent apart- ment as she gave untrammeled rein to her thoughts, her eyes sparkling with excitement and eagerness, until the plighiings memory of the handsome face and tall, graceful figure she had almost met eyes to eyes at the hotel entrance, came like an appalling horror over her, making her lips turn id blue, and her fingers to close over themselves in a spasmodic'clutch. Mr. Ithamar was gazing straight ahead into the golden tongues of the fire, an expression ‘of ave care and thoughtfulness on his face; Socelyne was leaning her dainty head on her hand, and slowly, thoughtfully turning the es of an illuminated book that lay on a low ible of malachite at her elbow. Conversation seemed to flag for a moment, and in that. mo- ment Rose St. Felix gave herself up to the flood of thoughts that rushed, a wordless array, through her brain. “T will not fear him ever again! Iam as ab- solutely safe here, under the roof of Westwood, as though I were really where he Et Iam, in my grave! I will put all that old life forever away, andadd to my bold daring in playing for this, all the cunning and nee T possess and with every moment I feel my oor of evil en and my desire for the right failé ing feel an intense craving for the life be- foreme—the excitement, the danger, the pean the position that will be accorded me. As Florian Ithamar’s relative, and anheiressin my own right, as the friend and companion of Miss am impregnably fortified in my tower of safety and str But I wonder what they would think if they once suspected I am an impostor? And ats I believe they would prefer me to the genuine, characterless girl whom I represent!” Aslow smile gathered on her face—a smile of almost rejoicing in the evil to which she had surrendered—a smile of satisfaction at the lie she was living; and that slow, brilliant smile told plainer than all words how this fair, beautiful woman was deserting the standard o honor and truth; how, from the possibly par- donable sin of desiring to fly from woe unen- urable, her motive was ging into desiring to re her hold on all these good things for their own sake, already. 5 Of a truth, she was a living proof of the piti- ful fact that the incline of downward road is of the that, once human feet set therein, especially a woman’s feet deliberately set therein, there is little hope of return, not only because of the dreadful difficulties to over- come in retracing lost ground, but because of the deceitful alluringness of the rose-banked ab themselves. - om under her long, drooping lashes, that seemed to lay like silky ebon curves on her ivory cheeks, she looked around her, dwelling on every cent detail of the room, whose and were in such perfect uni- son with her refined tastes; at the well- haughty, gracious presence of by Jocelyne, in her pretty, girlish Mr. Ithamar ani fair Jocelyne Merle, in whose society she was at such perfect ease; at the reflection of herself from a dozen mirrors set in the walls between exquisitely-draped windows—at the reflection of a gloriously-beautiful woman, with marble- pale face as artistic in its outlines as a Greek cameo, with a glory of lustrous golden hair, and eyes full of slumbering fire, now partly vailed by blue-veined, silk- lashes —and ‘she smiled again, this time with a startling increase of what was almost unscrupulousness, that cer-. Pp tainly was determinedly, boldly daring. “'Pnever expected this-tever dreamed I was coming to such grand luxury, such royal magnificence. Ilike it—I like itso well; and to retain it all my life I have only to be on m guard, and fear nothing—and, from my care stud Tail pine ty eo Ara a Tam posit ive part 6 life! A servant entered that moment with a card ona aoe ae oon Tihetoar, and the tem- pora: into q ‘as at an end. eo This pour friend Kenneth, Jocelyne. Show Mr. Richmond in, Walt.” ‘ 5 And there came just the tiniest: show of girl- THE FIRESIDE LIBRARY. ish confusion. in. Jocelyne’s face as Kenneth Richmond came in the room, CHAPTER V1. WHO WAS HE? Mr. Kenneto RicuMond came forward with the air of.aman who feels ee at home and equally assured of a warm welcome. He shook hands with Jocelyne and Mr. Itha- mar, and had found time to cast a glance of ad- miration.on .Rose’s beautiful face before Mr. Ithamar introduced him. “Tva, allow me.to present Mr. Richmond, a friend of Jocelyne and myself, Kenneth, this is my cousin, Miss Iti , whom, with us, you have been anxious.to welcome home.” He bowed courteously, and Rose extended her hand in a pretty impulse of friendliness. “Tam very glad to meet you, Mr. Richmond, and you will let me thank you for having been anxious to welcome me.” ‘‘T should have been impatient if I had known of what we have been deprived,” Mr. Richmond returned, gallantly, and then he took a seat near Jocelyne, just where.the ruddy glow of the fire- light fell on him, giving an ample opportunity for the close scrutiny of him in which Rose in- dulged between pauses in the light, pleasant conversation, Kenneth Richmond was a tall, gentlemanly man, wearing an habitual air of easy grace and haughty languor that betokened his familiarity with good society. He was nota young man— Rose decided he must be thirty-five, at least— and in reality he was ten years older, but really looked even younger than Rose gave him credit for looking. He was of clear, dark complexion, almost olive, with which his dark, close-curling, short-cut hair, his heavy, glossy, drooping mus- tache of intense blackness, his handsome eyes, soft and velvety in expression, excessively dark, and looking like Italian eyes, gave a harmony that made people pronounce Kenneth Richmond an exceedingly distinguished gentleman, whose handsome personal appearance, added to his winning elegance of manner, rendered him popular.and sought after, while it was’ re- ae as a little strange that he was still unmarried, when it was so well known that vr few ladies would have refused him. 6 himself laughed and jested over his celi- bacy, declaring he had never found any one who would take pity upon him and release him from his chains of bachelorhood, while, in reality, he had had a dozen loves in his life, and his fickle- ness in tiring of them was only equaled by his susceptibility in becoming infatuated, mile he, still was determined that when the one superior chance of his life erates itself, neither the want of susceptibility, if it were wanting when. necessary, or the presence of fickleness, if it were present, he would not be slow in accept- ing it—and it seemed to him, and had for some time seemed to him, that Jocelyne Merle that long looked-for opportunity had offered it- self, He was an intimate acquaintance of the famil at Westword, and yet, Mr. Ithamar hardly felt ed in calling him a warm friend; his in- Cate with them had been of too short dura- tion to permit of Mr. Ithamar’s warm co urtesy to develop into that grand, beautiful relation— close friendship between man and man. Six months before, Mr. Kenneth Richmond had a to the vicinity . Westwood, Ra og reputation preceding and accompa ; smouahe sailaae knew exactly how, aid had es- tablished himself most luxuriously in a little nest of a house—‘‘ Sunset Hill” it had always been called—a miniature so far as y magnificence and elegant luxury went. . Richmond kept a full corps of. foreign servants, had his horses and his dogs, gave occa- sional grand dinners, and was feted and courted to his heart’s content by the very exclusive so- ciety he frequented. And little Jocelyne Merle was deeply interest- ed in him—in his face, his elegant manners, his charm of conversation; and away down in her girlish heart was the vague con- sciousness of a deeper feeling still, that, although scarcely budded ‘as yet, would require only a little time:and attention to bloom into the fully- ded flower of love for him. St. Felix read it all within an hour after she had seen the actors in this life drama we are chronicling—read the curious complication, wherein Jocelyne Merle was the idol of the two men who watched her sweet, glowing face, and hung on every light word—a gay veghe of laugh- eee oe from her lips. d she saw, besides, that Kenneth Richmond was not worthy to be named in the same li time with Florian Ithamar; she saw, with that keen intuition of h that is so essentially a womanly characteristic, what the girl Jocelyne not seen, and what Mr. Itk had only been vaguely conscious of, without knowing why, or without 'y wing he was’ so conscious of it—that Kenneth Richmond was not deserving of the confidence of man or wo-~ man-—that he was a serpent on the hearth,a - hawk hovering over a dove’s nest, ready for the swoop: She listened to his low, well-bred tones as he conversed so intelligently and fascinatingly ; she watched his passionate admiration of Joce- lyne; she saw Florian Ithamaz’s grave, restrain- ed manners, his calm, ome face, and the whole secret of their liveslay spread before her as plainly as if a panorama were uurolled. nd the genuine Iva Ithamar had been in love with this cousin of hers—this gentleman who evidently had never given a thought to her of a corresponding nature. Rose knew both facts from her careful study of the diaries, and a little smile parted her lips as she thought what:a fool @ woman was to keep a diary! She looked still more critically at Mr. Ithamar than she had: yet done, taking in between lulls in conversation, every de of the god-like face, the grandness of his proportions, the ma- jesty of his bearing, and she was impressed very strongly, very suddenly, yet almost uncon- sciously, with her admiration of him. Q “He is the handsomest man I ever saw in my life! How foolish, how foolish Jocelyne is that she does not care for him instead of Mr. Rich- mond!” The remainder of the evening passed pleasant- ly, and at eleven o’clock Mr. Richmond took his leave, and the little household separated for the Tee Jocelyne kissing Rose affectionately, and Mr. Ithamar bidding them both good-nihgt ly. —_—_—, CHAPTER VII. THE FIRST MISTAKE. Ross St. Ferrx slept well that first night of her stay at Westwood—slept as a child might have done, calmly, deeply, peacefully, and troubled by no haunting dreams of the dead girl whose birthright she had stolen, the dead girl she had seen stretched out so still, so rigid, so ghastly, on the cottage bed, Instead, her visions were fair and lovely, full of happiness, and Florian Ithamar, forthe sudden, sharp im- ression she had received in that moment in The drawing-room, was present in her dreams. Opposite, on the same corridor, was Mr. Ithamar’s suite of rooms, through whose length he walked the floor for hours after Rose was dreaming of him, and Jocelyne buried in girl- ish slumber; walked. the oe of the elegant rooms, battling with himself that most. dread of all battles—the subjugation of true, désery- ing, honest passion. ‘ ¢ seemed to him he had never before seen. so lainly Jocelyne’s ap, iation of Kenneth ichmond, or his love for her, as he had. seen it that night. Hehad suffered often enough, God alone knew, in throttling this love of jhis for Jocelyne, but, somehow, to-night the» desolate anguish was keener than ever, “My little precious love—never to be my love. and in the very face of the madness and folly ft itall, [love her with all a ee is He compressed his lips, that. were almost pale with the emotions 0; his proud, brave, sore- tortured heart, and went on in his restless pro- menade. : iy ““My dear little girl! To think you will never know how I love you—to think you will never Sent oe a aia the strong, death: ection of young lover! i , death- less devotioi spd wareh ian of mature manhood! To think you will marry Kenneth Richmond—” It seemed asif his very thoughts grew choked with emotion. He bowed his head against the fow marble mantel, and stood ‘there several minutes, his ae frame ‘trembling like a wo- man’s. And all for love of bonny: Jocelyne; whose last waking thought was) of Kenneth Richmond, whose waking thought would - be of him! f fv Slowly the night hours tolled themselves away, and Mr. Ithamar passed them.in unflinch- ing self-examination, aroused) by the strength of a — that ae ae been so phage - its demands as to-night; passed the night’ stern battling to conquer it into passive meliete tion at 1 and when the hour came, longafter the dawn of another — October day, when he met Jocelyne in the breakfast-room, it was with the manner and face ofa man who had oette aaelemepecneenreent ig aol hile his e bade her good~ ietry, while “hi eyes lighted at sight of her, Hevifresh loveli- ness, that was enhanced nin becoming morn- ing-dress she wore of white alpaca, trimmed with cardinal ribbons. 29% ert He was'pale and ae yet there -was:a tender, mmeificle — ee; eyes and on his face as she sprun; mee | i ROR cGunrdy deat, good-morning! Isn't: it lovely?” (go rerD TROOUsy MO Titowe Then her light tone suddenly vanished, and her — or ee a interested he , weary rhe Wo! { 1 Vieni ASGh something’ is the matter!) Some- thing troubles you I know. You look as if ‘you had not rested well. Have you?” i : Had he! The loving commiseration in her “ENot very well, wiltadmit, Focelme. You very Ww > it, Jocelyne. are as fresh as a dhapebe thie. weenie Shall I — of whom you dreamed?» It was'Ken- nD ' “ 44 te " He }into the ‘subject desperately, but ‘oven us rave! eifor id mob, lesen tho. ‘pain A DIbOW the passionate | her SOWING THE WIND. ae the girl’s sudden flushed consciousness gave “Oh, no, I did not dream at all,” she answer- ed, yet there was such sweet deepening of color in her cheeks, Mr. Ithamar took her hand tenderly in his own—nota trace of anything beyond brotherly or fatherly familiarity in the act. He was re- solved to be fatherly to her henceforth. ‘* Jocelyne; my dear child, I want you to an- swer me a question. How do you like Mr. Richmond?” Her blossom-like face averted itself suddenly. ‘*T—I—don’t know—I—like him! He is ve: handsome and educated, and distinguis! Quardy.” “Yes,” he answered, slowly, ‘‘ he is handsome and educated and distinguished; but is that all that makes a man?” Jocelyne opéned her brown eyes wide. _ ‘Why, of course he isa gentleman of prin- ciple, and religious sentiment, and nobility of character, isn’t he?” Mr; Ithamar smiled faintly at her quick de- fense of him. ‘“We will hope so, Jocelyne—for—for—you surely know how—he regards you, Has he spoken to you, child?’ The brown head dropped again in lovely con- ‘usion. “Oh, Guardy, he should not speak to me!” And Mr. Ithamar turned away just as Rose came into the room, in her lovely morning dress of white, with a scarlet zephyr shawl over her queenly shoulders. : Breakfast over, Mr. Ithamar proposed a ride to the ladies, which was warmly a; to, and the horses were ordered for ten o’clock: Jocelyne went to the music-room for a brief practice before she chan; her dress, and Rose took the .papers and retired to a sunny corner of the morning-room, while Mr. Ithamar gave audience to some of hishead men inthe library. 7 Rose sat there in the warm sunlight, @ ay ? wi ppurtenances of: luxury and wealth all. about her, and herself established there as thor= ps rd even Jocelyne Merle herself, itseemed as if there never could come dan; or aught else but ‘absolute safety, and a delightful sense of freedom and content. took possession of he that was pleasant in the extreme. : A sénse that deepened and widened to raptur~: ous ecstasy as she casually caught sight of a brief pa that announced sui to China of Mr. Ernest St. Felix, who. ad so recently sustained the loss of his wife in the railway accident so fresh in the memory of the public; a loss made doubly severe in consid eration of the fact that he was on his own way home, after a protracted absence from her. Great thrills of almost wild relief surged over her. Ernest St. Felix, her husband, the one man in the world she feared and dreaded, had accepted es fact of his wite's death ; had, in all pro! made the necessary estigation, and viewed’ the grave of the r dead Iva {thamar, and then, free as the air, had left the country, almost the world, it to Rose— furtherance of leaving her equally free in the ote edtoads That was what he was; that was. he from whom she had been fleeing when her destiny came to her; that was he whose name and presénce'were a ‘fear, a horror, a terror to her, andhad been, almost since the day, years and years'ago, when she, a mere child; had been frightened and forced into marrying him_b: her:parents, to whom his wealth wassuch a desi- deratum. ; it Even ‘with the knowledge of her temporary release from any possible finding from him, frésh ‘and «pleasant in her mind, Rose fairly shivered as memories arose, of scenes and lan- guage, and’tears and oaths, and prayers and moc . laughter, and ‘insolence ‘and ‘despera~ tion that marred her life and his; years:when she thought no more pitiable woman lived than she, whom people envied f her beauty and her wit, and her handsome, gallant hus- ~sShehad:endured and rebelled; she: had thréeat- ened;:then ‘yielded; she had promised, and bro- ken-her promises to herself—and then, she had run away—to this delightful home at Westwood where even her name.and identity were merged into another’ss \ / f ho The ‘hour’? 80 quickly that she was a littlestartled'when iJocelyne came in, dressed Se her carriage: costume of navy-blue silk and velvetijo Sil ) Why, Ival) How ‘interesting the Herald must be that» you are still in your morning dress. You-will have:to hurry,‘dear, for the horses are atthe: door already; and Isaw Guardy putting ombhisiovercoat, as | came through the hall.” “Tam pe ectiy ashamed of myself to keep Snitch +. Never mind; Tees how ¥-& woman can dress, Y rata ar nea es (a in»her™’ velvet cost and jaunty hat with a scarlet cock’s = awd — the otherwise somber elegance of her at- PLIGS asw oe t bi volsNow,:whereshall woo? Have'youachoic Jovatyns?. OL course et Lave monOor as Oy voip 7 least I presume she hardly remembers any of the beauties of Westwood.” Rose smiled. ‘Hardly, cousin Mlorian—and yet "af ancing out at a partially decayed, vine-coyered, pictur- esque tree-trunk that stood guard by the bronze gate that led to the turnpike, and suddenly thinking it would be such a good thing to fur- ther strengthen her position by pretending to remember this landmark that certainly must have been there for years and years—‘‘ and yet, cousin Florian, my memory is not so bad after all, I distinctly remember that dear old tree where I sat every day with my drawing- book the summer I spent at Westwood, I have often thought of it, and—” She had. spoken in her lightest, gayest tones, confidently, eagerly, until she sud. enly became conscious of a look of supreme astonishme 16 from. both her companions—a look of blank be- wilderment that instantly told her that she had perpetuated a horrible mistake. A cold tremor seized her, that was desperation personified, that did not lessen when Mr, Itha- mar answered, gravely: *“T cannot imagine why you make such a mistake, Iva. That tree-trunk was only placed there this past summer. for its stately pictu ueness, and I ordered it placed there for her satisfaction.” perfect hurricane .of answers to Mr. Itha- mar’s grave explanations. occurred to Rose, but her tongue seemed paralyzed and a, feeling of horrible powerlessness seized her in a strong, relentless grip. She met his steady, astonished gaze; she looked at Jocelyne’s wondering face ina hunted, pitiful way, and then—she burst into a passion of tears, and sobbed with an energy that really alarmed them, ‘Don't speak to me—don’t ity me—don’t!” she said, between her sobs. ‘It is a dreadful shock—I never ‘believed the South, American doctor when ns nee my. TSO suffered with my voice from the 0 r 8 death! ‘But I know it now—oh! Pee now! Pve seen a tree that somewhere, and I thought it was here!” fliv Her own woe, her own pity of herself, her broken confession, the naturalness of the ex- ae ie would have deceived one who was on is guard, much more they who had received her so unsuspiciously, and who now accepted her statement with sympathy and kindness, commiserating with her for the deep afiliction _she had been called to suffer, and te their cordial determination to make her, poor, lonely life happier than ever. rileetah age And vowed to be still more vigilant, still more éetern on aero and. she dried her tears, and looked pale and .interested as they drove along—and determined. and defiant. CHAPTER VILL. NETTING HIS BIRD. Tue autumn days went. delightfully on to the household at Westwood, every one of them tend- to intrench Rose St. Felix still more impreg y in the stronghold she had taken by strata- each day inc her jubilant satisfac- ion, and her determination to play well her _ And with the lovely, solemn October days the same old woe deepe: and spread, in silence and unsuspected presence, in Florian Ithamar’s brayo heart, and he watched with pangs beside which physical torture would have been abso- lute relief, the wth of sues between Ken- neth Richmond and Jocelyne—of increasing: at- tention on Richmon(’s. part, and shy sweet, blushing consciousness on hers. 4 A a tela oes suitwi , but wit eex of a ee mah of the ae 4 samen eed: perf: ev Wi sirably, rail Leelee under his mm he when Jocelyne’s eyes would drop at his ardent glances, aoa hen face flush at an ardent word, and'she avoided,\as if distasteful to her, his oc- i caresses, He had fully made up his mind to marry her He had made it up deliberately, and now, when with her sweet self, there was combined such solid attraction as her immense wealth, and the itive influence of her social connections, Mr. Richmond was only delaying theactthat should virtually add J ooalyrneggiie her attributes to him- self, in order to, enjoy it in anticipation, i Of Mr. Kenneth Richmond really very little was actually That he was agentleman by birth and breeding ht have been established as-an undeniable fact in the minds of nearly all who knew him, if-his mannérs and presence and reputation were taken into consideration, and he took excee care that such should, be,the case, Of den life, the life lived away from the society of the people with whom he one w! nie Kenneth, Richmond smallest idea. That his income that paid forthe ‘unapproachably stylish mode of his living was the result of his uniform good luck at the gam- ble, or that there were in his. life that no gods pure woman could ever know, 80 dark vile Were they, that, in short, ho was Jocelyne fancied it . so well, no- had the ona clegant adventurer, 2 lucky gwindler, & lished rascal, were secrets’ as yet buried in 8 ap heart and the hearts of a few chosen friends, who did not’ openly’ claim him or he them, as such. And this was the man to whom Jocelyne Merle was giving her first awakened attention and in- terest: this the’ man for whom Florian Ithamar was ruthlessly sacrificing his happiness, in the high sense of honor he had that made him shrink from infringing on what so plainly seemed Mr. Richmond’s rights; this the man who wassitting in the flower-lined bay-window one sunny Octo- ber pene watching Jocelyne caress’ the vivid green leaves, and daintily give a curve to some rebellious vinelet. She was looking most enchantingly sweet that morning, with her young - face pone with health and happiness, and Kenneth Richmond’s évil heart thrilled’ as he leaned his handsome head nearer her. “Let the flowers alone, Jocelyne, and bestow your attention ‘on me. Sit down, and let me talk to you; I want to tell you something.” She laughed, and flushed allover her delicate; spirited face. , ‘*T Hope you are not jealous of my pets, Mr. Richmond? Because— y104 He took one of her hands that trembled in his sudden, strong , and the sense of triumph it gave him was conon ome exuberant. ‘But; I am jealous, Jocelyne, of eve ing and every one on whom you yw your erty attention: ‘ Because I want it all, myself. want you, Jocelyne, and your love! Jocelyne, you know I love you?” a She drooped her ‘face away—great thrills of strangs;/ vazueemotion at her heart at: these, the first love words her ears had ever heard, at this, her first. experience in the presence of’a human passion. f ‘He went on, ina low, eager tone, nothing dis- heartened by her sweet silence, but the rather fired by her half-yielding blushes, her half-girl- ish indifference. “My darling Say yes—will you, will you, Jocelyne?’’) ; 4 he felt’ her hand tremble in his and he'saw the pale solemnity of her face:that drove away the delicious flushes, and he met the beautiful; serious eyes she raised, coyly, to’ his. aero My little: darling, you do love me!’ ’ Hesuddenly released herhand and took her in his arms, kissing her abmetanee ties and re- ak to let her shrink away, as tried, “No, my sweet! “Your eyes have confessed; pe have given me the precious privilege of a over—now' say the word—only one. little word) —