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“ She may be able to throw some light on the mystery," said the Major. “She came here with the lady, and, am you say she is a confidential servant, I should ntfs’t certainly téll her what has occurr- e . ’ v“ “We do not. know what is wrong yet." I said, answering Mrs. Rivers. “This in the gentlemanâ€"MajorEumondâ€"in whose house Miss Gabrielle Fairfaix lived in In- dis. and he has cometo see her. Bu de- clares this lady to be a stranger to him, and not Lady Jesmond at. 3.1.1:” 1 “What is wrong?" repeated the nurse‘ “0h, tell me for Hgaven‘g sake?” The Wot-1333’s face, as she listene named a livid pallor, and a. fierce shone in her dark eyes_. _ “ Who dares say it?" she cried. “Who dareuttet so foul a culumny’l" “I do; I dare,” said the Maj or. “That lady is no more Gabrielle Fairfax than ygu 3113‘! I know Gabrlelle as well as I do my own children." , ,L,_|. 'The old nurse’s face became more ghast- ly white, and a violent fit of trembling came over her. But I remarked that he did not answer thequesbion. So did she, for she stretched out her trembllng arms to him. “Nelle, I will tell you all.” She rose from the couch, and flung her- self imploringly upon her knees at his feet. She caught his hand in hers. and raised her agonised face to hrs. I pray Heaven I may never witness another such scene. Her golden hair hung like a. glit- tering veil over her :ahouldexs, and her fair loveliness was shadowed by a storm “I am a miserable sinner,” she sohbed, after a. momentary pause ; “but I did not think of the wickedness of the act, and I was persuaded. I saw the enormity of my crime afterwards; but it was too late to withdraw then.” “Tell me," he saidâ€"and I noticed the change in his voiceâ€"“is what the Major said true ’2 Are you Lady Jesmond'l” “No,” she answered, “1 am not. 0h, forgive me, Nello, forgive me X If I had known that 1 should see you and love you, I would never have done it. Oh, forgive “Will you tell me whoyou are?" he ask ed, gently but firmly. _r jor Esmond," said Lotd‘Saxon, “I should hka to see you again before you go.” “I will,” answered the Major. And then, with a slight gesture, Lord Saxon made known to me his wish that I should remain. of agonized despair. “Look at me, N e110?" 3116 cried with passionate fervor. ‘ *Do not turn your eye from me! You will not love me less when I confess that I am a most miserable sin- ner. Throw your arms round me, Nello ; take me to your breast. I cannot speak when I am so far from you.” But he did not; move. “Nelle!” she cried again; and the pits- ous agggny in her voice toughqd _my heart “Speak to me freely, Gabrielle,” he said. “At present I cannot understand what all this means;” and, as he spoke he laid his hand on her head. plied. “My name is Alice,notb‘rabr1elle.” She must have caught sight of his face then, for her voice died in a wail of deep despair. "You must forgive me, Nello, you must,” she persisted, “or I shall die here at your feet I If I had known that I should meet you, if I had known that the time was coming when I should :see you and love you, I would rather have died than have been guilty of this sin. Great Heaven, there is no pity in your face, no love in your eyes 1 Your heart is growing hard and cold towards me. Let me die~let me die 1" She wrenched her hands from his, and flung herself to the ground in a frenzy of madness. I went to her, for I could not bear the sight of her despair. “Gabrielle,” I said, “do not weep so bitterlv.” Themmy heart aching with an- gular: an the sight or :he beaatdu- wreck . “Hush: hush, my dearlmaaid Mrs. Rivera. “Lié‘ still!” And again she turned her face to us, as she continued, “She does not know what she is saying. You will drive her mad between you'” ‘ Send them all away, Nello l I want to tell youâ€"only you!” she cried. “Take the chle to the nursery, Mrs. Rivers?” said Lord Saxon. But the woman refused to go. “ I will not leave her,” she declared. “She ls not safe with anyone but me." “Go,” said the faintweak voice. And, weeping bitter tears, the nurse obeyed the command of her matures, and left the room. “Wait, for me in film _’fl_§'ning r9§m_, M‘s: “Speak out. Gabrielle." he said. “ Of all people in the world, you needjear me the least, because I love you the best. Speak to me fearlesslyâ€"bell me all." "‘Oh. Nelle, Nello, 'nothiug that I can say will make any difference to youâ€"to us?” he‘ ‘ ‘Thare speaks fal word to s: With a. hem sprang and kn apparently life the sound Lad ed her eyes a which did not “Hush, m} nurse; then, turning to us wi:h anger and dgfiance, she added. “You will kill between youl Who daf‘ei ’to‘say she is not Paul Jesmoud’s widow and the m01h- 6979f this child?" -- - ~ ‘ *' “fiello, Nelle," cried the faint voice, “1â€"1 will bell ypul-Send them all away â€"all afiy!" “I . i I ; HS]. “She l‘hate 13 no mysner; ks falselyâ€"falsely I i to say. "Where'la 2 She is base.” I s: .e has faint0d." 'ith a. heart-rending ng and knelt down trently lifeless body sound Lady J esmol her eyes and mat :h did not reach us. THE STORY 0F MY LOVE ‘M_y [fame is NELLO. CHAPTER XVII no mystgery, n3y_ 10rd vâ€"faisely Where‘l: t-rending cry the we alt down by the side 01 less body on the couch y J esmond languidly o md murmured somet reach us. ,uiond‘s sister,” she re is AlicemotGabrielle.’ Ms Lady Jesmont I said, moving a 1V1 cried the wizh anger ‘u will kill nebhi‘ gleam before me, I turned to him. Saxon, be kind to her! She well. and she is so unhappy. well her. qussited strength fails me. Felicia, fetch my mom- er; uhe will tell you all.” "Your mother, Gabrielle? She in not here,” I said. “Ah. I forgot you do not know I Mrs. Rivers is my mother." “ Mrs. Rivers your mother !” cried Lord Saxoujn undiaguised astonishment. “More deceit, more intrigue! Oh, Ga.- brielle, whom I believed to be true as I found you fair, how could you stoop so The only answ moan of despair, “There is a. te Rivers," 1 said,ex “Willyo‘u co'me clown please a uauy out mond wants you.” She seemed to fly rather than walk and I hastened after her. Ah. the mot! er’s instinct, the mother’s love 7 Sh thoughfi neither of Lord Saxon nor of m¢ but went to the girl who lay upon the can pet, crashed and helpless. "My" darling, what in it ’1” she cried. For a. moment the burning face of th unhappy irl appéared through the veil¢ oosened‘ air. “ Mother,” .she said, “tell them a] “Wm y fri; “In is all despgifinglu.‘ "My lord,” she went on, “ you have judged her already. I read your judge- ment in your eyes. Suspend in until you have heard what I have botelh” She tume her eyes fix that she spo “I must speak of myself for a few min- utes,” she said. “My husband was a. poor hard-working curate who left me, when he died, with two little daughters, Gabri- elle and Alice. We ‘lived at Wavertree; and after his death I supported myself and my childreu‘by giving music-lessons there. I any ‘supported' ; but only Heaven knows the desperate struggle I maintained to bring up my children respectably. I never knew until recently what it was to be free from the pinch of povertyâ€"pov- erty all the more bitter because it has been what the world in its satire calls ‘genteel.’ Of all the slow tortures that destroy life, genteel poverty is the great- est. You, my lord, who have neverffelt the pangs of hunger, you do not knowthe trials that beset those who have to battle fiercely for their daily bread. My child- ren were good and beautiful. They were both clever ; and I struggled on until they were old enough to. receive educa- tional training. I denied myself food in order that they should have enough I to eat. Many a night, my lord, I havelain awake too hungry to sleep ; but they k: ew no hunger, no cold. They were little then. "When they grew older, through the good offices of a. friend of mine,since dead, I found a home for them in a. large board- ing-school, near Paris, where they both received an excellent education in return for the services they rendered. “When Gabrielle was about seventeen, she had an offer of a situation in India. A lady going thither wanted a. companion who could speak French. My daughter went with her ; and afterwards she Went to live as governess in the fa min of Major Esmond. She was very happy there, and often sent me money home. Stlll my life was aterrible struggle, and few sun-rays illumined my dreary path. I had to rent a. comfortable house and dress respect- ubly,0r I should have lost all my pupils. Think, then. what news it was to me when I heard that my daughter was to marry the son and heir of Sir William J esmond, although, as she told me, the marriage was to be kept secret. Still I understood the advantages that must ac- crue from it.” 10W She paused for a. few minutes. Lord Saxon did not stir; but I saw traces of deep emotion on his face. “You cannot realize," continued Mrs. Fairfax, “what that marriage meant for me;it meant freedom from the horrible grind of poverty, which had already a1- moat crushed the life from me ; freedom from the lrksome task of teaching for a miserable pittance ; a fair provision of the comforts and necessaries of lifeâ€"for I knew that my daughter would care for me. She did, I believe that the first sum of money her husband gave her was sent to me. She told me that she would be able to do more for me after a time ; be able to do more for me other a time ; that, when she returned to England, I should cease to work ; that she would settle a. substantial income on me ; and that at last I should have the rest so long withheld from me! Think of my delight at the glowing prospect opened up to me! You cannot realise it, you who have nevcr known want. My daughter begged me to be reticent as to her position and pros- pects, never to mention her marriage ev- en to my dearest friends; and I never didâ€"not even to poor Alice, her sister lying here, my poor beautiful Alice l"_ She bent down and ksised thecolourless face half hidden by the trembling hands "Not even Alice knew then," she reitâ€" erated, as though speaking to herself. “When the little heir was born, my daughterwrote to me again, and told me of her happiness adding that the proud- est moment of her life would be when she l'he nur Tell cannot, .ly answer to this reproach was a come ck me ‘you.’ mad to CHAPTER XVIII. 3. térrible scene beIOW, Mrs yid,entering the nurse’s room ‘me down phase '3 Lady Jes that lady Saxon brc 3‘1," Lord Saxon again re idlycoV’er‘ "‘0h. 1m she one she answered ; “m3 Felicia, fetch my moth m a" n my beautiful Alice; 8611 done but for me 1 Saxon, face the v up wit/1; a. Mra nob Lady J as in. “and we a h was 2. av, Mrs. ’13 room. 1y J el- , walk; e moth- ? She :‘ of me, the car- cried. :e of the e yell of mm all! all them “ ‘1 shall come home to you t daysfirst,mother; my heart is so ‘ ly broken by Paul’s death the not face J esmmd Dene just ye‘ “She came to Wavertree, brin her no servantâ€"only her baby 1 on the same day my daughter turned from France. For the 1 aince they were children, I had gether under my roof. Try to r temptation. Lord Saxon, and Gordon. “We were then in my house one. I had no servant,no visitor my pupils came to‘my home am them knew anything of my 6 Lady Jesmond, the child in wh1 hopes centred. was taken ill quite auddehly. She looked ver‘ he said tlm hem 031‘ .il 0 was a. goo tound an excellent: snuamnu budru, auu things were going better with me. Then came a period of disquiet. Gabrielle had written to me from India to any that her husband was going to Faizabad on some military business, and that; he would be absent for three months. “The next letter that came from her brought the news of his death, and that she was coming home with the little heir to J esmond Dene I well remember the words of her letterâ€" “ ‘I shall co: daysfirst,mobh£ lv broken bY preved on he? would have been impossible : but she died quite suddenly in the middle of the night, when Alice and] were in the house alone. I was terribly distressed‘becanse of her loss chiefly, and also because of the complete shsttering of all my hopes. The child mlght live and succeed to Jes- mond Dene; but there would be no pro- vision for me. If my daughter had lived I should have been well provided for ; but here she was lying deed ! Poverty and work still stared me in the face ; and I was so tired ! An ideaâ€"I admit that it was. a. wicked one Jib-bed across my mind showing me how I could avert the calamity which threatened my future prospects. No one knew anything about my daughter ; no one knew here in Eng- land, which was Lady J esmond and which was Alice Fairfax. Why not ask the liv- ing child to take the dead one's place? H .“No one could ever Know; it would hurt: no one; A widowed Lady Jesmond was travelling from India; a widowed Lady J esmond was expected at Jesmond Dene. They were both my children, and, as it could work no injury to any one, why should not the one pass for the other ’8" “I thought it all over carefully, and viewed it in all its bearings. There seemed to me little harm in it ; and I was so tired of poverty, so tired of work l The only danger I could foresee was the very one that has cccurredâ€"the coming home of some one from India. who had known Gabrielle there; but the chances of such a thing happening appeared to me very small. She had known but few peo- ple, and those few were not likely to seek her out in England; and, if they should happen to do so, she could easily evade them. There did not seem to me to be the least danger of my plans being upset in that manner. I pondered the matter in my mind, and then I broached it to Alice. twelye months. “We had no troubie in successfully carrying on the deception," Mrs. Fairfax continued. “N 0 one suspected what had been done. Alice took possession of Gabrielle's trunks, of her clothes, her jewels, her papers, of the package left by Captain J esmond to be given to his wife. Who was there to say that she was not Gabrielle, Lady J esmond? The doctor’s cirtificate was made out in the name of Alice Fairfax, and in Wavertree church- yard the name of Alice Fairfax is en- graved on my dead daughter's tomb- stone. “But, when all was arranged, my deunbter grew nervnus. ‘lt is a fraud “Ab firstâ€"believe me, Lord Saxonâ€" she most‘positively refused to agree to my scheme. She said that it would be false. dishonoureble, meanâ€"that she would never consent to such a deception But I hiked to her, and pointed out that, with her beauty and her position as Lady J eemond, she would be able to make a. briliant marriage. I persuaded her ; let the blame and the punishment fall on meâ€"I deserve it. ‘This is not my mamma; she has gone away I‘ But he was too young to under- stand; nevertheless, whenever he calls Alice "mamms’ there is a. questioning look in his eyes.” I wondered tint I had not thought of that before, for I had often heard the cry of the child for his mother and seen his strange, inquiring gaze. This confession made clear to me many of the mysterious things I had observed during the past “ ‘Ib in Alice Fairfax who lies there,’ I said ; ‘and you are Gabrielle, Lady Jes- mond.’ I took the boy and placed him in her arms. ‘Henceforbh.’ I said to her, ‘this is your chilé.’ _ “I took my living daughter to the side of the dead one. I drew from my dead child's hand her wedding-ring and dim mond keeper, and placed them on Alice’s hand. “I told the little fellow to call her ‘mam11n;’butI was much troubled by the look in the child's eyes. If he could have spoken he would have said plainly, ‘This is not my mamma; she has gone away 1‘ But he was too young to under- stand; nevertheless, whenever he calls Alice "mamma’ there is a. questioning a.u EOE her All this a my ated 1 mother to both my girls, Lord 'were children, I had ier my roof. Try to r )11 me would 81 as 111 France nb situation 2 better with home to you for a. few my heart is so complete- mul’a death that I could he went; 1d j ust yet her speak. 1 was afew words to thé and bringin huéband h and none at time ham to- »lise the )u Miss luite 1e diet and a dece more than or more than 01 not the cour. consented to condition ct and act as m not till then consented to nâ€"present her sistervonly on condition that I would come with her and act. as nurse to the child. Then, and not till then, did she consent to come. She made me promise that I would live with her always ; and we have been very happy. Oh, my beautiful Alice, have I crushed you by my miserable folly '1" Her voice died away in bitter sobs as she knelt; by her daughter's side; and she who had for so long been known as Lady J esmond oyened her arms and plllowed the gray head upon her bosom. “Never mind. mother,” she said. “Do not cry so, dear. all will be well yet. Nello will forgive me.” not till She m: with h happy‘ tolerate deceit girl, before he “You will f‘ said the weepi “Your sin v plied gravely Miss Gordon 1 ed me." “Felicia. yc h‘alrfax agalu. “Not only do I forgive you entirely,” said Lord Saxon, “but it shall be my care and my pleasure to provide for your future‘ Mrs. Fairfax. You shall know want no more.” She turned quickly and kissed his hand. “Will you leave us 3” he said to Mrs. Fairfax. “I wish to talk to your daugh- ter for a. short time.” Then, noting the violence of her grief, he added, “Do not weep so bitterly. It was a. great follyâ€"a. wretched mistake ; but it is too late now to repair it. I can only say thisâ€"that your future shall be my care. Leave me with your daughter now.” _ _ “I thank you, my lord,” she said gratefully; but her daughter’s voice luterrupted her further expression of thanks. “Nello, Nelle,” cried the unhappy girltifr‘sipeak _to meâ€"t_h_in_k of 1319 l” _ Ana, still wgeping most bitterly, Mrs. Fairfax left the room. Lord Saxon walked over to Alice Fair- fax, and stood by her side, gravely look- ing down at; the face he had so often smiled upon. “Alice- !” he said, “It seems stunge to giv_q yqu fihap name._”_ U 8112) looked up to him with eager pas- siongpe 9y_ea. “Shall'I never be ‘Gabrielle’ to you agaig 7" she asked. “Oh, Nelle, Nello, if you will not for- give me, kill me! I cannot live without you _I”>sne cried. _ ' “It is no question of forgiveness,” he saii coldly; “my dear, beautiful as you are, and dearly as I love you, we music part." U“Noâ€"never more,” he answered grave- ly. “The name was not yours, and you should not have borne in." Annabella is not Anna-bella, or fair Anna, but is the feminine of Hannibal, meaning gift (or grace) of Bel. Arabella is not Arabella, or beatiful altar, but Ora.- bel, a prying woman. In its Angllcized form of Orabel, it was much more com- mon in the thirteenth century, than at present. Maurice has nothing to do with Mauritis, or a Moor, but comes from Al- maricaâ€"himmelreichâ€"the kingdom of Heaven. Ellen is the feminine of Alain, Alan or Allan. and has no possible con- nection with Helen, which comes from a different language, and is older by 1,000 years, at least. Amy, is not from amee, but from amie. Avice, or Avis, does not exactly mean advice. as some think. It comes from inwis, and means unhappy wisdom. Eliza. has no connection with Elizabeth. It is the sister of Louisa, and both are the daughters of Heloise, which is Hele-wis, hidden wisdom. There is, indeed, another form of Louisa, or rather Louise, \ hich is the feminine of Louis, but this was scarcely heard of be- fore the sixteenth century. The older Heloise form of the name, Aloisa, Aloisia, or Aloysia, was' adopter,l into mediaeval English as Alesia â€"a. name which our old genealogists confuse with Alice. Emily andAmelia are not difl‘erent forms of one name. Emily is from xEmylia, the name of an Etruscan gens. Amelia c )mesfrom the Gothic amala, heavenly. Reginald is not derived from Regina, and has nothing to do with a queen. It is Rem-alt, exalted purity. Alic, Adelais, Adelaide, Aliza, Alix, Adaline are all forms of one name, the root of which is adel, noble. But An- nie was never used as identical with An- nis or Agnes (of which last the old Scot- tish Annas is a variety); nor, as is sturdi- ly maintained, was Elizabeth ever synony- mous with Isabel. It Wasn’t lIis Heart. “I hope you will be a. better boy in the future," said his mother. “Yes'm,” sobbed the boy. “I guess you will mind your father next time he speaks to you.” “Yes'm.” “Poor boy 1" she added, sympatheti- cally, "did he touch your heart 7" “N o'm." en Alice Fairrf‘ The Evolution of Names. )rglw all aplie (T0 32 CONTINUED.) on will forgive you, dear, my lord Iik she declared; and ‘old me that she had try it through. She adel, noble. Bub An as identical with An lich last the old Scot; lety); nor, as in sturdi‘ Elizabeth ever synony anm N 811‘ she ‘altf EKG with all m; sobbed Mrs 5110 3a L never all that 0 me “It Knocks the Spots," and everything in the na.ture of em; blo tches, pimples, ulcers, scro hummus, and incipient consum nnu everynmng m me nature or eruptions, blo tches, pimples, ulcers, scrofulous hummus, and incipient consumption, which is nothing more nor less than acrofâ€" ula of the lungs, completely out of the system.’ It stimulates and invigorate: the liver, tones up the stomach, regulates the bowels, purifies the blood, and builds up the weak places of the body. It. is a. purely vegetable cuppound, and will do the liver, the bowel up the we purely we more than Dr. Pier-4 The rich are able. but not liberal; the poor are generous, but lack ability. “As Good as New," are the words used by a. lady, who was at; one time given up by the most eminent physicians, and left to die. 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