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Really Percy was very disagreeable that evening, more disagreeable than you would ever imagine handsome Percy could possi- bly be ; and Raleigh Thornton was cer- tainly not to blame for thinking Mr. Evring- ham about as thoroughly disagreeable a young fellow as he had ever met in all his life.‘ He would not take any part in the conversation; when he spoke, he addressed his remarks to Aline exclusively, he com- pletely ignored Mr. Thornton, yet though he scarcely looked at him he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that the young New Yorker was handsome, was witty and enter- taining. At last Raleigh Thornton took his depart- ure, and having reminded Aline that she had promised to go with him to a German the following evening. After he had gone, and the heavy street (loor had closed with a clang after him, Percy suddenly rose from thechair and seated himself by Aline‘s side on one of the little couches. “But perhaps she does,” whispered a lit- tle small voice, and Percy started suddenly as though he had received a pailful of ice- water full in the face, drew a long breath, and walked along very quickly. He found Aline looking very beautiful in her evening- dress of wine color and peach-pink, a. rose flush upon her cheeks, the light in her great dusky eyes that had come into themâ€"~well, since Percy had taken to visiting New York so often. But she was not alone. Lounging gracefully on one of the embroidered satin couches, was a remarkably handsome young gentleman whom Aline introduced as Mr. Thornton. Add Percy, wending his way up Fith Avenue, was in not a. particularly amiable frame of mind. “ Really, I shouldn’t think Aline w'ould encourage a. fellow like that,” he muttered. “ What does she want this Raleigh Thornton, or whatever his name is, hanging around her for if she don’t love him ‘3" “-I don’t think anything.” said Louie, laughing men-11y as she interrupted him. “oz_:1y_â€"yain and 506.", “ My darling Louie,” said Roy, after theyuhad parted with Percy, “ do you think PerEy did not enjoy the remainder of that dinner, and it was a. shame, too, for it was as perfect in its way as it is possible for a. dinner to be. He declined Mr. and Mrs. Glenmore’a warm invitation to accompany them to the theatre, pleading a. previous en- gagement ; and though he did not say it; was with Aline, Roy and Louie knew perfectly well that it was. Percy looked interested, but not particu- larly pleasantly interested. “ Who is he, anyway ?” he asked. “ 0h, he is a. great friend of Aline’s,” an- swered- Louie, innocently ; “ he has been very attentive to her all winter. I do wish you could see him, Percy ; lie is magnificent looking, is considered one of the handsomest men in society, and his manners are simply charming.” “ No '2” murmured Louie, looking medita- tively at the tiny bubbles that were rising from the bottom of her glass of champagne. “ Why that is strange ; I thought of course you had met him, and I was going to ask you how you liked‘him.” “50 ?”"said Percy, with a nonchalahce that was a pertect bit of acting considering his feelings jiisj; at‘tbafi mgment. “I suppose, Percy, you have met Raleigh Thornton at the Brentwoods ‘2" Percy shook his handsome head in the negative. He was taking dinner with Roy and Louie at the Brunswick one 6\ ening, and in the course ofconversation, Louie, speaking about Aline, sa. (1 demurely, but with a. gleam of mischief in her eyes : But Louie shook her head.’ She feltthat for many reasdns it was best that she and Roy did not live with herfather and mother. She had seen Percy Evringham several times since her marriage, and that young gentleman had so far recovered. {rem his dis- appointment that he was able to go and spend many pleasant eveninzs with Mr. and Mrs. Roy Glenmore, considered Roy a, very agreeable fellow, and could hear Louie call her husband “ dear, ” quite un- moved. Nothing so quickly cures a man of his love for a. woman as to see that woman the wife of another man ; this cure had worked wonders in Percy Evringham’s case. He had loved Louie Anthonâ€"he admired Mrs. Roy Glenmore ; Louie Anthon had been the loveliest woman in all the world, Mrs. Roy Glenmore was one of the loveliest. If Louie had died he would have probably been faith- fiil to her memory as long as he lived ; peeii- My he might never have thought of loving another woman, but instead of dying she had married, and that made all the differ- ence in the world. He made aflyiug trip to New York every little while, and it generally happened that he spent most of his tlme while in the city with Miss Brentwood. But surely there was nothing particularly strange or unnatural in that, for was not Aline his truest friend? had she not sympathized with and comfort- ed him in his sorrow ? Percy did not stop to think why it was that: as soon as he had arrived in New York he was restless and uneasy until he saw Aline; he did not ask himself Why the evenings he passed in her society seemed so very pleasant and so marvellously short. U“ 0h,'Louie, I wish you vand Roy would come home, and remain until you go to housekeeping,” she said, pleadingly. “You have no idea how much I miss you, the hou so seems so lonely.” The days and weeks passed brightly, pleasantly, and oh, how happily, to Louie ; she had plenty to keep her busy too, calls to make, weddings and receptions and balls to attend, for Mrs Gleanre was as much a. favorite 1n society as Miss Anthon had been, and Muriel had no intention of allowing her beautifuldaughter to settledown into a quiet married life. Muriel missed Louie exceed- ingly ; the house seemed very quiet and lonely without the lovely giiI-tace, the light step, the low, soft laugh. . 1‘ HIS SACRIFICE "' Aline,” he said, rather fiercely, tugging 11‘01' Love of Her. CHAPTER XL[[.â€"(CONTINUED.) Richard Brandon had no trouble in prov- ing that Roy was Cyril Fairleighis child. Perhaps poor Cyril had thought such a. thing might come to pass, for in that box Richard Brandon had treasured so carefully were so many things that went to show Henry Glen- more and Cyril Fairleigh were one and the same. A watch inscribed, “ To my dearboy, from his affectionate father, Reginald Fair- leigh,” a ring that had belonged to his moth- er before her marriage, with her maiden name engraved inside of it, besides the letters and the wedding: certificate. Yes, Then it was that Cyril, the youngest son, has rememberedâ€"he had not been entirely forgotten, there were many that recollected Lord Reginald’s favorite boy. A search was commenced for him, advertisemente inserted in. the newspapers of every countryâ€"it was one of .those advertisements that Richard Brandon saw. Cyril Fairleigh was dead, gone like the rest, but his sonâ€"Lilian Forsyth’s child and hisâ€"was alive; so it was that Roy came irlto his inheritance. In the course of time, Reginald, Lord Fair- leigh, died, his oldest son succeeded him, and for ten years had lived in the enjoyment of the immense Fairleigh estate: then he was taken down with some organic disease â€"the same which had killed Roy’s father, and which had been tatal to many of the Fairleighsâ€"and dying childless, the title and earldom had fallen in direct succession to Arthur, the second son. Lord Arthur’s two sons died in infancy, and he himself had died a sudden violent death; he was run away with by a span of high-spirited horses, thrown from the carriage and was picked up dead. It is quite needless to say he did marry herâ€"for love of her he was willing to give up home, friends, everything, even name; for the day after their marriage he sailed tor America under the name of Glen- m‘ore. ' “You can choose between usâ€"-your father and that low-born girl,” he szid, “ but -I swear if you choose her you must abide by your choice; if you marry her I never want to look upon your face again, to hear your name spoken ; you will no longer be a son of mine.” When Lord Fairleigh heard that his fa- vorite son was paying very marked atten- tion tooLady Harcourt’s governess, he was greatly disturbed. and sending for Cyril, told him what he had heard, and suggested that he should leave England for a time, travel on the Continent until he had recov- ered from his boyish infatuationâ€"for that was what Lord Fairleigh considered it. What was his horror and surprise when Cyril answered, quietly but very firmly, that he loved Miss Forsyth, had already asked her to be his wife, and, what is more, had every intention of marrying her. In vain Lord Fairleigh argued and pleaded, neither his arguments nor his prayers could change Cyril’s resolution. At last he lost his temper, and, in a towering passion of rage, told him thagthe day he married that low, designing creature, as he de- signated poor Lilianâ€"he ceased to be a son of his. This young girl, Lilian Forsyth, was a. lovely, gentle girl, the duly child of aNorth of England curate. who, dying almost penni- less, left his motherless child to struggle on as best she could. Life was not very bright to herâ€"poor child. Her lovely face, with its soft sad eyes and sorrowful mouth, first attracted Cyril Fairleigh’s attention, and in a. very short time it had become the one face in all theworld to him. ‘7 I car'mot understand, Uncle Richardâ€"I do not see how my Roy can beâ€"Lord Fair- leigh.’_’ Roy’s father, Cyril Fairleigh, was the third son of Lord Reginald Fairleigh, and, notwithstanding the fact that; he was the youngest, was his father’s favorite son, being very much like, in face and disposition, his mother, a. lovely woman, whom Lord Fair- leigh passionately loved. Just after he came of age, Cyril fell violently in love with a young girl who was employed by one of his mother’s lady friends as governess to her young child- ren. And taking her little trembling hands in his own strong ones, while Roy held the letter trom the London lawyersâ€"Messrs. Gresham & Bax-ham â€"-Richard Brandon told them the Whole story, and when he had finished, it; was plain and clear to them both. ' “Lord Fairleigh? Yes,” said Richard Brandon, and in his eyes glad tears were standing. “It is true, my boy, you are Lord Fairlei h of Fairleigh Towers, Derby- shire, %3ngla.nd. Louie; my darling, you must; be the first one to congratulate him.” She looked from one to the other of them helplgssly. “ Uncle Richardâ€"it cannot be trueâ€"it cannot be that I amâ€"” \Vondcringly the young man broke open the envelope ; drawing out' the sheet of paper it inclosed, he unfolded in, and read what was written upon it, ani as he 'read his face grew white as death,,his breath came quick and fast,and when he had finished, he carried one hand to his head as though he was dazed. “Not a particle, dearâ€"and oh, Aline, I am so glad he loves you.” “ So am I,” said Aline, softly. About the first of February Richard Bran- don came home, and it was indeed a. warm, loving welcome he received from Roy and Louie. He dined with them the day he ar- rived, und after dinner when eAlgiey were alone toge‘uherâ€"just those thre ’ u Louie’s pretty private parlor, he saidâ€"with that rarely tender smile of his lighting up his face : “ I brought you something, Louie, but I Emt going to gh e Rov what 1 brought him, [.5 t.7) He took from his pocket a. sealed letter, which he laid 1n Roy 8 hand. “And you are 'not; surprised?" murmured Aline, the next day when she had told Louie the news. â€" Half indignantly she looked up at him ; then 1161‘ eyes drooped quickly, a, brightflush swgpj over hex: {gc‘ei “-Bccause, Aline”â€"just a. quiver of earn- estness in his voiceâ€"“ I ‘don’n want you to love himâ€"nu any manâ€"but me.” “' But I aon’t mean that a}; 3.11, Aline, do YOELIE’E"? him ‘-’" _ Oh, the emphasis upon “that fellow,” it wags fledged, to gay the least. “ Do I care for him, Percy? I like him \ary_ much, if that Is what vou mean. ” viciously at his silky mustache, “ do you one for that f. 110w ? ’ “ Doctor. what is it ?” he asked, in a. strained, unnatural voice, and the face he lifted to Dr. Marston’s was drawn and ashy pale: I “My dea) Mr. Anthon, don’t be ala1'.med ” l, the doctor answered quickly. “ It is 1 pneumonia. I wish I hm beeny called in be- i fore; but still I have every hope that I shall I “ Why didn’t you send for me before ?" Ah, why had he not! All Arundel’s heart was filled with passionate regret that he had not done so, and that; terrible fear grew upon him, a feat_of something, whatâ€"he dared n03. ask himself. He followed the doctm out of the room, and 1n the 111111 laid a detaining hand upon his arm. Dr. Marston had been the family physician for years, and when he came and looked down at Muriel as she lay upon a small velvet couch in her room, he shook his head gravely, saying to Arundel, who sat beside her : . But the next day Arundel knew that she was worse ; ,her breath came quick, the lit- tle dry cough was more frequent, her small hands burning hot, and terribly alarmedâ€"â€" a terrible fear upon himâ€"hs sent for the doctor. W"~~~; â€"â€"4 â€"‘n - “ It Is nothing, dear, nothing but a. little cold, and I shall be all over it in a day 01 twg. D,pn’t look _so worried, Russel.” Bht on the morrow Muriel’s headache was not goneâ€"it was still thereâ€"a dull headache, and there was the same feeling of weight and heat upon her chest. And yet she thought nothing of it, laughed when Arundel anxi- otisly proposed sending for the family phy. sician, eeying; , “Muriel, my darlihg, you are not feeling wellâ€"~you are ill !” She smiled a little tender, but languid smile. “No, Russel, I guess not very ill. I have a headache, that is all, andto-morrow it will be’gone.” _ But When the room was bright with the gas light, which gained a soft pink tinge in passing through the rose-colored globes of the chandelier, .Arundel saw that the beau- tiful face which was his sunshine, his life, was deeply flushed, the velvety eyes dull and heavy, and his lips were white as he said, oh, so anxiously. “ It grew dark so suddenly I did not no- tice,” she answered, dreamily. ‘I guess you may light the gas, Russel dear.” “ And why. is my” darling sitting alone in the dark?” he asked tenderly, kneeling down beside her and winding his arms abcut: h er. ‘Vheu an hour or so later Arundel came in, he found her still sitting in the low chair before the fire, whose rosy gleams alone lighted up the room which had slowly filled with the dusky twilight shadows. And then she fell to thinking dreamily of the summer which was to come, and for which she had made all her plans. She was to spend it in England, and how anxious she was to see Louie in her own beautifu home. “ I hope I am not going to be sick,” she said to herself, as a. creeping chill passed over her, and shivering in the warm, flower- scented room, she drew her chair nearer to the fire, dropping her embroidery, and lay- ing her head wearily against the satin cush- ions. “I must have caught more cold,” she continued. “ I am sorry, too, for it does worry Russel so, even when I am the least bit sick; I shall not tell him I do not feel well. It is only the weather, I guess; how can any one feel well such wretched weather as we have been having right straight along since the first of the month? I shall be so glad when-May comes ; I always detested March and April." One dreary: ra‘inyvafternoon, Muriel Au- thon was sitting in her favorite chair in her pretty boudoir, embroidering in a slow. languid way, quite unusual to her. _ She had not been feeling well for three or four days‘; early in the month she had caught a. heavy cold, and it did not seem to have entire- ly left her ; she felt really miserable this afternoon, more miserable than she would acknowledge to herself. There was a. tight feeling about her chestâ€"~23. feeling of heat and weight rather than pain ; her head ached, and from time to time she coughedâ€"~ a dry, hacking cough, and thatwas something very unusual for her. The March of that year was an unusually stormy and severe one. For days at a. time it rained unceasingly, and the gale: were terribleâ€"there were in my shipwrecks on the coast. March is always at trying month, this March was particularly trying; if it had started out with the resolution to outdo its predecessors in point of disagreeability, it had certainly succeeded, for everybody said it was, Without exception, the coldest, windiest, stormiest and most. thoroughtly unpleasantMar-ch they had ever experienced, and this is saying a. great deal. Muriel was 09.1me happy, conscious that her daughter had acquitted herself admira- bly, had made an everlasting name for her- self in society, and there was just a. little pardonable pride in her voice and manner when she spoke of “my daughter, Lady Fair- leigh. " ' The third week in February Roy and Louie sailed for England, as it was all imo portant that Lord Fairle‘gh should take care of the fortune which had so suddenly and unexpectedly come mto his hands. To say that everyb ad}! was surprised when the wonderful news came out. is a very feeble way of expressing it. To think that Roy Glenmore was a. full-fledged English lord, 'heir to one of the oldest titles, and one of the largest estates in England ! “ Muhiel Anthon, do you remember the day we were talking about him, and I said for anything I knew to the contrary he might have Norman blool in his veins?” she said, hystericallv. “ And just think he has got Norman blood in his veinsâ€"the dear, dear boy.” “I know I cBuld not have felt so perfectly delxghted if I had discovered I was a. lord myself,” she smid,enthusiastically, and when she saw Muriel she almost choked herself laughing. And Mrs. Van Alstyne was in a. seventh hezfle‘n of dgligh§._ People felt as though they had been enter- taining an angel unawares, and it was quite marvellous how many remembered that they had always liked him so much, had always thought there was something so distingue about him. Roy was L)l’d Fairleighâ€"that was plainly prgved. CHAPTER XLIII. In the letter which he had written to her just previous to his death, Arundelâ€"moved. whocan say by whatimpulseâ€"had told herof the false part he had played so successfully, told her the whole stor , that he was not her father, and who her father was. Of course the knowledge had been a. terrible shock, and in connection with her grief at her mother’s death, had for a time almost prostrated her ; then_ came her grand- mother’s death, and within a. year after, her It was nearing the close of a lovely June day, and the many windows of Fairleigh Towers were gleaming like burnished brass in the red rays of the setting sun. 0n the velvety green lawn a pleasant party was as- sembled. There was Roy and Louie, Percy and Aline â€"who_. with their little four-year- old boy, Percy Evringham, junior, were on a visit to Englandâ€"and Richard Brandon ; while' the childrenâ€"five-year-old Russel, three-year-old Muriel, and little Percyâ€" were playing together, running here and there. their sweet childish voices ringing clearly on the soft air. Very beautiful was Louie, her eyes soft and bright with happinesa; though in repose there came an expression upon her face which told she knew: what sorrow wasâ€"and she did know. So they found him, when hours later, alarmed by the profound silence in the cham- ber of death !â€"they forced the lock and en~ tered. Just previous to going into that room he had given orders that no one should disturb him, saying that he wished to be alone with dead. But they did not die- turb him when they Went inâ€"Arundel An- thon was beyond the reach of earthly dis- turbance. The summer for which Muriel had longed, cameâ€"the bright, warm Sunshiny summer ; but it only bestarred with flowers the grass that grew over her grave. “I knew you would be lonely without me, darling,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the marble-cold foxehead, “and now we will slegp tqgethgr.” 7 Then a. strange 'scene followed. Lifting the quiet figure in his arms, he carried it to a. broad couch that stood in a far cofier of the room, and laid it down~â€"so tenderlyâ€"â€" upon the velvet cushions ; then lyinor down beside it, he drew the lovely being to its old resting place upon his breast, and fold- ed his arms about herâ€"his beautiful dead Muriel. It was late in the afternoon of the day after she died that Arundel went into the quiet, darkened room where she was laying. It was utterly beyond human power to com- pute what his agony had been since he had laid her down out of his armsâ€"dead; it is impossible to measure such agony, nor are there any words in which it could be deâ€" scribed. ,___V-__..- -..., mm. , v. uwwu uyuu Av. They were aloneâ€"he and she, just as they had been so many times before; but this time she did not answer, though he called her by all the dear names she had so loved to hear, and the pale lips did not move, though he kissed them so manv, many times. At last "he took from his vest pocket 3. small vial, and there was a strange look upon his face~a look almost exulting, as he raised it to his lips and drank of its con- tents. During the last two hours he had been alone in his library writing; he had written two letters, one to Louie, the other to Richard Brandonâ€"and now the end was at hand. Standing beside the quiet form. he looked down at the beautiful white face with the wonderful mygtery of deat}: upon it. With Arundel’s arms around her, her head upon his breast, \iuriel fell asleep and from that sleep shu awake not 111 this world. - “How bright and war‘m the sunshine is 1” she whispered faintly to Arundel; “ the winter has goue, summer is coming, dear, and We are going to England, you and I, to see Louieâ€"my dear little Louie. Oh, Russel, I wish the warm, beautiful, sun- shiny summer would make haste and come.” One morning Muriel had asked to have the curtains drawn aside that the sunlight might come into the‘ room. It was a beauti- ful April morning, and as the warm spring sunshine crept through the windows and fell in bars of gold upon the carpet, a smile played upon ‘Muriel’s lips. God knows Arundel Anthon had sinned, and God knows, and He alone, how he suf- fered, as day after day, night after night, he watched beside herâ€"the woman in whom his life began and would end. The know- ledge came upon them at lastâ€"those who loved her soâ€"that she was going from them; and over the sea a message went to Louieâ€" a message telling her that in this world never again would she see her beautiful mother. Surely Dr. Marston worked faithfully over Muriel; everything that he could do he did, but what does human skill avail against the inevitable? When the flat has gone forth from the great throne what can we do! Nothing, nothing! and oh, the agony of such helplessness! Does earth hold anything more bitter than to see the life 0t our best beloved ebbing, ebbing, and to know that we are powerless ? Day after dastfie ye; @cfiseâ€"every day weaker. * “I believe it would/Well-uigll kill him if she should not recover. I wish I ha‘d been pulled in before ; he has no idea how ill she But 'as he drove away from the house, the kind-hearted pnysician murmured to himself: 15. n With a mighty effortArundel ‘ ecovered his selfâ€" control. “ Doctor, you will not let her die? Yoxi do not know what she is to meâ€"she is my 1:0- I” Dr. Marston turned his head suddenly away ; the wistful agony in those dark eyes was more than he could bear. “Of course I will not let her die," he said chgerily. life ! “Oh you mustn’t. take on like thin, you know; it will never, never do. I shall have you on my hands as well as your wife.” He leaned against the wall, shaking in every limb ; great drops standing thick upon his forehead, a. violet shade gathering about his mouth; and Dr. Marston more moved than he cared to show by the sight of the mute agony, said briskly: be able to bring your wife out right-1’ 7‘ You must doctor, you must; should dieâ€" Great God 1” if she if. all Two men were wrangling in front of the City Hall the other day, wnen one of them’ called out : “I tell you 1 don’t owe you no $5 !" “I say you do !” “And I won’t pay it I” “Then I’ll sue you !" At this point a pedestrian halted and in- quired of the one : "Do you honestly owe him ‘3” “Not a. penny, sir I” “And will you sue him for S3 ?" he asked of the other. “I will 1" "Give him seven dollars,” continued the pedestrian to the debtorâ€"“give him seven and be glad to. If he sues he’s sure of a verdict, and your expenses will reach at least ten dollars. Give him seven and be thankful that you are beating two lawyers,a jussice and a. constable, six jury men and two witnesses out of their fees.” A satisfactory settlement the spot. __ _ ,, fin-.." -e. .. was time, and which may be very possibly suc- cessful in the end. There are victors and vanquished to be found among the com- petitors, in life’s race. To some natures, confident in their own resources, and endow- ed with an energy and determination of will which can carry them over all difficulties, there is a positive charm in the choice of a road not distinctly marked out in advance. and in Wthh dangers and adventures may present themselves at any moment. They are resolved to succeed, and they probably do succeed. Possum quia posse videntur. They may be beaten back a thousand times but they push through and come safely to the goal. Others there are more prudent or more timid or less well furnished with of- fensive and defensive arms. Great things, they feel, are not for them. greatly as they may wish for them, and gladly as they would receive them on the tolerably easy terms on which they are not to be bad. So they make up their minds to do without them and to put up with the best equiv- alents that come in their way. If they are ," discontented, it isin an etiose,unproductive l sort of fashion which comes to nothing and l gives no promise of any fruit. They are not always aware of what they are doing, or of i the appointed end which is only too surely waiting for them. Gradually the truth ' dawns upon them. They have chosen to be nobodies, and the choice once made is not easily to be reversed. They have preferred ‘ ease to exertion, the certainly of small things to the chance of great ones. It is a little late for them to exclaim against the bargain when it has been struck and carried out, or to complain that they are not where they might have been if their past years had been at once more laboriously and more venturesomely spent. There are plenty of men who have neither the wish nor the power to be energetic. Neither hard work nor downright idleness is to their taste. They like something between the two, a make-believe sort of work, a decent,respect- able way of getting something on easy terms and at no mental exertion whatever. These men are, so to say, the normal products of the race~sound, steady, commonplace per- sons, no geniuses and no fools, gifted with fair abilities, but with no more than fair, and seeking chiefly to go through life quiet- ly, and not to be put to the trouble of being compelled to think or work overmuch.â€" Tima. All iren, we may be sure, prefer the prizes oilit'e to the blanks; but we are not to assume therefore that all men will seek the prizes at the price at which they are to be had. Whatever the special prize may be which commends itself to a man‘s fancy, whether it be wealth, or fame, or power, or a recognized position in the eyes of the world, he soon finds out that it is not to be gained by wishing for it. It must be won, if at all, by hard work; by a. protracted ltruggle, which will be doubtful for a long +;mn nnrl "Add“ _.___. L, He lussed the sweet childdnouth, murmur- ing as he brushed his tears away 2 “ Dear little Muriel 1” Then with the small golden head pillowed upon his breast he walked slowly up the winding path to the house. 0h, hable; fihtient, faithful heart, surely somewhereâ€"somewhere, thou shalt. find peace ! _ “ Don’t. cry,” gainfâ€" ifié_7z'}1ild, winding béth her arms Mounds his neck. “ Muriel loves you, Uncle Richard, loves you velly much.” “Why you cry ‘3” asked the little girl curi« ously, for looking up at him she had seen the tears in _his_ 9yes: , “Uncle Richard, take Muriel lipâ€"Muriel is so tired." The childish voiee roused him ; stooping he lifted her in his armsâ€"little Muriel Fain leighâ€"his grand child. the child he loved so dearly and whose eyes and hair were so like those of the woman for whom she had been named. But he only kissei her; he dul not tell her he had been thinking of a grave far over the sea, wondering whether the flowers he had planted l‘pon 1t‘were growing. 4: ‘n-;). All but RiEhard BEandon ; he lingeredfllis eyes fixed upon the western sky still one blaze of rose_ c‘oloxlanq gold. “1v I n AndvRichard Brandonâ€"for the world still knew him by that name, and by it would al- ways know him. Four years before he had yielded to Roy’s and Louie’s earnest requekt that he should retire lrom business, come to England, and make their home his so long as he should live. Everybody loved and honored him, and the poor for miles around spoke reverently and tenderly of him ; no- body but the angels really knew how much good he done in the world. .V ....._v"..‘1u~.u.aunls. “ Come,” said Louie, ‘we must go in and so talking and laughing still they all mov ed slowly? toward the house. V The sun went IioIWn, over the d mountain purple shadows were falling u Fm...” n *_:.1 1 A, - Percy and Aline were perfectly happy. they adored each other; and Percy never could have been so happy with Louie had he married her as he was with Aline ; for Aline was especially adapted to him, there was in her nature that which supplied all that was lacking in his. 7 grandfather’s, and she had loved them both very tenderly. Yes, Louie knew what; sorâ€" row was, but. still she could not be sorrowful or unhappy with such a. hmband and father as she had. Success and Mediocrity. They Settled. (THE Exp.) ‘N4‘-v>00 was made on the distant,