ie She Office 31 Rose. St. P.O. Box 2734 N.Y. Eniered at the Post Office, New York, as Second Class Matter. Three Dollars Per Year, Two Covies Five Dollars. sugiil \ “THE HANDSOME YOUNG GUARD CAUGHT ESTELLE INDIGNANTLY. IN HiS ARMS AND LIFTED HER OUT OF DANGER® FLASHING FROM HER EYE FAG os tJ Ss L Ip EDWARDS He Lifted his hat eagerly, and she could see the expression of pleasure that lighted up his handsome face, as she retnrned his ROORLN BRI ll salute with a demure nod. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM. Estelle’s Millionaire Lover: > The Prettiest | ypewriter in New York. By JULIA EDWARDS, Author of ‘* Evelyn, the Pretty Factory Girl,” ‘* Beautiful Viola,’? “‘Tempted to Leave Her Lover,” ‘‘ Beautiful, but Poor,” ‘The Little Widow,’ Etc. CHAPTER I. “DOES EVERY GIRL FIRST TIME SHE OF A MAN!” FEEL SUCH A THRILL THE IS CLASPED IN THE ARMS “Not a word, but a glance and a sigh! A throb of the heart, a downeast eye! A spark to tinder, a soul aflame! The world thereafter never the same!” “There she goes, now!” “Who?” The speakers were two young men from the aristocratic quarter of Brooklyn, who were leisurely wending their way toward the Brook- lyn end of the great bridge. “Who?” repeated the first speaker; “why, the girl I have told you so much about, of course. The beauty!” “Oh! the one they call the prettiest type- writer in New York?” “That's she. What do you think of her?” “IT think her certainly the prettiest girl I ever saw. What a figure! And what eyes! they rival in color the deep blue sea. Whose office is she in?” “She’s in the office of Harrison Banks, the broker, on Broad street.” “Do you know her?” “Not I. I tried several times to make her acquaintance by bowing, but it was no use. Those blue eyes of hers flashed out the haugh- tiest scorn imaginable. You wouldn't believe it, would you, to see how saucy and merry they looked as she hurried by?” The subject of their remarks, mean- while, had hurried past them and was lost in the surging crowd which at that time of the morning always blocks the Brooklyn entrance to the bridge. It was a clear, bracing autumn morning, and the beautiful girl was evidently late, for she had been hurrying until her cheeks were aglow with a bright color, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her red lips were parted, showing her pearly teeth between, and here and there on her low, white forehead danced a sunny curl that had escaped from its confinement. Her garments were of plain material, But so tastefully cut and so perfectly fitted that, unless one examined closely, the impression was sure to be that she was richly dressed. But, after all, few ever looked twice at her garments who had once seen her face. Hun- dreds of pairs of eyes were turned to look at her as she hastened along, and it was evident from the comments made that she was well- known for her exquisite beauty. Usually she walked over the bridge, for she could not always afford the luxury of riding; but being late this morning, she was forced to forego her walk, She seemed quite unconscious of the atten- tion she was attracting, and tripped along in her jaunty, saucy way, filled with her own thoughts. That they were not dismal thoughts was easy enough to see by the expression of the eyes which the young man had justly said rivaled the deep blue sea in color. When she mingled with the jostling, surg- ing, pushing crowd at the entrance, it was odd to see how quickly she was surrounded by a cordon of respectfully admiring passengers | of the male sex, who, without seeming to do| so, kept her from being jostled and pushed, as was the case with everybody else. But she was too busy with certain thoughts of her own to give any heed to her protectors. “TI wonder,” she murmured, to herself, a roguish smile dimpling her round cheeks, “if I shall catch his car? It ought to be about time for him.” When she reached the landing platform of the bridge she forced her merry, roguish face into a demureness, not natural to it, and glanced quickly, but with studied indiffer- ence, from one car to another, “Tt isn’t his train,” she murmured, with an air of comical disappointment, The cars were almost ready to start, but they were so crowded that she decided to wait for the next train; and in order to be sure to obtain at least standing room, she took her place near the open side door of the train that was there. The bell rang, and the guards made ready to shut the gates and doors. The hand of the guard was on the door near which the waiting beauty stood, and in a moment more it would be banged shut, But ere that moment psssed, a great burly brute of a fellow pushed and hustled his way through the throng that was waiting, and sprang through the closing door-way, just as the train started. The pretty type-writer happened to be in the fellow’s way, and he thrust her aside with such violence that she was thrown against the moving car, and in a second had fallen be- tween the p]&tform and the train. But the day before a young girl had been terribly crushed in the same way, and this thought came to every spectator of the scene. Down, down she went! A moment more and she would be ground between the rear end of the car and the platform! That young life, so full of joy and sweetness would be destroyed forever! That exquisite beauty would charm no more eyes! The spectators seemed paralyzed, and stood staring in dumbhorror. Save for the agonized cry that broke from her lips, there was no sound save that of the rushing car. Ah, Heaven! was she to perish so? No, no! As she had sought the car platform for a face she knew, so a pair of masculine eyes had sought her amid the crowd. And providentialy those eyes had found her, had seen he fall! The owner of them, a magnificent specimen of young manhood, had understood the danger at once, for he was a train guard. With his athletic arms he had cleared a way for himself through the crowd, regardless of - whom he hurt, and just in the moment of de- | spair had caught \the beautiful girl in his arms, It seemed nothing to him to lift her out of danger, and to make room for her where he stood. His handsome face was very white, and he looked down at her with an expression that would have betrayed to any one that he adored the beautiful creature he had the good fortune to save, “Are you hurt?” he whispered, holding her closer to his breast than he realized, Her face was very white, too, for she had been near to death, and had known it; but she had not lost consciousness. She was only dazed for a moment, and her great blue eyes looked into his before she could command her thoughts. “T am not hurt,” she answered, ina low tone, the color rushing back into her face in a flood. “You have saved my life. Thank you!” “Thank you,” seemed so little to say, but for some reason she could not think of better words, It seemed as if he were reluctant to put her down, but there was no excuse for holding her in his arms any longer, and he slowly let her feet touch the platform. “You are sure you can stand?” he demanded, so softly that no one but herself could have heard it. “Oh, yes,” she replied, looking up shyly at him. “I am not hurt at all.” The passengers who were crowded around were loud in their denunciation of the bridge authorities for permitting such a death-trap on the bridge; and were equally loud in their praise of the young yuard who hadso gal- lantly rescued the beautiful type-writer. But neither she nor her rescuer seemed to notice anybody else there. They talked to- gether in low tones. “Will you be able to go on the cars?” he asked. “Had you not better return home to- day?” “Oh, no; I must go over,” she said. “Be- sides, I was not hurt at all, thanks to you.” “May I know yourname?” heasked, eagerly, and as if he were asking a great boon. “Estelle Everett,” she replied, in a low tone —so low that he was forced to bend his head to catch it. “My name,” he said, “is Harry Harding.” She looked up into his eyes, and he looked down into hers, and though there were hun- dreds of people all around them, and watch- ing them too, none heard what they told each P other in that exchange of glances. “T had heard you called Harry,” she mur- mured. He looked a joy he dared not express. She had known his name, then. “This is my train,” he said. cident I was over here before my train. _ “A happy accident for me,” she said, blush- ing. “Will you come to my car?” eagerly. “It is the last one.” She might have told him that she knew that, too; but she didnot, She would not for the world have had him know that she had taken so much notice of him without knowing him. He led her through the swarming crowd to his car, and advised cunningly that she re- main on the platform, to get the fresh air. She blushed at the suggestion, but was too grateful to refuse to do as he advised. So she stood there in the fresh air, the roses coming back to her cheeks, and her eyes occa- sionally taking a furtive glance at her hand- some rescuer. Once, when he had the opportunity to speak to her, he said, in a low voice: “TIT am very happy to know that I was there instead of some one else.” “¥ did not expect to be saved at all,” she murmured, the color suffusing her cheeks, as she caught the deeper meaning of his words. “TI have often seen you walking over the bridge,” he said to her, “Yes, I usually walk,”shereplied. “I would have walked this morning if I had not been late.” “Yes,” he said, “I looked for you as I came over, and I wondered if you might not be going to ride.” Then he had looked for her! She could not resist the desire to glance up into his face. She did so, and their eyes met. Ah, what a language there is in the silence of a glance! There was not time to say more; but before she left the car, Estelle put out her little hand, as daintily gloved as any fine lady’s, and said, in a voice that was sweet and mu- sical: “T am very grateful to you.” “Please don’t speak of that,” he eagerly re- plied. “But if I should some day be at liberty at the right time, may I walk over the bridge with you?” “If you would like to,” she answered, the rosy blushes flooding her round cheeks with color. Then she stepped from the car and hurried away into the busy streets of the great city. But® her thoughts did not leave him, if she did. “Ah,” she murmured, as she hastened through Nassau street toward Wall, “does every girl feel such a thrill the first time she “It was by ac- ” he asked, Idon’s Latest Story, “Faithful Shirley,” on the Second Page. oe is clasped in the arms of a man! Never before did such a thing happen to me. Oh, how handsome he is! No wonder he is called Hand- some Harry by all the girls!” CHAPTER II. “THE COY LITTLE DARLING! BUT I WILL BANISH HER SHYNESS AND MAKE HER THE HAPPI- EST GIRL IN NEW York.” There was no trace in her appearance, as she: walked into the office of Harrison Banks, of the terrible danger she had escaped that morn- ing. Happy thoughts had ,driven everything un- pleasant from her mind; and it is not certain that in her innermost heart she did not look upon her accident as a providential occurrence to be grateful for. The clerks all looked up from their work to smile and nod at her, thankful for a glance of her beautiful eyes in return; for, without ex- ception, they were all infatuated with her. Yes, even proud Victor Dumont, the confi- dential clerk, loved the pretty type-writer; and would have given his dearest possessions for a kindly glance from her, But she scorned him, and would never ex- change any other words with him than her duties demanded. For inthe early days of her “employment there Victor Dumont had shown his lack of true principle by presuming to encircle her waist with his arm. She had turned upon him then, with her blue eyes almost. black with indignation, and had told him how she scorned him. Since that day he had striven with’ all his might to winafriendly word or look from her, but she had proudly refused to notice him ex- cept as their office duties compelled her. Perhaps he would have made her life a hard one in the office if it had not been for the more than paternal. kindness: of Mr, Banks, who from the first.had shown a marked partiality for his pretty type-writer. Many times he had asked her to go out to lunch with him, or to drive in the afternoon, and he never failed to compliment her on her beauty. It was not pleasant to have him treat her so; but she was far too innocent to suppose a man of his age could be in love with her, and she therefore bore it patiently. On this particular morning she felt so happy that she gave a faint return to even Victor's softly worded good-morning. And when she entered the inner office, where Mr. Banks had installed her, in order, as he said, that she might always be near to receive his dictation, she smiled so brightly that her employer fairly started from his chair, ex- claiming: “Good heavens! Miss Everett; how beauti- ful you are this morning !” She blushed in her embarrassment, and she could not say anything to show her dislike of such an open compliment. “I hope I have not kept you waiting,” she said, as she hastily removed her outer gar- ments, “It would be nothing,” he replied, warmly, “to wait ten times as long for the happiness of seeing your beautiful face.” Estelle had her back toward Mr. Banks at that moment, and she could not help making a grimace of disgust and disapproval. As she did so she glanced up and saw the face of Victor Dumont, through the partially opened door. He was smiling at her in a way to indicate that ne had heard Mr. Banks, and had understood her grimace. It was not the first time that Victor Du- “mont had seemed to be listening and watch- ing, and it always angered Estelle. She turned with a haughty expression, and sat down at her type-writer, ready to take down anything Mr. Banks might have to say. Harrison Banks was a fine-looking man of not more than forty; though to Estelle he seemed a comparatively old man. He had been very prosperous, and was in the hafit of thinking shat the could’ obtain whatever he wished for. Estelle had attracted him from the first, and he had fallen as passionately in love with her as any of his clerks. Nothing that he could do to win her regard had he left untried; and he could so little comprehend a poor girl like Estelle repulsing a rich man like him, that he had little doubt that she would count it an honor when he came to tell her of his love. And yet the days had gone by, one after an- other, and for some reason the words he had it on his tongue to say were not uttered. This morning it seemed to him that he could not do anything but look at her, and admire the exquisite picture she made as she sat there not far from his side, waiting with bright eyes and glowing cheeks for his words. “She is the most beautiful creature in the world,” he said to himself, “and I shall not let another day go by without telling her how much [ love her. Ah! how I would like to take her in my arms at this minute and cull the roses from her lips!” Estelle, tired of waiting in silence, looked up, and caught his admiring eyes fixed full upon her. “TI thought you were going to be very busy this morning,” she said, with a shade of an- noyance in her tone, which, however, he did not notice. “Yes, Iam very busy,” he replied, rousing himself. “The truth is, you are so lovely to look upon that I can think of nothing but ou.” ‘ “Mr. Banks!” she exclaimed, in indignant protestation, “I beg that you will not say such things to me.” He laughed lightly, not believing for a mo- ment that she was in earnest, and more than ever determined that he would press those cherry lips with his own before she left him for the day. “The coy little darling!” he said to himself. “But I will banish her shyness and make her the happiest girl in New York. NowImust go to work, however.” So he plunged at once into business, and kept the pretty little hands flying over the keys all the morning. : Other business claimed him at lunch time and during the afternoon, and Estelle was not forced to listen to any more of his objectiona- ble speeches. Several times Victor Dumont, encouraged by the softening she had shown when she arrived in the morning, endeavored to talk with her in a confidential way, but each time she re- pulsed him coldly. His anger seemed to grow with his repeated rebuffs, and at last he grasped an opportunity when Mr. Banks was out of the office, and he went boldly to Estelle. “Miss Everett,” he said, in a low, intense tone, “you treat me worse than you do any- body else in the office. I cannot stand it. What have I done to deserve it?” “T do not care to discuss it with you,” she coldly answered. The black eyes of the young man snapped with passion. “But you must,” he said. “I am not like one of those clerks out there, to be put off with a cold look. Ihave borne your resentment and coldness long enough. I love you, Estelle, and I must tell you so.” “Sir!” she cried, rising haughtily, as if she would check him. But. he was not to be checked. “Oh, you cannot frighten me with a look or a word,” he cried. “I tell you that I love you, and | swear that I will win you. Ah, Estelle, my dear one! my beauty! why not yield your pride, and consent to return the passionate love I bear you?” “Stop!” she cried, her breast heaving with anger, “I will not listen to such words from you. I believe you unworthy any pure girl's love, and to me your words are an insult! Leave me, or I will complain to Mr. Banks!” His olive face turned livid with wrath and disappointment. “Ah,” he sneered, malevolently, “you think you are safe in counting on Mr. Banks. You prefer him because he is rich. But I know peu socrerty laugh at him, and you shall never e his.” 4 slowly he did not appear. “Begone, sir!” she cried, a flood of crimson dyeing her neck and eheeks, “ After this wan- ton insult, I forbid you ever addressing mea word except on business. If you dare to speak to me on any other subject, 1 will complain to Mr. Banks. Oh, shame on you!” She pointed to the door, and he did not dare to remain, though his dark face was convulsed with passion. The recollection of the scene kept the fire in the sapphire eyes long after Victor had left her, and it was still there when Mr. Banks en- tered, late in the afternoon. Ile only noticed, howeyer, that her beauty had assumed a new phase, and he looked at her with undisguised admiration. It was so late that all the clerks but Victor had gone home. He had dismissed them, say- ing he would remain until Mr. Banks went home. Estelle was always expected to remain until dismissed by Mr. Banks in person, which was inreality only an excuse of tne wealthy broker to have her with him for a few minutes each day before separating. “Will you need me any more, sir?” asked Estelle, growing restive under his continued glance, ‘ Mr. Banks smiled, and looked around to ascertain if any one in the outer office was looking. He did not know that Victor had arranged a mirror so that he could see every- thing that passed in the inner office. “Need you, Miss Everett?” repeated Mr. Banks, in a soft tone of admiration and pas- sion. “It seems to me that I always need you. Do you understand me, dear? I love you, my sweet Kstelle! my beautiful gir]! ave you not discovered it? Have you been blind to the passion that devours me?” He was too intent on what he was saying to notice the look of horror and indignation that filled her eyes, As he spoke he approached nearer to her, and was about to clasp her in his arms, when she sprang from her seat and held him away with one outstretched hand. “Stop!” she cried; “donot dare to touch me! ‘You address such language to me, and have a wife? You are a scoundrel! I know it now! I shall never come to this office again.” Anger and indignation made her fearless, and she repulsed him scornfully, in spite of the terrible look of rage that chased the first expression of amazement from his countenance. “Do you comprehend what you are doing?” he demanded, subduing his anger for a mo- ment. “I will give you all that heart can ask. Diamonds, silks, horses—any and everything.” “Every word you utter,” she replied, with cutting scorn, as she donned her hat sacque, “but betrays your utter baseness.” “Have a care, my proud beauty!” he furi- ously cried. She ignored his threatening remark, and said, as she turned to face him at the door: “There is some money due me, and perhaps one so lost to honor will refuse to pay it. vt your conscience urges you to justice, you know my address.” She turned as haughtily as an empress, and swept from the office, her beautiful face all afiame with indignation. She did not bestow a glance on Victor Du- mont, who stood behind his desk, his black eyes flaming. But he watched her until she was out of the room. “ Aha!” he muttered, “so Harrison Banks is not the favored lover! So much the worse for you, Estelle Everett. He shall aid me in my plan. I will see him while his fury is hot.” He slipped from his place and glided into the private office, where Harrison Banks still stood, his face eonvulsed with rage and aston- ishment. “Well?” he angrily demanded of his clerk. “Tf you will listen to me, sir,” said Victor, insinuatingly, “I will throw the shy little beauty into your arms.” “What do you mean?” demanded the broker, angrily. “T mean, Siz,” ret -d Victor, softly, “that, T dnintentfondll¥ o¥erfieard all that passed in here. I knew you would be enraged at her im- pudent pretense of refusing your love.” “Pretense!” exclaimed the broker. “What do you mean?” “T mean that she has another lover, of course. Do you suppose she would refuse such aman as you if it were not so?” “IT had not thought of that,” replied the other. “TI thought of it at once,” said Victor, quickly, “and a plan entered my head for forc- ing her to come to terms with you.” “Ah! I know how cunning you are Victor; but how will you accomplish that?” “Oh, it will be’ simplicity itself. to me!” Listen CHAPTER IiIl. “IT SEEMS TO ME AS THOUGH LOVE WERE A SORT OF FEVER, ACCOMPANIED BY THE SWEETEST DELIRIUM IN THE WORLD.” The flashing sapphire eyes and scarlet cheeks of Estelle attracted more than ordinary notice. It seemed indeed as if every phase of passion only developed a new charm in her beauty. Busy, tired men stopped in the streets to look after her; and young men who saw her would go on their way, to talk of nothing else until home was reached. But she thought only of the double insult she had that day received, and her indigna- tion was hot indeed. She could not afford to be out of empiloy- ment, but shee did not hesitate to choose be- tween starving and returning to that office. Nevertheless she was not so occupied with what the two men at the office had said to her as to forget entirely what Harry Harding had said in the morning. As she neared the bridge she wondered if he had been able to obtain the release from his work that he had spoken of. She looked carefuly, and yet with an air of studied indifference—for she would not have him know how much she cared—to see if he were waiting for her at the entrance. He was not there, and though she went very So, with a pretty little pout of disappointment, she went her way across the great structure. She had not gone far, when a train passed her going to Brooklyn, and as she looked in- voluntarily at the rear platform, a flush of delight suffused her cheek at seeing him she sought standing there. He lifted his hat eagerly, and she could see the expression of pleasure that lighted up his handsome face as she returned his salute with a demure nod. “He was not able to get off,” she murmured to herself. But at the other end of the bridge there was a surprise awaiting her. Harry Harding was hastening to meet her. “T could not obtain leave earlier,” he said; “but I am off now, and I have come to ask if I may not walk home with you,” “Certainly,” she replied, “if it will be any pleasure to you. But you know I am accus- tomed to going alone.” “Tt will be a pleasure to me,” he said, eagerly. “I know how independent you are, but I sometimes wonder if you ought to walk so far now that the afternoons are growing shorter. It is dusk now.” “Walk so far!” she repeated, wonderingly. “How do you know how far I have to walk?” She could see an embarrassed flush cross his face. “You won’t be angry if I tell you?” he said, hesitatingly. “No. Why should I be?” “You may not like it,” he replied; “but I meant no harm by it. I had an afternoon free one day, and I happened to see you—— No, no! I will be honest! I followed you home, Please don’t be angry! I did so much wish to know where you lived.” Angry! Oh, no, she was anything but angry, but she would not let him see that. “TI don’t know,” she said, “why you should wish to know where I lived.” “Of course you cannot understand,” he said. “But I had seen you so often crossing the bridge, that I had come to feel as if I knew ? and | «casa THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. know where you lived.” Estelle laughed softly. Somehow it made her very happy to know that he had been thinking of her all the time that she had been thinking of him and admiring him for his manly beauty. “Well,” she said, “you did not see much when you saw our cottage, did you?” “I thought it looked very cozy,” he replied. “Was it your*mother I saw let you in?” “No,” she replied, a shade of soberness fa]ll- ing across her merry face; “she is a very good woman with whom,I live. I don’t know who my parents are, or even if they are alive.” ite was sorry he had asked the question, but the knowledge that she was alone in the foe made him feel unutterably tender toward er. “T wondered,” he said, for want of some- thing else to say, “if the inside of the cottage was as cozy as the outside looked.” She laughed merrily. “Tf you will come in to-night, you shall see for yourself,” she said. “Oh,” he cried, “I did not mean that. But I would like to call on you if I may. I was going to ask you to let me.” “But I want you to come in to-night,” she said, in a pretty, peremptory way. “I want Aunty Barlow, as I always call her, to see you and thank you for saving my life.” “T don’’t wish to be thanked,” he said. “Oh,” she retorted, saucily, “it may not seem to you worth a thank you, but I assure you that I consider my life a very valuable thing.” “ . “So valuable,” he said, in a tone of deep feeling, “that I consider saving it a privilege so precious that itis I who ought to give thanks for the happiness of being the fortunate ore,’ here was so much in his words, and so much more in his tone, that Estelle felt that she would not dare pursue the subject further. “It is growing dark,” she said, ina low tone. “Yes,” he answered, “so dark that it would be proper for you to take my arm, if you will. Won’t you take my arm?” he asked, in a tone of tender entreaty. She put her little hand on his arm without a word, and so they walked along in silence for a considerable distance. They were out of the brightly lighted streets now, and in the little frequented ones. Silence at times is very expressive, and Estelle felt that it was so in this case. She would have given anything to think of | something to say, but all her thoughts seemed to be of him on whose arm she was leaning. The words of the poet came into her mind: “Love is born in silent thought. Out of silence words are wrought To speed like Cupid’s barbed dart To thrill another throbbing heart.” “Tam going to leave my present employ- ment,” she said, suddenly, thinking to turn the conversation to a safe subject. “Indeed,” he said, in surprise. “Are you going todo anything else? I hope it won’t stop your crossing the bridge as you have been doing.” “I don’t know what I shall do,” she replied. “T am afraid I shall have difficulty in finding another place. I left my employer in anger, and he may not give me a good reference.” “T am sure you had cause for anger,” Harry said, impetuously. “He insulted me,” cried Estelle, before she had time to reflect. “Insulted you!” he cried, hotly. “Oh, why was I not there? Tell me, is it too late to resent what he did?” “Silence is the best thing in this case,” she answered. “Tf [had the oy. 42" ma he said, and stopped. | Then, suddenly, he*went on, as if he could not | check himself: “Yes, I must say it. Estelle, give me the right.co protect you. Ah, this is sudden. tp you, ge ve loved yyou from the moment! first saw® you. Day by day I have watched for your coming, and if I missed you at any time, my heart was sore until the next happier time came. Estelle, darling, you do not draw away from me! Oh, tell me that I have not forfeited your sweet confidence by my haste! Estelle! have you no word? My little one! Let me see your face! Oh, Heaven! is it love I see in your eyes? Estelle, my dar- ling! Oh, Heaven be thanked for this great happiness |” She had held her face down, afraid to let him see the happiness that flooded it; afraid that it was unmaidenly to yield him her heart so suddenly. But when he asked her so pleadingly to look up at him, she had not been able to resist, and her eyes sought his in the dim light of the street. There was no one to see, fortunately, for when he comprehended his happiness he caught her in his strong arms and pressed her to his breast while he rained kisses on her ripe lips. “Tell me, my darling!” he murmured, ec- statically, “is it true indeed that you love me? It is not a dream? It is love?” “TI do nov know,” she murmured, softly. “You do not know!” he repeated. “But you are happy in my arms?” “Very happy,” she said, so softly that he could scarce catch her words. “Then it is love that you feel,” he mur- mured. “Do you not believe it is love; my darling?” “T am sure it must be love, but I did not know love was like this. It seems to me,” she said, shyly, “as though love werea sort of fever. accompanied by the sweetest delirium in the world.” Again he pressed her to his heart and drank nectar from her Jips. When he released her for a moment, she whispered, softly: “ Are you sure you are not mistaken in your feelings?” “My darling,” he murmured, pressing her ripe lips with passionate ardor, “I am not worthy of you, but I love you as man never loved before.” They resumed their homeward way, but all the world was changed to them both now, and it seemed as if henceforth nothing but happi- ness could come to them. “You shall not need to seek other employ- ment now, my darling,” he said to her. “We will be married soon, and your only employ- ment shall be making a happy home for you and me.” ® Estelle was too happy to’ say much, but she entered into all his plans with the enjoyment of a child who sees no to-morrow, but lives always in the happy present. Harry needed no urging from Estelle or Mrs. Barlow to induce him to remain to supper at the cottage. It was ahappy meal, and one neither of them ever forgot in the dreadful days that were to come. No shadow of sorrow fell on the merry group, and when later the bell of the little cottage sounded and warned them of the pres- ence of a stranger at the door, no one had any foreboding of evil. “Miss Estelle 4verett live herg?” the lovers heard a gruff voice demand. “Yes, sir.” “Is she home?” “Yes, sir.” “IT want to see her,” and before the aston- ished girl or her lover had time to rise, a heavily built man, with something sinister in his appearance, entered the little parlor un- ceremoniously. “What do you wish?” demanded Estelle, half-indignant. “T want you.” was the abrupt answer, as the man threw open the coat he wore and showed a detective’s badge. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ’ ——— 0 ee } | White silks should be shaken about ina lather of white soap, rinsed in lukewarm | water and stretched over linen to dry as rapidly | |as possible. Spots of grease disappear from silk, if | you; and—and—so I thought I would like to | several times duripg the two weeks following | his connection with THE NEW YEAR. BY LUELLA CLARK. I know not what the coming year May bring to me of joy or pain, I only know He will be near Whose loving maketh all things plain. I know not what strange shade may fall Upon my pathway, bat | know He yet will hear and heed my eall And lead me whither I should go. It may be over mountains wild, : lt may be through the valleys sweet, But He will never leave His child To wander with unguarded feet. Ani still I know His sun will shine, His rains will fall, His grasses grow, His stars will shed their light divine, His rivers to the ocean fiow. I know how fair the days will glide When summer decks the smiling land, Mountains in solemn peace abide And all the hills in halo stand. And while He heeds the rains and snows And sets the stars their watch to keep, Cares for the humblest weed that grows, And wakes it from its winter’s sleep. While every wind blows by His grace, And rainbows span the steadfast blue, Each flower unfailing finds its place, And knows its time and season, too. I will not doubt His constant care, Nor fear His promised love will cease, Who, whether days be dark or fair, Can keep my soul in perfect peace, This Story Will Not be Published in Book-Form, FAITHFUL SHIRLEY: OR, A ROYAL QUEEN OF HEARTS. By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON. Author of “‘Marguerite’s Heritage,’? ‘Wild Oats,” **Brownie’s Triumph,” “The Forsaken Bride,” “‘Sibyl's Influence,” etc. [“ FAITHFUL SHIRLEY’’ was commenced in No. 9. Back numbers can be obtaiued of all News Agents. ] CHAPTER V. SHIRLEY DESIRES TO FIND EMPLOYMENT. Clifton Vining seemed saddenly and entirely changed from the fast, reckless, society-loving young man that he had hitherto been. He gave strict attention to his business, and showed himself so interested in his work that Mr. Norwood was both surprised and delighted, and wondered that Mr. Vining had not long ago been able to discover the strong, promis- ing traits in his son’s character. He did not, however, feel quite comfortable about entering into business relations with him, without consuiting his father, for he did not wish to create any unkind feeling between the families, and so desired to have the situa- tion thoroughly understood. Consequently, one morning, shortly after engaging Clifton, he sought Mr. Vining, in his’ ottice, and give him an account of just how matters stood, although he refrained from going into all the details which Clifton had given him. That gentleman seemed greatly surprised by this report of his son’s conduct, but, although he appeared to feel somewhat sensitive be- cause he had given him the cold shoulder and sought employment of another, in preference to going into his office, he was, on the whole, gratified to learn that he seemed inclined to turn over a new leaf. “Encourage him all you can, Norwood,” he said, “and I know of no one 1 would rather he would be with than you. If youthink it would VOL. 48—No. 12. —e of character and the vital questions of life; and all this made him Jong to fit himself to be more worthy of her regard. He was very indignant and much exercised over the great wrong that John Hubbard had done her, and he begged that she would allow him to put her case in the hands of a compe- tent lawyer and try to recover the money that belonged to her. At first she absolutely refused to have any- thing done about the matter; but, upon being e need be no publicity con- a the attempt, she consented to put the matter in charge of an attorney, with the hope that the man might be frightened into surrendering his ill-gotten: prory if indeed there should be any of it left, which Shirley strongly doubted. Therefore Clifton consulted a friend, who was a rising lawyer, and he cheerfully said that he would do the best he could for Miss Livingstone, He waited upon John Hubbard, and the man at first blustered and swore at a great rate, denying that he had ever had a dollar of money belonging to Shirley; but, finally be- coming convinced that this could be proved against him, he promised to give up what was left, which was only about five hundred dol- lars out of nearly eight thousand—the rest having been lost at the gaming-table, or spent in drunken brawls, They thought it best to secure this quietly, rather than prosecute the man, and use up the amount to no purpose in that way. He tried to discover where Shirley was, and talked about being her guardian and haying a went to know her whereabouts; but he was silenced, and thoroughly frightened, when the lawyer threatened him ath the utmost rigor of the law for his abuse of Miss Livingstone, and at once surrendered the five hundred dol. lars, together with her trunks and wardrobe. Shirley was only too glad to get even this much of her Reppeaty and be free from the vile people with whom she had been obliged to live since her mother’s death. : “You have been very good to me, Mr. Vin- ing,” she said, when this disagreeable business was settled, and Cifton had delivered the money and trunkstoher. “I have no words to express how grateful I am for all that I owe you.” “Pray do not feel that you are under any obligations to me,” the young man replied, with a look which made her eyes droop and a lovely color flame into her cheeks. “I have experienced only pleasure in being of service to you.” ; “Then I wonder if you would consider me presuming if I should ask your further assist- ance in a matter that is causing me some uneasiness,” she returned, with a_ smile, although there was an anxious look.on her fair face. “Certainly not; please feel perfectly free to command me in any way,” the young man answered, eagerly. “Thank you,” said Shirley, heartily; “I wanted to tell you that, although Mrs. Knapp makes me feel entirely welcome to remain with her, and is exceedingly kind to me, I am not content to live here in idleness, and I would like to find a situation of some kind, or employment, so that I may be able to support myself.” yourself of idleness, since you have been with Abby,” Clifton smilingly remarked, “for she cannot sound ae praises high enough over ‘the beautiful fine sewing’ that you have been doing for her.” “Oh, but that is a very small return for the shelter and protection she has given me,” Shirley replied. “Buteven if it were adequate recompense, Mrs. Knapp’s work is giving out, and I must perforce find something else to do.” “Why, bless your heart, dearie,” interposed Abby, who had entered the room in time to catch this last remark, “you’ve nearly sewed them little fingers of yours off, since you have it would do your own mother’s eyes good to see.” “Well, then, t should think you might help Miss Livingstone to get al] the work of that kind she wishes,” Ciifton remarked. “Just speak to some of the ladies for whom you do fine washing and ironing, and I feel sure that they will be glad to avail themselves of her services in that line.” “Well! well! sure enough!—and I never thought of such a thing myself!” cried the woman, in a regretful tone. “Here she has been stitching away for dear life for me, when she might have been earning dollars and dol- lars for herself.” be advisable to increase his salary, and you;do not feel that his services will warrant you in doing so, just let me know, and I will hand over a few hundreds to be paid to him through you. The young scamp has hitherto had a snug sum to spend every year, and he may find it close work to keep his expenses within the amount you are giving him. How does he appear’—pretty chipper?” “Well, he works cheerfully enough, but he appears to have acquired a certain thought- fulness and gravity which I have never ob- served in him before,” Mr. Norwood replied. “Hum! I confess I’m a trifle cut up over the way that things have turned out,” said Mr. Vining, flushing, “and I admit I was a bit hasty in sending him adrift quite so sum- marily; but I reckon I’}1 let him alone fora while and perhaps the affair will soon work itself straight. is getting along, from time to time, and I’ll be much obliged to you.” “T will, Vining, and you may rest assured that I will look after his interests,” his friend returned, but feeling somewhat disappointed | that the man did not send some encouraging message to his boy. “Where does he board?” Mr. Vining in- quired. “He has not shown his face at home once since the night we quarreled.” “T cannot tell you; he has not mentioned any place, and I have not thought it best to guestion him,” responded Mr. Norwood. “I think,” he added, thoughtfully, “a little in- terest manifested on your part might serve to heal the breach, and he would perhaps be glad to go home.” “Ahem !" ejaculated Mr. Vining, with some embarrassment, his pride instantly taking fire; “I think the lesson may as well be one to be remembered, and I believe I wil! leave him to fight his battle out alone for a while longer.” Mr. Norwood thought he was making a mis- take, in thus nursing his obstinacy, but he did not feel at liberty to say so; consequently, after conversing a little longer about the busi- ness prospects for the coming season, he took his leave and went back to his own office, de- termined that he would do the best he could for his smart young secretary, not only for his sake, but with the hope of some day uniting the Vining millions with the Norwood fortune. Clifton had found a quiet, respectable board- ing-place for himself, with the determination to live within his income. He had resigned his merase ip with his club,g@for several reasons; first, because he knew that his present income would not sup- rt such an extravagance; second, because ie had received an affectionate, sisterly letter from Annie, begging him, for her sake, to break with the fast set with which he had been keeping company of late, and thus prove to his father that he was really a manly man at heart, and above the wild and selfish life which he had recently veen living; and third, because the more he saw of lovely Shirley Liv- ingsvone, the more he recognized the superior- ity of her character, and desired to retain her respect and confidence. He had visited the home of his old nurse Mr. Norwood, and. of course saw considerable of the beautiful girl; while every time he went out from_ her pres- ence, he found himself Jess satisfied with his own former standard of life, and desirous of attaining to one more in accordance with Shirley’s; which was singularly pure and high. He was astonished to find how well-read she covered with dry magnesia, or gently rubbed with water and the white of egg. was—how familiar withthe best literature and “Pray do not feel at all uncomfortable about that,” said Shirley, brightly. “I have been very glad to work for you, and now you will not need to have any care or trouble over your spring sewing.” “And a great burden it is off my mind, I can tell you Miss Shirley,” said the good woman, with a sigh of relief, “for it would have taken me months to do all that work with my clumsy old fingers. But I'm going u to Madam Damon’s this very evening, wit some white dresses I’ve been doing up, and I will speak a good word for you,” she con- cluded, as she passed out of the room on her | way to the kitchen. : “Miss Livingstone, can you not think of |} something else that you could do—something ;}more congenial than sewing? I spoke of that Just keep me pusted how he} to Abby on the spur of the moment, but I am } | very sure that it will be exceedingly wearisome for you to sit and ply your needle all the time.” He knew that she must be well educated, while, too, he was sure that her dainty hands could not fail to be well-skilled in other ac- complishments besides the use of her needle. “Yes, 1 think I would like to teach if I could get a position; mamma educated me with that in view. And I have also takena course at a normal art school,” Shirley thought- fully replied. “But,” she added, “I am afraid it might be difficult for me to get a situation here in New York, since I have no influential friends in the city; would it not?” “It might be in the public schools,” Clifton iasavarels “But, possibly, you might meet with success in some of the private institu- tions.” Shirley thought a moment, then said: “Of course I can do nothing in that line until the beginning of fall, and there are at least four months before that. So I think I will try to get sewing todo during the suin- mer; meantime, if you think advisable, I might advertise for a teacher’s position.” Clifton was much gratified to have her con- sult him regarding her plans, and a strange thrill ran over him as he met the earnest eyes raised so trustfully to his. “I believe that would bea good plan,” he said; “although I think I would not advertise until later in the season—at least I would wait until the close of the present term.” “How glad I am that I have my trunks,” Shirley remarked, with a long breath of satis- faction; “for my diplomas are in one of them, and without them I should stand a very poor chance of getting a position.” “That is true,” returned hercompanion. Then he asked, with a twinkle in his fine eyes; “Can you be content to remain here all sum- mer, with my old nurse as your only compan- ion?’—will it not be very dull for vou?” Shirley flushed at the question, then laughed out merrily—such a musical, silvery laugh, and so infectious that Clifton involuntarily joined in it. “Of course I cannot fail to understand what you mean,” she said, suddenly checking her- self. “Poor Mrs. Knapp is not gifted, intel- Between the Eyes Is the place where nasal Catarrh manifests itself, but the real cause of the disease is found in scrofulous or impure taint in the blood. To cure Catarrh a radical blood purifier like Hood’s Sarsaparilla authors; how discriminating in her judgment Is needed. Be sure to get Hood’s Sarsaparilla. “Surely, Miss Livingstone, you cannot accuse . i iain li go ai Cpanel beenthere.« And such sewing! Master Clifton, i i tl ag cnet ys a My annenni eailaa ai iS ao ao vieenceesnnentanerastiageesencsetitlttie, ati ie — pane VOL. 48.—No. 12.