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“MayIask how you intend doing so?” goes on this terrible old man. “ Few honest paths lie open to a woman. You have not yet counted the coat of your refusal. Is the stage to be the scene of your future tri- umphs ?” All the way home she ponders anxiously as to whether she shell or shall not reveal to Le- titia all that has taken place. To tell her will be beyond doubt to grieve her ; yet not to tell herâ€"how impossible that will be ! The very intensity of her indignation and scorn creates in her an imperative desire to open her heart to somebody. And who so sympathetic as Letitia? And. after all, even if she hides it now, will not Letitia discover the truth sooner or later ? Stillâ€"~â€" “ I hope I shall manage to live without all you predict coming to pass 1" the girl replies, faintly though bravely, her face as white as death. Is it a curse he is calling down upon her ? She thinks of Luttrell, and of how difler- ently he had put the very same question. Oh, that she had him near her now to com- fort and support her! She is cold and tremb- ling; U ‘ “ You must pardon me," she says, with dignity. ” if I refuse to tell you any of my plans." “ You are right in refusing. It is no buisxi~ ness of mine. From henceforth I have no interest whatsoever in you or your affairs. Goâ€"go. Why do you linger, bandying words with me, when I bid you begone ‘2" In a very frenzy of mortification and anger he turns his back upon her, and sinking down into the chair, from which in his rage he has arisen, he lets his head fall forward into his hands. A great and sudden sadness falls on Molly. She forgets all the cruel words that have been said, While a terrible compassion for the lone- liness, the utter barrenness of his drear old age, grows within her. She hardly remembers how she makes the return journey; how she took her ticket ; how cavalierly she received the attentions of the exceedineg nice young man with fluxen hair suggestive of champagne who would tuck his railway rug around her, heroically unmindful of the cold that penetrated his own bones. Such trifling details escaped her then and afterwards, leaving not so much as the small- est track upon her memory, Yet that yellow- haired young man dreamt of her for a week afterwards, and would not be comforted, al- though n.ll that could be done by a. managing mother with two marriageable daughters was done to please him and bring him to see the error of his ways. She has not yet decided on her line of ac- tion when Brooklyn is reached. She is still wavering. even when Letitia, drawing her into the parlor, closes the door, and, having kissed her, very naturally says, “ Well?” And Molly says “ well” also, but in a dif- ferent tone; and then she turns pale, and then redâ€"and then she makes up her mind _to tell the whole story. A “ What did he wan't with you ?" asks Leti- tia, while she is still wondering how she shall begh}: “ Very little." Bitterly. ” A mere trifle. He only wanted to buy me. He asked me to sell myself body and soul to him â€"putting me at a high valuation, too, for he offered me Herst in exchange if I would renounce you and the children.” Cross‘ng the room with light and noiseless footsteps. treading as though in the presence of one sick unto death, she comes up to him, lays her hands upon his shoulders, and, stoop- ing. presses her fresh young lips to his worn and wrinkled forehead. “ Good-bye, grandpapa,” she says, softly, kindly. Then, silently, and without another farewell, she leaves himâ€"forever. u Molly In “ Yes. Just that. Oh, Letty! only a. month ago I thought how sweet and fair and guod a thing was life, and nowâ€"and nowâ€"that old man, tottering into his grave, has taught me the vileness of It." “ He offered you Herst? He ofiered you tWenty thousand pouggls a year ‘2" _ _ “ He did indeed. Was it not noble? Does it not show how highly he esteems me? I was to be sole mistress of the place ; and Marcia was to be portioned ofi andâ€"I saw by his eyes â€"banished." " And youâ€"refused ?" “ Letty! how can you ask me such a ques- tion 7 Besides refusing, I had the small sat- isfaction of telling him exactly what I thought, of him and his proposal. I do not think he will make such overtures to me again. Are you disappointed, Letty. that you look so strangely? Did you think, dear, I should bring you home some good news, instead of this dis- graceful story?” " No." In a low tone, and with a gesture of impatience. ” I am not thinking of myself. Last Week, Molly, you relinquished your love â€"for us ; to-day you have resigned fortune. Will you never repent? In the days to come, how will you forgive us? Before it is too late think it over, and " “ Letitia," says Molly. laying her hand upon her sister‘s lips, “ if you ever speak to me like that again I shallâ€"kill you.” It is the 2nd of Marchâ€"~four months later (barely four months, for some days must still elapse before that time is fully up) â€"and a raw eveningâ€"very raw, and cold even for the time of yearâ€"when the train, stopping at the Vic< toria Station, suffers a. young man to alight from it. He is a tall young man, slight and upright, clad in one of the comfortable long coats of the period. with an aristocratic face and sweet, keen blue eyes. His moustache, fair and lengthy, is drooping sadly through damp- ness and the general inclemency of the weather. Pushing his way through the other passenâ€" gers, with a discontented expression upon his genial face that rather miebecomes it, he emerges into the open air, to find that a smart drizzle, unworthy the name of rain, is falling inhospitably upon him. Thére is 3 fégâ€"not as thick as it might be, but a decided fogâ€"and everything is gloomy to the last. degree. Stumbling up against another tall young man. dressed almost. to a tie the same as him- self, he smothers the uncivil ejaculation that rises so naturally to his lips, and after a. secâ€" ond glance changes it to one of greeting. “ Kb, Fanning, is it you ?" he‘says. 7‘ This beastly fog prevented my recognizing you at first. How are you ? It is ages since last we met.” “ Is it indeed you, Luttrell '1’” says the new- comer, stopping short, and altering his sour look to one of pleased astonishment. “ You in the flesh ? Let us look at you.” Drawing Luttrell into the neighborhood of an unhappy lamp that tries against its conscience to think it is showing light, and grows every minute fainter and more depressed in its struggle against truth. “ All the way from Peddylend, where he has spent four long months,” says Mr. Fenning, “ and he is still alive 1 It is in- conceivable. Let me examine you. Sound. I protestâ€"sound in wind and limb; not a de- facing mark 1 I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. I am awful glad to see you, old boy. What are you going to do with your- self this evening?” “ I wish I knE-aw. I am absolutely thrown upon the world. You will take me some- where with you, if you have any charity about you.” “ I am engaged for this evening.” With & groan. “ Ain’t I unlucky? Hang it all, some- thing told me to refuse old Wiggins’s embla- zoned card, but I wouldn’t be warned. Now, what can I do for y9u ?” ” You can at lea-5i: advise me how best to kill time to-night.” MOLLY BAWN. “ Mute and amazed was Alden; and listen’d and look’d at Priscilla, Thinking he never bad man her more fair, more divine in her beauty." “ 0h ! Molly Bawn, why leave me pimug, All lonely waiting here for you."â€"Old Song BY THE AUTHOR OF “ PHYLLIS.” CHAPTER XXXIII. ~L0NGFELan. An intense desire to go to her and put the fifty questions that in an instant rise to his lips seizes Luttrell ; but she is unhappin so situated that he cannot get at her. Unless he were to summon up fortitude to crush past three grim downgers. two elaborately-attired girls, and one sour 91d spinster, it cannot be done; and Tedosstle at least has not the sort of pluck necessary to carry him through with it. “ You make me more regretful every min- ute," he says, politely. “ I feel as though I had lost something; Leaning beck,Luttrell takes a. survey of the room. It is crowded to excess, and bril. lient as lights and gay apparel can make it. Fans are flashing, so are jewels, so are gems of greater value stillwbleck eyes, blue and gray. Pretty dresses are melting into other pretty dresses, and there is a. great deal of beauty everywhere for those who choose to look for it. After a while his gaze, slowly traveling. falls on Cecil Stafinrd. She is showing even more than usually bonny and Winsome in some chef-d’aeuvre of Worth’s. and is making herself very agreeable to a tall, lanky, eigh- teenth century sort of a. man who sits beside her and is kindly allowing himself to be amused. Cecil, seeing him, starts and colors, and then nods and smiles gayly at him in pleased surprise. A moment afterwards her expresâ€" sion changes, and something so like dismay, as to cause Luttrell astonishment, covers her face. Then the business of the evening proceeds, and she turns her attention to the singers, and he has now more time to wonder at her sudden change of countenance. A very small young lady, hidden away in countless yards of pink silk, delights them with one of the ballads of the day. Her voice is far the biggest part of her, and awakens in one’s mind a. curious craving to know where it comes from. Then a wonderfully ugly man, with a de- lightful face, plays on the violin something that reminds one of all the sweetest birds that sing. and is sufficiently ravishing to call forth at intervals the exclamation, “ Good! good l" from Luttrell’s neighbor. With all the airs lot a man who wonders vaguely within himself what in the world has brought him here, Luttrell makes his way to a vacant chair and seats himself beside an el- derly, pleasanhfaced man, too darkly skinned and too bright-eyed to belong to thls country. “ You an; landâ€"late,” says; this stranger, in perfect English. and, with all the geniality 01 most foreigners, making room for him. “ She has just sung." “ Has she ‘2” Faintly amused. “ Who ?" “ Miss â€"Wynter. Ah 1 you have sustained a loss.” “I am unlucky," says Luttrell, feeling some slight disappointmentâ€"very slight. Good singers can he heard again. “ I came expressly to hear hat. I have been told she sings well.” “Well â€"-well !" Disdainfully. “Your in- formant was careful not to overstep the truth. It is marvellousâ€"exquisite, her voice,” says the Italian, with such unrepressed en- thusiasm as makes Luttrell smile. “ These antediluvian attachments,” thinks he, “ are always severe.” Then a very largé woman Warblea a French chansonctte in the tiniest, most flute-like of voices ; and then Who is it that comes with such grave and simple dignity across the boards, with her small head proudly but gracefully upheld, her large eyes calm and sweet, and steady? Feeling listless, and not in the slightest de- gree interested in the coming performance, he enters the concert-room, to find himself decidedly late. Some one has evidently just finished singing, and the applause that fol- lowed the efi’ert has not yet quite died away. For a moment Luttrell disbelieves his senses. Then a. mist rises before him. a choking sensation comes into his throat. Laying his hand upon the back of the chair nearest him, he fortunately manages to retain his composure, while his heart, and mind, and eyes are centred on Molly Bawn. “ 011, musical! That is mild. I have been educated in the belief that a sojourn in Ire- land renders one savage for the remainder of his days. I blush for my ignorance. If it is firsteless music you want, go to hear Wynter sing. She does sing this evening, happily for you, and anything more delicious, both in face and voice, has not aroused London to mad- ness for a considerable time. Go, hear her, but leave your heart at your hotel before go- ing. The Grosvenor, is it, or the Langham ? The Langham. Ah, I shall call to-morrow. By-by, old man. Go and see Wynter, and you will be richly rewarded. She is tremendously lovely." “ i will,” says Luttrell; and, having dined and dressed himself, he goes and does it. “ So you have. VBut be consoled. She will sing again late; OP.” An instantaneous hush falls upon the as- sembly ; the very fans drop silently into their owners’ laps; not a whisper can be heard. The opening chords are played by some one, and then Moily begins to sing. It is Enm; new, exquisite rendering of Kingsley’s exquisite words she has chesen : “ 0 that we two were maying l” and she sings it with all the pathos, the ge- nius, of which she is capable. “ The Alhambra has a good thing on,” 511le young Fanning, brightening ; “ and the Ar- gynfn w “ I’m used up, morn-11y and physically,"é_inv terrupts Luttrell, rather impatiently. " Sug- gest §9methipg galmEyâ€"fmusigg], grfihatj’ She has no thought for all the gay crowd that stays entranced upon her tones. She looks far above them, her serene laceâ€"pale, but full of gentle self-pussessionâ€"more sweet than any poem. She is singing with all her heart for her belovedâ€"for Letitia, and Lovatt, and the children, and John in heaven. A passionate longing to be near herâ€"to touch herâ€"to speakâ€"to be answered back againâ€"seizes Luttrell. He takes in hungrily all the minutim of her clothing, her manner, her expression. He sees the soft, gleaming bunches of snow-drops at her bosom and in her hair. Her hands, lightly crossed before her, are innocent of rings. Her Simple black gown of some clinging, transparent material â€"barely opened at the neckâ€"makes even more fair the milk-White of her throat (that is scarcely less white than the snowy flowers). . .‘.... .1. Her hair is drawn back into its old loose knot behind, in the simple style that suits her. She has a tiny bend of black velvet round her neck. How fair she isâ€"how sweet, yet full of a tender melancholy 1 He is glad in his heart for that little pensive shade, and thinks, though more fragile, she never looked so lovely in her life. She has commenced the last verse : “ Oh that we two lay sleepin In our nest in the churchyer sod, \Vith our limbs at rest 0n the quiet earth’s breast, And our souls at home with God I" She is almost safely through it. There is such a deadly silence as ever presages a storm, when by some luckless chance her eyes, that seldom wander, fall full on Lut- trell’s upturned, agitated face. His fascinated, burning gaze compels her to return it. Oh that he should see her here, singing before all these people i For the first time a terrible sense of shame overpowers her; a longing to escape the eyes that from all parts of the hall appear to stare at her and criticise her voiceâ€"herself. She turns a little faint, wavers slightly, and then breaks down. VOL XXII. THE At length the concert is over, and every one ’s departing. Tedcastle, making his way to the private entrance, watches anxious- ly, though with little hope, for what may come. Ineensibly, in spite of his efforts, he finds himself less near the entrance than when first he took up his stand there; and just as he is trying, with small regard to courtesy, to re- trieve his position, there is a slight murmur among those assembled, and a second later some one, slender, blltck-I'Obed, emerges, heav- ily cloaked. and with some light, fleecy thing thrown over her head, so as even to conceal her face, and quickly enters the cab that awaits her. “You have spoiled her song,” says: the Ital- ian, regretfully. “ And she was in such voice to-nightl Hark !” Raising his hand as the clipping and applause still reach him through the door. “ Hark! how they appreciate even her failures 1” ” Can I see her ‘2" "I doubt it. She is so prudent. She will speak to no one. And then madame her sis- ter is always with her. I trust you, sirâ€" your face is not to be disbelieved ; but I can- not give you her address. I have sworn to her not to reveal it to any one, and I must not release myself from my word without her con- sent." Then he bids goodâ€"night to the Signor, and, going out into the night. paces up and down in a fever of longing and disappoint- ment. ' But others are watching also to catch 9. glimpse of the admired singer, and the crowd round the door is Immense. As she places her foot upon the step of the vehicle a portion of the White woolen shawl that hides her features falls back, and for one instant Luttrell catches sight of the pale, beautiful face that, waking and sleeping, has haunted him all these past months, and will haunt him till he dies. She is followed by a tall woman. with a. full posse figure, also draped in black. Whom even at that distance be recognizes as Mrs. Masse- reene. He makes one more vigorous effort to reach them, but too late. Almost as his hand touches the cab the driver receives his orders, whips up his emaciated charger. and disappears dowu the street. They are gone. With a. muttered exclama- tion, that Savors not of thanksgiving, Luttrell turns aside, and. calling a hansom, drives straight to Cecil Stafiord’s. “ We wereâ€"we are engaged," says Luttrell, his eyes dark with emotion. " But it is months since we have met. lemme to London to seek her; but did not dream that hereâ€"- here Misfortune has separated us ; but if I lived for ahundred years I should never ceaseâ€"to ” He stops, and getting up abruptly, paces the mom in silent 1mpatience. ” The fates are against me,” says Luttrell, drgarily. V Whether Molly slept or did not sleep that night remains a mystery. The following morning tells no tales. There arefresh, faint roses in her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes that for months had been absent from them. If a. little quiet and preoccupied in manner she is gayer and happier in voice and speech once her attention is gained. “ She is the woman you love ?" he asks, presently, in such a kindly tone as carries away all suspicion of impertinence. “ Yes,” answered Luttrell, simply. “ Well, and I love her tooâ€"as a pupilâ€"a. beloved pupil," says the elder man, with a, smile, removing his spectacles. “ My name is Marigny.” Tedcgsfle bows involuntarily to the great teacher and master of music. ” How often she has spoken of you!” he says, warmly, feeling already a friendship for this gentle preceptor. " Yes, yes ; mine was the happiness to give to the world this glorious voice,” he says, an thusiaetlcally. " And what a gift it is ! Rare -â€" wonderful. But you, sirâ€"you are engaged to her?” Sitting in her smallndrawing-room, with her whole being in a. very tumult of expectation, she listens feverishly to every kgocki Into a small private apartment that opens off the hall the Italian takes him, and, push. ing towards him a chair, sinks into another himself. It is not yet quite four months since she and Luttrell parted. The prescribed period has not altogether expired ; and during their separation she has indeed verified her own predictionsâ€"8119 has proved an undeniable success. Under the assumed name of Wynter she has sought and obtained the universal ap- plause of the London world. She has also kept her word. Not once dur- ing all these trying months has she wntten to her lover ; only once has she received a line from him. Last Valentine’s morning Cecil Stafford, dropping in, brought her a. small packet close- ly sealed and directed simply to “ Molly Bawn.” The mere writing made poor Molly’s heart beat and her pulses throb to pain, as in one second it recalled to mind all her past joys. all the good days she had dreamed through, unknowing of the bitter wakening. Opening the little packet. she found inside it a gold bracelet. embracing a tiny bunch of dead forget me-nots, with this inscription folded round them : “ There shall not be one minute in an hour Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower." Except this one token of remembrance, she has had nothing to make her know whether indeed she still lives in his memory or has been forgottenâ€"«perhaps superseded, until last night. Then, as she met his ayes, that told a story more convincing than any words, and marking the passionate delight and long- ing on his face, she dared to assure herself of his constancy. Tedcastle starts to his feet, half mad with agisation, his face ashen white. There is no knowing What he might not have done in this moment of excitement had not his toreign neighbor, laying hands upon him, gently forced him back again into his seat. “ My friend, consider her.” he Whispers, in a. firm, but soft voice. Then, after a moâ€" ment‘s pause. “ come with me,” he says, and, loading the way, beckons to Luttrell, who rises mechanically and follows him. Covering her face with her hands, and with a gesture of passion and regret ; she falls hur- riedly my) the backgrounq and is} gone. - Immediately kindly applause bursts forth. What has happened to the favorite ? Is she ill, or faint, or has some lost dead chord of her life suddenly sounded again ? Every one is at a loss. and every one is curious. It is interestingâ€"perhaps the most interesting part of the whole performanceâ€"and to-mor- row will tell them all about it. Now, as she sits restlessly awaiting what time may bring her, she thinks, with a. smile, that, sad as her life may be and is, she is surely blessed as few are in the possession of which none can rob her. the tender, faithful affection of one heart. She is still smiling, and breathing a little glad sigh over this thought, when the door opens and Lady Stafford comes in. She is radiant, a very sunbeam, in spite of the fact that Sir Penthony is again an absentee from his native land, having hidden adieu to Eng- lish shores three months ago in a fit of pique, brought on by Cecil‘s perversity. Some amalldissension, some trivial disa- greement, anger on his part, seeming indif- ference on hers, and the deed was done. He left her indignant, enraged, but probably RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, SEPT. 4, 1879. “ Now conâ€"fess you are delighted at the idea of so soon seeing him main," says Molly, laughing. 7 ‘“ - V " \Vell, I‘m not in such radiant spirits as’ somebody I could mention.” Mischievously. “And as to confessing. I never do that. I should make a bad Catholic. I should be in perpetual hot water with my spiritual adviser. But if he ‘comes back penitent, and shows himseif less exigeant, I shan’t refuse his overâ€" tures of peace. Now, don’t make me keep your Teddy waiting any longer. He is shut up in my boudoir enduring grinding: torments inll this time, and without a companion or the chance of one. as I left word that I should be at home to no one but him this morning. Good-bye. darling. Give my love to Letitia and the wee scraps. Andâ€"these bonbonsâ€"I had almost forgotten them.” “ Yes ; I hear be either is in London or was yesterday, or will be to-morrowâ€"I am not clear which.” With affected indifference. “ I told you he was sure to turn up again all right, like a bad halfpenny; so I was not un- easy about him. I only hope he will I'Lalapear n better temper than when he left. " “ Oh, by the bye, did you hear what Daisy said the other day, a, propos of your china ?” ” No.” “W'hen we had left your house and walked for some time in a silence most unusual Where she in, she said in her small, solemn way, ‘Molly‘ why does Lady Stafford have her kitchen in her drawingâ€"room ?' Now, was it not a capital bit of china-mania? I thought it very severe on the times.” “ Mir steruness, as you call it, is a thing of the past. Yes, I will see him whenever he may choose to come.” “ Which will be in about two hours pre- cisely ; that is, the moment he sees me and learns his fate. I told him to call again about one o’clock, when I supposed I should have news for him. It is almost that now.” ‘Vith a hasty glance at her Watch. “I must fly. But first give me a. line for him, Molly, to cmvince him of your fallibility.” “ Have you heard anythihg of Sir Pen- thony .9” asks Molly, when she has scribbled a tiny note and given it to her frinnd. ” Yes, just so. It was all I could do to re- fuse the poor dear fellow, he pressed me so hard ; but for the first (and now I shall make it the last) time in my life I was firm. I’m sure I wish I hadn’t been ; I earned both your displeasure and his‘” “ Not mine, dearest." “ Besides, another motive for my determi- nation was this; both he and I doubted if you would receive him until the four months were verily upâ€"â€"ynu are such a. Roman matron in the way of sternness.” “ It was cruel. I shall instantly send my plates and jugs and that delicious old \Vor- coster tureen down stairs to their proper place,” says Cecil, laughing. “ There is no criticism so cutting as a child’s." “ I always notice.” says Cecil, in despair, “ that whenever (which is seldom) I do the right thing it turns out afterwards to be the wrong thing. You swore me in to kee your secret four months ago, and I have done so religiously. To-ilay, sorely against my will, I honestly confess. I still remained faithful to my promise, and see the result. You could almost beat rueâ€"don’t deny it, Molly; I see it in your eyes. If we were both South Sea. Islanders, I should be black and blue this in- stant ; it is the fear of scandal alone restrains you.” 7 “ No, sir,‘ Being a new acquisition of Ceâ€" cil’s, he is blissfully ignorant of Sir Penthouy’s name and starting: j‘ My lady ighqut.” “ You didn’t gfve him my address ‘2” With an amount of disappointment in her tone im- possible to suppress. “ You were quite right." Warmly. “ I ad- mire yourfor 1t; only “ Almost as Cecil steps into her carriage, Sir Penthony Stafford is standing on her steps, holding swaet converse with her footman at her own hall-door. “ When W111 she be Home 15" Feeling a. good deal of surprise at her early wandering, and, in fact, not believing a word of it: 7 A “ My lady won’t be at home all this morn- ing, sir.” “ Then I shall wait till the afternoon," says Sir Penthony, faintly amused. although exas- perated at what he has decided is a. heinous lie. “ Lady Stafford gave strict borders that no one was to be admitted before two,” says flunkey, indignant at the stranger’s persist- ence, who has cnme into the hall and calmly divested himself of his overcoat. “ Lady Stafford at home ‘2” asks he of the brilliant but supercilious personage who cour descends to answer to his knock. “ Oh, indeed! Sir I’enthony, I beg your pardon. Of course, Sir Penthony, if you wish to waitâ€"â€"-” “ So I should, my dear, directly ; but the fact is, I didn’t know. The stupid boy never wrote me a line on the subject. It appears he got a, fortnight’s leave, and came post haste to Londen to find you. Such a lover as he makes! And where should he go by the nearest; chance the very first evening, but into your actual presence ‘2 It is a romance,” says her ludyship, much delighted; “ posi- tively it is a shame to let it sink into obliv- ion. Some one should recommend it to the Laureate as a theme for his next produc. tion.” “ Well ?" says Molly, who at this moment is guilty of irreverence in her thoughts to- wanlgtlle great poet. “ She will admit me, I don’t doubt,” says Sir Penthony, calmly. “ I am Sir Penthony Stafford.” Here Sir Penthony, who has slowly been mounting the stairs all this time, with Chawles, much exercised in his mind, at his heelsâ€"-â€"(forCeci1’s commands are not to be disputed, and the situation is a good one, and she has distinctiy declared no one is to be received)â€"-Sir Penthony pauses on the land- ing and lays his hand on the boudoir door. “ Not there, Sir Penthony,” says the man, interposng hurriedly. and throwing open the drawing-room door, which is next to it. ” If you will wait here I don’t think my lady will be long. as she said she should be ’ome at one to keep an appointment.” “ Well. flow, of courf‘e he wants to know when he may see you.” "That will do.“ sternly. “Go! I dare say,” thinks Stafford, angrily,as the drawing- room door is closed on him, “if I make a point of it. she will dismiss that fellow. In- solent and noisy as a parrot. A well-bred footman never gets beyond ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ un- less required, uud then only under heavy pressure. But what appointment can she have? And who is secreted in her room? Pshaw! Her dressmaker, no doubt.” But for all that he can’t quite reconcile himself to the dressmaker theory, and, but that honor forbids, would have marched straight, without any warning,into “ my lady’s chamber." “ You saw him last night ?” asks Molly, ris- ing, with a brilliant blush, to receive her visi- tor. “ Cecil, did you know he was coming? You might have told me.” For her there is but one “ he." more in love with her than ever; while she But who shall fathom a. woman’s heart? Getting inside the heavy hanging curtains, Ask m9 310 more; thy fate and mine are sealed. I strove ugminst the stream, and all in vain Let the great river take me to the main. No more, dear 10 ve, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more "â€"THE PRINCESS, CHAPTER XXXIV‘ “ How shall I thank you ‘2” says the young man, fervently, his whole face transformed. He seizes her hands and presses his lips to them in what seems to the lockerâ€"on at the other end of the room an impassioned man- ner. “ You have managed that we shall meet â€"and alone ?” Suddenly, with a. little movement as banks; of sudden remembrance, Cecil puts her hand in her pocket and draws from it a tiny note, which she squeezes with much empressement into Tedcastle’s hand. Then follow a few more Words, and then she pushes him gently in the direction of the door. “ Now go,” she says, “ and remember all I have said to you. Are the conditions too hard ?" With her old charming, bewitching smile. ” Yes, alone. I have made sure of that. I really think, considering all I have done for you._'_1‘edcastle,ryou owe mersomethingq’ _ “ Name anytliing," says Luttrell, with con- siderable fervor. “ I owe you, as I have said, evcrythipg. _ You are my g00f1 angel?!” “ Sir Penthony I you I" cries Cecil, coloring certainly, but whether from guilt, or pleasure, or surprise, he finds it hard to say. He in- clines, however, towards the guilt. “ Why, I thought you safe in Algiers.” (This is not strictly true). Cecil is evidently as interested in her topic as her companion. Their heads are very near togetherâ€"es near as they can well be without kissing. She has placed her hand upon his arm, and is speaking in a low, ear- nest toneâ€"so low that Stafford cannot hear distinctly, the room being lengthy and the noise from the street confusing. How hand- some Luttrell is looking ! With what undis- guised eagerness he is drinking in her every word 1 “ I am, dear, perfectly safe.” Sweetly. “ Don’t alarm yourself unnecessarily. But. may I ask what all this means, and why you were hiding behind my curtains as though you were a burglar or a Bashi-Bazouk ? But that the pantomime season is over, I should say you were practising for the Harlequin’s window trick.” “ You ought to be ashamed of yourself, ly- ing perdu in the curtains and listening to what wasn’t meant for you." Maliciously. “ You ought also to have been a detective. Did Teddy kiss my hands ‘2” Examining the little white members with careful admiration. “ Poor Ted 1 he might be tired of doing so by this. Wellâ€"yes; andâ€"you were saying ‘ Oh, Cecil ! what should I do Without you ?” he says, in a most heartfelt manner, gazing at her as though (thinks Sir Penthony) he would much like to embrace her there anri then. “ How happy you have made me ! And just {LS I was on the point of despairing ! I owe you allâ€"everythmgâ€"the best of my life." ” I am glad you rate what I have done for you so highly. But you know, Tedcastle, you were always rather a favorite of mine. Have you forgiven me my stony refusal of last night? I would have spoken willingly, but you know I was forbidden." ' “ What is it I would not forgive you ?” ex- claimfis Luttrel}, gratefullyh (“ Last night, and again this mornmg ; probably be will dine this evening),” thinks Sir Penthony, who by this time 13 black with rage and cold with an unnamed fear. “ Well, that is as it may be. All women are angelsâ€"at one time or another. But you must not speak to me in that strain, or I shall mention some one who would perhaps be angry.” (“ That’s me, I presume," thinks Sir Penthony, grimly). “ I suppose”â€"â€"archly â€"“ I need not tell you to be in time? To be late under such circumstances, with me, would mean dismissal. Good-bye, dear boy; go, and my good Wishes will follow you.” As the door closes upon Luttrell, Sir Pen~ thony, cold, and with an alarming amount of dignity about him, comes slowly forward. “ Nb doubt. I thought you safeâ€"in Lon- donâ€"or anywhere else. I find myself mis- taken.” “ You can be as frivolous as you please.” Sternly. “ Frivolity suits you best, no doubt. I came in here half an hour ago. having first almost come to blows with your servant be- fore being admittedâ€"showing me plainly the man had received orders to allow no one in but the one expected." “ That is an invaluable man, that Charles.” murmurs her ladyship, sotto voce. “ I shall raise his wages. There is nothing like obe- dience in a servant.” “ I was standing there at the window awaiting your arrival, when you came, you hurried to your boudoir, spent an intolerable time there with Luttrell. and finally wound up your interview here by giving him a billet, and permitting him to kiss your hands until you ought to have been ashamed of yourself and him." “ l insist," says Sir Penthony, wrathiully, “on knowing what Luttrell was saying to youfi1 » ~ i “ I thought you heard." “ And why is he admitted when others are denied 1’" “ My dear Sir Penthony, he is my cousin. Why should he hot visip me if he likes '2” " No, no.” says Cecil, smoothing a, little wrinkle off the front of her gown ; “ not al- ways; and I’m sure I hope Tedcastle won’t be. To my way of thinking, he is quite the nicest young man I know. It would make me positively wretched it I thought Marwood would ever have him in his clutches. “ You” u-reflectivelyâ€"“ are my cousin too.” “I amâ€"énd something more. You seem to forget that. Do you mean to answer my ques§ion 5"” _ “ Certainly â€"if I can. But do sit down, Sir Penthony. I am sure you must be tired, you are so dreadfully out of breath. Have you come just now, this moment, straight from Algiers? See, that little chair over there is so comfortable. All my gentlemen visitors adore that little chair. No? You won’t sit down ? Well ” “I assure you," says Cecil, raising her brows with a gentle air of martyrdom, and making a very melancholy gesture with one hand, “I hardly know the hour I don’t re- ceive them. I am absolutelypersecuted by my Luttrell is evidently in high spirits. His blue eyes are bright, his whole air triumphant. Altogether he is as unlike the moony young man who left the Victoria Station last evening as one can well imagine. He stifles an angry exclamation and re- solves, with all the airs of a Spartan, to be calm. Nevertheless he. is; not calm. and quite doubles the amount of minutes that really elapse before the drawingâ€"room dootis thrown open and Cecil, followed by Luttxell, comes m. “ Luttrell, of all men I” thinks Sir Pen- thony, as though he would have said, “ Et tu. Brute ?” forgetting to come forwardâ€"for- getting everythingâ€"so entirely has a wild, unreasoning jealousy mastered him. The cur- tains effectually conceal him. so his close proximity remalns a. secret. “ Are you in the habit of receiving men so early: 7" “Cousins be hanged 1” says Sir Penthony, withgonsidegable moye fgrce than elegance. After a httle while a carriage stops beneath him, and he sees Cecil allght from it and go with eager haste up the steps. He hears her enter, run up the stairs, pause upon the land- ing, and then, going into the boudoir, close therdoor carefully behind her. he employs his time watching through the window the people passing to and fro all in- tent upon the great business of lifeâ€"the mak- ing and spending_qi moneyt “ The man who said pretty women were at heart the kindest lied," says Sir Penthony, standing over her, tall, and young. and véry neuriy handsome. “ You know I am in misery all this time, and that a word from you would relieve meâ€"yet you will not speak it.” She has left her hands in his all this time, and is regarding him with a gay smile, under which she hardly hides a good deal of ofiended pride. “ Don’t be rash, I pray you," she says. with 8. glegm of malice. “ Well, I don’t mean it as the same. And, to prove my words, if you will only grant me forgiveness I will not even mention Tedcastle’s name agam.” “ You are the greatest little wretch.” says Sir Penthony, going over to her and taking both her hands, “ it has ever been my mis- fortune to meet with. I am laughing now against my will, remember that. I am in a frantic rage. Will you tell me what all that scene between you and Lam-ell was about? If you don’t I shall go straight and ask him.” “What! And leave me here to work my wicked will? Reflectâ€"reflect. I thought you were going to mount guard here all day. Think on all the sins I shall be committing in your absence.” “ Would you”â€"very gravelyâ€"“ credit the word of such a sinner as you make me out to be 7” “ A sinner l Surely I have never called you that ‘1’" “ You would call me anything when you get into one of those horrid passions. Come, are you gorry?" “ I mil more than sorry. I confess myself a brute if I ever hinted at such a. word~which I doubt. The most I feared was your impru- deuce.” " If you had insisted on that half an hour ago you would have saved thirty minutes,” saysgtafiqrd, laruighing. “ Then I would not gratify you ; nowâ€"Ted- castle came here, poor fellow, in a wretched state about Molly Messereene, whose secret he has at length discovered. About eleven o‘clock last night be rushed in here almost distracted to get her address ; so I went to Molly early this morning, obtained leave to give itâ€"and a. love-letter as well. which you saw me deliverâ€"and all his raptures and ten4 der epithets were meant for her. and not for me. Is it not a humiliating confession? Even when he kissed my hands it was only in grati- tude, and his heart was full of Molly all the time.” “ From all I can gather, that means quite the sage ghing when said of a woman.” “Then it was not you he was to meet alone ?” Eagerly. “ What 1 Still suspicious ? was not your wife he was to Now are you properly abashed 1’ isfied ?” With an unmoved countenance Lady Staf- ford rises and rings the bell. Dead silence. Then the door opens. and a. rather elderly servant appears upon the threshold. “ Martin, Sir Penthony will lunch here,” says Cecil, calmly " Andâ€"stay, Martin. Do you think it likely you will dme. Sir Pen; thony t” A “ i do think it likely.” replies he, with as much grimness as etiquette will permit before the servant. “ Sir Penthony thinks it likely he will di’e. Martin. Let Cook know. Andâ€"can I order you anything you would specially pre- fer ?” “ It would be 31 pleasure ; the more so that it is so rare. Stay yet a moment. Martin. May} order you a. be(_l. _Penthot_1y “I” “ I am not sure. I will let you know later on,” replies Stafford, who to his rage and dis- gust, finds himself inwardly convulsed with laughter. “(That will (10, Martin," said her ladyship, with the utmost bonhommie. And Martin re- tires. As the door closes, the combatants regard each other steadily for a full minute, and then they both roar. “ Buf I insist on telling you every word he said to me and all about it." “ I am, and deeply con‘trite. Yet, Cecil, you must know what it is causes me such in- tolerable jealousy, and, knowing. you should pardon. My love for you only increases day by day. Tell me again I am forgiven." “ Yes, quite forgiven.” “ And"â€"stesling his arm gently round her â€"“ are you in the smallest degree glad to see me again ?" “ Cecil, how cold you are l” he says, re- proachfully. “ Think how long I have been away from you, and what a journey I have come.” " True; you must be hungry.” With wilful iguogance of his lgegning. 7 u I am not.” Indigngntly. H But I think you mightâ€"aims; three weary months, that to me altâ€" least were twelveâ€"you mightâ€"" “ You want me toâ€"kis}; you f” says Cecil. promptly, but with 9. using blush. “ Well, I will then.” Lifting her head, she presses her lips to his with a fervor that takes him utterly by sur- prise: " Mean what?” Coloring~crimson now, but laughing also. " I mean this ; if we don’t go down-stairs soon luncheon will be cold And remember, I hold you to your engage- menu. You dine with me to-day. Is not that so ?” “ If Ihad a hbme. You can’t call one’s club a home, can you? I would stay any- Whe§e~wiAtIA1 you." “ You forget our little arrangement. I no- knowledge no husband,” says Cecil, with just one flash from her violet eyes. “ Do you refuse to answer me ?" “ I do,” replies she, emphatically. “ Then I shall stay here until you alter your mind,” says Sir Penthony, with an air of determination, settling himself, with what in a low class of man would have been a hang, in the largest arm-chair the room con- tsins. “ Thank you, nothing. Pray give yourself no tgouble _0An» my agcount.” A “ In a degreeâ€"yes.” Raising to his two eyes full of something more than common gladness. “ Really ‘2” “ Really." He looks at her, but she refuses to under stand his appealing expression, and regards him 0211me in retuxfn. ' “ Cecil," whispers he, growing a little pale, " do you mean it ?” “ You know how glad I shall bB ?" “ Well, 1 hope now," says Cecil, “you in- tend to reform, and give up traveling aimless- ly all over the unknown world at stated inter- vals. I hope for the future you mean staying at home like a respectable Christian.” “I could 'not possibly undertake such a responsibility. Still, I should like you to re- main in London, where I could look after " Ah, yes. But that was because I was en- gaged on very important business." “ What business ?” “ I am sorry I cannot tell you.” “ You shall, Cecil. I will not leave this house until I get an answer. I am your hus- band. I have the right to demand it.” friends. They will come. No matter how disa- greeable it may be to me, they arrive just at any hour that best suits them. And I am so good~natured I cannot bring myself to say ‘No‘ at home" ” ing‘ }(ou brought yourself to say it this morn- WHOLE NO.1,101â€"NO, 18; No, air, it meet alone. Are you sat- -â€"Exception is taken in England to the manner in which Mr. Talmage points a moral. In his lecture on the “ Bright Side of Things,” delivered at the Temperance Fete at the Crystal Palace, as an instance of “ the ruling passion strong,” be related the follow. ing : “ Ah." said a man, who was on a sick bed, to his wife. “ I am going to heaven.” “ You’ll look very pretty,” said she, “ stuck up in heaven." “ Bring me the broom,” he shouted, “ and let me give you another wal- loping before I die.” A correspondent of the Echo insists that it was scarcely neces- sary for a. Doctor of Divinity to come from the other side of the Atlantic to speak in this manner. as there are preachers in the East End and cabdrivers all over London, Who can do as well, if not better. A man tries to be a farmer and fails ; tries to be amechanic and fails; tries to be a lawyer and fails ; tries to be a minister and is not even good enough for that ; but one thing he can do-he can be a schoolmaster. And so you will find throughout the country schoolmasters are selected because they are cheap. You can get him for $10 a month found. Shame on the parsimony that would take a cent from the pay of the men or wo- men employed as teachers. If there is any profession which should be made absolutely independent of all care as to the means of living it is that. I do not undervalue my own profession. but I think that the school- master stands nearer to God than a minister can. For myself, I hated the school, I hated it in my mind, I hated it in my body, I hated it in my affections. I had no religious nature, so I could not hate it in that. I hated school, and yet there came a summer in old Litchfield when in spite of tears and protestations I Was sent out of the house and to school, and I found a school ma’ma comely, though with very pale face, and young â€"not over eighteenâ€"who met me at the door and patted me on the head and played with my curly hair and she sat me down at her feet and made me happy. She was taken sick and died, but while she taught was the only pleasant time I ever had in schooll There is no economy so penurious, no wrong so inâ€" tolerable as that which cuts down the pay of the teacher, and simply because they with whom they have to do are only children? Only children I Whose children ? Your children, my children, God’s children, the sweetest blossoms in the garden of the world, for whom angels may be proud to do service. If they are neglected you are to blame, for if you cared enough about it, it never would happenâ€"Henry Ward Beecher. Sensation on a lmnnda Soulhern Sleeper. A newly-married wife, returning from her wedding tour with her husband to Fort Wayne, Ind., met with a painful accident on the Canada Southern railroad a few nights since. They had disrobed and were easily lying in the lower berth of a sleeper, when the occupants of the car were horror-stricken by hearing the young wife give vent to a se- ries of piercing shrieks. There was a general commotion, and the conductor pushed aside the curtain to see what was the matter. “ Oh! my heel! my heel 1” she cried, with shrieks of pain ; “ something has run into my heel." The husband was beside himself with anxiety and grief, but like the rest of the passengers could not imagine how his wife was hurt. Finally, assisted by several ladies, who hustled on their clothes, an ex- amination was made. It appears that the lady had hung up her hat in the bath, and a large ornamental pin, about three inches long, had become detached by the motion of the car and fell at her feet. In extending her limb suddenly the pin had run into her heel about two inches, causing exquisite pain. To add to her troubles, her husband tried to pull it out, and it broke off. The conductor tele- graphed to St. Thomas, and on the arrival of the train a surgeon was in waiting, who, after an hour and a-half’s work, cut open the heel and extracted the pin. That couple will get fiiore laughter than sympathy when they get ome. “ And when you have it, what then ?” “ I shall be the happiest man alive." “ Then he the happiest man alive," mur- murs she, with tears in her eyes, although the smile still lingers round her llpS. It is thus she gives in. “ And when,” asks Stafford, half an hour later, all the retrospective confessions and disclosures have taken some time to get throughâ€"“ when shall I install a. mistress in the capacious but exceedingly gloomy abode my ancestors so unkindly left to me ?" He has barely performed this necessary not when the redoubtable Charles puts his head in at the door and says : “ The carriage is waiting, my lady.“ “ Very good," returns Lady Stafiord, who, according to Ohsrles's version of the affair. a. few hours later, is as “red as a peony.” “ You will stay here, Penthony"â€"murmuring his name with a grace and sweet hesitation quite irresistibleâ€"-“ while I go and make ready for our drive.” ” I don’t think I can see it in that light. Cecil”â€"coming to her side, and with a. sudden though gentle boldness. taking her in his armsâ€"“ when are you going to forgive me and take me to your heart ?” “ What ié it you want, you tiresome man ?” asks Cecil, with a miserable attempt at a frown. “ Your love,” replies he, kissing the weak- minded little pucker ofi‘ her forehead and the pretended pout from her lips, without this time saying, “ by your leave," or “ with your leave.” '“ Do not even think' of such a thing for everrgo long. Perhaps next summer I may ‘ 0h, nonsense! Why not say this time ten {ears ?" r r Harm Sir Penthony, moved by a sense of duty and a knowledge of the fitness of things, insianrtly kisses her again. " True. It cannot. And after all to he laughed at one must be talked about. And:to be talked about means to create a. sensation. And I should like to create a sensation before I die. Yes, Sir Penthony”â€"with a determined airâ€"“ you shall have a seat 1n my carriage to day.” " And how about to-morrow ?” “ To-morrow probably some other fair lady will take pity on you. It would be much too slow”â€"mischievously~“ to expect you to go driving with your Wife every day.” “ But at this time my thoughts are full my dear Molly. Ah 1 when shall I see her happy agâ€" 9.5â€"1 mm ‘2“ DOES IT PAY T0 HIRE CHEAP HUIIO0L TEACHERS. 7‘ Let them. A laugh will do them good, and you no harm. How can it matter to you ,7," “ I am going for my drive,” she says. “ But what is to become of you until dinner- hour ‘2" “ I shall accompany you.” Andwiously. “ You 1 What I To have all London laugh- ing a} mail" When luncheon is over, Lady Stafford rises. you a little bit now and then, and keep you in orQer. I adore keeping people in order. I “ No. I am dreadfully cramped. But come; in spite of all the joy I naturally feel at your safe return I find my appetite unimpaired. Luncheon is ready. Follow me, my friend. I pine for a outlet.” They eat their cutlets tete-a-teze, and with evident appreciation of their merits ; the ser- vants regarding the performance with intense though Silent admiration. In their opinion (and who shall dispute the accuracy of a ser- vant’s opinion?) this is the beginning of the end. am thrown away," siys“Ceci.I, shaking her flaxem head sadly. “I know I was born to rule.” “ You do a great deal of it even in your own limited sphere, don’t you ?” says her husband, laughing. “ I know at least one unfortunate individual who is completely under your con- trol.” A BRIDE’S M ISFOR'I‘UNE. [To BE CONTINUED.)