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“ Well, I don’t think," emphasizing each word with a most solemn nod, “ it would come ofl' 3:qu moustache in a, hurry.” “VI‘ll i'isk it, anyhow,” sayé Luttrell, stoop- ing suddenly to impress a fervent kiss upon the little. powdered fiqgers he is hqlding. “. Oh ! how wrong, how extremely wrong of you l” exclaims Miss Massereene, as success- fully shocked us though the thought that he might be tempted to such a deed has never occurred to her. Yet, true to her nature, she makes no faintest pretence at withdrawing from him her hand until a. full minute has elapsed. Then, unable longer to restrain her- self, she bursts into a merry laughâ€"a laugh all sweetest, clearest music. “You here.” exclaims she, staring at Ted- castle, “ of all places in the world ! I owe I am amazed. Oh, if your brother officers could only see you now, and your coat all over flour l I need hardly inquire if this is Molly’s doing. Poor boy I” with a laugh. “ It is a shame. _Molly, you are never happy unless you are torâ€" menting some one.” “ If you could only see how funny you look,” cries she. “ You are fair with a, vengeance now. Ah ! do go and see for yourself." Giv- ing him a gentle push toward an ancient glass that hangs disconsqlately near the clock, and thereby leaving another betraying mark upon theshoulder of his coat. Luttrell, having duly admired himself and give}; it as his opinion that though flour on the arms may be effective flour on the face is not, has barely time to wipe his moustache free of it, when Mrs. Massereene enters. “ The society of the upper ten is not good for you,Letitia,” says Molly,severely. “ There is a 'faint flavor of would-be sarcasm about ‘ you, and it doesn’t suit you in the least ; your .lipi'have not got the correct curve. No, my dear; although unnoticed by the nobility of our land, we. too, have had our nice, long, happy day in the country. Haven’t we, Mr. Luttrell ?” *“ But I always make it up to them after- wards, don’t I now, Letty ?” murmurs Molly, sweetly, speaking to Letitia, but directing a side-glanct1 at Luttroll from under her long dark lashes; this side-glance is almost a. promise. “ Well, so you have come at last, Letty. And how did you enjoy your ‘nice. long, happy day in the country,’ as the chil- dren say ‘2” “ One more word, Letitia," faintlyâ€"“ a last - one. Has he had that sole remaining tooth .Lin therfront of his mouth made steady ?” “No,” cries Mrs. Massereene, triumphant- ly, “ he has not. Do you too remember that _ awful tooth ‘1‘ It is literally the only thing left , undone, and I can’t imagine why. It still waggles uncomfortably when he talks, and his upper lip has the same old trick of catching on it and refusing to come down again until compelled. Sir John was there, and took me in to luncheon ; and as- I sat just opposite Lord Bossmere Ircould see distinctly. I par- ticularly noticed that.” “Vervy much indeedâ€"far more than I ex‘ pected. The Mitchells were there, which added a little to our liveliness.” “ Lord Bossmere ?V H6 is indeed, and was asking most tenderly for you. I never saw him look so well.” “ And my poor old mummy, was he there And is he still holding ypgethgr ‘1?” “ Oh I it grows absurd,” ‘saya Molly, in dis- gust. “ How much longer does he intend keeping up the farce? He must fall to pieces soon.” “ He hasn’t a. notion of it,” says Letitia, warming to her description ; “ he has taken a new lease of life. He looked only too wellâ€" positively ten years younger. I think myself he was done up. I could see his coal; was padded ; and he has adorned his head with a v‘ery'slaek' brown‘wig.” - - _- .. .1 ..‘ 1 : 7’1; Jane,” says Mofiy, weakly, “ be so good as to stand close behind me. I feel as if I were going to faipt d_ifectlyfi: 1 “ Law, miss I” says Jane, giving way to her usual expletive. She is a clean and worthy soul where pots and pans are concerned, but apart from them can scarcely be termed elo- quen_t_. - .. .- ‘- .. n “rYeu have saved me,” cries Molly, briskly. “ Had your answer been other than it was, I would not have hesitated for a moment ; I would have gone off into a. deathlike swoon. Thank you, June,” with a backward nod at Luttrell, Whom she has refused to recognize; “ I need not detain you any longer.” “ Mrs. Massereene, I shall never forgive "you," gays Luttrell. “ And is this the way you entertain your guests, Molly?” asks Letitia. “ Have you spent your day in the kitchen ‘2” “ You are busy, Jane,” says Mr. Luttrell, obligingly, “ and I am not. (I see you are winding up that long-suffering pudding}. Let me take a little trouble off your hands. I will stand close behind Miss Massereene.” “ He had quite a color, too,” goes on Leti- tia” mysteriously, “ a. very extraordinary color. Not that of an old man, nor yet of a young one, and I am utterly certain it was paint. It was a. vivid, uncompromising red ; so that I think the poor old thing’s valet must have overdone his work, for fun. Wasn’t it cruel-‘2"- “ I asked John on the way home what he thought,” goes on Letitia, with an evident in- terest in her tale, “ and he quite agrees with He that it was rouge, 'or at all events some- thing artificial.” r “ Are you ready, J ane ‘2” murmurs Molly, with increasiqg ‘Weqkn‘ess. “T‘V‘huirterreadgi; miss,” returns Luttrell, with hopgful . prpryptness. ‘. MOLLY BAWN. “ The sky was blue as the summer sea, . The depths were cloudless overhead; The air was calm as it could be; There was no sight or sound of dread." quotes Luttrell, dreamily, as he strays idly along the garden-path, through scented shrubs and all the many-lined children of light and dew. ‘ His revery is lengthened, 'yet not dif- fuse. One little word explains it all. It seems to him that Word is everywhere; the birds wipg'itvymhe wind Whistles it as it rushes faint- “ Do you think he would dare say no with your eyes upon him?” says Letitia, laughing. “By and by I shall hear the truth. Come with me”â€"to Tedcastleâ€"" and have a. glass of sherry befere your dinner; I am sure you must want it, after all you have gone through.” “ Gather- the roses While ye may; Old time is still a-flying; And the same flower that smiles to-dny _ To-morrow will be dying "â€"HERRIUK. A It 18 four o'clock, and a hush, a great Stlll‘ ness,1born of oppressive heat, is over all the land. Again the sun 15 smiting with hot wrath the unoffending earth ; the flowers nod drows- _ily or lie half dead of languor, their guy leaves touching the ground. And where were you just now, Mabel ? Where have you been so long ‘9 The moon is up, and 8.11 the birds Have sung their evenin song. I saw you loitering down he path, So lonely and so late, Beyond the well and lilac bush, And hanging by the gate. I love to heat the birds, mother, And see the rising moon, And, oh! the summer air is sweet Beneath the sky of June. My cow is milked, my hens are cooped, And washed are out) and plate, And so I wandered out awhile To hang upOn the gate. The gate is bv the road, Mabel, V And idle folks go by; Nor should a. maiden brook the glance Of every stranger eye. Besides, I thought I saw a capâ€" I'm sure you had a mute ;‘ So tell me who was with you, child, Just hanging {Lt the gate. , Now you know just as well, mother, ’Twm; only Harry Gray; He spoke such words to me to-night - I knew not What to say ; And, mother, oh, for your dear sake, I only bade him Wait; A131 mgyn‘t} rut} {Lpd tell him now ? ” Oh ! Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, A11 lonely waiting here for you."â€"Old Song He’s himgingrat the gum BY THE AUTHOR OF AT '1‘ [IE GATE. CHAPTER V. PHYLLIS ““ Mr. Luttvrell, Mr. Luttrell,” cries some one, " look up.” Antihg does 109k 1_1p._ 15" past, the i‘nmnlmerable voices of the summer Above him, on the balcony, stands Molly, a thing of beauty, fairer than any flower that grows beneath. Her eyes, like twin stars, are gleaming, deepening ; her happy lids are parted ; her hair, drawn loosely back, shines like threads of living gold. Every feature is awake and full of life; every movement of her sweet body, clad in its white gown, proclaims a. very joyousness of living. cvry‘ ceaselessly fpr_l\_aollz With hands held high above her head, filled with parti-colored roses, she stands laughing down upon him; While he stares back at her, with a heart filled too full of love for happi- ness. With a. slight momentary closing of her lids she opens both her hands and flings the scented shower into his uplifted face. ‘7; Take your punishment,” she whispers. snucily, bending over to him, “ and learn your lesson. Don’t look at me another time." “71 have a dim idea of something idiotic, like what you fax.” _ “ It; was by your own desire I did so,” ex- claims he, bewildered, shaking the crimsan and yellow and white leaves off his head and shoulders. “ How am I to understand you .9” “ How do I know, when I don’t even un- derstand myself? But when I called out to you look up, of course I meant look down. Don't you remember the old game with the handkerchief ?â€"â€"when I say let go, hold fast ; and when I say hold fast, let go ? You must recollect it.” “ It is not idiotic, but it suits only some people; it suits me. There is a certain per- verseuess about it, a. determination to do just what one is told not to do, that affects me most agreeably. Did I” -g1nncing at the rosy shower at his feetâ€"“ did I hurt you much ‘2” with a smile. There is a little plank projecting from the woodwork of the pillars that support the bal- cony ; resting his foot on this, and holding on by the railings above, Luttrell draws himself up until his face is almost on a level with hers â€"a1rnost, but not quite; she can still over- shadow him. “ If that was all the injury I had received at your hands, how easy it would be to for- give I” says he, in a 10W tone. “ Poor hands,” says Molly, gazing at her shapely fingers, “ how have they sinned ‘2 Am I to understand, then, that I am not for- given ?” “ Yes.” “ You are unkind to me.” “ 011, Molly I” “ Dreadfully unkind to me. Can you deny it? Now, tell me what this crime is that I have committed, and you cannot pardon.” “ I will not," says. the young man, turning alittle pale, while the smile dies out of his eyes and from round his lips. “ I dread to put my injuries into words. Should they anger you, you might with one. look seal my death-warrant.” “ Hush 2” says Molly, quickly, and, letting her hand fall lightly on his forehead, brings it slowly, blOle, over his eyes and down his face, until at length it rests upon his lips re- buLingly. ” Not another word. You have known me but a few days~»but a little short three Weeksâ€"mm! you iVélfldâ€"é ‘ “ Am I so bloodthirsty? How badly you think of me 1” “ Do 1?” reading with the wistful sadness of uncertainty her lovely face. “ You know better than that. You know too, do you not. what it is I would sayâ€"ifIdared? 0h, Molly, what have you done to me, what Witchery have you used, that, after escaping for twenty- aeven long years, I should now fall so hope- lessly inâ€"â€"-” “ Yes, I would,” eagerly, devouring with fond kisses the snowflake that would stay his words. “ Three weeksâ€"a yearâ€"-ten yearsâ€"- what does it matter? I think the very first night I saw you here in this garden the mis- chief was done. My heart left me. You stole the very best of me ; and will you give noth- ing in exchange?” “ I will not listen,” says Molly, covering her ears w1th her hands, but not so closely that she must be deaf. “ Do you hear? You are to be silent.” “Do you forbid me to speak ‘1” “ Yes ; I am in a hurry; I cannot listenâ€" now,” says this born coquette, unable to re- lease her slave so soon. “ Some other time-‘when you know me betterâ€"you will listen then ; is that what you mean ?” still detaining her with passionate en- trcaty both in tone and manner. “ Molly, give me one word of hope.” “ I don’t know what I mean," she says, ef- fecting her escape, and moving back to the obscurity of the drawing-room Window, which stands open. “I never do know. And I have not got the least bit of memory in the world. Do you know I came out here to tell you text was to be brought out for us under the trees on the lawn; and when I saw you I forgot everything. Is that a. hopeful Sign ?” with a playful smile. “ I will try to think so ; andâ€"don’t go yet, Molly,” seeing her about to enter the drawing- rcom. “ Surely, if tea is to be on the lawn, it is there we ought to go." “ I am half afraid of you. If I consent to bestow upon you a little more of my society. will you promise not to talk inâ€"inâ€"that way again to me ?" It But__’7 “ I will have no buts. Promise what I ask, or I will hide myself from you for the rest of the day.” “ I swear, then.” says he, and, so protected, Miss Massereene ventures down the balcony steps and accompanies him to the shaded end of the lawn. By this time it is nearly five o’clock, and as yet oppressivoly warm. The evening is coming with a determination to rival in dull heat the early part of the day. The sheep in great White snowy patches lie panting in the distant corners of the adjoining fields; the cows, tired of whisking their foolish tails in an unsuccess- ful war with the insatiable flies, are all hud- dled together, and give way to mouthful lows that reproach the tarrying milkmaid. Above inthe branches a. tiny bird essays to sing‘ but stops half stifled, and, forgetting the tuneful note, contents itself with a lazy cluck- cluck that presently degeneratcs still further into a. dying coo that is hardly musical, be- cause so full of sleep. Molly has seated herself upon the soft young grass, beneath the shade of a. mighty beech, against the friendly trunk of which she leans her back. Even this short walk from the house to the six stately beeches that are the pride and glory of Brooklyn has told upon her. Her usually merry eyes have subsided into a gentle languor ; over them the White lids droop heavily. No little faintest tinge of color adorns her pale cheeks; upon her lap her hands lie idle, their very listlessness be- tokening the want of energy they feel. At about two yards distance from her re- clines her guest, full length. his fingers inter- laced behind his head, looking longer, slighter than usual, as with eyes upturned he gazes in silence upon the far-off, never-changing blue showing through the network of the leaves above him. VOL XXI. .“ Are you quite used up ?” asks Molly, in the slow, indifferent tone that belongs to heat, as the crisp, gay voice belongs to cold. “ I never heard you silent for so long before. Do you think you are likely to die? Becauseâ€" don’t do it here, please ; it would give me such a shock." “ I am far more afraid I shall live,” replies her companion. “ Oh, how I loathe the sum- mer !" “ You are not so far gone as I feared ; you can still use bad language. Now, tell me what sweet thought has held you in thrall so long.” ‘r If I must confess it, I have been thinking of how untold a luxury at this moment would be an iced bath." the.” She says {his Ems-calmly as though â€"she hag suppqsed him thinking 9f_h_is diyner. Tedcastle’s lips part in a faint smile, a. mere glimmerâ€"a. laugh is beyond himâ€"and. he turns his head just so far round as will per- mit his eyes to fall full upon her face. “ An iced bath !” With as much contempt as she can summon. “ How prosaic ! And I quite flzfitered mys_e1f yoq were fipinking of “ I fauéied such thougfits on my part ta- booed,” he says. “ And, besides, would they be offlany advgnfiage to you ?”_ “ N0 Enaterial {dvantvagm but they would have been only fair. I was {Ellingng qf you." ” Were you? Really!" With such over- powering interest aa induces him to raise him- self on his elbow, the better to see her. “You were thinkingâ€"thatfl" “Don’t excite yourself. I was wondering whether, when you were a baby. your noseâ€" in proportion, of courseâ€"was as lengthy and solemn as it is now.” Looking up simultaneously, they perceive Letitia coming towards them, with Sarah be- hind, carrying a. tray, on which are cups, and small roumi cakes, and plates of strawber- mes. “Pshaw I" mutters Mr. Luttrell, angrily, and goes back to his original posjfijon. ” If it was,” pursues Molly, with a ruthless and amused laugh, “ you must have been an awfully funny baby to look at.” She appears to find infinite amusement in this idea for a full minute, after which follows a disgusted silence that might have lasted until dinner- hout but for the sound of approaching foot- steps. “ I have brought you your test at last,” cries Letitia, looking like some great fair god- dess, with her large figure and stately walk and benign expression, as she bears down upon them. She is stills long way ofi, yet; her voice comes to them clear and disticct, Without any suspicion of shouting. She is smiling benevolently, and has a delicious pink color in her cheeks. “ We thought you had forgotten us,” says Molly, springing to her feet with a sudden re- turn of animation. “ But you have come in excellent time, as we were on the very brink cf a quarrel that would have disgraced the Kilkenny eats. And what have you brought us ? Tea, and strawberries, and dear little hot cakes ! 011, Letty, how I love you!" “ So do I,” says Luttrell. “ Mrs. Masse- reene, may I sit beside you ?” “ For protection ‘2” asks she, with a. laugh. In the meantime Molly has arranged the tray before herself, nndin busily engaged plac- ing all the worst strawberries and the small- est cake on one plate. “ Before you 60 any farther," says Luttrell, “ I won’t have that plate. Nothing shall induce me. WSo you may spare‘ypur trouble.” “ Mrs. Massereene, you are my only friend. I appeal to you; is it fair? Just look at all she is keeping for herself. If I die for it, I will get my rights,” exclaims Tedcsstle, goaded into activity, and, springing from his recum- bent position, makes straight for the tray. There is a. short but decisive battle; and than, victory being decided in favor of Lut- trell, he makes a. successful raid upon the fruit, and retires covered with glory and a good deal of juice. ” Then” you méy go wi'fhout any, as I my- self intendiea‘ting all the others.” “ Coward, thief! won’t I pay you out for t11is_?"gri§g Molly, vigiou‘fly, ‘ ‘ -.-r “ I wbu dn’t uge school-50y slang if I were you,” returns Luttrell, with provoking cool- ness, and an evident, irritating, appreciation of the fruit. “ It i‘s‘ warm,“ says he, sinking on the grass, under the Weak impression that he is impart- ng iyfqr‘mptipn. Fortunately for all parties, at this moment J 01113 appears upon thp 809119.. “ I think there is thvuder in the air," says Letitia, with a, mischievous glance at the late combatants, at which they laugh in spite of themselves. “ Not at all, my dear; you are romancing,” says ignorant John. “ Well, Molly Bawn, Where igrmy teq? A Have you _ke}_)t n_ue any ?” “ As if I would forget you 1 Is it not an extraordinary thing, Letty, that Sarah cannot be induced to bring us a. tea-pot? Now, I want more, and must only wait her pleasure.” “ Remonstrate with her," says John. “ I am tired of doing so. Only yesterday I had a very lengthened argument with her on the subject, to the effect that as it was I was having the tea, and not she, surely I might be allowed to have it the wawaished. When I had exhausted my eloquence, and was near- ly on the verge of tears. I discovered that she was still at the very point from which we started. ‘But the tea is far more genteeller, Miss Molly, when brought up Without the tea- pot. It spoils the look of the tray.’ I said ‘yes, the want of it does,’ with much indig- nation ; but I might as well have kept my temper.” “ Much better," says Luttrell, placidly. “I do hate having my tea poured out for me," goes on Molly, not deigning to notice him. “I am convinced Sarah lived with a retired tallow-chandler or something equally horrible before she came to u. She has one idol to which she sacrifices morning, noon, and night, and I think she calls it style.” “ Aid What is that? interposes "Luttrell. anxioufisly. 7 “ I don’t know, but I think it has some- thing to do with not putting the teapot on the tray. for instance, and taking the pretty fresh covers off the drawing-room chairs when any one is coming, to convince them of the green damask beneath. And once when, during a. psssing fit of insanity, I dressed my hair into a pyramid, she told me I looked stylish. It took me some time to recover that shock to my janity." " I like stylish people myself,” says John. “Lady Barton, I am positive, is just what Sarah means by that, and I admire her im- menselyâ€"within bounds, of course, my dear Letitia.” “Dreadful vulgar woman!” says Molly, with afrown. “I’m sure I wouldn’t name Lettyflin fill? same day with heri” “ We all know youuare notoriously jealous of her.” says John. “ Her meridian charms eclipgg yours 9f tAhg dam.” “ How poetical l” laughs Molly. “ But the thing to see is Letitia. producing the children when her ladyship comes to pay a visit. She always reminds me of the Mother of the Grue- chi. Now confess it, Letty, don’t you think Lady Barton’s diamonds and rubies and emer- alds grow pale and lustreless beside your liv- ing jiewielsfl 7"Indeed. I an," returns Letitia, with the readiest, magi: uneggegtedrsimpligity: _ “ Letitia,” cries Molly. toucBed, giving her a little hug, “ I do think you are the dearest, sweetest, truest oldrgoosre in thgwqud.” ‘ “ 011 1 why won‘t Sarah come ?” says Molly, recurring suddenlv to her woes. “ I know, even if I went on my knees to Mr. Luttrell, he would not so far trouble himself as to go in and find her ; but I think she might re- member my weakness for tea.” “ There she is l” exclaims John. To their right rises a hedge, on which it has been customary for ages to dry the house- hold linen, and. moving towards it appears “ Nonéense, my d'ear I" says Letitia, with a slow pleased blush that is at once so youthful and up lovely. RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JUNE 5, 1879. “ There is nothing,” says he, mildly, “ that so clearly declares the sociability‘the ban camaraderie, so to speakâ€"that ought to exist in every well-brought~up family as the sight of washing done at home. There is such a happy mingling and yet such a thorough dis- regard of sex about itx‘It is ‘Hail, fellow I well met 1’ all through. If you will follow Sarah’s movements for a minute onger you will better understand what I mean. There ! now she is spreading out Molly‘s pale-green muslin in which she looked so irresistible last week. And there goes Daisy’s pinafore, and Bobby’s pantaloons; and. now she is pausing to remove a defunct grasshopper from Renee’s bonnet. What a charming picture it all makes, so full of life ! There go Molly’s stock very top. “ Sarah,” calls Molly, ” Sarahâ€"Sarah 1” Now, Sarah, though an undeniably good servant, and a. cleanly one, striking the be- holder as a. creature born to unlimited caps and spotless aprons, is undoubtedly obtuse. She presents her back hair and heelsâ€"that would not have disgraced an elephantâ€"to Miss Masscreene's call, and goes on calmly with her occupation of shaking out and hang- ing up to dry the‘ garments she has just brought. “ Shall I go and call her ‘2” asks Luttrell, with some remains of grace and an air of in- tense fatigue: “Not worth your while," says John, with all a man’s delicious consideration for a man; “ she must turn in a. moment, and then she will see us.” For two whole minutes, therefore, they gaze in rapt silence upon the unconscious Sarah. Presently Mr. Massereene breaks the eloquent stillness. “ J ohn,” interrupts Molly, indignantly, who has been frowning heavily at him for some time without the smallest result. "’ If you say another word,” puts 1n Luttrell, burying his face in the grass, with a deep groan, “ 1f you go one degree further, I shall faint.” -, Sarah, armed with a basket piled high to the “ And now comes my shirt,” goes on John, in the same even tone, tqtally upabgshed. “ My dear John !” exclaims Letitia, much scandalized, speaking in a very superior tone, which she fondly but erroneously believes to be stern and commanding, “ I beg you will pursue the subject no further. We have no desire whatever to learn any particulars about your shirts.” A " And why not, my dear?" demands Mr. Massereene, his manner full of mild but firm expostulation. “ What theme so worthy of prolonged discussion as a clean shirt ? Think of the horrors that encompass all the ‘great unwashed,’ and then perhaps you will feel as I do. In my opinion it is a. topic on which volumes might be written; if I had time I would write them myself. And if you will give yourself the trouble to think, my dear Letitia, you will doubtless be able to bring to mind the fact that once a. very distinguished and reasonable person called Hood wrote a song about it. Besides whichâ€"â€"” “She is looking now!” cries Molly, tri- umphantly.“ “JSam‘nâ€"Sgâ€"yah l_” “ The ‘bells they go ringing for Sarah,” quotes Mr. Luttrell, irreverently. But Sarah has heard, and is hastening towards them, and wrath is for the presentiaverted from his un- lucky head. Slvniling, panting, rubicund, comes Sarah, leady for anything. N '3‘ Afid that’s mme," says his upside down on his saucer. ” I am par- ticular about getting my own cup, Sarah, and hope you will not mistake mine for Miss Mas- sereene’s. Fill it, and bring it back to me just like this." “ Elome mbre tel}, Sarah,” says Molly, with a. smile that would corrupt an archbishop. Molly is a. person adored by servants. “ That’s mew-7’“ .‘ ,‘ <~:~ ‘1 Yes, sir,” says Sarah, in perfect good faith. N “ And, Sarahâ€"next time we would like the teapot,” puts in Mr. Massereene, mildly. “ Oh, we fell outâ€"I know not whyâ€" And kissed again with tem's.”â€"â€"’1‘ENNYSON They are now drawmg towards the close of July. To Luttrell it appears as though the moments are taking to themselves wings to fly away ; to more prosaic mortals they drag. Ever since that first day in the garden when he betrayed his love to Molly. he has been si- lent on the subject, fearful lest he gain a more decided repulse. “ Swan? Well, yes, I will, if you wish it ; I don’t mind,” says Molly amiably. “ And ‘ now tell me, are you not surprised to see me i here ‘2” ‘ “ I am, indeed. Are you ubiquitous ? I thought I left you safe at home.” Yet this enforced silence is to him a linger- ing torture ; and as a school-boy with money in his pocket burns till he spend it, so he, with his heart brimful of love. is in torment until he can fling its rich treasures at his mis- tress’s feet. Only a. very agony of doubt re- strains him. Not that this doubt contains all pain ; there is blended with it a deep ecstasy of joy, made to be felt, not spoken; and all the grace and poetry and sweetness of a first great passion â€"that thing that in all the after-years never wholly diesâ€"the earliest, purest dew that falls from the awakening heart. “ 0 love! young; love ? Let saints and cynics cavil as they will, One throb of yours is worth whole years of ill." 80 think Luttrell; so think I. To-day Molly has deserted him, and left him to follow his own devices. John has gone into the next town on some important errand connected with the farm ; so perforce our war- rior shoulders his gun and. sallies forth sav- agely, bent on slaying aught that comes in his way. As two crows, a. dejected rabbit. and an intelligent squirrel are all that present themselves to his notice, he wearies toward three o’clock, and. thinks with affection of home. For so far has his air-castle mounted that were Molly to inhabit a hovel that hovel to him would be home. .. Crossing a. stile and a high wall, he finds himself in the middle of the grounds that ad.- join the more modest Brooklyn. The shimmer of a, small lake makes itself seen through the branches to the right, and ashe gains its bank a boat shoots forth from behind the willows, and a gay voice sings : I He went to a. brouk, And he saw a. little " “Oh, Mr. Luttrell, please, please don’t shoot me,” cries Molly, breaking down in the song with an exaggerated show of feigned terror. “ Do you call yourself a duck?” demands Luttrell, with much scorn. “Is there any limit to a wsman’s conceit? Duck, indeed! say ratherâ€"â€"” “ So you did. But I never counted on your staying so long away. I was tired of waiting for you. I thought you would never come. So in despair I came out here by myself.” “ So you absolutely missed me 7” says Lut- trell, quietly, although his heart is beating rapidly. Too well he knows her words are from the lips alone. “Oh, didn’t I!” exclaims she, heartily. “ You should have seen me standing at the gate peering up and down for you and be- moaning my fate, like that silly Mariana. in the moated grunge. Indeed, if I had been photographed then and there and named ‘For- “ There was a. little man, And he had a little gun, And his Bullets they were made of lead, lead lea ; _ ~ CHAPTER VI. “Neither do we. He is a retired butcher, I fancy (he doesn’t look anything like as re- spectable as a grocer), with a fine disregard for the Queen’s English. We called there one day, Letitia and I (nothing would induce John to accompany us), but Mrs. Butcher was too much for Letitiaâ€"too much even for me,” cries Molly, with a laugh, “ and I’m not par- ticular; so we never called again. They don’t bear malice, however, and rather affect our having our boat here than otherwise. Jump in and row me for a little while.” saken,’ I’m positive I would have sold well.” “ I don’t doubt it.” “ Then I grew enraged, and determined to trouble my head no more about you; and thenâ€"â€"â€"- It was lucky I came here, wasn’t it?" »_ “ Because I hadn’tâ€"~at least not for the last two monthsâ€"until yesterday. It got broken in the spring, and they have been ever since mending it. They are so slow down here. I kept the news of its return from you a. secret all yesterday, meaning to bring you here and show it you as a. surprise ; and this is how my plan has ended.” .. -..-. ‘. 1-1 Luttrell. with his hat off and a. cigar be- tween his lips, is far happier than he himself is at all aware. Being of necessity opposite her, he is calmly feasting himself upon the sweet scenery of Molly’s face, or else letting his eyes wander to where her slender fingers drag their way through the cool water, leav- ing small bubbles in their track. 2‘ Very luckyâ€"for me. But you never told me Xou had 91 poalt 9n the‘lakfa.” .. .1 1 L, 7:137;in are you allowed? I thought you did not know the owners 79f this plaqe." Over the water,unde1- the hanging branches they glide to the sweet music of the wooing Wind, and scarcely care to speak, so perfect is the motion and the stillness. “ It is a pity the country is so stupid, is it not ‘2” says Molly, breaking the silence at length, and speaking in a regretful tone. “ Be- cause otherwme there is no place like it.” “ Some country places are not at all stupid. There are generally too many people about. I think Brooklyn’s principal charm is its re- pose. its complete separation from the world.” “ Well, for my own part," seriously, “ I think I would excuse the repose and the sep- aration from the world, by which, I suppose you mean society. I have no admiration for Cloisters and convents myself; I like amuse- ment, excitement. If I could I would live in London all the year round,” concludes Molly, with growing animation. “ Oh, horror 1” exclaims Luttrell, who, seven years before, thought exactly as he does now, and who occasionally thinks so still. “ Wno that ever lived for six months among all its grime and smoke and turmoil but would pine for tlus calmer life ?” " I lived there for more than six months,” says Molly. “ and I didn’t pine for anything. I thought it charming. It is all very Well for you"â€"â€"-dejectedlyâ€"â€"â€"“ who are tired of gayety, to go into ruptures over calmness and tran- quillityY and that ; but if you lived in Brooklyn from summer until winter and from winter back again to summer, and if you could count your balls on one hand”â€"holding up five wet open fingersâ€"“ you would think just as I do, and long for a change." “ I never knew you had been to London.” “ Yes; when I was sixteen I spent a. whole year there, with a. cousin of my father’s, who went to Canada with her husband‘s regiment afterwards. But I didn’t go out much; she thought me too young, though I was quite as tall as I am now. She heard me sing once, and insisted on carrying me up with her to get me lessons from Marigny. He took great 110,qu jrrirbh “is; [Hath lgafihy I£3i§ our we11,i' ' “1“! Eonfesa fiafieafivb‘fifl‘éi‘éd whel’d'yom cellent voice received its cultivation, its finish. Now I know. You were fortunate in securing Marigny. Ihave known him refuse dozens through want of time ; or so he said. More probably he would not trouble himself to teach where there was no certainty of success. Well, and so you dislike the country ‘1" “ No, no. Not so much that. What I die- like is having no one to speak to. When John is away and Letty on the treadmillâ€"that is, in the nurseryâ€"J am rather thrown on my own resources ; and they are not much. Your coming was the greatest blessing that ever he- fell me. When I actually beheld you in your own proper person on the garden-path that night, I could have hugged you in the exuber- ance of my joy." 77 “ Then” Mfy on earth didn’t you 1’" says Luttrell, reproachfully, as though he had been done out of something. A “ A lingering sense of maiden modesty and a faint idea that perhaps you might not like it alone restrained me. But for that I must have given way to my feelings. J nst think, if I had," says Molly, breaking into a. merry laugh, “ what a. horrible fright I would have given you l" n . u- 1‘ a “ Not a. horrible one, at all events, Molly,” bending to examine some imaginary thing in the side of the boat, “ have you neverâ€"had a â€"â€"-lover ?" “ A lover? Oh, yes, I have had any amount of them,” says Molly, with an alacrity that makes his heart sink. “ I don’t believe I could count my adorers ; it quite puzzles me to know where to begin. There were the curates â€"our rector is not sweet-tempered, so we have a fresh one every yearâ€"and they never fail me. Three months after they come, as regu- lar as clock-work, they ask me to be their wife. Now, I appeal to you”-â€"clasping her hands and wrinkling up all her pretty fore- head-â€"“ do I look like a curate’s wife ?” “You do not,” replies Luttrell, emphati- cally regarding with interest the debmmaire, spiritualle face before him; “no, you most certainly do not.”_ “Well, I thought not myself; yet each of those deluled young men saw something an- gelic about me, and would insist on asking me to share his lot. They kept themselves sternly blind to the fact that I detest with equal vigor broth and old women.” A“ Intoiemble presumption!” says Luttrell, parenthetically. “ Was it? I don’t think I looked at it in that light. They were all very estimable men, and Mr. Rochefort was positively handsome. Yes, you may well stare, but some curates. you know, are good-looking, and he was de- cidedly High Church. In fact, he wasn’t half so bad as the generality of them,” says Molly, relentingly. “ Onlyâ€"it may be wrong, but the truth is I hate curetes. I think nothing of them. They are a mixture of tea and small jokes, and are ever at a. stand-still. They are always in the act of buddingâ€"they never bloom ; and they are so afraid of the bishop.” “ I‘thank my stars I‘m not a curate,” says Luttrell, devoutly. “ However”â€"regretfullyâ€"“ they were some- thing; a proposal is always an excitement. But the present man is married ; so that- makes it impossible for this year. There was positiV'iely nothing to which to look forward. So you may Iancy with what rapture I hailed your coming.” “ You are very good,” says Luttrell, in an uncertain tone, not being quite sure whether he is intenser amused or outrageously angry, or both. “ Had youâ€"any other lovers ?" “ Yes. There was the last doctor. He pois- oned a poor man afterwards by mistake, and had to go away." “ After What ?” ” After I declined to assist him in the sur- gery,” says Molly, demurely. “ It was a dread- ful thingâ€"the poisoning, I meanâ€"and. caused a great deal of scandal. I don’t believe it was anyhody’s fault, but I certainly did pity the man he killed. Andâ€"it might have been me, “I promise,” says Molly, laughing. Onward glides the boat; the oars rise and fall with a. tuneful splash. Miss Massereene, throwing her hat with reckless extravagance into the bottom of the punt, bares her white arm to the elbow and essays to catch the grasses as she sweeps by them. “ Look at those lilies,” she says, eagerly ; “ how exquisite, in their broad green frames! Water sprites 1 how they elude onel” as she makes a vigorous but unsuccessful grab at some on her right hand. ” Well, don‘t ask him,” says Luttrell, im- ploringly. “ He might do it on the door-step, and then think of the horrid mess ! Promise me you won't even hint at it until after I am gone.” -- n v 1- “I might ; I might do something else, too,” says Luttrell, calmly, seeing it would be as easy for him to grasp the lilies in question as last night’s moon ; “ I might fall in." -r n you know; think of that! He was very much attached to me; and so was the Lefroy’s eld- est son, and James Warden and the organist, to say nothing of the baker’s boy, who, I am convinced, would cut his throat to oblige me to-morrow morning, if I asked him.” “ Oh, never mind that,” responds Molly, with charming though premeditated uncon- cern, a little wicked desire to tease getting the better of her amiability. Luttrell, hardly sure whether she jests or is in sober earnest. opens his large eyes to their fullest, the better tojudge,but seeing no signs of merriment in his companion, gives way to his feelings a. little. “ Well, you are cool," he says, slowly. “ I am not, indeed,”repliesinnocent Molly. “ How I wish I were cool, on such a day as this ! Are you ?” "7“ No,” sh'brtly. “Perhaps that is the yes:- son you recommended me a plunge; or 13 15 for ygur amusgmgnfi .9” “VERSE Véréwafrmid,” asserts Molly, with a lit- tle mischievous, scornful laugh, not to be en- dured for a. moment. “ Afraid!” angrily. “ Nonsense! I don’t care about wetting my clothes, certainly, and I don’t want to put out my cigar; but”â€" throwing away the choice Havana. in question â€"-â€"“ you shall have your lilies, of course, if you have set your heart on them.” irrHerer,’ “standing up, he strips off his coat with an air that means business. “ I don’t Want them now,” says Molly, in a. degree frightened ; “ at least not those. See, there are others close beyond you. But I will pluck them myself, thank you; I hate giving trouble. No, don’t put your hands near them. I wouldn’t have them if you do.” u 7n “ Because you are cross, and I detest cross people." ._ ..- ., ,. ... . . n “ Because I didn’t throw myself into the water head-foremost to please you ?” With impatient wrath. “ They used to call that chivalry long ago. I call it folly. You should be reasonable.” “ flow. to have a person implore you at any time not to lose your temper is simply abominable ; but to be so implored when you have lost it is about the most aggravating ghafo awe non (Pam; Lu any one. so Luthroll “ Oh, don’t lose your temper about it," says Molly. says, many. , “ Well, I dol’t know what you call it, but when one puts on a frown, and drags down the corners of one’s mouth, and looks as if one was going to devour some one. and makes oneself generally disagreeable, I know What I call it,” says Molly, viciously. saysllofiilj. W‘V‘ Would: you lilEé to retuurn home ‘1’" asks Mr. Luttrell, with prompt solicitude. “ You are tired, I think.” “ Tired? Not in the least, thank you. I should like to stay out here for the next two hours, if â€"â€"” “ Yes ?" “If you think you could find amusement for yourselfâ€"elsewhere l” “ I’ll try,” says Tedcastle, quietly taking up the oats and proceeding to row with much appearance of haste towards the landingâ€" place. By the time they reached it, Miss Masse- reene's bad temperâ€"not being at any time a lengthened affairâ€"had cooled considerably, though still a very handsome allowance re- mains. As he steps ashore, with the evident intention of not addressing her again, she feels it incumbent on her to speak just a word or so, if only to convince him that his ill humor is the worst of the two. “ Are you going home ?" asks she, with cold politeness. “No”â€"his eyebrows are raised, and. he wears an expression half nonchalant wholly boredâ€"{f I amp going 159 Granghargf V Now Grantham is nine miles distant. He must be very angry if he has decided on going to Grantham. It will take him a long, long time to get there, and a. long, long time to get back; and in the meantime What is to become of her? “ That is a long way, is it not ?” she says, her manner a degree more frigid, lest he mis- take the meaning of her words. “ The longer the better.” Ungrnciously. “ And on so hot a. day I” “There are worse things than heat.” Get- ting himself into his coat in such a violent fashion as would make his tailor shed bit- ter tears over the cruel straining of that gar- ment. “ You will be glad to get away fromâ€"- ” hesitates Mlly, who has also stepped ashore, speaking in a tone that would freeze a sala- mander. " Very glad.” With much unnecessary em- phasis. “ Go, then,” cries she,with sudden passion, throwing down the our she still holds with a decided bang, “ and I hope you will never come back. There !” Andâ€"will you believe it ?â€"even after this there is no delugei So she goes to the right, and he goes to the left, and when too late repent their haste. But pride is ever at hand to tread down tender- ness, and obstinacy is always at the heels of pride, and out of this trivial cause see What a pretty quarrel has been sprung. The long and weary day at length has passed away. The dinnerhas come to an un- successful end, leaving both Luttrell and his divinity still at daggers drawn. There are no signs of relenting about Molly. no symptoms of weakness about Tedcastle, the war is civil but energetic. They glower at each other through each course, and are positively devoted in their at- tention to John and Letitia. Indeed, they seem bent on bestowing all their conversa- tional outbreaks on these two worthies, to their unmitigated astonishment. As a. rule, Mr. and Mrs. Massereene have been accus- tomed. to occupy the background; to-night they are brought to the front with a. vehemence that takes away their breath, and is, to say the least of it, embarrassing. Letitiaâ€"dear soulâ€"who, though the most charming of women, could hardly be thought to endanger the Thames, understands noth- ing ; John, on the contrary, comprehends ful- ly, and takes a low but exquisite delight 1n WHOLE N0. 1,091â€"NO. 52; Molly, still more cruelly: “ Well, I have been thinking it over, and it seems, do you know, rather rude my not going. Besides, I hear their brother Maxwell (a. few more straw- berries, if you please, John), is home from India, andâ€"he used. to be so good-looking.” John, with much unction: “011, has he John, with much unction: “ 0h, has he come at last? I am glad to hear it. (Luttrell, give Molly some strawberries). You under- rate him, I think ; he was downright hand- some. When Molly Bawn was in short petti- coats he used to adore her. I suppose it would be presumptuous to pretend to measure the admiration he will undoubtedly feel for her now. I have a presentiment that fortune is going to favor you in the end, Molly. He must inheritya considerable property.”__ ' Luttrell, hastily: “I will go around there myself after breakfast ahd have a. look at it.” John : “ You will never find it by yourself, Molly will take you; eh, Molly_?_” _ Molly, cruelly: “I fear I shall be busy all the morning; and in the afternoon I intend: going with Letitia. to spend the day with the Laytong.” ' ' Letitia, agreeably surprised: “ Oh! will you, dear? That is very good of you. Ithought this morning you said nothing would induce you to come with me. I shall be so glad to have you; they are so intensely dull and diffi- cult.” “ Rich and handsome,” says Luttrsll, with exemplary composure and a. growing convic- tion that he will soon hate thh an undying hatred his Whilom friend John Massereene. “ He must be a favorite of the gods; let us hope he will not die young.” compelling the antagonists to be attentive to each other. For instance: “ Luttrell, my dear fellow, what is the matâ€" ter with you this evening ‘2 _How_ remiss you are I Why don’t you break some walnuts for Molly? I would, but I don’t Wish Letitia. to feel slighted.” ’ “ No: thank you, John”â€"with a. touch of asperity from Mollyâ€"“ I don’t care for wal nuts." - “ Oh, Molly Bawn lwhata taradiddle! Only last night I quite shuddered at the amount of shells you left upon your plate. ‘How Gan that wretched child play such pranks with her di- gestion I’ thought I, and indeed felt thankful it had not occurred to you to swallow the shells also.” “ Shall I break you some,” Miss Massa- reene ?” asks Luttrell, very coldly. “ No, thank you.” Ungraciously. “Luttrell, did you see that apple-tree in the orchard? I never beheld such a show Of fruit in my life. The branches will hardly bear the weight when it comes to perfection.- It is very worthy of admiration. Molly will show it to you tomorrow; won’t you, Molly ?" > ‘A‘ He can’t,” says ietitifi, comfortably; “ he must be; forty if he is__a_da.y.” Then Letitia. rises, and the two women move towards the door; and Molly, coming last, pauses a moment on the threshold, while Lute trell holds the door open for her. His heart beats high. Is she going to speak to him, to throw him even one poor word, to gladden him with a. smile, however frozen? “And a good, sensible age, too,” remarks John ; whereupon Molly, who is too much akin to him in spirit not to fully understand his manoeuvering, laughs outright. Alas! no. Miss Massereene, with a little curve of her neck, glances back expressive to Where an unkind nail has caught the tail of her long soft gown. That miserable nailâ€"not heâ€"has caused her delay. Stooping, he ex- tricates the dress. She bows coldly, witheut raising her eyes to his. A moment later she is free; still another moment, and she is gone; and Luttrell, with a. suppressed but naughty word upon his lips, returns to his despondency and John; While Molly, who, though she has never once looked at him, has read correctly his fond hope and final disap- pointment, allows a. covert smile of pleased malevolence to cross her face as she walks into the drawing-roots. _ Mr. Massereene is holding a long and very one-sided argument on the subject of the bar- barous Mussulman. As Luttrell evinees not the faintest desire to disagree with him in his opinions, the subject wears itself out in due course of time; and John, winding up with an amiable wish that every Turk that has seen the light or is likely to gee the light may be blown into fine dust, finishes his claret and age} with a. yawn. . H: u alum; 1993a y9u foria w‘lfi‘e,”hhe @5116: “ so 33% out your cigars, and 'don’t 'Wait for me. I’ll join you later on. I have had the writing of a letter on my conscience for a. week, and I must write it now or never. I really do believe I have grasped my own meaning at last. Did you notice my unusual taciturnity between the fish and the joint ‘2” “ My dear fellow, of what were you think- ing? I sincerely trust you are not going to be ill; but altogether your whole manner this eveningâ€"-â€" Well, just at that moment a. sudden inspiration seized me, and then and there my letters rose up before me. couched in such eloquent language as astonished even myself? If I don’t write it down at once I am ahlost man.” “I can’t say I did. I imagined ydu talking the entire time.” ""fBu’t' how you have composed it to your satisfaction why not leave the writing of it until tomorrow 2?” expostulates Luttrell, try- ing to look hearty, as he expresses a. hypocrit- ical desire for his society. “ I always remark," sastohn, “ that sleep- ing on those treacherous flights of fancy has the effect of taking the gilt ofl them. When 1 rise in the morning they are hardly up to the mark, and afipear by no means so brilliant as they did overnight. Something Within warns me if I don’t do it now I won’t do it at all. There is more claret on the sideboardâ€"or brandy, if you preterit,” says Mr. Massereene, tenderly. _ ' "Thanksâ€"I want nothing more,"-replies Luttrell, whose spirits are at zero. As Mas- sereene leaves him, he saunters towards the open window and gazes on the sleeping gar- den. Outside, the heavens are alive vith stars that light the world in a. cold, sweet way, although as yet the moon has not arisen. All is “ Clear, and bright, and deep; Soft as love, and calm as death: Sweet as a summer night without a breath. Lighting a. cigar (by the bye, can any one tell me at what stage of suffering it is a. man abandons this unfailing friend as being pow- ‘erless to soothe 7) he walks down the balcony steps, and still grim and unhappy, makes up his mind to a solitary promenade. Perhaps he himself is scarcely conscious of the direction he takes, but his footsteps guide him straight over the lawn and down to the very end of it, Where a broad stream runs bab- ling in one corner. It is a veritable love-re- treat, hedged in by latches and low-lying ever- greens, ao as to be completely concealed from view, and a. favorite haunt of Molly’sâ€"indeed, such a favorite that now as he enters it he finds himself face to face with her. An impromptu tableau follows. For a. full minute they regard each other unwillingly, too surprised for disdain, and then with a lau- dable desire to show how unworthy of consid- eration each deems the other, they turn slowly away, until a. shoulder and half a. face alone are visible. Now, Luttrell has the best of it, because he is the happy possessor of the cigar; this gives him something to do, and he smokes on per- sistently, not to say viciously. Miss Masse- reene. being Without occupation beyond what one’s thumbs may afford, is conscious of being at a disadvantage, and wishes she had earlier in life cultivated a passion for to- bacco. Meanwhile, the noisy brook flows on merri- ly, chattering as it goes, and reflecting the twinkling stars, with their more sedate breth- ren the planets. Deep down in the very heart of the water they lie, quivering, changing, gleaming, while the stream whispers their lul- laby and dashes its cool sides against the banks. A solitary bird drops down to crave a drink, terrifying the other inhabitants of the rushes by the trembling of its wings ; a frog creeps in with a dull splash ; to all the stream makes kind response; while on its bosom “Broad water lilies la. tremulonsly, And starry river-bu e glimmered by; And arognd them the soft stream did glide _ and danpe, I Wlbh a, motxon of sweet sound and mdlunce.’ Yaéntinufifii 4th Page