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“Watching youâ€"and-your friend," says John, very gravely for him. He addresses himself entirely to Molly, her friend being in the last stage of confusion and utterly inca- pable of speech. At this, however.he can sup- port the situation no longer, and, coming for- ward, says, eagerly : “John, let me explain. The fact is, I asked MiEEMasse'reene to marry me, a little time ago, and she has promised to do soâ€"if youâ€"don’t object.” After this bit of elo- quence he draws himself up, with a. little shake, as though he had rid himself of some- thing disagreesble, and becomes once more his usual self. All night the onions have heard Brindle and Tubby and Tom ; And the truck patch looks as it had been stirred By an eight-inch Ericsson bomb ; If you mentioned the pansy bed in a. word You would have to call it n. “ glam." For the breezes of morning move," And the sun is climbing high, And I look on the garden patch I love, And I think I should like to die ; Icould kick ever cat in the neighborhood Clear up to t e azure sky. They have made one long, wild tear, From the porch to the alley gate : The; are commg again, I swear. ad I collar the shot 11 and wait. And brindle cat wauls, “ 5 he hear ‘2 Is he here.” And the grey cut yells on the gate ; And the black cat yowls at the others in fear, And the yellow cat wails in hate. They are coming, I hear their feet, On the roof and the porch they tread ; They are coming to Wrestle and beat Down the earth in my onion bed. But I hurl them back in retreat, With a. handful of powder and letfi, And I laugh at their wails and scrambling feet On the roof of my neighbor's shed. “ Letitia,” says Mr. Massereene, regarding her with severity, “ you are going to laugh yourfielf; donjt fienyjt." “ Noâ€"no, indeed.” protests Letitia, fool- ishly, considering her handsome broad face is one broad smile,and that her plump shoulders are visibly shaking. ” On an oécasion such as this they should be." ' V “ It is mean, it is shameful !” says Molly, from within, seeing no chance of escape. Whichever way she rushes can be only into his arms. " But. my dear, supposing I can’t help it ?” suggests he, mildly. “ Our risible faculties are not always under mgr con.t1fol.f: “ All that you can say won’t prevent me," says Luttrell. moving towards her with full detegmination in his reyeL “ Perhaps a little that I can say may have the desired effect,” breaks in Mr. Masse- reene. advancing into the middle of the room, Xith Letitia} looking rather nervous, behind xm. Tableau. " There is a. sudden, rather undignified, ces- sation of hostilities on the part of Mr. Lut- trell, who beats a hasty retreat to the wall, where he stands as though glad of the sup- port. He bears a. sneaky rather than a dis- tinguished appearance, and altogether has the grace to betray a. considerable amount of shame. Molly. dropping her gown, turns a. rich crimson, but is, I need hardly say, by far the least upset of the two delinquents. She reâ€" mains where she is, hedged in by the table, and is conscious of feeling a wild desire to laugh. “ How fortunate, John, that you happened to be on the spot! Mr. Luttrell was behaving so badly l” “ I don‘t need to be told that.” - “ But how did you come here 7" asks Molly, making a brave but unsuccessful efiort to turn the tables upon the enemy, “ And Le- titia, tool I do hate people who turn up when they are least expected. What were you do- ing on the balcony 7” fietermined to break the silence, which is proviyg oppressive, Eh? sayg, de‘murgly: “ Is'that so ?” 1061(ng at Molly mation. “ Yes, if it is your wish," cries she. forsak- ing her retreat, and coming forward to lay her hand upon her brother’s arm entreatingly, and with a gesture full of tenderness. “ But if you do object, if it vexes you in the very slightest degree, John, Iâ€"-â€"” “ But you Will give your consent, Masse- reene,” interrupts her lover hostily, as though dreading the remainder of the sentence, “ Won’t you ?” He too has come close up to John, and stands on one side, opposite Molly. Almost, from the troubled expression of his face as he looks at the girl, one might imagine him trying to combat her apparent lukewarmness more than her brother’s objec- tions. Letitia puts on a “ didn’t I tell of ai}; [and John’saysr 2 “ Things seem to have progressed very fa.- vorably without my consent,” says John, glancing at the unlucky table, which has come in for a most unfair share of the blame. “ But before giving you my blessing I ac- knowledgeâ€"now we are on the subjectâ€"I would like to know on what sum you intend setting up housekeeping?” Here Letitia, who has preserved a. strict neutrality throughout. comes more to the front. “ It is inconvenient, and anything but romantic, I know, but peo- ple must eat, and those who indulge in vio- lent exercise are generally possessed of healthy appetites." “ I have over five hundred a year," says Luttrell, coloring and feeling as if he had said fifty and was going to be called presump- tuous. He also feels that John has by some sudden means become very many years older than he really is. “ That includes everything?” “ Everything. When my uncleâ€"Maxwell Luttrellâ€"hops theâ€"that is, drops offâ€"I mean dies," says Luttrell, Whose slang is ex- tensive and rather confusing, “I shall come in for five thousand pounds more.” Come into the garden. Maud," For the black but, night, has flown, nd the cats that danced on the onion bed Have left 11;, at last, alone ; 113 there isn’t an onion left in the patch That I would care to own. “How can you>speak in such a. cold- blooded way of your uncle’s death 7” says Molly, who is not so much impressed by the occasion as she should be. “ Why not? There is no love lost between us. If he could leave it away from me, he would ; but that $8 out of _hia powprj” “ That makes it seven hunared,” says L0.- titiaLsoftly, a_ Eropps of thg incp!1ge_._ “Nearei‘leiihti’ says he, brightening at her tone. “ Molly, you wish to marry Tedcastle ‘2” John asks his sister, gaxing at her earnestly. “ Yeâ€"es ; but I‘m not in a hurry, you know,” replies she, with a little nod. “ She is young, Lutbrell; she has seen little of the world. You must give her time. I know no man I would prefer to you as a brother ; butâ€"give her time. Be satisfied with the engagement; do not let us speak of :mar- riage just yet.” Maéseréene regs,de her curiously for a mo- ment or two; then he says 2 _ ‘: Ntot younger proujlly. “ In a year," says John, still with his eyes on his beautiful sister, and speaking With marked hesitation, as though waiting for her to make some sign by which he shall know how to best forward her secret wishes ;“ then we may begin to talk about iii.” a “ But a year Llâ€"it is a lifetiine," says Lut- trell, with some excitement, turnmg his eyes full of mute desire for help, upon Letitia. And when did Letitia ever fail any one? " No," cries Molly, pettishly, “it shall be as John wishes. Why, it is nothing I Think of all the long years to come afterwards, when “ I certainly think it is too loné,” she says, truthfully and kindly. .... -....._, ~,U__ .V n“, “ Yes, then we 5.110% it,” echoes Molly, cheerfully. » MOLLY BAWN. “ 0h 1 Molly Bawn, why leave me pimng, All lonely waiting here for you."â€"Old Song BY THE AUTHOR OF “ PHYLLIS. [From the Burlington HawkeyeJ linless she wishes it,” says the man, bravely, and perhaps a little THE GARDEN you ‘1” sort for confir- we shall not be able to get rid of each other, no matter how earnestly we may desire it ; and then see how small in comparison is this one year.” “Of course I will," with a quick, nervous laugh. “ Why should I be otherwise ? You fu'ghten me with your solemn ways. Am I more to you than 1 was yesterday? Why, how should I be untrue to you,even if I wished it? I shall see no one fromthe day you leave un- til you come again.” Luttrell, who has grown a little pale. goes over to her and takes her hand in both his. His lace is grave”, fuller of purpose than they have, ever yet seen it. To him the scene is a. betrothal, almost a marriage. " You ’will be trué to I19 ?” he says, with suppressed emotion. “ Swear that you will, before your brgthgtjqf At thi moment the noise of the door handle being turned makes him drop her hand, and they all fall simultaneously into what they fondly hope is an easy attitude. And then Sarah appears upon the threshold with a let- ter and a small packet between her first finger and thumb. She is a. very genteel girl. is Sarah, and would scorn to take a firm grasp of anything. " This ’ere is for you, sir,” she says, deliv- ering the packet to Luttrell, who consigns it hastily to his coat pocket ; “ and this for you, Miss Molly,” giving the letter. “ The post- man says, sir, as ’ow they only came by the afternoon, but I am of therooted opinion that he forgot ’em this morning.” Meantime, Molly is stiuiding staring curi- ously at her missive. “ 1 don‘t know the Writing,” she says, in a vague 1:999. ‘f; (19 hppe it isn’t alkill." ‘ o 7‘A bill, with that‘monograml” exclaims Luttrell. “ Not likely. I would swear to a dqyping epis_t19_at tyventlyuyalrds’~ distgnce.” V ‘; Who “caln it be horny?” wonders Molly, still dallying with one finger inserted beneath the flaprof the envelgpe. “ MBst improper of they postman," replies Mr. Massereene, soothingly.» '7‘,‘7Prelrhaps if you 160k Within you may find out,” suggests John, meekly; and thus en- couraged she opens_ the letter and. rggfls. At first her face betrays mere indifference, then surprise, then a sudden awakening to intense interest, and lastlyunmitigated aston- ishment. “But what is it, darling ?” asks Letty, ac~ tually tingling with excitement. “ An invitation to Herst Royal 1" “ I don’t believe you," cries Luttrell, who means no rudeness at all, butis merely declar- ing in a modern fashion how delighted be- yond measure he is. .-- .. .- (.1- “ It is the most extraordinary thing," she says, at last, looking up. and. addressing them generally in an awe-struck whisper, “ the most unexpected. After all these years, I can scarcely believe it to be true.” .1 fligiifi; id not that Marcia’s wrlting ? I suppose she wrote it, though it is dictated by grandpapflz” Digilfi‘fofifheads are instantly bent over the clear, bold calligraphy to read the cold but courteous invitation it contains. “ Dear Eleanor” is given to understand that her grandfather will be pleased to make her acquaintance, if she will be pleased to trans- fer herself and her maid to Herst Royal on the twenty-seventh of the present month. There are a few hints about suitable trains, a, request that a. speedy reply to the affirmative will be sent, and then “ dear Eleanor” is de- sired to look upon Mr. Amherst as her “ afiec- tionate grandfather." Not one word about all the neglect that has been showered upon her for nineteen years. r “ Well ‘2” guys Luttrell, who is naturally the first to recover himself, “ Had you anything to do with this '2” asks John. turning almost fiercely to him. “ Nothing, on my honor.” “ He must be near death,” says Letitia. Molly is silent, her eyes still fixed upon the letter. “ I think. Johnâ€"she ought to go." “ Of course she shall g9,” returns John, a. kind of savage jealousy pricking him. “ I can’t provide for her after my death. That old man may be softened by her face or terri- fied by the near approach of dissolution into doing her justice. He has neither watched her. not tended her, nor loved her ; but now that she has come to perfection he claims bar.” " John," cries Molly, with sudden passion. flinging herself into his arms. “ I will not go. No, not one step. What is he to me, that stem old tyrant, who has refused for nineteen years to acknowledge me ? While you, my dear, my darling. you are my all.” “ Nonsense, child l” Speaking roughly, al- though consoled and strengthened by her caress and loving words. “ It is what I have been wishing for all these years. Of course you must go. It is only right you should be recognized by your relations, even though it is so late in the day. Perhaps he will leave you a legacy; and“â€"smilingâ€"“ I think I may console myself with the reflection that old Amherst will scarcely be able to cut me out." “ You may, Without flattering yourself,” says Luttrell. “ Letitia, do you want to get rid of me ?” asks Molly, still half crying. “ You are a hypocrite," says Letitia; “ you know you are dying to go. I should. were I in your place. Instead of lamenting, you ought to be thanking your stars for this lucky chance that has befallen you ; and you should be doubly grateful to us for letting you go, as we shall miss you horribly.” “ I shan’t stay any time,” says Molly, re- viving. “ I shall be back before you realize the fact that I have gore. I know in polite society no one is expected to outstay a month at the very longest.” “ You cover me with confusion,” says Lut- trell, laughing. “ Consider what unmention- able form I have displayed. How long have I outstayed my time ? It is uncommonly good of you, Mrs. Massereene, not to have given me my conga long ago; but my only excuse is that I have been so utterly happy. Perhaps you will forgive me when you learn that I must tear myself away on Thursday." “ Oh ! must you 1)" says Letitia, honestly sorry. Now that the engagement is un fait accompli, and the bridegroom-elect has de- clared himself not altogether so insolvent as she had feared, she drops precautionary meas- ures and gives way to the affection with which she has begun to regard him. “ You are going to Herst also. Why cannot you stay here to accompany Molly? Her going is barely three Weeks distant.” ” If I could I would not require much press- ing, you can readily believe that. But duty is impegatijet and gofiI must.” 5‘ You did not‘tell me you were going,” says Molly, looking aggrieved. “ How long have you known it ?” “For a week. I could not bear to think about leaving, much less to speak of it, so full of charms has Brooklyn proved itself”â€"with a smile at Mrs. Massereeneâ€"“ but it is an in- disputable fact for all that.” “ Well, in spite of Lindley Murray, I main- tain that life is long,” says Massereene, who has been silent for the last few minutes. “ And I need hardly tell you, Luttrell, you are welcome here whenever you please to come.” “ Thank you. old boy," says Luttrell. “ Come out," whispers Molly, slipping her hand into her lover’s (she minds John and Letitia about as much as she minds the ta- bles and chairs); “ the rain has ceased, and see what a. beautiful’sun. I have any amount of things to ask about my detested grand- pere. So freshen your Wits. But first before VOL XXII. When they have reached the summer house in the garden, whither they have wended their way, with a view to shade (as the sun, having been debarred from shining for so many hours. is now exerting itself to the utmost to make up for lost time), Luttrell draws from his pocket the identical parcel delivered to him by Sarah, and. holding it out to Molly, says, somewhat shamefacedly, “ Here is something for you.” “ For me ‘2” Coloring with surprise and pleasant expectation. She is a being so un- mistakably delighted with anything she re- ceives, be it small or great, that it is an abso- lute joy to give to her. “ What is it ?” we go"â€"mischievously, and with a little nod full of reproofâ€"“ I really think you ought to apologize to John for your scandalous beha- vior of this morning.” “ Molly, I predict this glorious future for you,” says her brother; “ that you will be returned to me from Herst Royal in dis- grace.” “ 013911 it: and see. I have not seen it my- self yet, but I_hope it will plqgsg y_ou.r'_’ Off comes the wrapper ; a little leather case is disclosed, a mysterious fastener undone. and there inside, in its velvet shelter, lies an exquisite diamond ring that glisfens and flashes up into her enchanted eyes. “ Oh, Teddy I it cannot be for me,” she says, with a little gasp that speaks volumes ; “ it is too beautiful. Oh, how good of you to think of 11: 1 And how did you know that if there is one thing on earth which I love it is a, ring ? And such a ring! You wicked boy. I do believe you have spent a, fortune on it.” Yet in reality she hardly guesses the full amount of the generous sum that has been so willingly expended on that glittering hoop. “ He is all of that,” says Luttrell, “ and a good deal more. If I were an American I would have no scruples about calling him a darned old cuss; as it is, I will smother my feelings, and let you discover his failings for yourself." “ I ang-lad :you like it,” he gays. rmiiant it her Emise. ‘ “ I think it js Eighty.” _ “ Pretty is a poor word. It is far too hand- some. I would scold you for your extrava- gance, but I have lost the power just now. And do you know”â€"raising her soft, flushed face to her loverâ€"” I never had a ring before in my life, except a very old-fashioned one of my mother’s, an ancient square. you know, with hair in the centre, and all around it big pearls,~that are anything but pearly now, as they have grown quite black. Thank you a thousand times.” She slips her arms around his neck and presses her lips warmly. unbashfully to his cheek. Be it ever so cold. so wanting in the shyness that belongs to conscious tenderness, it is still the very first caress she has ever given him of her own accord. A little thrill runs through him, and a mad longing to catch her in his arms, as he feels the sweet, cool touch; yet he restrains himself. Some innate sense of honor, born on the occasion. a shrinking lest she should deem him capable of claiming even so natural a return for his gift, cempels him to forego his desire. It is noticeable, too, that he does not even place the ring on her engaged finger, as most men would have done. It is a bauble meant to gratify her; why make it a fetter, be it ever so light a one ‘I ‘= I am amply repaid," he says, gently. “ Was there ever such luck as your getting that invitation this morning? I wonder What could have put (it into the old fellow’s head to invite you? Are you glad you are going ?” “ 1' am. I almost think it is mean of me to be so glad, but I can’t help it. Is my grand- fathgx: 99 veg! tegrific ‘2” “ If he is as bad as you say, I wonder he gets gnypne t_o visit him: “ He does, however. We all goâ€"generally the same lot every year; though I have been rather out of it for a time, on account of my short stay in India. He has first-class shoot- ing ; and when he is not in the way it is pretty gay. He hates old people, and never al- lowed a chaperon inside his doorsâ€"I mean elderly chaperons. The young ones don’t count; they, as a, rule, are backward in the art of talking at one and making things disa- greeable all round.” “ But he is old himself." “ That’s just it. It is all jealousy. He finds every old person he meets, no matter how unpleasant, a decided improvement on him self; whereas he can always hope the younger ones may turn out his counterparts." - “ Really. if yeti say much more, 1 shall be afraiglrto gofitro Herst.” » _ “ 0h, well"â€"â€"temporiziugâ€"â€"“ perhaps I ex- aggerate slightly. He has a wretched temper, and he takes snuff, you know ; but I dare say there are worse." “ Am I ? I didn’t know. Well, do you know, in spite of all my uncivil remarks, there is a certain charm about Herst that other country-houses lack ? We all understand our host’s little weaknesses, in the first place, and are, therefore, never caught sleeping. We feel as if we were at school again, united by a common cause, with all the excitement of a conspiracy on foot that has a master for its victim; though, to confess the truth, the master in our case has generally the best of it, as he has a perfect talent for hitting on one’s sore point. Then, too, we know to a nicety when the dear old man is in a particu- larly vicious mood, which is usually at dinner time, and we keep looking at each other through every course, wondering on whose de- voted head the shell of his wrath will first burst; and when that is over we wonder again whose turn it will be next.” “ It must keep you very lively.” “ It does; and, what is better, it prevents formality, and puts an end to the earlier stages of etiquette. We feel a sort of relation- ship, a clanship among us ; and indeed, for the most part, we are related, as Mr. Amherst prefers entertaining his family to any others -â€"â€"it is so much easier to be unpleasant to them than to strangers. I am connected with him very distantly through my mother; so is Cecil Stafford ; so is Potts in some undefined way.” "I have heard of damning praise,” says Molly, laughing. A“: You, are an géept pt it." ‘v‘ Now, don‘t tell me you are my cousin,” says_Molly, “ because_ I Wouldn’tiikg it.” v“ I an; Inot proud; if you will let me be your husband I won’t ask anything more. Oh, Molly, how I wish this year was at an end I" “Do you? I don’t. I am absolutely dy- ing to go to Herst.” Then, turning eyes that are rather wistful upon him, she says, ear- nestly, “ do theyâ€":th women, 1 meanâ€"wear very lovely clothes? To be like them must I -â€"be very well dressed ‘2” “ You always are very well dressed, are you not ‘2” asks her lover, in return, casting a lov- ing, satisfied glance over the fresh, inexpen- sive holland gown she wears, with a. charm- ing but strictly masculine disregard of the fact that muslin is not silk, nor cotton cash- mere. “ Am I? You stupid boy l” says Molly ; but she laughs in a little pleased way and pats his hand. Next to being praised herself. the sweetest thing to a woman is to have her dress praised. “ Not I. Well, no matter ; they may crush me if they please with their designs by Worth, but I defy them to have a. prettier ring than mine,” smiling at her new toy as it still lies in the middle of her hand. “ Is Herst very large, Teddy? How shall I remember my own room ? It will be so awk- ward to be forever running into somebody else’s, won’t it ?” “ Your maid will manage all that for you.” “ My maid ?” coloring slowly, but still with RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JUNE “ Well, then,” says Tedcastle, who has been bred in the belief that a. women without her maid is as lost as a, babe without its mother, “ why, then. I suppose you would borrow one from your nearest neighbor. Cecil Stafford would lend you here. I know my sisters were only allowed one between each two ; and when they spent the autumn in dififerent houses they used to toss up which should have her. her eyes on his. “ Andâ€"supposing I have no maid ?" “ What does a maid do for one, I wonder?” muses independent Molly. _ “ I should fancy you could better answer that than I." “ Noâ€"because I never had one.” “Well, neither had I,” says Luttrell ; at which they both laugh. “ I am afraid,” says Molly, in a rather dis- pirited tone, “ I shall feel rather strange at Hersh. I Wish you could manage to be there the very day I arriveacould you, Teddy ? I would not be so lonely if I knew for certain you would be on the spot to welcome me. It in horrible going there forâ€"that isâ€"to be in. spected.” “ I will surely be there a, day or two after, but I doubt I could be there on the twenty- seveyth. Yourmuy trust me to Ado_ myubest.” “ I suppose it isâ€"a very grand place,” ques- tlons Molly, growing more and more de- pressed, “ with dinner-parties every day, and butlers, and footmen, and all the rest of it? And I shall be there, a stranger, with no one to care whether I enjoy myself or not.” “ You forget me,” says Luttrell, quietly. “ True,” returns she, brightening ; " and Whenever you see me sitting by myself, Teddy, you are to come over to me, no matter how engaged you may be, and sit down beside me. If I have any one else with me, of course you need not mind it” “ I see.” Rather dryly. "' Two is company, three is trumpery.:’ “Have I vexed you? How foolish you are 1 Why, if you arejeulous in imagination, how will it be in reality? There will be many men at Herst ; and perhaps â€"who knows me 7” “ I see nothing to prevent it.” “ And what then 1)" “ Why, then you will forget me, and like himâ€"~until you like some one else better.” “Now, if I were a. dignified young lady,” says Molly, “ I should feel insulted ; but, be- ing only Molly Bawn, I don’t. I forgive you; and I won’t fall in love with any one ; so you In zy take that thunder-cloud ofic your brow as soon as it may please your royal highâ€" ness." “ What do you gain by making me un- happy ‘2” asks he, impetuously seizing the hand she has extended to him with all the air of an offended but gracious queen. “Everything "â€"laughing. “ I delight in teasing you, you look so deliciously miserable all through ; it is never time thrown away upon you. Now. if you could only manage to laugh at my sallies or tease me back again. I dare say I 'should give in in a. week _and let you test in peace eve‘t after. Why don’t n you 2 _ _ _'..~‘ “ Perhaps because I Ein‘t; All people are not gifted with your fertile imagination. Or “ I cannot see why being engaged should spoil your fun." ‘ “ Bvut it would,for all that. Come now, Ted, be candid ; how often were you in love before you get me 1'” _ _ ” Never ”â€"-With all the thousand oaths. “ Well, then, to put it many girls did you like_?” “ Like l”â€"-reluctantly. “ 011, as for that, I suppose I did fancy I liked a. few girls.” “ Just so; and I should like to like a few men," says Miss Mussereene, triumphantly. “ You _don’t know what you tire talking aboqt,’: says Tedcggtle,_h9tly. “ Indeed I do. That is just one of the great points which the defenders of women’s rights forget to expatiate upon. A man may love as often as he chooses: while a woman must only love once, or he considers himself very badly used. Why not be on an equal foot- ing ? Not that I want to love any one,” says Molly ; “ only it is the injustice of the thing I abhor." “ Love any one you choose,” says Tedcas- tle. passionately, springing to his feet, “ Shad- well or any other fellow that comes in your way ; I shan’t interfere. It is hardly neces- sary for you to say you don’t want to love any one. Your heart is as cold as ice. It is high time this engagementâ€"this farceâ€"should come to an end.” “ If you Wish it.” says Molly, quietly, in a subdued tone; yet as she says it she moves one step-:np moreâ€"elpser to_ him_. “But I do not wish it; that is my cruel fate l” cries the young man. taking both her hands and laying them over his heart with a despairing tenderness. “ There are none happy save those incapable of knowing a last- ing affection. Oh, Molly l”â€"-remorsefullyâ€" “ forgive me. I am speaking to you as I ought not. It is all my beastly temper though I used not to be ill-tempered," says he, with sad wonder. “ At home and among our fellows I was always considered rather easy-going than otherwise. I think the know- ledge thet I must part from you on Tuesday (though only for so short a time) is embitter- ing me.” “ Then you are really sorry to leave me ?” questions Molly, peering up at him from under her straw hat. “You know I am." ' ” But very sorryâ€"desperately so ?” “ Yes,"â€"grsvely, and with something that is almost tears in his eyes. ” Why do you ask me. Molly? Is it not palpable enough 7" “ It is not. You look just the same as ever, quite as easygoingâ€"With a malicious pout â€"as either your home or your fellows could desire. I quite buoyed myself up with the hope that I should see you reduced to a skel- eton as the last week crept to its close, and here you are robust and well-to-do as usual. I call it unfeelingq” says Miss Massereene, re- proachfully, “and I don’t believe you care a pin about me.” “ Would you like to see me reduced to a skeleton ?” asks Luttrell, reproachfully. ‘ ‘ You talk as though you had been done out of some- thing ; but a man may be horribly cut up about a. thing Without letting allthe world know of it.” “ You conceal it with great skill,” says Molly, placing her hand beneath his chin, under a pretence of studying his features, but in reality to compel him to look at her; and, as it is impossible for any one to gaze into another’s eyes for any length of time without showing emotion of some kind, presently he laughs. “ Ah !" cries she, well pleased, “ now I have made you laugh, your little attack of spleen will possibiy take to itself wings and fly away." All through the remainder of this day and the whole of the nextâ€"which is his lastâ€"she is sweetness itself to him. Whatever powers of tormenting she possesses are kept well in the background, while she betrays nothing but a very successful desire to please. Shue wanders With him céntentedly through garden and lawn; she sits beside him; at I may fall in with some of them.” Very likely.” Philip Shadwell, for instance ?” It may be.” Or your Mr. Potts?” There is no accountingAfor tastes.” Or any one else that may happen to please What ?” diflerently, how vehemence of a dinner she directs swift, surreptitious smiles at him across the flowers ; later on she sings to him his favorite songs; and why she scarcely knows. Perhaps through a. coquet- tish desire to make the parting harder ; per- haps to make his chains still stronger; per- haps to soothe his evident regret; perhaps (who can say?) because she too feels that same regret: And surely to-night some new spirit is awake within her. Never has she sung so sweetly. As her glorious voice floats through the dimly-lighted room and out into the more brilliant night beyond, Luttrell, and Letitia, and John sit entranced and wonder secretly at the great gift that has been given her. “ Molly.” cries John impatiently from the balcony, “ I cannot bear to hear you sing like that. One would think your heart was broken. Don’t do it, child.” Molly in every-day life is one thing; Molly singing divinely is another. One wonders curiously, when hearing her, how anything so guy, so dcbormaire as she, can throw such passion into words, such thrilling tenderness, such Wild and mournful longing. And Molly laughs lightly; and bursts into a. barcarolle that utterly precludes the idea. of any deep feeling; after which she gives them her own “ Molly Bawn,” and then, shutting down the piano, declares she is tired, and that evidently John doesn’t appreciate her, and so she will sing no more. The dog-cart is at the door; John is good- naturedly busy about the harness ; and, Leti- tia, having suddenly and with suspicious haste recollected important commands for the kitchen, Whither she Withdraws herself, the lovers find themselves alone. Then coflles the last morningâ€"the cruel moment when farewell must be said. “ Hurry, man; you will barely catch it,” cries John. from outside, meaning the train ; having calculated to a. nicety how long it would take him to give and receive a kiss, now that he has been married for more years than he cares to count. Luttrell, starting at his voice, seizes both Molly’s hands. “ Keep thinking of me always,” he says, in a low tone ; “ always, lest at any moment you forget.” Molly makes him no answer, but slowly raises to him eyes wet with unshed tears. It is morg ithgmrh‘e hasrhoped for: “ A little,” he repeats, Wistfully. (Perhaps he has been assuring himself of some more open encouragementâ€"has dreamed of spoken tenderness, and feels the disappointment). “ Some men,” he goes on, softly, “ can lay claim to all the great treasure of their love’ because it would give me no pleasure to see you deliciously miserable.” “ See how the diamonds flash I” says Molly, presently, recurring to her treasure. “ Is this the engagement finger? But I will not let it stay there, lest it might betray me." “ But every one knows it now.” “Are John and Letty every one? At Horst they are still in blissful ignorance. Let them remain so. I insist on our engagement being kept secret.” “But why 1’” “ Because if it was known it would spoil all my fun. I have noticed that men avoid a. fiancee as they would aâ€"a rattle-snake.” heart, while Iâ€"see how eagerly I accept the bare crumbs. Yet, darling, believe me, your sweet coldness is dearer to me than another woman’s warmest assertion. And laterâ€"who knows ? â€"perhnpsâ€"â€"-â€"” 7 7 “ Molly,” he cries. hurriedly, only too ready to grasp this small bud of a. longed-for afiea- tion, “ you will be sorry for me ? There are tears in your eyesâ€"yen will miss me ? You love me, surelyâ€"a little ?” Once more the lovely dewy eyes meet his she Eggs gt and smiles faiixggly. “Oh, you xeouldn’t see that,” says Molly, airily. “ All you could say would not suflice to bring even the faintest touch of misery into my face. AngryImight be, but miserable, never!” ‘.‘ Be assured, Molly. I shall never put your words to the test. Your happiness means mine.” “ Yes, perhaps,” says Molly, stirred by his emotion or by some other stronger sentiment lying deep at the bottom of her heart, " by and by I may perhaps bore you to death by the violence of my devotion. Meantime,”â€" stauding on tiptoe, and blushing just enough to make her even more adorable than before, and placing two white hands on his shoulders â€"“ you shall have one small, wee kiss to carry away with you." Half in doubt he waits until of her own sweet accord her lips do verily meet his ; and then, catching her in his arms, he strains her to him, forgetful for the moment of the great fact that neither time nor tide waits for any man. “ You are not going, I suppose ‘2” calls J 01111, his voice breaking in rudely upon the harrow- ing scene. “ Shall I send the horse back to the stables? Here, James,”-to the stable-boy â€"“ take round Rufus ; Mr. Luttrell is going to stay another month or two.” “ Hémember,” says Luttrell, earnestly, still holdégg her, asfihough mtg toAlet hfzr g3: “ You remind me of Charles the First,” murmurs she, smiling through her tears. “ Yes, I will remember you, and all you have said, andâ€"everything. And more, I shall be longing to see you again. Now go.” Giving him a little push. 19, 1879. Presentlyâ€"he hardly knows howâ€"he finds himself in the dog-cart, with John, op- pressiver cheerful, beside him, and, looking back as they drive briskly up the avenue, takes a last glance at Brooklyn, with Molly on the steps, waving her hand to him. and watch- ing his retreating form with such a. regret- ful countenance as gives him renewed cour- age. In an upper window is Letitia, more than equal to the occasion. armed with one of John’s largest handkerchiefs, that bears a strong resemblance to a young sheet as it flutters frantically hither and thither in the breeze; While below the two children, Daisy and Reneeâ€"under a mistaken impression that the hour is festiveâ€"throw after him a. choice collection of old boots much the worse for wear, which they have purloined with praise- worthy adroitness from under their nurse’s nose. “ 011, Letty, I do feel so honestly lonely,” says Molly, half an houx later, meeting her sister-in-law on the stairs. “ Dc you, dearest ?”â€"admiringly. “ That is very nice of you. Never mind ; you know you will soon see him again. And let us come and consult about the dresses you ought to wear at Herst." “Yes, do let us,” returns Miss Mussereene, brightening with suspicious alacrity, and drawing herself up as straight as a. young tree out of the despondent attitude she has been wearing. “ That will pass the time better than anything.” “If ever words are sweet, what, what a song, When lips we love the melody prolong l” Whereupon Letitia chuckles with illâ€"sup- pressed amusement and gives it as her opin- ion that “clear Molly isn‘t as bad as she thinks herself." This has taken some time, more especially as the train was late and the back drive hilly, yet when at length he reaches his home he finds his wife and Molly still deepin the mys- John has done his duty, has driven the mel- ancholy young man to the station. and very nearly out of his witsâ€"by insisting on carry- ing on a long and tedious argument that lasts the entire way, waiting pertinaoiously for a reply to every one of his questions. “ He isn’t well at all,” replies John, with a dismal shake of the head and as near an imi- tation of Molly’s rueful countenance as he can manage at so short a notice; “ he is very bad. I never saw a. worse case in my life. I doubt if he Will last out the day. I don’t know how you regard it, but I call it cruelty to ani- mals.” “ Well ?" says his sister, as he stands in the doorway regarding them silently. As she speaks she allows the dejected expression of two hours ago to return to her features, her lids droop a little over her eyes, her forehead goes up, the corners of her mouth go down. She is in one instant a very alflicted Molly. “ Well?” she says. “ You need not be unfeeling,” says Molly, reproachfully, “ and I won’t listen to you mak- ing fun of him behind his back. You wouldn’t before his face.” teries of the toilette. “ How do you know ?”â€"â€"-as though weigh- ing the point. “ I never saw him funny un- til to-day. He was on the verge of tears the entire way. It was lucky I was beside him, or he would have drenched the new cushions. For shame‘s sake he refrained before me, but I know he is in floods by this.” “ I am a man too,” says John, who seems to find a, rich harvest of delight in the con- templation of Luttrell’s misery. “ And once, before we were married, when Letitia. treated me with disdain. I gave way to my feelings to such an extent thatâ€"-â€"â€"” “ He is not,” says" Molly, indignautly. “ Crying, indeed ! What an ideal He is far too much of a man for that.” “Really, John," interposes his Wife, “ I wish you would keep your stupid stories to yourself, or also go away. We are very busy “\settling about Molly’s things.” _ ‘t “ Wllat things ? ' Her tefi-thingsâ€"her play- things? Ah! poor little Molly I her last nice new one is gqne." “ Letty. I hope you don‘t mind, dear,” says Molly, lifting a dainty china bowl from the table near her. “Let ustrust it won‘t break; but, whether it does or not, I must and will throw it at J ohn.” “ She should at all events have one pretty new silk dress,” murmurs Letitia, vaguely; whose thoughts “ are with her heart, and that is far away,” literally buried, so to speak, in the depths of her wardrobe. “ She could not well do without it. Molly”â€"with sudden in- spirationâ€"“ you shall have mine. That dove. color always looks pretty on a girl, and I have only worn it once. It can easily be made to fit you.” “ I wish, Letitia, you would not speak to me like that,” says Molly, almost angrily, though there are tears in her eyes. “Do you suppose I want to rob you ? I have no doubt you would give me every gown you possess, if I so willed it, and leave yourself nothing. Do remember I am going to Horst more out of spite and curiosity than anything else, and don’t care in the least how I look. It is very unkind of you to say such things.” “ You are the kindest soul in the world, Letty,” says John, from the doorway ; “ but keep your silk. Molly shall have one too.” After which he decamps. “ That is very good of John.” says Molly. “ The fact is, I haven’t a. penny of my own-â€" I never have a week after I receive my allow- anceâ€"so I must only do the best I can. If I don’t like it, you know, I can come home. It is a. great thing to know, Letty, that you will be glad to have me, whether 1am well-dressed or very much the reverse.” “ Exactly. And there is this one comfort also, that you 1001; Wall in anything. By the bye, you must have a maid. You shall take Sarah, and we can get some one in until you come back to us. That”â€"with a. smileâ€"â€" “ will prevent your leaving us too long to our own devices. You will understand without telling what a. loss the fair Sarah will be.” " You are determined I shall make my ab- sence felt,” says Molly. with a half-smile. " Reglly,_I{et§y. I dog’t Qikeâ€"fâ€"” “ But I do,” says Letty. “ I don’t choose you to be one whit behind any one else at Herst. Without doubt, they will beat you in the matter of clothes; but what of that ? I have known many titled people have a. fine disregard of apparel.” “ So have I,” returns Molly, gnyly. “In- deed, were I a man, possessed with a desire to be mistaken for 3 lord, I would go to the meanest ‘old 010’ shop and purchase there the seediest garments and the most dllapidated hat (with a. tendency towards groenness), and a pair of boots with a. patch on the left side, and, having equipped myself in them, enun- ter down the ‘shady side of Pall Mall‘ with a. sure and certain conviction that 1 was quite the thing. Should my ambitious longings soar as high as a dukedem. I would add to the above costume a patch on the right boot as well, andâ€"questionable linen. “ Well,” say§ Letxtia, with a sigh, “ I hope Marcia is a. nice girl, and that she will be kind to yea-’1 & So (10 I"â€"With a shrugâ€"“ but from her writing I am almost sure she isn’t.” Long, low terraces bathed in sunshine ; a dripping. sobbing fountain; great masses of glaring flowers that mix their reds and yel- lows in hideous contrast and sicken the be- holder with a desire for change ; emerald lawns that grow and widen as the. eye endeav- ors vainly to grasp them, thrown into bold re- lief by the rich foliage, all brown, and green, and red, and bronze-tinged, that spreads be- hind them; While beyond all these, as far as sight can reach, great swelling parks show here and there, alive with deer, that toss and fret their antlered heads, throwing yet another charm into the already glorious scene. Such is Herst Royal, as it stands, u very castle in its pride of birth. On .one side the new wing holds prominence, so called al- though fully a. century has passed since mav- son’s hand has touched it; on the other is a suspicion of heavy Gothic art. Behind, the taste of the Elizabethan era holds full sway ; in front (forgetful of time) uprears itself the ancient tower that holds the first stones in all its strength and stately dignity ; while round it the sympathetic ivy clings, and, pressing in its long arms, whispers " Courage.” Upon the balcony the sleepy pe‘tcocks stand, too indolent to unfurl their gorgeous plumage‘ looking in their quiet like statues placed at intervals between the stone vases of scarlet geraniums and drooping ferns that go to adorn it. There is a (lead calm over all the house ; no sound of life beyond the indistinct hum of ir- repressible nature greets the ear; all is pro- foundly still. The" click of highâ€"heeled shoes, the un- mistakable rustle of silk, and the peacocks, with a. quick flutter, raise their heads, as though to acknowledge the approach of their mistress. Stepping from one of the windows, thereby displaying :to the unobservant air an instep large but exquisitely arched, Marcie Amherst comes slowly up to where the lazy fowl are dreaming. Almost unconsciously (because her face is full of troubled thought), or per- haps a little vengefully, she flicks the one nearest to her with the handkerchief she car- ries loosely in her hand, until, with a. discor- dant scream, it rouses itself, and, spreading its tail to its fullest, glances round with con- scious bride. “V’Vlmt a, dream was here ! Methonght u serpent ate my heart, And you sat smiling at his cruel prey." WHOLE N0.1,093 â€"â€"N0. 2; -â€"MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM‘ CHAPTER X. eefj “‘That is all you are good for,” guys Mar- cia, out loud, contemptuously. Her voice is singularly clear, but low and trainante. She is tall and very dark, with rich, wavy black hair, and eyes of the same hue, deep and soft as velvet. Her nose is Gre- cian ; her lips a trifle thin. She is distinctly handsome. but does not so much as border on the beautiful. As she turns from the showy bird with a little shrug of disdain at its vanity, or of dis- gust at its odious cry, she finds herself face to face with a. young man who has followed algost in her footsteps. 7 He, too, is tall and dark, and not altogether unlike her. But his face shows the passion that hers mther conceals than lacks, and, though sufficiently firm, is hardly as deter- mined ns 11ers. There is also a certain dis- content about the lower part of the jaw in which she is wanting, and there are two or three wrinkles on his forehead, of which her broad, low brow is innocent. “ Well, Philip ?” she says, anxiously, as he reaches her side. “ Oh, it is of no use,” he repliea, with a quick frown; “ I could not get up my courage to the sticking-point ; and if I had I firmly believe it would only have smashed my cause the more completely. Debt is his one abhor- rence, or ratherâ€"he has so manyâ€"~his deep- est. To ask for that two thousand pounds would be my ruin.” “I wishlhad it to give you,” she says. gently, laying her handâ€"a. very beautiful handLbuig not smallfupqp higarm. “Thank you, my dear,” replies he, lightly, “ but your good wishes do not get me out of my hobble. Money I must have within seven days, and money I have not. And if our grandfather discovers my delinquencies it will be all U P with me. By the bye, Mercia, I can hardly expect you to sympathize with me, as that would be so much the better for you, oh ‘1’” “ What a stake it is to play for I” says the young man, wearily. with a. distasteful ges- ture. “ Is even twenty thousand pounds a year worth it ?â€"the perpetual paying court, every day, and all day long? Sometimes I doubt it.” “ It is well worth it,” says Marcia, firmly. “ How can you doubt it? All the good this world contains might be written under the name of money. There is no happiness with- out it.” “ Nothing the better.” says Marcia, calmly; “ it would be always the same thing. I should share with you? I. “ There is love, however, and content- ment." “ Don’t believe it. Love may be purchased; and as for contentment, there is no such thing. It is a dream, a fable, a pretty story that babes may swallow.” “ So he has, poor old wretch,” her compan- ion interrupts her hastily. “ Well, I have just one clear week before me, and thenâ€"I sup- pose I had better have recourse to my friends the J ewe. That will be a risky thing, if you like, under the circumstances. Should he find that outâ€"â€"J’ evil‘ “ Not money, but the love of it,” replies she, quickly. “ Do not lose heart, Philip; he cannot last forever ; and this week how ill he has been 1” “ How can he? They are always so secret, so safe. Better do it than eat your heart out. And who is to betray you?” “ You.” With a. laugh. “ Ay, tremble I" says she, gayly; then soft- ly. “if that is all you have to fear, Philip. you are a. happy man. And when you have got the two thousand pounds will you be free ?” “ No, but comparatively easy for a. While. And who knows, by that timeâ€"~4’ “He may die?” ' “ Or something may turn up,” exclaims he, hurriedly, not looking at her, and therefore unable to wonder at the stolidity and utter unconcern of her expression. At this momenta querulous, broken voice comes to them from the inner room. “ Mar- cia, Marcia I” it calls, with trembling impa- tience ; and, With a. last flick at the unofiend- ing peacock, she turns to go, yet lingers, as though loath to leave her companion. “ Good-byeâ€"for a while,” she says. “ Good-bye,” replies he, and, clasping her lightly round the waist, presses a. kiss upon her cheekâ€"«not upon her lips. “ You will be here when I return?” asks she, turning a. face slightly flushed by his ca.- ress towards him as she stands with one foot placed upon the bow-window-sill preparatory to entering the room beyond. There is hope fully expressed in her tone. “ No, I think' not,” replies. he, carelessly. “ The afternoon IS fine. I want to ride into Longley, for~â€"â€"” But to the peacocks alone is the excuse made known, as Marcia. has dis- appeared. Close to a fire, although the day is oppres- siver warm, and wrapped in a, flannel dress- ing-gown, sits an old manâ€"old, and full of the snarling captiousness that makes some white hairs hideous. A tall man, with all the remains of great beauty, but a singularly long nose (as a rule one should avoid a. person with a long nose), that perhaps once might have added a charm to the bold, aristocratic face it adorned, but now in its last days is only suggestive of birds of prey, being peaky and astonishingly fine towards the point. In- deed, looking at it from a side-view. one finds oneself instinctively wondering how much leaner it can get before kindly death steps in to put a stop to its growth. And yet it matches Well with the lips, which, curving downwards, and thin to a fault, either from pain or temper, denote only in will towards fellow-man, together with a o'ertain cruelty that takes its keenest pleasure in another’s mental suffering. Great piercing eyes gleam out from under heavy brows, and looking straight at one, still withhold their innermost thoughts. Intellech (wrongly directed, it may be, yet of no mean order) and a fatal desire for power sparkle in them; While the disappointment, the terrible self-accusing sadness that must belong to the closing of such a. life as comes of such a tem- perament as his, lingers round his mouth. He is meagre, shrunkenâ€"altogether unlovely. Now as he glances up at Marcia. a pettish- ness, born of the sickness that has been con- suming him for the past week, is his all-pre- vailing expression. Raising a hand fragile and white as a woman’s he beckons her to his side. 7 " How you dawdle l” he says, fretfully. “ Do you forget there are other people in the world besides yourself? Where have you been ‘2" “ Have I been long, dear?" says Marcia, evasively. with the tenderest air of solicitude, shaking up his pillows and smoothing the crumpled dressing-gown with careful fingers. ‘7‘ Hax‘re you misseudume? And yet only a: few minutes haye really passedrj’ “ Where have you been ?" reiterates he, ir- ritably, taking no notice of her comfortable pats and shakes. “ With Philip.” “ Ay, with Philip. Always Philip. I doubt me the course of your love runs too smoothly to be true. And yet it was a happy thought to keep the old man’s money well together.” With a sneer. “‘7‘Wbéar grandpapa, we did not think of money, but that w_e love eafhpther." ” Loveâ€"pish I do not talk to me of it. I thought you too shrewd, Marcia, to be misled by a mirage. It is a mythâ€"no moreâ€"a sick- ening, mawkish tale. Had he no prospects, and were you penniless, I wonder how far love would guide you ?” " To the end," says Marcia, quickly. “ What has money to do with it .2 It can neither be bought nor sold. It is a. poor affection that would wither under poverty; at least it would have no fears for us.” “ Usâ€"us,” returns this detestable old pa.- gan, with a malicious chuckle. “ How sure we are ! how positive! ready to risk all upon our lover’s truth! Yet, Where I to question this faithful lover upon the same subject, I fear me 1hat I should receive a widely differ- ent answer." W‘V‘VIV hope not, dear,” says Marcia, gently, speaking in her usual soft, low tone. Yet a small cold finger has been laid upon her heayt: Â¥et they téll us money is the root of all (Confifiuéd on 4:13 Page