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By Jln. Mary J. llolmea, author of "Tumult md Sunshine." " Etholyn’l make." “ Fan-cot lam," etc. Al or Anne, rho tried herself into sick headache the nrsl. day, and declined to see he! nfiienced husband, the major, when he called. But she received him the next day, and was a good deal comforted by the beauti- ful necklace and pendant of onyx and pearls he brought to her with a view to assuage her grief, which was not very lasting. She had liked k‘hil well enough, and had been very proud of him, and. his sudden death was a great shook to her. but she liked the major better, or. rather. she liked the costly presents he made her, and the position he would give her when she became his wife. as she ex- pected to do in a few weeks. The grand wed- ding,however. which she was intending to. have, must now be given up; and this, per- haps, added a. little to her sorrow and regret for Phil‘s untimely end. “ Outside of his family, too, there was deep mourning for the young men who had been so popular with every one, and of whom it was said he had not a single enemy. Every- body had some pleasant memory of him, some kind word to say 0! him. even to old Becky Thomas an inmate of the poor-house, who never forgot the hot August day when she was toiling up the steep hill with a pail of buckleberries she had been gathering and which made her old arm ache with their weight. Phil had overtaken her in his light sulky. and though he did not know her name he knew she was some feeble old women with neither friends nor home save that provided by the town. "Yes. Phil, I would, I will." Queenie nabbed. as she finished reading the letter, which she covered with her kisses. and than kep t under her pillow where she could find it andin when the fancy took her to read it. Sue was tired, too, and faint. he saw, end the bill was long and eieep. and the pail she carried heavy, so it mattered little to him whether she were a queen or e pauper. She was a woman and old. and in an instant he dismounted from his seai and was at her side and had her pail of berries in his hand below 5118 weiilmew what he was doing. -' My dear madam," he said. “ excuse me. but the sun is hot and the hill is long. and you are: tired, I see. so just let me put you in thq pnlky and carry yqu home.” With Phil leading him. however. he was gentle enough, and holding felt to the narrow sent. her elbows ekimbo and both her faded Inn bonnet and grey hair felling down her beck Becky rode in triumph up the hill end into the yard ol the poor-house. whose in- mates came out one after another to store. and wonder and admire, es Phil lifted Becky item not elevated position carefully and gen- tly as he would have lifted the daintieet young Indy in Mernvele. This attention (tom Phil made Becky quite a heroine among her companions to whom she recounted again and again the particulars of her meeting with “the rich Mr. Boeeiter. who wasn't too big feelin' to let her ride in his gig while he walked and carried her peil_of_huokleberries." Queenie had read with a. fresh burst of an- gu'sh lhil's letter written her from Madneâ€" nletter full of tenderness and love, showing how he 'kept her still in his heart as the deer- est, sweetest memory of his life, and at the clone containing a few words of passionate entreety that she would oval-come he: samples â€"â€"would try to love him as he did her. Ind bid him come back to her by end by. “ Not. now," no wrote.” not while I In tho ehiftless aimless block you were right to de- spise, but after I have shown that there in something in me besides a love of indolenoe and feminine occupation. I know I can re- trieve the past, and if I do -if I come home 3 man. with a man’s mates and a man’s w-ya, will you reconsider, Queenie. and see if you cannot love me 7" Everything Phil had given her or helped make, was brought to her chamber where she could see It. tor she refused to go down stairs, but staid constantly in her own room, some. times pacing restlessly to and fro, but often lying down with her face to the well and her big eyes open day and night, to: she could neither: sleep not cry. and he: had " Good Lordy, massy,” she exclaimed, shading her eyes will: her hand to look at the elegant young man whose appearance contrasted so strongly with her own. “ How you akeered me, Mr. Rossiter, I believe it is. Thank you all the same. but I can’t git into the wagon and let you walk. I'm nobody but old Becky Thomas. who has seen better days: bul I’m poor enough now, and live at theâ€"- theâ€"” From that day onward Phil wee Becky’s idol, whom she would at any time heve walked miles to ace, and for whom. on Sun- days, when service was over. she lingered about the doors of the church. hoping to get a how from him orekind word of recognition. And now he was deed, and the old pauper women'e’ been was very sore when she heard of it ; and when on the Sunday follow- ing, the bereaved family was prayed for in church, her sobs were bend distinctly. u in her seat by the door. she rocked to end (to and cried for the young men who had been so kind to her. In Becky‘s scanty wardrobe was an old faded black veil and shawl which she hsd bought years before when her husband died and she Wore widow’s weeds for him. These she had kept carefully folded any in e bendbox with lumps of :nmphor and yellow aunt! in a_ preventive against moths. " I wish I could dress in monrnin’ for him," she thought, when she heard of Philip‘s death ; and remembering the chew] and veil. she took them from their hiding-rlnce, end airing them upon the clothee'Jine to remove the odor of camphor and soul! with which they were strongiy impregnated. put them on when she went to church, as budget of her grid for Phil, “ who had taken her up the hill in his gig." and called her " madam.” too. when to everybody else she was old Becky Thomae._ *‘ They hate me. I know,” Reinette said to Margery. who took their message to her; “ and why should they not? But for me Phil would never have gone away, and met that dreadful death. Tellthamic was kind in them to cume. and that I am sorry I killed him. but I cannot see ihem yt-t. It would bring it I“ back to lreuhly, and I cannot endure any more.” ‘ Yes. I know. You have been unfortunate, us‘we are all liable to be, and by no fault of yours are now an inmate of the big white house over the hill where I may one day have to live when I am old like you, and if I do, I shall be glad if some young person gives me a lift like this ;“ and taking the little shrivelod woman in his strong arms he at her upon the seat of his sulky. “ Sit t ere and hold to the sides it you are afraid.” he said, as he saw how frightened she looked at finding her- self high in the air, and in close proximity to the heels of the fest horse which seemed to her so restless and skittish. Hearing at last how crunbed and heart- broken was the little lady of He‘herton Place. and that there had been more thana cousinly love between her and the unfortunate Phil, she Ventured to go there one day to tell the young lady how sorry she was for her. end that she knew just how it halt, for she, too, had lost her been when she was young. But Brineme refused to see her. Indeed. she new no one, not even Ethel and Grace, who, when they heard 0! her distress. went to call upon her. So Ethel and Grace retumedto their home, ond len poor Queenie to her sorrow, which one did not. try to overcome. and which aeeme $0 grow more bitter every day. She hesitated a. moment, wlnle all her olden pride asserted itself and she could not say poor-house, even though i: had been her home for years. But. Phil understood her, and Leplifd : Old BLCky was is 'she afterwards expreuad t. “ 7311 91 a, trefmble and struck in a. hgap." _ QUEENIE HETHERTON. CHAPTER XXXIXâ€"(Oox’mwnnJ CHAPTER XL. seeped hunting with its prelim of blood and temples. “ If I could cry. it would loosen the ti ghtneu in my throat and about my heart. but Ioannot, and I am no tiredmnd sick, and taint. _I shall never on again or sleep." - " It locum cry," the Mid once it Max- gery. to shy pressed her buds to hat fibrobbing And it would almost seem as if she spoke the truth, for no tears came to cool her burnâ€" ing eyelids, and her eyes grew larger and brighter each day, while sleep such as she once had known had deserted her entirely. They gave her bromide. and morphine and chloral in heavy doses, but these only pro- cured for her snatches of troubled sleep which were quite as exhausting as wakefulness! for she always saw before her that dark waste of waters. with the white face of her lover up- turned to the pitiless sky. and heard always that wild cry ; that 'eall for her who had been his evil star. ' Every morning the family at the Knoll sent to inquire for her. and every evening Mr. Beresford rode over to Hetherton Place to ask how she was. And sometimes he staid for half an hour or more. and talked with Margery, not always 91 the sick girl, or poor, dead Phil. but of things for which each had a liking and sympathy-wt pictures. and statury, and hooksâ€"«and Mr. Beresiord was surprised and delighted to find how intelli- gent Margery wae. and how much she know 0! the literature of other countries than France. And while Mugery worked in the sitting- room below, Mre. La Rue let in the chamber above, holding the sleeping girl, until her limbs were cramped and numb. and aehed with intolerable pain, while rings of fire danced before her eyes. and in her ears there was a humming sound, and a fullness in her head, as it all the blood 0! her body had cen- tered there. And still she did not move. lest she should awaken the sleeper, but an: at motionelel an 8 11 e carved Iron: stone. sometimes limiting fired eyes, whinh were “ I alwnyu had a “my lot everything Eng limb or American. nartioularly the latter,” one said to Mr. Boroatord one evening when they had been disouui “lb and Ameri- can authors. and he ha eased his aur- prise thataFronch girl should be so well wstsd- “ Yes, ohe cares very much,” Margery re- plied, “ and she hll been here several times to ask for you, but as you would not see’your cousins or grandmother. the did not suppose you would see her. Will you, Queenie, would you film to no my mother 2’} ' “ You like our country, then." he said, “ Did you ever wish you were part or whole American instead at French 2" and he 31101 a curious glance In her to see what effect his question would have upon her. It was the dawning of s new life for Msr- gory, this -feeling. that Mr. Bare-ford. the proudest man in Mex-rivals, found delight in her society and loved to linger n her side. It made every thing else so easy; her life was not one of perfect rest, for Queenie did not improve as the days went on, and to soothe. and quiet. and minister to her was not an easy matter. She could not sleep, md the physician who attended her was beginning to fear for her reason, when she one day said to Margery, " Whereds your mother, Margie? Why has never been to see me 7 Doesn’t she care for me my more f" “ Yes, Christine," Queenie replied. freeing herleli from the stifling embrace. " I suppose I sm changed. I feel it myself, and believe I shell die it I do not sleep. Why. I hsve not slept since I been! Phil was dead. and I have sent ior you to hold me in your arms, just as you must have done when I was a baby. alter mother died. Sing me the old lullabiea you used to sing me then. and meyheI shell sleep. I feel as it I shouldâ€"there is such a heavi- ness about my lids Ind pressure on my brain, Take me. Christine. Play I am e baby again. I can’t be very heavy now," end she smiled a faint, shsdowy smile. es ‘ehe put up her arms to the women. who took her up so gladly snd covered the wen face With kisses and tears, while she murmured words of pity and endear- ment. “ There, there, thn willdoâ€"itwcarlel me." Queenie said, nnd Ibo lsid her tired bend upon bhriatine’s shoulder cud cloud her helvy eye- lida. " Hook me to sleep. Christine. Book an to sleep as you did At Chateau do: Fleur-s,” she whispered. faintly. and. lining down in the chair, Christine rocked the poor little girl, and sang to her, in a low, and voice, a lullaby of France, such as she used to sing when, as now, the (ink curly head was pillowed on her breast. “ Thank God, shetleepn at last. You have saved her lifeâ€"or, at least, her reason ; but let me help you lay but down. She is too heavy for you_t_o hgld. find you not strong." “ No, no," Mrs. La Rue answered. nl‘i‘noat fiercely, wikh u look in her eyes of some wild animal when its young is about to be taken from it. " No, no. I will not give her up, now that I have her in my arms. I am not tired. I do not feel her weight any more than I did when she was a baby. and if I did, think you I would not do it all the sameâ€"I. who have no longed to hold her Is I do now. and feel her flesh against my own. Go away. Margie, and leave us alone again." So Margery went away a second time. and busied herself below wiah some work she had been persuaded to take, and part of Anna’s bridal trouaseau. for that young lady had found by experience that Margery. with her exquisite taste, was worth all the dressmakere in Springfield and Worcester both. and he! insisted upon her making the traveling dress, which was all there was now to finish of the elaborate and expensive wardrobe (or which, it was said. the major's money paid. For an instant her checks were Ioarlnt, cud then she turned very white about herlips, and her voice Wits not quite steady as she xeplied, “ I pray God to make me obnteut in that am- tion to which he has called me. and if he has willed it that I Ihould be French, than French I will remain forever.” It was was a strange answer, and seemed made more to herself then to Mr. Beresford, who felt more eertain than ever that Margery knew what he suspected, and was Bravely keeping it to herself, for fear of wounding and humiliating Queenie. What a noble woman she seemed to him. and how fast the interest he felt in her ripened into a liking during the days when he went nightly to Hetherton Place. ostensibly to ask after Queenie, but really for the sake of a few min- utes‘ talk with Margery La Rue, who was fast learning to watch for his coming, and to feel her pulses quicken, when he came, and taking her hand in his, held it there while he put the usual round of questions with regard to Queenie and herself, appear- ing at last almost as much interested in her welfare as in Reinette’s. “ Yea, lehd for her, I wilh to sea her," wan Queenie’ 3 answer, Ind Pierre was dispatched to Mrs. La Rue, with the massage that Miss Hetherton was anxious to see her. And 50 Mrs. La Rue went to Hethorton Place, and up into the room where Queenie eat in her easy-chair. with her face so pale and pinched, and her eyes so large and bright. that the impulsive French woman uttered I: cry of alarm, and going mm, to her, threw her arms around her. end cried, “ 0h, Queenie. my child. my darling, that I should find you so ch_enged.’{ , Queenie was asleep at last. and when Mar- gery came again to the door of the room and saw the closed eyes and the parted lips. from which the breath came ealily and regularly, she exclaimed: “ You are manning yourself." he said to her one evening. “ you are growing pale and thin. Why. even your hand in not he round and plump as it was," and hegontly smoothed the white fingers which he held and which trembled in his grasp. but did not withdraw themselves from him. Attraeted by the sound. Margery stole softly to the door and looked in, but Christine mo- tioned her away. and went on with her song of “ Mother Mary, guard my child," until nature, which had resisted every artifice and every drug, however powertnl. which had been brought to bear upon it, gradually began to yieldâ€"the head pressed more heavily, the rigid nerves softened, a slight moisture showed itself under the hair upon the forehead. and the eyes, which had been so wild, and bright, and wide open. were closed in slumber. maeluuwmohhadmadenevrhthu gnawing dim. and again fixing them with a steady gaze upon the upturned face resting on her arm. Thus Queenie reasoned. or tried to. but all the time a terrible fear was tugging at her heart. and she was living over again that dreadful death scene on the ship when her father made her swear to forgive him what- ever might have come to her knowledge. She had thought at first that he meant her Ameri- can relations, of when: he had never told her, and she had forgiven that long ego. Then came the mystery concerning Christine and her concealment of her identity, but Beinette; had recovered iron: that and‘ charged it_ to "Little Queenie, my Queenie." she whis- pezed once, and there was 3 world of love and pathos' In her voice . “ darling Queenie, I have not held you so in many a long, long year. You are very lovely, Queenie, even in your sleep, with all the sparkle and brightness gone from your lace and your wonderful eyes shut from view, but not as lovely as my Mar gie ; no, not as beautiful as she. nor as good either. You could not do what she is doing â€"beer what she is bearing for your sake. God pity her, and forgive me, the guilty one, who has caused all this sorrow l" Two hours had gone by. and Mrs. La. Rue was beginning to feel that her strength was failing her, when Queenie at last awoke, and smiled up at her with a smile so like shappy. good-natured infant's when it nwskes to find its mother bending over it, that the impulsive woman covered the little wan face with kisses, sobbing like a child as she did so, and mur- muring something which Beinette could not understand. " There. there, Christine; don’t you almost “mug is me 1” she said. her olden pride teas serting itself, and rebelling against so much demonstration from an interior. “ Oh. you, sometimes, and called her little Daisymtbat was his pet mm: her," Christine replied, and Beinette joined: “ Daily is such I. sweat name. I wish it were mine. though Queenie does very well I lik_e _pet_ names so much_ don' t you_ r" Mrs. La Rue was gazing steadily into the fire with sleek of deep [abstraction on her face, and did not at once reply, and when at last she did she said, moreto herself, it would seem, than to her companion : “ Yes, yes~he used to call me Tins." “ Tins," Beinette exclaimed. starting and- denly, while like I flash of lightning there shot through her brain the memory of the long black tress she had burned, and the lei-Ere whose writer had signed herself Tina. .. Who "me this man" Beinette asked herself. Not Christine; surely inot Christine. for that would be too horrible. Christine was uneducated. Christine had been a. peasant girl. her mother’s maid. and it was not like A proud man like Frederick Hetherton to think of such as she. There were other Tings in the world, other Ohristines, who bore that pet name. The writerof the letter, the owner of the trees was some bright-eyed, bright-faced girl of humble origin, perhaps. who had caught her father's fancy for a few days and been flattered by it kind word from him, who, possibly, was for the moment more ntereeted than he ought to have been. The: was ell; there was nothing more, and she was loolish to be so disquieted. She would be very familiar with Christine when the mood suited her. but she did not care for a like return. Still she could not be hex-eh with ihe women now. and withdrawing herbal! from the arms which had held her so untiringly. she Blid, very Iweetly end kindly : And taking the pallid hoe between both her hands. Queenie “rinsed it lovingly, thereby paying me tired woman for her two hours' endursnw. Queenie was much bener after that long sleep. The spell which bound her so relent- lessly was broken. end she improved steadily bath in health and spirin, but would let neither Mrs. La Rue nor Merger-y lesve her. ” I shall sink right back again into that dreadful nervousness if you go away."she said. “ I need you both to keep me upâ€"Msr- gery ‘0 cheer me by day, and Christine to soothe me to sleep at night. when the world is the blackest. and Phil 3 dead hoe seems so close to mine that I can almost feel its icy touch, and can hear his bitter cry for me. Only Christine's song can drown that cry. whiehyI think, will haunt Ina forever." “ It brings her so near to me to hear all this," she mud to Christine. one evening. when they out together by the firelig ht in Queenie’s room, and Christine had been de- scribing a dress which her mistress wore to a grand ball at which dukes and dnehesses were present.“ I like to think of her. beautiful as she must have been' in that lovely dress, and happy, too. 1 sm sure, though you have some- times talked as if she were not always as haw! as she should have beenâ€"as if my father were sometimes remiss in his attention. But I know he loved her very much, though he miaht not have shown it before you. Een are diflerent from women. Did he never pet her in your presence ?" “ Your little Tina." the writer had called herself. and asked if Mr. Hethenon was won- flex-1% why he did noggin; _f_m_m_ her 1 " I have been asleep. I m sure. and I lee] so much better. How good in you.0hris sine. to hold me so long. I must have tired you vary much. Thank. you. dear old Chris- tine I" So the two women staid a little longer, Mar- gery busying herself with the work which her former customers persisted in bringing to her as soon as they heard she was free to do any- of that sort, snd Christine devoting herself to Queenie to whom she talkedof the days when she first entered the service of Mrs. Hether- ton in Paris. Reinette was never tired of hearing of her mother, and the same story had to be told many times on she was satis- fled. “ Who used to call you ‘Tina ?" she de- manded. " Was it your husband, Mrs. La Rue 7" Notnmuaolo' of Christino'l taco moved, nor did her voice tremble in the least an, without withdrawing her eyes from the fire, she ggplied : “ Yés. my husband ; there mu more senti- ment in hit mture than one would suppose from seeing him. He van very fond of me at times.” . “ Tina in not n common pet name." Bein- etto continued. “ Did you ever know any otheg_'1‘inaApesideloprqelf." “ Never,” was Christina's emphatic answer. and now she looked curiously st the young gig, aqd is]: the Moog! mghing to_ her cheqka. Beinette kept saying that word over to her- sell after Margery left her, and when st lest she was in bed. it repented itself again and again in her brain. while I horrible suspicion, the exact nature of which she could not de- fine, was forcing Itself into her mind. To sleep was impossible, and with all her old wakefulness upon her, she tossed restlessly from side to side unhl she hen-d the clock strike one. But her (an: in- in the Ihadow, so that Reinette could no& see it, end an Pierre just then came in bringing candlel and a tray with hie miatress' supper upon it, the con: versnfion was brought to a close. nor was it resumed again, for afler to: Margery came up end on: with Beinette end her mother un- til the Inter Inked ¢o be excused. and refired to her room. “ I cannot lie here." she said, and putting on her dressing-gown she drew her chair to the grate where the fire which Pierre had re- plenished just before she retired was burning. she sat down, and with her face buried in her hands began to think such thoughts as made the drops of perspiration stand thickly upon her forehead and about her lips. “ Tins. Tina ;” that was the name of the woman or girl whose tress of long black hair she had burned. and whose touch. as it clung around her fingers. and throwing out her hands with a gesture of loathing as if to thrust it from her as she had thrust it that day when she found it in the letter. CHAPTER XLI. his for re- angry. Margery had told as much, or had told her there was some cause for the eonceel~ ment, but had said distinctly that for what Margery would consider the greater wrong her father was not to blame, and so she had ben- ished every unpleasant thought from her mind. and was beginninn to like Christine so much, when this name Tinewas thrust upon her and awakened anew all her old suspi- cions: ey, awakened them tenfold. for never had she writhed under them as she was writh- ing now, as she sat alone in her room while the clock struck the hours two and three. and the fire in the grate grew lower end areyer, and the winter night seemed to grow blacker and colder around her. And still she read on, taking next the sec- ond letter. the one which had contained the lock of hair. and which was written two or three months after the first. Evidently Mr. Hetherton had been in Marseilles and seen the writer. for she spoke of \his recent visit and the great pleasure it had given her, and even hinted at a vague hope for the future. when she might be acknowledged by him as his wile. It was in this letter that she ealiel At last when she could keep Itill no longer, she arose, pacing the room hurriedly, beat the air with her hands. as she was wont to do under great excitement. “ What is it I fear ‘P " she asked herself. “ What is it I suspect 2 Let me put it into words. and see if it sounds so very dreadful that I should break my ovm heart over it. I fear I suspect that Christine Bodine, 1n her girlhoodâ€"when. I dare say she was rather pretty and piquantâ€"attrscted ‘ my father more than she ought to have done 1 Suyeh people are very ambitious. and suscepti hle. too ; and if my father was at all familiar in his manner toward her, she probable was flattered at once, and may be cheated herself, into the belief that he was in earnest, and meant to marry her, when such an Idea never existed in his brain. She probably wrote to him. and like a gentleman, he answered. and at last made her see how mistaken she was in supposing he could ever think of her after having known my mother. And then. by way of amends. he settled that money upon her. Yes. that is probably the case,” she contin~ ued. and the tightness around her heart Rave way. She could breathe more freely, and her hands ceased to beat the air, until like light- ning there flashed into her mind: run Lnrrsns. They were written at different times with en interval of some months between two of themâ€"but all were dated st Marseilles, where the writer seemed to be living in very obscure lodgings, for in the first letter, written not very long after Mrs. Hetherton’s death in Rome. she said: “ The rooms suit me ex- actly, for few ever come to occupy the lower floor, and the old concierge is so blind and deaf that I go in and out without attracting notice. which is what I am anxious to do at present. I have found e trusty women to stay with me, and if I could see you sometimes I should be quite content, only I never can forget the sweet lady who died in my arms. believing in me as the best of servants and in you as the best of husbands. 0h. does she know“ does she see me? Sometimes I think she does»-1 think she is here in the'roem watching me, and then I am afraid, and rush into the street until the terroris past.” “ But where was Mrs. La Rue. and where was Margery, when Christine wrote those let tars to my father, if write them she did 7 Margery in not much younger than I am. Christine told me she was married soon after mother died. and that father was angry about it, as it took her from me. Oh, if I only knew the truth-and I can know it. in part at least, by reading those letters which I hid away that day. swearing never to touch them, unless circumstances seem to make it neces» sary ; and it is necessary, I am sure it ie. I must know the truth, or lose my mind. I am so unsettled since poor Phil died, and to brood over this will make me crazy in time. Yes, I must know who was the Tina who wrote those letters to father." “ That was Christine, sure. for mother died in her arms," Beinette whispered, faintly, while a prickly sensation was in every nerve, and her l_i_pa gnivered eonvulpivelv. Beinette had reached a decision ; and, lighting her candle, she opened the door of the closet where she had hidden the letters months before. There was tha box on the upper shelf just where she had left it, and where she could not reach it without a chair. This she brought from her room and stepping unto it. stood a. moment. looking at the box. on which the dust lsy so thickly, while a feel- ing of terror began to take possession of her, and she felt as if the deed hand of her father were clutching her arm and holding her back when‘ she would have taken the box from the shelf. “ I don't believe I’ll do it." she said, as she came down from the chair with 9. sense of that dead band’s touch still upon her arm. “ It seems just as if father were speaking to me and bidding me let the letters alone. I wish I had burned them when I found them. and then I should not be tempted. And why not burn them now. and so put it out of my reach to read them f " she continued. as she stood shiVering before the hearth and listening to the storm which was beginning to beat against the windows. February was coming in with gusts of snow and the shriek of the north wind. which swept furiously past the house. and seemed to Beinette to have it in a. sound of sobbing. She thought of her father in the quiet grave-yard in Mer- rivale. with the tall pineoverhanging his grave -of her mother, far OH in Rome, where the violets and daisies blossom all the year round and of Phil, asleep beneath the Eastern wet- ers, with nothing to mark his grave, and her heart sched with s keener pain then she had ever felt before as she stood in her slippers and dressing gown and shiver-ed 1n the cold gray, winter night. And always above every- thing else the name 0! Tina. was in her mind, with a burning desire to solve the mystery sud know who this Tins was, and what she had been to Mr. Hetherton. “ I may as well burn them first as last," she thought, and going again to the closet and mounting upon the chair, she took the box from the shelf, and carrying it to the fire, set down upon the floor, and began to open it. There were four boxes in all. one within another, and Queenie opened each one till she came to the last and smallest, where lay the enveype containing the three letters. “ There can be no harm in glancing at she handwriting.and then if 1 ever see Christine's. as I sometime may. I shall know if they are the same." she thought. and took out the yellow, tune-worn package. which seemed to her so diflenent from anything pertaining to her surroundings. The paper was coarse and cheap,» and the handwriting cramped and mm, like that of an uneducated person doing her utmost to write well and Queenie shrank from it and only held it between her thumb and finger as she yexamined it more closely, and read her father‘s name upon it. But looking at the outside beget an intense longing to know: what was insideâ€"to have her doubts con firmed or scattered to the winds. and at last she msde a desperate resolve, and jerking her arm. which it seemed to her the dead hsnd still held firmly, ehe said, aloud : Queenie felt hersell growing very calm as she said this. and though outward the storm raged with greater fury, and the sobbing of the mm! was wilder and louder than before, she neither heeded nor heard it, for she had opened the letters one by one. and selecting that which bore date fénhest back. began to read. And as she read on, and on, and on she forgot how cold she wasâ€"forgot that the fire was going outâ€"forgot the fearful storm which shook the solid foundations of the great house, and screamed like so many de- mons past the windowsâ€"forgot even that Phil was dead in the Indian see, so hornble- wsre the sensations crowding upon her and overmastsring every theaght and feeling save the one dreadful conviction that now she knew her father‘s secretâ€"knew who Tina was, and that the knowledge paralyzed for the time every other sensation. " I shall res}! these leiters now, though I thousand dead hands held me." CHAPTER XLII. '“ I thought him so good and true, and new I know him to have been so badâ€"false to mother whom he neglected and deceivedâ€" false to Christine whom he ruined and for- sook, and doubly false and cruel to Margery. his own child, whom he repudiated and dis- owned. Why did he not bring her home like a man when I first found her. and told him of her. and asked him to educate her because she was so pretty, and I loved her so dearly ? Why did he not saytome. ‘ Queenie. I have sinned-have done a great wrong to I herself his little Tins. and wrote : " I have been sick most of the time since you were here. and that is why I did not answer your letter at. once. You were so kind to me g and treated me so much like a lady that I cannot help hoping you mean to do me justice. But why wait ? Why put it off until I am oon- demned by the world ? 1 was good and inno- cent once, and there must be still some good. ness in me. or I should not hate myself as I do st times. snd wish that I was dead. Oh. if you would take me to Chateau des Fleurs as your wife. I would serve you so faithfully. I would be your very slave snd make up to you in love and fidelit what I lack in culture. In a. lady’s dress I s onld look like s lady. You yourself say I am very pretty. You are the first who ever told me so. and that was the beginning of all the sin which followed. You praised my eyes and hair in your last letter, and said you should not be likely to forget me. I cannot send you my eyes, but I can a look of my hair. which I out this morn- ing when making my toilet.” To Queenie it came very soon why she {on so badly, and with a moan she hid her fans in her pillow. while something like a sobbing cry eacaped he; as she whisperpd : Such, in substance. were Reinette’s thoughts as she sat shivering in the cold, cheerless room, while the morning light crept in at the windows, and she could see herself distinctly in the glass upon the mantle. It was a very white, haggard face which looked at her from the mirror, and the eyes almost frightened her with their expression. About her mouth and on the front of her dress were spots of blood. which had dropped from her nose while she was unconscious. and which added to her unnatural appearance. The stains from her face she washed sway : and exchanging her dressing gown for a fresh one. crept into bed, for .she was very cold and dizzy and faint, while. strangely enough, in spite of the wild excitement under which she was laboring. there was stealing over her a heavy stupor which she could not throw ed, and when at the usual hour Pierre came to make her fire. he found her sleeping so soundly that he stole soltlyout and left her alone. An hour later Margery looked in, but :Queenie was still asleep. nor did she waken when, as cautiously as possible, a fire was kindled in the grate to make the room more comfortable. for the morning was bitterly cold, and the frost lay thickly upon the win- dows. Margery could not seeQueenie’s face. as it was turned to the wall. and partly covered with the sheet. and so she had no suspicion of the frightful storm which had swept over the young girl during the night. and no presentirnsnt of the still more frightful storm awaiting her when she awoke. The letters which had wrought so much harm lay upon the table. and Mar- gery saw them there. but did not touch them or dream what they contained. She saw. too, the dressing gown on the floor where; Queenie had left it, and picked it up and laid ‘ it ever a chair, without noticing the stains upon it, and put the little Frene'l-heeled slippers near it, and brushed the hearth, and heaped fresh coal upon the grate. and then went quietly out and closed the door, leaving her friend to the sleep which lasted until the clock struck ten. Then. with a start,Qneenie awoke, and opening her eyes, looked about her with that vague sense of misery and pain we have all felt at some period of our lives, when the first thought on waking was.“What is this which so weighs my spirits down ? Why is it I feel so badly f" But she had not finished yet. There was still another letter-the lest 'end the longest. And she read it. while every hair of her head seemed to stand on end. and,instesd of burn- mg with heat she shook with cold, and her teeth chettered like the teeth of Harry Gill as she devoured the contents of the letter. which threw such a flood of light upon what had gone before, and which she had not we Dec-ted. She had read enough to make her hate Christine and almost hate her father, who she felt was most to blame, but she had no suspicion of the reel state of things until ‘ she began to read the third letter. mitten in November, and showing greet physical weak ‘ uess on the pert of the writer. “ That’s the trans I burned." Queenie whispered, feeling as if she, too, were burning and writhing on live coals just an the look of blue-black hair had writhed and biased in he film I. She could scarcely articulate the last word. for her tongue was thick and parched. and in her ours was a sound like the roar of the wind outside. “ Oh, Oh 1” she cried, throwrng up her hands as if in quest of some support; then they dropped helplessly at her side. and she fell forward upon her face, with the blood gush- ing from her nose and staining her dressing- xown. How long she lay unconscious she did not know. for since the clock etrnek three she had taken no note of time, but when she came to herself the cold grey of the early dawn was stealing into the room. and far away in the vicinity of the kitchen she heard the sound of some one stirring. The fire was out and the candle was out, and she was cold, and stiff and bewildered. and could not at first remember what had happened. But it came back to her with the rustling of the letter she still held in her hand-came with a terrible pain, which made her cry out faintly as she staggered to her feet and lighted another candle, for she had not finished the letter yet. But she finished it at last and laid it with the others, while there swept over her a feeling of delight, mingled with the horror and loathing she had at first exper- ienced. Margery yes the little girl born at Marseilles, and whom Christine, the mother. was sure Mr. Hetherton would love. because he was so fond of children." “ What I" Reinette exclaimed,aloud, clasp- ing both hands to her forehead as if a heavy blow had fallen there. “ What does she say ? A little girl born in Marseilles â€"â€"born to Christine Bodine, that was-that was-â€" Margery 2" ‘- Dear Mr. Hetherton." it began. “ I have been very sick. so sick that the old woman who attends me thought 1 should die. but I am better now, though still so weak as scarcely to be able to hold my pen. But I must tell you of our dear little girl who was born two weeks ago. and who now lies sleep- at my side.” ‘ Yes, that was Margery." she said. “ find if so. then Margery is my sister, for she is my father's daughter, and not M. Le. Rue’s Margery; Margery, whom I loved the first time I saw her in that forlorn room ; whom I have loved ever since, more and more. Mar- gery. Margery. my sister, my sister; it any- thing would reconcile me to my father’s guilt. it would be this. that through his sin I have Margery. Does she know. I wonder? Did Christine tell her that day she was so sudden- ly taken ill. and is that the reason she has seemed so different since? seemed almost afraid of me. as she has at times? Yes. she knows. and I shall tell her that I know, too, and drive that ides of shame from her mind. She is not to blame. No one can censure her, or cast a slight upon her. for she is my sister, and I shall proclaim her as such, and bring her to live with me. and share my fortune with her. and make her take herfather's name. But Christine must not stay. Iconld not en. dare to see her every day. and be thus re minded of all I had lost in losing faith in my father. Christinemust go. She was false to mother, false to me; and where was I when she was living in Marseilles. or rather hiding there. for it was a hiding irom the world? She could not have cared for me so long after mother died. I do not believe she ever took me to Chateau des Fleurs, or ever was my nurse. as I have supposed. I have wasted too much love on her, but I know her now for what she is. and shall deal with her accord- insly-‘I ~â€"The estate of an English miser named Rhodes was lately wound up. It realized $390,000. The sale of his efiects in his res- idenco resulted in $28.75. The property goes to two charifiesâ€"the London Free Hospital and the National Lifeboat Institution. -â€"Whenever I. single woman begins to talk 0 the punk, and says certain events occurred so far back that nhe doas not remember them, you may say she has arrived at “me axe known as old maidenhead, poor, uneducated girl me wrong which many people in this country wink at. as of :00 com- mon occurrence to be noticed. but which, nevertheless, is a sin, for which I am sorry and would make amends. Little Margery La Rue whom you love so much 5 your sister. Christine Bodine is her mother, but I am her father, and I wish to bring her home to live with you, and share equally with you as if no cloud of shame hung over her birth. Will you let her come. Queenie? Will you take her for your sister?‘ Oh, if he had done this I should have understood it. and taken her so gladly, and been spared all this pain. Oh. father. father, you have dealt most cruelly with both your children, Margery and me I" ~An elopement party at Vincent. N. 0.. consisted of four couples, all of whom had been forbidden by parents to marry. They met at train time in the railroad station, roda (.0 a village twenty miles away. and then stood up in a row before a clerymnn. Reginald Gourlay. of the town of Picton, R. W. Crothera and Joseph Benjamin Mc- Arthur, of the city of Toronto. Esquires. Bar- risters-at-law, to be Notaries Public in and for the Province of Ontario. Queenie had risen by tins ttme and was making her toilet. for she meant to nppeur as natural as possibie to Mrs. La Rue and Mar gory until the moment came for her to speak and know every panicular of her sister’s blrtb. While she was dressing Margery came to 111* (liloor, but it was locked, and Queenie called to or : George Edward Lumaden, of the city of Hamilton, Esquire. to be Assistant Provincial Secretary, in the room and stead of Isaac Roberts Eckart, Esquire resigned. His Honor the Lxeutenant Governor has been pleased to make the following appoint- ments, viz: " Excuse me, Margie, if I do not let you in. [ have slelpt heavily, and am not yet quite myself. shall be down as soon as I am dressed. I hope you have not kept any break test for me. I am not hungrv." But Margery did not heed her, and when at last she descended to the dining-room she found a most tempting breakfast set for he: in the large bay-window where the south sun» light came in pleasantly. for the storm of thr Drevious night had subsided, and as the morn- ing advanced the sun broke through the cola gray clouds and shone with unusual bright-4 ness. In a slender. silver vase Marqarv hao‘ put a ‘white Easter lily from the conservatory. while bv the side of Qneenie’s plate lay a beautiful carnation pink with a few leaves 0' the sweet rose geranium, the whole sendm; a delightful perfume through the room. And Queenie. who was very susceptible to creatur» comforts, saw it all and took it all in, and could not feel quite as miserable as sh had up-staire in her own room. where the sur- arise and pain had come lpon her so crush ingly. But she had no appetite, though for Margery’s sake she tried to drink a little coffee and picked at the delicious cream toss! which she ordinarily liked so much. But while excessive eating of the disgusting sort is raw, the Lancet questions. in what the Spectator calla “ a. curiously cautions " way. whether or not as a rule, people do not eat more than they need. The London Lancet furnishes the London Spectator with a text for an article on over est- ing. It is admitted that the old time vice of gluttony is now comparatively rare in enlight- ened countries. “ Our remote though civil- ized ancestors," instead of eating to live. often need to live to eat. They would swallow food for its own sake. until they could swallow no more. " and when they ceased were as incapa- ble as many animals alter a. similar indul- gence." Just here the Spectator interposes a plea in behalf of a well-known beast which it believes has more than its share of con- tumely in this respect. " It is a popular mis- take to suppose that only pigs are gluttons. Horses and cattle will kill themselves with certain kinds of food. and so will invidual dogs. while all the wild carnivores are liable at times to eat themselves into temporary imbecility." This is so. kindly appeal in behalf of a creature who cannot speak tor itself, but still when we say that a man eats like a pig we mean something diflerent from what we do when we say that he eats like a horse or dog. In India “ every district has its notorious glntton," there are huge esters in China and Africa. among the abstemious Moors there are men who incline to like indulgence, our owfi Indians ‘~ are constantly guilty of gor- ging like snakes till they can hardly move ; ” but the practice is not noticeable among the cultivated people of the western countries. who, however, to a degree make up for sell- denial in this way by intemperance in drink- mg. " I must not give way.” she said. “ I must not. for I have agreat deal to do to-day, -â€"a great deal to bear. Where is your mother. Margie ? I must see her. Find her, please. and bring her here : or no, we will go into the library. No one will disturb us there, and we mustbo alone. Call your mother, Mar- gie. I cannot wait." W Her head was leaning against the cushioned back. and her face looked very white and wen. While her eyes wore a very peculiar expression as they fixed themselves on Mrs. La. Rue. It was the same chair and the same position Queenie had occupied on the occassion of her first interview With Phil who had stood lean- ing his elbow upon the mantel while he looked at her curiously. Something brought that do} back to Queenie'e mind. and a sob which was more for the dead Phil than fol-the secret she held escaped her as she bade good morn- ing to Mrs. La. Rue, who went up to be: and said : " You are sick this morning." Margery said looking curiously at her as she sat mak ing a. pretense of eating. “ You are as pale as ashes. and there are dark circles around you: eyes. Oh, Queenie. I am so sorrv for you ; " and thinking only of Phil as the cause of Queenie’a pale face and hollow eyes, Margery drew her head down upon her arm and smoth- ered the shining hair carelessly. What did it mean, and why was Queenie so strange this morning. like one unsettled in her mind ? Margie asked herself. as she went in quest of her mother, whom nhe found in her room. and to whom she gave Queenie’s “18351.8,"- “ What can she wnnvwith me, I wonder?” Mrs. La Rue thought. as she went to the library, where she found Reinette curled up in a large easy ohmr. which she did not more than half fill This was the name Mrs. La Rue had often applied to her during the last few days, um? Queenie had liked it heretofore, but now, with her knowledge of the woman's sin fresh in her mind. she shuddered and shrank away. Mrs. La. Rue laid her hand upon her head and Asked if it aohed. she cried out : “ Don’t presume to touch me, or come near me. I don’t know whether my head aches or not. Only this I know. my heart is aching with a. pang to which physical‘ pain is nothing. Christine, I have lost all faith in youâ€"faith in fatherâ€"faith in everything. I know the whole now-the story you meant to conceal. You are Tina, the shamefaced. who wrote those letters to my {other and sent him a lock of your hair 1” Then Queenie came nearer crying than she had since she first heard Phil was dead. Grasping Margery: hand she aobbea hys terically for a moment. though no tear came to 0001 her aehing eyeballs. “Whatis it? What can I do far you. Petite 7 " ONTARIO APPOINTMENTS. DO WE EAT TOO MUCH! â€" All the Irish peers who are said to take flight on receipt of threatening letters have not received these letters from “ Rory." The Irish papers recount with relish that Lord Annealey had intended to pass the winter as usual in Ireland. which was not at all agree- able to milady's French maid, who preferred London. So she sent 9. threatening letter to “ milord,” who at once ordered his carriage and drove to the station. on route for Eng- land. He journeyed there with a. revolver by his side, capped and loaded, two other friends accompanying him with loaded rifles inside the carriage. While a gallontcolonel. armed to the teeth, set on the box beside the coach- THE FURY OF THE GREAT LAKE GALE Do you know what it is to be at sea. with a gale blowing eighty miles an hour? You may read of the wrecks which to day strew the shores of every lake; you may read of the rigid bodies cast upon the sends; you may cast your eyes over hulk, spar and battered plank, but yet you cannot realize the fury of that awful gale of Saturday. Vessels on Lake Michigan were bowling along before a. top- soil breeze, when almost in a. moment the gale came howling down from another quar- ter; bringing a terrible sea with it. Sails were split into ribbons before a sail could be loosened, and masts went overboard like broken sticks. No man living ever saw such‘ waves on our lakes be‘ore. in an hour after the pale set in they were running twenty five feet high. In three hours thy could go no higher. Off Frankfort they were fully forty feut high, and they ran with the speed 0' a rooehorse. , â€"The girl who bangs her hair often makes the wife who banga her husband’s. LOUISVILLE. Nov. 6.â€"â€"Will Tucker and Ad Hitt. two boys of this city, got hht ir desire for adventure in the common way, by reading the literature 0! Bufialo Bill snd Texas Jack; but their choice of 11. field was unusual. for they decided to go South instead of West. They had very little money . and hem they again departed from precedent for they did not start out hopefully afoot like the bms we fre- quently read of They could just pay for a. single ticket to Alabama. and they decided ithst one should travel as a regular passenger while the other rode in the trunk as haguage The toss of a. coin settled that Hitt should go in the trunk. A bottle of water and some bread were put in with him, and several holes were bored to supply hiin with sir Last evening Tucker drove to the railiosd station in u back, checked his trunk, and settled himself down comfortably in the seat of s first class car. But all did not go well with Hitt. He was tumbled roughly into the baggage car, and left standing on his head. Other trunks were piled on his, nearly closing the air holes. When almost smothered he let out his re- maining breath in s. yell for help. The lid was broken. The contents had lost his de- sire to roam. He confessed, and, with Tucker, was sent home. The gale caught them as they reared up, and tone of foamy water were broken 03 and nurled down into the trough to mingle with the base of the next wave. One of the lamest propellers on the lakes, standing twenty feet out o! the water. had to put about ht fore the gale was an hour old. and even while running It full speed before it the waves 8 \epl; over Mr entire decks. Seamanship availed but little. Schooners were almost p cked up bodily by the wind and flung ahead, and she biggest berks were knocked about like chips. Tm, CART menn Gnmsz, Mxanm or Fur, Roam, CARBON AND Aczno Acm.-â€"On white goods. soap and oil of turpentine. alter- nately with streams of water.~~ Colored cot- tons and woolens, rub in with lard. let lie. soap. let lie again, and treat alternately with oil of turpentine and water. leks the same. more carefully. using benzine instead of oil of tuxjpentine. TANNING mom Cansmma, GREEN Wu.- 1101's, “0., on LEATHERâ€"White goods. but chlorine water, and concentrated taltario acid. Colored cottons, woolena and silks, apply dilute chionne water cautiously to the spot. washing it sway and reapplying it several times. Sconoamo â€"â€"White goods. rub well with linen rags dipped in chlorine water. Colored cottons, redye it possible. or in woolen: miles fresh surface. Silks. no remedy.â€" Chemical Review. When day broke Saturday morning those “It at, sum must have realized the wrath of death. Every plungeof an ordinary schooner rolled floods of water over her d all to pour lmm her mzuppers as she climbed at an angle rf forty five degrses. Men had all they could lo to save life without moving a finger to- ward navigating their craft“. S'Tnmfun.â€"In 311 cases, strong, pure al- cohol. 0n. Canons. VABNISH AND Rasms.â€"On white or colored linens. or woulens, use rectiv fled oil of turpentine. alcohol lye, and their soap. On sxlks, use benzine, ether and mild soap. very cautiously. VEGETABLE Gowns, Fnuu‘, RED WINE AND RED Innâ€"On white goods. sulphur fumes or chlorine water. Colored cottons and wooleus, wash with lukewarm soap lye or ammonin. Silk the name, but more cauuously. MATTER Anaxnma MECHANIGALLLâ€"Beat- ing. brushing, and currents of water either on the upper or under side. Guamâ€"White goods. wash with soap or alkaline lyes. Colored cottons, wash with lukewarm soap lyes. Colored woolens, the same, or ammonia. Silks, absorbwith French chalk or Fuller's earth, and dissolve away with benzine or ether. Acms. meom, SoUn WINE. SOUR FRUITS. â€"Whlto gooda, simple washing. followed up by chlorine water if a fruit ji!‘ accompanies the acid. Colored cottons. woolen: and silks are very carefully moistened with dilute am- monia. with the finer end. (In case of dell- cate colors. it will be found preferable to make someprepnred chalk into a. thin paste, with water, and apply it to the spots.) When the {our-score souls aboard were told that death was near they louked out. on that howling. roaring, hungly sea. without a shadow of hope that one of them would ever we land again. Rafts and boats would have been blown about like feathers. Life preser- vers bore up corpses until they were cast ashore to be identified. Those who put them on in the final grasp for life could not have lived an hour in the keen wind and icy water. Men who lived out the gale slill speak of it with terror. Only once again will the door of death open wider to them. Spars and bulks are heating to splinters on the rocky shmea. and beaten and disfigured carpets are thrown upon the sandy beach, to be wept over and buried. It was the wrath of death turupd loose upon wide wastes, and that a. single ves- vel escaped destruction seems almost impossi- ble.â€"D¢troit Free Press. GUM. SUGAR, JELLY. Eraâ€"Simple washing with water at a hand beat. Amzuurm humâ€"While goods, tartaric acid. the more concentrated the older are the spots. On colored canons and woolena, and on silkn, dilute tartaric acid Is applied, cau- tioualy. BLOOD AND Aunumom Marniâ€"Steep» ing in lukewarm water. If pepaine, or the. juice of Garica papaya, can be procured. the spots are first softened wit-h lukewarm water, and than either of these substances is applied. IRON Byers AND BLACK INx.--White guods. hot oxalic acid, dilute muriutic acid. with lit- tle fragments of tin. On fast dyed cotton: and woolens. citric aci is cautiously and re peatedly applied. Silks. impossible. peatedly applied. Silks. impossible. LIME AND ALKALms.-â€"-White goods, simple washing. Colored cottons, woolens, and silk: are moistened, and very dilute critic acid is applied with the finger end. The loudest about cuuld not be heard two feet away. and the roar of the see. was awful L0 hear. The passengers on the Alpena were roused from sleep when the gale reached her. It brought such a sea. that no one could have alt- pt. longer. REMOVAL 0F ITAINN AND SI’O'I‘B. A YELIJ IN A TRUNK.