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 < A/> A M A<^ W« \M. V'tA^.AA^^AAAA* 
 
 
 ZOE; 
 R, Some Day. 
 
 JL ITO'VEL 
 
 BY Mpy llE0RflR0. 
 
 r 
 
 Authoress op '' Tiuxie's Inheuitance ; or, Which Shall VVint." 
 
 I'PtlOE BO OEIsTTS- 
 
 815.3 
 
 »* r 
 
mmmm 
 
 \ < 
 
 OE 
 
 pTHORESS C 
 
 ERINTEI) ] 
 
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 ui^j^ ji !.T,-;j„|| I* ■;*.-;.. 3.j,^ 
 
 ^19. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 3 
 
 EOE; Or, SOME DAY 
 
 J&. IsTOVESL 
 
 BY MHY LEONARD. 
 
 pTHORESS OF " Trixie's Inheritancp: ; OR, Which Shall Win," 
 
 ) 
 
 SAINT .JOHN, X. P.. : 
 
 EBINTEU BY GEO. W. DAY, COR. PRINCESS AND PRINCE WM. STS. 
 
 1888. 
 
-"•"^m^fm I i^ 
 
 rii ■ I " ii^i 
 
 iAJ'TEI 
 
 X] 
 
 X 
 
 X 
 
 X^ 
 
 XV 
 
 XVI 
 
 XI 
 
 X 
 
 x: 
 
 XX 
 XXI 
 
ip^w 
 
 COlSTTEnSTTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 -An IxvlTATiox, 7 
 
 -"I .SHALL f<NUl{ IIKU," 10 
 
 -V Vachtinc; Party, 12 
 
 -A Stranger, If) 
 
 -Fortune Telling 18 
 
 -" Youu Sister, Dolores," 22 
 
 -At ^'k'E, 25 
 
 -You NEVER CAN TELL, 29 
 
 -"Shall we not he friends?" 34 
 
 -"i wonder who she (jan re?" 40 
 
 —Trouble overtakes the best of men, 44 
 
 -Too confiding. "Yes, it is mv husband," 48 
 
 -The Convent of St. Marguerite, 50 
 
 -Trying to be economical, 54 
 
 -An accident. A wild hope, 58 
 
 -"Truly, vengeance is mine," 61 
 
 -Blondln'e gains the victory, 66 
 
 -" a woman one does not meet every day," 69 
 
 -a revelation, 73 
 
 -Kea's ATONEMENT. ThE NEW MoTHER SUPERIOR 75 
 
 -Ned Crane. "The one anj the same," 78 
 
 -Lord Streathmere's suit. Sir Barry's heart's desire, 82 
 -Zoe's some day, 85 
 
 62141 
 
 
 / 
 
I^ I?/ E3 IF j^ C B. 
 
 /'.■ 
 
 Just a few words to my readery, with regard to the book before 
 them. The story of a girl's ambition ; a novel certainly, but 
 containing many incidents that have lately happened. It is most 
 certainly very difficult to attempt to please every one, when there 
 are so many different tastes to please. The many readers of my 
 first novel, "Trixie's Inheritance ; or. Which shall Win ?" were kind 
 enough to remember that the story had not come from the pen of 
 a woman who had lived to realize the many changes that happen 
 during years of personal experience, but that it had all been com- 
 posed and written by a girl sixteen years old. They pardoned, 
 overlooked the many flaws and mistakes, and remembered that we 
 are not to be: condemned for our first efforts. It was a very pleasant 
 rememberance for me of my first book, that Her Majesty, Queen 
 Victoria, on receipt of a copy, sent me the following recognition for 
 my letter and book : 
 
 " General Sir Henry T. Ponsonby is commanded by the Queen to thank 
 Miss May Leonard for her letter of the 20th jMarch, and for the book she 
 sends." 
 
 BucKixGHAM Palace. 
 
 18th May, 1887. 
 
 A copy was sent to Lord Lansdowne, Governor General of 
 Canada, who also sent a pleasant note of thanks. 
 
 In conclusion, I wish to thank the many ladies and gentlemen 
 who so heartily, willingly and kindly have assisted me in making 
 this, my second book, so successful, 
 
 MAY LEONARD. 
 
ZOE ; Or, some DM, 
 
 -;«^>- 
 
 CIIAriEU I. 
 
 AN INVITATION. 
 
 " Dark is hor hair, hor hanrl is white, 
 
 ITer voice i,s oxquisitoly tonchu* ; 
 Ilcr eyes ai'c full of a ii<iuid light, 
 
 1 never saw a waist so slender." — Pkaku. 
 
 " Dolores, will he over conio?" 
 
 The hammock, slung between the two sturdy old apple trees, swings 
 gently to and fro, the scorching rays of an August sun i ■ at fiercely down, 
 the hoes hum lazily in the dense heat, tlie flowers droop liioir pretty heads, 
 as if inviting a refreshing shower to brighten their ". intinr^ spirits. 
 
 " Dolores, I believe you are asleep. Do you thi^k he will soon be horel' 
 
 " Who V i w lies the lazy enquiry from the young lady : f the hammock. 
 
 '*TVhy, the postman, of course. IIow stu^ud of ^uu not to remember. 
 I never saw any one so indilferont in my life." 
 
 Zoe's red lips form themslves into as near a pout as h-.^r ever ready smil- 
 ing mouth will allow. 
 
 " Who could be anything else than indifferent on a day such as thisf* 
 is the half sleepy reply. 
 
 " Dolores, like my own sweet sister, sit up and talk to me." 
 
 The bees hum on, the butterflies light here and there, now on this flo.wer, 
 now on that. Then sweet, gentle, pretty Dolores Litchfield stretches her 
 white arras over her pretty head, yawns, and slips from the hammock. 
 
 " Now Zoe, you little worry, what is the trouble ?" 
 
 Dropping into a garden chair, Dolores folds her white hands, to await 
 further developments fi'om her Avilful, impulsive, harum-scarum sister Zoe. 
 
 " How handsome you are, Dolores. Do you think I shall ever be as 
 beautiful as you, do you, Dolores 1" the girl cries eagerly. 
 
 Dolores brushes a ily off her white dress and laughs softly. 
 
 " Ah, Zoe, what a little flatterer. One of those days I will be no com- 
 parison to my little sister ; you will eclipse me in every respect." And 
 Miss Litchfield smiles fondly at the troubled, eager face before her. 
 
 " Oh, I could never be like you, Dolores. I have a wicked temper, and 
 a quick tongue ; were I not to speak out what I think, why I should choke 
 
T 
 
 8 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAT, 
 
 
 to death. I may have a pretty face and nice figure, but I can never be 
 good, unselfish, forgiving, like you, never." 
 
 The girl shakes her head ; she feels herself far from perfect. Since Do- 
 lores has come home from her foreign tour she has been her sister's ideal 
 
 of all women. 
 
 *= How I do wish he wouia come," the youngest Miss Litchfield says 
 impatiently. " He is like the policemen in town, never around when 
 they are wanted. Well," defiantly, " I don't care a snap of my finger if 
 he comes or stays." 
 
 Dolores smiled in her lazy fashion ; she is too much accustomed to Zoe's 
 
 " ways," to say anything. 
 
 " Dolores, talk to me ; tell me a story, anj-thing to put in the time, 
 something you saw on your visit abroad ; it must be an Italian storv ; dear, 
 beautiful, sunny Italy ! Oh, Dolores ! what would I not give to be there 1 
 "What pictures I could paint ! I di.l not for one moment begrudge your 
 going, but if I could have had the chance, I would have painted pictures 
 which would have made me famous. Oh, Dolores, think what it is to be 
 famous. Some day, it may be far off or it may be near, but the time will 
 surely come, when you will be proud to own me as your sister. I want — 
 my ambition is — to be great, grand, noble." 
 
 Dolores laughs. "And good, my sister; that is better than all," she 
 says, smilinsr. " My ambitious little one, do not be too eager, you have all 
 your life before you yet ; fame will not be caught easily ; she demands 
 much chasing, and those who pursue her have many slips and tumbles be- 
 fore they achieve their end, so be patient. And now for the story." 
 
 " Well, once upon a time there was a castle in Italy, a beautiful, costly, 
 grand structure. The lord of the castle was a brave, generous gentleman, 
 honorable and true. His lady was lovely, proud, and intensely jealous of 
 her very charming husband; she had a gentle serving maid, Christina, 
 a girl as pure in thought and deed as the lily ; they had grown up as play- 
 fellows. The Countess was very fond of her, for she was not like her 
 other friends. The Countess would quarrel with any and every one, on 
 account of her fiery temper ; with Christina she never quarreled. The maid 
 was fond of solitude, and passed her spare time in wandering alone among 
 a grove of beautiful trees, her white dress could often be seen as she paced 
 back and forth among the dark trees, and gained for her, among the people, 
 the name of the White Lady. The Countess' room was costly and elegant, 
 the toilet table was of massive silver, covered with a profusion of every- 
 thing handsome. Her chair was placed in front of the glass, and one day, 
 so the legend runs, she was sitting there, while Christina was combing her 
 mistress's golden hair; the Count was called away on urgent business* 
 and a,s he passed through the door she saw, as she believed, a smile, a 
 
 V 
 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 9 
 
 can never be 
 
 Since Do- 
 sister's ideal 
 
 chiieJd 
 
 sajrg 
 
 ■0"0d when 
 ^y ^nger if 
 
 ?d to Zo 
 
 e's 
 
 the time, 
 '^.^ ; dear, 
 be there ? 
 dge your 
 
 pictures 
 is to be 
 inie wiJI 
 ■tvant 
 
 ^V' she 
 lave all 
 -mands 
 'ies be- 
 
 JOStJj, 
 
 3n]an, 
 Js of 
 
 itina, 
 )Iay. 
 
 her 
 , on 
 laid 
 )ncr 
 
 led 
 le, 
 It, 
 
 glance at parting, given and answered, that turned her heart almost to stone. 
 That night, ere the moon was up, Christina was led forth; no instrument of 
 death was used, not one hair of her head was harmed. In all the full glo\v 
 of life and health, fair, gentle, good Christina was walled up within the 
 castle walls, in a vault under the chapel. And now, every night, at the 
 same hour, a figure stands, with eyes uplifted, and hands clasped in prayer* 
 then it vanishes, and the hunter meets her on his hunting track, and the 
 shepherd on the heath starts and exclaims, 'It is the White Lady !'" 
 
 Dolores' voice sinks to a whisper ; there are tears in her dusky eyes. 
 Surely one would think the sad story of poor Christina awakened more 
 than a passing feeling of sadness for her in Dolores' kind heart. Zoe was 
 too much interested to notice her sister's silence. 
 
 "And you really walked in the Countess' own room, saw the grove where 
 Christina walked and ^:pent her lonely hours of solitude, and the vault which 
 she never came out of?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, it was all very lovely, sad and beautiful," the eldest Miss 
 Litchfield replies. " But look ! your patience is rewarded ; there comes 
 the postman in at the gate." 
 
 Zoe darts off in quest of the daily post. Before many minutes she is 
 back again, her face wreathed in smiles, for there actually was a letter ad- 
 dressed to Miss Zoe Litchfield, from an affectionate girl friend ; and soon 
 Zoe is deep in its contents. Dolores languidly scans the handwriting on 
 the large square envelope addressed to herself, then breaks the seal, and 
 reads ; and as she reads a gleam of satisfaction, quickly followed by one of 
 sorrow, passes over her ever changing face. 
 
 " What's in yours, Dolores ]" Zoe asks, putting her own epistle in the 
 pocket of her white frilled apron. 
 
 " There is to be a yachting party, and I have been invited to join it," 
 Dolores answers, absently gazing at a rose bush stirred by the breeze. 
 
 '•'Oh!" Zoe ejaculates. "Will you go? Who asked you? Won't it 
 be sublime f 
 
 Zoe's eyes dilate, and a wish, not altogether unnatural in a girl fifteen 
 years old, arises in her mind, to be Dolores. Xow, however, Dolores smiles 
 faintly, and says slowly, 
 
 " I shall think it over. The Hon. .Jeremiah Hopkins sent the invitation, 
 and as to its being sublime, I suppose so." 
 
 Then Dolores arises and goes across the lawn towards the house, with her 
 white dress trailiu;^ over the green grass behind her. Pretty, graceful, 
 sweet Dolores. What was the reason no one cared to be seen talking to 
 her ? And in crowded parlors or assemblies, if her name happened to be 
 mentioned, why did virtuous mammas look at the person who spoke her 
 name with such a .shocked expression? Surely gentle Dolores could not 
 
 M 
 
I » 
 
 I t 
 
 10 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 have wronged any one by word or deed. A gentleman once said, speaking 
 of Miss Litchfield, " That if ever a true, pure woman lived, a woman on 
 whom any man might stake his life and honor, it was a woman like Dolores 
 Litchfield whom he might trust." And it is quite safe to say, that this 
 praise did not make Dolores any more of a favourite with the roomful of 
 ladies of all ages, where the remark was made. 
 
 ■! 
 
 ! 
 
 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 I SHALL SNUB HER. 
 
 " A favourite has no friends." — Grav. 
 
 " And just for that one simple reason you refuse this invitation, which 
 you have been craving for so long a time? "Well, my dear, stranger every 
 day grow the works and ways of this troublesome world. Of course you 
 certainly know your own reasons best ; it is nothing to me if you act fool* 
 ish." Mrs. St. James shrugs her pretty shoulders as she looks with aston- 
 ishment at her young visitor, charming Kea Severn, who, as she stands 
 before the cosy fire, tapping her small foot impatiently on the brightly pol- 
 ished fonder, looks the original of injured dignity. 
 
 " Ko, but Arial, just think yourself, how more than provoking it is. 
 What do you think possessed Jerry to invite the girl ? Oh dear, the men 
 are so green sometimes ; there is no accounting for their tastes in some 
 matters." 
 
 Mrs. St. James smiles, and twists the heavy gold bracelet about on her 
 white arm as she replies : 
 
 " Be reasonable, Eea ; of the two, I have more reason to dread the meet- 
 ing than you." latterly, " I owe her a debt, and she— I wonder if she has 
 forgotten what she owes me 1" 
 
 After a considerable pause, with some more impatient tapping of the little 
 high-heeled boots on the fender, Roa decided that upon second thought, 
 perhaps it would not do any good to any one, and beside be a great pun- 
 ishment to herself, to remain away from this entertainment. It had been 
 so extremely nice of Jerry Hopkins, (the Honorable Jeremiah, but dubbed 
 " Jerry" by his intimates), to give this yachting party to his friends. The 
 gentlemen all declared it would be just the thing, and the ladies, why they 
 were charmed. Then, above all, on their trip they were to visit one of H. 
 M. steamships. The ofiicers, who were all well known to the Hon. Jerry's 
 guests, had invited them to a dance on board the war ship, lunch after- 
 ward, and then row by moonlight back to the yacht. 
 Eea Severn was delighted ; but when she heard that pretty Dolores, the 
 
 k 
 
 m 
 m 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 11 
 
 a Ionian on 
 
 say, that th/s 
 ^e roomful of 
 
 °»' whicji 
 ^fifer eveiy 
 ourse you 
 act fooJ. 
 ^^ aston- 
 ^ stands 
 
 eldest daughter of Edward Litchfield, Esq., the genial and portly ship- 
 builder, -was one of the invited guests, she was so angry that on the impulse 
 of the moment, in a burst of temper, she had floAvn to her bosom friend, 
 wealthy Aiial St. James, and declares her determination to refuse to go. 
 
 " And another thing, Eea," Mrs. St. James goes on in her soft, smooth 
 tones, " you have surely heard of the arrival of Lady Streathmere and her 
 son. To be sure I remember distinctly when I went to school with him, 
 what a perfectly horrid little boy he was. Such a coward ; beat all the 
 little boys and girls smaller than himself, and run when one of his own age 
 and size approached. But for appeorance sake, and the hope that he has 
 improved with his years, we must be civil. Then it must be remembered, 
 a match like he would be, with I forget how much income a year, is not to 
 be picked up every day for the asking. Perhaps if you are favored by 
 Fate, and try hard enough, you might make an impression." 
 
 Rca was prevented from a replying by the door being opened and a 
 servant announcing Mr. Gordon Aubrey. Mrs. St. James arises to welcome 
 him, and Ilea's pouting lips become radiant with smiles. Mr. Aubrey was 
 tall, slight and fair. He had a great habit of continually looking at you 
 through an eye-glass, which to some c." his friends proved decidedly em- 
 barrassing. When the eye attachment proved wearisome he took to strok- 
 ing a slight moustache, of which ho was extremely proud, which was a very 
 good thing, because no one else considered it worth noticing. They talked 
 about the approaching yachting cruise, last night's concert, the'theatre of 
 last week, the people in town, the merits of the latest^^ novel, and the last 
 new song. Then TJea happened to glance toward the windoAV, to behold 
 the rain pouring in torrents. Mrs. St. James presses her to remain, but she 
 declares it is impossible, that mamma will wonder what has happened her. 
 So Gordon Aubrey jumps up to offer Miss Severn a seat in his covered 
 carriage waiting at the door ; and Eea, thinking of her thin shoes and the 
 probable fate of the costly suit she is wearing, is not inclined to refuse to 
 be driven home in Mr. Aubrey's or any one else's carriage. She likes him 
 quite well, and so smilingly consents to go with nice looking but fickle 
 Gordau Aubrey, who falls in love with every pretty new face he meets. 
 
 " And you will not refuse Jerry's invitation V'^lrs. St. James says, in a 
 whisper ; and Rea, as she stands in the hall, draws her tall figure to its 
 fullest height, replies : 
 
 " ;No ; I sliall not refuse Jerry. As for Dolores Litchfield, 1 will snub 
 her." 
 
 "My dear child," Mrs. St. James says quickly, "as I told you before, 
 her going should not influence you, and why worry about imaginary evils ; 
 it is quite time enough when they appear, so be sensible ; it is not your 
 nature to despond." 
 
12 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 As Kea turns to say good bye, she cri^s impulsively, " Oh, Arial ! what 
 would 'becomo of me without you ? I should get discouraged and give up 
 altogether." 
 
 Gordon Aubrey calls out that he will have no more whispering, for who 
 can tell but what it might bo something about him. Then Eea takes her 
 pLace in the large roomy carriage, while the footman climbs up in his seat 
 beside the coachman, where in a united way they call down devout bless- 
 ings on their master's head for his extrfme thoughtlessness in letting the 
 horses stay out in the rain for a good half hour. Such were the woes of 
 Gordon Aubrey's Jehu. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I 
 
 A V A C n T I X G PARTY. 
 
 " Broken friendship may be soldered, but never made sound." 
 
 — Gekman Proverb. 
 
 Out over the clear blue waters come floating sweetly the music of the 
 band on board of Her ]\rajesty's flag .ship, the " Keepsake." Since five 
 o'clock the war ship's dainty boats had been plying to and fro between the 
 shore and the steamer, laden with gaily attired guests, for there was a dance 
 being given on board by the officers. The little luxurious yacht, belonging 
 to the Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins, anchored not many yards from the steamer, 
 was left to itself, save for the crew and .«eivant.s, for the Hon. Jeremiah 
 and his guests were all over attending the gorgeous entertainment provided 
 by the " Keepsake." A bright-hued awning covered the deck where danc- 
 ing was enjoyed. The whole vessel had a gay holiday appearance ; then 
 everything was so spotlessly clean, why one could eat one's dinner off the 
 very decks. 
 
 Mrs. St. James is here, looking superb. Her husband never accom- 
 panies his clever wife ; she was much younger than he. Another thing, 
 he was too much engrossed with his busy 1jusine.-<s life to care for gaieties ; 
 so he left her to go her own way, enjoy herself after her own fashion, nor 
 ever complained if his dream of having a co.-y home, with a bright pleasant 
 companion to discuss his affairs kvith, and be his household fairy, had van- 
 ished. It certainly was nonsense to fancy such a life for Arial. Why, she 
 was a mere child when he married her ; she was of the world worldly. So 
 Mr. St. James kept his own counsel, his temper and his tongue. She is 
 now standing by the railing, watching the little waves lapping against the 
 ship's side. She is laughing too, in that lazy fashion so peculiarly her own, 
 while the pretty boyish looking fellow at her side thinks that if ever he had 
 
 m 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 13 
 
 J' ^^-'al / what 
 
 ^or M'J]( 
 
 -, ^' *"' H.no 
 '•-^^ takes her 
 ^P ^"o his seat 
 ^^^'out bJess- 
 J htting the 
 ^he wooa of 
 
 /c Of the 
 ince five 
 -''een the 
 
 * <iance 
 ■hnging 
 
 '^^eanier, 
 'I'eniiah 
 ovided 
 ' daflc- 
 ■ then 
 ffthe 
 
 com- 
 
 iea ; 
 
 Dor 
 
 lant 
 
 nn- 
 
 the 
 
 So 
 
 is 
 
 le 
 
 1. 
 
 s 
 
 i 
 
 a friend in the world, to whom ho would confide his secrets, that woman is 
 Mrs. St. James. No one knew exactly who Ned Crane was ; he had no 
 friends or relatives ; at least no one know if ho had any. Ho was a young 
 bank clerk. Mrs. St. James was very proud of him, niado a pet of him, 
 while Mr. St. James liked the boy, and said " tho lad would make a fine 
 man if he lived." Everyone liked him, for he was a jolly good fellow, 
 beloved by one and all, as all sunny-dispositionod persons are, welcomed 
 everywhere for the pleasant brightness their presence throws around. 
 
 '^ Do introduce me, ^frs. St. James. I will do any thing for you if you 
 will. Come, before the next band." 
 
 Mrs. St. James does not reply, but the lazy smile leaves her perfect face, 
 as she looks into the boy's dark, earnest eyes. Arial has good places in her 
 character. She pities the young man at her side ; it will not be without 
 an effort, to save him further pain, that she refuses to do as he asks. 
 
 '* Look here, Ned," she says gently, " why do you wish to know this 
 Miss Litchfield 1 There are lots of the girls here whom you know ; it is 
 more than probable were you to ask for a dance she would refuse you, on 
 the ground that all her dances are promised ; so it would only be another 
 case of the ' moth and the candle.' See, there is Florrie Silvcrstone just 
 over there, waiting for you to ask her. Ah ! Gordon, you promised to show 
 me over the vessel ; shall wo go V and Mrs. St. James places her dainty 
 hand on Gordon Aubrey's arm, calls Rea to join them, and turns away. 
 
 " Well ! of all the cool acts I ever heard of, that was done the neatest." 
 Ned looks after the retreating trio with a comical mixture of amusement 
 and vexation. Then he sees Jerry Hopkius, and when Mrs. St. James re- 
 turns to dance her promised waltz with a lieutenant of the flagship, who 
 had gone down without a struggle before her charms, she glances across 
 the deck, while a look — is it displeasure, or what? — crosses her face, for 
 what she sees is Ned Crane pacing to and fro, and beside him, in a marvel 
 of a white lace dress, is Dolor(;s Litchfield. She has removed her white 
 lace and satin hat, and Ned, looking too utterly happy for anything, is 
 <3arefully holding a huge white lace parasol above her pretty dark head. 
 Arial St. James never loses her temper at trifles; if Ned will be so head- 
 strong, to get himself into scrapes, he will have to get out again the best 
 way he cxn. However, she goes over, with her prettiest smile, and taps 
 Dolores on the shoulder with her fan. 
 
 "Can it bo possible, Miss Litchfield, that you have forgotten mo?" 
 
 Dolores starts, turns pale, then a hot burning blush dyes her smooth 
 young cheek. It is very evident Mrs. St. James and Miss Litchfield are 
 not entire strangers to each other. Ned Crane, standing there, never re- 
 members having felt so guilty ever in his life before; not that there was 
 any reason for feeling so, but it was decidedly annoying to have Mrs. St. 
 
14 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 I 
 
 :i 
 
 i! 
 
 Jfxmas lift hov large blue eyes to his face, with a look that said so plainly, 
 " You know her in spite of me, don't you ?" Then the pink flush leaves 
 Dolores' pretty face, and she looks Arial straight in the eyes. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. St. James, I remember you perfectly. Our past knowledge 
 of each other could scarcely allow of my forgetting you. As for your re- 
 cognizing me, to be candid, I never dreamed you would do so." 
 
 For once Mrs. St. James almost loses her presence of mind. She looks 
 as if it would do her good to shake the girl standing before her, looking so 
 beautiful and defiant. 
 
 " Why should I not recognise you, Dolores ? You will allow me to call 
 you so still, will you not V 
 
 Dolores' heart beats under the pretty lace dress almost to suffocation, the 
 deeply hidden fiery blood inherited from her Southern mother, up to thi* 
 moment had slumbered; now it broke forth. 
 
 " Mrs. St. James, I allow no one, only my friends, to call me by my 
 Christian name. If you consider yourself my friend, I think otherwise. 
 Had I treated you as basely as you have done me, Avho never harmed you 
 knowingly, would you consider me other than the deadliest enemy ? No 1 
 you shall not call me Dolores, never, never again." 
 
 Dolores stamps her little slippered foot with decision ; she is trembling 
 with passion. Surely something has touched quiet, lazy, languid, sweet 
 Dolores very deeply, to arouse such a tirade of passion and feeling. Mrs. 
 St. James laughs lightly. 
 
 "Ah, you have not forgiven me yet? ^yell you know, dear," sbe goes 
 on, not heeding Dolores' averted face, " you know, dear, what I said was 
 true. I meant you no harm when I spoke of your mother's nationality. 
 You would not listen to any explana — " 
 But Dolores interrupted her. 
 
 " You called my mother a negress. You said a man in my father's posi- 
 tion was worse than a fool to marry a penniless negress. Some one said 
 you were mistakeu. that Mr. Litchfield's wife was a Creole ; and I heard you, 
 with my own ears, say there was not a sliadow of difference ; one was the 
 same as the other. But," and Dolores comes down from her towering rage 
 to a wonderfully quiet tone, " I forgive you for all the pain you may have 
 caused me— you know for whose sake, and the reason why [ do forgive, 
 even though I shall never forget. Will you shake hands with me 1" 
 
 Of course no human mortal could bear to refuse to take the girl's out- 
 stretched hand. But Ned Crane was perfectly dumbfounded to see proud,. 
 haughty Arial St. James eagerly clasp Dolores' hand in both her own, and, 
 can it be possible ? yes, there are tears in the large blue eyes that people 
 say look as if the owner had no feeling. 
 
 " Ah, Dolores, you are and have been an angel. My pride makes me 
 
 ^BfT 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY- 
 
 15 
 
 l'"^ '0 plainly 
 ^ ^"«i ieav, ' 
 
 ea 
 
 'St knowled 
 
 ^or your 
 
 re- 
 
 '"' ^ookfDg so 
 ^e to calj 
 
 •cation, the 
 "P to tbh 
 
 '^^e by ni_j, 
 'therwise, 
 med j^ou 
 
 > S'veet 
 
 6 goes 
 d 'Was 
 laJity. 
 
 posi- 
 said 
 
 the 
 'ge 
 ve 
 e. 
 
 forget somel'!iue3 ; but I should never quarrel with you, should I, Dolores, 
 should I ]" Mrs. St. James passes her white handkerchief across her eyes. 
 
 " We won't talk about it any more," the eldest Miss Litchfield replies. 
 " Pray don't make yourself miserable ; your secret is safe with me." 
 
 Then Dolores turns to Xed with a grave, earnest look in her pretty dark 
 eyes. " I trust you will pardon my unhappy interview with the lady who 
 has just left us," 
 
 And Xed declares that of course he never thought anything about it ; 
 then immediately condemned himself by saying Mrs. St. James was a fiend. 
 Dolores laughs softly. 
 
 " You should never take up the cudgels for other people, Mr. Crane. I 
 did the same thing myself one time, and found it would not work." 
 
 The gong sounds for luncheon, and Gordon Aubrey comes up hurriedly. 
 
 " You promised I should take you down, Miss Litchfield. I hope you 
 have not forgotten." 
 
 Gordon forgets, in the excitement of the moment, to adjust the gold eye- 
 glass, to stare at Mr. Crane as he reluctantly furled Dolores' white parasol 
 and placed it carefully in her hand. 
 
 The dance was a grand success ; the officer?, did all that lay in their power 
 to make it so ; and as the party from the yacht took their departure, float- 
 ing dreamily across the smooth moonlit waters, all felt perfectly contented 
 with the day's pleasure. All but pretty, restless Rea Severn ; her peace of 
 mind Avas sadly disturbed, and why? "Well, perhaps Dolores Litchfield, 
 sitting there, loaning over the side of the pretty little row-boat, idly trailing 
 her white fingers in the cool water, with Gordon Aubrey apparently utterly 
 unconscious of everything else, sitting beside her, trying to be as entertain- 
 ing as possible. Perhaps that had something to do with Eea's coldness to 
 Jerry Hopkins, who is talking to her now, and who, chatty people say, is 
 not indifferent to Miss Severn's good looks;, or her forty thousand pounds. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A S T It A N G E R . 
 
 " Ho lived at peace with all mankind, 
 
 In friendship he was true ; 
 His coat had pocket holes behind, 
 
 His pantaloons were blue." 
 
 — A. G. Gbeexe. 
 
 " Zoe^ come in out of the hot sun, child; do you hear? Sitting out 
 there in the full glare, bless my soul, without even a hat on your head." 
 
 Miss Adeline Litchfield, the monitress of the Litchfield establishment, 
 stands in the pretty front porch, overhung with fragi-ant blossoming honey- 
 
I ' 
 
 16 
 
 Z0>7; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 11 
 
 suckle and sweet climbing roses. She looks with wrathful eyes upon her 
 niece, curled up on a chair on the veranda, her book on the top railing, 
 with her elbows beside it, her head buried in her two hands. Zoe was 
 lost to the objects around and the world in general. She was far off, taking 
 a far deeper interest in the pleasures aud trials of her friends in the book 
 spread out before her, than in the everyday employments or household 
 duties in which " auntie" wisliod her to excel. 
 
 •' Zoe ! do you hear me 1 Come in directly." 
 
 " Let me alone, Auutie ; I am all right. I just have two chapters more, 
 and then I'll come." 
 
 Miss Litchfield retires discomfitted, but not conquered. After a few mo- 
 ments she again appears, bearing a large white sun hat, daintily trimmed 
 with muslin, and a small oval basket. Going over to the guilty party, she 
 <iuietly shuts the book up and puts it under her arm. 
 
 "Zoe, put on your hat ; I want you to go an errand for me, down to 
 Mrs. Haley's. Tell her I was so well pleased with the rolls of fresh butter 
 she sent, that I will take two more." 
 
 Zoe's eyes blazed; it was on the tip of her quick tongue to say, "I 
 won't;" but an inward sense of politeness forbade her to do so ; for though 
 " Auntie" had a sharp tongue and a strong sense of right, which made her 
 at times hard to get on with, still for all that her two nieces, to whom she 
 had been mother, counsellor and friend since their own mother left them, 
 were wrapped up in quick-tempered but kind meaning aunt Adeline. 
 
 People Avere not sure if Mrs. Litchfield was dead or not. Rumors had 
 been afloat that she had left her husband. Ko one dared question either 
 Mr. Litchfield nor iiis sister ; every one knew it to be an understood fact 
 that the family desired the public to consider her dead. " Auntie" had 
 always been all-in-all to her brother and his children. 
 
 Now Auntie hurries iu to the kitchen, to see that the beautiful brown 
 loaves of bread, baking in the oven, are not burning. Zoe departs on her 
 mission ; she walks down the road slowly ; it is awfully warm. Goodness ! 
 she never felt the heat so intense, with such a trot way down ever so far. 
 Ah ! here is a brilliant chance for saving herself the weary walk to Mrs. 
 Haley's. Coming down behind is a cart filled with hay, and sitting on top 
 are three little boys in white pinafores, chattering to the old man who holds 
 the reins, and every little while flicks a fly oft' the horses' backs with the 
 whip he idly dangles. 
 
 " Have a ride ?" comes in chorus from the load of hay. Without a second 
 invitation, throwing the basket up ahead, Zoe climbs nimbly up ; with the 
 able assistance of the three small pinafored gentlemen, she is pulled trium- 
 phantly aloft. The heat is great, but it has no visible effect on the three 
 younger members of the party. After tumbling about at the imminent 
 
i'y'' ^Pon her 
 
 J"}' ''^> taking 
 f '^^ *^e book 
 l^^iousehoJd 
 
 ZOE ; OR, SOME DA F, 
 
 17 
 
 PPfcers 
 
 Jflore, 
 
 ^y tiitximQa 
 
 '^^ hntter 
 
 say, uj^ 
 
 i- though 
 '«t^e her 
 
 ^0^1 she 
 ^t thera^ 
 
 ^» 
 
 '^•s Aad 
 either 
 ^ fact 
 "had 
 
 'own 
 her 
 
 3SS / 
 
 far. 
 
 0], 
 
 le 
 
 peril of Ijoing minutely j)vccipitate(l over the side, they propose to bury 
 Zoo alivn. This takes some time to accomplish to every one's satisfaction, 
 so long, in fact, that presently Mrs. Haley's white mite of a cottage appears 
 in view. Zoe suggests that perhaps she had better alight before she gets 
 quite to the door. So the horses are stopped by a tremendous *' wlioa !" 
 and Zoo proceeds to descend as gracefully as it is possible to do so. She 
 is going do\\u famuusly, thinking how more than fortunate it is that she 
 got this ride on such a melting day. She happens to glance up the road ; 
 oh, horrors ! coming leisurely down, with his hands thrust carelessly in the 
 pockets of a litthj dark blue shooting coat, and a cigar between his lips, is 
 a man — a young man too — and, yes, he is looking at her. She misses her 
 balance, her foot slips, and, throwing her arms wildly upward, arrives in 
 the arms of mother earth, in any but a dignifl-Hl descent. 
 
 The " horrid brute" came quickly to see if ho could assist the young lady 
 to arise ; ho takes her arm, and Zoe stands up, her face as red as the scar- 
 let passion flower tucked in her belt. 
 
 " You are very kind," she stammers, " I should not have got up there ; 
 it was very unfortunate." 
 
 The gentleman, finding she is unharmed, lifts his hat and proceeds on 
 his way. 
 
 Zoe hurries into Mrs. Haley's. Oh Iiow silly she feels ; oh heart ! Avhat 
 would auntie say if she knew tlie disgrace which had fallen upon her niece? 
 She wondered, Avith a sickening at her heart, if he had seen her feet. Oh. 
 dear ! if he had would it not be droadfuH She looked at her pretty slip- 
 pered feet inipiiringly. Of course they were nothing to be ashamed of, but 
 oh dear ! And now come to think of it, " Auntie " had strictly forbidden 
 her riding on top of hay carts, ever since she had read in the papers how 
 some one had fell and broke their arm. Oh, she hoped and prayed Auntie 
 would never find out this wretched morning's work. 
 
 Zoe did her errand, and returned home, taking special care to "walk.'* 
 And the " horrid man," sitting on the veranda, talking so comfortably with 
 aunt Adeline, on being presented to " my youngest niece," bows, and seems 
 as unconscious of ever having laid eyes on the youngest Miss Litchfield be- 
 fore, or knew Hvhat a pretty sight a young lady could make of herself, 
 coming to the ground in a diagonal line from half way down a cart of hay. 
 Yes, coming quickly around the corner, and running right up the steps, 
 she was astonished at finding this stranger conversing with her aunt. Miss 
 Litchfield rocked to and fro in the little wicker chair, and Zoe, as she 
 stands there holding the little basket with the rolls of fragrant, sweet but- 
 ter, covered with cool green leaves, concludes in her own mind, this young 
 man must be something of a favourite, or auntie would not be so willing to 
 be interrupted in her morning's work. 
 
18 
 
 ZOE) OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 Ml 
 
 n 
 
 i' 
 
 " Zoe, how hot you aro, child ; your faco is povfoctly scarlet. What is 
 the matter with your skirt, child ? a grout rent in one side, a frill torn be- 
 yond all mending, and the dress a brand now muslin, ju:-<t made last week. 
 Where liave you been, or what have you been about, to, literally speaking, 
 come homo in such a rr.garauffin fashion ?" 
 
 Zoe looks at her dress in dismay. Not for one instant had she remem- 
 bered to notice if her tumble had proved dcstructivo to the pretty new suit 
 she had felt so proud of. Auntie was waiting for an answer to her ques- 
 tion. The young gontleman was busy looking at the fuscha climbing up 
 the pillar near wliich he sat. Perhaps ho turned to look at the flower, per- 
 haps it was to hide the rfinile of aiuusomcnt wliich would curl tho corners 
 of his handsome mouth. 
 
 " Put your hair off your foreliead, do, child. The person who invented 
 the fashion of wearing one's hair all over their eyes should have been ban- 
 ished from all civilized lauds. The only thing that will keep your father 
 out of Heaven, Zoo Litchfield, is your persistent act of wearing bangs, for 
 it is tho only fault, in you that makes him angry." 
 
 Just then tho visitor turns around and deliberately surveys the pretty 
 culprit. 
 
 " Nothing wrong in keeping along with the times, Jliss Litchfield," he 
 says pleasantly ; and Zoe casts him a grateful glance from the pretty blue 
 eyes, whose color no one can tell the exact shade. Any one who will de- 
 fend her pet bang is Zoo's fiiond. 
 
 " I will tell you some other time how this wretched dress got torn. Surely 
 you will trust mo oumgli to know I Avill tell you the truth, and the exact 
 truth about it." And Zoe, turns to walk into the house, her head thrown 
 proudly up, with the torn frill of her white gown trailing after her. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FORTUNE TELLING. 
 
 "Lady cross the Gipsy's hand with gold, 
 She will to you the future unfold."-fMAK. 
 
 "What a beautiful spot! how lovely if we could go on shore and in- 
 vestigate." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Litchfield, that is an excellent idea of yours. I will order 
 the boats out, and if the company are willing we will row over and land." 
 
 The Hon. Jerry goes rapidly away to give the order. Dolores is sitting 
 m a camp chair on^the deck of the Hon. Jerry's yacht, a scarlet shawl 
 thrown lightly over her pretty shoulders. The yacht has glided into one 
 
 \ 
 
 "ms^ 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 19 
 
 "l^y\^o,y suit 
 f"^i^S up 
 
 of the most charming inlets of beautiful scenery Dolores' eyes have seen 
 since hor return from abroad. 
 
 " Aro wo to really go ou shore ?" demands Kea Severn, lifting for a mo- 
 ment her eyes from the crazy cushion she is engaged in making. She has 
 been industriously at work, with her eyes fixed most devoutly on the silks 
 and crewels, hut hor ears havo heard every word Dolores and the Hon. 
 Jerry have spoken for the last twenty minutes. 
 
 " I believe so," Dolores answers absently. She is busy gazing dreamily 
 across the deep, blue, shining, sparkling, rippling waters. 
 
 "Come, ladies, let us he uj) and doing ; the boats are ready." 
 
 Gordon Aubrey flings overboard the cigar ho has been smoking, and a 
 general move is made. Rea Severn hastily tosses aside her work, and puts 
 on the hat her maid has brought. Ilea, Dolores, Mrs. St. James, Gordon 
 Aubrey, the Hon. Jerry, Nod Crane, and Florrie Silverstone depart. The 
 other members of the party are either too lazy, or have something to do 
 more pleasing to their minds than going to explore a place which would in 
 all probability bo " abounding in snakes, bugs, and other venomous rep- 
 tiles," as old Lady Streathiuere observed when she was told of the intended 
 expedition. Lord Strathmere would liave gone too, and been only too 
 happy, especially as Dolores went, for poor Lord Strathmere was very 
 severely smitten with pretty, gentle Dolores ; but unfortunately for him 
 he had gone on the tug boat to view a wrecked steamer some five or six 
 miles away. 
 
 Ned Crane whispered, as he took his accustomed place by Dolores' side, 
 " that he was just as glad Strathmere could not come, as there was no room 
 for him in the boat." Mrs. St, James smiles languidly, endeavoring now 
 and then to stem the current of squabbling going on between Florrie Sil- 
 verstone and Gordon Aubrey. They never agree ; so at last Arial gives the 
 attempt up in despair, and turns her attention to Ned and Dolores. When 
 at length the boat grates on the beach, three little children, with bare feet, 
 are building castles in the sand. They are well dressed children, probably 
 boarding here for the summer months. They gaze in wide eyed wonder at 
 the boat and her occupants ; evidently they are not accustomed to have 
 their sandy domains intruded upon by strangers. The eldest, a girl of 
 eight or nine, accosted Gordon Aubrey. 
 
 " Have you come to have your fortune told V she asked sharply. 
 
 "Will you do me the honor to tell me mmel" he answered with all due 
 respect to the oracle. She looked him over critically, from the toe of his 
 trim shoe to the top of his jaunty sailor hat. 
 
 " People like you, with only one eye, and the other one glass, can't have 
 much to be told, I know," the tiny maid replies, looking at him from un- 
 der her big shady hat. 
 
■^OA',. oji, som: j,^y^ 
 
 ^"t'o» was «„,;] '" ^'''' ^' Siva k.r .oM n ''"""''''^^y' 
 
 -""--'^iw,!;; ;: F -^-'i- <:.::;?:/::" ^-^^-^ 
 
 " \\'J„.» /'i'i'""^' ')y ono or thn ,.n f '' °' s'le won't " t, . 
 
 ^flomo ono vrlio em. 1,7 * .. 
 Jonv 7r 1 . "-fuiu toll lis " r» f. 
 
 •^^ny /ropkins.sjjou'sf/.n •, ' ^ea Govern 
 
 to come in', n '•'^"""^'^^t'orgotohMr.n . 
 
 «onig on m^ide." '^''"^^^ out hero bv fl,o 7 
 
 ^ "'' ^°°i' to take in all 
 
 Bol 
 
 s 
 
 fion n, 'f. '"^ "P- ■'ind the 2u "^ ^' 0° ^Wh 
 
 '^■of'-^ssion tlu. r '" '^^'^^'^^'^y. Conh ' *^ ^^«^' cheeks T .?"*' 
 
 °^that .vj e ^:'^"^' ''^^^-^ the,„,]ir.''''^"^^«^ People of th • 
 
 -hat ever ol ? ^'^^^'^ ^^ then, ! j^ ^'^^^ ^ «o, as'ea h l^t "' ""'' 
 " .., "^^3 one else is told. ^^'''' ^""'^ or indi/Teronf °^ '^*^«e<i 
 
 
 "^^J^.sie meets the ejes 
 
ZOE: OH, SOME DAY 
 
 21 
 
 "^'°^ «'^ovvs us 
 
 ?'' t^o M-av to 
 '° ^'« PociceL 
 
 ^^ ^^^ yo^x uw 
 
 ^^^^i them 
 '^yj Crawley 
 °' Auntie 
 
 '« ^oiores, 
 
 '^« prettjr 
 
 ^0 m all 
 
 ble hut, 
 
 So they 
 
 ' or her ; ; , 
 
 ^^arned III 
 
 3 hears 
 
 lunioil uu lu'.v with cuul iuilitrorciiccj ; lici' i)Ockft-h;iU(lkeichu't'(-lroi>s to tho 
 gvoiunl ; fllio loopH to i)i<:k it U]i, iind tho i^'ipny goes on : 
 
 " 'riicvn is II (livrk gontloni(\n hovo whom you will have aomo trouble Avith. 
 'I'hevi* is ii (li8a])|)oiutni(mt for you; but j'oii will get your wish ovoii it' it 
 iloos turn out (lilfiTontiy from what you think. N'cni will get some mcnoy, 
 md thurc in a phsisant convcrnilion with a light man. Ho ha.s a good hoart 
 I'or you ; will tidl you J-onio jdcasant ui'ws. Vou will rticeivu a letter with- 
 in a day ur two. Your life will bo full of \ips and downs, tho .same as 
 most ol'ns." 
 
 ''Xuw. pretty lady, will you cross tho gipsy's jialm]" Sho has turned 
 to liea Severn. *• A'uu are an.vious about (he doings uf a fair man ; but my 
 pretty one, put no i'aitli in him ; tho men arc; tickle, the best of them. You 
 will be a little sick, not much, but bnjuidit on by vour own foolishness. 
 Let mo advise you to drop the habit you have contracted. If yuu do not 
 kill it, it will kill you ; so be guided." 
 
 IJca shivers ; she begins to le-el a Utile frightened ; sho is glad tho others 
 are behind lior ; it would not answer for them to seo the expression of fear 
 on her fai > Tlieu each of the others had their turn. ])olore8 refused to 
 have anything to do with cards ; she despised the very .sight of thorn. She 
 told \ed they sent a cold dull over her, and Xed believed it. 
 
 " How silly ! What ails you, Dolores? Vou are generally one of tho 
 last to back down when any fun is going on," Florrio Silvcrstone says 
 petulently. There have been some i'acts told Elorrie, by tho gipsy, which 
 have made her a little cross. Hut Dolores is busy, and does not answer. 
 Sho has taken sonio tall golden-eyed daisies from the hedge row. 
 
 "It h- a much pli^asantor way to tell one's own fortune, you know," she 
 tells Ned, the ever attentive ; and of course Ned agrees — he always docs to 
 what ])retty Dolores says. 
 
 " He loves me, he loves me not ; he loves me, how nice," Dolores laughs 
 softly, as sho ilings the petulless llower in the water. 
 
 '' Will it be a soldier-. ,\iiart, wlio will storm and take me? 
 
 Or will a sailor break my licart, his tigiu-ehead to make mc ? 
 
 Will it be a man to i>reaeb, Even-song and Matin? 
 
 Or shalU go to school again, Avitli Jaek to teach me Latin? 
 
 Will it bo a coacli and four ? Will it be a carriage ? 
 
 Or will a cart by at the door, to tako me to my marriage? 
 
 Sings .Terry blithly. 
 
 ''Why, Jerry, old follow, have you just Avoke up?" cries Gordon 
 Aubrey. 
 
 " Jerry has such a sweet, fine, sympathetic voice ; almost think it v/as & 
 chime of bells," Florrie Silverstoue says saucily. 
 
 Now this is rather hard on tho Hon. Jerry, his voice, on the contrary, 
 having once been compared favourably with a bass drum. But it being 
 2 
 
22 
 
 u 
 
 ^^^^- 0^> SOMi: 2,jj. 
 
 ^i" P'lrt^ are U """"'"S.^d <rha ^ew !, '/ '^^''^ ^V you ,, 
 
 -Do you n„, ^ '°*^ 'io racht . f ^ ""■■ ">" deen M *"* ''««'■ 
 
 ^^ '=°- ^0 fPT-J ">^t Dow, ,-, , , '™' '^--d ? " 
 
 seemed ave,; ' " "" '"'°'" "• Gord 1' *'' ^«« Arfal', 
 
 "^fe ^„;,f ^^' dM (lei,, fe, Cote ''°''" ^''4i to d r.""^' "-^'e 
 
 •^O" tote auv 'l"^'?"*- " I'ou seeff 7^8'«3es &»,) ' ?" °''''^- 
 bmeficiai .- V?'"'J' for iH W '"' P'We to » ./""^ cautiously 
 
 be Kra.,, ^^A'"' J"^« io^ „o„ „,.,_ , ° '' '^'^ ^io tioujht 
 
 " -^'on' I Ir„ . "■= "■'■* Iau..i,,„ . ""'' ""e Oos 
 
 '^^ ^^^ wat:r' ^- ^"" »- W , ■ "" ^^^ «"-.">. 
 
 and Jitif „• 7 **^^^0D the UUr,/i ,, ^J your wrpf^i, ■, 
 
 ® -'PUU moves the 
 
f '^^ the deck " o • 
 "^ ^^Pects aj] to 
 
 f Wue and ^repn 
 ^«tos/de. '^ "^ 
 
 '^ ^%-race. 
 ^^^ oautioualy 
 ;;^3'dear;do 
 
 •^ fi^ofc dam; 
 ^^■^it air is 
 ^ofi't inind, 
 
 appeared. 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAT. 
 
 23 
 
 e — " 
 
 iswers 
 
 Gleix 
 
 es he 
 
 young man in an opposite direction. He suddenly' becomes intensely in- 
 terested in the members of the Litchfield family, past, present and absent. 
 She does not notice the stop he makes now. 
 
 "And this lady in the white dress. Who is she?" 
 
 *' With a big white hat V Zoo enquires, looking up for a moment. 
 " That is my sister." 
 
 " Your sister ! So this is the peerless Dolores. "Well, I will own she 
 is beautiful enough to command all your admiration." He studies the pic- 
 ture before him intently. 
 
 " How angry Dolores would be if she heard you say that." 
 
 Mr. Glen looked up, inquiring so innocently, ""\Vhy1" that Zoe's heart 
 smote her with remorse. 
 
 •' She rather objects to having strangers call her by her Christian name, 
 of course," the youngest Miss Litchfield goes on cautiously. " Perhaps she 
 would not mind your admiring her picture. I am sure there was nothing 
 but perfect truth in what you said, was there?" 
 
 Mr. Glen gaz^s across from his seat in the bay window, and regards Zoe 
 thoughti'ully. 
 
 '' I supjioae your sister. Miss Litchfield, has told you many pleasant sto- 
 ries regarding her trip abroad," he enquires, with strong emphasis on the 
 Miss Litchfield. 
 
 " Oh yes I Sometiiies I almost think I am in the various places she Las 
 been, Dolores describes persons and places so graphicallj'." 
 
 Mr. Glen rather winces. In the enthusiasm of speaking of Dolores, Zoe's 
 work is for the time forgotten. 
 
 " Yes, she is more than clever in almost everything ; she has certain 
 magni tic p jwers not possessed by us all." , 
 
 Zoe looks at him, in amazement. Had a bombshell suddenly gone ofi" at 
 her feet in the pretty sitting room, her eyes would not have fairly popped 
 out of her he.d as they did now. 
 
 "Why, do you know my sister? You can't; at least she never men- 
 tioned your name.'- 
 
 Mr. Glen laughs, toy.s with his watch chain, and, does his face become 
 just a trifle red ? 
 
 "I am judging from the picture, my dear little girl." 
 
 Zoe resents being called his " dear little girl,-" so she says, "Oh, indeed," 
 very stiffly. She goes on with her sketching, but its charm has gone. She 
 has a strong, very stroug impression that this young man and Dolores hare 
 met. But why has Dolores never told her i Perfect confidence has hitherto 
 existed between them. Surely Dolores 'vould not have any secrets from 
 her. She would love to question Mr. Gh n about it, but pride forbids. If 
 there is anything to tell, Dolores will let hf ^ know when she thinks proper. 
 
,. I- 
 
 24 
 
 ^^^^- 0Ii,S0MEj)^^r 
 
 \ra<5 fj. ^ °* "^e flav n-ffi, i • should be "\r, t- ' ^^^n 
 
 nin,.. -'^"^ reason Jia ,% i ^^^^f^o^r, fs '^ »,„,. . ^-^^ ^^ summon 
 
 jaore as pos.sibJo. j. ° ^'""^ ^"^ to find '! , "'^"^ ^^ out" ^vi^b J 
 
 «}-. Th ""^ ^-'■''^Meld V w°'"'"'y *° slop rth r ®"''' "P 
 Glen ,t " '■"' '""»■ Jet P, Z •^'"''" "tfa'-m-a, 1, ', "'"' "" ife 
 
 J-™ could TtL f''''''''™<'f ii ma,l' '""■'"' 8^''"e or Z/"°*"^''- 
 
 ^ad done could not 
 
ZOE ; OR, SOME DAY 
 
 '■ ^^^tchfidd dis- 
 "\ ^^"t ^vhat he 
 
 '''^ ^Ir. Utah. 
 
 f^- Onoof 
 ^ ^ouciied up 
 
 derated. He 
 
 '> ^ad 
 
 eii ^vith 
 
 ' ^0 tie gar- 
 ^ a tree, f^ 
 ^^ suiujoor. 
 
 ^ as mucij 
 ^ thirty or 
 od as vreii 
 ■^ greatly 
 ^^D ^Wtli 
 imber of 
 to start, 
 ?ive up 
 ' school 
 
 00 his 
 haveu_ 
 
 'IS Jet 
 ?hted. 
 voice 
 ne, if 
 
 mda, 
 
 Host 
 flot 
 
 The sun suddenly flashes full upon Zee's work ; she rubs her eyes, and 
 wonders if ]\Iv. Glou has gone to sleep, or wliy in the world is he sitting 
 there, staring so idiotioally at a photo of herself and Dolores when they 
 were quite small childieu ? Tint in all probahility ho is iuAvardly dying 
 of laiiLi'hter, eomnientiug on the two thin little jiairs of legs daugling from 
 the higli cliair, in Avhich they are seated, and criticising the braided pig- 
 tails under the little round straw hats. TIow many times Dolores and 
 herself have laughed over the closely shut lips, and demurely folded 
 hands and short frocks. But for this young man to commit a like actioii 
 was justly unpardonal)lo. Then she thinks she is playing the part of 
 hoste.5s rather lamely. 
 
 "Say, ?ilr. Glen," Zoe pushes her chair bock, and proceeds briskly to 
 gather up lier working implements. •' Shall we go finish the game of tennis 
 we were playing yesterday 'I " 
 
 Mv. Glen starts, shuts the album, and assents. 
 
 "The sun looks like- jdaying tennis, or any thing else ; you both stop just 
 where you are, I am uut anxious to have two cases of sun-stroke on my 
 hands, with all my otiier hdusehold cares. Another thing, you both know 
 the old maxim of " idle hamls," so I have provided you with some useful 
 employment." 
 
 .\unt Adeline sinks on a lounge, unties, and takes olf the large yellow 
 sun-lionnet, and fans lierself energetically with a huge palm leaf. The 
 useful employment consists of a luishel basket nearly full of green peas to 
 be shelled for dinner. .T<'t laughingly declares he is ready to do anything 
 to escape the two evils, sun-stroke, and the fate of the " Idle men and boys 
 who Avore found." 
 
 And aunt Adeline replied admiiingly, " .Tet Glen, how much that sounds 
 like your motlier." 
 
 Jet looks thought full v on the lloor, his conscience giving an tmusuallv 
 sharp twinge. This was rather much for him to make any reply. How 
 easily wa poor, frail mortals iu this world are ileceived. 
 
 ciiAPTEii vn. 
 
 A T NICE. 
 
 " We know notliinLT of to-morrow : our business is to bo good and happy 
 to-day.'' — SiDMcv ^^mitk. 
 
 A day in December, two years previous to the beginning of my story. 
 " Doleres, uncle ])itk is going into the town ; do you care to goT' 
 Dolores is reading a Lng home letter from Zoe, full to the very e.'ges, 
 beside being crossed and reerosaed with all the latest sayings, doings, and 
 
I 
 
 26 
 
 'f /I 
 
 J? 
 
 ^^fS^^M^DAy. 
 
 
 Prospective to h / -—— — -^ 
 
 ^°ad. :ninr,^- ^M' Jeave her /n r °^ ^^oad/nn „ 
 
 .^r-"'"-'"^ Et?"-^'-"'' of eoj!" *'^ -nole C O "^"iWoil. 
 ^'"Idlfle, ii,-V, .,"""= i»d ret,r«I '■'"■J- portly a« "'"^ P°^^ 
 
 . "* carriage is «^. 7 ^ ^°^ t go an' / ^ ^b<Jut for 
 
 . ''"'' ^ P'-o-d, COM face' '"' ,^ ''"- '.a„d.o„, ,, 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 27 
 
 M 
 
 '^^'' ^0 such a 
 !^0 Diet „ 
 
 *^'f» can 
 fi'o <ion'ii tie 
 ' ^°^'^ natiVe 
 
 Dick's ro]J. 
 ^^y Posaeaa. 
 
 ?^i iionors. 
 ^••e^ i*t his 
 
 '*> «iclc of 
 '«^> jour- 
 
 [is vainly trying to get away from the nurse girl, who is in her turn vainly 
 [trying to keep him out of sight, until his mother gets away. 
 
 •* Take the child away, Hester, and do try to stop that terrible crying. 
 Gracious ! what a pest some children are." This is addressed to the young 
 lady who comes down the broad steps to take her place by her friend's 
 side. Mrs. St. James, with Rea Severn, are going to spend the day at 
 Villefrancht^ and no foolish whim of a child's was going to interfere with 
 their pleasure. 
 
 The carriage goes off, and Dolores tries her charms on the little man left 
 behind. She goes over and talks to him ; he is instantly fascinated by the 
 lovely lady, consents to sit on her lap, listens to the ticking of her watch, 
 and finally falls asleep, \\ith his dark curly head pillowed on the train of 
 Dolores' dress. She wrote her home letter, and did not forgot to mention 
 her latest gentleman admirer. 
 
 "Walking back and forth, in one of the garden avenues opposite, there is 
 a gentleman who has been r. witness of all that has taken place ; a tall fair 
 man, broad shouldered, and with a noble face — a face possessed of every- 
 thing good, kind and generous — a thorough gentleman. There are a great 
 many " men" in the world, some great, some small, but the " gentlemen,** 
 of them it is to be regretted there are too few. Sir Barry Traleigh was 
 here at Nice on business. He was very wealthy, but he was always em- 
 ployed by his business affairs. He believed in a man, whether rich or poor, 
 having something with which to occupy his mind. Not an idle life did Sir 
 Barry, the genial owner of Castle Racquette, beside many broad acres of 
 land, lead. Castle Racquette was one of the finest ctates in all Glengarry, 
 Scotland, and very pardonable was the pride which Sir Barry entertained 
 for his ancient, luxurious home. Now as the sun steals slyly under the 
 large Panama hat and turns his ohort pointed beard, worn after the style of 
 a Venetian, to a golden shade, Sir Barry is a very fine specimen of a nine- 
 teenth century Scotchman. From his promenade he watches Dolores ; and 
 Dolores, did she know who was watching her ? Why, certainly not. Well 
 then, how was it a few minutes afterward, as Sir Barry came past the piazza, 
 Dolores looked up, and their eyes mot, Sir Barry's full of respectful admi- 
 ration ; why did Dolores blush and droop her eyes ? It is truly wonderful 
 how much can be said in a look. The next instant Dolores is ready to call 
 herself a silly simpleton. What does she know of this man, that she should 
 care to know who he was ? Probably she would never lay eyes on him 
 again. And yet Dolores could not help acknowledging, rather reluctantly 
 to her own conscience, that a handsomer man she had never scon. 
 
 Presently little Roy wakes up, and Dolores and ho have dinner 
 brought up to Dolores' charming parlor, and all his mother's unkind neglect 
 is forgotten. They have a right royal feast ; and when Hester comes to 
 
nil I 
 
 11^ 
 
 lif 
 
 I ■;) 
 
 H 
 
 28 
 
 f^' Oll,SOMj^J^^y 
 
 ,7?- -uaJ let ^j-: ---^ ™t-a«..,, r':,r ;f ';-'>o» .„,, ,,, 
 
 ^o^^*«. ^vith a JcfsN ,M ^ ■'"'" «^ie was }„•. "' J^itciifieJtl I.,, i! 
 
 ^'^oveAand-n '''""' ^^^'^^ ^^^ii^ 
 
 ],«n,..;,_, ^^'^Jic/.sonie man nf n.^ = 
 
 ^'^JOj- (.,1'av 
 
 '■^^^ted to see 
 
 '^r^^^ ^"'^^' ^^^e^r';^tf "^^ ^° - ^^^^t^ ?"^ ^^^^^^ ^-^ 
 
 ,,,,f ^; S-^«, this i. T.a^,- :\^^^:- , "'' ^"-« -^cl calis i. 
 
 -r^^ ills tendP7- ,. . '" *^'o 
 "'' baad, for ^,3-^ 
 
 -' ^^^- ^-eW,d sove.Ui.e.. ,,, 
 
ZOE ; OR, SOME DAY 
 
 29 
 
 ""''■ HeJIo; 
 
 his rrnll 
 
 '^^^^^ to see 
 
 'out 
 
 3ra- 
 
 COliio 
 
 022, 
 
 you all 
 
 ' 'o make 
 
 '^' Jiioru- 
 
 ^"i'ed so 
 ^^<i her- 
 to the 
 ' (^old, 
 Qi2Ue, 
 
 mss 
 
 ure.s 
 
 ^cs.. 
 
 his 
 
 ?et 
 
 lis 
 
 Id 
 
 u 
 
 paid to lier ed'urts, she has beeu oblig<jcl to speak. Llomliue declares some-- 
 tiling ails liei foot, a cramp, or asleup, or somothiug, she cannot just decide 
 wliich. Sir liarry clears the way, and they go, to he presently met hy 
 uncle Dick and t-.vo ladies. Sir JJarry lil'ts his hat conrteuusly as uncle 
 Dick presents j\Irs. St. James and ]\Iiss Severn. ^Nlrs. St. James says thoy 
 were caught in a shower on the way to Villai'ranche, and when they had 
 hurried back found the sun shining most gloriously. Blondine bows and 
 smiles — when does Blondine not smile 1 — and Dolores 1 Dolores deliberately 
 turns her back ; of course it is most unpaidonably rude. T'ncle ])ick never 
 notices anything M'rong, he never does, poor deluded m;iu, but goes on 
 talking about, one tiling, then auotlier. lUondine is shocked; the warm 
 blood surges up in her face, covering her ears and throat. It is the tlrst 
 time she has ever had cause to feel ashamed of pretty, gentle Dolores. Poor 
 Blondine ponders and wori'ies ; what has come over Dolores ? she must cer- 
 tainly be ill to act so strangely. Sir Barry luoks surprised as well as pained, 
 but does his best to make things pass olf as smoothly as possible. The walk 
 back to the hotel was auythiug but pleasant. If there had been no gentle- 
 men jiresent Ilea Severn would have been sullen or sulky ; her manner 
 now, however, was something betwixt and between the two. ^hs. St. 
 James received the •* direct cut" from Miss Litchfield with cool self-})0sses- 
 siou and indill'erence. If she noticed the insult offered to \vjv she made no 
 
 sign. 
 
 A clever nineteenth century woman was Arial St. James. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 YOU NEVER C A N' TELL. 
 
 With every i)l«>asui;:, every [irudent part, 
 Say what tloes Chloe want ? 
 She wants a heart Pofk. 
 
 '^Xo one could expect anything better from a person of Mis- Litchfield's 
 position. Of course 3'ou could not help noticing her manner yesterday ; 
 the girl's bringing up must account for her actions. Any man, a gentleman, 
 who would marry a negrets, could not but expect some flaw in his family." 
 
 Sir Barry Traleigh turns sharply from contemplating the reflection of his 
 own face in the mirror opposite. 
 
 '• Do you say Miss Litchfield's mother was a negress?" 
 
 :Mrs. St. James takes up a scarlet ball of silk from her work basket. 
 
 " Oh, well," she answers with sarcasm, '* I consider Creoles and negroes 
 the same. As I said before, the girl is not to blame, considering everything. 
 Then her mother ran away; why, surely you heard the story. She disap- 
 peared ; no one knows if she is dead or living. The deepest sympathy was 
 
f 
 
 i 
 
 1 ^1 
 
 [:i 
 
 r 
 
 1 _;■ 
 
 SO 
 
 -f^^^M^^^j. 
 
 I I 
 
 '%"" •'V ^Aewi?"^'' Patiently u. , ' "'"' ^ ^»'C 
 
 ^° «^« realise wC 
 
 ^) 
 
'.^^' ^i^fc reply in 
 mllT ^^^ fee 
 
 ^^°««> kneyr 
 ^y head iQ 
 '«5: to her. 
 
 ' ^Pportn- 
 
 '"fi^ft fie 
 them a 
 as been 
 's lazily 
 
 S^utle 
 '* bro- 
 e sees 
 
 con- 
 
 mg 
 ea 
 
 zoi:,- 0/7, /SOii/^ D^r. 
 
 31 
 
 >|hor foeliugs are, to be thiia rudely aAvakeued to the knowledge that there 
 Ij^hung over their family a dark cloud, some dreadful story about the beloved 
 Imother whom Zoo and she had so often mourned as dead ? 
 
 To bo sure no tombstone marktjd her grave in the pretty shady cemetery 
 at home. Aunt Adeline said their mother was dead, and that, to their 
 minds, was proof enough, for was Auntie ever known to tell them a false- 
 hood ? Since she had grown up, the desire to have her mother, like the 
 L'thor girls around, had often possessed her. But to hear this woman tell 
 Sir Barry that her mother had gone away and left her home and family ! 
 Believe it indeed ! No ! Certainly she could never look on the sweety 
 grave pictured face hanging in its massive frame of gilt, over the drawing 
 room mantle at home, and believe that the original could commit any act 
 that would make her children blush when they heard the name of theii 
 mother. 
 
 Probably had Arial St. James known how deeply her words had wounded 
 Delores, she would have been very sorry. Not a bad woman at heart, but 
 she spoke without thinking. Another thing, she had but repeated to Sir 
 Barry the story which every one knew at the time it happened. A guilty 
 conscience needs no accusing," as has often been said before. When Do- 
 lores turned her back on being presented to Mrs. St. James, it was because 
 she could not bring herself to treat with any show of civility a woman who 
 could treat her child so unkindly. Mrs. St. James attributed it to a wholly 
 different cause. Two years ago she and her husband had come to Italy. 
 Arial was charmed with the place, and when Mr. St. James proposed re- 
 turning home, his wife declined to go. So he, as usual, let her have her 
 own way, and left her and Eoy, then an uninteresting, sickly little infant 
 of only a few months old. Arial was not much of a person to write 
 letters, so Mr. St. James, working away among his law books, heard very 
 seldom from his wife, and knew very little of the way she employed her 
 time. Sometimes the thought would flash across his busy brain that he 
 would like to see his son. But Arial never mentioned the child's name, 
 and Mr. St. James, thinking women were queer fish, came to the conclu- 
 sion that the baby must have died in its infancy, and as perhaps it might 
 hurt his wife's feelings, he never mentioned the child's name to her. But 
 contrary to his ideas the baiby did live, grew strong and flourishing, and 
 little Eoy was the favorite of all in the large crowded hotel. But in spite 
 of his beautiful dresses, sashes, white kid slippers, dainty feathered hats, 
 and little lace bonnets, still, for all those desirable things, the poor Italian 
 peasant women followed the pretty dark, curly headed lad, with deep pity 
 in their dark lustrous eyes — for the Italians love their children with a deep 
 passionate devotion almost amounting to idolatry. But the little white 
 frocked, blue sashed English boy, Eoy, bad no loving mother to caress and 
 
¥ 
 
 
 32 
 
 I 
 
 ^«^'.- Of,', soj,f. jj^j. 
 
 as soon a.s (..--„, i, , -"^^ a^cJaro.s ho ,v • ^ ^"e ncvn.. 7. t H 
 
 ~-^^^^^^^ , '''''"-^"^-^-"^ i 
 
 ^° appears T) t ''"^'^-^ t^^« <lor, ;„ m ^"' ^'««J-^, is .S.V p. 
 
 ''»l'o !.e mil . T ''';; ""'"l" if m,cJ„ 7 ' "' '"" ""> gift toT '^ '" 
 
 '«"' PeiJiap, j^ , " «^^e carries Blondine'. . • 
 
 •>^« '^^^^^hsh talk proves mn, °''' ^^ 
 
 i ^^s more agreeable 
 
I! '^"«^"j t/i/, 
 
 '^^■«^' •'' «-ooci 
 "^' c.in cZo f,' 
 
 '^ ^'o o.ich 
 h^d oi2e 
 
 '■•>-• IIo 
 
 ui'ce of 
 '^ dono 
 
 so af 
 
 ? in 
 silo 
 
 ir 
 
 -Z(M'; on, SOME DAY. 
 
 33 
 
 I'l'esently Iforttor cuuioh to take lioy away, ami Dolores aauntors idly l»ack 
 
 Ito Sir IJarry and his fair compiinion. Itlondino u highly dcliglitod ; Sir 
 
 Barry has soon and askod undo Dick if ho would join tho j)arty, and of 
 
 CQiu'^o uncle I)ibk had waid yen. Any allair Tralei^a'h apjiroved was in undo 
 
 Dick's niiud coninioudahlo. 
 
 "Will iL not bo splendid ! Dolores, aro you nut pleased?" 
 
 And Sir I'.airy laughs li^'htly at Dolores' answer. 
 
 " Blondiui', you would think it splendid if a shower of rain should de- 
 scend this moment and dronch us." 
 
 lilundiue is watching the white clouds float across the azure sky, and 
 wishing thu sun may shinf3 as ])ri;^ditly for the next couple of days. Sir 
 Darry looks at the massive gold wutch in his i)ocket, and says by the 
 time the} lunch and get ready it will bo time to start. So lilondiue 
 unfurls her large white cotton umbrella, tucks Dalores' unwilling liand 
 under her arm, and laments tlii> snjallncss of the parasol's compas. If it 
 was possible si. . would olTor a part to Sir Barry ; as it is she advises him to 
 pull his hat well over his face, for freckles on a man's face is something 
 Miss Gray detests. 
 
 " But Some people consider them a mark of beauty ; that is the reason I 
 am trying to cultivate some," Sir Barry says solemnly. 
 
 Dolores giv(^s one swift side glance at the handsome face of the man 
 walking the other side of liloudiuc. He happens, at the same instant, to he 
 looking at her. Dolores is angry at the blush she feels rising to her face. 
 The idea of his watching her that way ; it is too bad he cannot find some 
 one else to gaze at all the time. 
 
 " 1 do wish you would hold the umbrella a little on my side," she says 
 cohlly to Blondine. 
 
 Sir Barry bites his moustaclio savagely ; he has never Leen so persistently 
 snubbed in all his twenty-eight years. 
 
 Ten minutes later Dolores, sitting at lier parlor window, happens to glance 
 out, to see Sir Barry strolling leisurely down the garden, with Eea Severn 
 at his side, in all the glory of a fresh effort of Worth's — a dress which every 
 girl in the hotel would give anything to possess. It was made so marvel- 
 lously, no one could tell just how — and so Miss Severn feared no imitation. 
 Dolores watches them pace up and down, to and fro. Her heart is throb- 
 bing with an angry, passionate feeling against Sir Barry. He was very 
 anxious to get Blondine and her back to the hotel, so he could walk and 
 and talk with Eea Severn. She wished uncle Dick would take Blondine 
 and her home, away, far away from the place where Sir Barry Traleigh is, 
 and all belonging to him. And yet if such had been the case that uncle 
 Dick should leave Nice, probably Dolores would feel most sincerely loath 
 to go. Eea has a cluster of magnificent pink and white roses in her hand. 
 
iq 
 
 $4 
 
 ii^i"«»^K 
 
 Don. ®^^^«atios. ej, ^ ^^^ cries n ) ^ Pleaded nr, j *'et'»'eoi, 
 
 
ZOhJ; on, SOME DAY. 
 
 85 
 
 'Jsoonis to f^ 
 
 " N«ver mind, dear; do not spoil your pretty eyes with crying over me, 
 but when I toll you that 1 would not onjoy iny««ll', that I should bo ^VTotch- 
 odly uuhapi)y, wore 1 to jjo to-diiy ; and that for you and undo Dick to go 
 and Iciivo nu! boliind, would rondor luo u kiudnos.s mon) than anything olso, 
 then you will Ixdicvo mo, doar, will you not?" 
 
 Blondino is siUuit for a momoiit. 
 
 " I wonder if Mrs. St. James is going 1" sho asks pnisontly. 
 
 " Why no, certainly n<)t; littlo Uoy has hocn so very ill latcdy, I should 
 think it would bo the hiot thing tu leave him with none but that little nurse 
 maid," Dolores answers decidedly. 
 
 lUondino thinks ditforentiy. As slio came up tho stairs she heard Mrs. 
 St. James tell Sir IJarry that sho hoped there would not bo many hills to go 
 down, or thoy would certainly bo dumped out of those funny little carts. 
 
 At two the party start, and Dolores sits up stairs, listening to tho merry 
 talk and laughter going on below. Sho will not so much as look out the 
 window to see who are going. No one but herself knows just how much 
 she wants to go; but sho crushes the longing that arises in hor heart; she 
 will not give in now, sho will keep her word. Undo Dick has accepted 
 her decision witli strange quietness ; tho usually fussy uncle Dick had 
 laughed softly, and, rubbing his hands together remarked, 
 
 " Well, ray girl, if you chooso to bo left behind, it will not bo uncle Dick 
 who will force you to go auywhoro against your will." 
 
 Then at the last moment, just before starting, Ulondiuo had ran up to say 
 good bye, and actually Blondino was laughing as if sho had never regretted 
 leaving her dear but rebellious Dolores behind. 
 
 After they had gone Dolores does some fancy work ; sho plays a melan- 
 choly tune on tho handsome Steinway piano, and sings an absurdly senti- 
 mental little ballad. She roads a little, and passes the afternoon. After 
 tea, in the evening, she throws a white fleecy shawl around her shoulders, 
 and strolls down stairs and out in the garden, tho sweet, flower-scented 
 garden. The pretty stars twinkled brightly in the clear evening sky, and 
 the fair young moon, just rising, casts a silver lustre over the whole scene. 
 Tho trees bend and whisper to one another ; the sound of voices comes 
 dimly to Dolores' ears, and a strange wave of homo-sickness sweeps over 
 and almost overwhelms her. It is such a new, strange feeling that Dolores 
 does not quite know what to do with herself. If Zee 'vere only here, with 
 Lor bright words of cheering, if she were only hero tu talk, perhaps that 
 strange lonely feeling would pass away. 
 
 "Pardon me, Miss Litchfield, but what have I ever done to offend you? 
 Why do you avoid me 1 You might have gone this afternoon in perfect 
 safety ; you see I did not go." 
 
 Dolores is so surprised to find Sir Barry here at her side, her heart, in 
 
T 
 
 3G 
 
 ^; OR. SOME DAY. 
 
 ". even to heSf Jl^!:"! "'"''/ ^^ "^ '^^^^X^i^^i^iT"^ — 
 
 •™i .Sir JWry .„;,'' ' "";' '''■■■"■'-='»■>? smile ourri ° I '"^ ^''-' ■•''"' 
 
 , f-'ores gi,.,, J,;-; ; "" '^^ and forgive ,„„." •'■ ' ''"f"' '' I have 
 to be resisted. ° ■^"' ''"■O- witl, a sweet imn, , • 
 
 I'UD^^?" ^^ ^e anr more 7i« 
 
 -^-i Doiore, „,-,t , , " '""'"• '■»"' ■-- temper 
 
 "lout Sir B,„3,, ,J ' f "'ores." But then .^l,e i ,j L""'' " "^S '"an 
 
 *° '-'k to, Dolore l-l'','' '"""'' "'■>' out. I, " ' V"'™"";''. "'»' Neither 
 '''^ -voet „,d ° , 4''^^^;; - ^te and ..,> ,,„. ,! , ""'^ <0 J.ve son,e one 
 
 »'>. »"<i co„,os d;.: " 'f '"'<"- """f 'Ix" son- flo , ; '"""""""■^'x^'""^^. 
 
 T, ^'^•'^'- to knou " v"^^^ ^'-akin/. 
 
 6 ^^^at an excollent a,.v. . -''*^^er tu know,' ends » oT, 
 O'^c'aro himseif. B,;^^n'r''"°"j" ^''^ i-- giWn" 'h ''""'"■"' ""ver think- 
 a" fetber oonfidenc » " '"■" ''■'■"ts of hfs \ """" "' '"=-■ ^d" to 
 
o^ 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 37 
 
 
 hont 
 
 ^ ^^^'uggle. 
 
 '°P^> if I have 
 ^■^'0 gesture not 
 
 your 
 
 tempej 
 
 ^ "'"cJi JateJy 
 ^^^'it neither 
 ^^ 5onie one 
 '■^^^d aiound 
 moonbeams, 
 clear night 
 here. The 
 
 '■e to many 
 
 er thinic- 
 ' side to 
 
 s before 
 
 !■ Ttoy i 
 I .shall 
 
 f hejp. 
 iittie 
 
 inter- 
 But 
 
 y little 
 
 instantly Dolores returns to see what can be done for her sufTerin, 
 friend. 
 
 " You will come out again?" Sir Barry asks, as Heater is seen whisking 
 in the door. 
 
 " If I can leave," Dolores answers, and Sir Barry gives the little hand 
 resting on the balcony rail, a gentle pat, and Delores, with a very red face, 
 hurries in doors. 
 
 Poor little Roy, he is sitting bolt upright in his little iron bedstead ; the 
 sweet pretty face is flushed and burning in a high Vever ; his eyes are dull 
 and heavy ; but he holds out his arms when he sees Dolores. 
 
 " Dress an' take Roy away from here, Dolly ; take and carry Roy dov:n 
 whore the sun shines," he says ; and poor Dolores is terribly frightened ; 
 little Roy is very ill. She tells him he will go to sleep now, as it is dark, 
 but in the morning they will go and see the sunshine dancing on the water. 
 She sends Hester for the doctor, but Sir Barry, who is watching, meets her 
 and says to f;o back and remain with Miss Litchfield, and he will go for 
 the physician. 
 
 All night, and all the next day, and the next, Dolores sits by the liitle 
 iron bed ; she ^ever leaves the child's .^ide. Xot for a single moment will 
 he allow his Dolly out of his sight. The case was very serious. 
 
 " I should think, ii hie mother wants to see him again alive, she had 
 better bo here to-day. 
 
 Mrs. St. James loves her child after her own fashion, but she loved plea- 
 sure and her own comfort more. 
 
 '' He is surely not so very ill," Dolores says, regarding the doctor's face 
 in .larm. 
 
 'Miss Litchfield, the child is dying; I can do nothing more for 
 him." 
 
 Dolores is shocked. What will she do ? Dear, gay, merry little Roy 
 dying ! Oh ! it cannot be possiblf? ! What can his mother be thinking of 
 to leave him so cruelly alone ? But he never once mentioned his mother's 
 name. "Dolly" was there, and that was sufficient. It was useless to try 
 to send for Mrs. St. James ; it was doubtful if they co 'd find her if they 
 did ; anyway, they wouid be back within a day or s .. So it was in Do- 
 lores' arms he died. Dolores closed the white lids over the tired eyes, 
 folded the tiny waxen hands upon the little breast, and bitter tears fell 
 upon the still peaceful baby face of her little lost friend. Then when all 
 was over, Dolores waited with bitter feelings for his mother to come. 
 
 She came the next day, in the afternoon. They were a merry party, and 
 much pleased with their trip. Mrs. St. James, on going up to her rooms, 
 finds Hester, her eyes red and swollen wi*h weeping, every blind and shut- 
 ter closed, and the child— where wa^ )?hl Then she heard her boy was 
 3 
 
fi 
 
 1 • . I 
 
 ,/ 
 
 f^f^^' ^OMU ^^y 
 
 ^<Jies la sittin;^ hp.fw .• ^ ^ ^*^0"fc roiir m.^ ^ **o^fy for th 
 
 "":. i^' «; ^»" '-^H :t / Tif :f ;'-■ «.°li 'r r "■» 
 
 ^iii yon ^o -L>oiores' Datura f ' '^ ^o 
 
 here." ^'^- ^t. ,hines answer. T "^^^^^s- ^^^ ^^ould 
 
 Dofn, ■'^"medly. ^ r , , 
 
 " y» »aK W '"'■ " ^°" ''°' •" a»d Lr""'"' '" "'" 
 
 *«>« lived j" " ^"y '""1 died t'^ ""'"■« "<« very fr . ' ^"""« ^ "e^e" ■ 
 ''■''" ivilh fflv „ '^'' ■•"' tie love „f 1 , '"'''« do. I i„„ ".' » 'owndary 
 
 ■!'"■" i-»« d,^7f ""• -^-vio:^:f "'""'' '• '■' -«; i";^ -'^^ £ 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 39 
 
 ''"' ^« ^^7 deep 
 '""''y ^or those 
 
 f °°^' cJasp/,, . 
 ^'^' sorrow. ,•; 
 °»^5un3es the 
 ^ *^^«' ^"t is to 
 ^ ^'^fuso any 
 
 D Jlrs. St. 
 over Jier 
 stops in 
 
 ^ a secret, 
 ^ ''»Q oasjr 
 ', ^or the 
 ith tears 
 
 'er, and 
 na ago, 
 've foj 
 rs ago. 
 never 
 'oiirse 
 10 ic- 
 (iary 
 ^ in 
 Cot 
 the 
 
 r, I 
 
 3n- 
 
 ut 
 
 \- 
 
 t 
 
 ",ve meet again — Heaven only knows if wo ever shall — but if we do, never 
 breathe of what has taken place here. Your face tells me I have merited 
 your disappioval, but try and pity me, for I never had any one to teach me 
 bettor, or instil good principles iu iny mind. When you judge me, remem- 
 ber a spoilt child, brought up by nurses and teachers, has not had the 
 benefit of home discipline." 
 
 Dolores does not know what to say, she has heard such a cruel story. 
 Contempt and pity struggle together iu her heart. She buries her pretty 
 face in her pocket handkerchief and weeps — woeps for the little child lying 
 there, who has no fond mother's heart to mourn over him, and for the far 
 off father who will never see his little son now, and whose heart would no 
 doubt bo well nigh broken if he knew no parent's face was present to catch 
 the last gliiiii)se of the fast dimming baby eyes. And seeing Dolores cry, 
 Mrs. St. James does likewise ; probably she is more touched than she has 
 ever been before in her life. 
 
 Mrs. St. Jami's, I have promised," Dolores says presently, " and no matter 
 what my feolin.^s are, I shall not go back on my word." 
 
 She takes no heed of her companion's Avords of gratitude, neither does 
 she accept or uotico the outstretched hand, but hurries from the room, to 
 find Sir ]5airy iu tlie parlor opposite. 
 
 '■ ]\[y dear little frieml, how wretchedly tired you must be, and then 
 bothering v.-ith that woman. Why can she not humbug someone else beside 
 you ?" he says, hurrying forward and taking her hands in his. Probably 
 Sir Earry was rather cross at not having seen Dolores more often during 
 the past few days ; and Dolores, despite her independent spirit, is very 
 tharkful for his thought for her. 
 
 " J have done all I can," she replies sadly, and Sir Barry, terribly afraid 
 the iie.\r, i .ing she will do will be to cry, goes on (luickly. 
 
 '■•' Did )0U know Major Gray was talking of leaving here very soon?" 
 
 Xi'iw Ltiose are the very words Dolores has been dreading to hear. She 
 knows perfectly well thiug> cannot go on forever as they have been lately, 
 and no A' her heart goes down into her boots, if such a feeling is possible. 
 
 " I mu st go immediately and ask about the arrangements," she says faintly. 
 
 " And th( re is something I want to say to you. Can I see you thii 
 evening?" and Sir Earry waits for hor answer. 
 
 Dolores' pretty face flushes : she looks past Sir Barry, down the long 
 hall, and out to the blue sky beyond. 
 
 " Not to-night; some other time," she answers gently. Then, before Sir 
 Tf^\ i-y can plead more, she leaves him. But he is far from unhappy, as he 
 til lis dC'Wn to the hotel office to smoke a sociable cigar with the Major. 
 
If I 
 
 I 
 
 40 
 
 ^0£; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "' -oncler who that .retC tf T'"^ '"'''-^^-■-- 
 earnestly down by the .^ .' ° , '\ ^'' ^''^r Ti'aJei^h is t.U ■ • 
 
 «^«rgbgf,on,the;emrer" '^' *^'^ ^"^^:r down to fi ^ 
 
 esque spot • af l.o . . • -^^'^^^^ne is sur,nosp,i . v , "^ °^ ^^^ dairies 
 f'-i-S very X*^ ."'^f '"I »o™i„„. t l^rjr^'''^'' '-0 long 
 
 °^ the Abbey, like^;,, ,„ .Zl,,,^ ''' '" '■™'"% 
 
 au olher thugs worldly. The, 
 
ZOE] OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 41 
 
 '^'^ she is busy 
 ere through it. 
 Viiss Gray says 
 and hh pretty 
 
 tilJ more why 
 ^»st be, if be 
 ^ ^o( have to 
 '^*^e that she 
 ^ondine iviJi 
 50-" She is 
 
 ^ you to get 
 e quick. I 
 ard or read 
 
 white lids droop lower and lower over the dark eyes, the breeze whispers a 
 soft, gentle lullaby, all is stillness around. Dolores looks up from her book 
 to ask how the abbey is progressing under Elondiue's skilled fingers ; but 
 Dolores may save herself the trouble of speaking, for Miss Blondine is 
 asleep. Then a wandering fit seizes Dolores ; she wonders what is down 
 yonder ; perhaps some pretty cottage hidden from view by those jealous 
 hedges of hawthorn ; she will go and see. On and on, over the narrow 
 beaten track goes Dolores, charmed onward by she knew not what ; up lit- 
 tle hills and down little paths she goes, and yet the ideal cottage she is 
 hunting for fails to present itself. 
 
 Suddenly voices make her 'pause to listen. She is startled, for surely 
 the tones are familiar. Only a hedge of cedar divides her from them, and 
 unintentionally she is forced to listen to a conversation not intended for 
 her ears, or else betray her presence, and Doloros would sooner do anything 
 than stir. 
 
 " Do go back, Jantie, do for my sake ; you will never regret it. Do 
 make up your mind, for you cannot think how you worry me. I promise 
 you faithfully I will publish the marriage in all the leading journals as soon 
 as I can do so discreetly. Now, dear, you will go back to Scotland, to 
 please me, won't youf Sir Barry Traleigh's voice is full of tender plead- 
 ing. 
 
 " Never again shall the finger of scoru be pointed toward me. No! I 
 refuse to return home until I am an acknowledged wife. I say no 1 I snail 
 never be despised for a sin of which I am innocent." 
 
 The girl's clear voice is raised in a passionate flow of rage and sorrow. 
 They pass out of hearing, leaving Dolores pale and trembling. 
 
 Sir Barry here ; and of course it is the girl Blondine had seen with him 
 the previous afternoon ; his wife, of Avhom he was ashamed. Of course she 
 is his wife, and he is persuading her to go home, and promises to acknow- 
 ledge her before the world some day. Ah ! some day ! And meanwhile 
 he has been winning her — Dolores — heart ; he, the husb.md of another wo-, 
 man. ^lay Heaven forgive him ; she never can. The sun dazzles her eyes, 
 the day has lost its charm ; she gets back somehow, to find Blondine awake, 
 and wondering what had happened to her. Blondine's careless laugh is 
 hushed at sight of the utterly wretched, hopeless look on Dolores' face. 
 
 "My dear! what isiti" she cries, springing to her feet, and taking Do- 
 lores' cold hands in both her warm ones. But Dolores turns her miserable 
 face away from Blondine's enquiring glance. 
 
 " Oh, blondine, Blondine ; would to Heaven wo had never seen this 
 place. If I were only home — home, where there is no treachery or decep- 
 tion. Oh, Blondine, Blondine !" 
 
 Noth.ing can be more perplexed than Blondine's mind, as she has often 
 
J, I 
 
 _f^^' OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 thought tJiere ivas no « ~ " - 
 
 '■ T'-li n.e ,vhat ail, you . ""'""^ ^l-' of it, f„,. 
 
 *•"« co^: here" L '""■•^'"f. I'ortaps it „o"m f .""■ "1" '■" ^e-'pait 
 
 "^ ^'-PPose v„„ "1 °f :'^'^' ■« "■= first. ' ^'""'"'"0 givos (hi, 
 
 «fteon coach H,^°"; '"""^ "'^•'l P»el<e,J. Vo,, ■-„ 
 
 "«"-y grev eves l„„i .*"™ " ^'"adingin t!,„ „, 
 
 j-oung lady... -» -»oi> i»gi, ji„,« ,,„„;; 
 
 Ma.101- Gray goe, i„ r ■ ^''" "P soon, 
 
 P°^"-'eJy .c,,„ty. ''°"' '^^'^ --"I 'ho piuk there ut , ?° '"'S'" h"™ 
 "^»«'»ttelj;,,„,^„, , '^'"^"f^^-sheioot, 
 
 „ " ^-. my .ie,„., C::Z "' :"■ ^ ^°™ '■■ Wondi.e e.c, • 
 See, Ave have dnr. ^r ' ^^'^ ^'^vo bePn r,.„ exclaims. 
 
 douhtf„J_„;; f^ !•- ^'-te,t e„e,„y^„ f^ f »"";' «M» foment h " 
 
 ■•" ■^" ""«, iJJ f""' "' "i^'P crane ?„ f^ ' ^^'"l iooks exceed 
 
 *»■ St. Ja„e, of ^"Z:"^1 '"''■ ^'»d°ne' epT2f " "' -*o. 
 
 =-="-™^'o.ayf„e.eii.X"XLr':" 
 
 "'nr.;^:,..,.,, 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 43 
 
 ""^y- ^londine 
 
 ^^^'i- confused 
 "^'' ^^-ight day 
 ^^''''t of its ful. 
 
 ^U about it, 
 «he does not' 
 'P lu despair, 
 better not to 
 ^^^^t, sunny 
 ° S^i'v'es this 
 
 by tile Five. 
 
 "gIg Dick's 
 
 ^ "P soon, 
 
 '■"iig Blon- 
 ^'^ht have 
 shb Jooks 
 
 6ar now. 
 ne, San 
 ^Pn and 
 ifl. So 
 
 vinof 
 
 ha 
 
 by an 
 f been 
 ' bave 
 b was 
 
 !• par- 
 
 !1 the 
 
 leed- 
 
 man 
 
 liess 
 
 tell 
 
 she 
 
 hurries to her rooms, gives her maid all duo instructions concerning lug- 
 gage, and then speeds away to the pretty burying ground, to pause beside a 
 tiny grave ; a broken pillar of granite, with the simple words " My son Roy," 
 marking the resting place of her little lost friend. 
 
 Dolores gathers a few forgot me-nots from around the mound — flowers 
 that in after years will remind her of this tiny grave in Italy. Here her 
 resolution is taken to forgive — she cannot forget — two persons whom she 
 firmly believes are at war against her ; then with u long, last, lingering 
 glance around, she goes. 
 
 Blond ine hails the sight of Dolores with joy. Will she just lend a hand 
 for a minute, to see if all is ready t Poor Blondine woukl never get 
 over the world with doing her own packing is very evident, from the sight 
 that meets Dolores' eyes. Things always contrived to gfit mixed np so 
 queerlj'' : her best bonnets and boots, the desk with the ink and mucilage 
 bottles, generally reposed calmly upon her most dainty pair of gloves. Xow 
 she cannot find her pearl-handled knife, the ivory opera glasses , or her sil- 
 ver nut crackers. Dolores searches around with the eyes of a professional 
 detective, and at length discovers the missing articles in the pocket of Blon- 
 dine's riding habit ; the knife was found in the window sash, where it had 
 been put to keep it from rattling the night bo^jre when the wind blew. 
 
 The last trunk is strapped, the hasty scare a around for farewell words to 
 friends (of which there are shoals); tho coach is at the door ; '.hey are off, 
 going by the famous Cornice route for the la.st time. Its many scenic 
 beauties will scarcely ever fade from Llondino's admiring eyes ; her 
 memory will never fail on that score. Much disgusted is uncle Dick at 
 not having seen "that boy Tralcigh," and wonders if he will '-turn up." 
 ere they leave ; but Traleigh fails to " turn up," greatly to Dolores satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Uncle Dick is in high glee, to find that a steamer sails the following 
 morning, and lUondine turns pale when some one suggests to Major Gray 
 that they may look forward to a pretty " tumbly " voyage, as gales seem 
 the proper thing during the past week. 
 
 Dolores cheers up at the mention of home, becomes absorbed in purchas- 
 ing numerous foreign trifles for Zoe, talks learnedly on the Avietchedness 
 of foreign cooking, and altogether appears the cheerful, but not gushing 
 Dolores of old. 
 
 The passage across was, as predicted, rather inclined to be " tu.iibly," 
 indeed, at times most uncomfortably so. Blondine declares if Heaven 
 will ever spare her to get on land once more, never would human persuasion 
 entice her across old Atlantic again. Uncle Dick was delighted with the 
 pitch and toss and knock down of the angry waters, and Dolores laughingly 
 declares, " uncle Dick you were born for a sailor but became spoilt in the 
 drilling." 
 
 i 
 
, i 
 
 il 
 
 H 
 
 1 
 
 If 
 
 4i 
 
 '^^^^• on, SOME DAY. 
 
 -h it, just takes ;",:i"° -"> -ch m,, „, yclr "'r " '■»-- 
 
 ""^d "I. that i^ Ci ; r''"" ''°»''-'''°»» ou , ; •/ ™f ■^■■"'y J°es.- ' 
 
 to it is very dart loouL \^"'™' itself 1^ ,„■„ ... 
 5U-S e.xc,todiy. ■'"•^"^"""S With yo„,„a„4,„ 
 
 P-'y- And, AdeliZ ; , ^ ° '""■" '■"» °W firm like 
 
 " Jfovr Ed,,-ard ;.,t I "''' '''"»'« "ervou,,Iy "^ "'^ '^"P'"^^-' at what 
 '■»P™dent actions' 2 ''°. ^■™ ''"'"' al>o..t .J;,-,, , ,- , 
 r -»■' appVove of ° ™""°"- T«" "e what (s he th°" '""" '°'' ""-y 
 
 " T'"-« fflorning y„u„„ j. , """^ ""^ ^^ think 
 
 months." Ann/ 1. , ° ^anchon asked me * • 
 
 "^''hat ,; l'"''"^ «««-o"3 visibly ■, he, H "'" '''' ""'^ ^or thtee 
 
 ''«'", the busin s ::r;r''' ''" *"= ^ot f:'ti^^=- '»»sgro'„nd „ 
 
 '^fi3s Litchfield loTa it ?°''°- P"'"''^' ^"«1'- 
 
 y«.°i. :::Ve°" -i"-' ^-^ -t./.: ,? -' ""^^ »y advice. yo„ 
 
 &•"' eithcAv ; ;: " '^^ '"™=d out. a° //can "'°"'^'' "'^ "dviee then 
 
 wh:t^'^'"'^'"-''''^-v::'!:r'^'*'''"^'"- 
 
 What has passed rest v ,^ '^^ as he stands If, 
 
 '»«. and aunt to «,y gi/™ r" ^-^ » -os t fu/ "^ '' ^''''--"'ot 
 
 "word of disrespect ah„ , "^ J"""' "or no onelr' f ""''""ate sister to 
 
 »'-. and she is^ll.'™' "^ '''»•" Tien ;r Id^ ;r/' ^'■■^" ^ «ato 
 
 ^aeiine hears the door 
 
 
ZOE: OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 45 
 
 " Well," sho says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, " I 
 am terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head ; any man that 
 could fool no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as Es- 
 telle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words 
 can express." 
 
 The white cuiUins flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and 
 yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies in 
 the glass dish on the table. Zoo's voice comes from somewhere in the gar- 
 den, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by per.^isting in chasing 
 imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling *' The girl I 
 left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy young 
 voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether .straight 
 lately ; sho does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes her own 
 heart nearly fails with anxious forel)odings for the future. 
 
 " Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchlieid solilo- 
 quises. " There was that wealthy Mrs I won't say her name — but any 
 
 one cculd see with half an eye — was only Avaiting to change her name to 
 ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew 
 what had become of Estello, and so for the sake of her my poor brother 
 must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health worrying 
 over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely." 
 
 An enquiring fly lights on the tip of "Miss Litchfield's aristocratic Eoman 
 nose. Now thib is something appalling; never does she allow a single poor 
 stray Hy to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next half hour is spent 
 in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time the viper is finally 
 vanquished. 
 
 " Auntie, do you notice how very pale father looks 1" 
 
 The dim shadows lie in long dark lines across the quaint old room. Zoe, 
 curled up by the window, is trying to catch the last faint rays of daylight ; 
 but the dim light groAVs dimmer, and the words on the page are no longer 
 discernable. 
 
 "Yes, child, of course I've noticed it; who would not? and what the 
 end of it will bo is more than my knowledge of the future can penetrate ; I 
 have not the least idea." 
 
 Dolores' pretty grey kitten jumps up in Miss Adeline's lap. 
 
 " Get down, you nuisance," sho says crossly. 
 
 "Come hero, Moody, you dear, pretty thing, to Zoe." 
 
 Moody obediently goes sedately, with a look of injured dignity ; she rubs 
 her glossy head against Zoe's arm, and plays with the tassels on the window 
 curtains. 
 
 "I will have to marry old Mr. Vacino after all, and his money bags will 
 restore the house of Litchfield to its former glory." 
 
46 
 
 ^^^'/ on, SOME n^y 
 
 . I' '■) 
 
 i 
 
 „,y. -'"■» »mi ,„a,.U„ elect o. ., „ t'lo .fT':,'""''' 
 
 '»"^- ^""'""K „, "„:""'";■ "»"« Of gloom; ;;/."■; "-^^'p^i'ortios 
 
 «mothtog ,„„,,„ ';!*'/;"=Mold goes forward .:'■■■ ""'' ^oe nen- 
 
 M'o a house mtho„f ,' . ■■'°''"""- ""n" it >r J > ■ , ""'"' °"''' house 
 
 " -^"O - you don't b ,■ '" ■™'" ^"•"'•"o l-as just 
 
 W"-™^. I an V „ T'" '" "port, oven in tif ' "'^otonons; we ver^ 
 -"-> r -s trfZ V'^.r"' -3' dear "„ t 711 "' "^^ '"8'-' am^ 
 
 '™"id Joot ,„^ "' • !■•" never ,„ind, j „„ "j ' '"' "ook olTenco at hi, 
 your i^leasure'.. ""^ ''°'''° ■»"> grounds L y ur L "^'^ *°° ^lad if yo^' 
 
 , ^-'^ '^y- dance, and he , ' '""^ ""'' ="» -at 
 
 ''"=am of her life h, "'^ ""'' ''»'"« '"'h deliM,ff , 
 
 »^'^«. 'rith their fl ,'7 *" '° »''»•'«'! '0 If h"' ^-Wpation. Ti, 
 the dim, unkn„„„ f °S"'"'<"ans of lion,' ., ] ^^°'"^ *« heavr iron 
 
 "" -- --- »he i.:::-' :':;;^^he ha. heardtturt^t- 
 
ZOE ; on, SOME DA Y. 
 
 47 
 
 1'^ fnouds a.ro 
 
 an alono fa 
 y of tljom— 
 
 '"^"s iiasfcfjjr 
 
 1^0 'one' of 
 
 ""nd them. 
 P''0]>orties 
 ■^06 111 en- 
 ^'^or, that 
 
 ^^ Inhere 
 the ever 
 
 horribly 
 ' ^vas in 
 f^ house, 
 to conjo 
 
 and r 
 
 38 just 
 
 their 
 
 veiy 
 !; am- 
 i^, of 
 ' his 
 yon 
 a at 
 
 ^he 
 on 
 in 
 
 3. 
 
 " Ah, you liavo thought difTnrontly since you first spoko. Well, it is all 
 right ; there ia not so much to intorost one, porh^ips, as I iiniginf." Tiiore 
 is a ring of disappointment in the old man's voice, au<l /oe hastens to say, 
 
 " My dear Mr. Vacine, boliove me, I am not ungrateful to you fur your 
 gooilnoss, and will take mucli pluasuro in yuur kind otl'cr," the girl says, 
 mth a choking in hor throat. 
 
 Aunt Adeline comes in with lights, saying Mr. Litchfield was feeling so 
 unwell, that he had retired. So /uo uccompanies Mr. Vacine to the door, 
 watches him walk down the little path to tlio gate witli a step as lirm and 
 clastic as a hoy of twenty. 
 
 " Well little one, is this the latest victim your charming self has brought 
 down !" Jet Glen's tall liguro stands before her, and Jet's brown eves are 
 full of lazy laughter, as he stands and watches Zoe straighten her slim figure 
 in virtuous indignation. 
 
 " You are like a toad, Mr. Glen, always cropping up when least expect- 
 ed," she says, with what is intended to be Avitheriug sarcasm. 
 
 ** Allow mo to offer a thousand thanks foi' your kind s"ntimeuts on my 
 appearance, Miss Litchfield." The young man doffs his white straw hat 
 gallantly. 
 
 " Xo need for thanks; it is the simple, unvarnished truth ; it is nothing 
 to me if you get offended." Tlu! little foot, clad in its dainty wigwam slip- 
 per, taps the door step impatiently. 
 
 "Never mind, dear, don't get angry ; you and I should understand each 
 other by now. You are such a little wildfire, I like to see you get excited. 
 But come, tell me what the old gentleman said." 
 
 Zoe's anger is never very long lived ; now, under Jet's conciliatory tones, 
 it vanishes and fades like the mist in the morn. 
 
 " Of course I'll tell you, you old goose," Zoe exclaims, coming down to- 
 ward him. 
 
 " "Well, let us walk around the paths, and we can talk better," suggests 
 the ' old goose,' persuasively. 
 
 "He asked me over so nicely, to come and go in his beautiful house and 
 grounds, and make myself at home there. Ah, I felt like hugging the old 
 dear." Mr. Glen pokes the grass thoughtfully with his cane. 
 
 " Indeed," he says drily. " It is a pity you could not ex, n'. your sur- 
 plus affection on a younger man " 
 
 Zoe stops short in her walk. " You arc very impolite, to say the very 
 least; in fact I am rather surprised at you," the youngest Miss Litchfield 
 says loftily. The wind blows in chilly gusts, suggestive of rain ; it is very- 
 cold for a night in August. 
 
 " Shall I run in and fetch a shawl for you 1" Jet asks in a protective sort 
 
 of wuy. 
 
 i 
 
j^'' on, SOMK DA r. 
 
 
 CJIAPTKR XII 
 
 TOO COM'IDIXG. "vr, ,, 
 
 
 «^' L"ci.«oId loot, ,e,r, " ' "'" ^"-'1 '" Wtia. ,o„ 
 
 for never a-ain v>ni t ^*"^' ^'^^s, more than thmNf , , ' ^'^'^ «ay8 
 
 '""'^"""^ -'-''.-"era few ,,,03 to 
 
ZOh'; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 if 
 
 -o 'I fall. 
 
 h tho 
 
 young. 
 
 potiscr for 
 >o Cdiir •■* 
 
 ^^'0 front 
 
 ^vrotchos 
 iadjr 
 
 ung 
 
 -r, and 
 overr 
 office 
 
 ^you 
 and 
 your 
 
 sajs 
 tod, 
 me 
 
 in 
 
 19 
 
 a loading daily paper, and MJips it in hiH coat ijuckot. If Tldward Litchfield 
 could havi; socn tlioso f.^w words, so hastily written, ho would not havii 
 },'ono homo to prepare for his joumoy on tho morrow with so inucli froodom 
 from coming caro. Tho next diiy found Mr. LitdidoM still in his oflico, ft 
 paper in his hand, his face lik(( ashes. Before him is a notice from tho 
 
 Bank, to lift a note, bearing his eignatuns for tliirty thousand dollars 
 
 monoy ho had never i.a<l. Where was Fanchon? He would of course ox- 
 plain the meaning of this strange business. To bo sure he never thought 
 to notice tho amount when he hastily signed his name to tho note, for ho 
 had no glasses with him at tho time, but trusted to Fanchon's iionesty when 
 ho said three hundred. Of course it would be all right, but his sister's 
 warning words como back to him with doul)lo distinctness, that does not 
 help to relievo his feelings, Adeline could always discern further than 
 ho. If ho had only heeded hor words this trouble ould not have to bo 
 faced. But Feuchon was nowhere to be found ; h- told some one ho in- 
 tended going away for :f few days. What was to Ite done 1 lie dared not 
 stay; ho could, but would not, borrow money, to repay those with whom 
 ho had never had any dealings, lie wordd leave tho country, his homo 
 and family, of whom ho was so fond. Tho drops of agony stood deep on 
 his face. Cyril Fanchon had deceived his old friend, the man who had put 
 him in tho position ho held to-day, and iu return had ruined him. Yes, 
 he would go to-night, and to-morrow tho city would ring with tho news of 
 the sudden departure of him, whom all respected and trusted. Oh, it wa.s 
 bitter to think of, but more bitter to remain. " Ah, Estelle, Estello, thank 
 Heaven you are not hero to-day to share my disgrace." Edward Litchfield 
 bowed his head and wept bitter tears of self-reproach. Ho went, and no 
 one knew but Aunt Adeline, and the blow almost broke her heart. 
 
 The boat had just come in ; the passengers crossing tho ferry hurried 
 ashore. A girl, lonely and tirod looking, came slowly, feebly up the floats. 
 She was neatly dressed, and had a look of refinement, that prevented the 
 men lounging along the railing from passing tho usual slang remarks so 
 common to their idle profession. Well may sho look tired and weary, for 
 many a mile has she travelled over land and sea. 
 
 " Can you tell mo where I can get a night's lodging 1" she asked of a neat 
 old woman who kept a tidy little grocery store at the corner. The woman 
 was kind hearted ; sho pitied the girl's desolate look, and kept her for tho 
 night. The old woman questioned her with motherly solicitude. Was she 
 married ? " Yes, there was the ring on her finger." " Was she a widow 1" 
 " JSTo," the girl said ; " she was searching for her husband." The woman 
 saw her go the next day, with a lunch and a blessing. All day she walked 
 up one street, down another, looking keenly at each passer by, but always 
 
J^O 
 
 ZOE, OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 • f f 
 
 V: 
 
 \* 
 
 with the same hopeful look. Toward nightfall, when she was again seek- 
 ing a place to lay her weary head, a mist, almost rain, Legan to full. She 
 turned her lagging steps up a street lined by beautiful, costly houses. One 
 especially caught her fancy. The windows were open, lights streamed out 
 on the dreary wet road. vShe crept up and looked in. She saw a room 
 ■with everything lovely and costly : a lady sat at the table, two pretty chil- 
 dren at her side. 
 
 *' Here comes papa to kiss us good night, mamma/' the eldest girl cried. 
 
 A gentleman came in, and hastily kissing the children, turned to the lady, 
 
 " My dear wife, what nonsense ; no one could be looking in the window ; 
 you are whimsical. A woman's face : what next will you see ?" Tlien he 
 goes out smiling and down the roaJ He sees not the strange, will figure 
 flying after him, nor hears the f tint voice calling his name. 
 
 " Cyril ! Cyril Fanchon : Ah me : Husband ! speak to me, your wife — 
 your Jantio !" 
 
 The wind sweeps down the street in chilly gusts.; the woman wraps her 
 jacket around her ; she stumbles on, on, blindly. A railing, enclosing a 
 dark, grim building,' comes in sight and looms up in the darkness ; she 
 struggles with the sveakness that overtakes her ; she falls, but she is con- 
 scious, only unable to n?ove. All her weary journey has ijuded here ; to 
 find the man she believes to be her husband, with a wile and family. She 
 loves him tuo well to expose his crime ; for the gentle looking wife's sake 
 she will give him up ; she will lie here and die, and ho will never know of 
 the sacrifice she made. Ah yes, she has only her poor old mother, and by 
 now she no doubt would think her better off if she were dead. Then a 
 deadly faintncss: takes po.ssession of her ; she must bo dying ; then all is 
 blank. A policeman, passing, does not notice the figure lying almost at his 
 very fc i He buttons his watt-rj roof coat up tighter and shivers, as he 
 thinks of his comfortable home, and pities ftU who are so unfortunate as 
 himself, to be out in the cold. 
 
 CHAITEIi XIII. 
 
 THE CONVENT OF ST. MARGUERITE, 
 
 "Paradise is always where love dwells." — Kichtfm:. 
 Tingle, tingle, tingle, chimes the tiny silver bell, and dovrn the pretty 
 newly .''wept gravel path file the pupils, two and two ; the plain black 
 dresses, and black hood3 looking strangely quaint on the smiling faces of 
 the girls going to early *;ervicc. The sisters, with folded hands and devout 
 dcwncast t/ss, follow. Suddenly a moan or gasping sound maizes sister 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY 
 
 51 
 
 h.vas again seek- 
 I'^om. She 
 |J' houses. One 
 streamed out 
 
 ^e saw a room 
 po pretfy dii]. 
 
 'Si girl cried. 
 [eJ to the lady. 
 
 the window ; 
 
 •" Then he 
 
 D Avraps her 
 enclosing a 
 "■^-^nesr,; she 
 ^he is con- 
 ed here ; to 
 ^"^^Iv. She 
 ^^ife's sake 
 'er know of 
 '^f; and hy 
 
 '• Then a 
 'hen aJl is 
 3iost at his 
 «rs, as he 
 'tunate as 
 
 Christine pause in her silent march behind the otliers. She looks about, 
 tlion lier eyes take a startled, anxious expression ; she steps luirriedly for- 
 ward to kneel beside a woman lying among the fragrant mig..onette. With 
 sister Christine to think is to act. She felt the faintly beating pulse ; her 
 f.rst anxiety is over ; the woman has but faiuted. At first the sister, 
 glancing at the set, white face, feared she could render no assistance on 
 earth to this creature flung on her paih. A tiny silver whistle hangs at her 
 side ; lifting it to her lips she blows a shrill toot ; a mulatto boy, in a coa^ 
 bright with silver buttons, runs down to hr r. 
 
 " Oh massey," exclaims this little black diamond, standing otf, with his 
 mouth open so wide that sister Christine fears he will liave the lock-jaw. 
 
 " Woolly, run quickly to the house and ask tlic Mother Superior to come 
 here to me. Xow hurry : and Woolly ! shut your mouth." There was a 
 sudden scamper, a vision of bright shining buttons, and Woolly was gone. 
 
 A few minutes later the still unconscious figure was borne into the house, 
 tenderly attended by the mother and good sisters. 
 
 The first face Jantio Mackeiih saw when she awoke was the tender, piti- 
 ful face of ^Mother St. Marguerite. 
 
 " Where am 1 1 Who are you ? Ah, yes, I remember, they told me this 
 was a convent, where there Wivs rest for all who were weary. I crept in by 
 the gate, to ask if I might stay here — stay where my heart would find 
 peace ; then I grew dizzy, everything seemed black ; I tried to call some 
 one, then all was dark. May I stay here — may I ?"' 
 
 Mother St. Marguerite's eyes are full of tears ; she takes the pretty small 
 white hand, stretched out so imploringly, into hers. Sister Christine, just 
 entering, has never seen the mother so moved before. 
 
 " Yes, poor lamb, stay — stay : no qmstions will be asked you. If evil 
 has'como, no doubt punishment has followed ; if you are wronged. Heaven 
 "Will give you a free, light conscience to know that you arc* doing what your 
 God would approve. Heaven bless you ! We ar^ all weak, erring sheep." 
 
 The school was dull that bright, cheery morning ; rumor? have got ailoat 
 about the strange lady ; the jmpils wanted tu know all r.bout it. The 
 sisters' lips were sealed ; the only speakable person on the premises was 
 Woolly. He was bribed by 'very imaginable luxury, all the way from a 
 bright yellow handkerchief — the color which was dear to Woolly's eyes — 
 to a lump of barley candy — dear to the lad's mouth. He drove enough 
 bargains that morning, during recreation, to last a boy of his age a whole 
 year. Meanwhile the patient up stairs, in sister Christine's room, was im- 
 proving. As was promised, she was asked no questions, and si.e gave no 
 information. The name Sister Jean was given her, ^o one over regretted 
 the caro bestowed upon the Strang ?r, so eagerly did she strive to please. 
 The school was large ; many pupils occupied the attention of the sisters 
 
-r 
 
 52 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 sister Jean was given charge of the smaller girls, and right loyall}"- did they 
 lovo the jjale, quiet, gentle teacher. Mother St. Marguerite, a wonderful 
 woman herself, took a particular interest in the new found sister. The sick 
 were visited, the poor watched over, by the mother's watchful eyo and 
 helpful hand. Many homes loaincd to bless the good, angelic work of 
 sister Jean. 
 
 Over a month after sister Jean's admission into the convent of St. Mar- 
 guerite, a note was received by Sir Barry Traleigh, at Castle liacquette, 
 Scotland. 
 
 "I have given up ambition for the futuro. Do not try to find mo ; I am 
 leading a peaceful, useful, happy life. My heart, though broken, is as 
 peaceful as is possible again in this world. Jantie." 
 
 But in her haste she forgot the name of the convent was star 1 on the 
 paper. However, Sir Barry's mind was set at rest by those fe^, words ; he 
 knew the more than headstrong, pretty daughter of one of his tenants was 
 safe. Pretty, foolish Jantie Mackeith had been persuaded into a secret 
 marriage with a young man, a stranger to Scotland — Cyril Fanchon. He 
 was a nice, geutlemanly looking fellow ; and Jantie — silly child — her head 
 was turned by his attentions. However, the deed was done, and a week 
 later Cyril Fanchon suddenly loft Scotland, without a word of leave-taking. 
 In a tit of remorse the girl confessed her marriage to Sir Barry, and Sir 
 Barry, who had teased aud potted the pretty child since she was out of her 
 baby frocks, was shocked and surprised. 
 
 " You should not have done it, Jantie ; you know anything secret is bad, 
 child. "What Avill your mother say 1" 
 
 Sir Barry feels almost a paternal interest in this girl, and her own father, 
 were he alive, could fool no deeper pity for her than he does now. 
 
 " Oh sir, mother must never know. You, who know her, can see it would 
 bo madness to say anything to her about it. I expert he grew tired of me, 
 and yet he used to tell me ho would never tire of his pretty Jantie. Oh 
 yes, my punishment has quickly fallen." 
 
 The girl, standing by Sir Barry, folds her white hands behind her back, 
 and the honest, truthful brown eyes look vacantly into the distance. The 
 warm breeze lifts the curly locks from her low white forehead ; the sun- 
 beams kiss the cheeks once so blooming, now pale with anxiety. 
 
 " But, Sir Barry, mark what I say. I shall move all creation but what I 
 shall find him. Stay here and be talked to death by mother, and mocked 
 by all? No, I won't ! Heaven help me to make him endure just the anguish 
 that is tormenting me to death. Can you blame me, Sir Barry, can you V 
 And Sir Barry, leaning against the arched gateway, looking at the pale, 
 drooping face, from out of which all the pretty rose bloom has fled, cannot 
 blame Jantie for what she eays. 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 53 
 
 alb' did thoy 
 a wonderful 
 er. The sick 
 »ful eye and 
 elic work of 
 
 of St. Mai- 
 Jiacquette, 
 
 '^ mo ; I am 
 •roken, is as 
 Jantie." 
 
 i on the 
 ^rorda; ho 
 tenants was 
 nto a secret 
 nchon. He 
 I — her head 
 and a week 
 eave-taking. 
 ly, and Sir 
 s out of her 
 
 ocret is bad, 
 
 own father, 
 w. 
 
 leo it would 
 ired of me, 
 antie. Oh 
 
 i her back, 
 
 tnce. The 
 
 ; the sun- 
 
 >ut what I 
 d mocked 
 le anguish 
 can you V 
 the pale, 
 d, cannot 
 
 Mrs. Mackeith loved this, her only daughter, passionately — the only one 
 she had to love ; mother and daughter were inseparable. As passionately 
 as she loved, so could she hate ; if her love turned to displeasure it was 
 bitter as death. Her own husband, to whom she was devotedly attached, 
 displeased her by selling a farm without hor consent. He took cold one 
 morning, while sMmmiug across a swollen ford where the bridge had been 
 swept away ; she took excellent care of him, did all in her power to save 
 his life, and failed ; he died ; but she never forgave him. Sir Jiarry knew, 
 and so did Jantie, only too well, that her mother's roproachos would be 
 more bitter than anything else to bear. So Mrs. !Mackeith never knew 
 Avhat had taken place. She wondered, even grieved ^vith jnotherly anxiety, 
 over Jantie's pale face and strange freaks of listlessness. But one morning 
 it all broke upon her unawares. "Without a word of farcAvell, -lanfie left 
 her safe, quiet home among the Scottish hills, to seek for him who had left 
 her so basely. Cyril Fanchou had gone ; Janlio was gone. ]\Irs. Mackeith 
 put two and two together, and it slowly but surely dawned upon her mind 
 that Jantie — her Jantie, of whom she was so proud — had ran away with 
 that fellow Fanchon. The neighbors thought it a just judgment upon her, 
 for her hard words to her husband ou his death bed. But they otfered 
 their consolation with warm, hearty syiupathy. Every one was fond of 
 cheerful Jantie, whose pretty lips always had a pleasant word and smile for 
 everybody. Her daughter's conduct, to all outward appearances, seemed 
 to make no difference whatever to the tall, bony, hardy Scotch woman. 
 Her step was just as elastic, her eye as keen, as though no trouble had 
 crossed her path in life. She went about hor daily duties the same as when 
 Jantie blithely sang and cheerfully worked about the house. ^Mrs. Mac- 
 keith showed herself to be a woman of well-controlled feelings; she told 
 her sorrow to none, and none know how nearly broken her faithful, loving 
 heart was. 
 
 Had Sir Barry been home, things might have been different ; she trusted 
 him implicitly ; why would she not ? She had known the lad all liis life ; 
 had she not nursed him in her arms when ho was a tiny infant, and watched 
 the little bocuie laddie grow up to be the fine, good, generous gentleman 
 she was proud to see he liad become ? Ah, no ; there were few men who 
 could come as near perfection in Mrs. Mackeith's eyes as bravo Sir Barry 
 Traleigh . 
 
54 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 CHAPTEn XIV 
 
 TRYISG TO BE ECONOMICAL. 
 
 "Chock your passions, learn philosophy. When the wife of the great 
 vSocratos threw a teapot at his erudite head, he was as cool as a '"acumber." — 
 Newell. 
 
 " Where is father 1 Is ha sick ?" It is Lreakfast liour, and the head of 
 the house wag not in his usual seat at the head of tlio table. To Zoe's 
 knowledge this is the first morning she has failed to see the familiar form 
 sitting in his big chair, glasses on, reading the morning papers. 
 
 " Your father was called away suddenly on business," was the short reply 
 from aunt Adeline, who looks as if she had not closed her eyes all night. 
 Jet Glen, lazily reading down the columns of the paper, almost springs from 
 his seat, as his eye rests on a certain paragraph. 
 
 " Lend me the paper a moment, please." Zoe's voice awakens him from 
 his trance of surprise. 
 
 " In one minute," coolly faking the scissors from the window sill. " A 
 trifle here I Avant to cut out," Zoe loots curious. 
 
 " Let me see, won't you V she persists. 
 
 *•' Keally, Miss Curiosity, it would do you no good, and I am not going 
 to give you my reasons for everything I do," is the playful reply, as he goes 
 out the low French window. 
 
 " What is the trouble with this house anyway? Everything seems upside 
 down. Tell me, aunt Adeline, where has father gone ?" 
 
 Miss Litchfield hesitates for a moment, then she says quickly, 
 
 " Perhaps, child, I had better tell you than strangers. There has been 
 son o trouble about your father's business, and — and he has been obliged to 
 go." Aunt Adeline bows her head on her folded arms and weeps. 
 
 " Go where ? I don't understand why that should make every one in 
 the house so horrid," Zoe says snappishly. 
 
 " Child," she cries, lifting her wretched face, "don't you hear what I 
 say ? Your father is ruined, but not disgraced, thank Heaven. Though 
 he has gone, yet he deserves no blame ; always keep that in your mind Y'"our 
 father never committed an action that would make us ashamed of him." 
 
 Zoe is utterly confounded ; surely aunt Adeline is certainly losing her 
 senses. Then it all dawns upon the girl's mind. Iler father — her dear 
 father — had been obliged, through the deceit of another, not his own fault 
 — she must always remember that — to leave them all, all whom he loved 
 on earth. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, and stared absently through 
 the clear, thin china saucer. Jet had seen the account of her father's ab- 
 sence in the paper, and tried, by cutting it out, to spare her feelings. She 
 had heard that people in reverses of fortune had the very roof sold over 
 their heads. She looked around the pretty, quaint oak dining room, open- 
 
 I! 
 
 < 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 55 
 
 ing into the very charming conservatory, and wonders if it will be the case 
 with them. Ah, she hopes not, for the memories of the fjretty, cosy home 
 wero very dear. 
 
 " I wish Dolores were here," she says gravely. 
 
 "Tut, child. Lady 8trathmere has taken Dolores home with her; let tho 
 child enjoy herself while she can." 
 
 Aunt Adeline has had her fit of low-spiritedness, noAV her own energetic 
 self asserts itself. She hustles around, and when Jet puts his head in at 
 the dour to ask Zoo if she will ridu over to the mill with him, aunt Adeline 
 insists upon her going. And never a word is mentioned about what each 
 knew the other to be thinking of. Down the shadv lane the two horses 
 slowly walk ; the wind blows soft and pleasant in tlio faces of the riders, 
 and tosses the manes belter skelter over the horses' pretty arched necks. 
 
 " I am off to-morrow, little one." Jet Glen ^^ettles the fore-and-aft cip 
 on his head, and surveys the deep blue sky above, as if he is doubting the 
 settled stiiti' of the elements. Zoe takes her foot out of the stirrup, then 
 puts it iu again, settles the folds in the skirt of her riding habit, and says 
 slowly, 
 
 " Are you ?" .She is not paying particular attention to anything going 
 on around ; she is wondering what is to be done, in fact is learning that 
 life is not all sunsliine, but full of a great nuiuy shadows. She wonders 
 vaguely if her friends will "cut" her, as she read last week in a story. 
 Well, it did not matter if they did ; there were none she cared enough for 
 to regret, if they were civil or otherwise. 
 
 "You will be sure to know I will do all that lies in my power to sift 
 this — this dreadful matter." 
 
 This is sufficient to arouse the wandering Zoe to what he is talking about. 
 
 "Thanks ; you are very kind, I am sure," she says stiffly, and wonders 
 if this is what any one else in her position would have said. 
 
 " I am sure there is something behind it all, the young man goes on. 
 " I blame him for going ; he should have remained, and made the man 
 confess to his guilt." Zoe blazes. 
 
 " How dare you speak so of him?" Then extending her pretty gaunt- 
 leted hand towards him, says gently, " Forgive me ; 1 know you meant 
 kindly when you spoke, but I cannot bear to liear him spoken harshly of." 
 
 Jet takes the proffered hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. He admires 
 Zoe all the more for the faith she sustains in her father. The old mill 
 comes in sight, with the sound of rushing water and whizzing of machinery. 
 An old woman comes to the door of one of the cottages. Zoe talks to her 
 while ^Ix. Glen rides on to speak to some man. The villagers whisper 
 among themselves what a fine looking couple Miss Zoe, bless her dear heart, 
 and the strange, handsome young gentleman make. 
 
 I 
 
56 
 
 ZOE ; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 I 
 
 1! ; 
 
 t f 
 
 ll: 
 
 l. 
 
 Some two or t!.ree days later Mr. Glen goes away, with the promise to 
 search for good news to send back to them ; and Miss Adeline is perfectly 
 confident if there is any way to m;i,nage, Jet will be the one to arrange 
 everything. Zoe has accepted the position of organist at the pretty little 
 Episcopal church ; to be sure the salary is small, but as aunt Adeline said, 
 every little helped, so .she took it. liather dubious at first was her attempt, 
 not being accustomed to an organ, but a splendid piano player. Mr. Vacino 
 said there were two organs up at the house, and no one touched them from 
 one year's end to the other ; so the largest and best was sent down and 
 placed in the corner of the cheery sitting room at Mr. Litchfield's, where 
 Zoe practiced to her heart's content. Very kind and thoughtful was ^Ir. 
 Vacine in those days. Not a single day passed but what he sent over fruits, 
 or game, or some choice vegetables ; and aunt Adeline fully appreciated his 
 kindly goodness. 
 
 " You see there is more than wo know what to do with," he said, when 
 aunt Adeline expostulated with him for his generosity. 
 
 It was about this time that Mr. Yacine first awoke to the fact that Zoo 
 was fond of pictures. He found her one morning standing before a picture 
 in the gallery, lost in admiration ; it was then that he declared she must 
 take some lessons, if it was only to please him. So it happened that the 
 youngest Miss Litchfield attended the classes held in the Art Gallery twice 
 in the week, and Mr. Yacine smilingly footed the bills. 
 
 Zoe has gone down to the church this lovely afternoon, to practice over 
 the hymns and chants for the services on Sunday. She opens the grand 
 old organ and plays piece after piece, hymn after hymn ; then the parson 
 comes up the cool dim aisle ; he shakes hands with the pretty young organ- 
 ist ; he is very fond of Zoe, but still more so of her charming sister Dolores. 
 A very romantic afi'air had happened last summer. A party had gone on a 
 fishing excursion. Dolores somehow or other missed her footing and slipped 
 into the water. The parson gallantly came to the rescue, while the other 
 members stood spell-bound. Ever since they had kept it for a standing 
 joke, and Dolores would laugh, and blush, but took all the banter in good 
 part. 
 
 " When do you expect your sister home Miss Zoe 1" 
 
 The sun comes in slanting rays through the stained glass of the chancel 
 window, and fell in a myriad of colored shapes, lighting up the bright 
 trimmings of reading desk and pulpit, and softening the sombre darkness 
 of the heavily carved doors and window frames. 
 
 "We had a letter day before yesterday; she said they were invited to 
 join another yachting party, but did not know if she would accept. But we 
 never can tell anything about what she intends to do. Sometimes she 
 comes home when we least expect her." 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 «7 
 
 promise to 
 8 perfectly 
 to arrange 
 etty little 
 telino said, 
 ^r attempt, 
 1'- Vacine 
 lom from 
 own and 
 s, wJiero 
 ^vas iAIr. 
 i^er fruits, 
 ciatod his 
 
 id, when 
 
 tiiat Zoo 
 a picture 
 he must 
 that the 
 iiy twice 
 
 ice over 
 e grand 
 parson 
 ? organ- 
 Dolores. 
 Qe on a 
 slipped 
 3 other 
 andincr 
 a good 
 
 lancel 
 Jrighfc 
 kness 
 
 od to 
 
 it we 
 
 she 
 
 Zoe rolls up her music, and smiles as the parson says with poorly disguised 
 unconcern : 
 
 ** It would ho very henoficial to me, if she would return. "When one 
 loses such an excellent voice as your sister's out of the choir, it makes the 
 rest sound ilat." 
 
 Mr. Wimbleton proceeds to close the organ, and Zoe goes on down the 
 choir steps ; she is obliged to turn away for fear the smile she cannot con- 
 ceal will offend Mr. Wimbleton, and she is certainly lar from wishing to 
 commit an ofTenco so great as that. Zoe ^'oes homo, and in the hall, three 
 big trunks meet her surprised eyes ; she hears a musical voice talking to 
 Aunt Adeline in the dining-room. 
 
 " It must be, it is Dolores !" she exclaims delightedly. 
 
 Yes, Dolores has returned more beautiful than ever, with a quiet, grave 
 look, befitting the trouble for which she thought it her duty to come home 
 and share with Zoe and aunt Adeline. Dolores was deeply pained, she 
 put 80 much confidence in her father ; she thought his discernment incom- 
 parable, he always stood so high in her estimation, far beyond reproach. 
 
 " My poor darling, how you must have suffered, and I enjoying myself; 
 how utterly selfish I am." There is a mingling of tenderness and reproach 
 in Dolores' tones. 
 
 " You foolish child, how could you do differently, when you did not 
 know how often wo wished for you ? Don't blame yourself child, we will 
 all bear it together." Aunt Adeline hates to see the pretty faces of her 
 darlings clouded by care, and she strives to bear all the cares on her own 
 willing shoulders. 
 
 " I play the church organ," Zoe announces with well pleased promptness. 
 "And I like it very mmh, and I am getting quite fond of ilr. Wimbleton ; 
 if he is a little bashful, I like him just the same," the youngest Miss 
 Litchfield says between the bites of currant cake she is helping hungry Do- 
 lores make way with. Dolores raises her eyebrows, but says nothing '.md 
 her sister rattles on. 
 
 ** I suppose you will stay home now for the remainder of the summer, 
 will you?" She thinks she might have a chance to visit around once in a 
 while, and feels rather inclined to bo crabbish. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; mj' finery is so far exhausted, I am afraid it will be necessary 
 for me to refuse any moro invitations. Have you heard from Blondine 
 while I was away ?" 
 
 Zoe puts the last bite of cake in her mouth before she replies. 
 
 " No, she never writes to me. Did you see my latest sketch Dolores 1" 
 
 " Why, my dear, how you have improved. I am so glad." Dolores looks 
 admiringly at the pretty drawing, 
 
 " Oh, yes, Jet Glen helped me fix my scones up finely." Dolores never 
 
58 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 ! y.' 
 
 •i 
 
 bothers to inquire who "Jet Glen" is ; somoouo probably Zoe has picked up, 
 because ho had a mauia like herself ibr pictures. Zoe sees the peacock eat- 
 ing tlie buds oft" her pet fuschias out by the door, and she darts oil' to chaso 
 the ofl'ender. Dolores saunters through the hall, uud into the pretty, cool, 
 sitting-room. She looks around, at the things tjiero, thinking how nice it is 
 to bo homo again. "Ah, a strange i)icture ; who are you, sir?" She takes 
 the panel photo, in its green plush frame, from the table. 
 
 " Heavens! how like the eyes, features, all but the whiskers." The face 
 looking at her so steadily from out the pretty frame, was the face of the man 
 whom she loved better than her very life. Only a heavy moustache shaded 
 tho grave, tender mouth, but evidently ho had shaved his beard. But how 
 came his jiicture here in their own pretty room at homel Zoe finds her 
 gazing intently at the photo. 
 
 " Where did you got Sir Barry Traleigh's picture V she asks, and Zoe, 
 with all the plainness, which was one of her chief characteristics, replies 
 with a groan for her sister's ignorance. " Sir Barry Traleigh ! your grand- 
 mother's ducks ! that's Jet Glen, who I told you helped me with all my 
 precious sketches, aud who is the best and dearest fellow in the world." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A\ .OCCIDENT. A BEAUTIFUL FAMILIAR FACE. 
 
 " You never can make a crab walk straight."' 
 
 — Aristopakus. 
 
 Two years have rolled past since men in business circles had been called 
 upon to lament the departure of Edward Litchfield and his ill gotten gains. 
 
 "What makes Nellie so restless? Is the harness on them all right?" 
 Cyril Fanchon surveys his span of beautiful black horses rather anxiously. 
 
 " She's all right, sir, just a trick that of hers." 
 
 Fanchon gets in and slams too the door. Certaintly he never remembers 
 ^he horses to act so before ; the carriage rocks wildly from side to side. 
 Heavens ! they are beyond the man's control, they are running away. 
 Loud cries of "stop them, stop them," rings in his ears, there is a sudden 
 plunge, a crash, and all is still. Fortunately there was a doctor on the spot, 
 ho oi'ders"the unconscious man to be taken into the convent just opposite. 
 The sisters were good at nursing, it could have happened nowhere more 
 desirable. The dead leaves lay thick and yellow on the ground around 
 the convent of St. i\Iiirguarite, the cruel winds have lately robbed the trees 
 of all their pretty green foliage, leaving them grim and leafless, tossing 
 their gaunt limbs sadly with the autumn's blast. The air is chilly ; there is 
 a decided sense of frost in tho atmosphere. Sister Jean hurries in at a 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 69 
 
 |ked up, 
 jock e&t- 
 (to chaso 
 \y, cool, 
 lice it is 
 f(3 takos 
 
 my 
 
 small side door; she is very tired, for she has been sitting up all night with 
 a sick woman. 
 
 " Sister, there has been an accident ; a man is hurt, he is here in room 
 five ; will you watch by him alter you have rested ?" says the Mother 
 Superior, meeting her in the hall. 
 
 "Is he very bad 1" 
 
 " Yes ; but of course wo cannot say just yet. Wo will do all we can ; 
 if it is useless the fault will not bo laid at our door," answers mother St. 
 Marguerite, selecting a certain key from a string hanging at her side. 
 
 Sister Jean hurries to her room, removes her long black cloak, and sits 
 down for a moment to collect her tired senses. Ko, she will not rest now, 
 there may be something she can do for the sufferer dowu stairs. She goes 
 down, opens the door softly, and enters. The room is so dark, that for a 
 minute or two nothing is diacernable. Then mother St. ^Marguerite steps 
 out from the shadows, and says in a whisper :" 
 
 " Just sit by and watch for any movement." Then she and the docter 
 pass out, and Sister Jean approaches the bed where her patient lies. 
 
 " God help me," she cries, falling on her knees beside the bod. Dare I 
 stay here ? Can my strength sustain me to remain ? Oh I will it ? Has 
 Heaven indeed at last avenged me 1" 
 
 The eyes of the sick man are upon her, she holds hor breath, then the 
 room seems to swim around, as the Aveak voice says distinctly : 
 
 " Jantie, is this my Jantie ? The eyes close, and Cyril Fanclion is again 
 unconscious. When five minutes later mother St. Marguerite enters, she 
 finds the sister in a dead faint near the door. 
 
 Two months later, on a cold December afternoon, when the snow is piled 
 up in high drifts around the convent of St. Marguerite,', a man, muffled in 
 furs, is walking up and dowu impatiently in the parlour or visitors' room 
 at the convent. From the next room comes the music of a violin, it is 
 evident one of the pupils is taking lessons. The door opens, he turns 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Sir Barry Traleigh." 
 
 " Jantie !" sister Jean's hands are clasped warmly in the man's. '* The 
 same pretty Jantie of old, only a litter paler. Why did you run away, little 
 one, and leave us all?" Sir Barry asks playfully. 
 
 " Oh, Sir, I could not stay there after—" 
 
 Sir Barry gets up and walks hastily to the window, and, coming back, 
 
 says gently : 
 
 " You will pardon mo for asking you something painful?" Jantie raises 
 
 her pale face. 
 
 " Oh, Sir, nothing hurts my feelings now ; sometimes I forget I have 
 
 any left." Sir Barry laughs. . 
 
60 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 " A girl like you talking such nonseuse; why child, your life has scarcely 
 begun." lie fcjelg so sorry, so unutterably sorry for hor. 
 
 " Tell mo Jantie, have you any idea where your — where Cyril Fanchon is 1" 
 
 The tiro in the grate crackles and snaps cheerily, Jantie looks at the 
 glowing coals, then she asks : 
 
 " Why do jou come hero to ask mo that. Sir Larry?" 
 
 " My dear, you may be sure it is not from idle curiosity. A very dear 
 friend of mine has been almost ruined by his partner ; his name was Fan- 
 chon, but he is hero in this house, so ill he can neither confess his guilt, 
 if he bo guilty, nor defend himself if he is innocent. Tell me honestly, 
 Jantie, do you know the man hero sick ]" 
 
 The falling snow outside comes in sjjiteful little flakes, and slaps against 
 the heavily curtained window. Jantio shivers ; surely she can trust the 
 man beside her, who has always proved her friend. 
 
 " Sir Barry, he is is my husband, the man for whom I left home and 
 everything," bitterly. " luit. Sir Barry, he wronged mo ; for whon I found 
 him he was already married. Yes, he had a wife and two children." The 
 voice is low. Sir Barry looks incredulous. 
 
 " Impossilde, the villian." 
 
 "Ah, but I saw them, 1 knew it was true, so I came here ; I have long 
 ago forgiven him, Sir Barry, and I want you to do the same." 
 
 The dooi opens, and mother St. ^larguerite enters. Sir Barry starts to 
 his feet. Good Heavens ! who was tJiis? 
 
 " Siiter Jean, it is your hour to watch by your charge." The door closes, 
 but Sir IJarry's eyes seem fascinated. What makes him feel so strangely 1 
 Where had he seen that face before, where 1 Why, has it stirred the very 
 depths of liis heart? 
 
 " That was the Mother Superior, Sir Barry, the best and noblest woman 
 in the world. She gave up home and friends to found this convent, and 
 there is no need to say she has succeeded in doing Heaven's work among 
 all who are in need or trouble. Every one blesses the name of mother St. 
 Marguerite. Jiut will you excuse lue now, Sir Barry, I am sorry it is 
 impossible to remain longer away from my patient." 
 
 Sister Jean has nursed the man most faithfully, who had so basely 
 deceived hor. She has spared neither time nor rest ; she will do for him 
 all she can. 
 
 Sir Barry takes his leave ; ho is haunted by that face ; he is scarcely 
 himself; it is imperative that he should act, or he will lose his senses. 
 His ears are caught by a voice that sounds familiar. Just ahead are a lady 
 and gentleman. The man, Sir Barry immediately decides he does not know. 
 
 " Just wait here for a moment and I will inquire," Sir Barry hears him 
 Bay to his companion, as he darts into a store. 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 61 
 
 larcolj 
 
 \u is ?" 
 It the 
 
 dear 
 Fun- 
 juilt, 
 38tly, 
 
 jurcly Sir I'arry knowa that porfoct fiyuro with its pretty suit of velvet 
 ahU fur. 
 
 Tlio lady turns hor head and soos him. 
 
 " Why, 8ir Larry, is it really you ?" 
 
 " y\hB Grey, I was Huro I knew you, the back of your head had such a 
 well known look." 
 
 Yes, it is stately, pleasant Blondine Grey, every whit us charming as 
 when Sir Barry saw her last in Italy. 
 
 " And Miss Litchtield, how or where is she X' 
 
 Blondine's pretty face clouds. 
 
 "Poor Dolores, they have had such a trying time; of course you have 
 heard about the trouble, Sir Barry," 
 
 Sir J5arry looked grave, and said he tliought ho had heard something 
 about it. 
 
 " I am going to see Dolores, as soon as Uncle Dick settles up some aflairs; 
 there is a very nice place, (juite near where they live, that I want Uncle 
 Dick to buy, and erect a summer residence, or wiuttr either, if wo should 
 like the place very much. 
 
 Sir Barry sees Miss Gray's escort looking daggers at him, so raises his hat, 
 and bids Blondine good-bye. lie is gone ; and Blondine liad so many ques- 
 tions to ask him, oh dear; she wishes she could q.\\\ him Ijick again, but 
 the corner hid Sir Barry's retreating form from Blondine's wistful eyes. 
 
 Then the remembrance of the face in the convent comes back to Sir Barry 
 Traleigh, and ho remembers where he has seen that wondeiful face before, 
 knows why it has raised smh a Hood of reraeiid)rance in his heart, and 
 almost set his brain on fire. His mind is fully made up, that he will luso no 
 more time in beating around the bush, ho will do according to the dictates 
 of his heart. " Faint heart never won fair lady," and Sir Barry determines 
 he will be no coward. He set himself a task, and now when he is about to 
 succeed, is his pluck going to desert him I he thinks not. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 TRULY, VENGEANCE IS MINE. 
 
 " Sit down and dangle your legs, an<l you will see your revenge.'" 
 
 — Itauav Pkovkkb. 
 
 It is a broiling day, or has been, but toward evening the same dense, lurid 
 heat reigns over everybody and everything. The Australian sunset is going 
 down in all its fiery glory. The sandy wastes stretch out far and wide, 
 looking in the glowing heat like beds of living ashes. The minors are all 
 
C2 
 
 ZOE; on, SOME DAY. 
 
 li 
 
 1;; 
 
 li 
 
 , ■ ' 
 
 out by tlieir Init doors, vainly emloavoring to catch a reviving breath of 
 fresh air, which Hcoma very loth to lend its invigorating presence. 
 
 " Jim wants to see the American pajior wo got last night; hero's a Cana- 
 dian 0U(>, too." Tho man addressed took the pipe ho was smoking out of his 
 mouth. 
 
 *' Xo, lad, there's nothing in the papers to interest mo ; lend it to somo of 
 the other chaps, there may be something to please them." He puts hie 
 l)ipo in his mouth and finishes his smoke, " May I see them a few 
 moments, please?" asks tho man whom no one dares approach with other 
 than respect. He liad come tlioro and been very successful with his mine; 
 tho men said l>e was making money fast, lie never drank, nor told long 
 yarns with his fellow workers, and they at first feared, then grew to 
 respect his solitude. Through the day no one worked harder than Nod 
 Field, and it stood to reason that at night ho was too tired to remain talk- 
 ing when sleep and rest were so much needed. He takes the paper in his 
 own little cabin, spreads tho sheet out on the table, and pores over the con- 
 tents Avith eager eyes. 
 
 " Skuious iND Supposedly Fatal Accident. — As Mr. Cyril Fanchon 
 was being driven home from his office, tho horses became startled, ran 
 away, upsetting the carriage, and throwing him out immediately in front of 
 the convent of St. Marguerite. The injured gentleman was carried into the 
 convent, where he now lies in a critical condition. Mr, Fanchon is of the 
 linn of Litchfield tt Fanchon, whoni the reader may remember as Litchfield 
 being the defaulter for thirty thousand dollars, and who left the country 
 with that amount. It is supposed Mr. Fanchon, who is well and favorably 
 known, will die." 
 
 The paper lies unheeded on the table, the minutes and hours pass un- 
 heeded likewise, but the man sitting there in tho little rudely constructed 
 cabin never stirs. The clock strikes five and tho man springs to his feet. 
 
 There is quite a surprise among the miners, when they start to work the 
 next morning, to see their old chum departing with his few worldly goods 
 for parts unknown. He took passage in the next steamer, and his heart 
 rejoiced as e-^ch mile brought him nearer the completion of his hopes. 
 
 Sir Larry Traleigh has started out for a walk. All day he has been un- 
 settled, anxious, worried; he cannot define the feeling which opiressi 
 him, as he expresses it ; he feels as if " something unusual wa;^' co 
 
 happen." Very tired and often very discouraged was Sir Ban aing 
 those two years. He had tried with untiring, unwearied patience ii find 
 Mr. Litchfield's whereabouts, no expense of time or money had ho spared 
 and yet not a word of hope could he send to the anxious, waiting family* 
 All he could do was to buoy them up with hopes, and those were almost 
 failing him. He had written a letter to Miss Adeline, telling of his 
 assumption of another name, and pleaded for her to forgive the deception 
 
ZOfJ ; OR, HOME DA Y. 
 
 63 
 
 Ithof 
 
 |f his 
 
 (loof 
 
 his 
 
 few 
 
 [ther 
 
 lino ; 
 
 )ong 
 
 ho had practised upon them, Iml Hnying sho woJild bo suro to for;.'ivo, when 
 ho could oxi)l(un personally. All this ho had written, and much more to 
 tho same ofVoct. J)olores answered the letter Tor hor aunt. A letter full 
 of bitter reproaches, rofu-sin^' to hear any explanation from liim — words 
 which stung Sir IJarry's pioud spirit to the .piick. Any other man would 
 have thrown up the whole business, but not so Sir liarry. lie could not 
 understand Dolores' strange actions, lie sent a postal card saying he was 
 going to see them, and named the day. liut ho received a curt note, saying 
 thoy were not at homo to strangers ; so Sir I'.arry would not force himself 
 where ho was not wanted. IIo had ceitainly done wrong, but then Miss 
 Adeline might have been a little more charitiblo. IIo was sure it must bo 
 Dolores who iniluenced Miss Adoiine, and what ho had over done to be un- 
 der tho bano of Dolores' disi»lcasure, was more than Sir iS.irry's keenest <li8- 
 cernment could fathom. It entirely disheartened his efforts, this fruitless 
 search, from day to day, week to week, and month to month, seeking 
 among strange faces. Tho cabs and busses rattled along, up and down, in a 
 ceaseless clatter of wheels and rumbles, that make him wonder if they tried 
 to see how many scuirying foot jiassengcrs they could knock down in their 
 progress along. He stands a niiiuite to watch the whirling, pushing mass, 
 then enters tho station house, as the train is coming, in to watch who comes. 
 And tho first man ho meets is tho one man whom bo would give tho boat 
 thousand dollars he had to meet, just when and vliero ho does. In spite of 
 tho heavy beard and deep sunbuni, Sir Barry is not to be deceived ; ho re- 
 cognizes immodiat(dy his old friend Edward Litchfield. Sir Harry rushes 
 forward, extending his hands, and greeting him joyfully. 
 
 ''Ah, Jot my boy, the first home face 1 have seen; it does my heart good 
 to look at your face, lad." Edward Litclilield looks haggard and worried. 
 
 *' How are things working?" are tlie first words lio utters after the wel- 
 come is over, and thoy have taken a cab for Sir Harry's apartments. 
 
 "Of course P'anchou got the money, and used it ; you disappeared, and of 
 course ho let you carry tho blame with you ; tho business is going on with 
 Fanchon at the head. It is tho second rather steep aftair for which he Avill 
 bo called to account. Of course T could do nothing, but now you are hero, 
 we will have a general sifting ui) of affairs," Sir Barry says with satisfaction. 
 
 " How is Fanchon getting] I'ooi- fellow, I feel so sorry for him, but it 
 is my duty to clear luy own and my family's name from iishouor." 
 
 " We will go to the convent to-morrow, and see if he can say anything, 
 clearly," Sir Barry says. 
 
 Ho is very anxious that all this miserable affair shall be cleared up as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 Tho reports next day of the patient were much bettor ; there was no 
 question but that he would die, but as far as clearness of mind went, why 
 
6i 
 
 ZOE; Oh, SOME DAY. 
 
 i 
 
 li' 
 
 1 
 
 he w.is perfectly oapat)ie of settling any afliiirs lio wished. Sir Barry 
 secures the. services of a proTuincnt lawyer and an officer of tho police 
 force, iind witli tho physician visited the convent the next day. They took 
 down Fanchous writiec confcvssion. He had knowingly obtained tho miss 
 ing money, for purposes he did not state ; he professed himself sorry for 
 having wronged his partner, hut seemed utterly unawire of what punish- 
 ment he would be called upon to sufler for his crime. Then Sir Barry says 
 clearly : 
 
 " It is an undbrstocd fact that Cyril Fanchon is accused and found 
 guilty of default of trust, is that true gentlemen ?" Sir Barry looks around 
 the room inquiringly. 
 
 " The man's i.wn words declare liimself guilty," is the rejjly. 
 
 " And 1 accuse him of another crime, that of bigamy." 
 
 '• Sir Barry you must uurely be mistaken," interrupted Mr. Litchfield 
 gravely, The silence for a moment is ihno; t unbearable. 
 
 "That man lyiug there went lo Scutland, won the aifectious of a pure, 
 innocent girl, the pretty daughtt;r oi one of my tenants. lie married her 
 when he .v:ik already married here. He left his little Scottish bride, and 
 she left her home, followed him he:e and found him a married man with a 
 wife and family. She gave up all worldly ambitious ; she is hero in this 
 oonvciit, the girl who has tended him so faithfully during his illness — Sis- 
 ter Jean, once Janiio Mackeith. Are you li.'^tening ] Is i^ not so?" 
 
 If Cyiil Fanchoa were dying, Sir B.ury could not help feeling that Jantie 
 Mackeith's hour of triumph hail come. From pale to red, from red to pur- 
 ple?, turned the face of Cyril Fanchon. 
 
 " Is tlial true ?" Mi. Litchriehl's voice is stern and reproacli^'ul. " Can 
 it be ])ossiblc this young man can be guilty of so much dishonor? 
 impossible." 
 
 Tho doctor gives Fanchon some brandy, and he says sullenly : 
 
 " Well, if I did, whose business is it but my own ?" 
 
 " Scoundrel," comes fiom Sir Barry's clenched teeth. 
 
 " Tu those two cases my frieuil, you are in my charge." The police officer 
 steps forward. 
 
 " Cannot arrangements be made to let him remain here ? You see death 
 is not far otl." Mr. Litchlield feels so sorry to see his late partner reduced, 
 to such distressing circumstances. 
 
 " Pity does more harm than good to such m^^n as him," Sir Iiarry declares. 
 All inducements vero unavailable, and Cvril Fanchon was removed to 
 pri-iou. His wife, utterly heart-broken, took her children and went home 
 to h'-r father, and Kdward Litchfield was proclaimed a free man. Old 
 friehds gathered around, glad to find their friend had not been unwortliy 
 theii esteem. 
 
ZOE ; OR, SOME DA Y. 
 
 66 
 
 id 
 id 
 
 "Aunt Adeline, you liad 1>etter go right in the kitclicn, for Zoc is in the 
 preserve kettle, and I am afraid your plums will he scarce if they are not 
 lookf'd after, by soint; one less fond of tasting tlieni than she is." 
 
 Aunt Adeline is out in tlic g.irden gathering fruit : peaches, rip*^ and 
 lucious, and pears, rich and mellow, 
 
 " There, give mo tht: basket, and I will finish." Dolores daintily holds 
 up her white skirt, and cliiuhs up the steitj)ing .sitones, the better to gather 
 those aunt Adeline coaid not reach. 
 
 " Say, Dolores, please throw me down th.'^t big, ripe poach up there, just 
 this side of your head. Oh dear '." Dolores does as requested. 
 
 " Zoc, child, what is it now f slio asks anxiously. 
 
 " I burnt my tongue, that's what's the matter, if you want to know. I 
 wish I'd let tiie old preserves aluue." SIh^ stands there leaning her pretty 
 plump arms on the fence and watches her sister. 
 
 The tram whistle blows shrilly, and is tht only noise that disturbs the 
 sweet drow.sy stillness. Then the youngest Miss Litchfield saunters idlely 
 off, vainly trying to coax the burnt tongue with sundry ripe peaches and 
 pears. 
 
 Dolores laughs and works on ; and as the sunlight glances through the 
 boughs of the trees, lingering with a loving tonoh on her pretty hair, and 
 sparkbs and glistens in thi tiny diamond earstuds, which had been 
 Blondine's last Christm.is gift. Dolores loved these, her only valuable 
 trinkets, and wore them constantly ; shr; even shipt in her pretty eardrops. 
 The little gate in the vegetable ganlen clicks, but the young lady perched 
 on the wall never heeds it. She goes on placidly gatliering her pears and 
 peaches. ( >ccasionally a more lemjjting one than the others finds its 
 doom in her pretty muath, but then the picker is always juivileged. 
 
 " My eldest daughter is, as usual, busy, and where is my other daughter f 
 
 It seems so natural that she should hear that voice ; and those very words 
 have been repeated so often that Dolores laughs softly, then she gives her- 
 stlf a little pinch to make sure she is awake, and not dreaming, then she 
 l<joks down. 
 
 *' Father." Slipping down into his arms. 
 
 " Hurrah : Aunt Adeline, father's home." Shouts the brilliant Miss 
 Zoo, rushiiig up to fling her long arms around that beloved neck. She haa 
 witnessed the arrival from the very highest limb of a 8W'?et bough apple 
 tree, ai d has come down as quickly as possible, to the utter destruction of 
 her dress sleeve, which looked now utterly innocent of ever being dignitied by 
 the name of sleeve. Nevertheless, her greeting was ju.«^t as sincere, for Mr. 
 Litchfiold loved this, his youngest daught- r, fondly : in fict, considered her 
 a queen among women, no matter how slie looked in other people's eyes. 
 The fatted calf was ceitaintly killed that day, in honor of the master'^ 
 
m 
 
 66 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DA Y. 
 
 return. Aunt Adeline piled tlio tea-table with everythiLg good, every 
 iniiiginiible luxury, to tempt lur brother's appetite. And Zoe had a right 
 royal feast, having three different kinds of preserves, and every variety 
 of pie and cake, in which her longing lieart delighted. It waa a truly 
 gala day. 
 
 
 
 '■t<i 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BLOXDINE COMES OUT VICTORIOUS. 
 
 '•'He who builds according to every man's advice will have a crooked house." 
 
 — Danish Proverb. 
 
 " Now uncle Dick, you promised, you know you did, and I will be so 
 disappointed if you don't." Blondine's pretiy rod lips are curled up in a 
 nauglity pout, and her red cheeks are two or three degrees redder than 
 their wont. 
 
 " People have said I could find a nicer, prettier place, and, my dear, I 
 intend to settle this matter myself," decidedly. 
 
 " All right, uncle Dick, if you do not you will be sorry, nc v mind." 
 
 Diondiue takes her place at the foot of the long table, and makes much 
 unnecessary clatter among the fragile cups and saucers. Uncle Dick goes 
 on calmly eating his tapioca puddiug ; ho enjoys exciting Blondin(^'s anger, 
 but this tim(! he Avants her to understand that he knows his own business 
 best. He tiiinks ♦^hat at his time of life ho knows where to or where not to 
 build a house for the summer, ]>loudino, during her visit to Dolores, had 
 found tin; most dtlightful t^pot, to her mind, ibr them to settle on; but 
 some one had told uncle Dick that the place was the dullest hole he ever 
 had occasion to poke his nose into. And if there was anything uncle Dick 
 hated, it was a place where there was not something always on the move, to 
 enliven things up once in a wliile. 
 
 Bloudino toys with hcjr napkin ring ; she is too croPS to finish her din- 
 ner; sometimes uncle Dick tries to see just how horrid he can act. 
 
 " Sir I'arry Traleigh is in the drawing-room, shall I show him in here 
 sir ?" the servant announces at Major Gray's (dbow. 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure ; fetch him in," and IJlondine looks up to see Sir 
 Barry's pleasant face entering the door. 
 
 " Now, Sir Barry, won't you try to induce uncle Dick to do as I say? 
 You have been there, and is it not delightful ?" Sir Barry strokes his 
 silky moustache in liis lazy way, and contemplates Miss Gray for a few 
 moments in silence. 
 
 " Traleigh knows next to nothing about it at all, so how can ho tell V 
 uncle Dick puts in ha.'itily. Ho is afraid if Blondiuo secures Sir Biury for 
 her aide, the case will go rather hard agaiuBt him. 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 67 
 
 '•■ Excuse me, ^lajor Gray, but I do know something about it, and if you 
 will permit me to express my opinion, 1 should say you could not do better 
 than acquiesce to Mi.ss Gray's wishes." iJlondino claps her hands. 
 
 " Xow then, uncle liiclc, what do you think of that?" .she cries, de- 
 lightedly. 
 
 " Two against one is not fair," uncle Dick says, in a tone intended to be 
 argumentative. 
 
 " Say it shall be as I wish," Blondino demands, holding the Major's face 
 between her hands. 
 
 •' We will see ; perhaps after I smoke my cigar, T will think it over," 
 and lUondine knows that the victory is almost won. 
 
 " I had ?. long letter this morning from Dolores," Blondinc says, as she 
 and Sir Barry go out on the south balcony. ''They are so glad their father 
 has come home, and all that aifair cleared up to every one's satisfaction." 
 
 Major Gray is oif, down in the garden, wending his footsteps in and out 
 among the late autumn flowers. 
 
 " Were you ever through the convent of St. ^Marguerite, Miss Gray 1" Sir 
 Barry asks, suddenly. 
 
 " No. I never have been, but Dolores, in her letter to me, spoke of one 
 of the sisters there, who was treated disgracefully by the man Fanchon, who 
 caused Mr. Litchlield so much trouljle." Blondiue is very much interested. 
 
 " You saw her. Sir Barry ; is she very pretty?" 
 
 Sir Barry puts his handj in his pockets, and whistles. Blondine looks 
 surprised. 
 
 " Will you go through with mo next Thursday ? I believe that is the 
 visitor's day? Perliaps I can introduce you to Sister Jean: that is the 
 "irl's name Miss Litchlield referred to." 
 
 Blondine declares herself delighted to go. Then out there where th« 
 glimmering sunshine turns everything into a golden hue, with the flowers 
 nodding their bright, cheerful heads, Sir Barry tells the girl by his side 
 something, which causes Miss Gray to open her large brown eyes in bewil- 
 dered astonishment. 
 
 " Why, 1 can scarcely credit it," Blondine says, when she has recovered 
 the use of her tongue. 
 
 ** If you agree with my imi>ression, wo will see what can be done. You 
 are the only one 1 have said anything to about it." 
 
 Blondino would like to tell uncle Dick, but the dear old major could 
 never, to save his life, keep a secret live minutes, so it was decided better 
 not to tell him. 
 
 Thursday afternoon. Sir Barry and his pretty companion wend their 
 Bteps toward the convent. One of the sisters, whose duty it was to show 
 strangers around, informs them ai once, that Sister Jean is well, but ha.* 
 
68 
 
 ZOE ; OR, SOME DA Y. 
 
 li 
 
 ri 
 
 ( 
 
 I 
 
 11 « 
 
 gone out to the prison, where she goes twice a week to sit with one of the 
 prisoners. Sir Barry and Blondine exchange glances, they both under- 
 stand who "the prisoner" is, whom forgiving Jantio goes to visit when 
 everyone else has forsaken him. 
 
 " Whiit pretty flowers," Blondine exclaims, going over to a apace in the 
 hall, divided off by a little wicker railing. Sir IJarry slowly follows. 
 
 " Are they not arranged beautifully ?" she asks, turning to Sir Barry. 
 
 Coming down the long corridor, on her way to the school-room, is Mother 
 St. .Marguerite ; she smiles her gentle, pleasant smile, when she sees the 
 visitors ; she always welcomes everyone M-ilh that grave, tender glance. 
 
 " ^lerciful heavens I the very image ; of couise you were right; how very 
 wonderful," gasps Blondine. Sir Barry looks pleased. 
 
 " Then you and I agree on that point ?" he asks, bowing to the sister who 
 politely conducts them to the outer door. 
 
 " Agree with you ! why no one could have the least doubt. The features, 
 Avhy her movements, smile, all are the same." lUoudino declares slie has 
 never been so worked up in all her life before as she has been tliia afternoon. 
 
 " I must certainly tell uncle Dick," she says, decidedly, and Sir Barry 
 consents. 
 
 At the end of the montli, Cyril P'anchon dies, a very remorseful death; 
 business men were sorry he •did not live to bisar tlie punishment he so rich- 
 ly deserved. But he was bidden to answer before a more powerful Judge 
 than any on earth. Aitout .,ix weeks previous to his death, Sister Jean had 
 heard they could find no one to sit at night with him, so she begged Mother 
 St. ^larguerite to allow her to take the night-watch by Cyril Fanchou. The 
 mother knew it could nut b« for long, so f^he consented. Xow her mission 
 was over at the jail ; she had kept her watch faithfully, she had nothing to 
 regret. The girl looks white and miserable, after her long night vigil. 
 Surely she has had her revenge doubly. But revenge is the last thing the 
 gentle, faithful woman thinks of: far be it from her desire to have her 
 worst enemy suffer. *^ 
 
 There has been an application at the convent for one of the sisters to go 
 to the country to take charge of a sick child for a few weeks. Mother St. 
 JNIarguerito determines that Sister Jean shall be the one to go. 
 
 " The country air will brace you up for your duties here, when you re- 
 turn," were the ^Mother Superior's parting words, as she kissed the sweet 
 face, and bade her bear up. 
 
 The gas and pretty wax candles are lighted, throwing a pleasant, soft 
 radiance over Major Gray's dai.ir.ily furnished drawing-room. It was rather 
 chilly, and near tea-time ; Blondine has ordered a tiro to be lit in the white 
 marble fire-place. 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 69 
 
 'f "NVcll, well, to be sure; of course I ucver hoard the full particulars of 
 the storj', but of courao Tialeigh may be niistakon ?fter all, and then you 
 would both fcL'l pretty foolish; but what does he pcuposo doing?" Major 
 Gray inquires, helplessly. 
 
 " Oh, uncle Dick, ci^-taiuly 8ir IJarry knows what he is about. I had 
 not the slightest doubt, nor have I uow, as fur as the likeness goes. And — 
 and— why ho will fix it up all right." Pretty, stately Dlondino sinks in 
 her low chair of plush and satin, with an air of perfect faith in Sir Harry's 
 mode of unveiling this little mystery, which has caused so much excite- 
 ment among those three persons. The Major gently rubs one slippered 
 foot over the other, and watches Blundine thread her needle with yellow 
 floss. It is very evident ho has somelliirg to say, that ho finds rather difU- 
 cult to express. 
 
 "My dear," he says, toying witli his spectacle case, "1 had the papers 
 drawn up this afternoon, and the architect enga^'od, and they intend com- 
 mencing work on the new house immediately." 
 
 P)londine lays down her fancy -work, and looks at Major Gray. 
 
 " Where ?" she asks. 
 
 " I have Traleigh's word for it, that tiie \A\c.o you spoke of could not an- 
 swer bettor." 
 
 '■ You dear, you gem of a man, 1 knew ygu would change your mind 
 and do as I asked you to." 
 
 " There, there, my dear, that will do," gasps uncle Dick, as two fond 
 arms are twisted about his neck. 
 
 " Get me my shoes, my dear ; I have to go to see a man about, about — 
 ah, some business," the Major declares. 
 
 Blondine runs up-stairs, singing, to get a letter lor uncle Dick to put in 
 the post-oftico for — well, perhaps it would do no one any good to know to 
 whom that dainty little letter was addressed. 
 
 CIlArTER XVlll. 
 
 A WOMAN ONE DOKS NOT MKET EVKUV DAY. 
 
 <' (lOne — and I always lovod that girl so woU, 
 Gono — like the old i>n)V(M-bial lair tra/.i'Il''; 
 Or like iln- pieco of toast !^u l)mad and wide, 
 That always tumbles on the buttered side." 
 
 — Axox. 
 
 " Burpee, my dear son, bo careful in your choice of a wife ; it is an event 
 in life which every young man should look into with all jjossible keen- 
 ness of judgment; and, my dear boy, I beg of you to be very careful." 
 5 
 
 i 
 
TO 
 
 ZOE ; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 Lady Stroathmoro laps licr silver-headed cane on the deep piled, plush 
 carpet. She is very anxious about the person who is to be the future bride 
 of her waywaid son. 
 
 " Yes, iiiotlicr, you are voiy good about giving your advice, but I liope I 
 have sl'Uso enough to understand wliat 1 am doing. 1 know my own mind, 
 too, although you seem to think 1 don't." 
 
 Lady Streatlnuero i'eels hurt; she looks past her son, out the window 
 into the garden, where Uie pietty iluwers have faded and died by the frost's 
 bitter, cliilly blast. 
 
 " ' In buying liurses and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend your- 
 self to God,' is an old Italian jtroverb, ol'ten (luoted by your father ; it con- 
 tains all that is necessary, my son. I will leave yuur choice in hands 
 higher and bettor than mini'." 
 
 Lurpoe, Lord Streathmere, laughs gaily ; ho has become so accustomed to 
 thoso little lectures from his mother thai they go in one ear and out the 
 other. 
 
 " "Well really, niuther, 1 actually belicsvc my fate is sealed, at last ; the 
 girl 1 have selected, is a woman you don't meet every day." 
 
 The sweet peri'iuue of mignonette and roses lloat througli the long, hand- 
 some rooms, from the lovely vases fixed around in such sweet, artistic pro- 
 fusion. Lady Streathmere sighs. Whatever is she to do if Burpee brings 
 home a wife whum she will blush to jirosent to her friends? 
 
 " Who ia she ?" she asks, faintly, after a moment's reflection. 
 
 " 8he is a sister in the convent of St. Marguerite, one of tlie best and 
 noblest of women. 1 know, when you know her goodness, you will say the 
 same." Lord .Streatluncre leaves the mantel, where he has been standing, 
 and goes over to the table, where his mother sits. 
 
 " Oh, my sun, my son," she moans, "is it so bad as that ? Vou surely are 
 trying to jest with me." 
 
 " No, mother, nut jesting. If she will have me I intend to marry her, 
 although I have never spoken to her." 
 
 " Heaven grant you never may," groans Lady Streathmere. She is in an 
 agony of iluubi ; it is even wuise than she had expected. 
 
 " r was so sure you would take a f lucy to Jiea Severn. Such a nice, 
 pretty girl ; altliough there was none I should have liked better for a 
 daughter than charming Dolores latchiield. I thiuk yuu are very cruel, 
 Burpee, to treat your i>oor old mutlier so." 
 
 Burpee is busy selecting a fragrant rose to pin in his coat ; it is more than 
 l)robable he has not taken in all his mother has been saying. 
 
 "I never saw any girl looking so wretched as lioa Severn; 1 wonder 
 what ails the girl I" asks Lady Streathmere. 
 
 " I should be very thankful, if I were you, that my son had enough dis- 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 71 
 
 cretion not to marry a girl who is killing hersrlf l.y eating oj-iuni," Lord 
 Streathmoro says, deciding on a creaui instead ol' a pink rose. " As for Do- 
 lores, she did me the honor to refns(> mo. b'lt in such a nice way that, 
 'pon my M-ord, I forgot to U-A Lad over it." 
 
 Burppp, Lord Stionthmore, posso-^scs a gooil, though rather effeminate 
 face, and now, when lit uj) hy enthusiasm, ho looks the id.:-al of an easy, 
 good-tomjji'red fellow, of whoiit any mother miglit well he proud. Certain- 
 ly Mrs. 8t. James must have exaggorated when she had described him as a 
 " horrid, r|uarreIsonie little boy"; for a belter, nor a more peaceful young 
 man never existed. 
 
 " riurpee, how dare yon speak so unkindly of lie •, Severn, who has al- 
 ways, to my knowledge, been beyond reproach," Lady Slreathmere .says, 
 sternly. "Mrs. St. James is a friend of mim;, and I am sure Ari.il never 
 mentioned such a thing." To bo sure, she li:iil lieavd many peojilo remark 
 about iJcJi's (I'mploxion, her .«:caidet cheeks and the feverish looking sparkle 
 in her eyf.:, },;it the girl was alway.s in such high '(pirits, she never seemed 
 ill, and Lidy Siirathmere always understood opium eaters were nervous; 
 altoi^etl'.ev it all ■^ 'enis very perplexing. Burpee strides over to the juano 
 and fiis-scs arouu'l among the music. 
 
 " Everyoif kiij^vs it, and I dislike' Mis. St. James most lieartily." Bur- 
 pee dashes uii' in'o 'i l.i' czy little Indlad that used lo be a favorite of Do- 
 lores, and Lady .Siic.iiiniere leaves the room. She has no jiatience with the 
 boy when he is in a mood like the present. Lord Streathmere dislikes be- 
 ing left idone, so he gees down tuMu. and meets Sir Barry Traleigh. 
 
 " Look lere, Sir B.iriy." ho says, taking the Scotchman's arm, "Will you 
 get me acipiainted with Sister Jean? I 'inr going to marry that girl, if she 
 will have me. Day after day I have watched her go on her dreary visit to 
 the jail to see Funchun. Such devotion I nevtr heard of. I want you to 
 plead my cause for me, to my mother. Tell her the girl's story ; you aro 
 more plausible about such things than 1 am."' Sir 7\arry looks amused. 
 
 " What will Lady Streathmer.- say T' he asks. 
 
 " 1 want you to tell her, and get mo acquainted as soon as you can ; will 
 you ?" Sir Barry looks at his watch. 
 
 " I am afraid it will be no use Streathmer.'. Her first taste of married 
 life has been so bitter, it is very doubtful if she would cue to try it a second 
 
 time." Lord Streatlimere looks distresse<L and Sir Barry goes on. 
 
 f)f 
 
 course I don't wanr to discourage you, but you will do well to be prepared 
 for a refusal." 
 
 The pretty little Bijou Theatre is ablaze with lights, brilliant jewels and 
 handsome women. And over there in a box isits Lady Streathmere, and 
 leaning over her plush chair back stands handsome Sir Barry Traleigh. 
 Many pairs of bright, eager eyes are levelled upon this .society favorite. 
 
 m 
 
) * 
 
 72 
 
 ZOE; OK, SOME DAY. 
 
 u 
 
 \^ 
 
 \. 
 
 But alas for them, Sir Barry ia too deeply iiiterosteil, by what he is saying, 
 to be conscious of the flattering scrutiny. IIo is relating Jautie's sad lovo 
 story to the high bred looking lady. 
 
 " "What a bravo, forgiving, sympathetic girl." Tlioro are tears in Lady 
 Streathmero's kind ryes. She feels deeply interi'Sted in the story of this 
 girl, whom Sir Barry Traleigh has been telling her about. 
 
 " She it is whom Burpee has decided to select for his wil'c." Sir Barry 
 has been ordered by Lord Streathraere to tell his mother, and this is the 
 way he tells her. 
 
 The music and acting go on, but Lady Streathmere, sitting (hero in her 
 beautiful silk and lace dress, waving the feather fan she holds, pays no 
 heed to anything but the words Sir Barry is uttering. Xo one could have 
 told her better, for she had Sir Barry's M'ord for it, that the woman who 
 was to bear their old ancient name, was a woman faithful, honiist, and true. 
 So she thanked heaven Jantie was as good as Sir B.arry said she was, and 
 Lady Streathmere had to make up her mind to do the best she could with 
 her future daughter-in-law. 
 
 " You will never have cause to feel ashamed of her, Lady Streathmere. 
 Jantie is a lady in every sense of the word, but I feel rather certain that 
 Burpee will find it a dilhcult matter to cage his pretty bird." 
 
 " Why ?" Lady Streathmere asks, coldly. She is at a loss to see why any- 
 one, let alone a poor, friendless girl like Miss ^Lackeith, should have the 
 audacity to hesitate a moment when considering a match like Burpee, Lord 
 Streathmere. 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me, Lady Streathmere. "When you come to 
 consider that the girl knows nothing of the honoi- '"v store for her, you will 
 see there is some weight in my remark," ho says, stiilly. IIo is not going 
 to allow Lady Streathmere to snub him in that tone. 
 
 " Silly boy," she says playfully ; going on earnestly, "you will pardon 
 a mother's pride and anxiety. I did not wish to wound you. Sir Barry ; 
 you have told me very kindly, but I cannot help wishing that Burpee could 
 have trusted his mother enough to have told me, what you have done, him- 
 self." 
 
 So when Burpee comes in later his mother greets him with a smiling 
 look, and the faint-hearted lad knows Sir Barry has overcome all his difli- 
 culties for him, as far as Lady Streatlimero's anger was concerned. 
 
 The next day, when Lord Streathmere, accompanied by Sir Barry, called 
 at the Convent of St. Marguerite, they heard that Sister Jean had been call- 
 ed away, to take charge of a person who was ill. ^Nothing could bo learned 
 about her farther. She had gone, and it was against the rules of the con- 
 vent to give information to strangers concerning the habits or whereabouts 
 of the inmates. Lord Streathmere was disconsolate. She was gone, and 
 
ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 73 
 
 ho hivd loved luT so well. Now what wa? lo hfcumo of him? It required 
 Sir ])iury'8 doni)ost cliaflmg powers to bu called into play, iu order to keep 
 tho disappointed boy I'ruiu falling into despair. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A REVKLATIOX. 
 
 " I am as I nin, and so will I be, 
 But how that I am, none kiioweth truly : 
 Be it ill, bo it well, be; i boml, be 1 Iree, 
 I am as I am, and so will L bo."' 
 
 — Wyatt. 
 
 Sir Eiirry Traloigh's parlour, at his bachelor ajjartmcnts, is lit only by 
 the ilick(!iiug firelight. It chases tho dark shadows out of the dim corners, 
 and throws a cheerful brightness over the pretty crimson and gold satip 
 furniture. Sir Barry's little dog " pug" lies on the tiger skin rug in front 
 of the cheerful blaze, keeping watch over liis master's slippers. Mr. Litch- 
 field and Dolores sitting there, awaiting Sir Harry's return, are not slow to 
 enjoy the luxuries spread so lavishly about them. It is nearly five o'clock 
 on a Decenibtn- afternoon, and tho short day is almost gone. The woman 
 iu charge of tho rooms had brought in lights, but I)olures had refused to 
 have them lit, saying the fire light was so very pleasant. Sir Larry had 
 sent to Mr. Litchfield to know where he could secure a good boarding 
 place for a few weeks for sister Jean. She had a persisting, little, hacking 
 cough, that worried Sir Barry, and made him persuade her to try a change 
 of air. Aunt Adeline, in her goodness of heart, said the girl should come 
 to thetii. And Doloriis was .''i-nt witli her father with a special invitation. 
 They had gone to the hotel on their arrival, and afterward drove to see Sir 
 Barry. He was out, but they awaited his return in his pretty lire-lit parlour. 
 Dolores has slipped off her seal skin jacket and gloves, and is sitting on 
 the rug patting the little grey coated, brown eared dog, when the door opens. 
 
 " Mr. Litchfield, why, this is a pleasant surprise ; have you been waiting 
 long?" Sir Barry says, coming forward. Then his eyes fall on tho girl 
 crouched there by the fire, with the dog in her lap. " Dolores, Miss 
 Litehfiohl." 
 
 There is an eager, expectant look in Sir Barry's pleasant eyes, ho ha.s 
 longed so to see the girl's face, to hear her musical voice ; now she is here, 
 here in the room where he can talk to and hear her talk. Dolores rises 
 leisurely and puts the dog down. 
 
 "How do you do. Sir Barry Traleighl" she says coldly, not ofToring 
 even to shake hands with him. She does net, she can not yet trust herself 
 
74 
 
 ZOE; OR, SOME DAY. 
 
 1 
 
 '■ 
 
 to look at the man stiincling before her, and Sir Harry turns to Mr. I.itcliliold. 
 
 " You got n)y lotti-r ; havn you giviuod a placo for my littlo friend yet ?" 
 
 " My Sister sent ua to take her lionio with us." 
 
 "Miss Adeline was always kind ; I liopo she has overlooked my decep- 
 tion ere tliis V 
 
 Sir TJavry glances iicruss the room where Deloris stau !.•< Ijeside a cabinet 
 of rare old china, her blue velvet and silk dress makin^^ a pleasant rustlo 
 as she moves about the pretty room, admiring the pictures and the ornu- 
 menta. Sir Barry lets her be, he will not force his company \\\)ou anyone. 
 
 *' Oh yes, long ago, my lad ; wc laugh at your masipu'rado now as a fine 
 joke. I explained away all Iho dillicultics. Xuw when can we see this 
 sister Jean? Mr. Litchfield's voice breaks in upon Sir iJarry's meditation. 
 
 " We can go now ; ah !" — The door is thrown open, and Llondine's 
 pretty face, radiant with welcome, appears. 
 
 " I just thought I would come over; I got your telegram, uncle Edward, 
 and as you were not at the hotel I came here. 1 hope you M'ill pardon me, 
 Sir Ilu-ry, for invading your room in such an unceremonious way. Dolores, 
 my darling, how are you V 
 
 "Wo are going to the convent, ]Mis3 Gray, will you come?" asks Sir 
 Barry, as ho assists Dolores on with her coat. 
 
 " Do, dear," Dolores says, draAving uu her fur gloves. " I luite to go, 
 yet I want to." 
 
 Blondiue is always ready and willing to go anywhere lor a change, so 
 consents. Sir Barry had said he would arrange some plan for taking Mr. 
 Litchfield to the convent; this must be the way, and Blondiue begins to 
 feel a great excitement creeping around her. They ^.rrive and are admitted 
 by a sister, who takes them upstairs to the Mother Superior's parlour, where 
 a cosy fire burns in the polislied grate. 
 
 " Will you see the mother St. Marguerite ? as sister Jean has juat come 
 home and is too tired to see anyone to-night," asks the sister. This is just 
 ■what Sir Barry wants, so he said if it were jiossible ho would see motlier 
 St. ^Largucrito. Sir Barry is very restless ; ho walks up and down the 
 pretty, homelike little room, until Blondino thinks she will go wild, if he 
 does not sit. down. Blondine's eyes are full of supjuessed fire; she and Sir 
 Barry are soon, any moment, to be either rewarded or mistaken in what they 
 liave lone,' been patiently planning. There is a sound of approaching 
 footstejis, Sir Barry wheels around his face in deep shadow ; the door is 
 opened softly, and mother St. Marguerite stands within the room. 
 
 " Estella, my wife? Thank God I have found you at last," Mr. Litch- 
 field cries, springing forward. 
 
 " Edward," gasps mother St. Marguerite. 
 
 '• Bloudine, what does it all mean 1" Dolores demands. 
 
ZOK; on, SOME DAY. 
 
 " It moiins thill you havo found your dear nioth.T." 
 
 "Surely this is ])oloros." Motlua- St. Mar^vierito takos tho tromljling 
 yirl in her arms. " And my littlo, f.i.irit.;d bal.y, my Zoo, sho is wclH 
 Ah! tho good (iod Ims pies.uvt'd my de.ir onoa until tliis liappy day." 
 Blondine's oyes ant full of liaijpy tears. 
 
 " Aro you not glad, dear Sir iJarry ? Dolores ^s•ill n.'vor 1... aldo to 
 thank you cnoiigh. If it Ijad not been for you, slic would never have 
 found hor mothiir." 
 
 Sir 15any feels glad that so much happintss had been brought around for 
 all hands cuncerucd, but fools most woefully forlorn himself. It seems 
 now they are all united, that he is left entirely out in the cold, niondintf's 
 voice awakens him. 
 
 " Yes, T suppose so," he says, abst-ntly. 
 
 " Dolores is going to stop a few days with nie : come in and see us any 
 time, when you are lonely," IJloudine says, cheerfully. She intends giving 
 naughty Dolores a good scolding for hor persistent coolness to Sir lUrry. 
 "And at one time 1 imagined they were getting so fund of each other," 
 Mi.ss Gray thinks, ruefully. 
 
 CIlAlTKli XX. 
 
 REa'.S ATONK.MENT. the new MOTHEn HUPERIon. 
 
 " Wlicti little <:irls toll tiny libs, 
 W(! turn all roary tory : 
 , And toll how lions ate tin- child, 
 
 Wlio told one iiauglity stoiy. 
 But wlii-n tlu! L'irt- ador-n tli»'mselve.«, 
 Willi hail' dyo, paint and chignon: 
 They look so nico, that in a trice, 
 We alter our opinion." 
 
 — Axon. 
 
 The rain comes down in a dull, ceaseless pour, making tho icy streets 
 still more dangerous to walk safely on. A regular January thaw, alter a 
 freezing spell of bitterly cold weather, iJea Sevirn, sitting in a largo in- 
 valid chair, looks out on tho dreary scene. She is thinking long, and hard- 
 ly, and bitterly on her past life. Xo one would recognize tho. bright viva- 
 cious Rea in tho distressed looking creature sitting there, in her white 
 dress, the dress no whiter than the wearer's face. Her eyes look as if she 
 had cried all tho brightness out of them. Ilea has been very ill; at one time 
 it was understood sho could not recover. The habit of eating opium had 
 taken full possession of her, and now she is but a skeleton of her former 
 bright self. She had eaten only a little at lirst, because it put color in her 
 
1 
 
 76 
 
 ZOE; on, SOMK DA Y. 
 
 otliorwiso colorli'sa face. It helped to bri^'hten \wx oyo« ; made \w.r lii^h 
 spiritntl. J'lut aftur a tiiuo its deadly woik bc^'an. Sho couM uo lougor 
 exist without a doul)hj jtoilion of the de;idly dm;,'. The habit, ul' which alio 
 had been warntd against by the Gipsy, during hor visit tu the Island, with 
 the other nuniibtirs of tin* party which were on board tho Hon. .lorry's 
 yacht, wi\8 cortaiidy doing its best tu kill hor, it sho did not kill it. And 
 Ilea ftdt almost j)uworloss to batthi any longcM*. TcDplo said she most cer- 
 tainly niu.st j)ut something on her faco, it was such a strangely, pinkish- 
 creamy tint. Kca denied it to all but Arial St. James, and it was to bo said 
 to Arial'a credit, that she was shocked when she discovered tho girl had 
 recourse to such means. She persuailed her to stop, but I'oa persisted, and 
 made Arial jiromise secrecy. During hor Hj»ells of low-spirifednoss, the 
 only one who could sympathize with her was Mrs. St. James, During the 
 past three years, no one but the girl herstdf knew how sho had sulVered; 
 how many battles sho had tried to fight against it ; how many prayor.s sho 
 had ofTered u]), but all seemed of no avail ; and at la.st, when death had 
 almost claimed her, she seemed ready to lay down the weapons at the 
 ouemy's ieet and give up all i'urtlior ellorts in desjjair. 
 
 When Sister Jean camo to take care of hor, she it was who changed 
 the whole (urrout of Kea Severn's life. Sho ull'erod to help her daily : 
 sho told of the quiet, peaceful convent life ; of tlu^ good waiting to be 
 done, if there were any to ilo it. She braced Kea's spirits up and 
 brought her to see that there are more things in the world to live for beside 
 one's own .selfishness. And the Ileavenlv hand she had almost began to 
 think had failed hor, was stiotchod out to liea to assist her futurt! life, to 
 guide her steps info a safer path than sho had boon treading. For tho first 
 time for many months and years her mind was calm and satisfied ; she found 
 a peacefid calm and quiet settle aiouud her after hearing Sister Jean's 
 gentle voice, telling lier of the helpfulness to many of the convent sisters. 
 Tho wind howls around tho house dismally. lioa shivers and looks from 
 the dreary outride to tho cheerful lire roaring in tho pretty room within. 
 There is a ]teal of silvery laughter comes floating up-stairs, followed by 
 ^Irs. St. James' lovely self. Sho could not wait any longer for tho storm 
 to clear, but had taken a cab and come over to cheer ui> her invalid friend. 
 Sho comes into the pretty room, smilingly serene as usual. 
 
 "Arial, how good of you to come to me, and on such a ni'sorable day, 
 too." Mrs. St. James takes tho easy chair opposite Ilea. Shj looks over 
 toward the other window, with a very scornful smile on her very beautiful 
 lips. She has no smile, no word of greeting for tho other occupant of tho 
 room. It is ijuito foreign to her to take any notice of tho charity sister, 
 whom it has been Rca's fancy to make so friendly of. Most decidedly Mrs. 
 St. James does not approve of Sister Joan. Does it ever enter tho scornful 
 
 • 
 
 i 
 
ZOK; on, HOMK DAY. 
 
 77 
 
 
 
 IftJy'H mind that slm nmy and woiiM live to hoo tho tiny when hIjo wouM do 
 anything,' rcuBoniildi) or othorvvi.so to Ixi rocoKni/.cd \\y tho -^'irl ox'cr tlujio in 
 tho window, who never r.iiHi's hfr .swcot, pidf) facu from hor sowing,'/ Por- 
 hapH not, wo do nut know, in thcso diVM of possihiliticH, whul is likoly to 
 liiil)j)ou witliin :i .sliuit |itMiud. 
 
 " Ilttvo you hoiuil iilioiil (luidon Auliroy, my doarl Wliat will you Hay 
 when I toll you \ Troparo lor a siiock to your IV'olini,'8." Jtua sniilon lan- 
 guidly. 
 
 " I'oor Gordon, what lias lio bccm up to now 1" sho asks, indilVtimntly. 
 Sho has always hoon fond, vory fond of (lurdon. And (lordon? Wnll, 
 tho path lio has niark(.'d uul I'ur liimsolf now, youa to shuw how fund lio was 
 of cliarniing h'oa. 
 
 '• Ilo wont Honi(!whoro with somo friends, lishiuf,'; tlicy camo across some 
 
 girl, and Gordon, of course, as usual, was imniudiatoly captivatod with hor 
 
 protty faco ; ho only know hor a week, wlun, to use Whitohoad's words, 
 
 ' In short slio blusliod, sho lookod cniisont, 
 lio j^raspod hor hand, to cliuroii tln!y wont.' 
 
 And Gordon is lost to us all forovor and ayo." Arial is hardly j)r('])arod to 
 800 lioa tak(! hor words so coolly. 
 
 ** And .so ho has boon and gono and done it 1 May overy happinoss fol- 
 low him and his protty wife, whoever sho ho," aro Uoa's t,'r,ioious words. 
 
 " I should not liko to bo hor; in a wook ho will tiro of her. You know 
 he is not one of tho constant .sort." Mrs. .St. .lames shrugs those beatitiful 
 BJiouldor.s of hers. Sho is roally <(uite dis^'uslod at Gordon's lack of taste. 
 A girl with no education whatever, ami in those days, too, when every 
 person lias a chanci' to learn, if they so pleaso. 8ho ho[ies ho will lopont, 
 and that bitterly, in tho bargain. 
 
 " Such a nice fellow young Lord Streathinero has become ; tliey say his 
 mother and ho, acconipained by Sir I'.any Traloigh, were at the ball last 
 night. Sir JJarry gets nicer every day ; what a pity ho does not uiarry." 
 
 Si.stcr Joan's spool of thread falls on tho floor : sho stoops to iiick it up 
 and then glides from tho room. This is the hrst time sister Jean heard of 
 Lord Stroathmorc, but hor lieart boats with grateful alfection at tho mention 
 of Sir IJarry Traloigh. 
 
 " I cannot understand how you can have that girl hero, lioa : she would 
 give me tho chills to have hor gliding so noiselessly around. Another 
 thing, you aro nearly well now ; I don't seo why you need hor any longer." 
 
 The clouds aro breaking away, tho storm is over, and a glimmer of sun- 
 light, peeping from a rift in tho sky, falls on Kea's pale faco, and lights up 
 tho tired eyes. 
 
 " What makes you .so prejudiced against hor, Arial?" she asks, looking 
 at Mrs. St. James' cold, handsome face. 
 
m 
 
 78 
 
 ?:0E : OR, SOMK DA Y. 
 
 "I liavo no pationce with ihat cIafs of people : roy advico to you is to 
 get rill of lu'r ;i.s soon as you can." Mrs. St. .lame.'; feels .slie lias not all tlio 
 conluU'Uce of liea. She u.sed to tfll her evt-rylhing, but since sister .loan's 
 arrival. Rea never has anv coufiih'nce to make, and Arial foel.s she is 
 gradually being rivalled, and by a charity si.ster. It is all very bitter for 
 .\rial to believe. 
 
 Some (lays later, the cosy library at Mrs, St. JaiDCs is bright with light, 
 and wanntlt, 
 
 " Suniethiug to interest you. my dear," Mr. S{. Jamos says, passiyig his 
 wife the ivening paper. Vtry .juiftly Arial looks up from her book. She 
 takes the piiper, and a retl, deep crimson sj)ot bur'iis on both lier perfect 
 cheeks as she n-ad-i. It has come to pass what she has been dreailing. 
 
 " It is to be regretted by all who have known her worth of goodness, 
 that mother St. Marguerite, the sympathetic Mother Suj^-rior of the Con- 
 vent of St. Marguerite, is about to give uj) the j>usit!on she has bi-gun and 
 succeeded with so famously. Her place will be supplied ])y one whom we 
 ali ho])L- uiay ])rove her^«'lf as worthy of esteem as her valu;i])lo predece-<sor. 
 The new Mother Superior is a lady who lately adorned the most brilliant 
 and Tashouable society circles — Mi.ss llt-a Severn. 
 
 ' 
 
 I 
 
 rilAlTKIi XXI. 
 
 .NED "RANK. Tin: ONE AM> THE SAME. 
 
 " .'Stolen sweets are always sweeter, 
 .'^toliii kisses inueb eoiiil)let<'r ; 
 Stoii-n look an- nioe in Chapels, 
 Stolen, stoltii he your apjiles." 
 
 — Lkujh Hint. 
 
 It is Sunday morning, a bright, l>eautiful, i>e.iceful Sabl-.ath. The pretty 
 ch\irch is warm and cumfortable. The suiilight, creeping in through the 
 gaily j)ainted stained glass windows, tinge thuse sitting in its brilliant rays, 
 with every vivid hue uf the r.iinbow. The service has begun when Mr. 
 Vacine I'Uters, and with him i tall. idea»ant looking young fellow, who, as 
 he takes his jn-at, looks eagerly up to the choir. l>olores, sitting up there 
 in her own special corner, starts and looks a .second time at the stranger, who 
 is regarding her tixedly. 
 
 " How in the name of sense has Ned Crane come hero? Anil with Mr. 
 Vaci!ic, too — Mr. Vacine, who never entertains, from one year's end to tho 
 other." This is what Dolores is saying in her mind, " And then just 
 just look at Mr, Vacine's face. How wonderfully hajipy he looks ; surely 
 something very unusu.il has happened that M'-. Vacine should wear such a 
 very beatific expression." A little boy in tho next seat dropjted his cent on 
 
 
ZOE ; OR, SOME DA Y. 
 
 lit, 
 
 . 
 
 
 the floor, then ho luokfj at th(! elderly gontlenrin .ind hy him in .two : all the 
 small childi.'U stood in great dread of old Mr. Vacine. Th'- child oxpectcd 
 either a stern look of tlisapproval, or else a i)ok<! from Mr. V.icin»'.s gold- 
 headed cane. Contrary t j the yoiiJigst'-r's cxju'ctationrt, he saw Mr. Vacine 
 actually smiling at him — smilin;j; aftur In- had lit his ci-nt drop on the floor 
 with such a click. The little hoy was so astonished that ho was quiet during 
 the reniainiliT of the service. Dolorc." has only arrived home this morning 
 from her visit to iSlondino. She had got ready ;us soon as she arrived, and 
 gone to niorning service, for the parson ww^ anxious that she should Uike 
 her place again in th<- choir. .She his not .seen Sistrr Jean yet, and Dolores 
 is very anxious to do .^o. /oe, from her higli .^e:>'., at tht* organ, is "taking 
 in" tiiL' young mi.n v.:th Mr. \'acino. He \<^ -luiio uicf ih Zoe's .^ight, and 
 the youngest Mi.ss Litchfield li.stens to fhe sermon and d<t<'rmines that she 
 thinks she will like him very muoli. Ai the door, Mr. Vacine invites Zee 
 and her sister up to take dinner. I Dolores demurs, but Zoe says promptly, 
 " Of course they will ;" so Dolores goes. Over the prettily arranged il inner 
 tahle Mr. Vacine tells the two astonished giris all ahout the dear nephew 
 who hail left his uncle's home in a passion, vowing m-vi-r to return. Uut 
 sonnthiiig happened that made him feel remorseful >"or hiving di'jjerted the 
 kind old uncle, who hatl always heen as :i father to him So the prodigal 
 had returned, and .Mr. Vacine cannot disgui.so his gladness. 
 
 " I never imagined we .sh<:ihl meet here, Xed," I>olores s;iys, aa they 
 isaunier through the warm, plea-iint drawing-rooms. 
 
 Zoe has gone upstairs to play suuie hymns fur Mr. Vacine, in the cosy 
 )nusic room. 
 
 '• It is queer now, when you tiiink of it. and, l)y .jOM', wh '.t an awfully 
 pretty girl your sister is," Ned say,-. lie has always admired Dolores im- 
 menselv, hut Zoe — Zoe wis so entirelv dilfereut. In f.ict Ne<l is sure he 
 will grow to he awfully fond of Mr. Litchfield's pretty wilful daughter Zje. 
 
 The sun ..^^nrs brightly on the clear, white, glistening road.cover-^d with 
 snow ; liie i'dt.'es glitter in the limbs of the leafl-ss trees like crystal : every- 
 thin;: is wvigld, cold, and sparkling, ''he l)i'lls are ringing for .Sunday- 
 school, uuii the little and big children troop along in rc^.pl»nr•e to the btdl'a 
 call. 
 
 " I was awfully glad you fouml your mother. How was it you did not 
 know v.hero she wa.s l)efore ? " Ned a<«ks, as they st.iud at the window, 
 watching the passers by. 
 
 Jkdores silently contemplates the gold fish swiiuming around and around 
 in the huge glass globe. 
 
 " She said a feeling she couhl not resist, m id-.i her think it lier duty to 
 leave homo and found a safe, calm retreat, by which much good could be 
 done for the sick, poor or sufleiiug, of a large* city like Montreal. .She 
 
80 
 
 ZOE: OB. SOME DA Y. 
 
 know nunfc Adolino would tako excoUcnt cavo of tho houso, and my sister 
 and r, so sli" w(n;f. You know tlio ici.-t, liow sho has insliiuttHl a convent, 
 that all dcclaro liad done more good Mian any other institution of a liko 
 kind. Mow sho lia.s consontod to givo up iht* nanif of Mcthor St. iMargucrito, 
 and como back to ua all at home. You cannot fancy, Xed, liow too good it 
 seems, after all th'^se yeans, to have my mother again. Ju.st think of liea 
 Severn taking nothor's place. ^Vh;(t .strange thing.s luppen." 
 
 " I guess slio felt pretty cut up about Gordon Aubrey's marriage," Ned 
 says, his lioart bt ginning to beat, as light footsteps are heard running down 
 stairs, and a clear girlisli voice calling l)olores' nanw;. 
 
 ' We must jcally go, Dolores, [ have brouglit your coat and hat," Zoo 
 announces, drojijiing the articles on a chair, as slie speaks. 
 
 " Mr. Crane, what a good time you must have, if you are fond of pictures ; 
 why this houso is a i»aradiso," says this precocious child, going over to one 
 of the mirrors to put on ht^r hat. 
 
 " Sir l!arry Trah gh is a Ijoautiful jiainter," announces tho young(>st Mis.s 
 Litchfield jtruiidly. It has oc isioUfd her much pride to tell her girl 
 acijuaintances, how a real, live " Sir " had initiated her into tho mysteries 
 of paiuiing. 
 
 Xcd look?) deeply amused, tho girl is .su original, so dilleront from any 
 otlier girl of lier years. The corners of his mouth twitch in a highly 
 suspicious way ; ]i:\ wotild enjoy vastly to laugh, but politeness forbids, 
 and lio turns to Dolores. 
 
 " When did you say this very beautiful cousin of yours, Miss Oray, was 
 expected?" 
 
 Dolores laugh.-!, her sweot, silvery tones lilliug the handsome old room 
 with swecft nuisic. 
 
 '• It is doubtful what d.iy. I shall cKixsct you to fall in love with Blon- 
 dino the fiist tune you meet," she says archly. 
 
 " JViliaps," .Nod answers, watching Zoe fastening up her roll of music. 
 
 " II ive th(* girls gone r' asks Mr. \'acino, coming in fruui a brisk walk 
 around the snow covered gardtiu 
 
 " No, but just going," iJolores say^;, smiling. 
 
 " Give my love to mother and father, and be good girls, both of you," 
 and Air. Vacine goes into the library and shuts tho door. Ned puts on 
 his overcoat and walks down with tho girls to the gate. lie offers to escort 
 them liome, but Doleres will not listen to such an arrangenu-nt, mucli to 
 the ycuuge.-.! Mi.ss Litchfield's disgust. It is a bitterly cold afternoon ; 
 the sun looks uut sullenly from behind dull, grey clouds. 
 
 " 'J'he days are certainly very changablc," Zoo dt!clares as they hurry 
 home, the .-now cnniking beneath iheir feet. "This morning has been so 
 briglit, and now just see how dull it In-.s become." 
 
 
 o 
 
 nak^ 
 
ZOK ; OR, SOME DA Y 
 
 81 
 
 ^» 
 
 ■ 
 
 Polori's removes lier seal j-^ckct and liat by tlio stove in the hall, and Zoo 
 gays .she will carry tln'in up-stairs, as sho is goiny up. liulores pushes open 
 the drawing-room dour and goes in. The oo.sy Inr looks very chtorfiil and 
 inviting. iJrawing up an arm chair, DoIohm .sits down to enjoy the 
 warmth. The fulding iloors ar(^ o* a jar. I'rostintly sonu;one comos in. 
 
 "Ah, Sister Jean, you an; ;■ .ding yet? N'our llihlf chapter has bem 
 ratlicr lengthy, if it is not yet tinished." Mrs. Litchfield's pleasant voice 
 says. 
 
 " I had linished reading .'■•onie time ago, and was indulging in a day 
 dream when you canie," is the reply. 1 loloros sits upriglit in her chair. 
 Surely she has heard that peculiar voice before 
 
 " I have not seen your other daughter yet. T wonder if sin; will be very 
 angry with me for asking her a ([uestion I Sir Harry Tral«'igh, the last 
 words he spoke to mr were to litul out, if I could, why Miss Dulores treated 
 him 80 unkindly. Sir Jlarry is vciy fund of your oldest daughter, and he 
 feels her unkind conduct to him very k(!r;nly." 
 
 Dolores sjuings from her seat to tli(! door and looks through th>' oi>ening 
 into the next ruom. Oh! Why was 1 so (juick to jumi» to conclusions, 
 might I not have known 1 coultl have trusted him? Sister Jean is, yes, 
 the same girl I .saw talking to him that wrotohod day in Italy. She looks 
 again. Yes, she has snublicd Sir Ba'ry all this time, and now will he, will 
 hn forgive her ? Dulores is dreadtully put about. Sister Jean's next 
 word'; almost iinisli her anguisli of mind. 
 
 " I und''*'8tanil lu- proposes returning to Ids home in Scotland, almost 
 immediately. 11(! says there is no excuse for his remaining away any 
 longer. ]f Mi.ss J)olores would only consider what a wrong she is doing 
 herself by throwing away the love of a good man like Sir JJarry, she m'ouIJ 
 bo lifting a weight oil more than one mind." 
 
 There is a silence for a space, tlien I>Irs. LItclifield says, tpiietly : 
 
 "I am sure my Dolores woulil have told nie if there had been any 
 tiou})le. She certaintly cannot know that he carts for her in the way you 
 mean, or — " 
 
 The curtains are thrown unceremuniuusly aside. 
 
 "^fothor, I ilid, I do know. What if ho has gone btdorj ho knows 
 dilfereutly? Will lie ever forgive my coldness toward him ? What shall 
 1 do? What am 1 to do?" Sister .lean's face is bright with gladness. At 
 last she has done something for Sir I'.arry in return for all his goodness to 
 her. She, or, at least, her words have done more to turn Dolores' wilful, 
 yet loving heart, than anything else could do. 
 
 wm 
 
82 
 
 ZOE ; OR, SOME DA Y 
 
 
 CHAPTFH xxn. 
 
 LOnD STREATHMKIlK.f SUIT. SIR HAnnv's CONCJUKST. 
 
 "Mortsrag*-- an*! jrrpat relations, 
 
 Aii'l ln*Iian bonds, and tithes and rents, 
 W'lia*; ar«i lliey to love's sensations?" 
 
 — PUAEI). 
 
 " Oil mercy 1 A real, live Ix>nl to be in town, and I declare if Sir Barry 
 Traleigh is not here, too. llurraij for our side !" 
 
 'Hh! breakfast room is cheerful with fire and .siiiiliglit. Zoo i.s reading 
 the list of liotel arrivals. 
 
 ""Wliat is the child talking about? Zoo, I trust you are not growing 
 profano. Wlial is that you are R;jyiug about Lord?" Aunt Adeline i.s 
 busy with the breakfast arraDgt-ni->.'niA, and has only caught a stray word of 
 Zoe'n exclamatiou. 
 
 " Father," calls the young'^st Mi--- J.itchlield, at the toj) of lun- far from 
 low voice, " Did you know Sir I'.arry was lu-re? My dear old Jet, how 
 glad 1 will bo to see that man.'' 
 
 " Xot 80 loud, my girl," h»-r fatln^r Bays from the fire where he is warming 
 his hands. '• I saw them last night, and invited them \w\v, to dinner this 
 evening." 
 
 AuMt Adi'line .sniffs in an ominocs manner. The Litchfield household 
 have got to look upon that .■♦nilT cf aunt Adelene's as boding no good to any 
 new jMoject of which it is doubtful if .she tvill approve. 
 
 " (."hickens are ei^'hty cents a p:iir in the market, are you aware of it, 
 Kdward !" she a.sks tartly. Mr. Litchlield laughs. 
 
 *' Well, my dear sister, we need not encourage their heinous demands." 
 
 "Lords and .Sirs always expct overy luxury, wliether reasonable or 
 otherwise, Ijut as you have aln.-.uly asked them, I will have to do tlie best J 
 can." Miss Adeline stalk.4 from the room with a stern look of disapproval 
 on lier face. "Lords and .Sir.s indeed," she miitters. "J'ray is it not all ow- 
 ing to Sir Jiarry that is making her dear l)olores go around looking so dis- 
 consolate ?" She never for a mument lakes into consider.ilion that it is all 
 Dolores own willulness that 1, i.s made .Sir JJaary stay away so long. 
 
 A telegram arrives iluring the forenoon from uncle Dick Cra}', announc- 
 ing their coming that v»Ty afternoon. Dolores dri\(S over to tlie station 
 with her sp;.n of grey ponies, to meet and hriiig them home. 
 
 At dinner Lord Streathniere is ]»resenled to Sister Jean. lUondine, 
 merry lllondine, his right hand neighbor at dinner, is neaily beside herself 
 with meiriuieut, as slie wat^rhes the covert looks of admiration he casts 
 across the talile at tlie convent sister. Sister Jean has imjiroved woniler- 
 fully since her arrival ; gay and charming, she is almost the pretty Jantio of 
 old. Poor iJurpco, Lord Streathmere, is very badly hit; more so, perhaps, 
 
ZOI'] ; on, SOMK DA Y. 
 
 83 
 
 
 tliau ho hiinsolf thinks. Doloros has ;i had licadioho. ami doi's not juit in 
 an ajjpoaianco. Zoe is ralhoi' disajiiiuintoil in Sir JJany, ho slmmus so much 
 changed since ho hit't ; not tlio sanio genial -let wlio liad itotted and toased 
 tlie youngest Miss Litchlield almost to distraction. Jle seemed to Zoe older 
 iin«l graver. After dinner Dolores comes down to the i)retty <lra\ving-roum. 
 She is looking most wonderfully sweet ami giaeious. Lord Streathmore is 
 making great strides in his friend.shi|) with Sister dean. Ho suddenly mani- 
 fests a strong inclination ahout iimling out the ways of life in a convent, 
 and tlic wants of the poorer classes. To all this SiVter .li-an gives her pa- 
 tient attention and information. 
 
 Sir Harry is standing hy the little (iijisy tahle, where Dolores is husy, 
 daintily dealieg out cream, and sugir, anil cotiee, in tiny shelldiko cups. 
 Dolores is very gracious this evening, so much so tliat Sir Harry is com- 
 pletely dazzled, and In; can .scarcely realize sht; can mean it all for his own 
 benelit. She is wearing a dro.sa this evening, the identical kin<l of a one 
 she wor(! during tli(^ last tender interview they had held together in far oH' 
 sunny .Nice, when Dolores had str.iyed down to the clear moonlit gaideu. 
 and Sir liarry had alnust declared himself. Dolores talks on, her soft, 
 pleasant laugh tilling up tiie spaces, when Sir I'.arry forgets to answer. A 
 marble , jar standing ne.ir is lad'-n with mignonette and eindytuft, tilling 
 the rooms with their sweetness, making Sir Harry almost jiositive that the 
 present is a dream, and that he is hack in tli" pretty I tali. in garden, sur- 
 rounded l)y the old-fashioneil swi'et-smelliug llowi is, walking hy Dolores 
 side, and li.^tening to her giy, young voiee. 
 
 '"Xow stupiil, try, do, tu keep still until 1 can undo this tangle you hive 
 made,'' savs tlu; vouugest Miss l.ilchtield to Ned, who sits most patiently, 
 adoringly, hy Zoe's side, assisting, or dutaiuii'g, tin." young lady to wind i 
 skein of wool. 
 
 In spile of all aunt Adeline's corrections, her niece very frefpiently fills 
 into the errur of raising her voice t j what Miss Adtdino considers a must 
 unladylike pitch of elearne.ss and highnes.-^. Staring at people was anothfr 
 grave oHeUCe that called forth all aunt Adidiue's a'itemi»ts to put down. 
 Zoe would open those wonderful grey green eyes of her-i and stare at you 
 for, it would he impossihle to say what length of time. If.ihit, of course, 
 but a habit that aunt Aildine's gentle '• Zoe, my dcvr, .iroi> your eyes, dear," 
 failed to mend, 
 
 " 1 800 8t, James is selling out, and going to live aljioad. I wun<ler what 
 he pnrposiis doing?" asks Lord Streathmere. 
 
 " r believe this climate does not a'^ive with .Mi>. St. James' health," 
 lUondine answers 4uic!dy. 
 
 Dolores looks acros.s the room at Ned ; he catches her eye, and smiles. 
 
 " Handsome woman, I have heud." Mr. Litchlield -y.s, from the hall 
 where ho ia walking up and down. 
 
W' 
 
 
 84 
 
 ZOE . OR, SOME DA Y. 
 
 " Who do you moim ? Ah yoH, Mrs. St. Jainnn ; a most peculiar wo- 
 man," says Sir Ijarry, as he comos bank, aftor giving Mrs. Litchfield her cup 
 of colFee. 
 
 A very groat favorite; is Sir Harry uf yiva. Litchfield's ; she is so grateful 
 to him for all liis pa^t goodness, and, knowing l>olores tender secret, she 
 looks forward to Sir Rarry some day gaining his heart's desire. They are a 
 very gay party ; Llondine is grtiatly interested in Sister dean. She has 
 taken a great fancy to this girl, of whom she has heard so pitiful a history. 
 This lovely morning lUoudino and Sist(>r Je.in are driving into the town to 
 do some shopping. Pretty lUoiidinc* is always needing "trash," as she calls 
 the humlrcd and one odds and ends her fancy decrees. She lias declared 
 her intention of visiting the furrier's store this particular day. 
 
 " Why, Afiss (Iray, what do you want of another seal jacket when you 
 have such a beauty already ?" Sister Jeau asks, as the man displays the goods 
 before Mloudine's critical eyes. 
 
 " ^fy darling, I want it for you." 
 
 " For me ?" Sister dean's jtretty lips ejaculate Xotlsing that she could 
 say would make imperious lllondine change htu' mind. 
 
 "To please me, dear, you will take it, won't you? I have so much 
 money I do not know how to spend it. You will not feel insulted and re- 
 fuse my gift, will you?" JJIondine; argues in her coaxing tones. 
 
 So the gift was accephf 1. Sisti^' Jean is very happy, everyone is so good 
 to her — to her, a puor chaiity sister. Hut as far as being intimately con- 
 nected for the future with the convent, they will lose one of theii most 
 staunch and zealuus workers. J-'or Lord Streutliinore had very humbly and 
 in great trepidation, aske«l Sister .lean to marry him. 
 
 Tt all seomid very inijiossible, but true, nevtMtheless, and Sister .Jean? 
 well, she was so grateful to him, and then anotluM- thing, she had learned 
 to bo very fond of impetuous, liandsomc Lord Streathmero. So as tluiro was 
 no need for delay, one pleasant sunny n\oning in i^Iay, pretty .Tantio Mac- 
 keith became Lady Streathmero. And lUirpee's moaning was very tender 
 as well as .sincere, when he whisjiered iu dantie's dainty ear : 
 
 " iruntin;j;tower is mine lassie, 
 iluiitin;.'tn\v<'r is niiiie .Ifaiu(!; 
 lIuiitiMf^towtn' an' a' lUair^^ower, 
 And a' that's mine is tiiint" lassie. 
 
 No one among all the throng of invited fashouables knew the bride's 
 origin. All they knew was that it was a purely love match, very unusual 
 in those all-fur-money-days, liut the poor, sick and suffering, of the con- 
 vent of St. Marguerite are losing a gentle, sympathic friend. An anonymous 
 gift of several hundr I dollars, was received by the new Mother Superior, 
 which went to show Juntie'a inlluonce had already begnn. Lord Streath- 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
,/> 
 
 ZOE; on. SOME DAY 
 
 85 
 
 If 
 
 { 
 
 niei'o's luullmr wiis nut pn'scnt ;it tlm iiiani;igo : she wus in tho south of 
 Fnincc, and slu' tlaitil nut risk ln'i- IhmHIi in our clear, coM Canadiun 
 winttT. Tilt! liapiiy cuuplu went nway injnit.iliatfly on an fxtnutk-d Muro- 
 pi.-an tuiir. 
 
 " I am oil' to-niovru\\ , my drar, t\jr I'ar ofl" Soutish home ; will yuu not 
 siiy lairwcli. Miss Mtchli-'M r 
 
 riir Mill is -jtri-amin^' in, in all its lull, yluiiuiis tints tlMouj,di the .stained 
 ^'lass windows ol the im-lty siitin^f luuiii, iaiil falls ami lin^'cis loviuj^dy on 
 huloii's' JK'ad, licnt u\t'r tln' talilf wiiiiii;^. SIk; starts as Sir Harry spoaks. 
 
 " Tu-niurruw ." she icpcats, j,M/iii^' ,il 'lim as if his wonls were some 
 forci^Mi luiij^MH!, lu 111 r mcaninglfsrt. Slu- loves this m.in siandint,' there, 
 hut In T [ircjud lu all is tou lolly tu 1<'I >ii(:h a tnlin;,' lif fancied, let aloui' 
 proved. And >o she hides iiei leelinijs 1(» hind an icy exterior. And Sir 
 ' liany has },'iven huloie>. iiisown holoros— as he calls her |iassionately to 
 himsolf — u)t alniu-l in di>iiair. 
 
 *' ^ f>, il is a Kill:,' lime uuw >ilii i I have M^eli the ilt-ai old |iliice. and 
 1 dare .say they tie r.i|iiiriii;,' my |i|e-eiiee there. 1 )ia\f iluiie all 1 in ilo 
 here, tiiere is no need lor my remainin.:,' loiiyer. there will !).• iiu une to he 
 >ony 1 am j^uiie. (iuod hye, Mis.'^ l,it<dili< Id, 1 am >uiiy I havt) always 
 seemed tu displease yuu, veiy .suiry, hut w lit n I am ^uiie. llieii p»?riiaprt you 
 limy sometimes think ul iiit; kindly in my far oif lonely home." 
 
 Sir Harry's \uice hreaks in a highly suspicious way. lie is hoMiiig his 
 haiiil out to I>olures; liut 1 >olores' eyes aie full uf tears, she cannot see 
 the oUtsireat(dieil ham!. What makes hei sit there feeling stj silly ? What 
 will .Sir liarry lliJik of hti / She tiies to throw ulf the strange feeling 
 that is stealing over her senses, hut Sir JJarry'.s words were >o pathetic they 
 struck direct to l)olori s' rehellious, loving heart. She drops her head on 
 tho tahle and Weejw, 
 
 '• Dolores, my darling, ilo yon care so much that I am going I" He steeps 
 over to her side. • Is it go or stay. iKtlores '" .Sir Harry asks, with a pecu- 
 liar catch in his clear, lirm tone. 
 
 " Stay," conies the it'i^ly from the huwoil heail ou llitf tahle, and Sir 
 liany stays. 
 
sr; 
 
 ZOJ':: OIL tiOMF. DAY 
 
 ClIAITKi: Will. 
 
 zuk's ximi; itw. 
 
 '•'riK'fo's soMn'Miiiii:' imdoiiliti'dly in :\ liiii« air, 
 To know liow t'l siiiil'', ainl Ik* alilc to •<\;\Vf ; 
 Fliv'li lirt'cdiiiL' i>- •^oiin'tliini:. l>iit wi'll \>vri\ <w ii,.t, 
 III till' fii'l till' iiiir <|in'*ti()ii i<. What jia 
 
 \r \ I Ml '_'<>1 
 
 — \. 11. < 'km .,11. 
 
 'i'lic vim i.s sliiuiiiLT lni'^'lil ly. |iliNHaiit l\ , uvcr .ill l.iiii.lnn. r'.ii:Jaiiil. cn ni 
 |MMictr itin^ iiifd llir liim. diity allry-. and tcii' tiiciiN ; Ipiit i.s aisu .•<liining. 
 
 with all it'- wialth ul 
 
 ;uldcii, clu'criii;,' ;,d;uliii'.ss. intu ihc Imi^'. 
 
 1 11 d. sum 13 
 
 l^'alli'iy (.d lit :it the ;.,'rcal Liiiiduii i'\liil)ili(iii. I'iclur.'.-^ and |iictiirc.s uf 
 ciidh-ss vaiii'ly and licaiity M'v licit' display t'd. Tlifii is mic csiicci illy lliat 
 t'ivsciii;if(!s till- vyK-ii ut' ail the tliutis md.-^ ul' cm iuiH visiiui-. It is liaiifjinj,' in 
 !i poi'fiiPt li^dit. in a heavy ,1.,'old Iraiiir. ( )i]'i'r> to |iiii(diaM' it liavi- Ixcn in* 
 inuiii'rdih'. hut a littli' la;^' uli tlic ruiliiT annoMii(!fs to the wuulddtc piii 
 
 lie is a lii'aiitiJMl Italian Lcanicn. 
 
 cliii.-icv tli:it it is ali'cidy sold. Tin' s-i 
 Seated in a suMyiip^ chair, on the inctty terrace, is a. Inly wliosc I'acc ]»ou]ili' 
 I'iiv" over, as lii'lni; the inia;^'e of holoie^, ,"~iir I'.aviy Trdeii^drs hcuitil'ul 
 wife. 'I'lic lady i.s "ii^' ij.,'ed in \viitin;^'a letter. 'I'lie ticcs almost' iniiiiedi- 
 iitelv op)»usite tlie ternu'e, Conceals the iinlistinct lorni of a iiian watidiin*,'. 
 
 Hyt 
 
 1(3 ladv 
 
 de, Iviii'' with his d.irk cmlv head rcstin'' on the train of 
 
 the hidy'.s white lace dress, is a little hoy, in a white eiiiliroidered frock, 
 slee|iini,'. The i'rince oi Wales, who opened the exhiliitioli. was so stliick 
 hv the ineiits of the picture, that hi' desired an iiiticjiluction to the fair 
 young painter. .\nd /ue was duly piiseiiti'd to om iuture king, who shook 
 till! girl's hanil warniiy, and wished her all good success in the future. 
 Surely /oe's " Suiiic i)ay" had come with a wealth of splendor and glury. 
 It had lieeii at Sir I'arry'.s direcliuu. that his sister-in-law painted it, and he 
 had lioMght it at a princely price to hang in the exipii.-itely furnished draw- 
 ing-room at Castle Kacijuetle. .\s Xoe expro.sscs it, " Mveiyoiie and his 
 brother aie here." .sii limy and l.ady Traleigh have inn down from ("astlo 
 Ivacipiette to London, to lie the pioud witness of /ue's triiini]di. holonvs 
 is charmed -vith her lieautilul Seo'tish hoiin'. and i> loved hy eveiyoiie, a.s 
 she desiM'Veil so Well to lie. 
 
 Jiintie, Lady Streathniei-e. is the pride and delight of the hushand's lite- 
 She rules her elegant home with a llrni, hut gentle hand, ami though lliir- 
 pee, Lord Streathniere, i.s not lior heart's first love, still slie honors and re- 
 spects liim thoroughly. The dowager Lady Stieatliniere i.-; very fond of 
 Jantie ; she was very agreeably disappointed in the girl, ami now she 
 speak-s to her friends in loud torm.s of •' my daiighter .Iantie'^s excellence." 
 While tliey were iu Paris, they met .Mrs. .St. -Iannis. Slie was very gracious 
 to Jantie, and nnub' mncli of Lord Streathniere's pretty, demure wife. Uiil 
 lier overtures were not at all .sucQes.sful. Lord Streathniere never liked her. 
 
ZOK, (Hi. SOME DA ) , 
 
 Jind .liuitic cunM not licl)* roiiiniiihoviiif,' how ooMly cyniciil Mrs. Sf. .Intiifs 
 had ht'fn to " Sister -Icuu." (lonlou Auhroy ;tnil hi^ pit'tly wif'(> aif living 
 very hapiiily. thuii^h not cmiowctl vtuy liclily with thi.; worhl's j^'uoils, still 
 she has won Imt hushiiiiil's hnf. iii'l kiiow^ lu^w In kri'p it. ami (lonlon 
 has ccrlaiiily tiot rc|)riiii'd ni his luiyaiu, as Mi>. St. .I,iiiic^ In^i luiMlicti'il. 
 The Hull .li iiy Ilu[il<iii> i- .'itill mini 11 1 lit'd : iif dccl no hini>i'll i- •• luit a 
 nmiiyin^ mail." I'cuiilr ,sii\ hf l< ll \ <'iy hadly :it U'c i Scvmii I'nininu tli<' 
 <!onvi'nt. iliit >uiiii'tiini'- |ifu]tl»' .-a\ :t ,l;ooiI 'hal tliat i- uul 'initf true. 
 Till' coiivml ut Si .Mai.;iii riti' is in ,t IIlmii isliin^' foUtlitioM, ••M'lythiM^ 
 woik.- uii Miiiicly and 'i!iiil\ I'lirlc hick liiay liiis Ids nrw huiisr cijin- 
 |di'lc(l ;iiii| i> (diaiiiird wiili it- lii'iiity. lUundiiif dridaic^ tli.it hr think- 
 
 nioT'' ol till' ll iM-c than hi' i!u''r. ol hl'T. 
 
 ll is Wiiitt'l- a,L,'aili. a I'uld 1 ) riiiilicr aftcl nuon. and Ned ('i.ilii li;i> jii>l 
 " haiipi-niMl in." as he vi'iy oiU'ii dois nu\v. to havr i cdiat with /or. and to 
 li(!ar uVt'T and ovc- a^^'ain ahuiit hci luvidy visit aluuad witli Sii liany and 
 I>oloit's Mr. X'aiiuf is vfiy an.\ioii> that .\id will many /of, Imt lik"- 
 InM' sister, till' yo!iu,L;<->-t Miss I.itchlicdd, i< very ifiVaetoiy. She is really 
 veiy I'liiid indet'il iil'^ay, i^uud lieaited, aduiin;^' N''d. I'liit it i> lar truin iiei 
 to ,L,dve him the s.itist'actioii of Kiiuuin;.;. She knuw-; Ned intends asking' 
 hei to many him. and. |Milia|i>, alter a ,^'uod many ye.ii- liom \\n\\ . he 
 will. \ed slo]is and talks su lun^' thai at last the |iietty white and j^'old 
 «'luek stiikis live, ami they hear .Mi-. I.ilehlield aiid .\unt .Adeline jire|iir- 
 ill;^- tea in the dillili;^' liiil. 
 
 "Say. /ue. when ave y^u ;^ijiii^ to say "yes' to wli it I a>ki d yoii the 
 other day T .Ned says, as he ]ioke> the lire in the liri;:;htly-|)oli>lie(| L.Mate. 
 
 •' Noliseii-e." .Miss I.ilehlield answejs. (U'ossly. She heartily wishes .Ned 
 wuiild not allude to that "other day." wln'ii iie had .stirred up her I'eelinj;.- 
 so rem or.se les.sly. She smiles grimly and eliuks her kniti in^; needie.s to.m-'thcr 
 viciously. She even ^oes su I'ai' as to L;ive '' hull." the iiiiulienilin,!.( kitten, 
 an an'4iy pok'' with her toe. 
 
 " Won't yuii tell nil' when, dear?" .Ned ui;^i's, tenderly. .Vnd /oe throws 
 the ciimsuii and whit ■ smokiii;^' cap sIm is making un the sola, 
 
 " I must i^'o and see il tin- supper is nearly ready." she says, stamjiuf,' liy 
 Ned's side, in llie led ;.rluw of tile llickeriU'.; lirediL,dit. 
 
 Neil takes till pretty hand liaii^ini,' liv her si.le. •' Say. Xoe, when will 
 you miury me ( " 
 
 With a clear, niockin;^' laugh she twists her hand iway. And the tannt- 
 jvlizing words he has heard so ofti'ii ring through the pretty cosy, lircdit 
 room, echoing willnl /oe's words, as she floats out the door toward th>- din- 
 hiiU, for she is most unrumanlieally hungry foi her tci. 'l"ho answer to 
 
 in< 
 
 Netl's earnest question was u 
 
 lie u 
 
 f /oc's clear, sweet lij'ples of gay laughter, 
 
 and the mocking words. "Some hay. 
 
 TiiK i:.\n.