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_ Mrs. La Rue had risen from her bed and put on a. dressmg-gown which Beinette was buttoning for her while she was trying to bind her long, loose hair into a knot behind. Margery did not tell her it was as nice as black, but she sootl‘ed her as well as she could, and heard her suggestions, and took her measure, and showed her some new fashion-plates, and did it all With her ears turned to her mother s room Where the talk was still going on, now low and earnest and almost pleading, and again so high and ex- cited that grandma askedif that was not Ren- net’s voice, and what she was talking so loud for. Then Margery excused herself for a moment and ran swiftly up stairs to her mother’s room, the door of which was ajar, and that accounted for the distinctness with which the sound of voices was ' borne to th parlor below. ' “ I s’pose Anny is goin’ to be married," she said, looking hard at her granddaughter,- “ though she hsin’t noticed me enough to tell me so right out ; but. everybody’s talkin’ it, and I thought I might as well have a new silk gown. My'moiry antique is pretty well whipped out, and a nice silk is allus handy. I got brownâ€"a. nlce shade, I call it," and she unrolled a silk of excellent quality, but of a yellowish brown, which wosld be very unbe- coming to her. " Oh, grandma, why didn’t you get black instead of that horrid snuff-color ?” Anna mid, contemptuously, as she glanced care- lessly at the silk and then went out, leaving the old lady a. good deal crestfallen, and a little doubtfal with regard to the dress she had lately thought so pretty. “ Oh, will she never go ?” Margery thought, just as the bell peeled a second time, and Grandma Ferguson came in, bringing a bundle almost as large as herself, and entering at once into full details of what she wanted to have made, and how. Then she did start, and was half way up the stairs, when the door-bell rang violently â€"a sharp, imperious ring, which she recog- nized as Anna Ferguson’s. She was expect- ing that young lady, and knowing that how- ever fierce a storm might be blowing, she must keep it from the world, she calmed her- self with a tremendous effort, and opening the door to Anna. listened patiently for several minutes, while the girl examined her saoque and said it would do very well, only the price was too high. “ Ma never asked anything like that; for a. octagon sncqge." 7 “ Very W611. Pay me what you like,” Margery said, anxious to be rid other cus- tomer. who had asked, in her supercilious way 5 Margery’s first impulse was to hurry up the stairs to her mother’s room, where there was already the sound of excited voices, her mother’s and Queenie’s blended togebher, as each strove to be heard, and once she caught her own name, as if her mother were calling her to come. "‘ Isn’t that Queenie up-stuira? And isn’t she talking pretty loud for B. well-bred per- Clasping her hand to her head as if smit- ten with a blow, Margery staggered back, and leaning against the wall for support, tried to think what it all meant, while with lightning rapidity her mind traveled back over the past, gathering up a thread here and there until she had no doubt that what Queenie had told her was true. Her mother was Christine Bodine. But why this conceal- ment? What was she hiding? What had she done ? " I have it from her agent in Mentone, who has received money for her at difier- 8111; times from Messrs. Polignae in Paris-â€" money my father deposited for her with them years ago. Now let me go! I must see her ! " Queenie saith. darting up the stairs, no longer restrained by Margery, who had let her pass without further protest. Reinette hesitateda moment, kept silent by something in Margery‘s face, but when she said for the third time, ‘ Tell me what news you have received from France,” she re- plied : " Margery, it shall never, never make any difference between us, but your mother is Christine Bodine, my old nurse, whom I have been trying to find." “ Christine Bodine! My mother Chris- tine Bodine! Impossible! She was Marie La Mille. How did you hear it ? ” Mar- gory gasped as ehey clutched Reinette s shoulder with a. grip which was painful. “ News 1 What news 7" Margery asked, thinking suddenly of the letter her mother had received from Mentone the previous night, and experiencing a vague feeling of fear and dread of some impeding evil. “What news have you heard which concerns my mother? Tell me," she repeated, look- ing steadily at Reinette. with who was re- garding her fixedly, with a. bight, blood red spot on either cheek. and a strange glitter in her black eyes. â€"“ And I tell you I must. I have important news from Mentone. news which concerns yoer“ mother and me, and _I_ mgst see her. ’_’|_ But not less resolute than her own was the face which confronted her an Margery roused up and said in a voice Queenie had never heard from her before : “ Miss Hethertonl You astonish me. I tell you mother is sick and cannot be disturbed. You must not go up.7’ “,But you cannot see her. I promised r one should disturb her,” she said again, and now she laid her hand on Queenie’s shoulder to detain her, for Queenie’s foot was on the first stair, and she looked resolute enough to storm a fortress as she persisted in her determin- ation to go up. “ No, you will not do as well. I must see her ; it is very important and I cannot wait.” Queenie said, still advancing toward the stairs, while Margery put herself between them and her friend, whose strange conduct surprised he: so much. “ Mother is sick,” Margery replied, “sick in bed with an attack of neuralgia ; she is very nervous and cannot see anyone. I am sorry. but you will have to wait. Maybe I can do as well,” she continued, looking wonderingly at Queenie, who, utterly disregarding what she said, had started for the stairs. Reinette did not ring, but entered unan- nounced, like one who had but one thought, one purpose, and was resolved to carry it out with as little ceremony as possible. It was fortunate for all parties that this was Mar- gery’s dull season, and there were no girls there with prying eyes and curious ears to listen, for Reinette was greatly excited now that the moment drew near when she could confront Christine, and she plunged at once into business by saying to Margery, “ Where is your mother ? I have come to see her.” Wherry, There's danger in rowing to Twickenham town “ O hoi ye hoi hol ” you’re too late for the ferry. (The briar’s in bud, and the sun’s going down.) And he’s not rowmg quick, and he’s not rowing steady ; Youéd think ’twas a. journey to Twickenham own." 0 hoi! and 0 he! ye may call as ye will ; The moon is til-rising on Petersham hill; And witgh love like a. rose in the stem of the By I'll-I. Mary J. Holmes, author of “Tempest and Sunshine." " Ethelyn’s Mistake,” “ Forrest House," etc. ,,_. "fl" -V. “r, .____ V, cherry, A “And sure and you’re welcome to Tmckenham town." " 0 hoi ye ho I ho ye h.) I I’m for the ferry. (The brim-’3 in bud and the sun’s going down,) And it's late as it is, and I haven’t a penny; And how shall I get me to TWickenhum town ?" She’s a rose in her bonnet, and 011 she looks sweet As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat, With h‘er cheeks like a. rose and her lips like 9. ton' ue, And he’s ash as a pippin and brown as a berry, And ’tis but a penny to Twickenham town. “ 0 hoi ye ho] ho ye he 1 Who’s for the ferrs ? (The briar’s in bud, and the sun’s going down.) And. I'll my ya so quiclf, 111.1(1'1111 rgw ye_so stqudy, And 'tis bu't u. pefiny tb Twickenhmhrtb’vvfifiqw ' The ferry-man's slim, and the ferry-man‘s young, And he’s just a soft twang at the end of his QUEENIE HETHERTON. BEINETTE’B INTERVIEW WITH MARGERY‘ 'I‘WICKENIIA‘JI FERRY. CHAPTER XXXIII. “ You don’t know why you didn’t tell me ? That is very strange," Reinette replied. “ If there is nothing to conceal, if all your deal- ings with my parents were honorable and up- right; I see no reason for hiding from me the fact that you were once my nurse. Christine, I did not come to quarrel with you,” and Reinette’s voice softened a little. “ I have loved you too much for that, butI have come She spoke so rapidly, pouring out question after question. and her eyes blazed so with excitement, that for a minute Mrs. La Rue was stunned. and answered nothing, but sat staring blankly at her, like one in a. dream. At last, however. her White iipa moved, and she said, iaintly: " Yes, I am Christine, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.” But not long; the girl was in too great haste to wait, and advancing swiftly to the bedside she began, not angrily but reproach- fully: “Christine, you see I know you; I have found you at last, traced you through Messrs. Polignac to your agent in Mentone, whose clerk put me on your track ; so there can be no mistake. You are Christine Bodine, my old nurse, whom I have sowished to find ; and you knew I Wished it 911 the time and did not Speak, did not tell me who you were. Why did you treat me so, Christine ? What is your excuse? You have one, of course.” When Reinette went up the stairs to Mrs. La Rue’s room, she had no definite plan of action; indeed, she had no plan at all, except to confront and confound the woman who had deceived her so long, and whom she found sitting up in bed with so terrified a look on her face, that she stood an instant on the threshold gazing at her ere she plunged irh- petuously into the business which had brought her there. Secure 1n Margery’s promise that no one should disturb her, Mrs. La Rue had grown comparatively quiet, and was just fall- ing off to sleep when she was roused by the sound of carriage wheels stopping at the gate, and a moment after she heard Reinette’s voice speaking earnestly to Margery, and felt that the hour she had dreaded so long had come at last. Reinette had heard from Men- tone, and had come for an explanation. “ Fool, that I did not end it all last night, when I had the nerve to do it, " she said, as, starting up in bed, she listened with bated breath until footsteps came up the stairs, and Reinette Hetherton stood looking at her. “ And my nurse,” Queenie rejoined. “ She was with my mother when I was born and when she died. I shall not wrong her : do not fear me,” and Queenie’s lips touched Margery’s in token that through her no harm should come to the poor Woman who, in the chamber above, eat in a low chair rocking to and fro, with a. sickening dread of the mo- ment when she must stand face to face with Margery and meet the glance of those clear, blue eyes which might read the story she had not told Reinette, and which she could not tell her child. “ No, I do not believe it is the only rea- son.” Queenie answered, promptly. “ It is true in part, no doubt, but there is something elseâ€"something she did not not tell me, and which I am resolved to find out. If there is a mystery I shall clear it up. My curi- osity is great enough for that. But I did not tell her so, she seemed so scaredâ€"~50 like afrightened child. Margery, I believe your mother is more than half crazy.” “ Yes, yes,” and Margery caught eagerly at the suggestion. " You are right ; she is crazy. I cansee it now, and that will ac- count for much which seems so strange. 0h, Queenie, be patient ; be merciful, and don’t let the world know what we do. Remember, she is my mothrr." ' “ She says it was for your sake ; that she feared lest I might think less of you if I knew you were the daughter of my ~former nurse,’ Queenie replied, and looking ea'rnestly at her Margery asked: “ 11:21 you believe: this ? believe it to be the true, the onlxrqgsont dpn’t_you ‘2’: “ Not sick, but a good deal upset with what I have heard," Margery replied ; “ but: tell me,” she continued. “ what does mother any ? What reason does she give for having kepp silent so long? Why has she never told you who she was ?” “ She cannot be very angry with mother,” she thought, and her heart began to grow lighter as Queenie came up to her, and put- ting her arms around her neck, said to her : “ Margie, it makes you seem nearer to me, now that I know your mother was my nurse, and I love you more than ever. But how white you are, and your hands are like lumps of ice. Are you sick 7” she continued, as she looked with alarm at Margery's face, which was as white as ashes. Up stairs the talk was still going on, though the voices now were low and quiet as if the storm was over ; but would the interview never end? would Reinette never leave her free to go to her mother herself and demand an explanation? Slowly, as it seemed, the hour hand crept on until it was twelve o’clock, and then at last a door opened and shut, and Queenie came down the stairs, her eyes red with weeping, but with a look of con- tent upon her face which surprised Margery a little. This time it was Mrs. Rossiter and her daughters, and into Mergery’s mind there flashed the thought, “Are all the Fergusons coming here w~day, and what would they say if they knew who my mother was ‘2" But they did not know of the exciting interview in the room above, where Reinette questioned so rapidly and impatiently the woman who almost orouched at her feet in her abasement, and answered amid tears and sobs. The Rossiters had merely come to ask when Mrs. La. Rue could do some work for them, and they left very soon, taking grandma with them, to the great relief of Margery, who looked the door upon them, determined that no one else should enter until Reinette was gone and she knew herself why the truth had been withheld from her. “But you must tell me all you know about my mother,” Queenie said, while Margery went swiftly down stairs, for the bell was ringing again and Grandma Ferguson was growing impatient of waiting to know if she should trim her brown silk with velvet or fringe. “ Yes, Margery, that is what I mean to do," Queenie said, while Mrs. La Rue exclaimed with a. ring of joy 1n her voice as if some un- expected relief had come to her : “Yes, yes, we need not tell ; we will not tell; We will keep the secret forever." She had said to herself that this which Reinette had told her was true; that her mother was Christine, and still there had been a famt hope that there might be some mistake ; but there was none ; her mother had declared it herself. and With a low cry like a wounded animal she turned away, say- ing as she did so 2 “There are people in the parlor, and your voices are sometimes louder than you suppose, and though they cannot understand you they will know you are ex- cited and that there is trouble of seine kind. Speak lower; do. If this thing I hear be true we surely need not tell it to the world ; we can keep it to ourselves.” “ Don't call me Miss Hetherton, as if you were angry at me, ” Reinette 'replied without looking up from buttoning Mrs. Ln Rue’s dressing-gown, “ I cannot go now. Your mother knew my mother and is going to tell me about her. She is Christine Bodine.” “ Yes, yes, I am Christine. God pity me.” the miserable woman exclaimed, and over Margery’s face their swept a look of unutter- ablf pain and disappointment. Advancing into the room and closing the door,Margery said in a low firm zone of voice: “Miss Heqherton, I don’t know what all this is about, but mother IS too weak and sick to be thus excited. Will you leave her until a fitter time 1’” Her face was white as ashes, and in her eyes there was a frightened hunted look as of one pursued to the last extremity. But when she saw Margery, their exrression sud- denly changedto one of fea1 and dread and thrusting out both hands, she cried: “ Oh, Margery. go away ; this is no place for you.” BEINETTE’S INTERVIEW WITH CHRISTINE CHAPTER XXXIV. “ But Why did not my father stay with her more? ” Reinette asked, and Mrs La Rue replied : “ He was fond of travel, and hunting, and racing, and had many gen- tlemen friends there, whose influence was not good, and he complained that Chateau des Fleurs was lonely. If he only had a chlldâ€"a. sumâ€"he could bear it, he said, but “ He was very proud of her girlish beauty and in his way was fond of her, but I do not think it was in Monsieur Hetherton’s nature to love any one very long, or more than he loved himself. Her habits did not suit him ; his did not suit her ; she breakfasted at nine and was up two hours before that as was her custom at home, she said ; he breakfasted at eleven in his room, and frequently dined out, returning generally to see her dressed for the opera or concert, and dictating about her toilet until we were both at our wits’ end. Her tastes were too simple for him. He wished her to wear velvet. and satin, and diamonds and pearls, while she would have liked plain muslin gowns and a quiet home in the country, with hens, and chickens. and pets. She was very happy at Chateau des Fleurs, and would have been happier if mon- siear had staid more with her. but he was much in Paris, and Switzerland and Nice, and so we were alone a great deal and she taught me many things and was so kind to She kept asserting this, for there was an expression on Mrs. La Rue‘s face which she could not understand and which did not quite lease her. “ Christine, you did not like my father. 1 see that in all you say, but he was very dear to me, and I loved him so much I You were prejudiced against him, but I insist upon your going on just the same and telling me everything. Why did she not have his soci: ety “.7 Where and how did he pass his time, if not with her 7 He loved her, I am sure. You know he did. You know he loved my mother.” Reinette’s breath came quickly for a mo- ment, and her voice shook as she asked, very low, as if afraid some one might hear : “ Was not father kind to her always 5’” “ If beautiful dresses and jewelry, and horses and carriages, and plenty of money means kindness, then he was kind, for she had all these in profusion, but what she wanted most she did not have, and that was her husband’s society,” Mrs. La Rue said, and then Reinette drew backa little haughtily and answered : , “ Yes, she told me all about her home and Merrivale, and I was familiar with every rock, and hill, and tree, I think,especially the elme upon the common. and the poplars near her home. She was so fond of Merrivale and her friends, and used often to cry for the mother so far away.” “ Was she veryhomesick ‘2” Reinette asked and Mrs. La Rue answered her : “ At times, yes, when monsieur was away with his associates, or staid out so late nights, as he son et "mes did.” “And did she tell you of Meniwgle'filfher old home ? Did you know she was an Ameri- can ’2” Queenie asked, and Mrs. La Rue re- plied: She was beginning to feel very kindly to- ward this woman who had known her mother ; the insinuation in Messrs. Polignao’s letter and her own suspicions were forgotten for the time, and she saw before her only one who had cared for her when an infant and had seen her mother die. ' “ Begin," she said. “ I am impatient to hear.” And so Christine began, and told her of the advertiseme t for a waiting maid, which she had answere in person, and how she had been preferred to all the gay, flippant, airy applicants for the position, even though some of them boasted of having attended upon duohesses ; told her, too, of the handsome rooms at the Hotel Meurice, and of the beau- tiful young lady who was so kind to her, and made her more a companion than a maid, notwithstanding that her proud husband fre- quently protested against it and talked of bad taste, which sometimes made madame cry. 11-. ‘ --- “ Would you mind holding my hand While I tell you of my first days with Mrs. Hether- ton ?” Christine said, and Reinette took the cold, clammy hand between both of hers and rubbed and chafed it as tenderly as Margery herself would have done. ' “ About my motherâ€"all about her. You are the first I have ever seen who knew her after she was Mrs. Hetherton. I have heard what she was when a girlâ€"the sweetest. iove- liest creature, they say, with eyes like the summer sky, and a face so fair and pureâ€"not a bit like meâ€"and I wish to hear from begin- ning to end all you know about her, and when you saw her first, and Where, and about her death in Rome, when I was born, and only you there to care for either of us.” It was not in Reinette’s nature to reSIst such an appeal, and she kissed the poor trem- bling woman twice, and then drawing a. chair to her side spoke very softly to her and said : “ Now tell me.” ” Tell you what, child? What do you wish most to know ‘3” Christine; asked, and Rein- egte replied - "‘ Oh, my darling, my pet, my baby Whom I nursed. I have so longed to clasp you to my heart, but dared not, and now I must, I must. I have hungered to hold you in my arms as I held you years ago. and to feel your soft cheek against my own. Reinette, Rein- ette, kiss meâ€"becauseâ€"becauseâ€"I amâ€" Christine.” Reinette complied with her request, and leading her to a chair placed her gently in it, and drew the shawl closer around her, for she saw how she shivered, though there was a fire in the wood on the hearth. At this lit- tle act of attention Christine broke down en. tirely, and throwing her arms around Rein- ette, sobbed out : “ Better die,” she thought. “ :han ‘live to be questioned and suspected by the Rossiters. and Fergusons and everybody, as I should be if they knew I was Christine.” But when the idea. was suggested that only Margery and Reinette need kuow,she changed her mind, and in what she would now tell the latter there was to be a. deep, dark gulf bridged over in silence. “ Help me to my chair, I am very, very weak,” she said to Reinette, when Margery had gone. Her teeth were chattering, and her lips were blue and pinched as Queenie brought the wrapper and helped her put it on, kneelâ€" ing on the floor to button it herself, and oc- casionally speaking soothingly to her, though her own heart was beating rapidly with a dread of what she might hear. Then it was that Margery appeared on the scene, and by suggesting that no one but themselves need know what had so long been hiddenhchanged Mrs. La Rue’s intentions altogether. For a few brief moments there had been in her mind a resolve to make a clean breast of it, and to tell the truth, and then when that was done, she would kill herself, and so escape the storm sure to follow her revela- tions. “ I cannot lie here. I feel that I am smothering.I must get up, whileI talk to you, but oh, you’ll be so sorry. You’ll wish you had never come. Bring me my wrapper there on the chair, and my woolen shawl, for I am shivering with cold.” She looked so :pale and deathlike that Reinette bent anxiously over her. and bring- ing the camphor bathed her forehead. and held it to her nostrils until she was better, and raising herself from the pillows upon which she had fallen, she said 2 “ Yes, that is why he gave me the money. Oh. Reinette, leave me ; go away ; don’t try to unearth the past. There are things you should not knowâ€"things Icannot tell. God help me. I wish I had died before I ever saw yeur face.” She was looking fixedly at the woman on whose white face blood- red spots were be- ginning to show, and who answered falter- ingly: to hear about my mother. You were with her when she died. You nursed me when I was a baby. You know what mother said to me and of me. She loved you, Christine, and trusted you. I have it in a, letter writ- ten to my father before she died, when he was away in Russia or Austria. And that is why he paid you money, was it not Chris- tine ?” “ Tell me ; how did he act ? What did he say ‘2” fieinette repeated, and then, with a, smile full of irony and bitterness Christine answered: Christine did not reply to this, but sat with her hands locked together, and a, look upon her face as if her thoughts were far back in the past, and she was living over some painful scene. “I am so §veak, and talking all this tires me so,” she said ; but Reinette was not satis- fied, and he} {legit Question was : “ Yes, I took you to Chateau des Fleurs," Christine replied, while her face grew scarlet and then turned asby pale, and Queenie never dreamed of the chasm she leaped in silence, or of the bitter remorse which brought those livid spots to the face of Christine, who did not lock at her now, but shut her eyes and leaned wearily back in her chair. “ What did father say when he first saw me? Tell me all about it. ” “ And I ‘3” Reinette said. “ You took me to him ? took me to Chateau des Fleurs ‘2” “ I did not know just where your father was. for he was never long in the same place, and as we could not wait to hear from him, and I did not know what to do, strangers took the matter in hand and buried her in the Protestant grave-yard at Rome, where your father has never been since." There was a. fresh burst of tears and sobs from Remette as she listened to the story,snd when it was ended she threw herarms around her nurse's neck and nearly strangled her with kisses, as she said : “ My darling old Uhristine, I can forgive you everything now that I know how good anitfpe you wore togpy mother. " With s'omething likg a, moan Christine freed herself from the girl, and went rapidly ” The child’s face was lifted to the pale lips which kissed it tenderly, and then, just as the warm Italian sunshine lighted up the distant dome of St. Peter’s with a. blaze of gold, and all over the great city, and far out upon the Campagna the morning was warm and bright, the young mother lay den-d in the silent room, with only her servant and baby with her.” “ It is almost over, Christine. I am going home to Jesus, whose arms are around me so that I am not afraid. Tell them at home I was so happy. and death had no terror for me. Tell them I seem to hear the children singing as they used to sing in the old cl 'rch in Merrivale, and the summer wind blows in and out, and brings the perfume of the pond» lilies with it, and the river flows on and on amid the green meadowsâ€"awayâ€"awayâ€"just as I am floating so quietly out upon the sea. of eternity. Where the lilies are fairer and sweeter than those which lift their white heads to the sunshine in the ponds of Merri- vale. And now, Christine ; place my baby so I can kiss her once more, for sight and strength have failed me.” So Christine went on and told of the long hours when the dying woman lay with her baby clasped to her bosom. and her head pil- lowed on the strong arm of her maid, .who held her thus until the darkness was passed and the early dawn of the mild spring morn- ing began to creep into the room, when Mar- garet roused a, little and said : “ It made him feel so badly that he did not often speak of her unless I mentioned her first. I used to ask him about her; and he told me'how beautiful and .sWe ;, and good she was. and that he wished me to be like her; and then, if I was sitting on his lap, as I most always was when I talked to him of her. he would put me down suddenly and walk across the salon so fast, and once I saw him wipe away great drops of sweat from his forehead. He must have loved her very much, or he would not have held her memory so sa- cred. But you have not finished. I want to know just how mother diedâ€"want to see he up to the last.” “ If there were pages so black in father’ 5 life, don’t show them to me, lest I should say you told me falsely. He was my father, and I loved him so dearly. He was kind to me alwaysâ€"alwaysâ€" and I will stand by him for- ever. He mi ght have been wild and might have sought his own pleasure, but he did not mean to neglect my mother. He loved her; he used to talk of her to me.” “ Did he ? Did he talk of ‘your mother to you ?” Christine asked eagerly ; and Reinette, who could not say truthfully that her father had ever of his owu accord spoken to her of her mother, replied: “011, Christine 1” Reinette sobbed, “grand ma ought to know this~she and Aunt Mary, too. They have never heard one word of her last days, for father only wrote that she was dead, and did not even tell them of my birth. I ought to tell my grandmother ; she will be so glad to know.” “No, no! oh, no! better not. You said you would not I" Christine exclaimed in ter- ror. “It would lead to so much talkwso many questions aboutâ€"about your father, andâ€"Reinette, forgive meâ€"but his record was not the fairest. Even you, his dnu ghter would not like to see its blackest pages "g Reinette’s face was crimson with shame and resentment, and in her eye was that pe- culiar gleam which so bewildered and con- tounded those on whom it fell. The fair structure she had built about her father’s memory was tottering to atoms, but she would struggle bravely to keep it together as long as possible, and she replied : “Her baby was a. great comfort to her," Mrs. La. Rue said, when she could speak, “and she would have it where she could feel its lit- tle hands upon her face, even after blindness came upon her, and she could no longer see. The English physician had been in, and told me she probably would not last the night through, and that I should have some one with me. But she said, ‘Nc; Chsistine and baby are all I want,’ and when he was gone she made me sit by her, while she talked, as she had done many a time, of her home over the sea, of her sister. and her mother, to whom she sent messages. I remember her very words. ‘Tell them,’ she said, ‘that I have never ceased to love them, and to long for them wi h such longing as only homesick creatures know, and if I have seemed neglect- ful, and have not written as I ought, it was becauseâ€"becauseâ€"I couldn’t. I can’t ex- plain, only I love them â€"love them so much ; and now if I could lay my head on mother’s lap, as I did when I was a little girl, and it ached as it is aching now, I should die more willingly. Dear old mother 1 poor old father ! with his hard brown bands, which have worked so hard for meâ€"God bless them, and comfort them. when they hear I am dead 1’ " “ He swore because you were not a boy 1" Here Christine stoppefl suddenly and cov- ering her face with her hands sohbed hys- terically as she recalled that scene,whi1eRein- ette, too, cried as she had never cried before for the dying mother in Rome, who had held her babe to the very last and prayed that God would bless it and have it in his keeping and make it a comfort and a joy to the hus- band and father, who was far away. joining in a midnight revel where wine, and cards, and women such as Margaret Ferguson never knew, formed a conspicuous part. So Mrs. La Rue went on and told of the weeks and weeks which her misstress passed alone at Chateau des Fleurs, while Mr. Heth- erton was seeking his pleasure elsewhere ; of his great desire for a son to hear his name ; of Mrs. Hetherton‘s failing health, and re- moval at last to Southern France, and then, as the season advanced, to Rome ; of the great joy which came to her so unexpectedly and which she purposely kept from her hus- band, wishing to surprise him when he joined her in Rome as he promised to do ; of the weary weeks of waiting, hoping against hope. for he was always coming in a few days at the most and never came ; and then of a girl baby’s birth sooner than it was expected, and the scene which followed, when the young wife died, with her little girl clasped to her' bosom and her own head pil- lowed on Christine’s arm. “ Oh. this is very dreadful.” Queenie said, with a choking sob. “ I am glad grandma will never know what you have told me of her daughter and my mother. But go on and tell me the rest. I insist upon knowing the whole." as if. was, the place was unendurable, and so he staid away weeks at a time while your mother pined and drooped like some fair lily which has neither water nor sunshine. And she was awaiting hers, and when the first blow came in the person of Margery bringing her the nicely-prepared dinner. she seemed to shrivel up in her chair, and her head dropped upon her breast. But she did not speak, and when Margery drew a little But she did not then go up ;'she waited awhile, and going to the kitchen, prepared a tempting dinner, which she arranged upon a tray, and then took to the room, where Mrs. La Rue still set just as Reinette had left her, her face as white as marble, her eyes blood- shot and dim, and her whole attitude that ofa guilty culprit awaiting its punishment. There was a, world of pathos in those two wordsâ€"" dear Margery”â€"â€"pathos and plead- ing both as if the mother were asking mercy from her child. And Margery recognized the meaning, but her heart did not soften or re- lent. Indeed, she could not understand her- self or define the strange feeling which had taken possession of her and was urging her on to know what it was her mother had hid- den so long and so successfully. “ Say, mother, will you come down, or shall I come up ‘1’” came again from Mar- gery, and this time Mrs. La Rue replied : “ Oh. Margery, Margery I not yetâ€"not yet 1 Spare me a little longer. I have been so tried and worried I am not quite rgiht in my head: wait awhile before you come, dear Margery.” “ My hon} has come. She will wring it from me. Well, no matter. It Wlil bebetter for her, perhaps." The voice was not the same which Mrs. La Rue knew as Margery’s. There was a hardness and sternness in it which boded no good to her, and mortal terror took possession of her as she thought : “ Moihei, will you come down, or shall I come up ‘2” For a full quarter of an hour atter Reinette’s departure Margery sat motionless, with her head bent down, thinking of all the incidents of her past life as connected with her mother, and recalling here and there certain acts which. viewed in the new light shed upon them, seemed both plain and mysterious. Buzzing through Margery’s brain, and almost driving her mad, was the same sickening susâ€" picion which had at times so distracted Rei- nette. but, like Reinette, she fought it down. But not for the dead man whose costly monu- ment was gleaming cold and white in the graveyard of Merrivale. He was nothing to her, save as the father of her friend, who, for his daughter’s sake, had been kind to her so far as money was concerned. But it was for the woman upstairs, her mother, that her heart was aching so, and the hot blood pour- ing so swiftly through her veins. To lose faith in her whom she had believed so good. and who had taught her always that truth and purity were more to be prized than all the wealth in the world, would be terrible. And yet that mother’s life had for years been one of concealment, for which she could see no excuse. That given to Queenie was not the true reason. There was something else â€"something behind ; “ and I must know what it is," she thought; “ and if my fears prove true, I must keep it from Reinette.” Starting to her feet it last, and forgetting how weak and sick her mother was, she wen halffivyay up the stairs and called: "I know there is something else. endI shall find it out,” was the substance of Reinette’s reply, and in her heart Margery. too, believed there was something else, which she, too, must know, and for the first time in her life shewes glad when Reinette said good-bye and left her alone to meet she trial she felt was awaiting her. “I shall love you better than ever now that I kn_ow you Varre the {laughter of my nurse." “Do you believe there was no other reason for concealment ?” Margery asked, when told of the excuse her mether had given for her silence. “There is something else,” she thought. “something behind, which she has not told, and I mean to know what it is. but I will leave her now,” and taking Christine’s hot hands in hers she said, very kindly,“Good-bye, Christine ; I am going. but another time you’ll tell me more of my mother.” Then passing the hand to her lips she ran down the stairs to Margery, who was waiting anxiously for her. and whose face was white and ghastly as she turned inquiringly Ito her friend. But Beinette’s manner was reassuring. Throwing her arms around Margery’s neck, she said : “ Nothing, nothing no. no 1" Christine gasped.“ He was very proud, and did not wish you to be intimate with people like me; that 13 allâ€"everything. ” “Leave me now, please ; there is nothing more to tell. and 1 am so tired and sick, and ~~~end-â€"there is Margery yet to see. 0h. Miss Hetherton, make it easy as you can to Mar- gery. Don’t let her think ill of me. I could not bear that. I’d rather have the bad opinion of the Whole world than hers. She is so good, so true, and hates deception so much. Go now, and leave me to myself. I believe â€"â€"I thinkâ€"yes. I am sure I am going mutt" Reinette Iooked at her in surpfisefwonder- ing that what she had confessed should affect her so. Reinette did remember that her father had objected to her further intercourse with Mar- gery La Rue, and that he had seemed very much excited and even angry about it, and that after this she had lost track of Margery until she found her in America. But why should her father object to friendship for a. little girl whose mother had been so much to his wife ? Why, unless he was offended with something in the woman? “ Christine,” she began, at last. after there had been silence for a moment, “ you may as well tell me the truth, for I am resolved to wring it from you, and I will not tell Margery either. You had done something to displease my father ; now, what was it ? I insist upon knowing.” " And was that the reason why after he was dead and you met me here you kept silent ? Were you afraid I, too, was proud, and would think less of Margery, ii I knew. ” “Yes, yes , you have guessed it I was afraid,” Mrs. La Rue said, quickly, as it re- lieved that flainette had put so good a reason into her mind. she was your daughter ?” ” Not then, no ; but after she was grown he knew, and was not pleased to have you so intimate with her. You will remember that he tried to sepumte you from her. You wrote her something of it, when we were in South- ern France." She was very tired, and had borne so much that it seemed to her she could bear no mae, and clasping her hands to her head. she said, imploringly : “ You knew I was Reinette, my mother’s child, and never spoke. or tried to see me even ? That is very strange. And did father know, when Margery was :at school with me, and afterward at the chateau ? Did he know she was your daughter ?” “ And you lived all the time in Paris, and never let me know or brought Margery to see me; and, oh, Christine, when I found her up in that room that day and she told you of me, did you know then who I was ?” “ Yes,- I knew,” was the reply, and Reinette went on : “ Yes, yes,” and Christine caught eagerly at this unexpected help. “ Yes, I was mar- ried and had to leave, but I saw you some- times when you were a little child, playing in the grounds of the chateau.” “ I remember itâ€"yes; a woman came one day when I was with my nurse and kissed and cried over me, and gave me some hon-bone ; and that was you,” Reiuette said. and Mrs La Rue assented, while Reinette continued : “ Yes, I can understand how a man like him would he disappointed if he wanted ason very much ; but he loved me afterward. 1 am sure of that. How long did you stay with me at. Chateau des Fleurs, and why did you leave? Was it M. La Rue? You must have been married soon after mother died, for Margery is almost as old as I am." “ Oh-h ! this is terriblqfi’ Reinette ex‘ claimed: as her face grew very red. But she was too pfoud to fat her nurse see howghe was paineq, and she continued : MARGERY AND HER MOTHER. CHAPTER XXXV. Without the sleety rain was beating in gusts against the windows, and the wind, which had risen since noon, roared down the chimney and shook every loosened blind and For a time the story was pleasant enough to listen to, for Mrs. La Rue dwelt at length upon the goodness and sweetness of her mis- tress, who was always so-kind to her, and who trusted her so implicitly; but at last there came a change, and Margery‘s eyes grew dark with horror and pain. and her cheek paled, as she listened to a tale which curdled the blood in her veins and seemed turning her into stone. "I am ready," she said ; but her voice was the fainter now, for her mother’s was calm and steady amehe commenced the story. whlch she told in all its details, beginmng at the day when she first saw Mr. Hetherton’s advertise- ment for a. waiting-maid for his wife. “Listen ; but sit down first. The story is long. and you will need all your strength be- fore it is through. Sit down,” and she point- ed to a. chair, into which Margery sank me- chemically, while a strange, prickling sensa- tion ran through her frame, and she felt a sickening dread of whm she was to hear. “If there is no disgrace for me, then tell me at once what it is. I shall never cease worrying you or leave this room till I know.” “Then listen.” And raising herself erect in herchair, while the blood came surging back to her face, and her eyes flashed with the fire of a maniac, Mrs. La Rue continued : And with this horrid fear lifted from her mind, Margery came nearer to her mother. and said : “Disgface to me, I suppose. bear that better than suspense tainfitfiy.” 7 “No, Margie. not disgrace to you, thank Heaven I not disgrace to you in the way you think.” Mrs. La Rue cried. She stretched her Aarm toward Malgery, who stood immovable as a. rock, and said, with a hard ring in her voice: She had n’sen from her chair, and stood with folded arms looking down upon the wretched woman, who moaned : “Don’t, Margie, don’t drive me to tell, for the telling will involve so muchmso much l Some will be disgraced and others benefited ; don’t make me tell, please don’t." “ Tell me what you mean ? You have said strange things to me,mother. You have talked of ruin, and innocence, and money paid for silence, and as your daughter I have a right to know what you mean. And you must tell me, too, before I look on Queenie’s face again. What is it, mother? What was the secret between you and Mr. Hetherton ? What have you done, which you would hide from me? Speak, for I must know, and I’ll forgive you, too, even if it brings disgrace to me. If you do not tell, and suffer me to live on with these horrid suspicions tortur- ing me to madness, I can never touch your hand again, in love, or think of you as I have done.” She lstopped here, appalled by the look of Margery’s faceâ€"a. look which made her cower and tremble as she had never trembled be- fore. Wrenching her dress away from the hands which still held it, and drawing herself back, Merger! demepded: “ Yes, Mr. Hetherton. curse him in his grave! He has been my ruin. I was so happy and innocent until I knew him. He wrung the vow from me ; he paid the money to _};eep it; 119%" ,, , , A “ Had made a vow ? Had sworn not to do it ? Who made you swear? Who required that vow from you 7 Was it‘Mr. Hetherton ?” Margery asked, sternly, and her mother re- plied : Driveil to the last extremity, and onget- ting herself in her distress, Mrs. La Rue re- plieq :_ â€" “ I had sworn not to do it ; had taken a solemn vow never to let Queenie know who I was.” “ Mother," Margery said, and her voice was low and stern, “that excuse might do for Queenie, but not. for me, who know all our past life. There is something elseâ€"some- thing you are keeping from me. and which I must know. What is it, mother ? Why were you afraid to let Queenie know who you were ?” “ There is nothingâ€"nothingâ€"believe me, Margie. nothing,” Mrs. La Rue said, still ca- ressing the gown, as if she would thus appease her daughter, who continued: “ Yes. there is something ; there has been a something always since 1 can remember. I see it nowâ€"recall it allâ€"your fits of abstracâ€" tion. your moods of melancholy, amounting almost to insanity, and which have increased in frequency since we came to America end met Reinette. The money you received at stated times was from her father, was it not?” “ Ye-es,” came in a whisper ffom Mrs. La Rue’g white lips, fund Margery wentr on : “ Mother," Margery began, after a mom- ent’s pause, “ why did you wish to hide from Queenie who you were? I have a right to know. I am your daughter, and if there has been any wrong I can share it with you. I would rather know the exact truth then think the horrible things I may think if you do not tell me. Why didr you take another name than you- own, and why‘, did youxnot reveal your self to Queenie, ‘lbut leave -her to grope it the derkfor what she so much wished to find? Tell me, mother. I insist upon knowing,” “ You must then have always known his whereabouts. When we lived in Paris, and father was alive, you knew that Mr. Hether- ton was there in the city,’ tor), and did you ever see him ? ’ “ Neverâ€"never! He would have spurned me like a dog," Mrs. La Rue answered, ener- geticglly, and: Marggry continped: “ But you knew he was there, and when Queenie came to me that day when I were her scarlet cloak and she my fadéd plaid, you knew who she was, and did not speak. 9’ ’ “ Yes, I knew who she was, And difl not speak ” moaned Mrs. La. Rue, and Margery went on: “ And when I was at school with her, and her father paid the bills. and when I visited her at the chateau, you knew, and did not tell me. But did you tell my father ? Did he know who Queenie was ?â€"kuow of Mr. Heth- erton ‘2” “No, he did not." Mrs. La. Rue replied, “ nor was it necessary. I was a faithful Wiie qo him, and there was no need for him to know.” " Yes that’s itâ€"that’s it, Margie I ” Mrs. La Rue gasped. as she clutched the skirt of Margery‘s gown and rubbed it caress- inglxt table to her side, and placing the tray upon it poured out her tea and held it to her lips, she swallowed it mechanically. as she did the food pressed upon her. At last, howevel',\she could take no more. and putting up her hand, she made a gesture of dissent, and Whispered faintly : “ Enough l” How sick, and old and crushed she looked! But for this Margery would not spare her ; or, rather, she could not, for the something urging|her on and making her very detrâ€" mined and calm, when, after taking the, dinner away, she returned to her. mother, and sitting down where Queeniee had sat said : “ Now, mother, tell me.” “ Tell you what ?” Mrs. La Rue asked, and Marggq replipd : 7 “ Tail m8 the whole truth every word of it, as you flid not tell it to Queenie. ” ‘1 What did I tell hér ?” Mrs. La Rue said. in a bewildered kind of way, as if the events of the last few hours were really a blank to her. “ You told her you were Christine Bodiue, her former nurse,” Margery began, and her mother gaterruptgd her with : “ Yes. I know,” Margery returned. “You deceived me with regard to your name, and you kept your identity 51 secret from Reinette when you knew how much she wished to find you, and you gave her as a reason that you feared lest she would think less of me if she knew I was the child of one who had once served her mother.” “ And I am, Margery ; that was the truth. I was Christine Marie La. Mille Bodine ; but I dropped the first name and the last, and for years was only Marie La M1110." Well, I can and uncer- â€"The trains from the north are now com- ing in covered with snow. “Yes, yes. Hush ! Margery is very sick,” the neighbor, whose name was Mrs. Whiting, answered, going to the head of the stairs, and putting her finger to her lips. uL-\I uutALuVl. uu any AUVV u; nun puaun . “Mrs. La Rue! Mrs. La. Rue! Wherél’b'e you_z_xll, and may [0me _up ?” For a few moments Mrs. La Rue had heen as helpless and almost insensible as her daughter; then, rousing herself with a great effort, she knelt beside the unconscious girl, and lifting her head covered the white face with kisses and tears, and called upon her by every tender epithet to open her eyes and speak, if only to curse the one who had wrought so much harm. But Mar- gery’s ears were deaf alike to words of love or pleading, as she lay so still, and looked so awful, with that bloody froth about her lips, that, at last in wild affright, her mother called for help, and the woman who lived next door, and only across the garden, was startled by a succession of cries, each louder than the preceeding, and which came ap- parently from Mrs. La Rue’s cottage. En- tering at a rear door, and following the di- rection of the sounds, she came to the chamber where Margery still lay upon the floor, with her mother bending over her and shrieking for aid. To lift Margery up' and carry her to her bed, and send for a ‘ physician. was the woman’s first work, and then she tried what she could do to restore the insensihle girl, who only moaned faintly once in token that she knew anything that was passing around her. When questioned by the physician who was greatly puzzled by the case, Mrs. La Rue said that Margery had not seemed well for some timeâ€",had overworked. she thought, and that she had fallen suddenly from her chair while talking to her after dinner. This was all the ex- planation she would give, and,"‘rn'ore per- plexed than he had often been in his‘life,‘ the physician bent his energies to help the young girl who, it seemed even to him, was dying, for the most powerful restoratives and stim- ulants failed to produce any effect, or to move so much as an evelid. “ It was just then that Grandma Ferguson came in. She had remembered some direc- tions with regard to the brown silk, which she had failed to give in the morning. and had come again to see about it. Finding no one below, and hearing the sound of voiceslabove, she called at the foot of the stairs: By the window, which was raised to admit the air, the doctor stood, with a grave, troubled look, while near him sat Mrs. La. Rue, with ,a. face which might have been cut from stonef so rigid and immovable was every feature. while her eyes. deep-set in her head, with dark circles around them. seemed like coals of fife as they turned upon Reinette, who shuddercd with fear at their awful expression. At sight of her the woman’s lips moved. but made no soundâ€"only her fingers pointed to the bed where Margery lay breathing heavrly, but with no other sign to show that she was living. She looked like one dying7 with that pinched,‘blue look about the mouth and noe- trils which precedes dissolution. And she had seemed and looked like this since the moment she fell to the floor at the end of her mother’s story. “ Don’t you know! Haven’t you heard? Margery has had an apoplectio fit, and is ,dy~ ing,” was the woman’s reply, and with‘a. shriek of terror and surprise Reinette fled past her up the stairs to Margery’s room. where she paused a moment on the threshold to take 111 the scene which met her astonished Vlew. “How is Mrs. La Rue, and where is Mar- gery ?” she asked of a woman whom she met in the hall, and whom she recognized as a neighbor. ‘ “ Dr. Nichols here ? Mrs. La. Rue must be worse. I am glad I came,” Reinette thought. as she went rapidly up the walk and entened unannounced. “ Very well, I will go there, too," Rei'nette said, and her carriage was soon drawn up up before the cottage Where the doctor’ 5 gig was standing. Depositing her letter in the office, and bowing to Mr. Beresford, who happened to be passing in the street, she drove next to her grandmother’s, but was told by the girl that Mrs. Ferguson had gone to 366 Mrs. La Rue more than an hour ago, and had not yet re- turned, though she did not intend to be gone any length of time. He had left Rome and was journeying on toward India, where she was to direct her letter. Telling Phil was just the same as keeping it to herself. she thought, for he was perfectly safe, and so she wrote a minute ac- count of the affair, and gave him all the gossip of the place, and told him how she missed him more and more every day, and could not get accustomed to living Without him, and how silly it was in him to fall in love with her and then go off, when but for this foolishness they might have been so happy together. In some things Reinette was easily influ- enced and persuaded, and though she did not altogether accept Christine’s explanation as the real and only one, she was just now too glad to find her to doubt or quesfioh much ; and as she drove again across .the causeway to the village shé felt lighter and happie'r because there was now some one who could tell her of her molher as Mrs. Hetherton. The lawyer bowed and looked searchingly at her to see if no other thought or suspi- cions had been suggested to her by her inter- view with Christine But if there had she gave no sign of it, and her face was very bright and cheerful as she said good bye and was driven home, where she sat directly down to write the neWS to Phil. “ To be sure, ” she thought, “ she is not just the kind of person I had fancied Chris- tine to be, but then she is Christine, and I must kill all my old prejudice for her, and love her for mother’s sake and Margery’s.” When Reinette left the cottage that morn- ing she drove straight to the office of Mr. Beresford, whom she found alone, and to whom she communicated' the result’ of her interview with Mrs. La Rue, telling him the reason given by the woman for her silence, and nroiessing to believe it. " It was very foolish in her, of course," she said ; “ for. if possible, I love Margery the better now that I know who her mother is, but there is no accountmg for the fancies of some people. Christine seems very much broken, and does not wish to be questioned as she would be by grandma and Aunt Mary, if they knew what we do, so we will keep our own counsel. I can trust you. Mr. Berea- ford.” It was three o‘clock by the time the long letter was finished, and as the rain by this time had ceased, and there was a. prospect of fair weather by sunsettine, Reinette deter~ mined to take the letter to the oflice herself and then call upon her grandmother, and possibly upon Mrs. La. Rue again. Christine’s pale face had haunted her all the afternoon, and, fearing that she might have been a little hard with her, she longed to see her again and assure her of her faith in and love for her. Margery knew the Eecret of Christine Bo- dine ! casement, but was unheard by the young girl, who, with a face like the faces of the dead and hands locked so tightly together that the blood came throagh the flesh where the nails were pressing, ant immovable, listening to the story told her by the woman whose eyes were closed as she talked, and whose words flowed on so rapidly, as if to utter them were a re: l‘ef and eased the terrible remorse which had gnejved {Lt herrherart so long: , Had she looked at the girl before her she might have paused, for there was something awful in the expression of Margery’s face as she listened, until the story was ended, when, with a cry like one in mortal pain, she threw up both her hands and fell heavily to the floor, while purple spots came out upon her face. and the white froth, flecked with blood, oozed from her livid lips. {To BE CONTINhEDJ CHAPTER XXXVI. MABGERY'S ILLNESS