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At the sound of her voice the same tremor which had run through Margery’s frame when Grandma Ferguson came in, returned, and this time with greatei intensity. There was a faint. moaning cry. which sounded like, “ Queenie, oh, Queenie I" and, stepping for- ward, the physician said : “ Speak-to'her again, Miss Hetherton. She Ieems to know you. and we must rouse her, or she will die." Thus importuned, Reinette knelt beside her friend. covering her face and hand with kings, winning t9 her, spftly: “ Daar Margery, do you know me? I am Queenieâ€"little Queenie. Speak to me Mar- gery, if you can, and tell me what is the mntggr? Whgt made you sick go guddeniy?" Dy Mu. "an J. Holmes, author of “Tempe“ Ind Sunlhino." “ Etholyn's Mistake.” " Fox-rust lam," etc. " No, no! oh, no I Go away! I can’t bear it 1 You hurt 7" Margery said. as‘she tried to disengage her hand from Reinette. And those were the only words she spoke for several days, during which she lay perfectly still, never moving hand or foot, but apparently conscious most of the time of what was pass- ing around her, and always seeming happier when Grandma Ferguson was with her, and agitated when Rainette came in, with her caresses and words of sympathy and love. It was a most singuiar'case', and greatly puzzled the physician, who said once to Rei- nette: “It seems like some mental shock more than a bodily ailment. Do you know if any- thing has happened to disturb her, which, added to over-fatigue, might produce this utter md Iudden_ proatration ?” Queenie hésitated a moment, and then re~ Mimi; ' ” She did hear something which surprised but greatly, but I should hardly think it suffi- cient to nfiect her so much." " Can it be possible that Margery takes her mother‘s silence so to heart. and does she fear that twill make any difference in my love for her 2 It cannot; it shall not ; andeill prove it {0‘ her. " Temperaments difler," the doctor replied, whilg Queepie thoqght yo hggself : After this Queenie took up her abode, for the time being, at the cottage, of which she was really the head. for Mrs. La Rue seemed to have lost her senses. and did nothing but sit by Margery and watch her with a pertine- city and earnestness which annoyed the sick girl, when she came to realize what was pass- ing around her. and made her try to escape the steady gaze of these strange eyes always watching her. “ Donjt look at me‘” she said one day. “ Mqvp back, please, whereIuannot see you: " Without a. word Mrs. La Rue moved back into the shadow. but did not leave the room except at intervals to eat and sleep, and thus the whole charge of the cottage fell upon Rein- ette, who developed a wonderful talent for housekeeping. and saw to everything. Much of her time, however. was passed with Mar- gery, on whom she lavished so much love that her caresses seemed at times to worry the sick girl, who would moan a. little and shrink swavjyom he}: For a. moment Margery did not answer, but. lay with her eyes shut; while the great tears rolled down her cheeks ; then, suddenly mi!- ing herself in bed. abethxew her arms around Reinette’s neck and sobbed out : “ What 15 it. Margie, darling ? Do I tire you ‘2" Reinette asked her, one day, when they were alone for a. few moments, and Margery hag seemed uneasy and reetlese. " 0h. Queenie, Queenie. you do not know, I cannot tell you, how much I love you, more than I ever did before. and yet I am so sorry; but you will love me always, whatever hap- penl._won’t you ?" " Why, yes, Margery. What can happen, Ind why shouldn’t I love you ?" Queenie naked as she held the beautiful golden head against her bosom, and kissed the quivering lips. “Margery,” she continued, “do you tee ‘ so badly because of your mother’s silence? She has explained it to me.and I am satisfied. Don’t let that trouble you any more. No others besides ourselves need know who she is. and thus all talk and comment will b .pqu-i’ “ I know, I know,” Margery replied, “but, Queenie. you told me vou believed there was something elseâ€"some other reason, and you meant to write to France ; do you mean it still: Wi_ll you try to find it out ?” “ Yes, I 'think' so,” Queenie answered. “just for my own curiosity. I shall make no bad ass of it. I shall not harm_you.’i " No, no ; you must not seek to know," Huger-y exclaimed. with energy. “There was something. Queenie. I have wrung ii from her. She ofl'ended your father, who for- bade her coming near him or you. She did right to keep silent. She ought not to have spoken. And, Queenie. if you love me, pro- mise me you will never try t 0 find it outâ€" never write to any one in France. Promise, or I shall certainly go mad." She had disengigved herself Item Queenie’s embrace, but was sitting upright in bed, with a look upon her face like one who was really losing her senses. It startled Roulette, who gnaweged unpeslyatingly : “ I promise. 1 W111 not'vérite to any one in France. but maybe you will tell me some fine; Will you Margery ?" “ Thank God for that,” Queenie exclaimed, joyfully, while her tears fell in torrents. "0h, Margery, you don’t know what a load you have taken from me - a load I did not mean any one should ever suspect, becauseâ€"because â€"Margery, I don’t mind telling you-I’ve he some dreadful thoughts about papa and Christineâ€"thoughts which dishonored him in his grave and insulted you through your mother, but now they are all gone. Forgive me. Margery, do," she continued, as she saw a strange look leap into her friend’s eyes, a look which she construed into one of resent- ment toward her for having harbored a suspi- cion of her mother, but which arose from a widely difierent reason, and was born of bitter shame and a great pity for herself. " Neverâ€"hover, 36 hélp me Heaven I” was the emphatic reply, as Margery fell back nmjng her pillows: wholly exhaygtegi.‘ For a. moment Reinette stood looking curi- ously at her; then seating herself upon the Iida of the bed. and taking Margery’ 9 hand. the said: " You make me half repent my promine, made without stopping to consider, for my curiosity is very great. But I shall keep it, do not fear; only tell me this- was it any thing very dreadful which your mother did to make my father angry 2" “ Don’t, Margie. don’t,” she said ; “ it dis- tressea me to see you so disturbed. It father I!» not to blame I do not care for the restâ€" do not mind it in the least, but I could not bear disgrace through him whom I have loved md honored so much.” “ You shall never have it to beer, darling; never, never,” Margery exclaimed, end Reinette little dreamed how much the girl was thrusting from her, or how terrible the temptation which for one brief instant almost overcame her. But she put it down, and in her heart ngilterod 5 far more solemn vow than her lip I had uttered that never, through my in- lirmontality of hen, should Queenie know “ Yes," Margery rephed; “ it was very dreadfulâ€"it would make you hate her and me, too, i! you knew. Don’t, Queenie-don’t talk to me or any one about it. Don’t men- tienjt agaip. ever.” “ But'tell me one thing more,” Queenie persisted; “ I have a right to know. Was my father at all to blame? Was be involved in it 7" She held her breath for the answer, and looked earnestly at Margery, whose eyes grew larger and brighter, and whose face wan scan let us she answered at last: “ At first he was in the wrong, some would fly. while other: would wink at it, but for the last, the part where I blame mother most, he we- not to blame.” “ I’ve nothing to forgive, at least 1:) you,” Margery said, as she covered Queenie‘s hands with kisses and tears, which fell so fast and I0 long that Queenie became alarmed. and tried to comfort and quiet her. QUEENIE HETHERTON. what she knew and what had afleoted her so power-lolly, taking away all her strength and seemingly all her vitality so that she did not. rally or take the slightest interest in any- thing about her. Every day Grandma Fer- guson came to the cottage to inquire after her and ascertain the probabilities of her being able to make the brown silk in time for the grand wedding which was to come of! soon. and was the theme of so much gossip. At last. finding there was no prospect that Miss La Rue could make it, she took it to West Merrivale, but before doing so ques- tioned Margery closely as to how it should be made and trimmed. She had the utmost con. fidence in Margery’staste. and weak and list- less as she was, Margery entered heart and soul into the details at trimming, and told the old lady just what to have done and how, and when Beinette protested against it, saying it tired and worried her so much. she replied: “It neither tires not worries me. I like to tell herâ€"like to please herâ€"like to have her herein the room with me. I wmh her to come every gay." So every day grandma came with her knit‘ ting work and some little delicacy for the sick girl, who would smile so sweetly upon her. and sometimes draw the old face down beside own and kiss it lovingly. At last the physician said Margery must have I change or she would not rally, and then Reinette insisted upon taking her to Hetherton Place, which would be change enough. “She will be so quiet there, with nothing to excite her, and I shall take care of her all alone. You, I suppose, will have to stay here and see to the cottage," she said to Mrs. La Rue, who assented in silence, for she knew that her presence was a constant source at pain and excitement to Margery, who un- doubtedly would improve more rapidly away from her. But she doubted it Hetherton Place were the spot to take her, and Margery doubted, too, and shrank from going there with a per- tinacity which almost oflended Queenie, who, nevertheless, carried her point, and bore her 011 in triumph, leaving Mrs. La Rue alone in the cottage to combat her remorse and misery as best she could. Everything which love could devise or money do was done to make Margery happy at Betherton Place. The sit- tingqoom and sleeping-room across the hall irom Reinette’s, which Were to have been Mr. Hetherton's, were given to her, and all the rarest. costliest flowers in the greenhouse were brought to beautify them, and make them bright and summery. And there the itwo girls took their meals, and sat and talked or rather Queenie talked, while Margery lis- tened, with her hands folded listlessly to- gether, and her eyes oftentimes shut, while around her month there was a firm, set ex- pression, as if she were constantly fighting something back, rather than listening to Beinette, who chatted gayly on, now telling how delightful it seemed to have Margery there, and how she wished she could keep her \always. “ You ought to have just such-a. home as this. It sifits you, or rather you suit it, better than the cottage where it is work. work all the time, for people who are some of them snifly enough to think you beneath them be- cause you earn your own living.” she said, one afternoon when they set in the gathering darkness, with no light in the room, save that which came from the fire in the grate. “Yes," Reinette continued. “ I do believe you would make a. fitter mistress of Hethertun Place than I do. You are always so quiet, and dig- nified, end lady-like. while I am hot and im- pulsive. more a child of the people. and do and say things which shook my high-bred cousins, Etheland Grace.” _ Margery did not reply. but her fingers worked nervously, and she was glad her com- panion could not see the pallor which by the faint. sick feeling at her heart, she knew was spreading over her face. Just then lights were brought in by Pierre. and in a moment the supper which the girls took together at that hour appeared, and was arranged upon a. little round table, which was drawn near to the fire and Margery’s easy-chair. How cheery and pleasant the tea-table looked, with its Inowy linen, its decorated china, and the silver urn from which Beinette pourggi the tea. ‘ . . . A -. r "1 VTiirsiiVs 50 nice,” she Slid, “ and carries me back to Chateau des Fleurs, when we were little girls, and used to play at make-believe. Do y_ou rememger it, Mgrgie 21’ _ “Yes, yes; I remembe}; I have forgotten nothing connected with you.” Margery xe- pliedA, and_ Rgipptte want or; : ., “ I made believe so much that you were I, and I was you, that I used actually at times to feel as if it were real, and that my rightful home was up in Number Forty, in the Rue St. Houore. And once I dreamed that I was actually there. alone with the cat, and had to sweep the floor and wash the dishes as you used to do. There had been ample time for Margery to see her mother and demand an expnlanation And that In explmstion had bee made. different from the one given to Reinette he did not doubt; and with his suspicion: Itrengthnned, he wan union to no the six] “ And how did you like it ?” Margery asked, while something arose in her throat, and seemed to be choking her, or rather to be forcing out words which she would sooner die than speak to that young creature whose face was all aglow with happiness because she was there. and in whose eyes there was that strange light which so dazzled and bewildered those on whom it fell. That evening Mr. Bereaford called, and. sending his card to both the young ladies, was admitted to Margery’s sitting-room. He had not seen her before since her illness. though he had sent to inquire for her several times, and had heard various reports with regard to the cause of her sudden attack. He had heard that she had dropped to the floor in a fit, and had been takenp up for dead, amlhat over- work and loss of sleep was the cause assigned. But, shrewd and far-seeing as he was, Mr. Beresford did not believe in the overwork and loss of sleep. As nearly as he could calcu- late, the fainting fit had come on about two hours after Beinette’l interview with Mrs. La Rue. “ How did I like it ?" Queenie repeated. and the color deepened a little on her cheek. “ To tell you the truth, Margie, I did not like it all. I rebelled against it with all my might. I thoughtI was wearing the apron which you were the first time I ever saw you -â€"that coarse linen which covered your neck and arms, and I dreamed I wrenched it 011' and tore it into shreds, and was going to throw myself out of the window. when my maid woke me up and asked what was the matter that I cried out so in my sleep. I told her I was Margery La Rue, living in the Rue St. Honors, and wearing coarse clothes, and she could not pacify me till she brougnt my prettiest dress, and showed it to me, with my turquois ring, papa’s last present to me. That made it realâ€"made me Reinette Hether- ton again, and I grew calm and quiet. It was very foolish in me. was it not I" Margery did not answer at once, but sat looking at her friend with a. queer expression in her great blue eyes, while the lump in her throat kept increasing in sizenmd threatened to thrust out the fatal words which she must not speak. ’ Turquois rings and pink silk dresses trimmed with real Valeneiennes were far better suited to the proud, dashing Queenie than coarse aprons and coarse fare in the Rue St. Honore. These last were for herâ€"for Margery, who was accustomed to them and could bear it. while the high-spirited Beinette would indeed dash herself to the g,round as she had thong ht to do m her dream, it sub- jected to such degradation. “ What is it. Margéry 7" you too warm Le‘m yogand the fire." _ The screen was brought, and, wiping the drops of sweat away. Margery rallied and tried to seem cheerful and natural, though all the time there was a terrible pain tugging at her heart as the words “ it might have been" kept repeating themselv_ee over u._nd over again. “ No. no, I must never. never speak! God help me to keep my vow!" Margery said to herself, while the drops of perspiration stood thickly on her forehead and about her mouth, and etulaet attracted Queenie‘g notice. she said. “ Are 1 screen between and watch her with his Jew knowledge, wh_igh he f9}: qlmpat cqrtaiq ghe pogpesseq. The mother had confessed her guilt to her daughter, and how would the daughter bearit and what would be her attitude toward Rein- otte, and what would the letter} say or do if she knew what be suspected. and what he fully believed, after he had been a few mom- ents in the room and detected the new ex- pression on Margery’s face ; the new light and ineflable tenderness in her eyes when they rested on Queenie. And yet there was something in those eyes and in Margery’s manner which baffled the keen-witted lawyer, who, accustomed to study the human face and learn what he wished to know by its varying expression, looked closely but in vain for what he had expected to find. There was nothing about Margery indies.- tive of humiliation or shame. On the con- trary it seemed to him that there was in her manner a certain reassurance and dignity he had never noticed before, and he studied her curiously and wondered if after all he was mistaken and the insinuations, amounting almost to assertions of the clerk in Mentone. false. Bow inexpressibly sweet and lovely Margery was with just enough of the invalid about her to make her interesting, and Mr. Beresford found it difficult to decide which of the two girls pleased and fascinated him most, the Pearl or the Diamond. Both seemed to be at their best that night, and from both he caught a new inspiration for the picture, which was progressing slowly, for he was so anxious about it and so particu- lar withsl that he frequently painted out one day what he had painted in the previous one. He had not intended letting either of the girls know what he was doing until the pic- ture was finished. but under the spell of their beauty he grew communicative, and telling them his secret asked them to come some day and see his work. and give him any sugges- tions they saw_fit._ “I do not think I quite understand the ar- rangement of a. French kitchen, but I do not need any help with regard to the two little girls. I know just how they looked," he said, and Reinette, who was all enthusiasm about the picture, exclaimed : “Indeed, sir. you do not. You cannot know how beautiful Margery was even in that high, coarse apron which covered her neck and arms. No picture you or any one else can ever paint will be as lovely as she was, with her golden hair and great blue eyes; which were just wonderful when we changed dresses, and I put my scarlet cloak on her and said she was Mr. Hetherton‘s little daughter, and I was Reinecte La Rue." Mr. Bereslord was not looking at Reinette as she talked. but at Margery, whose ace grew very white and was even ghastly in its expression when Beinette spoke of the change of dress and name on the day they both play- ed “make believe.” About her mouth, too, there was a nervous, twitching motion of the muscles, and her hands were clasped tightly together. Evidently she was trying to sup- press some strong emotion, though when Reinette noticed her pallor and agitation. and asked what was the matter, she replied that she was tired and the room was very warm. But she did not deceive Mr. Beresford,who felt certain now that his suspicions were cor- rect, and pitied intensely the girl on whose innocent head it might truly be said, the sins of her fathers were being visited. He did not remain long after this, but said good- night to the two young ladies. telling Rein: ette he was going to write the next day to Phil, who must be in India by this time ; and saying to Margery, that as .she lived in town, and near to his studio. as he playfully called it, he should expect her to run in often and watch the progress of_ his picture. For two weeks longer Margery remained at Hetherton Place ; but though everything was done for her comfort that love could devise, she did not seem happy, neither did her strength come back to her, as Queenie had hoped it would. It was very rarely that she ever laughed. even at Queenie’s liveliest sal~ lies, and there was upon her white face a look of inexpressible sadness. as if there were a heavy pain in her heart. of which she could not speak. To Reinette she was all sweet- ness and love. and her eyes would follow the gay young girl, as she flitted about the house, with an expression in them which it was hard to fathom orexplain, it was so full of tenderness, and pity. too. if it were possible to connect that word with a creature as bright and merry-hearted as Queenie Hetherton was then. Toward Mrs. La. Rue who came oc- casionally to see her, her manner was con- strained, though always kind and considerate. But something had come between the mother and her daughterâ€"something which even Queenie noticed and commented on to Mar- with her usual frankness. “ Your mother acts as if she were afraid of you.” she said to Margery one day, after Mrs. La Rue had been and gone. ” She actually seemed to start every time you spoke to her. and she watched you as I have seen some naughty child watch its mother to see if it was forgiven and taken again into favor. I hope. Margery, you are not too hard upon her because of that concealment from me. I have forgiven that. and nearly forgotten it, and surely her own daughter ought to be more lenient than a. stranger." too: 2mm. Nothing had been hand from him by any monks of his funny an» In Mt Rom uni “ Thank you, Queenie," she said when she could speakâ€"~“ thank you so much. I must have been hard toward mother if even you noticed it; but it shall be so no longer. Poor mother 1 I think she is not altogether right in her mind." Reinette was plemfing for Mrs. La Rue, and as she went on, Margery burst into a. passion- ate fl: of weeping: And she spoke truly; for there have been few like Margery La. Rue, who. knowing what she knew, could. for the love of one little derbeyed girl, keep silence, and, resolutely turning her back upon all the luxury and ease of Hetherton Place, return to her far less pretentious home and take up the burden of life againâ€"take up the piles ofl work await- ing her, for her patrons knew her worth, and would go nowhere else as long as there was a. prospect of her ultimate recovery. Even ‘Anne. Ferguson, with all her sire and pretenses, and talk 0! city dressmakers, hsd kept her work for Margery, and, it was rumored, had even postponed her wedding that her bridal dress might be made by the akilful fingers of the French girl, who at last fixed the day for her return to her own home. Reinette would min have kept her longer, but Margery was firm in her determination. It was dangerous to stay too long amid the luxury and elegance of Hetherton Place. She might not be able to hear what she had sworn to herself she would hear, and so‘ she said, “ I must go to-morrow at the very latest.” But with the marrow there came to‘Reinette news so appalling and terrible that Margery’s plan was changed. and where she had been cared for and comforted in her sickness and sorrow. she staid to comfort and care for her stricken friend. The next, time Mrs. La Rue came to Hether- ton Place she had no cause to complain of her receptlon, for Margery‘a manner toward her was that. of a dutiful and affectionate child, and when Mrs. La Rue asked : “ Are you never coming home to me again, Margie ?” she answered her: " "Yes; tomorrow, or next day sure. I have left you too long already. I know you must be lonely without m_e." " Ami are you going to stayâ€"alwaysâ€"just the same 7" was Mrs. La Rae‘s next question, to which Margery_replied_: They were alone in Mergery’s room when this conversation took place, and when Mer- gery said what she did, Mrs. La Rue sunk down on the floor at her feet. and clasping her knees. cried, piteously: " 0h, Margie, Margie I my child, my child 1 God will bless you sure for what you are doing. Oh, Margie. if I could undo it all, I would suffer torture for years and years. My noble Margie, there are few in the world like you.” " Yes; am; with fan always just :ho same ang‘try to make yot; hggpy." _ CHAPTER XXXVII. started for India. with a friend whose ec- quaintance he had made on the voyage from New York to Havre, and who, Phil wrote in his letter to his mother, had persuaded him to deviate a little from his first intention to make his way directly to Calcutta. and to go, instead, for a week or more to Madras, where his friend’s father was living. This was the last news which had been received from the young man, and, with her aunt and cousins. Reinette was growing very impatient, and either sent or went herself to the ofice after the arrival of every mail which, by any chance, could bring her tidings of Phil. To Margery, during her stay at Hetherton Place, she had talked very freely and confidentially of what had sent him away, and had more than once lamented the fate which had made him her cousin, and so. in her estimation, precluded the possibility of her marrying him. even if she were disposed to do so. “ And sometimes I think I am," she said, one day. when speaking of him. “ I don’t mind telling you, Margery. because I tell you everything. Since Phil went away, and I have missed him so much, there has come to me the belief that I do lOVe him in the way he wished me to, and that if he were not my cousin I would write fie him at once, and say, ‘You silly boy, come home. and I will be your wife.’ " “ Yes,” Margery replied, regarding her at- tentively, with her blue eyes unusually large, and bright. and eager, “ you really think you love him well enough to marry him, it he were not. your cousin ?" “ I know I do," Reinette replied. " You see there is a. thought of him always with me ; morning, noon and night. I seem to hear his voice, and see him as he stood before me that day pleading for my love, and finally re- proachiug me for having so cruelly deceived him, if I did not love him. 0h, Phil. Phil, â€"he little knows how my heart has ached for him, and how dreary my life goes on without him.” There were tears in Queenie’s eyes as she said this, and in her voice there was a ring of utterable tenderness and earnestness as if she would fein have the wanderer hear her cry and hasten back to her. For a moment Margery looked at her with that same curious expression on her face, which was very pale, and then she said : “ Do you think you love him so much that you would give a great deal, or rather bear a great deal to know you were not his cousin, after all 7 ” It was a strange questionâ€"put, it would seem, without any cause, but Reinette’s mind was too intent upon Phil' to give any thought to its stgangeness. “ As I feel sometimes," she answered, “ I’d give everything not to be his cousin so I could be his wifeâ€"endure everything but dil- grace or shame for Philip’s eake.” He had always been courteous and polite, but since she came to Hetherton Place, where he had called frequently, there had been a change, and with a woman’s quick instinct she saw that she was an object of greater in- terest for him than she had formerly beenâ€" that his visits there were almost as much for her as for Queenie, the heiress, the young lady of the house, who teased and coquetted with him, and then, when he was gone, laugh- ed at him as a spooney to be coming there so often with any thought that she could ever care for him after knowing Phil. And Mar- gery kept silent and hid her own thoughts in her breast, and when evening came and Mr. Beresford with it, felt herself grow hot and cold alternately. and her heart - throb with a new and pleasureable sensation as she met so constantly the gaze of eyes in which there was certainly intense interest, if not ad- miration for her, the poor dressmaker. the child of an obscure Frenchwoman. without money or position save as Queenie’s friend- ship and attention gave her something of the latter in Merrivale. ” Yes, yes; disgrace or shame" Margery said to herself. and her heart was as heavy as lead and ached with a new pain as she thought. “ God help me to keep the vow ; disgrace and shame are not for her ; she could not hear them. as I could for the man I loved ; ” and then suddenly there flashed into Margery’s mind a thought of Mr. Berea- ford, whose manner had been so difl'erent toward her of late from what it was {ormerly “If he only knew ; oh, if he only knew, then perhaps it might be!" was the bitter cry in Margery’s heart, for she knew by this time that she could love the proud, grave man, whose manner toward her was more than kindâ€"more than friendlyâ€"for even-to her it seemed to have in it something like pity and regret for the 2qu there was between themâ€" !) gulf she felt sure he could never pass. edu- cated as he had been in all the social distinc- tions of rank and position. It was hard to know what she knew and make no sign ; but she had sworn. and she swore it again in the silence and darkness of her chamber. the night after her decision to return home the following morning. She had been at Hetherton Place nearly three weeks, and had grown so accustomed to the ease, and luxury, and elegance about her that the life seemed to belong to herâ€"seemed like something she could adopt so easilyâ€"- seemed far more to her taste than the hard- work at the cottageâ€"the stitch, stitch. stitch, from morning till night for people,the major- ity of whom looked down upon her even while they acknowledged her great superiority to the persons of her class. Queenie always bewildered, andintoxieated, and bewitched him, and made him feel very small, and as if in some way he had made himself ridiculous, and she was laughing at him with her wonderful eyes, while Margery; on the contrary, soothed, and quieted. and rested him, and. by her gentle deference of manner, and evident respect for whatever he said, flattered his self-love, and put him in good humor with himself. and during his ride home that night he found himself thinking more of her refined, sweet face, and of the blue eyes which had looked so shyly into his, than of Reinette’s sparkling, brilliant beauty, which seemed to grow more brilliant anyd sparkling every day. _ He had said to Margery that he was glad she was to return on the morrow, and that he hoped she would take enough interest in his picture to come pnd see it often, and criticise it, too. And as he talked to her he kept in his the hand which he had taken when he arose to say good-night, and which was very cold, and trembled perceptibly as it lay in his broad, warm palm. Was it Mar- gery’s fancy, or was there a. slight pressure of her fingers, as he released them â€"a. touch dif- ferent from that of a mere acquaintance, and which sent through her frame the first thrill of 3, certain kind she had ever experienced. _ Mr. Beresford had spent the evening with them, and, at Queenie’s earnest solicitation, Margery had played and sung for him, while he listened amazed as the clear tones of her rich, musical voice floated through the rooms, and her white hands fingered the keys as deftly and skillfully as Queenie‘ a could have done. That Margery could both sing and play was a. revelation to Mr. Beresford, who stood by her side, rand turned the leaves for h_er. “ Yeti have given me a. great pleasure,” he said, when she at last left the piano and resumed her seat by the fire. “ This is a. surprise to me. I am astonished thatâ€"â€" that " He did not finish the sentence, but stop- ped awkwardly, while Margery, who under. stood his meaning perfectly, finished it {or him. “ You are astonished," she said,laughingly, “ that one of my class should have any ae- complishments save those of the needle, and it is surprising. But I owe it all to Queenie. You remember I told you it was through her influence with her father that I was sent to one of the best schools in Paris. I think I have naturally a taste for music, and so made greater proficiency in that than in anything else. If I have pleased you with my playing I am glad but you must thank Queenie for it. ” “ Yes," Mr. Beresford answered thought- fullyI looking curiously at each of the young girls as they stood side by side. and trying to decide which was the more attractive of the two. She was not mistaken. and to} hem Ibo Next morning Margery was later than usual, for she lingered long over her toilet, taking, as it were. a regrettul leave of all the articles of luxury with which her room was filled. The white cashmere dressing gown, with the pink satin lining, which Queenie had made her use, and the dainty slippers which matched them, were laid away for the last time. She should never more wear such gar- ments as these. for she should not again be a guest at Hetherton Place. She could not. with that awful secret haunting ha- continu- ally. and shrieking in her ears, “ Tell it, tell it. and not go back to that drudgery, and drearinoss, and the life which must always be distasteful andhateful to ycunow.” lay awake. felling again the clasp of Mr. Ber- eaford’a hand and seeing the look in his eyes when they rested gpon her. “If he knew! Oh. if he knew!" was the smothered cry in her heart, as she bravely fought back the temptation assailing her so sorely. and then vowed more solemnly than ever- before that through her he should never know what might bring him nearer to her if there was that in his heart which she aus- peeled. She dared not put herself in the way of so much temptation. She must stay in her place and only come here when she could not help herself for Queenie’e importunities. She had enjoyed it so much, and had tried to imagine what it would be to live in ease and comfort like this all the timeâ€"to have no cure for tomorrow’s rent, or tomorrow“: bills â€"â€"to see no tiresomeeusiomer coming in with her never ending talk of dress, and the last fashion, anti the thread and sewing-silk. and pieces which ought to have been sent home and were notâ€"the assertion that so much material never could have been put into one dressâ€"that there must be some mistakeâ€" muet be yards lying around somewhere, and 1the look which made her feel that she was tauepected of being a thief, who kept her cus- {tomer’s goods for uses of heerwn. All these indignities she had experienced at times, but laughed at them as something which belonged to her trade, which she had professed to like so much, and which she did like, for there was a. deftness and nimbleness in her fingers which could only find vent in such occupations. 0 But after a three weeks' experience of a1 life so different ; after knowing what it was‘ to have every wish anticipated and gratified, there came over her for a moment a sense of loathing for her work, a horrid feeling of lone- liness and homesickness, as she remembered the cottage she had thought so pretty and which she knew was so much prettier and pleasanter than any home she had ever known. But it was not like Hetherton 'Place, and for a moment Margery’s weaker nature held her in bondage. and her tears fell like rain as she went from one thing to another. softly whispering her farewell. The sitting- room which had been given her. and which communicated with her bedroom, had been Mrs. Hetherton’s in the days whenthat proud lady queened it over Merrivale. and on the walls were portraits of herself and husband, the stern old man who had turned Grandma Ferguson from his door when she came to tell him of his son's marriage with her daughter and to profier her friendship on the strength of the new relationship. ‘These pictures had a great attraction for Margery, who was never tired of studying them and for whom there was a wonderful fascination about the lady, with her finely out features so indicative of blood and birth, and her quaint. old-fashioned velvet dress, with its low neck, its short waist. and wide belt, and the beautiful hands and arms, with ‘the rich lace and Jewels upon them. Reinette, on the contrary, professed the at- most indifference to the portraits, except as they gave her some idea how her father’s pa- rents looked. “ I think Mrs. Hetherton just as trumpy and fussy as she osnbs, with those pufls piled so high on her head, and that little short waist,” she said, once, when, with Margery. she was looking at them. “ And there is such a. proud look on her face, as if she would have turned Grandma Ferguson out of doors twice when grandpa did at once. and yet I have a pride in all that rich lace she wears, and the diamonds on her neck and in her ears, and am glad to know she was my grandmother, and highly born, as she shows upon the can- vas.” “You are a genuine aristocrat, Queenie,” Margery had said, with a faint smile. and then she asked if there was any resemblance between Queenie’ s father and the portraite “ My parents are American by birth, but I was born in India, in Madras, where my father has lived for many yam. and when we hum - hand-om. homo. Seeing in your “ Yes,” Queenie replied, “he was like both his parents, but most like his mother; he had her nose, and forehead, but his eyes were like his father’s. “ Would you approve of what I am doing, if you knew ? Yes. I am sure you would, if you knew Queenie as I know her, and yet I’d like to kiss you once for the sakeâ€"of your dead son," she continued, and standing upon a footstool, she pressed her lips to the fair, proud face, which did not seem to soften one whit in its expression, in token that the crest sacrifice the young girl was making was apprehended or approved. “ Good-bye to to you, and you, too." Margery said nodding to the picture of Mrs. Hetherton, and then taking her hand satchel, shawl, and hat. she left the room, not expecting to return to it again, for she was to start with Queenie for the village immediately after breakfast. After this Margery gave more attention to the portrait of Mrs. Hetherton. and on the morning when she was preparing to leave she stood along time before it, saying once. very softly, as if the painted canvas were a living thing 2 The carriage was waiting for them now, she knew, for she heard it when it came to the door, and she had heard, too, the sound of horses’ feet coming rapidly into the yard, and looking from her window, had seen David, Mr. Rossiter’ a man. dismounting from his steed, which had evidently been ridden very hard. It did not occur to her to wonder why David has there so early. _ “ MR. AND Mas. Bowmanâ€"Respected Friends :â€"I do not think I am an entire stranger to you, for I am very sure your son Philip wrote of me to you in some of his letters. We were together in the same ship, occupied the same state-room. and, as we were of the same age, and had many tastes and ideas in common, we soon became fast friends. I have never met a person whom I liked so much upon a short acquaintance as I did Philip Rossiter. He was so genial, so winning, so kind, so unselfish. and let me say. with no detriment to him as a man, so like a gentle, tender woman in his manner toward every one, that not to like him was impos- sible. He was a general favorite on ship. board, but he attached himself mostly to me, whom he was good enough to like, and we passed many hours in quiet conversations which I shall never forget. “ Some message from the young ladies for Beinette, most likely,” she thought, and a few moments after started for the dining room, which she at first imagined to be empty. for she saw no one, and heard nothing. But as she advanced farther into the room she saw Reinette standing near the conservatory with an open letter clutched in: both hands, her head thrown back, disclosing a face which seemed frozen with horror, and her whole atti- tude that of one suddenly smitten with cute.- lepsy. At the sound of footsteps, however, she moved a little, and when Margery went swiftly to her. asking what was the matter, she held the letter toward her. and whispered faintly : “ Read it." Very rapidly Margery ran her eyes over the letter, feeling the blood curdling in her own veins as she read what it contained. and when she had finished, saying _: _ THE LETTER. It was written at Madras, and was from William Maker, 2. young man who had been Phil’s compagnon de voyage from New York to India, and it was as follows: “ Alan! alas I ' po'or I’hil l" UHAPTEB XXXVII son a true artist‘s love and appreciation for everything beautiful, both in nature and art, I was anxious for him to see my home.which, with no desire to boast, I may say is one of the most beautiful places in Madras. I told him about it and begged him to accompany me thither before going on to Calcutta. and he at last consented. I was the more anxious for this as he did not seem quite well; in- deed, he was far from well. although his dis- ease, if he had any, seemed to be more men- tal than physical. Frequently during the voyage fromlNew York to Havre, he WOUlu go away by himself and sit for hours looking out upon the sea, with a look of deep sadness on his face. as if brooding over some hidden grief. and once in his sleep. when he was more than usually restless, he spoke the name Queenieâ€"‘little Queenie,’ he called her. and he said he had lost her. but in his waking hours he never mentioned her. I think, however. that he wrote to her; from my father’s house the same time he wrote to you. Probably you have received his letter are this. 3 He was delighted with my home. and during ‘the few days he was with us improved both in health and spirits. He was very fond of the water. and as I have a pretty sailing-boat , and a trusty man to manage it. we spent many hours upon the bay. going out one ‘ morning fifteen or twenty miles along the coast to aspot where my father has some‘ gardens and a little villa. Here we spent the day..and it was after sunset when we started to return, full of anticipated pleasure in the long sail upon the waters. which at first were so calm and quiet. Gradually there came a change. and a dark cloud which, when we started, we had observed in the west, but thought nothing of, increased in size and blackness and spread itself over the whole heavens. while fearful gusts of wind, which seemed to blow from every quarter. tossed and rocked our boat as it had been a feather. I think now that Jack, our man, must have drunk a little too much at the villa. for he seemed very nervous and uncertain, and as the storm of wind increased. and in spite of our efforts carried us swiftly out to sea, in- stead of toward the coast. which we trieu to gain. he lost his self-possession entirely ; and when there came a gust of wind stronger than 'any previous one. he gave a loud cry and a sudden spring, and we were struggling in the angry water with the boat bottom side up be- side us. - “ Involuntarily I seized your son’s arm and with my other managed to get a hold upon the boat, which Mr. Rossiter and Jack also grasped, and there in the darknese of that awful night, we clung {or hours, con- stantly drifting further and further away from the shore, for the gale was blowing from the land. and we had no power to stem it. Far in the distance we saw the lights of ves- sels struggling with the tempest, but we had no means of attracting the attention of the crew, and our condition seemed hopeless. unless we could hold on until morning. when we might be recovered and picked up by some ship. For myself, I fear that I could endure it. andJack, too, but I feared for my friend. He was breathing very heavily, and I knew his strength and courage were failing him, besides his position was not as easy as mine, as he had a smoother surface to cling to. m” IIIâ€"3,3111}; één nearer to me;’ I Vsaid ‘I can support you with one hand Subpose you trv it ' “ He did try, and made a. desperate effort to reach me whileIheld my hand toward him, and themâ€"oh, how can I tell you the restâ€"there came a great wave and washed him away. “ I heard a wild cry of agony above the howling storm, and by the lightning’s gleam I caugot one glimpse of his white face as it went down forever to its watery grave. Of what followed, I am scarcely conscious, and I wonder how I was enabled to keep my hold with Jack upon the boat until the storm sub- sided, and the early dawn broke over the still angry waves. when we were rescued from our perilous Situation by a small craft going on to Madras. I cannot express to you my grief. or tell you my great sorrow. May God pity you and held you to hear your loss. If there is a Queenie in whom your son was interested, and you know her. tell her that I am certain that. whether waking or sleeping. she was'always in the mind of my dear friend, and that a thought of her was undoubtedly with him when he sank to rise no more. Indeed. 1 am sure of it, for his last cry which I heard distinctly was for her, and Queenie was the word he uttered just before death froze the name upon his lips. You can tell her this, or not, as you see fit. “ Again assuring'you’of my heartfelt sym- pathy, I am, yours, most respectfully. “ WILLIAM J. Muses. And this was the letter the Rossiters had received and read, and wept overâ€"the mother going from one fainting fit into another, and refusing to be comforted, because her son Philip was not. And then they sent it to Queenie, who read it with such bitter anguish as few have ever known, for in her heart she felt she was guilty of his death. But for her he would never have gone to that far ofi land She, with her cruel words and taunts. had sent him to his death. She was his .murâ€" deress. She whispered the word murderess to herself. and felt as if turning into stone as she finished the letter and stood clutching it so tightly, with no power to move or even to cry out. It was like that dreadful phase of nightmare when the senses are alive to what is passing around one, but the strength to stir is gone. There was a choking sensation in her throat. as if her heart had leaped sudden- ly into her mouth, and if she could she would have tom the collar from her neck in order to breathe more freely. The epizeotio is gradually disappearing in London and vicinity. " Speaking of absence of mind," said the Rev. Sidney Smith. “ the oddest instance happened to me once in forgetting my name. I knocked at a door in London, and asked if Mrs. â€"â€"»- was at home. ‘ Yes, sir ; pray what name shall I say ? ' I looked in the man’s face astonished. What name ? Aye. that is the questionâ€"what is my name ? I believe that the man thought me mad, but it is true that during the space of two or three minutes I had no more idea of who I was than if I had never existed. I did not know whether I was a dissenter or a layman, I felt as dull as Sternhold or Jenkins. At last, to my relief, it flashed across my mind that I was Sidney Smith. I heard also of a clergy- man. who went jogging along, on a road until he came to a turnpike. ‘ What is to pay ? ’ he asked. ‘ Pay, sir ? for what ? ’ asked the turnpike man. 'Why, for my horse, to be sure.’ ‘ Your horse, sir fwhat horse 7 There is no horse.sir I ’ ‘No horse ? God bless me I said he, suddenly looking down between his legs, ‘ I thought I was on horseback.’ " When Margery came in she rallied sufiicienly to pass the letter to her, and that broke the spell and sent her free from bands which had bound her so firmly. At first no words of comfort came to Margery’e lips. She could only put her arms around her friend, and, leading her to her room, make her lie down, while she stood over her and rubbed her ice- cold hands and bathed her face, which though white as marble, was hot to the touch. like feces burning with fever. When Queenie heard he was below asking for her she started from her pillow. Where she had been perfectly motionless for hours. and shedding her black hair back from her pallid face. said to Margery : “ Yea, I will see him. I must see him. I must these horrible feelings on some one or I shall go crazy! Show him up at once.” [To BE CONTINUEDJ " You wonv't go 2 You will not leave me ‘2" she said to Margery, yho reglied : “ Of course i {hall not ~leave you. You staid with me. and Irmugt stay wgth you. >" Later in the day Mr. Beresford, who had heard the dreadful pews, came to Hetherton Place, bringing the letter which poor Phil had written to Queenie from Madras, and which together with one for his mother, had come in the same mail which brought the news of his death. AB£§NCE OF MIND. WA“ J0/IN 0F ARC Bl’lfih’l‘ m'l‘ 'l‘l-Ilfi BI‘AKII. ' The Mayor of Compeigne is quite a genius in his way. He knew that the prevailing notion was to secularize everything, and con- sequently he invented a. Republican manifesâ€" tation in honor of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans. who defended Compeigne against the English and Burgundians in 1430, and was betrayed into the hands of John of Lux embourg, who surrendered her to the Eng- jlit-shinen, who burnt her at the stake in the market-place of Rollen. The ruins of the Maiden‘s Tower show where the Pieardy archer pulled the unfortunate Joan from her war-horse. and when those who are fond of going back to the history of other days think of the legend, and then of that horrible statue ”of the Maid of Orleans at the end of the Rue des Pyramides in Paris, they must deplore the fact that the man of Picerdy left no descendant who would volunteer to come forward and unhorse the figure which sur' mounts the pedestal M. Charles Mouselet has thrown some doubt on the legend of J can of Arc having been burnt by the English. He quotee a paragraph from the Merci": of1683,announc- ing that certain documents recently discover- ed led to the conclusion that Joan of Arc had been married, and that consequently, some unfortunate victim must have been sacrificed in her place at Ronen. The documents con- sisted of an attestation made by Father Vig- nier, who said, "Five years after the judg- ment of Joan of Are, on the 20th day of May, Joan. the Maid. visited Metz. 0n the same day her brothers called to see her. They thought she had been burnt, but when they saw her they recognized her at once. They took her with them to Boquelan. Whereon a. yeoman named Nicolle gave her a horse, and two other persons contributed a sword and a plumed hat, and the said Maid sprung very cleverly on the said horse, saying a mu]- titude of things to the yeoman Nicolle.” The old priest wrote this history with his own hand, and made oath as to its sincerity before a public notary, adding as a. proof of what he had advanced a copy of the original cortract of marriage between “ Robert dea Armoiaes and Joan of Arc, otherwise known as the Maid of Orleans." Compiegne has treasured up a faithful-souvenir of the her- oine, and about fifteen years ago a subscrip~ tion was opened to enable the town to erect a statue to her memory. The idea was started by arather unpopular person, and was soon allowed to drop. The present Mayor again took up the matter, and with the aid of the municipality has at length auc- ceeded in giving the town a statue of the Maid, whose words, J’irai voir me bans amis d: Compiegne,” have been cut in the pedes- tal. " John MacKay, the mining millionaire, has in his employ at Carson. Nev., an expert named Maurice Hoeflich, who always offers to back his opinions by betting. This annoys Mackay, who does not like to be disputed. and is further fretted by the,faot that Hoe~ flich usually proves to be in the right. , One day Hoeflich was playing with an enor- mous grasshopper. It could jump over 20 feet, and he said: " I ped you $50, Mr. MacKay, dot you can’t find a hopper to peat him.” The rest of the story, as told by the Appeal. in as follows : Mackay sent a trusted emissary down to Carson Valley to se» cure a contestant. The man spent nearly a week catching hoppers, and reported that the best gait any of them had was 17 feet. He doubted if abigger jumper could be secured. The next day he arrived with about a dozen hoppers, and MacKay gave them quarters in his room as Vanderbilt would stable his stud. Each had a cigar box to himself, and every morning they were taken out and put through their paces. It was impossible, however, to get one to jump over eighteen feet. MacKay was in despair. but one morning a hopper sniffed at abottle of ammonia on the table, and immediately jumped thirty feet. Next day Mackay announced to Hoeflich that he was ready for the match. The expert came an hour before the time with his pet hopper. Not finding Mckay, he noticed the bottle of ammonia. A light broke upon him. Grab- bing the bottle he rushed to a druggist store. threw away the ammonia, and ordered it ‘filled with chloroform. Mackay soon arrived lwith a half dozen mining superintendents whom he had invited to see him have some fun with Hoeflich. They were hardly seated when Hoeflich came in with the hopper in a cigar box under his arm. “ I vas a leetle late. Mr. Mackay, but I’m here mid der hopâ€" per and der coin." He laid down the money. which was covered promptly. Mackay got behind somebody and let his hopper snifi at the ammonia bottle, which held Hoeflich‘s chloroform. Time being called, the hoppers were placed side by side on the piazza, and at the word “go” each was touched on the back with a straw. Hoeflich‘s entry scored twenty-four feet. Mackay's gave a lazylurch of some four inches, and, folding its legs, fell fast asleep. Acorrespondent of the San Diego, Cal., Union. writing from Campo, says : “ An in- dian, charged with breaking into the house of Mr. Herrick and stealing some blankets, was tried before Justice of. the Peace Gas- kill and turned over to the old Indian alcads and six chiefs for punishment. They sen- tenced him to receive 100 lashes. ’l‘he pris- ner was a large young man six feet high and well proportioned. He was tied up by the wrists witha long rope and the rope was passed through the springs of a high seat on the side of a wagon and over the other side, the victim being drawn up so that his feet would just touch the ground. His feet were spread and each tied to the wagon spokes and his body was tied at the hips. His shirt was removed, and then a stalwart Indian administered the, punishment withaleather lariat, by whirling it around his head and bringing it down with his ut- most force upon the naked body of the pris- oner. The blood poured from the writhing man’s back. After a strong man had admin- tered fifty strokes, he was so exhausted by the task that he gave way to another fiend, a younger and more muscular Indian. who con- tinued the torture. I spare a recital of the awful shrieks and cries of the poor tortured creature. When the one hundred lashes had been thus administered the Indian alcade told the almost dying man to leave the country or he would be hung if he ever came back. Mr. Gaskill says: “ After one of these Indians has been whipped once he never will steal again ; it makes a ‘ good Indian ’ of him. This prisoner when let down fell to the ground and could not move without support from his sister." Bsowssvxnm, Oct. 30,â€"Henry C. Hogarth, oi the township of Dereham, near Cullnden, a farmer in good circumstances, aged about 31, and having a wife and two children. leit his house last Thursday morning to go to his other farm across the road from the home- stead, and promised to be home to dinner, but has not been heard from or seen since, this being the third day of his absence. The family are distracted. He 18 about 5 feet 7 inches high, sandy complexion, with mous- tache and no other whiskers, sharp features. He wore ordinary farm clothes, plaided vest and flannel shirt, no collar, and is not sup- posed to have any money with him. He was formerly a. carriage blacksmith, and if seeking employment would doubtless be in that line. I The Kingston News has discovered in the finilhed city a. man who is so honest that ho won’t keep money that don’t belong to him, and gives the man a twelve line puff. â€"A woman, from her sex and character, has a claim to many things beside shelter, food and clothing. She is not less a woman for being wedded; and the man who is fit to be trusted with a good wife recollecta all which this implies, and shows himself per. petually ohivalroul. sweetlpoken, considerate and dammit]. (From tbeILondon Globe.) A FABNIER [MISSING WHIPPIN G A THIEF. IT WASN'T FAIR uc.o¢