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“ Meaning yourself,” says Luttrell. “ Now, let’s have a look at you. Why, Plenty, what an exquisite get~up 1 New coat andâ€"eta, lat- est tie, and diamonds ad lib. Quite coquet- tish, upon my word. Who gave you the dis.- monds, Potts ? Your mother ?” , “No, I got tired of hinting there,” says Potts. ingenuously, “ so gave it up, and bought ’em myself. They are fetching, I take it. Luttrell, Who is the girl at the piano ? never saw anything so lovely in all my life.” 9‘ Miss Massereene." .“Indeed. Been received, and all that? Well, there’s been nothing this season to touch on her. Introduce me, Ted, do I” “ Perhaps I shall find your hint useful in the future,” says Molly, with a slight shrug of her shoulders; “ when one is poor it is always Well to know there is something one can put one’s hand to when things come to the worst:; but at presentI feel suificiently at home Where I am. I am glad,” calmly, “ my singing pleased youâ€"if indeed it did.” ‘f How pretty that is l" says Lady Stafford; “ and so wildâ€"quite Irish! But your name after all is Eleanor, is it not 2” l .. fflThexfe‘ighI bglievgt a tradition in the fail}; W to that efiectr,”;sa§s Molly, smiling, “ but “ And such a. charming song as that is!” breaks in Mrs. Derley; “ I remember hearing it for the first time, just after my marrriage, indeed while we were yet enjoying our wed. ding tour. Do you remember it, dearest?” As she murmurs the tender words, she turns upon her 10rd two azure eyes so limpid and full of trust and love that any man ignorant of the truth would have sworn by all his gods her desire was with her husband, whereas every inch of heart she possesses has long since been handed over to a man in the Horse Guards Blue. “ Humph," says Henry Durley, eloquently, (1 without further rejoinder goes on with he game of chess he is playlng with Mr. Arn- herst. “ Willingly, grandpapa,” says, Molly, and, going once more to the piano, gladly puts the obnoxious duet away, feeling sure its ap- pearance has caused Tedcastle’s annoyance. “ Though if he is going to be jealous so early in the game as this,” thinks she, “ I don’t fancy I shall have an altogether festive time of it.” “ What shall it. be 7” she asked, loud. “ Nothing Italian, at all events,” says Mr. Amherst (all Marcia’s endeavors are in that language) ; ” I like something I understand, and I hate your runs and trills.” The eflect is electric. Everybody looks up, and pleased and glad ; while the owner of this euphonious name comes forward, and having shaken hands with Marcie, turns to old Am- herst. ” How d’ye do, sir ?" he says, heartily. “ I flope you are better.” “ “ Do you ?” says Mr. Amherst, unamiably, feeling still a keen regret that the neat retort intended for Molly must wait another occa- sion. “ I would believe you if I could, but it isn’t in human nature. Yes, I am better, thank you, much better; I dare say with care I shall last this winter, and probably the next. and perhaps outlive a good many of you.” He chuckles odiously as he winds up this pleasing speech. “ Oh 1 Molly Vann, why leave me pining, All lonely waiting here for you."â€"0Ld Sung “ I don’t thinkI could have said quite that,” Molly replies, quietly ; “ I told you I sang a little; it is not customary to laud one’s own performances.” “ Let us have something else, Eleanor," her grandfather says. looking up for an in- stant from his beloved queens and kings and castles ; “ another song.” “ I will sing you my own song,” says Molly. gayly, and gives them “ Molly Bawn” deli- ciously. itâ€" is- used up, and £0 one 136w paysth it the least attention. I myself much prefer Molly. I 331 alwaysyalled Molly Bawniagz home.” Her voice lingers on the word home. In an instant, amidst all the luxuries and charms of this beautiful drawing-room at Herst, her mind goes back to the old, homely, beloved sanctum at Brooklyn, where she sees John, and Letty, and all the happy, merry, good- hearted children harmoniously mixed up to- gather. At illié dangerous moment the door is thrown wide Open, and a servant announces “ Mr. Potts." “ You are a clever actress,” says Marcia, so low as to be unheard by all but Molly; “ with such a voice as yours, and such masterly com- mand of all emotion and expression, you should make the stage your home.” “You” sing magnificently,” Marcia says, aloud, giving her meed of praise justly, but unwillilggly. 7 This is such a. wonderful request, coming from Mr. Amherst, who 13 known to abhor Marcia’s attempts, that every one looks sur- prised. “ It is a pity,”.says Mr.‘Amherst, purpose- ly, seeing an opening for one of his cheerful remarks, “ that everything about Ireland should be so wretchedly low." “ It is swampy,” 'replies Miss Molly, promptly: ' Mr. Potts, rather taken aback, mutters something inaudible, and turns to Lady Staf- tmfd, who receives him warmly. He is a. young man of about twenty-four, (though he might, in appearance, be any age from that to forty-four), and is short rathu than tall. His eyes are gray, small. and bright, and full of fun, bespeaking impertur‘ bable good humor. ' His hair is red. It is hair that admits of no compromise; it is neither auburn, golden, nor light-brown, it is a distinct and fiery red. His nose is poor but honest, and he has a. thorough and most apparent appreciation of himself. As 1 said before, Lady Stafl‘ord greets him warmly; he is one of her specia} petg. - “ How are you getting on ‘2” he asks, mys- teriously, when the first questions and an- swers have been gone through. “ Old boy evi- dontly worse than ever. The wine theory would not suit his case ; age does anything but improve him. He has gone to the bad al- together. I suppose you’ve been putting in an awfully bad time of it." “We have, indeed,” says Lady Stafford; “ he has been unbearable all through dinner, though he was pretty well yesterday. I think myself it must be gout; every twinge brings forth a caustic speech.” By this time every one had shaken hands with the new-comer, and welcomed him heart- ily. He seems specially plea-sad to see Ted- castle. “ Luttrell ! you here? Never had a. hint of it. So glad to see you, old man! Why, you’re looking as fit as even your best friend could Wish youf’ He is introduced. AndMoHy, smiling up at him one of her own brightest, kindliestvsmiles, makes ~him then and there her slave forever. On-the ap9t, without a second’s delay, he falls head over earn in love with her. By degrees he gets back to Lady Stafl'ord, and sinks upon the sofa beside her. I say sinks unadvisedly; he drops upon the sofa, MOLLY BAWN. I know a golden-hearted maid For whom I built a. shrine, A leafy nook of murmurous shade, Deep in this heart of mine ; And in that calm and cool recess To make her home she cameâ€" But, oh! you'd never, never guess That. little maideu’s nameA I know a. voice of fa.in tone, Like brooklet in the J 11119, That sings to please itself alone, A little old-world tune : Whose music haunts the liatener‘s ear, _ And will not leave it free ; But I shall never tell you, dear, Whose accents they may be. I know two eyea,two soft brown eyes, Two eyes as sweet and dear AS ever danced with gay surprise 0r melted with a tear; In whose fair rays a heart may baskâ€"â€" Their shadowed mys sereneâ€" But, little maid, you must not ask Whose gentle eyes I mean. BY THE AUTHOR OF â€"Frederick Lungbridgo in Good Words. Y0 U’LL NEVER GUESS. “ PHYLLIS. " . “ A- week ago I and have ybu been ever since getting here ?”7 “ So he was; but he has come back, looking uncommon well too, as brown as n berry. To my thinking, as good a follow to look at as there is in England, and a capital fellow all round into the bargain l’" “Dear me!” says Cecll. “ What a loss Egypt has sustained I And what a partisan you have become I May I ask,” suppress- ing a. pretended yawn behind her perfumed fun. “ where your mm (wig is at present hiding ?” “ Already his love is dead,” she murmurs, leaning naked arms upon the Window-sill, and turning her lustrous southern eyes up to the skies above her. “ Already. In two short months. And how have I fallen short ? how have I lost him? By overloviug, perhaps. While she, who does not value it, has gained my all." “ f\vant to tell you who I saw in town the day before I leftm-a week ago,” he says, cau- tiuusly. “ N0, 1 did it by degrees. First, I went down to the Maplesons’, and spent two days there, very slow, indeed ; then I got 011 to the Blounts’, and found it much slower there; finally I drove to Talbot Lowry’s night be- fore last, and stayed there until this even- ing. You know he lives only three miles from this." “ He is at home now, then ?" “ Yes. He always is at home, I notice, when -â€"you are here l” “ No I" says Cecil, with a little faint laugh. “ You don’t say 50 I What a remarkable coin- cidence !” ' “ An annual coincidence. But you don’t ask me who it Was I saw in London. Guess." “ The Christy Minstrels, without doubt They never perform 011$ of London, so I sup- poseigre the gply people in itrnow." “ Really?” says Cecil, coloring warmly, and sitting in a more upright position. “ He has returned, then? I thought he was In Egypt.” “ Iâ€"asked him," says Mr. Potts, “ but 110 rather evadqd the quesfiog.” “ I have seen many dififerent shades of red in people’s hair," says Molly, “ but I have never seen it rosy until now. Is it dyed ? It is the most curious thing I ever looked at.” As indeed it is. When introduced to poor Potts, when covering him with a. first dispns- siouate glance, one thinks not of his pale gray orbs, his large, good-humored mouth, his freckles, or his enormous nose, but only of his hair. Molly is struck by it at once. “ He is a right good follow,” savs Luttz'ell, rather indignantly, being scarcer in the mood to laugh at Molly’s snrcasms. “He may be,” is her calm reply; “ but if I were he, rather than go through life w1th that complexion and that unhappy head I would commit suicide.” Then there is a little more music. Marcia ‘ plays brilliantly enough, but it is almost; im- possible to forget during her playing that she ‘ has had an excellent master. It is not genu- ‘ ine or from the heart. It is clever, but; it is i ‘aequirfllfiand falls very“ Mly after Molly’ml perfect singing, and no one in the room feels this more acutely than Marcia herself. Then Luttroll, who has a charming voice, sings for them something pathetic and re- proachful, you may be sure, as it is meant for Molly’s ears; and then the evening is at an end, .and they all go to their own rooms. For lloxfrs she Exits by her casement, ponder- ing on the cruelty of her fate, while the un- sympathetic moon pours its White mys upon her. A little groan escapes her, and she lets her dark head sink upon her outstretched arms. For thereis something in Philip’s eyes as they rest on Molly, something undefined, hardly formed, but surely there, that betrays to Mar- cia the secret feeling, of which he himself is scarcely yet aware. and very nearly makes havoc of the springs in doing so. ‘ - “ Wrong. Théré Wis one other personflSir Pentllony Stafford If " And is that yofu' Mr. Potts?! asks Molly, finding herself close to Tedcastlo, speaking withéeayy‘anfi sugpicipus} emphasis. “ Yes,” Tedcastle admits, coloring slightly as he remembers the glowing terms in which he has described his friend. “ Don't youâ€"eh, don’t you like him ‘2” “ 0h ! like him, I cannot answer that yet ; but," laughing, “ I certainly don’t admire him.” And indeed, Mr. Potts’s beauty is not of the sort 159 call forth rapturersnat first giglgt. What a haven of rest and security is one‘s own room! How instinctively in grief or joy one turns to it, to hide from prying eyes one's inmost thoughts, one’s hopes and deâ€" spairs ! To-night there are two and hearts at Herst; Marcia’a, perhaps, the saddest, for it is full of that most maddening, most intolerable of all pains, jealousy. One hardly knows how it is, but Molly with a glance, a. gesture, three little words pointed by a. smile from the liquid eyes, can draw him to her side. And when a man of his cold re- served nature truly loves. be sure it is a pas- sion that will last him his life. Tedcastle, too, is thoroughly unhappy to- night. His honest, unprying mind, made sharp by love’s conflict, has seen through Philip’s infatuation, and over his last cigar before turning in (a, cigar that to-night has somehow lost half its soothing properties) makes out with a sinking of the heart what it all means. He thinks, too, yet upbraids himself for so thinking, that Miss Mussereene must see that Philip Shadwell, heir to Herst and twenty thousand pounds a year, is a. better catch than Teddy Luttrell, with only his great love for her, and a paltly six hundred pounds a year._ _ ‘ _ _ _ > ' Is it not selfish of him to seek to keep her from What is so evidently to her advantage ? Perhaps he ought to throw up his engagement, and, passing out of her life, leave her to reap the geods the gods provide. “ Faint heart,” says Teddy, flinging the remnant of his cigar with fierce determination into the grate, “ never won fair lady; she is mine so far, the fairest darling that ever breathed, and, be it selfish or otherwise, keep her I will if I can.” In vain he tries to argue himself into this heroic frame of mind. The more he tries, the more obnoxious grows the idea. He cannot, he will not give her up. While Molly, the pretty cause of all this heart-burning. lies in slumber, soft and sWeet, and happy as can be, with her red red lips apart and smiling, her breathing ‘ pure and regular as a little child’s, and all her ” nut- brown” hair like a silken garment around her. But he sighs as he utters the word can, and finds his couch, when at length he does seekitY bx pgmeahs a bed of roses. A Cecil Stafford, walking leisurer up and down her apartment,is feelinghalf frightened, half amused. at the news conveyed to her by Mr. Potts of her husband's arrival in England. New at last after these three years she may meet him at any moment face to face. Surely nevervwas a, story so odd, so strange as here ! A bride unknown; a wife whose face has nevPr yet been seen I “Well,” thinks Cecil, as she seats herself while her maid binds up her long fair hair, “ no use troubling about it beforehand. What must he. must be. And, at all events, the dreaded interview cannot be too soon, as until my return to town I believe I am pretty safe from him here.” But in saying this she reckons without her host in every sense of the word.‘ VOL XXII. THE “ Yes. He is well, but evidently pines for home quarters and old friends. Thinking you would like to see him after so long a. separa- tion, I have invited him here. Youâ€"you don’} object .9" This is a thunderbolt, though he is too much disheartened by his first defeat to no- tice it. Lady Stafford grows several shades paler, andâ€"luncheon being at an endâ€"rises hurriedly. Going towards the door, she glances hack, and draws Molly by a look to her side. When they have reached Cecil’s pretty sit- ting-room off which her bedroom opens, the first thing her ladyship does is to submde into a seat and laugh a little. “ It is like a play,” she says, “ the idea of his coming down here, to find me before him. It will be a surprise ; for I would swear that horrible old man never told him of my being in the house, or he would not have come. Am I talking Greek to you, Molly? You know my story, surely ?” “ It is a curious one, is it not? and one not easily matched. It all came of that horrible will. Could there be anything more stupid than for an old man to depart this life and léfiVé'"'behifid"him’ E’document binding two young people in such a. way as makes it do or die with them ? I had never seen my cousin in all my life, and he had never seen me ; yet we were compelled at a moment’s no~ tice to marry each other or forfeit a dazzling fortune.” I ” Why could you not divide it .9" ” Because the lawyers said we couldn’t. Lawyers are always aggressive. My great- uncle had particularly declared it should not be divided. It was to be all or none, and whichever of us refused to marry the other got nothing. And there was so much I” says her ladyship, with an expressive sigh. “ It was. Yet, as I managed it, it wasn’t half so bad. Now, I dare say many women would have gone into violent hysterics, would have driven their relations to the verge of despair, and the shivering bridegroom to the brink of delirious joy, and then given inâ€" married the man, lived with him, and been miserable ever after. But not I.” Here she pauses. charmed at her own supe- rior wisdom, and, leaning back in her chair, with a, contented smile, puts the tips of her fingers together daintily. Next day at luncheon,Mr. Amherst, having carefully mapped out one of his agreeable lit- tle surprises, and having selected a moment when every one is present, says to her with a Wicked gleam of anticipative amusement in his cunning old eyes : “ Sir Penthony is in England.” Although she has had neither hint nor warning of what is coming, Lady Staflord is a match for him. Mr. Potts’s intelligence of the evening before stands her now in good stead. “ Indeed l” she says, without betraying any former knowledge, turning eyes of the calmest upon him; “ you surprise me. Tired so soon of Egyptian sphinxes ! I always knew he had no taste. I hope he is quite well. ‘I suppose you heard from him ‘2” “ I ?” says her ladyship, promptly, reddem ing, but laughing too very successfully. “ Now, why should I object? 011 the con- trary, I shall be charmed; he will be quite an acquisition. If I remember rightly”â€" with a little affected drooping of the lidsâ€" “he is a very handsome man, and, I hear, amusing.” Mr. Amherst, foiled in his amiable inten. tion of drawing confusion on the head of somebody, subsides into a grunt and his easy- cllair. To have gone to all this trouble for nothing, to have invited secretly this man, who interests him not at all, in hopes of a lit- tle excitement, and to have those hopes frus- trated, disgusts him. Yet at’telj all there will, there must be some amusement in store for him, in watching the meeting between this strange palt. He at least may not prove as cool and indifferent as his pretty wife. “ He will be here to dinner today,” he says, grumpishly, knowing that all around him are in‘zgr‘dlyr rejoicing at his defeat. “ Come with me,”she says; ” I must speak to some one, and to you before any of the others.” ' “ I have heard something of it~not much â€"_f}'gm. Mr. thtrell," sqyg Molly, tyuthfully. “ I? I just reviewed the case calmly. I saw it was a great deal of moneyâ€"too much to hesitate aboutâ€"too much also to make it likely a man would dream of resigning it for the sake of ‘a women more or less. So I wrote to my cousin explaining that, as we had never known each other, there could be very little love lost between us, and that I saw no neces- sity Why We ever should know each otherâ€" aud that I was quite willing to marry him, and take a third of the money, if he would allow me to he as little to him in the future as I was in the present, by drawrng up a formal deed of separation. to he put in force at the churclrdoor or the door of any room where the marriage ceremony should be per- formed.” “ Well 7” “ Well, I don’t know how it would have been but that, to aid my request, I enclosed a. photograph of our parlor-maid (one of the ug- liest women it has ever been my misfortune to see), got up in her best black silk, minus the cap, and with a flaming gold chain round her neck~you know the sort of thingâ€"and I never said who it was.” “ Oh, Cecil, how could you ?” “ How couldn’t I? you mean. And after all my crime was of the passive order; I merely sent the picture, without saying anything. How could I help it if he mistook me for Mary Jane? Besides, I was fighting for dear life, and' all is fair in love and war. I could not put up with the whims and caprices of a. man to whom I was indifferent.” * “ It {ms ilmrd case,”‘Molly says: with deep Hymgmhy. 5‘ Welliand you ‘2” says Molly, feeling in- tenseg interested. ” Molly,” says Lady Stafford, slowly, with a fine show of pity, “ you are disgracefully young; cure yourself, my door, as fast as ever you can, and as a first lesson take this to heart; if ever there was a mortal man born upon this earth without caprices it must have been in the year one, because no one that [ have met knows anything about him.” “ Did you know he had whims and ca- Pricqsfl’, ” Well, for the matter of that,” says Molly, laughing, “ I don’t suppose I should like a perfect man, even if I did chance to meet him. By all accounts they are stilted, disa- greeable people, with a talent for making everybody else seem small. But go on with your story. What was his reply?” “ He agreed cordially to all my suggestions, named a very handsome sum as my portion, swore by all that was honorable he would never interfere with me in any way, was evi- dently ready to promise anything, andâ€"sent me back my parlor-maid. Was not that in- sulting ?” r “ Bfit when he came to marry you he must have seen you ?" “ Sem'cely. I decided on having the wed- ding in our drawing-room, and wrote again to say it would greatly convenience my cousin and myself (I lived with an old cousin) if he would not come down until the very morning of the wedding. Need I say he grasped at this proposition also? I was dressed and ready for my wedding by the time he arrived, “ Oh, beware my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster who doth mock The meat it feeds 011."â€"OTEELLO. CHAPTER XIV. RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JULY 10, 1879 loved ” Never, never, never. And indeed, to give myself due credit, I believe the fact that I have a husband somewhere would utterly pre- vent anything of the sort." - “ Not if you lived with my cousin Amelia, feeling yourself a dependent on her bounty. She was a. startling instance of 110w a. woman can worry and torment. The very thought of her makes my heart sore in my body and chills my blood to this day. I rejoice to say she is no more.” “ Well, you got married?” “ Yes, in Amelia’s drawing-room. I had a. little gold band on my third finger, I had a cold shake-hands from my husband, a sym- pathetic one from his groomsman, and then found myself once more alone, with a title and plenty of money, andâ€"that’s all.” ” What was his friend’s name ‘2" ~ “ Talbot Lowry. He lives about three miles from here, and"â€"-with an airy laughâ€"“ is rather too fond of me.” “ What a strange story!” says Molly, re~ gardmg her wistfully. “ Do you never Wish you Pad married some one you loved ?” “ Perhaps I have done so' long ago,” her Iadyship replies, inatone impossible to trans- late, being still intent on the contemplation of her many charms. Then, quickly, “ No, no, Molly, I am fireproof." “ Newt a bit of it. i should despise myself forever if I once found myself letting my pulse bent half a second faster for one man than for another.” vvn‘ “J v “‘5 u; qu mu». “ That is a good thing, if the idea lasts. Bin: won’t you feel awkward in meeting him this evenâ€"mg '9nr ‘ » 9“... “ I? No, but I dare say he will ; and I hope so too,” says her ledyship, maliciously. “ For three long years he has never been to see whether I were well or illâ€"or pining for him,” laughing. “ And yet, Molly. I do feel nervous, awfully, ridiculously nervous, at the bare idea of our so soon coming face to face.” “ Is he handsome 2'” “ Ye-es, pretty well. Lanky sort of man, with a. good deal of nose; you know, and very little whisker. On my word, 110w I think of it, I don’t think he had any at all.” “ Nose ‘3” ” No, whisker. He was clean-shaven, all but the moustache. I suppose you know he was in Ted’s regiment for some time 7” ” So he told me.” ” I wonder what he hasn’t told you ? Shall I confess, Molly, that I know your secret, and that it was I chose that diamond ring upon your finger ? There, do not grudge me your confidence ; I have given you mine ; and any- thing I have heard is safe with me. Oh, what a. lovely blush, and what a shame to wuste such a charming bit of color upon me! Keep it for dessert.” “ I never do,” gayly. Don’t look to me for sentiment, Molly, because I am utterly devoid of it. I know I suffer in your estimation by this confession, but it is the simple truth. I don‘t wish for anything. And yet”â€"-â€"pausing suddenlyâ€"“I do. I have been wishing for something ever since that old person down- stairs tried to take me aback this morning, and failed so egregiously.” “ And your Wish isâ€"â€"” “ That I could make my husband fall med- ly in love with me. Oh, Molly, what a are- venge that would be! And why should he not indeed ‘2” Going over to a glass and gaz- ing earnestly at herself. “ I am prettyâ€"very pretty,.I think. Speak, Molly, and encourage “ Yet "any day you may meet some one to whom you must give your love.” “ How will Sir Penthouy like Mr. Lowry’s close proximity ‘1’” Molly asks, presently, when she has confessed a few interesting little facts to her friend. “ I hope he Won’t like it. If I thought I could make him jealous I would flirt with poor Talbot under his nose,” says Cecil, with elo- quent vulgarity. “ I feel spitefully towards him somehow. although our separation was my own contrivance." "‘ Have you a headache, dear ?” Seeing her put her hand to her head. “ A slight oneâ€"I suppose from the nerves. I think I will lie down for an hour or two be- fore commencing the important task of arm- ing for conquest. Andâ€"are you going out, Molly? Will you gather me a few fresh flow- ersâ€"anything whiteâ€"«for my hair and the bosom of my dress 7‘” “ I \vill,"_says Molly, and, having made her comfortable with pillows and perfumes, leaves her to her siesta. Anything white. Molly travels the gardens up and down in search of all there is of the loveliest. Little rosebuds, fresh though late, and dainty bells, with sweet scented gerani- nms and drooping hemthsâ€"a pure and inno- 0613!? bouquet. “Never, my dear. I assure you the best man he brought down with him was by far the more curious of the two. But then, you must remember. Sir Penthony had seen my picture.” Here Cecil goes off into a hearty burst of laughter. “ If you had seen that maid once, my dear. you would not have been ambitious of a second View “ Still I never heard of anything so cold, so unnatural," says Miss Massereene, in high disgust. “ I declare I Would have broken 013 with him then and there, had it been me.” ” You know you are 10%er,” says Molly, in such good faith that Cecil" kisses her on the 5139117.. .“ gilt what if you should fall in love vfith him ?” Yet surely it lacks somethingâ€"4 little fleck of green. to throw out its virgin fairness. Above, high over her head, a. craving rose- bush grows, bedecked with palest, juciest leaves. Reaching up her hand to gather one of the taller branches, :1 mote, a bit of barkâ€"some hateful thingâ€"falls into Molly’s right eye. Instant agony is the result. Tears stream from the ofiended pupil ; the other eye joins in the general tribulation ; and Molly, standing in the centre of the grass plot,with her handker- chief pressed frantically to her face, and her lithe body swaying slightly to and fro through force of pain, looks the very personification of woe. So thinks Philip Slmdwcll an. coming round the corner, ‘he _111}pcfceiv§d approaches. and shook hands with him with my veil down. You may be sure I had secured a very thick one.” “ Do you mean to tell me," says Molly, ris- ing in her excitement, “ that he never asked you fig raise your veil ‘1’" “What is it?” he asks, trying to see her face. his tones absolutely trembling from agi- tation on her behalf. “ Molly. you are in trouble. Can I do anything for you ?" “ You can,” 'replies "Miss VMaséereene, in a lugubrious. voiee; though in spite of her pain, she can with difficulty repress an inclination to laugh, so dismal is his manner. “ Oh I you can.” “ Well, I’m not exactly weeping,” says Miss Massereene, slowly withdrawing one hand from her face, so as to let the best eye rest upon him ;. “ it is hardly mental anguish I’m enduring. But if you can get this awful thing that is in my eye out of it, I shall be intense- ly grateful.” “ Is that all ‘2” asks Philip, much relieved. “And plenty too, I think. Here, do try if you can see anything.” “ Tell me what. There is nothingâ€"speak, Molly." “ Poor eye I" patheticallyâ€"“ how inflamed it is ! Let me see~thereâ€"don’t blinkâ€"I won‘t be able to get at it if you do. Now, turn your eyes to the right. No. Now to the left. Yes, there it is,” excitedly. “ No, it isn’t,” Do you mean to tell me you have never f)" Molly in Philip‘sâ€"well, if not exactly in his embrace, something very near it ; Philip looking with Wild anxiety into the very depths of Molly’s 10ver eyes, while the lovely eyes look back at Philip full of deep entreaty. Tableau! “ You are forgetting yourself:” Coldly. “ If you are jealous of Philip, say so, but do not disgrace yourself by using coarse language. There was a bit of bark in my eye. I suppose you think it would have been better for me to endure torments than allow Philipâ€"who was very kindâ€"to take it out ? If you do, I differ from you.” It is too much. Luttrell, stung cruelly, 'tums as if to withdraw, but after a step or two finds himself unable to carry out the dig- nified intention, and pauses irresolutely. His back being turned, however, he is not in at the closing not, when Philip produces tri- umphantly on the tip of his fingers such a mere‘atom of matter as makes one wonder how it could ever have caused so much annoy- ance. “ Are you better now ‘3” he asks, anxiously, yet [with pardgnable pride. 7 “Iâ€"amâ€"thank you." Blinking thought- fully, ms though not yet assured of the relief. " Lam so much obliged to you. Andâ€"yes, I am better. Quite Well, I think. What should 1 have deno without you ?" “ I am not speaking alone of this particular instance in which you seem to favor Shad- well,” says the young man, moodily, his eye fixed upon the sward beneath him. “ Every day it grows more palpable. You scarcely carejo hide your sentiments now.” “ You mean”â€"impatientlyâ€"â€"-“ you would wish me to speak to no one except you. You don’t take into account how slow this would be for me.” She says this cruelly. “ I care no more for Philip than I do for any other man.” ” J ust so. I am the other man, no doubt. I have never been blind to the fact that you do not care for me. Why take the trouble of act- ing a. part any longer ?” “ Acting a part! Nonsense I” says Molly. “ I always think that the most absurd phrase in the world. Who does not act a part ? The thing. is to act a good one.” “ Is yours a good part ‘2” Bitterly. “ You are the best judge of that," returns she, haughtily. “ If you do not think so, why keep to our engagement ? If you wish to break it you need fear no opposition from me.” So saying, she sweeps past him and enters the house. “You have been quarreliné ma Vbellc," she says, raising hersélf on her elbow; “ don’t deny_it: Was ijziwrirth Mgrcia or Tedcastle 7” “ Tedcastle,” Molly replies, laughing against her will at the other’s shrewdness, and in con- sequence Wiping away It few tears directly af- terwards. ” It is nothing ; but he is really intolerably jealous, and I can’t and won’t put up with it.” 5“ Oh, that some one was jealous about men!” says Cecil, with a prolonged sigh. “ Go “ It was nothing, I tell you. All because Philip kindly picked a little bit of dust out of my Eye.” “ Well, you know yourself you have been going on anyhow with Philip during the past few days." “ Oh, Cecil, 110w can you say so ? Am I to turn my back on him when he comes to speak to me? And even supposing I had flirted egregiously with him (which is not the case), is that a reason why one is to he scolded and abused. and have all sorts of the most dread- ful things said to one ‘2” (I leave my readers to deplore the glaring exaggeration of this speech). .“ He looked, too, as if he could have eaten me then and there. I know this, I shan't forgive him in a hurry.” “Pale blue. It suits me best. See, that is my dress.” pointing to a light-blue silk, trimmed with White lace, that lies upon the ’bed. “ Will you really help me to dress ‘1’ But you cannot do my hair.” “ Try me.” She does try, and proves so highly satisfac~ tory that Cecil is tempted to offer splendid wages if she will consent to come and live with her. “ Ah, that I could Believe myself necessary to you at any time !” Philip is beginning, with fluent sentimt‘" ‘ *‘ity, when, catching sight of Tedcastle, 1' bruptly.‘ “ Here is Lut- trell," he 8 injured tone, and, seeing no further A f a, tete-a-tete, takes his departure. “ Why? Because your eyes are red; and certainly as I came up Shadwell appeared to be doingrhiis utmost to console you." “ Yes]’â€"â€"â€"stern1yâ€"” and with cause. I do not relish coming upon you suddenly and finding you in Shadwell’s arms." “ Where 7” “Well, if not exactly in his arms, very nearly there,” says Tedcastle, vehemently. Yet, in spite of her anger and offended pride, her eyes are wet and her hands tremb- ling as she reaches Cecil’s room and lays the snow-white flowers upon her table. Cecil is still lying; comfortably ensconced among her pillows, but has sufficient wakeful- nessLabopt 119; to notice Molly’s agitation. 7' How good of Philip! considering all the dust you have thrown into his Of late. And Tedigbjectedl ‘2” “ Are you laughing at me ?” cries Molly, wrathfully. “ Then make ready for death.” And, taking the smaller Cecil in her arms, she most unkindly lifts her from among all her coay cushions and deposits her upon the floor. “ There I Now will you repent 7 But come, Cecil, get up, and prepare for your husband’s reception. I will be your maid to- night, if you will let me. What will you wear ?” Just at this delicate moment who should turn'the corner but Luttrell ! Oh, those un- lucky corners that will occur in life, bringing people upon the scene, without a. word of warning, at the very time when they are least wanted! Luttrell, coming briskly onwards in search of his lady-love, sees, marks, and comes to 8. deg} guy. And this is what he sees. Molly is still petting her wounded member when Luttrell reaches her side. “ What is the matter with you ?” he asks, with odious want of sympathy. “ Have you beegicrying Tr" “ No,“ réplies Molly, indignant at his tone â€"-so unlike Shadwell’s. “ Why should you think so 1’" ” Anfthing the matter WM; Teddi’ ?” asks Miss Massereene, with suspicious sweet- ness_._ “ You sesm put ogt.” r “ Poor Ted! I expect he daesn’t have much of a. time with you." says Cecil, Shaking her head. “ Yeé, and was very rude into the bargain. I wouldn’t have believed it of him.” The hair is a marvel of artistic softness. Every fresh jewel lends a grace; and when at length Cecil is attired in her blue gown she is all that any one could possibly desire. disappointedly. “ Now let me look'below ; it must be there.” “ Now, honestly, how-v do I iook ?” she asks, turning round to face Molly. “ Anything like a. housemaid ?” With a faint laugh that has somgthing tremulous about it. “ I never saw you half so charming," Molly answers, deliberately. “ Oh, Cecil ! What will he say when he finds outâ€"when he discovers how you have deceived him ?” “ Anything he likes, my dear l," exclaims Cecil, gayly. giving a last touch to the little soft fair locks near the temples. “ He ought to be pleased. It would be a different thing altogether, and a real grievance, if, being like the housemaid, I had sent him aphoto of Venus. He might justly complain then ; but “Never mind it. You are on comparison prettier without it. Cecil”â€"â€"doubtfullyâ€"“ I hope when it comes to the last moment you Will have nerve.” by a heavy brown moustache that hides a laughing mouth. He is aristocratic and good- looking, without being able to lay claim to actual beauty. Just now he is overwhelmed with confu- sion, as Cecil, feeling compelled thereto, steps forwgird, _smi1ing, _to reagsurp him. ‘ “ You have 155,116 a. mistake ; you have lost your way,” she says, in a. tone that trambles ever such a little in spite of her efforts to be calm. “To my shame I confess it,” he says, laughing, gazing with ill-concealed admira- tion at this charming azure vision standing before him. “ Foolishly I forgot to ask for my room, and ran up the stairs, feeling certain that the one that used to be mine long ago must be so still. Can you forgive me ?" nowâ€"-â€" There, I can do no more l” says her ladyship, with a sigh, half pleased, half fear- ful. “ If I weren’t so shamefully nervous I would «lo very yell.” 7 r r V r 7 “ I don't believe you are half as frightened for yourself at this moment as I am for you. If I were in your shoes I should faint. It is to me an awful ordeal.” “I am so white, too," eys Cecil, impa- tiently. “ You haven’tâ€"I suppose, Molly-â€" but of course you haven’tâ€"â€"â€"” “ What, dear 7” ' “ Rouge. After all, Therese was right. When leaving town she asked me should she get some; and, when I rejected the idea with scorn, said there was no knowing when one might require it. Perhaps afterwards she did put it in. Let us ring and ask her.” “ Be happy,” says Cecil. “ I am always quite composed at last moments ; that is one of my principal charms. I never create situa- tions through vulgar excitement. I shall prob- ably astonish you (and myself also) by my ex- treme coolness. 1n the meantime"â€"â€"smiling â€"“ I own I should like a glass of sherry. What o’clock is it, Molly?” “ Just seven." “ A111 he must be here now. How I wish it was over!” says Lady Stafford, with a little sinking of the heart. “ And I am not yet dressed. I must run,” exclaims Molly. “ Good-bye, Cecil. Keep up your spirits, and remember above all things how well your dress becomes you.” “ It is mine‘how,” says Cecil, accepting the situation atidi‘glance. and recognizing Slr Peiithpny without hesitation. He is a tall young manâ€"lank, as she has herself expressed himâ€"with thick brown hair, closely cropped. He has handsome dark eyes, with a rather mocking expression in them, and has a trick of shutting them slightly if puzzled or annoyed. His voice is extremely charming, though it has a. distinct croak (that can hardâ€" ly be called husky or hoarse) that is rather fascinating. His short upper lip is covered “ I think I can. Meantime. if you are Sir Penthony Stafford, your room lies there." Painting to the last door opening on the corâ€" IidOl‘. “ Thank you.” Yet making no haste to reach the discovered shelter. “ May I not know to Whom I am indebted for so much kindness ‘2” “ I dare say you will be introduced in proper form by and by,” says Cecil, demurely, mak- ing a. movement 33 though to leave him. “ When you are dressed you shall be formally presented.” “At least,” he asks, hastily, with a. View to detaining her, “ do me one more service be- fore you go. If you know me so well, perhaps you can tell me if any of my friends are stay- ing here at present ?" “ Several. Teddy Luttrell for one.” “ Indeed I Andâ€"-â€"” “ The Darleys. You know them ?" “Little womanâ€"DolIyâ€"bizarre in manner and dress ?" Two or three minutes elapseâ€"fiveâ€"und still Cecil cannot bring herself to descend. She is more nervous about this inevitable meeting than she cares to own. Will he be openly cold, or anxious to conciliate, or an- noyed ‘2 The latter she greatly fears. What if he should suspect her of having asked Mr. Amherst to invite him? This idea. torments her more than all the others, and chains her to her room. She takes up another bracelet and tries it on. Disliking the effect, she takes it off again. So she trifles, in fond hope of cheating time, and would probably be trifling now had not the handle of her door been boldly turned, the door opened, and a. young man come confi- dently forward. “ I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” he says, beating a hasty retreat back to the landing outside. ” I had no ideaâ€"I’m awfully sorry â€"but this room used to be mine.” “ A most accurate description. And there is another friendâ€"one who ought to be your dearest; I allude to Lady Stafiord.” “ Lady Stafford!” " “ Yes, your wife. You don’t seem over and above pleased at my news." “ Is a man always pleased at his Wife’s un- expected appearance ?" aske Sir Penthony, re- covering himaeli, with rather a forced laugh. “ I had no idea she was here. Iâ€"â€"â€" Is she a, friend of yours ?” “You speak disparagingly. Has she a fault ?” “ Your severity makes you unkind. And yet, do you know, she is greatly liked. Nay, she has been loved. Perhaps when you come to know her a little better (I do not conceal from you that I have heard something of your story) you will think more tenderly of her. Remember, beauty is only skin-deep.” Hi1; confidence comes to an untimely end as his {astonished eye? res; on Cecil. r “ The "dearest friend I have. I know no one,” declares her ladyship. fervently, “ I love so fquly.” ‘ “ Happy Lady Stafford l I almost think I would change places with her this moment. At all events, Whatever faults she may pos- sess, she has rare taste in friends.” “ The greatest a woman can have; she lacks that one quality that would make 1101' a joy forever.” u Yes," with a fight laugh, goes is the bpne.” “ That is the retort discourteous. I see it is time wasted to plead my friend’s cause. Al- though, perhaps,” reproachfully, “ not blessed with actual beauty, stillâ€"~â€"” “ No, there’s not much beauty about her,” says Sir Penthony, with something akin to a groan. Then. “ I beg your pardon,” he mur- murs; ” pray excuse me. Why should I trouble a stranger with my affairs ‘2" He stands aside, with a, slight bow, to let her pass. “ And you won’t tell me your name 7” he cannot resist saying before losing sight of her. “ Make haste with your dressing; you shall know then.” Glancing back at him with a. be- witclging nmile. “ Be hurt) I shall waste no time. If, in my hurry, ‘I appear to less advantage than usual to-nrirght, you must not be the one to blame “ A very fair beginning,” says Cecil, as she slips away. “ Now, I must be firm. But, oh dear, 011 dear! he is much handsomer even than I thought." “ If I am not worth the wooing, ‘ I surely am not worth the Winnmg." â€"â€"MILEQ STANDISH. The minutes, selfishly thoughtless of all but themselves, fly rapidly. Cecil makes her way WHOLE N0. 1,096â€"NO, 5; CHAPTER XV. btft ugliness .eef‘ “ Could you not even see my hair was yel- low, whilst Mary Jane’s was blackâ€"a. sooty black 1’” “ Don’t. When I realiz-e my pogition I hate mysqlffl 7 “How could I see anything 7 Your veil was so thick ; and, besides, I never doubted the truth ofâ€"â€"â€"” “ Oh, that veil I What trouble I had with it !” laughs Cecil. “ First I doubled it, and then nearly died with fright lest you should imagine me the Pig-faced Lady, and insist on seeing me.” “ I don’t finderstdnd,” Sir Penthony says, vaguely. “ Are there two Lady Stafiords ? Andyhoserwifrq ajre yqu ‘1” V . A “The parlor-maid’s,” says Cecil, now the strain is off her, laughing heartily and natur- allyâ€"so much so that the other occupants of the room turn to wonder enviously what is going on behind the curtains. “ The parlor- maid ! And such a girl as she was I Do you remember her nose ‘2 It was celestial. When that deed on which we agreed was sealed, signed, and delivered, without hope of change, I meant to send you my real photo, but some- how I didn‘t. I waited until we should meet ; and now we have met. andâ€"â€" Why do you look so disconsolate? Surely, surely I am an improvement on Mary Jane 1?” ‘7 It isn’t that,” he hays, “ but what a. fool I have been 1” ‘ “ You have indeed,” quickly. “ The idea of letting that odious old man Be. your dis- comfiture 1 By the bye, does my ugliness go to the bone, Sir Penthony 7” There are people who do not take a vacation because they conscientiously c mnot ; there are those who don’t take one because they won’t ; there are those who, taking, make something in the way of health, amusement or acquirement of knowledge out of their va- cation, and there those who only intensify the inconsequence of their existence by travel. About the only thing to be said is that every one ought to have sense enough to know how and when and where to take his or her vacation, and to avoid the idea that the re- creation of another is a guarantee that the same place and things will give pleasure to the imitator. Means, tastes, habits, sex, time of life are all factors, and where these coincide the fact of no or, hasty and limited acquaintanccship, is sufiicient with many to militate against the crowd. The law of va- riety is as universal as any other law. It is as beneficial as pleasant to git (unmisionally out of the ruts. lmt it ‘0 ’ ”-l the change slim: ‘ ‘ 17 in kind. Thu’i. .7 .. *2 ‘ s from accustomed work and in WNW on A ,,_, r sical and mental recuperation, may often bet- ter be taken at home ; that is to say, with such excursions as do not break up the home life ; or in many cases the habit of turning daily, for an hour or to, wholly aside from ordinary routine, and in indulging in reading, study or work of a diflerent character, will be a perpetual and sufficient vacation. One thing is absolutely certain, change of place is not the essential ; it is change of thoughts, of care, of responsibility. Worry among the bills or in Europe is as depressing and des- tructive as worry in the counting room or manufactoryâ€"even more so, for distance pre- cludes its alleviation by the endeavor to re-‘ move its cause. The formal, fashionable and legal vacation ought to be the occasion for the renewal of strength of body and mind. How far it is so, fortunately, perhaps, we have no statistics to show. hat Sir Penthony gazes. spellâ€"bound, at the gracious creature before him ; the color te- cedes from his lips and brow ; his eyes grow darker. Luttrell with difliculty suppresses a smile. Mr. Amherst is almost satisfied. “ You are welcome,” Cecil says, with per- fect self-possession, putting out her hand and absolutely taking his ; for so stunnad is he by her words that he even forgets to ofler it. Drawing him into a. recess of the window, she says, reproachfully, “ Why do you look so astonished? Do you not know that you are gratifying that abominable old man ? And will you not say you are glad to see me after all these long three years ?” “ Yours 1 Although you don’t seem in a hurry to claim me,” she says, with a. rarely pretty pout. “ Impossible 1” “ I am sorry to undeceive you, but it is in- deed the truth I speak.” “ And whose piéture did I get 1’" he asks, a faint glimmer of the real facts breaking in uponrhim. HOW AND ‘VHEN TO TAKE A VA CATION. Captain Hugh Black, owner of the schoon- er Venture, which arrived in port on Satur- day, reports having had a very rough time before reaching his vessel. It will be remem- bered that this schooner was frozen in at Sturgeon Island, Lake Winnipeg, in October last, and was abandoned by Mr. Adam Black, who was in charge at the time, but who suc- ceeded in reaching Winnipeg overland. Mr. Hugh Black left Selkirk on April 8th last, on an ice-boat, for the imprisoned vessel, taking with him a small supply of provisions. On April 24th he reached Drunken River, where the melting ice compelled him to abandon the ice-boat. At this point he delayed for three weeks. He improved the time in making a canoe, in which he was determined to continue his journey. On SaturdayY May 10th, he left Drunken River, and after about half a dozen narrow escapes from being swamped in cross- ing the bays, he reached his goal,the Venture, on May 25th. The provisions had now run out and he was compelled to subsist for near- ly two weeks on gull eggs only. of which he was fortunate enough to obtain about 400 dozen, some not very fresh. The Venture was found in such load condition that he had to repair and caulk her, which took the best part of a week. She was launched on June lst, and was run into the Little Saskatchewan River, where he caught a few fish. He left on June 7th, and reached Selkirk on the 11th, and Winnipeg on the 13th, at both of which places he astonished those who witnessed him by the manner in which he cleaned the eat- ables of! the table. rl‘he canoe in which he undertook the perilous journey was only 13 inches wide, and it took him 45 days from the time he left Selkirk toreach his schooner. â€"â€" Winnipeg Times. “ Lady Stafford " Cecil interrupts, coming forward, while a good deal of rich crimson mantles in her cheeks. She is looking lovely from excitement ; and her pretty, rounded, graceful figure is shown off to the best advan- tage by the heavy fall of the red draperies be- hind her. â€"This is a bill which was extensively placarded in the English provinces by a. re- ligious body :-â€"‘ ‘Professor Drake’s cheap trips to heaven will start from Salvation Hall, North street, Ashton~under-Lyne, on Sunday, May 25, 1879. Tickets free. No luggage allowed.” Avt length the dreaded moment Games. There is a sound of footfalls~nearer~~~amarm- stillâ€" then, clearer, 6.1x: "flier than i, ‘ (and the (1001' opens, to r” "01' ‘ , ‘ * upon the threshold. “Fortune favors me,” she says hurriedly to Molly, alluding to the other guests’ non-ap- peargnce. ' “ Your wife is staying with me,” Mr. Am- herst begins, complacently ; and, pointing to Cecil, “fallow me go iqtrngce you toâ€"â€"-”V 'to the drawing-room.:where she is followed presently by Molly. then by Luttrell ; but, as these two latter refuse to converse with each other, conversation is rather one-sided. Mr. Amherst, contrary to his usual custom, appears very early on the field, evidently desirous of enjoying the fray to its utmost. He looks quite jubilant and fresh for him, and his nose is in a. degree sharper than its wont. He op‘ens an animated discourse with Cecil ; but Lady Stsflord, although distrait and with 11er_mind'en the stretch, listening for every sound outside, replies brilliantly, and, womenlike, conceals her anxiety with her tongue. Lady Stafford is sitting within me embra- sure of the window. ‘ Hardship: in Manitoba Lake Sailing. NOR’l‘ll-WE ST ROUGHING. [To BE CONTINUED]