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“ But girls must have dress,” she would -sa.y to excuse her excravagances upon my attire. Thus, she was always buying me something, and when she asked ,almost in a. “voice of awe when she heard of my fortune, “My dear, what will you do with it ‘3” I mn up to her and kissed her dear faded ~cheek. So it was upon business that Gerard Yorke first came to see me. He came to obtain some necessary signature on some deed, and thus he and I first met. “ I’ll buy you a new silk dress first, aunt,” I said, laughing, “and then I’m sure you won’t know yourself, you’ll be so smart.” But though I might, and did jest about it, I felt it was a. serious as well as a ha py "thing, to become suddenly possesse of wealth. For it seemed wealth to me, this 'fortune which poor uncle John had left un- willed behind him. A handsome man, with a. smiling expres- sion, and a frank and cordial manner, rose and held out his hand to me when I went into our little sitting-room to receive him after being preented with his card. [think I see my dear aunt‘s face yet, as =she asked this momentous question. A little woman, with a. delicate faded skin, and faded soft light hair, parted under her cap of washed net, and dyed and re-dyed ribbons. Aunt Sarah was great in dyes. 33hr; was always dyeing something, and her fingers were frequently stained with her Various chemical processes. She generally wore thin dyed black silk, but she never ‘aeemed to buy anything new. How could "She? She was too generous to be well dress- ed, and so gave away all that she might "have spent on her own adornment. The letter which announced this news to me was signed Stephen Yorke. Mr. Yorke (Stephen Yorke), I afterwards learned, was the uhcle of Gerard Yorke, and the head of the firm. In this first letter Mr. Yorke "simply announced the fact to me that Mr. John Denby was dead, and that I was his heiress. But in subsequeut‘lettera he told me that though Uncle John had died with- out a will, that he had intended to make one in my favour, and that he had absolutely consulted Mr. Yorke on the subject. But before my poor uncle had made any settlement of his affairs, death had stayed his hand. “ My late friend,” wrote Mr. Yorke, “‘was literally cut off in the midst of his days. He died of apoplexy. without a. mo- ment’s warning, and his affairs are naturally left in some confusion. I have acted as his solicitor for years, but I shall be glad if you (as his nearest surviving relation and heir- ess) will now con_1e my assistance.” V “ I had everythin that an; old wgman ’oould want,” she saig, looking smiliugly at ‘me, “ as long as your dear papa. lived, and ‘so now that he is gone, it Is my turn to see ‘Mfi‘o you have everything.” She had just two hundred a. year, and I "shink she had more than two hundred claims “Japan her purse 1 She had always lived "with us, and I believe that she had given "iswey every Sixpence of her money, a. l the .years that} she had been at the personage. “ Fifty thousand pounds I" cried Aunt Sarah, turning rather pale after she had -mud the lawyer's letter which contained the news. “I’m not very clever, Alice, at arithmetic â€"bub that will be something like "two thousand a. year won’t it? My dear, “what will you do with it I” mat her many a bitter tear, when she had ’1!» :30 among her old pensioners and tell 3them that she cguld belp‘therp no more. We wentto live in the front street ‘of Widélcsboue Village. Biddlestone had been ’my “father’s living, and so we remained \among‘our old friegds. , 13th was so different. We missed the Gear old-fashioned parsonage garden, the gmultry, the vegetables, everything ! It was ike beginning another life among familiar scenes, and then the money 1 Neither Aunt Sarah nor myself were good managers. I mean we had never been used to pinch, and ordered things at first as we had been ac- uustomedto order them. But seven hun- “dreda. year is much more easy to manage “than two. In fact we did not know how to manage on two hundred. We tried all sorts of econo.nies;we be:a.me vegetarians 2'foral'ortnight, and were very ill in con- :seqnence. Indeed we were always trying '50 save, and always spending more than we End to spend. when one day the news reach’ ed as that Uncle John Denby was dead; that he died without makings» will, and that I, as his nearest surviving relation, would-inherit over: fifty thonsand puunds. {Rub to get me “ everyghing,” this gener- "ous little heart had to give up her choicest luxuries. And What were these ? Her daily okuities, her constant aims-gi rings. She gave up indeed the only pleasure of her life when she took me, and I am sure I must of Aunt Sarah (who is my late mother‘s only surviving sister) wrote to him at this time to tell him of our loss, and also that she proposed that for the future I would live withher. Deer aunt said nothing to me (for she is the most kindly-hearted little ‘iroman in the world), but perhaps she not unnaturally expected that my rich bachelor uncle would offer her some small sum for my maintenance. But no. Uncle John never answered aunt’s letter; never came to my father’s funeral; in fact ignored my ex- istence ; and I went to live with Aunt Sarah without bringing her even the smallest ad- dition to her narrow income. Even when my father died, and Aunt Sarah and myself were obliged to leave the parsonage, where I had been born, and where I had lived all my life, Uncle John book no notice of us. I Was my. LWenty-one when I first saw Gerard Yurk. He came to see me on busi- ness. He was the junior partner of a firm of mliciwrs wno had the management of my late uncle’s affairs, and he came to see me shortly after my uncle’s death. Before this find heard the newsâ€"news whithl could scarcely be ieveâ€"that I was my uncle's heiress. I had never expected this, may, I had no right to expect: it, for my "poor father had quarrelled with his brother, and for years and years we had seen nothipg of Uncle ohn. Author of ‘ Tm; VICAR'S Govxm‘xss,” “ FOOTPRIMS IN THE SNOW,” “ QUITE TRUE,” 52c. DARKN ESS. CHAPTER. I. BY DORA RUSSELL, [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] As I stood and looked around, my poor uncle’s presence seemed to me still to linger about the room. He had sat thereâ€"he had died thereâ€"I was thinking, a. lonely, solitary “ Come away, my dear,” she said, “ this is a very gloomy room. I like the break- fast-room best I think, and with a. light It was an old house, filled with oldvfash- ioned and valuable things. My uncle must havebeen 'a man of taste, for he had left abundant evidences of it. Books and pic- tures, rare engravings, and antique orna- ments, met our eyes on every side. There was a splendid library also, and a sort of chill crept into my heart as I went into this room, for the old servant whom we found in charge of the house told us that ” the master had always sat here, and had died, poor gentleman, upon that very chair.” man "‘ My son told me that he had seen you,” continued Mrs Yorke, still fixing her eyes upon my face; “and as I knew your poor uncle well, I naturally feel great interest: in you. Anything you require pray send to my house for.” I thanked her for her kindness and court- “?Y: . This was the commencement of our a“- quaintance. I took Mrs. Yorke down- stairs, and introduced her to Aunt Sarah, and Aunt Sarah was delighted with her. “ She is so kind,” she said, “ and it is so leasant for us, dear, to be well received. felt a. little nervous about coming to Dere- hamâ€"I Will_ own that now, for I have always heard the people wer'e very roud hereâ€"but since Mrs. Yorke’s visit feel quite a}:_home.” ‘ In this way my kind aunt prattled on after Mrs. Yorke had left 115. Then, after our high tea was over, we proposed to go together over the house. “Pardon me,” she as?“ for intruding myself upon you so soon a ter your arrival. But I knew Mr. Denby well, and I heard from my brother-in-law Stephen Yorke that you were expected in Dereham this afternoon. And my reason for calling is to offer you any neighbourly assistance you may require. I live close to youâ€"only one house between us. I went up to the unused drawing-room to receive this lady. A stately looking woman, with proud marked features, and grey hair, was standing there, and as I entered, I saw her look_at me kgenly. Indeed, scaféely had Aunt Sarah and myself arrived at my late uncle's house, when a card was brought to us, on which was engraved " Mrs. Yorke? The society of Dereham is essentially clerical, with its clean, its canons, and minor canons. My uncle had moved in this circle and the Yorke family also belonged to it, though Gerard Yorke said he did not. His mother, Mrs. Yorke, at all events, certain- ly did. She was narrow-minded enough to think that no one could be worth knowing who did not belong to this set. Yet she re- ceived us very grocionsly. We' drove straight to his house. A grey, gloomy house enough, but at the same time handsome and old-fashioned. It stood in a. narrow street of other large and gloomy houses, which were 9.11 inhabited by the gentry of qhe place. But still it seemed right that I should go. This money brought me new responsibili- ties, and I ought not to shrink from them. So I a) gued, and so Aunt Sarah argued, and yet to both of us it was a. great efi'ort to move, and to go among complete strangers For we knew no one in Dereham, but the two Mr. Yorke‘sâ€"Mr. Gerard Yorke personally, and Mr. Stephen layporyespondence. But‘at 19.55 we decided to make the exer- tion. We shut up our little house, and took our one maid with us to Dereham, and on a, lovely evening in the early spring-time we found ourselves driving into the quiet old cathedral town where poor Uncle John Denby had lived and died. Derehsm is a cathedral town, and Uncle - John lived under the shadow of the famous l grey old pile, which stands towering on the banks of the windin Dere. “ Do come,” said r. Gerard Yorke smil- ing, as he rose to take his leave. “ I must te 1 you Dereham is the dullest place in the world by way of an inducement. We are the most pnmgous people there, and do everything wit decorum.” “ I hope so,” I answered smiling also. “ We live under the shadow of the church, you see,” said Mr. Yorke, with a. slight shrug of his shoulders, “ nay, I may say under the very wing, for unless you are no- ticed by the dons you are nobody. I am one of the nobodies, I believe; but my uncle, Mr. Stephen Yorke, is a somebody, and my mother spends her whole time in calling and making herself agreeable to the cunons’ wives and daughters.” “ And you do not T” I asked. “ Sometimes I do, and sometimes I do not," he replied, still smiling. “ But it is a. frightfully stupid place, and I wish you would come to enliven ns '3 Besides my uncle declines to take so much responsibil- i ity. You are Mr. Denby’s heiress, and you really must come to look after your proper- ty. There is a great deal of silver and all sorts of valuables in the old house, I believe. So please decide to come.” Then he went uwa. , but his visit made me feel very unsettle . I told Aunt Sarah what he had said, and she also thought I should go to Dereham. Yet I felt afraid to do so, somehow. In spite of ourn‘monetary difficulties, we had been verylhappy in our little house in the front street {of ‘Biddle- stone. For one thing he had beén 'the bearer of an urgent message from his uncle, to request; that (for the present at least) I would go to Dereham and live in my late uncle’s house there. “ Yes," he answered, “ I am Gerard Yorke. My uncle, Mr. Stephen Yorke, who has written to you so often lately, requested me to call, as I chanced to be in your neigh- bourhood. He wishesâ€"" But I need not write down here all the business details which followed. Gerard Yorke stayed more than an hour, and when he went away I felt strangely unsettled. , LI._',,_r LA I._J L-,‘ 41.4 LA__A._ _A‘ “ Mr. Gerard Yorke ‘2” I said with some hesitation, .for I Was named to receive such visitors. All was still here. The light which Mr. Yorke carried was the only light in the dim, large room, and as he held it aloft there was nothing extraordinary to see. Only the chair in which my poor uncle had died ; only the ordinary furniture, and yet still I felt a. nameless dread. “She was almost touching us,” replied Aunt Sarah, with a. shudder. “No, Mr. Yorke, I believe it was a. manâ€"I believe that at this moment a. man is concealed in the house, and I dare not 0 to bed 1” Again Mr. Yorke smilef. “ We will investigate it,” he sald. “ Will you go with me, now, into the library, Miss Warburton ‘2” “ Nay, aunt,” I interrupted, “ what non- sense ? We shall be quite safe if Mr. Yorke is with us.” “ Yes, of course,” said Mr. Yorke, “ or if you prefer it I will go alone.” “ No,” I said, “ that shall not be. I will go with you, Mr. Yorke, but if Aunt Sarah is afraid she had better noflt go.” “ Very well,” he said, ‘(I’lilw ventureâ€" and shout !” and he opened the library door as he spoke, and entered the room where his old friend had died. “ Certainly not,” said my aunt, “ nor will I allow Aliceâ€"â€"â€"” “ My dear,” said Aunt Safah, “ if you go I will go, but I do not approve of it. I think it wrong, but if you choose to tempt Provi- dence I will do so also.” So the dear nervous little woman grasped my arm, and went with me tremblingly. She could not help her nervousness, it; was con- stitutional, but she would have followed me, I am sure, into a battle-field. ' “ \Von’t you take my arm, Miss Warbur- ton ?” said Mr. Yorke, looking round, as he proceeded across yhe hall. Mr. Yorke laughed aloud at this, and at Aunt Sarah’s awe-stricken tones - “ No, no,” cried Aunt Sarah, closing her e es, “ no you go first, and if you see any- t in~§13°®91 Mabel Neal was the name of my uncle’s old servant, who had had charge of the house until we came, and who had shown us over it. “No,” I answered to the lawyer’s ques- tion, “ Mabel N eal followed us closely out of the door. She we. not one moment be- hingimns, was she, aunt ‘3” Then I related to the lawyer exactly what I have written down. How I missed my purse, and how I rmembeted‘leaving it on the library table. No letter was lying there then, yet two minutes afterwards a. letter was lymg there. “ And Mabel Neal stayed a. moment or two in the room behind you, did she 1” asked Mr. Yorke. Then: he raid it attentively, and in annoy- ed expression passed over his face as he did so. “ It is an idle threat,” he said, looking at Aunt Sarah, ” and you must not allow it to alarm you, Miss Warburton. Still of course we must be at the end of it. Tell me ex- actly, please Miss Danby, how you found this letter.” Mr. Yorke. 'greeted us most kindly, and then smilingly asked to see the letter. “I dare not go to bedâ€"â€"â€"â€"” began Aunt Sarah. “ But sitting up would do no good, I fear," answered Mr. Yorke, still smiling and holding the open letter in his hand. To please her, and partly to satiafylmy- self, I wrote a. littlefinote toIMr. Stephen Yorke, asking him if like would kindlygcall during the evaning, as a very strange letter had been found in the house. Mr. Yorke answered this letter in person. A thin, tall man, no longer young, and yet not old, with a. high, finely-shaped nose, and with a. very nobleâ€"almost loftyâ€"«ax- pression of face, was presently shown into the breakfast-room, whh‘e my aunt and I were sitting, both (it must be admitted) not in a. veny heppy ebeteyf mind. 7 “ He was your poor uncle’s lawyer and friend," said Aunt Sarah, “and he will know if there is any truth in these dread- ful words I My dear, I dare not go to bed ~I dare not let you stay here Oh ! why did we ever leave Biddlestone ? Obfdear 1 Oh, dear I” Andjmy poor aunt began to cry. But when we got there I thought it only right to show her the letter. She was dread‘ fully fri htened, more so even than I had expects , and at last she insisted upon send- ing at once for Mr. Stephen Yorke. By this time, however, I had recovered my composure, and as I knew that Aunt Sarah was very nervous, I answered as lightly as I could. i“ Only someone trying to frighten. me,” I said. “ Come away, aunt, and let us go back into the breakfast-room.” I gave a. half‘cry as I finished reading these words, and as I did so, both Aunt Sarah and the old servant hurried back into the room. “ What is it, my dear ‘2” cried my aunt. “ What is the matter, Miss I” asked the old servant. “ This letter is written to warn you, Alice Denby, that you have no right to be hereâ€"no right to live in this house, and if you do so it will bring dun er and peril to yourself. You have no rig t to your late uncle’s money. It is not yours, but some- one’s wno has a better claim to it. Be warn- ed in time.” Then I opened'it, and a thrill of fear stole over me as I read the words it contained. The;y__w_ere_as follpws :â€" This was a. letterâ€"a. letter which had cer- tainly not been there a few moments ago, dir'ect_e§1 t9 _myself. I picked it; 31p, and read the address. It was quite plainly writtenâ€"just my nameâ€" Migg Ali'ce Denlgy. chintz or two, we will be able to make it qujtejivelx.” ‘ I allowed my aunt to draw me away, and we left the library together; the old ser- vant following us and closing the door be- hind us. ' Scurcely, however, had we reached the hull, into which the library door opened, when I discovered that I had left my purse behind me, which I remembered I was carrying in my hand when we entered the room. “ I have left my purse lying on the table, Aunt Sarah,” I said, “ and I’ll go back and get it.” And as I said the words I passed Aunt Sarah and the old servant and again opened the library door. .1 went up straight to the table which stood in the centre of the room, and there, as I had expected, I found my urea lying, But as I put 11: hand out to H t it, some- thing eISc whic was .ying close to it caught my eyes. “ There is nothing here,” said Mr. Yorke, CHAPTER II. “ You see she makes him on? a. paragon, Miss Warburton,” said Mr. Yorke, smiling. “ Well, however bad we are, our mothers generally believe in us, that is one comfort.” “He is such a. good fellow,” said Mrs. Yorke, addressing Aunt Sarah. “ I am in- deed fortunate in my son! He has never cost me a. teatâ€"never eve}: a. sigh. “ Where is my boy, Uncle Stephen 2” she said to Mr. Yorke, as we sat and chatted. “ If he had known we were going to have a pretty youn lady to spend the evening, he would have een at home, I am sure.” “ I’m not answerable for him, Margaret, out of office hours,” saigi Yorke. But after a. little more conversation on the subject we decided to go to his house for the night. Indeed, what else could we do? Aunt Sarah declared that nothing would induce her to sleep in the one that we were in, unless a. man could be procured to protect us. And it was very difficult to find a. man whom We could thoroughly de- pend upon at so short a. notice, and we could not ask Mr. Yorke to leave his own house to sleep in ours._ So we agreed to accept his hospitality. An hour labor we found ourselves sitting in the comfortable, Well-furnished drawing- room of his house, and talking to him as if we had known him all our lives, and not only for _9._ fe_w hours. Mrs. Yorke also was most friendly, and reggilgd us yibh great l_{_ind_ne§s. “ y dear Miss Warburton I’m getting an old man,” said Mr. Yorke, with a little comical shrug. “I wish I were young enough to require to be chaperoned by my sister~in-1awâ€"but grey hairs and wrinkles need none!” And Mr. Yorke gave a. little laugh. W4 ,_ "fi_‘ deeply. ““You old 1” she said. “Nonsense, Mr. Yorke, I consider.you“qui‘te a. yoyng mgy.” “ But I fear Miss Dénby won’t Zonsider me quite a. young man, though,” said Mr. Yorke good-naturedly, and he laughed again, and looked at me. “ I think we havehad the pleasui‘e of see- ing Mr. Gerard Yorke, said Aunt Sarah. “ At least, Alice has." “ Yes,” I said. “ Then you know us all," said Mr. Yorke cordially, “and we are bound together also by my friendship for poor Mr. Denby. So on will come to my house for the night at east, w0n_’_t you, Miss Werburton 1” “ Oh ! I’m sure I don’t know,” said Aunt Sarah, blushing deeply and looking at me. “Of courseâ€"it’s all correctâ€"and allâ€"all that kind of thing, with such a. delightful lady as Mrs. Yorke at the head 01 your householdâ€"but stillâ€"w” “ My brother‘s widow. ’ said Mr. Yorke. “She and her only son live with me, and Gerard 3:3 you kPow Perllgps, is_ my partger." “ Unseen hsnds ! What folly,” said Mr. Yorke, “ there are no such things Mabel a. unseen hands, though there are concealed hands sometimes. But enough of this. You know nothing of this letter then ?” “ Well, I did not expect you to have a. large retinue,” he said. “ But What I mean is, that I think it would be as Well if you were to discharge Mabel Neal. Old ser- vants, you see, get queer notions, and do not like changes. Mabel lived with your poor uncle about twelve years, and I have no doubt had he lived to make a. will that he would have provided for her. As he did not make a will I would advrse you as a. friend to discharge herâ€"but; I would advise you also to make a. small present over and above her wages.” “How can I tell,” he answered. “I don’t believe in unseen hands, you know, and I thought that was rather a suspicious remark of hers. But in the meantime, Miss Warburtou,” he continued, addressing Aunt; Sarah, “ if you are afraid to sleep here to- night will you come to my house? You know were we live? J ust one door further down the streetâ€"and my sister-in-law has already made your acquaintance, I believe I” “ OE Iyes,” said Afint Sarah; reVVIiivrinrg'a. little, “ we were delighted with Mrs. Yorke â€"â€"-so affable. Isâ€"she your brother‘s Wife 1’” “ Yes, of Soul-5e, I said, “ butâ€"but do you think she had anything to do with thi‘a letter, Mr. Yorke '2” “ No, sir, Bathing,” answered Mabel, and again she drew her resolute lips closely to- M12!- i “ That will do, thenâ€"you need not stay,” said Mr. Yorke. After she had left the room and sliut the door behind her, Mr. Yorke said in rather a. low tone : “ You brought your own servants with y0}1_ f_rom Biddlgstone, of course?” ' “We brought ou'r one ééfvant, Mr. Yorke,” I answefed: smiling. _ _ Mr. 'Yorke smiled also, :fid looked at me WW3???» ___ “ Iwas over it this afternoon sir,” said Mabel. “ I thought perhaps the ladies would like to see it as soon as they arrived, tan-'1 so I put it right and straight. There was no letter lying on the table when I left the room then, and I noticed none when the ladies were looking over itâ€"that’s all I knowâ€"I cannot, of course, be answemble for unseen hands.” “ When were you last? in the library be- fore ou showed the ladies over it 2” then aske Mr. Yorke. As Mr. Yorke thus addressed her, I no- ticed a. quiver pass over Mabel Neal’s lips, and then she drew them tightly together, as if she were suppressing-some emotion. » “ 1 know nothing, s'ir. Irisawiinrévféist‘er, and I followed the ladies close out of the room." “ But you have had charge of the house since Mr. Denby’s death? You ought not to have allowed any letter addressed to Miss Denby to lie unnoticed. Someone must have written it, and someone must have laid it on this table, and it was your business not to allow anyone to do this.” “ Whit 30 you kh-ow about; this letter, Mabel, that Miss Denby has picked up 1'" he asked, with his eyes still fixed on her face. This woman had a. somewhat remarkable face. The upper part of it Who not uncom- monâ€"that of a. dark-brewed woman of per- haps fox-by years, with dark; but not large eyes, and e sallow skin, and features of an ordinary typeâ€"except the jaw. This was massive and determined-looking. She look. ed a woman of strong will and powerful passions. Yet it was not an unpleesing face ; not a. cruel nor even a. hard face, but a. very resolute one. The woman‘s color changed fora. moment, and then she apngvered! steagily enough : 11" Mr. Yorke turned round and looked at he; gay-ply as she gpproachefl us._ _ “ Oh. yes,” I answered, and Mr. Yorke rang the room bell, and a. few moments later Mabel Neal entered the room. lnokin§ round. “May I ring for Mabel N eal,» fins D_9n_by ?” 7 Avignt Swab fluttered and blushed yet more Elevator Youth (inquiring) â€"“ Suite 16, miss?” Toronto Miss (blushing)â€"“ No, only fifteen last January.” To dream of a ponderous whale, Erect on the tip of his tail, Is the sign of a storm (If the weather is warm), Unless it should happen to fail. Dreams don’t amount to much, any how. Some signs, however, are infallible. If you are constipated, with no appetite, tortuted with sick headache and bilious symptoms, these signs indicate that you need Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Purgative Pellets. They will cure you. All druggiets. Then I saw in my dream that it is much easier going out of our way when we are in it, than getting into it when we are out of it.â€"[Bunya.n’s Pilgrim’s Progress. Catarrh, Catarrhal Deafness and Hay Fever. Buflerers are not generally aware that these diseases are contagious, or that they are due to the {gaseous of living parasites in the lining membrane of e nose and euetaehian tubes. Microscopic research, however, has proved this to be a that, and the result is that a simple remedy has been formulated whereby oatarrh, catarrhal deafness and hay (ever are cured in from one to three simple a plicntione made at home. A pamphlet explaining t is new treatment is sent free e reegi’pt of stamp b3 A. H. Dixon St Son, 808 King Street est Toronto. anode. The most agreeable companion is he who has experienced enough disappointments to take off the keen edge of conceit. Blood “’11! Tell. There is no question about itâ€"â€"blood will tellâ€"especially if it be an impure blood. Blotches, eruptions, pimples and boils, are all symptoms of an impure blood, due to the improper action? of the liver. When this important organ fails to properly perform its function of purifying and cleansing the blood, impurities are carried to all parts of the system, and the symptoms above referred to are merely evidences of the struggle of Nature to throw ofi‘ the poisonous germs. Unless her warning be heeded in time, serious results are certain to follow, culminating in liver or kiduey disorders, or even in consumption. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery will prevent and cure tbese diseases, by restor- ing the liver to a. healthy condition. When all so-called Remedies fail, Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy cures. “Yes, he’s good-looking enough," she said, as we were dressing together before breakfast next day, for aunt had insisted upon me sleeping in the same room with her. “but, of course, he’s not to be com- pared to his uncle. Mr. Stephen Yorke has a. noble face, now ! He’s a. good man, I am certain, jun}; by 13in expression.” “ Bubvhe’s n3flyouné," I answered, trying to make my hair fall more becomingly over my‘lgllow. I smiledugooa-naturedly. I was thinking â€"“Dea.r aunt, how funny it is that she should compare Gerard with Mr. Stephen 1 A young, handsome man withs middle- aged oneâ€"but I suppose it is because she also is old.” He had seen much of life ; he had travel- led, and had lived in London for some years, and altogether he was different to any other man whom I had ever met. Shall 'I describe him as I saw him then ; as sometimes I still see him in my dreams? Noâ€"ior I am older now, and my pen would but draw a. cold picture of a face which then seemed almost beautiful to my girlish and inexperienced e es. yFrom the first Iliked him, and I thought he liked me a. little, too. We seemed to understand each other and I found myself wishing to talk to him again the next morn- ing when I awoke ; to ask his opinion upon a. favorite book ; to point amp-to him-Wâ€" especial passage. Perhaps it was only the old story. Aunt Sarah did not seem to see anything so very remarkable about Gerard Yorke. ‘-,‘Not very young,” said Aunt Sarah, “but a. few years, and even a few grey hairs, do not matter much when the heart is it? the right Place. But it was a. delightful evening. A new joy was in my heart, and a. strange, new brightness seemed all at once to come over my hitherto somewhat drab-tinted life as I sat and talked to Gerard Yorke. “ My dear mother, it is but nothing,” continued Gerard, in the same light, happy way, and during the whole of the rest of the evening he talkefl in the same strain. “N3, not exactly,” I answered, “ and yet I admit I wish this had not happened. It seems like an ill omen somehowâ€"on the first day of our arrival.” Gerard laughed a clear, loud laugh. “ I wish 1 had anything to be warned about,” he said. “But no one would take the trouble of trying to frighten me ; un- fortunately I’mAnot; worfih‘it.” 7 “ My (fear Gerard 1” éaid Mrs. Yoi‘ke, mt.th ungasily. “ You are not afraid, are'you !" asked Gerard, looking at me, with his handsome, smiling face: “ N o,” answered Mr. Yorke, gravely, “ no, he was notâ€"as far at least as one man can speak of anotheg’s _a._ctions, he was not.” -“ She is his. brother’s only child,” an- swered Mr. Yorke, “and if he himself were not married, and had no children, she is clearly End undoubtedly his heiress.” “ Fet’ha he was fmarried V?;’Wfa.1tered Aunt Sara. . “ A vulgar attempt at intimidation,” he said, “ Tnere is no one else is there, uncle, but Miss Denby, who has any real claims upon Mrannby’s estate ‘2” “ So I perceive,” said Gerard Yorke, com~ ing forward, smilingly, and holding out his hand to me. " Welcome to Dereham, Miss Denby. I had no idea that I-_should have had the pleasure of seeing you .t‘o-night." Then Ehe story of th; Enyeteriogs ietter was told, and Gerard Yorke shrugged his shoulders after he had heard it. “Gerard!” said Mrs. Yorke, hastily ad- vancing towards him. “ do you see that we have guests? Miss Deuby and Miss War- button.” “ That is the truth," laid Mrs. Yorke, with a. proud ring in her tone. J ust at his moment we heard a. clear loud voice singin on the stairs outside the door. “ That is erard !” exclaimed Mrs. Yorke, starting up.” _ - “ Well, mother, has the fascinating heir- ess ” he began, and then he stopped sud- denly short, for he saw me. But {he‘wotds had scarcely passed her lips when Gerard Yorke opened the door, and pay {9.1113 head. “011! Stephen! What will these ladies think Y” said Mrs. Yorke, raising one of her whit'g'thip ha_nds degtzgcgtipgly. “ The truth Iuost‘likely,”vav.nswered Mr. Yorke, still smiling, “that you are a fond mother, and can see no faults in your only 3, son. (TO BE coV'rINUED.)