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 PJI1CE25CENTS 
 
 J LIFE 
 
 AND LOVE 
 
 By BERTHA M.jCLAY 
 
 HEART SERIES 
 
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 littp://www.archive.org/details/forlifeloveOObramrich 
 
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 For Life and Love 
 
 3y 
 
 Bertha M. Clay 
 
 (Charlotte M. Braeme) 
 
 CffiCAGO 
 
t^'OR LIFE AND LCi 
 
 CHAPTEK L 
 
 A DTiA"W'rNO-noo>c in a somber house in a jfloomy London street— 
 iikably tho dm wing-room ot a lodgiKij-iiuuae. A <rirl sitting 
 . .J a piano — an Era rd, hired by the racj" — ^ '■•> ■■*••• —■.'■'> 
 i t])e dCvsk l)efore lier and yawuinL^ ■>iD 
 
 ■! of politi'nrsa to j'awn when there is h'.i i< : . > .: 
 
 The dr:uviii<!:-roo:u is the drav.ui?^.i;r«om of j , 
 
 ■ I is myselfl ,>'*..' ii« ' '»,/,',:. 
 
 Scott, and' i' have' crme u'p* to'^lViMojI 
 
 ■ Iht piii-jK;3c oi iiuviu^- singin^r-lessoDS. I tsad « lesson this morn- 
 
 -. ;inn 1 !i;v(.« rone over it again and again tili i am tired to death 
 
 • both. Bin i have set it up before ine nbw with 
 
 -ion of go in 1^ over it once more before it cTOws too 
 
 ■k to Boe, To thiit end 1 play the prelude through conscieuliously, 
 ; lit,, 1 i,i> up jny voice and sing — 
 
 •*Hf. thinks T ,?<-. t.nr. love liiraf 
 fie be' ii word I said; 
 
 An'i hf^ ■'.■ if soirow 
 
 } • lii.d left; its bed. 
 
 I'd : the truth this niomingf. 
 
 Oh. inghlm 
 
 Ob, 1 witoii— '■' 
 
 •, and a knock vv^ ' ' 
 '• !? throTiL'-h the 
 
 1 
 i^^ed 
 
 . set. her down here, instead (> o the Jlol- 
 
 " in Berkeley Street. 1 he; - ^"> Olive, 
 
 n her up half an hour ago. i such s, 
 
 ■ • '■' 'v> in this dingy room 1 '^ oncol 
 
 my promise to JJncK' ylorth 
 
 » lue SI If; :. \v iij i ru'io Tod thinkn it qui out 
 
 the mornin<? tor my music-lesson, ret o, ^r I 
 \ head out of doorv«< alone in ! 
 I suppose );f kfio-'AS. or ' 
 I do. 
 
 D'*ancs' Th-'for© 
 
 is this Olive J>enn« n' iw 
 
 Olire i: >w iiovv lonely 1 :f;e 
 
 >-0 # c iO 
 
4 FOR LIFE AK'D LOVE. 
 
 siur^td Old Icdf?fi!rr»?. how lon^ the afternoons and the evenings £ 
 tsl/ >'ml a tvelinj^ of loueliutss, wit Ii that great lioase- 
 
 lul ...... listers iu Duxler i^juaiv. But siic migbl ke<>p a 
 
 pro a she makes o«e, 1 ^hrf-i ?^xold her wlieo 1 niL'et he? 
 
 ihe sj:- -5 to-moirow. and teU her she doos not enibo^ijr > 
 
 idea ot 
 
 But, u iL u iiGt Ollre, vp'ho i« it? Ilae Ijaasoio bi^s driven awuj, , 
 btrt tl>e door has not yet befja on/5ned; and! iiattyn mj' nose against 
 ti:e glass to at-e tbe do«.>r.'-leps,* which are partly concetilod by the 
 o;)ca ironwork ot tlie bivicouy. A ycuDi< man ia skviidiii.<5 bclo^ 
 Wsiitiu.p;, patiently or hnpatieDtly— *Jie> top ot hir. round telt hu ^'v: 
 no cl^.v to ?t:s mood — uniil Kucb iirae as Mrs. Wauchope's mL;v.l 
 all -work shall see fit to aficeud fFom the basement Blory to C[ 
 street-door. 
 
 He i*5 cominft to stay, evidently, for he carries in one h&nd a black 
 l^-uher v-Jr- •• * : • otjiet what looks like a large picture, in a fc!;"-' 
 of >Gu^f it w -'^ 'Pi himself 1 can see nothing but a dari^ ov 
 
 c/)iti Vuid (!•'! ij.iaa iM'slrejidy meutioneil, except tbe gloved hn 
 ■wi:ic;]< v,^(;*jH«?''^^iiis^. hjs*ii^^ure, as visible .from my stun;i-pni 
 
 ■'.iat>ji,*preaents very littte beyond the felt h{;£ 
 . ] \^onderwho he is! Scarcely a tradesman, 
 thoj,!^u ai iirbi i hud inncied he must be a glazier, with his toois ia 
 the ihacfe bag and hi8 pane ot glairs in the wooden case. And cer- 
 tainly not Mre, TVauchope's son, lor he is a small boy of eleven a 
 to my certain knowledge docs not wear a round hat! 
 
 He maybe related to ibe two ii:aideu ladies v/hom tbe maid-of : 
 work cabs " the parlor?.," aj» 1 suppose slie calls me '* the drawii 
 room " rj'hen rclaiing all ebe know^ of ruy aifairs to everj^body e. 
 1 Ciin dK^iingid.sh ihe initiajs " G. B." painted in white en ; 
 black h'a{f;. '' Q. B." stands for nothing that I can tbink of on : 
 p.prir ot the moment but " Ginx's Baby." The name is not sa! 
 f'icto.'-y, nor are my surmises likely to lead to any apprecinbie reso 
 k k-i*ve the windusv convinced on this point, just as Mary A nna op-.. 
 rii2 a.-or and admits the jstranger, 'vrithout a question appaveiiil'.'- • 
 ce";iai.»;y with but littl© delay in closing the d;x>r behind him. 
 
 1 ginuce at the open jiiiano. but I cannot bring myselt to si: 
 and lioish that song. 1 iiad been longing to iearn it; Hie t 
 raved about it, but 1 have bad enough of it. It was nnkiij.' 
 Olive not tocome-^we could have bad a jileasant chat and drunk 
 —Mary Anne has carritMi up the tea- things, tbe tep 
 uit, hideous dark biiie knitted cozy on the little &v, 
 iiiui tlic fjre. I do not care to drink tea all tilone. 
 
 1 wa'Kitr away trom tjie windovt^ and round the room aimless 
 my huu.is c':;..;:.:.'!! b&hind me, my long blue gown trailing over ; 
 ; . ''■ '■ i f'li'.^v old-fashioned room which ia ** rny dolci... 
 
 " as poor Anuj Boleyu wrote in the Tower' 
 .... ..:., ..../Tears ago. Kot tbnt fliis is. the sixth ^^ 
 
 is the &ixth of March, and dear old Uncle Tod's biii 
 . • 1 i': I >> seventy-two ti)-day. 
 
 .'iot itmT i nm in prisrni b<ue either. T^obody v 
 
 1 ce 9^ ill. Il; 
 
VK. 
 
 r-rv m 11' crTninjr wp ^o toTro, eve: 
 
 XTf,, 
 
 ■ i Oil.. - '^ 
 
 • >uancs. 
 ■.., jou louii. exactly iuvc jjit. mwiuts ~ " "3 
 
 i:e is staiidinjnj in t' aj?, v;;:!! 
 
 ray eaiulaii.' j«ii beer ' 
 
 ons' — mamma wonW tjot let me off. ^ T 
 
 n on hrr wsv i-- ■"•' '"'■' m^'^ »'='■• '■ ^--'i'^'- 
 f-pj^Kt five. 
 
 ;iilo iny ovru iiummock-c ; take oft iic 
 
 i-^.rr* vnri r ;r*ont !»»v>MJ!>*r,** 1 confer." 
 now t;: 
 
 ' wasn't :, AUie; nijimma wc 
 
 t ... : tor you — yoM're to '- 
 
 I y . Won ' t tliat bt: f un 7 " 
 
 ■^- ■: hpre, Ohvel" 
 
 • one. unloas you chocee i 
 
 ,«^T^ 3^Pf| *1own ^or th*» 'iresa J ^rore ht the Hatchells* 
 
 t be bliocked when 
 -vorld.'- 
 ,3 on Friday. havan*t Ixh;: 
 
 . , . -Tvn." 
 
 wliut Auol KoBa will say. 1 came op to tov. 
 
 ■ a word irlien mamma is clmperocing: you. It i 
 : -T, — only a nice link carp"* '*""' 
 .t nine.'' 
 
 1 .U 11, ' 
 
 . your A 
 I jegultir*> ' come GUI,' AUic — nijiuiiau. say a sq, jui 
 
 Tod rtresn't care for Ix>nf!oii Pocicty.*' 
 
 ,»,! iv>v«f <•':/- a -gg-Tin or two wbeu you come of age.' 
 
 .>r two of \m\Ih and garCen-paities, I ce: 
 
 -■uuii liiinjf. 
 
 cf? Yoa tion'l mind tiicir eid<fasIiioned notions ; 
 
 Olive, I don't ovs % pm about bolls and gacdeu* 
 
 ^ti know jBC^Jjing: abont them." 
 
 ' ies at tiie Tewa» 
 
 .lo society, AlUa" 
 
3 FOIi LIFE AISD LOVE. 
 
 " Yes, if 1 \vere a beauty, peiLuips, and like'.y to TOake a sensation. 
 But I'm not a bcaiiiy— quite tiic coutrary; and, besides, it wcni><i 
 he a joke tu ' come out ' at one-and twenty." 
 
 *' Ellinor is to come out next season, and then mamma will havo 
 three of us on ber bands," Olive says meditatively. 
 
 *' But Poppy i!^ eniiaged." 
 
 ** Oh, yes. Poppy in engaged I And I'm going to retire into pri- 
 vate life and take up sestbeticism oi women's rights!" Olive laughs, 
 laking her cup of tea out of my hands. " 1 can't compliment yon 
 en the beauty of j'our tea-service, AJlie. You won't find it \ery 
 Jiard to * live up to ' that tea-pot!" 
 
 " Or the cozy!" 1 say, holding it up for her inspection. *' Isn't 
 it • utter,' Olive?" 
 
 ** Utterly hideous!" Olive answers, looking at it through her 
 glasses. " Why dou't you thi'owit l^kind the grate and work a nevr 
 one for yourself in crewels on peacock velveteen, like what 1 am 
 making for Eliinor?" 
 
 "I don't do crewebwork; and, besides, I don't want to insult 
 Mrs. Wauchope. She made that cozy herself. " 
 
 •* So I sbould have supposed. \ou must iimi. it lonely here in the 
 evening, Allie "—looking round the room. 
 
 *' Lonely!" I echo. *' You may say so, my dear! I never felt so 
 Jonely before in mv life." 
 
 '* Then wny do you stay here, you ridiculous girl?" 
 
 ** Oh, because 1 wouldn't give Aunt Rosa the satisfaction of going 
 home before the end of the month! She would only tell me for the 
 hundredth time that it was a pity 1 didn't know my own mind." 
 
 *' Then why don't you come to us?" 
 
 *' And practice seniles half the iliiy for your delectation and that of 
 your visitors! Ino, thank you, my dear. I came up to get singing- 
 lessons, not to amuse myself; and, having put my hand to the plow, 
 1 won't turn back — yet awhile. And it's not so bad here, after all, 
 only a littje lonely — and the music-lessons are great fun." 
 
 " How do }^u like the new tong?" 
 
 *' I have murdered it till it threatens to haunt me for the rest of 
 my lite," I laugh, glancing at the piano. Then, struck by a^ suddea 
 ic-collectioit — " Oh, Oiive, I've a piece of news for you! We've got 
 a ,i;;:ntleiaan-Iodger at Number Thii-ty- three. " 
 
 J ■"-■ i ' ! ■•-bout tw^ity minutes ago, with a black valise 
 
 , :St'. ' ' 
 
 ' X luHj'i know. Mrs. Wauchope never told us a word about hir, 
 ri;?-: ' :,' {lure was nobody in the house but tlwse two clu m- ? i 
 
 u't in the house then, I suppose!" ' 
 iciu"'. i. '■ '.. Jiat is he like, Allio? Young or old. ■ 
 ■ 'hat cither* Young, I '■ " 
 
 ' "' \- Anne?'* 
 
 3 sincYj he came into the 1 
 " ' ^ uovv, and we'll cross-questic. Oiivp 
 
FOB LIPE ANB LOVE. " 
 
 CifYo ia up to more mischief than I am, BOtwithstaDding bet 
 ■^pectacks. 1 ring the bell. 
 
 ** We need ?)ot expect her for ten rriinntcs or so,*' 1 say; and, peod- 
 inj? Ler arrival, we drill into talk, about our singing-lessons, ot the 
 concert wfe are to take part in with the reBt ot tiie pupils on the 
 twenty-first. Poppy's bridemaids' dresees, and a hundred other 
 tiling*. When at last Mary Anne does make her appearance, we 
 stare at her with a vague surprise in both oiir faces. 
 
 ** You ran":, miss?" she says, with a look of stolid inquiry. 
 
 ** Oh, yes!" Olive answers, in quite a sprightly way. "You 
 wanttd coal on the fire, Allie, didn't you?" 
 
 Mary Anne puts coal on the fire ponderausly. 
 
 ** Who was the gentleman who came in just now?" 1 ask, trying 
 to speak with a iriJivity which might excuse the question. 
 
 " The aiticr^," .Mary Anne answers, putting some finishing touches 
 to the coal with her fingers. 
 
 *' What is his name?" Olive inquires, without a change of oouof 
 teoance. 
 
 ** I torget his name. We calls him the Count.'' 
 
 *• Is he a count?" 
 
 *' Oh, no — no more a connt than you arel But he's so dark and 
 foreign-look in T. nnd so short-like of money, we calls him the Count. 
 Kot >r that— he's as proud as Lucifer, and wouldn't 
 
 owe : . ^ ing. '* 
 
 *' Then how do you know he is poor?" Olive inquires with hi- 
 l<jrest. 
 
 " In course he wouldn't live up four pairs of stairs if heliad 
 
 mu<' \ for all he wunts to be near the skylightl" 
 
 *• . at with the sJcylight?" 
 
 *' iie'.-< an lii.-.," Mary Anne aiiswera, with such an inimitable 
 air of pity, i;wl to s.iy contempt, that Olive and 1 are abaolutuly 
 afraid to look t.-^ch other in the face. 
 
 " is he a piiolognipher?" Olive asks innocently. 
 
 *' Oh, no— n painter I And a poor thing he makes of it, though 
 
 ihat, if he worked ut it, he'-' 'or 
 
 ii hard enough sometime^, ^ Ls 
 
 e has a lot ot idle young trie r- 
 
 t doubt but he'd do well l _ ^ :a 
 
 -.k)ue. " 
 
 ** Wh ..'been for the last fortnight?" 1 innnir.'* fliinTo 
 
 if Aunt 
 
 "Oa:; "Mary Anne 
 
 iand or - i 1 Uiko the ' 
 
 tit.)0 
 
 
 I vy 
 
 ,"1 answer morr ^e 
 
 ..g aDout it for tho **^^. ^k.-^..^^,^ ^ at 
 
 him," Olive says, 
 
 lAm on uad that's not ver>' 
 
8 FOB LIIL ^..^ ^J.^. 
 
 ■f "'^ds, i V...;. . ,.y Mrs. Waucbope ttUi gire iiima liki jring 
 
 about the house while you are tere.'* 
 i don't mind his friends, or him either. Only I r>i ^j*r Aunt 
 •losa will think n\y being hert more cuire th&z. ever, i say, Olive, 
 wouldu t you liij:e to see his studio?" 
 
 " 1 should, very much. I wonder if he takes portraits, Allic 
 Wouldn't it be fun if i got him to paint my pictuie? ^.' d 
 
 come wiih me to piay propriety, you knorr; or would it ba r 
 
 to have up 51rs. Waiichope? 1 Trl'sh we kuew his name." 
 
 " 1 shall soon lind it put. Gins's Baby, i call him — the iciti:. 
 
 is valise were * G. B.' " 
 
 *' * G. B.' " Olive repeats musingiy. *' Fred knowB a great mar;^ 
 
 oung artists. I'll ask him if he knows any ' G. B.* ** 
 
 " 1 am atraid the * four pair back ' is an artist as yet unknown lo 
 fame," 1 laugh, poking the fire into a bright cheery blazo. "It 
 has grown djirk already in Carleton Street; but, 1 do not cr> " h% 
 the gas yet; it makes the evening seem so in terminably ioL ut 
 
 the o-as at half past five." 
 
 *• 1 m afraid so. Aliie, what colotr is your evcniag-dress?'' 
 
 " Blue, my dear — the most delicate shade of bird'e-egg blue,'* 
 
 ** Gauze or grenadine?" 
 
 *' Neither, silk and crepe. Oh, it is a very decent dress! 1 was e: 
 irava^fint enough to get it from Madame Garoupe." 
 
 '* Tiieaitissure to be all right," Olive says, withasigbof as conit 
 ■f^ ' ' 'ion as if the crepe and silk " confecfioa " v 
 
 i ijer eyes. *' 1 wish 1 could order my dreesee . 
 
 CiUiiid GiiiV'Lipe. 
 
 " 1 can afford it; 1 get so few of them.'* 
 
 " Afiord itl" Olive laughs, shrugging her shou-,Ifiis. 
 
 "Oh, well, yoa know Lacle Tod"do€snt ailow lae much for 
 dress!" 
 
 " Then why don't you mak© him give you more?" 
 
 •' I don't want it. He lets me hnve my horse and my doge; and 
 nobody dres.ses much at Yattenden." 
 
 So *' Gins's Baby " drops cut of the conversation. And so com- 
 
 letely have we forgotten hjs existence that, v/hen ¥red " -^omes 
 
 Q, we never think of asking him if he knows of an; -hose 
 
 initials are " G. B." Fred wants to engsge ine for the • tz 
 
 ou Friday evening, and, as he dances rgiy baxUy. 1 want ; re 
 
 myself f oi his brotiier Gus, who is sure to ask me, and who dancer 
 very well. 
 
 " What's tc be the color of your dress. Miss Scott?** FJed ia 
 '^■' '"■'" "linking no doubt of Corent Garden, 
 —cerulean blue." 
 1 a King color from the skies, can heaven's trutii be wanting r 
 he quotes sentimentally, looking into ^es which were certainly no 
 *' made- fvi c ' rest granting," blut as {h«y may be. 
 
 " CoKie i (.;..<.', Fred; we shall b« l»t^ for dinsrr. Send him 
 rAV'iv, Aiiie; yon'Ii have lots of liras t© flirt oi evenin: 
 
 f :-- ;-by, my dear, and mind yo« wiit* down to \, ^sx lor you 
 
 I'll see ycu at ^iadaine Crouhelm's to morrow. Fare we 
 e meet a5?£ia!" 
 
 * Q ^our lauer, whiie Li^iJkjeoeaced in demoli y solitar 
 
TOE UFB jiin) Lova; 
 
 rtAcsc'tL. i lAfckH? voices overhead — hii-h rrerhefic!— :^\-s. Y^a'uChon^ 
 
 r, and then a ( ^t 
 
 A ^he great eirij ,_. >& 
 
 '. presently try to wi -.- 
 
 i iMv- rrrU oi a dish of aliu>-iauj> «i><^ i-xxj; i;-> awu v^ctiv'e 
 
 How ionely it looks! Howvrearisotr.e it will be wilk- 
 
 1 <'f! 1 envy people who have other pe€>- 
 
 \\auchope — 1 even envy Z^arv Anne. 
 
 ^ Iciugii is aU oileiise to me— 1, who have nothing lo maks 
 
 1 ly as 1 ara, up there at the top of o. 
 
 ] iie . -^ . :. ^ust as dreary and long to him '_io 
 
 9 nie. I.ct a bit oi it! Before 1 have finished my dinner, 1 hear 
 
 iiim nin ^ -t ^*air3, croes the hall, and go out at the front door. 
 
 On the he x>auses a moment to litrht a match, and then he 
 
 ' a the street quickly, as though he knew where he 
 
 - glad t-o go. 
 
 1 think, a little bitterly, as 1 leaa back in 
 
 . stretch out iw hand lazilv for an almond. 
 
 .a be if 1 coul ' my 'Sf w 
 
 iC gayly-fliumiD - ts — to t r- 
 
 . or to meet and chat with a friend! But, instead < ;st 
 
 r,. n-^.- .!• . jire, reading a book 1 know b^' heart l^ >.«-;' ^ 
 
 ins. 
 
 ■it't" 1 ask Mary Anne, as she folds up the tab. 
 
 cloth. 
 
 ners laconically. 
 
 /'* 1 ask carelesslT. 
 vnne aiiswei* vague!}'. ** A >k 
 
 - .or the evening," she adds, v>i . t- 
 
 - countenance. " The miatress told him so jt 
 
 That t had rasAt him laugh. What a careless young 
 
 luD'Ai i' ' ■ ' *ili. To driv '^ — ■ ^ -■ —,^ 
 
 ♦JO'.', n IT : , J^ nierec. ^Q 
 
 '^uo of rnne — " Thr 
 'Ja to the very last verse, i sing it uirough — 
 
 **W««Ir im? We Jovv' i > l\9Tt 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 .i-e. Mrs. "^' 
 
 iath€h 
 
10 ^fm A'ND ijoyii. 
 
 •' That makes no difference," 1 say, my sense or lUttejiTity bda^ 
 apparently, no mate for niy landlady's. 
 
 1 am sitting at the Uible in the thividle of the room, finishing my 
 rcMlcfast. U is nine o'clocJ?;, and a cool gleam of J^/Itircb sunshir, 
 j;hls up my big dingy drawLng-n>oui, m-iie ilie -r ''' » ^ carpet an 
 urtain« — which have faded into an indescnbu' ; betwee; 
 
 rab and da«t color — look still more ancient, and • i; tiighll 
 
 ri the breaktaBt-tablfi, on the tin saiTline-box, <• r/ivcB and. 
 
 ' -, on ray siWer .solitaires—for 1 have drawn tl i:p to the 
 
 I the windov/s lliat 1 may toel even that vo .i^iiictory 
 
 !.t of sunshine on my tacc. My landlady is stu ';>o«te to 
 
 .le, on the of.her side of the tnblu— a fat, sallow co .ed worn. 
 
 u in a frilled gown of bhiek luster, with purple riblHJtiyS in her black 
 -ict cap and a purple knitteil fichu tied behind with woolen tjissels. 
 
 *' He wanted to know this morning if the dru'.viii2:»rooims 'wera 
 taken," Mrs, Wauchope says, laughing in her siieiit fashion. "I 
 toid him ihey weie — by a lady of a certain age troiu the countiy. 
 That wiU keep him frorh asking an}'' more que--'' " " 
 
 Aunt Ra'^a's face rises before me, grimly •' i;ig. But I 
 
 tura m}'- bdck — metaphorically — on the menaci 
 
 ** How lojg has he been lodging here, Mrs, • ?'V' 
 
 " iV"el]," Mrs. Wauchope answers slowly, " hit' 6 iteeu with me, 
 ofl and" on, for more than two years now; and I've t.-^vct found hin^ 
 lything but most resix^ctable and well-conducted. his tem- 
 
 , oris none of the sweetest, l^ot, that any of us . . ...,i if we're 
 put out," she adds extenuatingly; " and, if one's born with a bad 
 temper, wliy it's all the more cieditable if one keep-i it down." 
 
 This bad-tempered young raali--\yhoee name, Mrs. Wauchope in 
 '■;>rm3 me, is Buxler— Gerard Baxter — would be inteujejy gnitiliet. 
 he could hear us. But as he left the hoii«e hours a;^o— so Mrs, 
 Vfauchope also informs me—^that gralitication U denied to him. 
 " Come up, and I'll show you his studio. Mis?! Allic. You neve. 
 :W such an old curiosity-shop. And it wouki be ils much as m> 
 fe-is wor;h to sweep it or anytiiing — though. ^'" '^n n knows, i, 
 luts it! But he'd ily at me like a young tiger , .l dust on 
 
 etn weary old pictures." 
 
 " Bnt if he were to come in and find us poking about hiy premises^ 
 
 '■"■ Wauchope," i say, divide;! between all the notior.'; of propriety 
 
 Aunt Rosa has been inculc^itmg on me fhrii-'.ijyu sc-ore gx 
 
 as acd a powerful desire ifo see the ructures, " fancy vrhat a cro\* 
 
 ; woidd luive to pUiok witn you!" 
 
 "He's gone to Kensington, and won't be in till four o'clock," 
 lilr%. Waudjope declares pbsitivf^ly. " 1 wouuln't. }i,-r? vou c>a>ighi,- 
 up thc^e lor the world, ?rIiRS Allie; but, even if il\ .\ chance 
 
 of hl.i|^'oinij)g back, he has lott his latcli-key on hk < f ;hl;' sc 
 
 d he can't got into the house unless Ise knocks," 
 1 am more than doubl'ivd about the whole procer... . , .->.LiiA 
 )m th.e breaktat't-t;.ib'e, and, gathering up my )ong dresis in np 
 ' '' '■^'■^•' 'f' ' -'-.w-.^ .,., .,.-. .^ 1 he room " ' ' n the gloomy 
 
 :.'{;• V, :>--i::i!i'.'? '(-ng euo'iiii'h tor ?v' ' " • "•nt t© 
 
I' OR LIFE AND LOVE. 11 
 
 1 sbeil only fcuA peep In at the door," 1 say: and Mb. Wau 
 .'.y>pu, p;.-. i;)'^ on before me, nods her head and opens the low nn« 
 
 > -.('ii-.] iloor 
 
 x4 had the wall raised, you see," she say 2: me in 
 
 X n.) go in—" and got Ihut gluss root put ' •> , it much, 
 
 r, you kuovv, and quile cheerful and p.; 1 <i never 
 
 ' be such a fine roomy piace Ije lop of 
 
 at i^arret-roomliap certainly been T y 
 
 ..._.. L'd studio. An awning litis been j^ii , <■•- 
 
 glass rooi, (}irf)wing ihe iight moie fully upon the essel m I) e mii 
 °!e of the floor. The place is crovrded for th^ ' ^ nrt with a lii 
 ■r of quaint odds ami t-uds, but its untidiness ; trouble m 
 
 s to trouble my landlady. Several jm i- , dnished and 
 '., hang or lean against the walls; a lay fi rure does 'duty 
 as a ii;.i lack in one cornei*, in another a pile of ru~ ' ■ ^ 
 
 innumer;ii)!o spiilwrs, to judge from the webs \vi: 
 toonud. On the v;\.s^;\ m the middle of the floor 
 picture, witli t'l;.' colors still wet upon it — a S(, . \ j 
 
 realistic view of mountain-scenery; in the foreground 
 
 *' A lalce of sadnpt?''. seldom simned, that stretched 
 la sulleu silence fruin a marge of reeda." 
 
 1 am not an artist; yet 1 stand before the unfraraed canvas— 1 
 Ink a XJicture never looks so well as when standing uniramc>fl upon. 
 ihe easel where it was painted — lost in admiration of the power, 
 clearnea?, and artistic completeness which breathe through tho 
 whole coJipoiiiiion, and which even 1 am not too ignonrnt to under- 
 stand and to niiprfT.iiiie. 
 
 "That is t :e he brought from br ' ' ' Jlrs. "Wan- 
 
 .ape says, st- 1 little behind me with * on one silo 
 
 [ ■ i^se tiuTc's a great deal in it — tnero v i)c, if he did' 
 
 r It paint it all the time he WiLS away. n I am sure 
 
 me young lady in Scotland, he goes t \: but ha 
 
 ■ -s ^,w. .le doesn't care for young ladies — wii ' -''■\ yoii 
 low," Mrs. NVauchope adds; " and he with •• h Iq 
 
 uishead! Whether h:^ ''" • them or '- V •' to I 
 
 tell him."' 
 
 i "V ' ry hapdsome eyes?" I ask ao^eiiijj . ...-cmuied by the 
 
 pictu; me. 
 
 • "Rrtndsome!'" Mrs. Wauchope ropejitH. . *' 1 01 
 
 ■were not put into his head tor the good of hi'i s 
 
 iaughs at me, and asks me what 1 want h; lormc. H 
 
 "^^ my spectacles, and the otlier day he t< -^ r ^^-'"." 
 
 s ])icture, and made it lool: as good at' n 
 
 ■ is th^re anything he cannot do?" I ask, la 
 
 "He doesn't seem to be able to make bis -s. "Wau- 
 
 uii: lu:r Head, with 
 I' P'.f'»!!P.^ on \]\f \r 
 
 •itifttkWA; 
 
"jnua' It is because ho 'r 
 fs to be at sjametiitig eJ*e." 
 
 An unlucky temptiranioiit I" 1 say to .... , .. — ^—^ — .. -. 
 
 :m hat: lost her lu^-^rt t^o this unsriib!« young nuiii. 
 a;. Wauchope \\m uioved away to the otbeT eod of tlie room, 
 ;;t/ on cari-yiKg" "uy^^'i some enipty cii^ar-boxes whicli she has 
 * 'u-re, aaa i turi; away from iLe caavas wliich Las ta?!:eD sue' 
 'i^y ini a tri option to'gl.uice round die piecUuMs wherein 
 ' leirling 1 have no busirie««. It is iny tirst, inlrodiictiou tv> 
 Cclieoiiaa as ti\e srudio of a professional paialer; and i 
 U uoiwiths'.anain^ tlie litter of pileUes and brusbes, the bc-Jtloa 
 mwiium," the maui-sticks and pa Idle- knives, the coiOJ-s and 
 yjds and ends ot canvas »csa«{cred alwut the floor. There are pictur 
 •"!>m1 and unfraiued, ranged ubout the room . Theie is a m; 
 ueous asj^ortUiOLit of pipes on the table — here a quaint chi; 
 nracco- jar, there a tail cjuidlestick of Fiorenthie bronze, where:, 
 lie candle has been allowed to burn down to the socket, fencin 
 ' ^ on the WHJl, books thrown xlown carelessly iiern and there ana 
 here, a ta.i< d bhie velvet suK)ki!)i5-<iap on one eJielf, ou another 
 ■i camellift ia its (lusty q>tcinieii-gl<\s.s — u dead brown cameb 
 :h?ch cteem^ to have perished oi thiret. for the Uaf besl:'.e it, 
 :cIn?Ji down to the drop oi' neater in «iis bottom ot th(. 
 -It w':^ areea. 
 
 1 his photoRTaph, if you'd like to see 
 
 ^ing besiiitt a door leadiDg" iuio an inner ruons. — 
 OS his a]bjmi an Iho dres-':i;i_5:-table luostiy, find 
 Gu uii^iit kiio.v a/aie of his friends." 
 
 '?-y\ ir. This proposal 1 at once put a dec:^. . .. -. ...... . - ^ » . ? 
 
 e— whii h ill! the vporkt" muy soon see — is or.e thing, iX) p: 
 .'icr^ets oL'hisphotograf hie album another. 1 wonder it Mr 
 a is equally obli^in.!^ in exhibiting my phoio^rnipliic altii: 
 Pryqe? 1 ahall lock it up leligioijt^-ly in fufuie, le 
 a.<^ anxiou.^ to amui^e them at my u^qyentio as -she is ' 
 ; i*i 3,ir. Baxter's. 
 
 . just ;>'OiD£j in to dust hi'- V -' 'i*^?x-j;u; . , .^.. , 
 
 mcvs, nnil suits Ike action to i by disappearing into It: 
 
 terly refusing lo let the idea of Awtit lior 
 
 kewk A ijhiiii ot the eariy March H'lnshine fetivaius i 
 he f-:''rH&hfcs, Hgbtin.iij up a Vlasty canvjis ht'Le, a gilde 
 ing into greater prDniinence some bit of Binilin 
 le eobwebbt-d " pror>erty," «nd shining tult upoi 
 ■ c;:i<l camelliA in the little l^]lJ^s at my elbow. My eye rests on 
 t". ••;>/' •' J;-.fvo 'm.>Vx" inaiilatjvely at tirst, pttyio.^ liie ••'^'^' 
 
 •ejti3S waler-t>prin;i,s " have " m 
 1. ... .-. rii v;;j,;a a apiHt of mijichief enters into /lu - 
 v.hlcii is vrorthy of OMv'e Uejme herselt* Yet ought 
 ■ v' wiil ever knoy/ — I'Jrs. Waiiciiope wii! never eu'.- 
 ' K'ii'>!le ;'ni>f"»', ■•.v"!iiHi fr»r'i (^ ('r)i-^...}<i lo<i|.:s like: 
 
FOR LIFE AND TjOYTZ.- 
 
 crcd c&mriili^ out of the glass and put the frecb. swcoo ue';vy b«n(. 
 ot vioIcLa 1 am wearin<T iul'a it mstiwdT 
 
 If 1 do it at all, 1 aiiist do it novr, while Mrs. 7v 
 •^nrrr ('. Artain my cr- • e ^lii«pei*s " Do not uw j; .- 
 • ' !i , ; ,.i esir to i; How he will puzzle oyer H, 
 
 it he ;; " y Anne, she will be able to ' 
 )'-invr nt . '.oct m the market buying v 
 
 ' Mi'H. ^V;lu^Lo)>^, even if she 45uspecii> me, . 
 ' iiim that abe had sJiowed me to pry into i, 
 
 ' ime Jind the opportunity are too miich for me — in auotiier i 
 _ have transterrsd tho violetn Jrrom my dress to the 'if "^^ :.. 
 holdin;^ the dejki camellia hidden in the" palm ot my h, 
 ■■' \ -Tvpose you've seen all yon want to see, Miss Ai..-. 
 
 [rsi. Wauchope says, comm<r back with her black-silk ; 
 Hi oi [;ie empty cigar- boxfis. ** jtnd how any one can Jive hi 
 den," she adds, her cursory glance takine" in the flTtmt>ic 
 ly abounds in the place wi! 
 ash heap, " pssses my comj 
 ;>-smoke would suffocate you, someUmcs— i'm oi 
 ,\« will get a wliitr oi it in the parlors! If you'Jl 
 door, 3iiss Allie, I'd be obliged to you — you see my hands are f uJi. 
 TJie moment J hare closed the door my mind misgives me. Br 
 ' is too late. The deed done Ciinnot be undone; and, with tli 
 "■'Ilia in my hand, I descend the sUirs leisurely, laughin:^ le- 
 ts 1 look, round the paflsagea which must be so familiar to 
 jirs. Wauchope's Machiavelian method oi • 
 iriosity in Mr. Baxter's mind with regurd to I; 
 'dger. 
 
 ""l Tvond^r where he got this?" I say to myself, as 1 brin? t! 
 :.t in the privacy ot my own room, a mintite 
 
 .,- - jily gave it to him. Perhaps he values it, d<.. 
 
 ie, more than tons of the sweetest and freshest violets! If t' 
 tue case, how he will bless the thief who stole it! How he vvih 
 treat my poor little violets 1 Yet I fancy he bought this flower — 
 is half a yard of wure round it. And.' if he cared very much i 
 he would scarcely have left it to die for lack of water in a a 
 vase." k 
 
 ' J^evertheless I shut it up in a bon-bon box, and lock it into wr 
 wardrobe, feeli7>:r vagT;«ly conscious of a po 
 oroducc it at some futuretime. 1 have stolen i:. 
 '.ould it chance to be discovered, 1 might be cjllled upon to r« - 
 f> nnrlornrd propcTty, even though it be only a dcii'l ' -■ i « it;., ^ 
 At.y as I txim ihe key in my wardrobe. 
 a>ri-M< J n »y if he could have leon me putting up his i.i.-!vu,ii 
 ton-hole" in a pasteboaid box? Would he not thick w: 
 th»t 1 valued the flower becwtse ho had worn it fc 
 his coftt — 1. who never beheld him in my lif^'' 
 A' ' ■.' 1 do not dftre to d-^fcll c 
 
 T iinir she couid any ot ro« v 
 
 .^ 1 «iiail ntsfav tc'.l her, o 
 ■ven Olive Dt^ino. Gvcnl ii 
 r she wouUl pves^ijri a 
 
>-t FOR LIFE AK© LOYE. 
 
 suddenly, and 1 hope the violets Will be dead before iiu sees them 
 v/olets wither very soon out ot water — these will be black and deaa 
 to-raorrow, if they spend the night in that dry dusty glass. 
 
 As 1 put on my iur cap to go to my singing-el ,'iss, 1 wonder 
 vaguely il he is as handsome as Mrs. Wauchope dbscribes hira, and 
 if he cares as little for j'oang ladies as he tells her he does; and 
 then 1 button on the j;icket of thick gray tweed which matches my 
 dress, and, sallying out into the cold March morning air, straight 
 way forge; that there is such a person in existence as Mis. Wan 
 chope's "attics." 
 
 '* Wasn't it stupid ot me? 1 quite forgot to asli Fred if he knew 
 mytliing ot ' G- B.,' " Olive says, as we issue out ot Madame 
 Cronheltn 's house with half a dozen other girls, all carrying port- 
 folios of music. " They are all talking so much of the wedding that 
 it puts everything else out of my head." 
 
 " His name is JJaxler — Gerard Baxter. Mrs. "Wauchope told me 
 so this mornini!;," 1 answer, the recollection of my morning's mis- 
 demeanor flashing into my mind for the Ji-st time since 1 left the 
 house. " He is a landscape-painter, and his people are Scotch; he 
 has nobofly belonging to him but an old grandmother, Mrs. Wau- 
 chope thinks, who lives in Edinburgh. And he's as proud as Luci- 
 fer aud as poor as a church-mouse." 
 
 Olive laugtis, looking at me through her s:o\d-nmmed pinee-nez. 
 
 ** You must not fall m love with hlrn, Allie — 
 
 " * He >vas but a landscape painter, 
 
 Aiid a, village inaideu »he!' " 
 
 •' He won't fall in love with me from 3Ir3. Wauchope's descrip- 
 tion," 1 laugh m my turn; and then I relate that worthy woman's 
 etioke of diplomacy in describing me as a spinster from the country 
 " between the ages," as Madame Cronheim would say. If lam 
 tempted for a moment to relate the episode of the violets, Olive's 
 next words induce me to hold my peace. 
 
 " I didn't tell mamma a word about him," she says, nodding her 
 blonde head Siigttciously. " She would be sure not to like it: and she 
 might — 1 don t sav she would, but she might — write and fell j'oui 
 Aunt Kosa. Mrs. Wauchope ought not to hare preieuded thei^ were 
 none but ladies in the house. JS'oi that it's really any matter you 
 know — only mamma has charge of you in a manner, though you 
 were m obsiiuate wretch, and would not come to stay with u? 
 at the square." 
 
 " I'll- come for Poppv's wedding next month." 
 
 *' Well. 1 ^l50i?ld tinnk you would!" 
 
 *' And ime back with me to the vicarage, Olive." 
 
 "My «; dn't miss being at Womlhay Manor on. the 
 
 eleventh ot next .june for anything " 
 
 '* And 1 eifnriMn"! care halt as 'much tor anj'thing it you weren't 
 there. Do yo )er my birthday last yeai\ and the'^fun wo Iiad 
 
 with thf s'i: "'^ You said it was the first lime you had 
 
 cvrv ■])■■] >)'■:■ work, and you rather liked it." 
 
 "^' ■ the: !.<■.. :-■ r=:;->';.:r.' / :');_• Andbesidefi^ 
 
FOR LIFE AJCD LOTS. 15 
 
 ''tt <1c»r delighttul cuiate of your uncle's was tbere—lhe man with 
 
 "■•. 
 
 I nyacinth Lockhart," I laugh, remembering how 
 (]iiieil wjili him. " How do you like the new song Madame 
 iielm has given yon?" 
 'J. don't like it at all," Olive says, shrugging her shoulders; 
 "and 1 think Madame Cronhdm is very cross; don't you?" 
 " t'he is verv strict. But you know you are horribly idle, Olive.** 
 " My dear, I don't go to Madame Gronhelra to learn. 1 only go 
 or the fun ot the thing." 
 " Then you en n't expect her to taKe any pains with you." 
 " 1 don't want her to do so. She admires your voice, Allie." 
 " Slie thought 1 was only a beginner. " 
 
 "Well, you astonislied her. She never says much — except to 
 riticise, and she's bitter enough then — but 1 conld see that your 
 inguig ot that delicious ' Serenade ' took her by surprise. And 
 ferr von Kouig put on his spectacleo to look at you. Allie. it's the 
 reafef^t pity in the world that you aie a woman of independent 
 lenns! You'd make a fortune on the stage!" 
 *^ 1 wish Aunt Kosa could hear you!" 
 
 *• 1 am sure M?ulame Cronhelm Thinks you mean to sing in public.*' 
 ** Mp.uame Cronhelm is at liberty to think her own thoughts." 
 *' Di» they know you have such a voice down at the vicarage?" 
 *' lusitvf, in church.' I say demurely. 
 
 " 1 never knew such a queer girl .is you are, Allie. If you were 
 anvlx>dy else, you would be — " 
 
 '' 1 wouldn't be Aliie Somers Bcott," 1 laugh, shrugging my 
 6)iiouldei-s. 
 
 " 1 suppose not. And T like you just as you are. my dear. Have 
 
 you seen tiie latest addition to Poppy's tromst'au? A Louis XVI. 
 
 ,momiDg-dress ot ruby plush with pink bows — we must make her 
 
 put it on alter luncheon. It is most becoming to Poppy, though, 
 
 'now, 1 think it is a ridiculous style for the morning — fancy 
 
 on plusli with pink Buraii bows." 
 
 Poppy Dcnne is a tall dark girl, with a marble- white complexion 
 
 nd black eyes. Olive is quite dillerent— a little plump thing with 
 
 round face, a pink and white complexion, veiy lair hair in a wisp 
 
 t curl« over her forehead, and a pair o! very saucy, if not particu* 
 
 rlv handsome eyes. To day she vvears a " granny " bonnet lined 
 
 i. and a coquettish dress of navy-blue and -"i^— » 
 
 niT her prettily rounded figure. Also she \> 
 
 ■cause she linds t^ '' :i 
 
 > tney improve th; -i- 
 
 uluie^ in her tace. 
 
 .e of Gounod's ring^ in mr cars," she suv?;, ns we 
 
 r of the house in Dextei *' Yon ni it 
 
 ,,_... vi'*M Mfi.Af Mr. iiave crit.. jppy's piusL -,.. , _. ' 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 Ir '■ ' ■ ' ' -^ — the evening of the i^o:; v-ions dance. 
 
 I . . seen nothing of *^ the Count " since yester 
 
 lay; nob^uy i^as mtuiiuued violets, nobody bus accu- f pil 
 
16 rOE LIFE A2S"D XOVE. 
 
 Whether he is in the house or D' 
 
 , ;;a-beeu in since 1 charged his dead ca:* .cu oi 
 
 le "Woodhay violets yeslen'U.iy. i liave - ;d. be- 
 
 a my sili2:ii;j^-](?3sor>£ Hiid my visiis to 1 fuiiy 
 
 8uch a person r:« Mrs. Wdiichope's ! ntrec? 
 
 ?r could certcidiy ind no room in my ihr 
 
 .... oi anyone now, as 1 lean back in my c. ,. . . „,.,^.... 
 
 ch'dk, wiiti my buckled shoes on the fender, it is ot Oussie Deiii 
 Poor G\is is devoted to ine — has been devoted to »^ " •^^•^' ■ -^ --" -• 
 chiidren. And Gus is not a Iwid-Iookin>j: fedow ! 
 is a little fair man, ynd I do not lite little fair men <is rv ^";i-''. ^riij 
 then he is a captain in the " Bines," and 1 believe he ready likes 
 51)6. 1 do not care ior him, of course; bvit it 3« fan to have a lov^r, 
 i have had a good many lovers— so at k'S!^ ih?y telJ me-— but 1 have 
 lip to this time walked"" in maiden meditation, fnncy free." 1 am 
 2i0t a fiirt — nny worst enemy — if 1 bave Jioy enendcs— rr^r'd not ac- 
 cuse me of fliriing. It is an {imu&cruent which 1 h-. e and 
 despise. And 1 do not fiirt with Gus, though he is ji- >.. . always 
 beoii ray " chum." He dot^ not care to he called my chuna now eo 
 "■'V ■" ■ • he used. Olive says jt is because he thinks " sww?theart " 
 
 ;• word. 1 do not care about sweethearts. I shall never ' 
 so looiish us to fall in love with any one, 1 think love is all non- 
 sense. And mtjst of the icien who have wanted to marry me — i d<* 
 :iot mean poor Gus, oi course; and, beside?, he never si'kfd me 
 marry him — were in love with Woodhay, and not wiih xV'l'C ^cq: 
 U 1 had no money 1 might balieve in iare — a iilllc; i, 
 
 do not believe in ii at ail. 
 
 " Shall 1 light the (.'sindles on your dressing- tab' 
 
 ;Mi»ry Aune's voice wakes me out of wl: : 
 Cfe'CTim as a leverie. ' 
 
 " Yiivdl o'clock is it?" I afek, yawniag. 
 
 '"it is half -pa St seven, ma'am. Is this yt^!ir ^Ir^ p;^'' T'l- nrw.r- 
 i% for you and lay it on the bed." 
 
 The back drawing-room is my bedroom, i .<.<.,v.. ..> ..*.-.>... 
 reluctantly — it is a colli night even for March, sharp aad frost} 
 and follow Mary Auiie into the Inner room, wdiere a newiy-lightet: 
 fire burnfj in the grate. 
 
 " Why did:i't you light that before?" I ask, shiverips^. 
 
 ** TheCount — he came !n uucxj)ectedly, wanting his dinner," Slary 
 Anne answers, kneehnt^ down 1o put f>ome life into the lire by- means 
 ,)f a rdpid fanning with her apron, "and I had t-> attend' to him. 
 He's jast like thafc always — walking in when he's least exjjectedc' 
 Gentlemen is a bother— you never know when they'll be in and when 
 they won'tl" 
 
 1 take out mj dieas from its flat pastebojird box myselt, unwilling 
 10 trust it to the t-ender mercies of Mary Anne's grimy fingers. 
 There is a note from Aimt Rosa in the box, and another buuch of my 
 detir Woodhay violets. Aunt Rosa tells me no nL".T? — O^pv tvrn ntl 
 well at Yatten len, and have had very ooid wejither 
 her note and \ahe up Ujc viol^fes, thinkir>s% as 1 presR .i , 
 prant purple blossoms to my li[>s, ot the de;»r old trees at 
 ,'■'-■-"' -yots tkev 
 
ope up to me," A say to the maid-ot-all-wor^ 
 . .:rtt, fihe can for iny suHjt tjie. 
 will muke a belter aitejsipt Hi ^•(etHafc me into mv 
 ( olid, and will not perhaps Itave such traces or* -' 
 ;st ne<:twarily paJ upon mv sky-blue laces. 1 
 '■j?uai si;, ■ - ■ • 
 rouud 1 
 vjuriiu^ia a light iiatuiui Iriiigt; aLoui 
 <* the DeaiifjH' ctirriage comes lor mo 1 rn 
 ; the diria:y old- fashioned glass and wondeiiug wiia* 
 ': (){ Til', and of my dress. 
 it i sec is« is a tali girl, in a long c»osely-fittinf; cui' 
 
 ''■■■"< \- of o,,>, .^..i-;, ending in sjjshes of crepe of Uie siitnc cr'^* 
 ■..billowy blue skirt lying aion^ the caq^et like the cri 
 ' mmer sea— a ffirl with a pretty white neck a-. ' 
 i'er fair nor daik, hut of a curious ash-color, . 
 ' ? of both, with a nose ne 
 nor f'VMiW — a fir -e that ; 
 lav,s I , yoL a fiu-e which Olive ever he . 
 
 pf 1o< f)utthe»i Olive is my fri , .fc;d;lu; 
 
 • by lier verdict. What I know niyselt to be is . 
 '• <f;iit and a well poised hea<!i. whose outdoor lite ...... 
 
 ;'.nd str.iight limbs, and who. oddly enough, has a 
 h.'ive not loolicd out of the tamily tace sinc« my 
 died, about a hundred years asro. 
 
 !■ . jfravely and u' ' ^ ' '\ 
 
 ..hoiKi'ft aepressi; 
 ii. I hour the Oount's \ , ail's, u: ; 
 
 ■ hr«rf heats quicker for . t. Cau 
 
 til the dead " buitonhole " if But no; he 
 
 !;. ; J^Frs. Wauchope comes down-stall's, pu 
 
 ;■ freely a^ain. I gatlier up my gloves anti 
 • . .ulets nestling near my heart, th<' '^"'v -•"' • ' 
 kyey dress.jand, walkuigjnto the di 
 ■anjw not wlijU spirit oi mischief or Oi ii'nv, i >: 
 '• :no and bes^n Jo sing *' Thy voice is near." ido nci 
 Li . "■ .'tics, I feel s? ' 
 
 <ii . were, who 
 
 .iiitL iCvl Ilia «0 eiliiC li^t'iilt 
 
 af, you're by far the nicesft girl in liw roomi" 
 S^, ot courrie. 
 
 ho has been my part- 
 
 aoaiH.'Ui»ol Who 14 iiutt geuiiuttiaia who has juvt come 
 
 are stemming near a cioorway. Gus and Qiixo both turn tueif 
 
18 I'OK LIFE A.TSD LC 
 
 •' Wbicli gentleman?" Olive asks, blinki. 
 tacles. 
 
 ** Oh, he has moved on now — you can't see him with the cpowdl' 
 
 *' Why did you nskV" Gus Bfxys. "Was there anything remark- 
 able about hiia?" 
 
 '' He Wiis remarkably handsome, that was all." 
 
 ** Oh!" says Gus, screwing ids glass inlo his eye, 
 
 *' [ know evf^rylxjily here," OTive remarks, iook* r.d the 
 
 room," "If you see him again when 1 am in your i ii,j w/rhood, 
 point him out to me, and I am almost sure to k^iow who he ia. 
 A.llie, you look jolly; 1 hope you are enjoying yourself as mueh i 
 you seem to be doing. " 
 
 *' OU, quite as muciil" 
 
 " 1 am having such fun with him," Olive says, glancfctx after her 
 late partner, with a world ot mischief in lier sauc} i face. 
 
 " Ee is so siily — you've no idea what a donkeyhe* i jL him- 
 self!" 
 
 " You'd better not make a donkey of yourself," Gus remarlvs se- 
 verely. 
 
 *' Oh, he doesn't know I'm laughing at himl Hen are so vain, 
 they would think anything sooner than that you were making fun 
 of them," 
 
 " You know a lot about them!" says Gus, with a glance of broth- 
 erly scorn directed downward at his pretty little sister, 
 
 " I know enough to know that. Here is Caj)tain C:; oming 
 
 for me. And tliere is the * Weit von Dir.* Oh, Aliie, don^t waste 
 a note of that delicious waltz. !" - 
 
 Ten minutes hder, 1 am in Olive's neighborhood again, this time 
 Waiting for Fred to bring me an ice. 
 
 " There is the man I mean, Olive — standinir with liis back to the 
 wall — the tall cihrk one, talking to Colonel RoUeston. " 
 
 "Yes; 1 observed him just now. 1 thouglit I kn'^-^ everybody 
 here; but I do ncvt know who he is, nor does Cap<:' wi. Isn't 
 
 he splendidly huudsome, AUie? 1 don't think i ;• cr.ch r« 
 
 handsome lace in my life." 
 
 " He is very handsome," 1 answer, glancing .-. -^~o 
 
 boy— for he scarcely seems more than that— as he stt. ;ng to. 
 
 Colonel Roileston, and looking with splendid card- '- w.>at the 
 
 room. His face is dark, abnost to^eign-look!Ii^^ ; straignf 
 
 nose, a slight dark mustache, and a. pair of the r.ios.- beau'':' 
 Seice, tender, laughing, long-laslied eyes 1 liave ev^er seen. 
 
 " 1 shall get Katie lloHeston to tell me his name," CV 
 as her partner whirls lier away; and Fred returning wi; ,, .. 
 
 and the waltz piU everything else out of my head. 
 
 It is nearly half an hour later when somebody introduces me to • 
 partner for the coming wnltz whose name I do not catch; and, 
 looking round carelessly, still talking to young liolleaton, I And the 
 unknown standing betore me with his eyes fixed inquiringly on my 
 face. 
 
 1 accept him, of course, and walk away with hi ;ug I ha 
 
 caught his name. He is a rather silent p;>rtner, appt r.jij.L; 'o i)e more 
 ♦mxlous to study me than to make himself aLrrfcs^^*" ?^nii -ivhfttcver he 
 'ioQs say is clever and amusing, and so bo;. :'A^&o 
 
. . . , AND LOVE. 1^ 
 
 :r«?aing after the " societj '* talk to Tvhich 1 bnve been 
 
 i\ I to listen for the last two hours. Ilf 1, and 
 
 fe -w to take care of his partner. Once, v. 'y by 
 
 aoi.*iuent puts his foot on my dress, he turns roui' 1 
 
 fiaali of the eye which brings >Mrs. Waucliop^'s * . : ;i -er 
 
 • to njy miiKl. And once or twice I find hira ] : v\ithan 
 
 xprcssiou which puzzles me a little. It is not ..>. nor crit- 
 
 •isin, nor depreciation; but it is easier to asy v not than 
 
 '. hat it is — rather a mixture of amusement and c if try. 
 iu^ to read some riddle in my face. 
 
 When tlie waltz is over, he resigns me to Gu jast p'V 
 
 ...")wn his ua)ne opposite to tlse only disc^ng'agcd ' rnv prr- 
 gramme, a mazoiirka I can make noihiiii; of 
 scrav/led in pencil; but 1 fancy tlie last letter or 
 >ke"B.". 
 
 " Is that your handsome man?" Gus asks, loo' ., . ^..^ us 
 e.makes his way slowly through the crowd. 
 
 " Yes," 1 answer at once. " l!i<i you know L:o . 
 
 *' Don't you know it?" 
 
 ** >Jo; 1 could not calcli it when he was Intro ' me." 
 
 •* Why, that is Baxter — Gerard Baxter, flie ; a clever fel 
 
 low, but no ' sui}^' in him. It he had, he would have made a nao..' 
 for himself long ago." 
 
 ** He looks a mere boy." 
 
 " He is One-and-twenty. He could paint pictures if he liked; but 
 he won't take tlie trouble. Jack IlolleRtou knows him well; but 
 T've only met him once or twice. Helms been aw:)y in Scotland for 
 
 e last month or two, sketching. 1 don't consider Lim so very 
 liundsome." 
 
 i think Gus is a liftle jealous, oi 1 would think so !f I liad time to 
 think of anything but my own astonishment. ^ is Mrs. 
 Wauchope's lodger; tlds is the Count; thu-^is the v, zier. tlie 
 man whom 1 christened Ginx's Baby! It is ^ lish- 
 ing, it is not to be believed! The "epis<Mle o; . cs to 
 iny recollection — the words 1 hatl so impudent) da vei\ 
 evening— sung to him! It is well tor me that he ] a who i 
 am — w^ould never dream of identifymg me with . iichoi^e's 
 i^inster tenant " of a certain age." Aunt Rosa v. > ^ mive good 
 reason to be ashamed of me it she knew what prt;al:;> 1 have in en 
 playing— -giwd reason to say that she was right . ' , : ;> 
 iil)0ut the advisability of my coudng up alone lo C; 
 t9l>all never be so foolish again. I ought to have !-eusc— 
 a girl of verj'' nearly one-and-twenty I il has tieen . ) me nol 
 to be carried away by the wild spirits which have biine al- 
 ways, the lov« of ad venture which my gt)od aunt :en tried 
 10 nip in the bud! It I had known that Mrs. AV;' ^ "four- 
 pair-back " was a i>er»on like this, 1 should nm ' • ^m v'-n 
 \7bat my laggaixl sense of propriety now St igr.,: 
 *:...,! 4..;, . j^jj- jj^j, more silly because the victim ^^ ; i knoA 
 irateil it. Standing with Gus near the : 1 of tlu' 
 room, 1 v/isU devoutly thnt 1 lirv.i nol !•: ' ' : • - 
 What it I should be foolish enough !o i 
 Wauchope's *' d rawing- roojiu"? WuaL ii he t;. :■ ^ 
 
ri '. cool to him, vety rcscrv 
 
 •u.::a U.S. ;;:>., bu \l,;^ ukj rit'.i ci ti^s./ii- sucli a question j^hall aevtr 
 eiiier ir»io l)is heail. 1 am »orry now that 1. got iny.seif into tliis 
 sempe— I should like to iiavekno'wQ nijtellow-Iodger who is so poor 
 And so proad. Bull have made any f aither acquaintance with him 
 impotssible, all through that wretched littJe bunch of violets! 
 
 i avoid his look i'or the veii of the evening, though more than 
 once 1 am conscious that he is quietly studying me. Gus aeems 
 mther annoyed at my absence of mind. Once or twice he hiis offered 
 me a penny for thoughts which 1 certainly would not have commu- 
 nicated to him for a great many pounds. Retribution has not beea 
 long in following on the heels of my offense; but I hope the lesson 
 will be a salutary one, and congratulate myself that jio worse mis- 
 chief has beiailen me. 
 
 The dance I have begun to dread has come at last — the dance iot 
 which 1 am engaged to Mr. Baxter. He comes up at the first notes 
 of the mazourlS). 
 
 " Tliis is ours, 1 think?'* 
 
 ^ lake his arm; and, as I take it, my heart gives a sudden bound 
 of dismay. In the button-hole of his somber evening coat he weara 
 -—a bunch of half- withered violets! 
 
 *' This has been a pleasant evening,'* he says, when we have taken 
 
 a couple of circuits of the room. 
 
 '* Yes," 1 answer vaguely, my hep.rt beating fast. 
 
 " Small dances like this are much more enjoyable than gigantic 
 crushes — don't you think so?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 After the first glance at the violets, I do not dere to look at them. 
 Any one might wear violets — almost e7ery one wears violets iii 
 March. But tiiese are my violets-— I know it intuitively, lliough 
 why he fihi)uld care to wear them, having now clew to the giver, 
 puzzles me more than the name of the giver can have puzzled him. 
 
 *' You do not go out much?" 
 
 " No," 1 answer, wondering if the remark is a question or an a: 
 sertioa. If it is an assertion, how does lie know? 
 
 " wShall we tflite another turn, or are you tired?" 
 
 " 1 am not tifred," 1 say, thinking what an amusing companion he 
 must find me. 
 
 We take a few more turns, and then come to a stand-still. Mr. 
 3axter seems to prefer to talk. 
 
 " Tnii ars foEid of violets?" — ^glancing at the bouquet in m^ 
 
 A I Li-sa of foolish, guirty crimson dyes my cheeks which 1 would 
 tiave given worlds to have kept out of. them. But it comes there, 
 1 lid it stays, while my partner lowers his dark imperial head to lo*'^ 
 .ato my half -frightened, half -defiant eyes. 
 
 " Very i<md, 1 nnswei- glibly, ** 1 think every oae is fond (ki 
 Tlolets." 
 
 " 1 am,** he aays, smihag a little. 
 
 *' You must be, to wear so poor a hunch.** 
 
 ** You wouM not ea" lhe?n Door, unless—** 
 
 " Unless whai?" 
 
FOR Llri:. A.NU ijyjy *^"' 
 
 ' iNc matter," he returas, laughinr ** ^^ * Tory ^k 
 
 cdt you to di^ipftmge my violets." 
 
 " It ii^ ■ ' \'d. 1 hope you wir is 
 
 t&j.t. \m' 1-5 on au entirely "w .)•> 
 
 "; riiere Is nothing to forgive, lou only spoke tl 
 
 iinih when you said my rioUjts were a llUle iadeU — Ih^y w^re bad:/ 
 t, * M! nooi' little flowers!" 
 
 was that?" 1 smk innocently. 
 • •^li," he says delibex'ately, looking not at r \9 
 
 iolets, "they were given to me by a Jady wiv >t 
 
 'jino\7. And,' if 1 hud nofc fortunately discovered i»;,>u in uuse, lui ' 
 uoihi hnve died for want of water in a dusty glass." 
 
 " 1 observe quietly, looking past liim " rs. 
 
 ;ud ot her, was it not — to me — not to 
 ' t^o much depends upon her motive," 1 answc .,y, wc. 
 
 tiering if he knows. 
 
 ' She could have had but one motive." 
 'And that?" 
 
 ** Well," he saya, smiling, ** 1 do not know that 1 OBght to teil you 
 Whatl think." 
 
 " You think so badly of heil" I exclaim, the Iroubiesome crimson 
 lifihing to my cheelis again. 
 
 ' If I thought bndly of her, should 1 wear her violets?** 
 ' She never meant you to know who left them for you probably- " 
 Prob;ii)]y." 
 
 say you do not know her nanie?" 
 ^ L..i notknow her name." 
 "'But you knov/ it now?" 
 ■ Yef?, 1 know it now." 
 '-* And it is—" 
 Be shakes his head. 
 
 " 1 know you do not think so badly of me as to supposo 1 wonld 
 an.5wer that question. ' ' 
 
 I brealho a great sigh of relief. He does not know tljeo — he dov 
 ot>t connect me with the suspr -ty, whoevrv . Per- 
 
 haps he thinks it was tiie you. ss'Pryce! Tw ^ , Id me 
 
 they sometimes got flowers up from the country. 
 " i<h(' «;<mrcely deserve* so much conaiUeratiou at ycwr hands/' I 
 
 . iiv not?" he asks, with a laughing loo]- ^'•"'T' ""-^'"- »'- "- 
 ^ei^i^hes. 
 
 " It is "a lady's nlace to oend violets lo a gcnuemaii, cv. 
 
 .". ?be wc. inted with him." 
 
 ' You ^roauu are very hard upon each other." 
 Not so lj:ud ns you are, perhaps," I say, a little bifferV 
 -w you t ' woman who stnt you those violets 
 
 to von ''ly worrtiy of vr>v.v r«i«i-)©ct." 
 
 iry," he aat»w€r> /, '* 1 know she did k oi 
 
 -..^ — --^ Viiiiiresg — J^: ^,. ;.;ii3:iAd wiih a spice of mi- 
 
 f. And - : v.rotiki never know it — I am very sare si) 
 
 ;■' lided thai i m-.ii .-.fUidl" 
 There are te.trs of morlilieji^ion in my eyes that ^ lave lov; 
 
SI FOR LUFE A^9 JjdVlS. 
 
 cred myseti oy doing tliis foolish thing. How 1 hate tiiose miserable 
 violets, how 1 wish the^ had withered amona: their native terns and 
 mosses under tlie elms and chestnuts at Woodhay, before they 
 tempted me to rc^ke such s. fool of myself! 
 
 " You seem to take it to h»art," Mr. Baxter says, looking down at 
 me. 1 suppose 1 look very crxjss and disngreeabie. " 1 am sorry 1 
 told yoa anylhiag about it. Do you care to try the mazourke again?'* 
 " No, Ih.ank yuu. 1 do not care to dance any more." 
 *' Miss Scott," he says, standing before me, and sfjeaking gravely 
 enough now, ** 1 mrtst ask you to foigive me. 1 am ashamed of 
 myself for having spoken of what I should have kept secret. — of 
 wiKit 1 ought to iiave taken for just as much as it was worth. The 
 violets were put — where 1 found them — in jest, and 1 have worn 
 them in earnest. I had no right to do it; and, if you will returo 
 them to the owner, 1 will expiate my fault by giving them up to 
 you." 
 
 He takes the bunch of withered violets from his button-hole ten- 
 derly in the tips ot his white-gloved fingers, and hands them to me. 
 
 " It Costs me more than you think to give them up," he says, look- 
 ing at them wislfuily. 
 
 " I think she would not refuse to let you keep them, whoever she 
 is," 1 answer, laughing, witk such a sudden change of mood that it 
 even puzzles myself. 
 
 *' You think thatl" he questions eaoerly. 
 
 *' They do not look very v^aluable, do they?" 
 
 ** Because they are a little withered. 1 value them — more than 
 ywi know." 
 
 " Take them then," I say carelessly, feeling that Gus is watching 
 me, and that to keep Mr. Baxter's violets would look more remark- 
 able than merely to inliaie their fragrance and hand them back 
 again. "Take them, and pfiy her the further compliment of for- 
 getting the folly which put them into your possession." 
 
 *' And will you aslv her," he says eagerly, " to pardon my pre- 
 sumption in darin<r to pretend that 1 misinterpreted her gracious 
 gilt?" 
 
 " If she can tvn j^ive herself, she may veiy well extend her forgive- 
 ness to you," 1 auswer, gathering up my billowy train in my hand 
 s 1 stand beside him, looking very tall and slim and dignified out- 
 /ardly, but within feeling several degrees smallei thanl have ever 
 Jit in my 'ite before. " X^'or my part, 1 do not see how she can eve" 
 orgive herself." 
 
 ** She need not blame herself," he says, looking down at me from 
 _:is superior Iteight with a smile which dIr-T>;f;asc;s"mo by reu^^on of its 
 undisguised amusement. 
 
 ** 1 do not suppose slie blames herself verymiicii,"' i reiurn delib- 
 erately, Miih tJ^o careless insolence with which 1 think to recover my 
 own coucoit. "It would be diflereut, you know,- if you were—" 
 
 " Anyfivri^ hut a poor k-indscape-puintcr. '' he interrupt s, at no 
 
 loss to cr ;d my insolent pause. "She would never have 
 
 dared to , ue had thought him her equjil. Flie •■.•(■(; Id never 
 
 i to do it if filie had dreamod ot liself 
 
 .'Oi'i.^lv wliiitti she ■t!(.M,T,-r.T>; " 
 
POB LIFE AND LOYK. 2i 
 
 His 6am eres have blazed up quite suddenly, a ^wa not thought 
 ijley r . ' ' ' • like llmt. 
 
 " P. though 1 think she was more to Wain© for that 
 
 very rciisi/a, ' 1 answer, with a slight, almost imperceptible move- 
 ment of my shoulders. 
 
 *' 1 tiduk w). 1 would rather take a liberty with an equal than 
 withaniiil rior rav^elt," he says quite quietly, but with au indescrib' 
 able intieciion of voice which enraires me. 
 
 *' It was a liberty/' I ncquieace, with cheeks which have deepened 
 Into criRison again. " You are ri,^hL when you call it a lil)eity. It; 
 was a nia-?t unpardonable libertv.' 
 
 " I did not say so. 1 merely said that 1 should not presume on 
 difffTf-nce ot rank to play a trick upon another person — that waa 
 What! said," 
 
 ** 1 played no triclc upon you!" 1 exclaim indignantly. 
 
 ** You!" lie repeats, his face changing suddenly back from angry 
 storm to amustxnent. " 1 never accused youl We are talking of 
 another person." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ot another person!" I agree, moving away with the in- 
 solently disdainful air which had infuriated him. " Ot a person who 
 ought to regret biiierly that she so far forgot herself as to put it into 
 your power lo insult her." 
 
 He is holding the bunch of violets still in his hand. As I turn 
 away, he lets them fall, and sets his heel upon them, giinding them 
 into the floor. 1 pity Mrs. Holleston's Bnissels carpet more thaii i 
 pity the violrt^, which have done me too much miischiet to expect 
 sympathy tiom me in their ignominious emi. 
 
 " Oh, here j'ou are, AUie! We've been searching for you every- 
 where. Mamma is going home." 
 
 Olive conips up to me Wrealhless, Gus, at some distance behind 
 her, looking black as thunder. 
 
 v« ;itly." I answer, without a glance at my late companion, 
 rveled with your handsome cavalier, Allie?" 
 1 him, Olive?" 
 
 if you were quarreling like anything just now." 
 . llolleston cares to ask such people to her house, 
 don I think that man has the smallciiit pretensions to be 
 Galled a genticraan." 
 
 Olive iauvlts, looking at me 
 
 "Ah, i hee you have qmureled!" she says, shinvin:; ;i.;! n- i.^. 
 
 \llio, I'm afrciid you are going to tall in love %iih Mr, Gerard 
 
 *^1 
 
 am 
 
 
 
 "1 
 
 Olive. 
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER rv. 
 
 Tmi fv*n days, even to myself. 1 ignore the existence v . .... ^.. ,' 
 I never mention his name to either Mrs. W.iuchope or 
 :. nor do they mention his name to me. 1 faofy he is in 
 1 fancy 1 hear liis knock ac the door sometimes; but 1 
 
 t. Olid I . u'tt '■ Jir^cliaiiuii, ' fco i*).,. i do uoi huU time 
 
FOE LIFE AKD LOVE. 
 
 3i\g heavily oq my hands. 1 spend the mornings at Madame CiotSr 
 ielm's, and very often lunch with the Deanes, onuy coming back to 
 Jiirieton Street at about four o'clock in the aflernooo. it is colli, 
 Jsagreeabie weather, with an east wind which reddens one's nor^ 
 ;mri eyelids and makes my lire and hammock-chair very pleasant 1 
 the evenings, which would be getting shorter every day now, if 1 dia 
 not pull down the blinds early, and so shut out the dull March twi- 
 light, which is so cheerless and so loug. 
 
 One afternoon— the third since the BollestonsJ* dance^ — 1 hear a 
 knock at the door, which 1 teel sure is Olive's knock; and, having 
 my hat and jacket on, and having promised not to keep her waiting 
 L she called tor me, 1 run down-stairs to meet her in tie hall. But, 
 astead of Olive in her blue and cardinal dress, 1 come ralhei vio- 
 ontly against a young man in a drab-eolored overcoat, who stands 
 back to let me pass, pulling o& his hat as he endeavors to place him- 
 self as dally ns possible against the wall. 
 
 1 recognize hiui in a moment, as 1 have no doubt he recognizes 
 me. But 1 brush by him brusquely, without looking ap. Before I 
 have passed him, 1 regret having so far forgotten iiii^eit, whatever 
 his otfense; bat when 1 glance up, he is lookiog straight before 
 him, ignoring me as utterly as if 1 were the plaster figure of a boy 
 with a basket on his head which standi before the window with the 
 painted blind on the landing. The whole incident does not occupy 
 half a minute — it is over almost before 1 am conscious that it hai^ 
 happened. But it leaves an uncomfortable impression on my mind, 
 which 1 cannot shake oil. 
 
 1 walk aloug the sunny side of the gloomy old brown-brick street, 
 looking out for Olive, whom 1 hope to meet before I reach the cor- 
 ner; but all the time 1 am wondering whether Mr. Gerard Baxter 
 " cut" me, or whether I might be supposed to have administered 
 that process to him. I have acted with unpardouable rudeness, n© 
 doubt; but, if 1 had bowed to him, would he have dared to pretend 
 not to see? Long after 1 meet Olive Deane the question annoys me 
 -—it follows, me into !&iadame Cronhelra's house, into the great 
 crowded ch.ss room. For the first time my music-lesson bores me; 
 Hen von KOnig's ilUiatrations of tiie weird melodious music of 
 "Faust," as compared with the silver-sweet cadences of Rossini, 
 do not interest me; and Madame Cionhelm accuses me rather sharp, 
 ly once or twice of singing out o^ tune. It is not till 1 find myself 
 in the great untidy drawing-room at Dexter Square, looking at Pop- 
 py's latest v^edding-present, that tlie uncomfortable feeling of hav- 
 ing acted wutruly to myself begins to wear away. 1 exorcise it 
 clnefly by a resolution not to treat Mr. Baxter, should 1 ever meet 
 fcim again, as it 1 were indeed the " village maiden " with whose 
 fancy for a landscape-painter Olive is always taunting me. 
 
 This evening, while 1 am at dinner, Mrs. Wauc'uope comes in to 
 ask me how 1 iiijed a pudding she made for me, beciiuse it used to be 
 a favorite of mine long ago at Woodhay, when 1 was a child. From 
 the ])udding our conWrsativn wanders away to other matters— the 
 dcarness of everything in i*ondon, how she manages m the way of 
 catering for her- lodgers, 
 
 *' 1 do the best 1 can for them,*' she says, *' especially for the po<: 
 ?oung in;-n upstairs. Aaothtir Derson nliaht not troa^Jie hei" heu--, 
 
FOja LIFE AKD LOTS, S§ 
 
 vhetUer his beef-steak was tough or not; but 1 take just as 
 ' " ' ■ ualsasl dc ahoat your ov/n. I'm not one 
 ii'j (vajDiiot alTord grand joints. 'Many a 
 ■.;e I vi; ^'.;.;c Qc.i ci luy way to j<et a chop or a enliel cheaper lor 
 m^ IboiiL'h he'd never know .^*; — ay, and added a bit of mj own to 
 uio. In a b';usc lik« this, -wbcre there is so much going* nobody 
 ould IB1S& a couple «/f sJicea of butcher's meat." 
 
 Is he perchance fed trom tlie joint that lett my table, this proud 
 
 m who had dared to tell nie that i had taken a lil)erty In 
 
 ; him ;\'Jth a bunch of violets? 'i'he tlioui^ht ^ives me 
 
 ,ii— tills me with a HUle, small, womanly triumph ot which a 
 
 »'0uld have felt ashamed. 
 
 '* 1 Know he's Liird up sometimes, poor lad!" Mr«. Wauchope 
 ";cs on. "He wouldn't say so to save his lite; but ne landliidies 
 aow more than people think. Aud somehow 1 feci more for th 
 
 oud distant oncij, taat wouldn't tdl you theiriroubies if they were 
 <irv/ag, than for them that make'^ a poor mouth aoout themselves, 
 id i:< always down on tlieir luck.*' 
 
 Hnd 1 dared to insult him, and he vso poor a; : 3Iy mind 
 
 ^es me tor having brushed by him so cavalieriy this mominsf 
 
 ■^ire, tor having spoken to hiiu so rudel}' the other night in 
 
 ,^trect. lie must have cared tor those unfortunate vioiets, 
 
 id never have worn them, half withered as Uiey were; aud 
 
 veT^d him so luuch that he had ground tiiem with Ids 
 
 1 am ashamt^d and augiy, with a vague imcom- 
 
 hjving made a fool of nr\ .•?eif besides. The next 
 
 ii! act diiterently, though it is a iact thit 1 am 
 
 i'or having put me out of conceit with myseit. 
 
 -t time 1 meet him t^.e turns the tables upon me — sup- 
 
 . . ,w have been the aggressor in the first ins.taace. lam 
 
 ;.» into the house as he i^Jasse? out, an<i he never so ranch as 
 
 ^.si at mo t; "other 1 mean to take any notice of him or not. 
 
 i that he h:- virtually put an end to our acquaintance. 
 
 "*?d, though he may pi-ssibiy think it was 
 :nori! that introduetion at the Koiiestous*. 
 c my wirh, aud that 1 would have bowed 
 ;^ot the '"liauce, aud his looking io thai de- 
 ••mincl my head niakes me i«'el very angry. However 1 
 
 ^ "•^' '■'^- -iiu sgum in Carleton Street or anywhere else lor 
 
 . and, though Mrs. Wauchope teils^me that he i 
 : he usi?d to be, and woridng hard at his picture, 
 his rudeneijs nnd my own fo^ly in bu^y prepara- 
 ' ti's concert, which is i6 take place o;. 
 ;. 1 am to smg twice first the " .' 
 •iki *• i aii. t." il',en Dluinentlmrs " Bend of the Ri . 
 Ion is .MtJilame Cronhelm's; but i)oths<mgs fo-o old fr 
 : 4ti!r.i'-»«nd old favovitcfi. ficrr von KOnig tells me 1 had bc.tci 
 .^•e ;-};! ^•. ■.'';•,; vt^:'Clv. r!.;.'.\i I ror;- to repeat those two; but 1 tci'. 
 
 very unlucky thing to do, l* 
 
 rmorarui O'ive n«vinA n»i!1 ff»r me 
 
S6 FOE LI1?E AKD LOVE. 
 
 but merely to pay a visit to the girls. They are to give a fancy baS 
 early in April, and we amuse ourselves T\ilh port folios of sketches 
 of national and fancy -dresses, sitting in the great handeorae somber 
 city drawing-room, -^-ith it>.< balconies darkened by tlovrering plants 
 --■five or six^girh altogether, with two kindred spirits iu the shape of 
 Fred Der-ue an;l Craiitord Rolleston, who are quite as good on the 
 subjecl ot ladies' dres« as oui selves. 
 
 Katie and Craiiford Rolleston and 1 are studying a colored print 
 of jui Al?c;cian togeiher, and I am saying how pretty the black 
 , velvet cap would look on a blonde head like Olive's, when two 
 jQeople come into the loofn whom i, s^jarcely looking up, and even 
 then scarce]}'- seeing them in the dusk, supjxosed to be Jack Rolles- 
 ton and his "brother- in-Uiw Captain Kingsie}'- — one of them 1 know 
 to be Jfick. They stroll over to a group at one of the windows— 
 Oliv^^d Poppy and Susie Rolleston, and 1 think no more about 
 them, till Cranf* rd says suddcjdy — 
 
 " That artist over there ought to make a sketch for you, Katicr- 
 someihing original, you know. Anything original would be so 
 much moie interesting than these old hackneyed national costumes 
 — everybody is tired to death of them. 1 say, Gerard, couldn't you 
 invent something newer than a Swiss peasant or a vioandi^re ?'* • 
 
 The moment he Bays, " Gerard " 1 look up. Mr! Baxter is cross- 
 ing the room slowly; in another moment he has shaken hands with 
 Katie, and i-s looking halt inquiringly, halt deprecatingly, at m:- 
 Here is the opportunity I have been longing for, and yet son:; 
 stran'^e perversiiy makes me look steadily in another direction, as 
 though 1 saw him not. 
 
 ** I am not much of a hand at figures," Mr. Baxter says, without 
 any pause of snq^rise, or anger, or embarrassment. '* 1 never put 
 them into my pictures it 1 can h(!lp it, and, when 1 do, 1 leave tlifim 
 as much as possible to the imagination. But 1 dare say I might sug- 
 gest some characters, and then you could find out the dret>s they 
 uust Wf.ar— or invent it," 
 
 *' Oh, do" Katie exclaims, making room for him on the ottomaa 
 beside her, and not observmg that he and 1, whom she had seen 
 dancing together, had taken no notice of each othei. "That will 
 be delightful; won't it, Allie?" 
 
 ** Very,*' I say siiortlv, and tuiD to Crau ford Rolleston, who how- 
 ;ver is listening to 31 r. ^Baxter, and not to me. 
 
 " We must take a lesson from the notable Hannah Woolly," he 
 says, laughing, as he slidis into the place Katie has made for him. 
 ■ Don't you remember what she saj'S in her book, printed in 1G81, 
 -iTid quoted by Charles Lamb — * Let ell ingenious women have re- 
 gard, when ihey work any image, to work it ariglit. Fii-st let it be 
 drawn well, and tnen observe the directions which are given by 
 knowing men. I do assure you 1 never worked any story, or single 
 person, without informing myself both of the visage and habit, as 
 folio wtfth. it you work Jupiter, he must have long curled black 
 hair, a purple garment tiimmed with gold, and sitting upoa a golden 
 throne, with yeilow clouds about him,' " 
 
 •* How did she ' iniorm herself ' of that?" Katie 
 
 "That's \\\>->i ^^'vv-^vs pu^]/Mi v,^r, '^ ,:,>..,,.;! ;;.x 
 
VOE LIFE AND LOVE. ^t 
 
 a lA ihui, .. : luu ii.akea it all so delicious. Why don't you go U 
 le poets for tharactera- •' 2klau(i dialler ' tor instance — 
 
 '' * Jlaud Mflller all the summer day 
 lUUed U»e mtuvdow sweet writh liim'f" 
 
 So tbey chatter and laugh, while 1 turn over the sketches en my 
 ip in sulky silence. Suddenly Katie goes 1o one end of the roona 
 !r a book and Craiiford to a table lor anolher; and for a moment 
 ■i two are left alone on the great ottoman, with nothing bat the 
 •)tt05 ol ouG empty velvet triangle between us. 
 •• Spt^ak to me," he says suddenly, in a half -whisper, bendiag hie 
 oad to look into my face. ** AVhy won t you speak to me?" 
 But 1 look at inypictures stubl>oruly, feeling that now it is my 
 urn to make mysrlt wnpleasHiU— i-f 1 can. 
 
 *' AV hat have 1 done that you should send me to Coventry like 
 Ills?" 
 Even if 1 had been inclined, I have no tims^to answer him. K*nt:e 
 !S come back with a volume of Tennyson in her hand, Cm' 
 ith Dore's splendid " Dante,*' and in another moment they av^ .. 
 )ring over the illustrations toijether, Katie's brown head very ne;. 
 •crani Baxter's darK one, while Cianford takes up his old po--^'"' 
 066 to me. 1 am thus in a manner forced into their consuii 
 id, though I am playing a rulf: which suits me verj' ill, 1 ci; :i n 
 jlp being amused by it and laughing and suggc«tin«: with the rcot. 
 "So your handsome friend is coming to " > CronheCna's 
 
 concert.?'-' Olive says, on our way back to CaiK. jet. 
 
 ** How do you know?" 1 ask carelessly. 
 
 ** Jie said so just now. ILe is coming with the Rollestons. Do 
 
 ou know I fancy he la an admirer ot Katie's — 1 saw their heads 
 
 TV close together over those prints of Dore's." 
 
 1 do not like the s'lggesliou; it vexes me all the evening, while 1 
 
 ''re my conceit- music, while 1 sit m my pet cV ' • '^'"' r the fire, 
 
 !g the latest di?paiches from Woodhay and Y •■, while I 
 
 with my feet on the fender, and "Probation :ka.. ' u 
 
 .^ee. Mr. Baxter has been in his studio all tlif ev u' 
 
 iiave left the door open, lor I can hear him > ^ 
 
 -- now and then, sometimes singing it in a v- f 
 
 ay. Once, when I pause to listen, luy door being auso ajuc, i Cua 
 
 ,i;siinguish Iho words of a song 1 know: 
 
 **'Wliy xv^ n^vn'- when I draw near? 
 WhV' ? Oncel u'as d^•;lr. 
 
 Tn'>ij ' stirred and lluslied thy brow . 
 
 NcvtM'a .vufd widcoities ine now. 
 ?r>.'nk > tiiH— snea't ! Be niv heart heard. 
 
 Or wi'l it I.-- ■• ' •• ' "'■ • ' 
 
 "No vow t<"' 
 
 Ouly be ki:. . . 
 
 I listen till the song is ended, and then 1 close the door softly :»nr| 
 
 o back to the tire, lajighing. 1 kno'V at least of whom ho is iVAnk 
 - tliose wc^ ■ *' ^ 'cry words he had si^.d tome tiiis aJtrrn^oi.— 
 ik \n 1- won't, you Bpe:ik to rae?" TtJC oil spirit of 
 
 ' ',»ro:.i;. . > dov/n to lh.o pi.uio an"! ■•-- ' ::'• 
 
 .! s'jo.J : u'wer; but the dio4isiiT>i, 
 
v\ pot; 
 
 j!y are loo recev. outage me to irans^esj a ses- 
 
 * * •> 
 
 I'z. ie the Evening of Madame Cronbclm's concert, whicla is indcei! 
 i-nore of a coav^ra'/zione than a concert, thepcrlorjJH.'i*s mixing among 
 ! he iniuience when aol actually requued on iho raised pUiiforia at 
 lie upper end ot the room, where the grand piano Jiud vioiios aad 
 /ioloiiryj'o lire located^ and a huai of talk ii'ding np the intervals be- 
 7^ecQ the p.ougs aim coiicert-ed pieces, A^'e ali enjoy ii, having sc 
 aiair''" ' ?' ajuoac: bolh perlortners acd aadience, unti, tl;ou<?li 
 mo^ me CronheJm's pn^)iis take pait in Uie chon«>^'V, only, 
 
 they a;j p;e..scd to appu;ir ill puidic ii: . ' • 
 
 a rciiaioii can be culied piib'.ic ai jJi. 
 
 My '* Jewel " soug is aEioag the first on UiC program ino; nad, when 
 -^ hav^o siiDg it, aiifi when iie;r vow ildaj?^ huR coujpluneDicd me on 
 v/hut he h ple[y?3d to caU the delicate grai.'C of n\y vocalism, and 
 called liiv voice " tnily celestial," 1 maue my \T5iy_ dowu to ih« 
 BoUestoii«, ^vilOln 1 see grouped at a liitls dishmce iroin the b?aze * 
 ii.i^bt which malces a daz/lin^ center <ji' the shige. But, before 1 a^-^ 
 r!>aeh li.eoi, moving si'owly throui^h the dense .crowd, wi;]\ my loug: 
 hkiii.i^ Siiiiu s-kirc in oue hand and my tan in the other, Gerard Baxter 
 .ppears, 1 linow not from vvhut coiun of vuntJi^i', and oflerti me bis 
 -irni. 
 
 •'AlJc riy"{ory. and allow 
 
 MO to CiViigiiituiale yon <.>u bii'Viiig ' broughi douii kie iiOu.?e. * " 
 
 •* 0?i. (Ln't ?/m Uatter ino," 1 laugh, shrriH^iiii'^'niVi^honldris. 
 you emphasize the ' j'^ou '?" 
 . .. . iL irieeuis urjuafiural for you to ;.. ._, ....:.... 
 
 **i paid you a compiiuHnt once, and you niisund; c 
 
 ^^ays mcr" - - 'y. " Perhaps i may tind so»ae bafe. i.9:> , ,u • ;,ui 
 la/or rh. Have you forgiven me vet fin- toy stupidity?" 
 
 '••Lome i-go, I ani^wiH- frankly. " Let oi fdrgoi ul! aiJDUt a pif-r 
 of folly for whidi 1 jwnporry, and of AViijijh laui heartily ashamed 
 
 *' 1 a'ni ready !■ 'lu tlo noi wi.sh n^c lo iemomber," hu 
 
 rejtjtina a-l once. 
 
 And then, fniit-oad ot (iiidiii^- myself nj^arer to tbeRollestons, I find 
 niy?eit siUing on a clidir near a cool bnnk ol! ferns and exotifs with 
 'Ir. Baxter K?:iEi»ling behind me, Histening (o a girl v/ifh u magnifacei 
 ontra>to ^ • -^'u^iug the ** Clang of ibo Wooden Shoon. " 
 
 I hslei: xa a dream I know that he is tJiere, gtondir. 
 
 jiear me lu m-, timber evening rftiment, And. that 1 rdn Jn;ppy, \^ii 
 a strange uisnA^j-ou id able feccse ot happiness, vuich i coilla ni 
 analyze even if 1 would. 
 
 *' Do you like lier swinging?" he nfik- '.'wo sonji: m ended, 
 
 'las a vciy j)urecontral.'ovoi<^. llei jtter than her 
 
 •i ?ingiDg. Doi^'l 3'ou think so?'' 
 
 *' Yes. 1 havo hotti'd people say tbad hhe issi-- * ;;.if;i'or the stage, 
 ;,iiat ehe w going to italy to tinish'her mnsi(\tl e l.taticn,** 
 
 *"6o I have heard. 1 think idie U quite right, biich a voice as 
 ^ers was never meant to ' rusi luihurBished, not *o si due ianse* *' 
 
 '* Or yours?" he questions a little wistriiiJj, ** They teii me 701* 
 
ru.. .:... ,..,.. X.OVE. .^3 
 
 '^'^lio CO' "^'-" '^^"'^e told him so? Tlie Wca amuses me so mucik that 
 3 do not i oly advise liim to the contrary. 
 
 "And ;i ; mn, ' 1 say. laj^hing, *' do you not think that 1 sm 
 right in puttiug the talent which has been given me to some proo* 
 tienl nscV''* 
 
 *• If \i>\\ have no oilier means of livelihood — yes." 
 
 " You do not approve of singing on the stage V" 
 
 ** 1 do not cure to think of your doing it." 
 
 •' B«t one can (Jo it, and yet — " 
 
 " 1 hope you will never do it," he mtemipta, with more passidBj 
 
 ;i!t the ocfjasijQ seems to warrant. '* 1 hope to Heaven you will 
 ueverdoitt'* 
 
 ** But if I must do it?'* 1 say, willfully encouraging Iha idea 
 •whfch lie TOTuehow or other seem^ to have taken mto liis head. *' If 
 my dfiily ^)iead depends upon it, what am 1 to do?" 
 
 " (;*hii't you teach, or somel^iing?" he says boyishly. ** You could 
 teach other girls, couldn't )'ou?" 
 
 " But fancy traching — fancy wearirvg one's self out with a troop of 
 -Jie girls, as Madame Cronhelra does, when one might be bowing to 
 a delighted audience behind the footlights, with oae's arms fuD of 
 bouquets." 
 
 ** That's last what 1 hate," he retorts savagely. "That ia^ust 
 what no girl — no cousin or sister of mine — should ever degrade her- 
 self by doing. Ilow do you think a man — who loved you, for 1n- 
 
 would like to see otlier men level their opera glasses at yon, 
 
 <;rhaps — indeed certainly — make comments on your per^ioaai 
 
 .peurance?" 
 
 " If they were conapltmentary, 1 don't suppose she would mind 
 
 ry much." 
 
 " But he would mind. If he were her brother or her husbai^,'h6 
 would rather see her in her coffin than subject her to such degrada- 
 tion." 
 
 " How delighlfully selfishP* I laugh, shrugging my shoulders. 
 
 '* Ou, we are all very sctfishK' Mr. Baxter allows; and thou, the 
 overture to " Tanniianser " commencing, we find it imi»ssible to 
 talk <;ny more for the present. 
 
 1 anuise myselt by looking for my own particular friends in the 
 crowd. Olive is in a corner fiirting with Jack Roileston, 
 sillmg cahnly beside bar fian/:^, looking as lazily handsome . .... 
 Katie Bollcston is looking at me. 1 wonder if she would like ver / 
 much to change places with me, and if half at least of Olive's- ■ • 
 picion about her and G«»ftrd Baxter is true? Perhaps KRtio ha ' 
 her heart to this arLisl-friCTid of her brother's, though, accordi; 
 Mrsw War.chono, Mr. Baxter does not care lor young ladie^i. 
 ie*s sleadiast look, and wondering how it " 
 , all our common friends, nobody has i 
 t^ who I am, when " Tannbauser " conieeto an 
 
 1 ' <^eat, Blumcnlhal'a " Bend of the River " Xw ^, . 
 
 on tlw prr 
 
 *' \mi \:...: a great deal?" Mr. Bxiztor ohBerves« as ba oft^cs'm^ 
 
 his- arm attain. 
 
 "■ Yes,'^ 1 answer, smiling, as 1 meet his splcr^^ ■-' -^ .rk eyee, ** 2 
 hoi» it does not annoy you. " 
 
30 POR LIFE AN"D LOVE. 
 
 *^ No; Mrs. Wauchope will tell you that 1 have never been so In 
 vjustrious as since you came to Carleton Street." 
 
 *' 1 am glad to hear it," I venture, somewhat soberly. " If 1 laad 
 your talent, 1 fhould certainly not let it b» idle." 
 
 '* I mean to work very hard, now," he says quickly. *' Before, 
 1 did not care very mueh whether 1 made a name for myself or not 
 But no\v~l dot" 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ** So he thinks I spend my time drumming away on this unfoTfti* 
 tiate instrument with the ultimate object of earniogmy livelihood?** 
 I laugh, sitting before the piano in Mrs. Wauchope's (irawiug-roooj 
 xm the moriiiug after Madame Croniielm's soiree niusictile. " H« 
 thinks 1 am a penniless art-stud(aifc like himself, bound to earn my 
 li^ead by whatever talent 1 possess, unless 1 prefer to sit down and 
 starve. What a joke it is, and how Olive will enjoy it! And how 
 Au::t Rosa's stifi gray curls would bristle with horror if she knew 
 that tier niece Allie Somess Scott of Woodhay was taken for a poor 
 young woman from the countiy who had come up to Ihese cheap 
 iumi.shed lodgings for the nurpose of studying vocal music for the 
 stage!" 
 
 The idea is too delicious! I laugh to myself with such fraDtic en- 
 joyment that, if Jvlary Anne had chanced to come into the room, 
 she would have set me down either as an idiot or as some harmless 
 kind of lunatic. 1 shall not tell Mr. Baxter the mistake he haa 
 made — since no one has thought of telling him before, I hope they 
 \ii{\ not teii him now. They must, take it for granted hat he knows 
 who I am, and he must liave thought no questions necessary, seeing 
 ibr himself m.y mode of life. As for Mra. Wauchope, she probably 
 still labors under the delusion that the Count and the " drawing- 
 jT>oms " have never yet encountered each other here or anywhere else. 
 Mr. Baxter must think ihe Deaues and Rollestons have been very 
 kind in taking me up; but then he knows them to be fond of art 
 and artistic people, espetiially the Rolle^tons, and likely enough to 
 make much of me for the sake of my voice. What fun it is to tliink 
 of myself as working for my living! What fun it will be to keep 
 up the delusion with the help of my scampish frl^ind Olive, who 
 loves nothiniT so much as a practical joke! 
 
 But my fnn is put a stop to in a very summar} .^^c.^^v r. While 
 
 ^. am si Ming heie at the piano, a note from Olive is put into my hanci 
 
 ■o Ray that Eliiiior has scarlet fever, a"d that 1 am not to attempt to 
 
 come near the house. All the others have had it, and are not afraidr 
 
 yiis,. Deane will not allow them to come near me— I must net 
 
 •t even to see Olive ct Madame Crouhelm's to day, as her 
 
 not itiink it would be right to allow her to go there c- 
 
 : i house. 
 
 X am vtiry sorry, not only for my own sake, but for Ell inor and all 
 jf th{iia\. 1 write a note to Olive, and have just made up my mind 
 fiot to go out at all this morning, when Ada Rolleston comes running 
 \n ^ '7(M ^,'^ TT.Y nf request that 1 would come over and spend the day 
 i t . which 1 am rather unwilling to do, but which Ada 
 
JOa UFB AlTD LOVE, 31 
 
 Dnrinfi^ the next five or six days 1 spon<l ixioi,i of my time with the 
 % ':'. Adn pe{« me and spoils me very muci., in the fashion of 
 
 Oil . ', ^vho has "tagged" for me 8im:e we were chikiren 
 
 togei ^L •. T"!: ' house In Berkeley Street is a ver}- pleasant one— there 
 are nhvays \ .-tors comm^ and gomg— clever people, poet s, painters, 
 aid lUerary men and women. We are never'af a lOss for 
 lent, bet^veen the preparations tor the fancy-ball, Jack's 
 eniateur studio, and the grofit music-room where their musical friends 
 would willingly play symphonies and fantasies ail da}" long, U they 
 could find >uiy oue to listen to them. 
 
 ' 1 meet llr. Bjixter there very often—in fact, 1 may say every day. 
 
 5iio not thihk he can be working very hard — unless he paints by 
 
 ]ain!)liLdit— he is always with Jack Rolleston, smoking in liis Rtudic 
 
 or < hi'iing to us m the drawing-room. He even stay: to dinuei 
 
 .es — 1 know it because they insis* upon my dinmg there onc« 
 
 ', and, whe^ 1 dine there, hediuestheie too. They laugh ai 
 
 about him — ot course, girls laugh at eai^h oilier for very little — 
 
 ; call him my handsome sweetheart. Butl do not fiirt with iiini, 
 
 igh he manages s?omehow to be always in my noighljorhood, and 
 
 * i. annot hHp knowing that he Ls almost alw;;y-i looking ai me. 
 
 1 am going home on the second of April, to come up io town again 
 
 ' . Poppy's wedding, unless it is postponed on ecccuut of Ellinor's 
 
 ^s«. Olive, who writes ic me almost every day, says they are 
 
 'ig to Brighton as soon as EJiinor is strong enough to 
 
 ould not be surprised if Poppy's wedding look place 
 
 ^ >ect of seeing Woodhay so Roon does not fill mc with nn- 
 
 .e<i delight. > Something has thrown a glamor over Mrs, 
 
 u ] ,^ , , vi.jihhy furnished lodgings, which my own beautiful 
 
 r known — " a light th«t never was on iansJ or sea " 
 
 Ml :■ -» I, -' dusty rooms, a*' glory and a freshness ana a dream," 
 
 hich 1 vwilk like one wlio " on a mountain takes the dawn." I 
 
 :'t 1 cannot say what has made me haj^.py. 
 
 ..stons Lake me to see the studio of an nrtist of 
 
 . licive iieard — a man who very off en come- : cy 
 
 , gaunt and gray and disheveled as he of 
 
 ' ot the day. As we go up the stairs leading lo the 
 
 - meet a.girl coming down — a young girl, poor!- <lr, "^is.^f^ 
 
 witJi a ii'Cti of such extraordinary beauty that il \y 
 
 '^' ' ^ ' > ' never dreamed that a lamian face Cv,.-... .-v -v. 
 
 Icston, who has also been struck by it, makes tlu 
 
 ;t pamter hi "nseit. 
 
 laying down his pHlette and bn: , i^a 
 lo mo as a model- ' inW. iler 
 
 .1 womnn, al'vays ^ .iies drunk. 
 
 . 'i-j. ' ' 
 . 'n standing with its face io 
 ' are looking again at the iriri we met on iho stairs 
 tm:"!> rjreek outlines which Phidias riii'ht l:ivo 
 ■ ied-gx)Ul Ifair tossed Imck fro' 
 a halo round the au-^'^' '■ • ^ ' •rl, Ui^: v.. 
 leBmiliuglips. Th' list had 
 
 < loicta-ssSsUiK is holdir. >jiuieh in one biii ,j 
 
s'icr)\1?r hand, as she leans agamst the pilla? of : 
 )ook:iig out of tbe caiwas with those inaoccDt. \v: 
 Refore the pitlure for a long tiime, siudylni: Ihftl e. 1 1 
 
 her, though she is ia lags and I am wetiring a steel-;r 
 
 velvet with a bounet ot the same, whoso cost 1 care to 
 
 member. How h;ippy she ought to be with a fn at? Wl.«4 
 
 Tnatter about cold and hiingex'and rags, if one co on the l)€ 
 
 holder with those ethereal eyes, with those exquusiic^ ciiildish lips 
 So 1 »hink, looking down at the lifeless canvas. And as 1 look i 
 Bhia.ruus tli rough my reins, as though a door had opened some 
 whe?^, letting in a breath of some cold out-er air. It is a curioni 
 seD';.iion — 1 have heard of people feeling the li; one walke< 
 
 ovef their grave that was to be. Yet why she girl's fao 
 
 make me shiver? it is as beautiful as the face oi an angel, and a: 
 innocent — it is not very likely that it should ever do me any harm I 
 
 «■ * « * « « * 
 
 This evening the RoUcstons insist upon sending thefr carriage t J 
 take me back to Berkeley Street to dinner 1 should have speii: 
 lonely even'iig if 1 had not gone, and yet 1 go rallier unwilliD. 
 having had a pile of letters from "Woodhay and Yattcnden in 
 mornmg, which 1 have not yet had time to read. But the temptat 
 to spend the evening in that pleasant house is too strong to resi 
 against my better judgment 1 allow myself to be poisuadcd, ; 
 seven o'clock finds me in the drawing-room at Berkeley Street; a 
 as iisual, J fmd iMr. Baxter there before me. 
 
 " 1 don't think you are working very hard,** I say to him in the 
 course ot the evening. , 
 
 ** I think w^e have both been rather idle lately/' he retorts, with his 
 boyish smile. 
 
 ** 1 have been here every day — I have no time to practice.** 
 
 *' And 1 have been here every day — 1 hare no time io paint." 
 
 ** But how arc you to make this great name for yourself it you do 
 BOi work?" 
 
 ** And you?" lie suggests, laughing. 
 
 *' Oh, 1 am not in any great hurry to make a name for myself 1" 
 
 *' I am glad to hear it. 1 hope you will never make a name foi 
 yourself at all." 
 
 '• Thank you!** 
 
 *' X mean that 1 hope you will never make that voice of ywirs pub 
 lie proptatj\" 
 
 ** What then is to become of me?** 1 ask, with laudable gravity. 
 
 '• Lit some man work for you," he says humedl}', his boyisj^iaco 
 flushing like a girl's. ** Give some man the chance of mafitog a 
 name for himself — for your saikel" 
 
 1 shake my head gravely, looking out into the twilight. 'We are 
 standing at an open window at flie upper end of the long mti^e-room. 
 All tlie rest ot the party are clustered round the piano at the lower 
 end, where some music-mad friend of Crauford's is playing Berlioz's 
 •' Symphonie Fantastique. *' These are all in a warm glow of candle- 
 light from the lights on the piano, but we, standing at this dislani 
 window, are illumined only by the low glimmer from a faint cleai 
 af'pie-green sky against whi^^ the houses stmd up picturesquely 
 
1^ 
 
 alt' pi. 
 
 *'ta.Mv 
 
 T 
 1 
 
 Tuf. 
 
 J&eaiiit 
 I lo<; 
 
 WOi'k i 
 
 '■ 'i< 
 
 me to 
 
 XLTC. i'l 
 
 ft; ":.-t aVyCTerijy>;!:;idov.-T chiniDev- 
 
 .t red ioveiy 
 ou tl/iiik tiiL ....^ J ^^^..^..j ..... v.. w ....... jw« 
 
 me, low and quiellv as the -worcfs are spoken. I 
 
 rk figu? e. Indtslincrin the tw. ilighJ • nucl tuddeiily 
 
 s. l:is .jtsprrtite pcr,'er:y, li.* j^wission- 
 
 , the ]ian(l uad Jttid me imo so.ic 
 
 tiiuu l.^iiuiu " oi WiiicU 1 have never dreauievi in all mf life 
 
 }>out it," 1 answer with truth. 
 • you marry me?" 
 es me so entirely by surprise that it coEveys no 
 
 ju niarry me, and ^^ive me the right to work for you?** 
 .1 o tlie career dark eyes of tiie lad who is so eiiger to 
 
 )• •; 1 it who cannot or will not work for hirnselt, 
 
 \il" 1 excliiim, with a cruel smile. " It seems tx> 
 > you can compass — " 
 
 You are very hitler; 1 think you take a pleaa- 
 
 i think you always did!" 
 
 .' i say, liolding cut my hand; it looks very "white 
 
 • l-iii light, as 1 am sure I look myself in my faiut 
 
 a. "It was kind ot you to wish to help me in 
 
 -uld—" 
 
 eriupt« passionately, taking the hand I have 
 aiini^ to pre'is his warm young Jips aizainst it. 
 Ailie, ii you call it kind to love you v.iih all the 
 niil" 
 
 V n me for so short n time,'* 1 say, draw- 
 
 .y. '* You can know nothing about me." 
 
 you — 1 know that 1 have loved a'Ou since the 
 
 '.net you her^ 1 believe I fell in love wilh youi 
 
 saw you, though Idrs. \Yauchope thought she 
 
 of that kind so cleverly m lliehud;" and he 
 
 •:>i I hoyhh laugh. I think oT *': -■■■■■'■ ' -n\ 
 
 \nt nreai solitary star, at the up 
 
 n sky. The q' " u;io of 
 
 a, the group ai)*' '"n to it 
 
 !]i iuli on ibt'ir pi cocci. 
 
 . the twilight v.-indow, t . . 
 
 ot u.e sky. 
 .1, Allie; but, if we cr<::. . each other, that 
 And 1 would work so hard lor you— 1 would 
 to become famous lor yoursr^'"— t'^'- '^'^ .vr.^i ^ 
 '.v'ilh such a ho|>e as liiut." 
 ! could " pile him a palace s 
 I as he standi thcie, so yc- 
 
 pfon?e would think ii«»'** 1 f^nj. smi'Wng, and 
 
 rk eyes. 
 :e happy we should car*) very little what otocr peopla 
 
iiiid. 'W'e ; _ , , , diooce to ^: 3r. it 
 
 nobody's bushufss hiii our.Oivn. 
 
 Purhaps UQ}^ yiltnce mys '* w^, .. ^ ........ ... .j; li< 
 
 comes nf^arer lo ine, bending his dark head (o 1( ^ *'&•«, as 
 
 he flid once b'fore in Ibis -■ - ' -— • ■ when ^vc■ -"^'it 
 
 bunch of withered violets. | 
 
 " Allie, couldn't .yon oare lor mc eiiougii lo . lianda 
 
 in mine and trrisl t«) me '?" « 
 
 Coviid 1? C.'jn 1? lie laker- me in his arav 
 eionateJy, and 1. Aliie Soiriors Seott of VVoodh;; 
 an air. azed docility which 1 could not have bell 
 night afpo. And i-^o we stand for *' one vaBt moT: 
 happiness; and then, with a hiugh which ends n. 
 away from me. 
 
 "Oh, this is foUy!" 1 exclaim, with rather 
 must be ennfes'^ed. "We are mad to ihink cI - ius u 
 
 minute. You have nothing, and j'^et 5'ou M-ani ourselt 
 
 with a wife wJiose only mode of earning her li\ • omn!" 
 
 'VMy wife sliali never sing for her bread !' ' t; ., 'J.irow.| 
 
 ing up his head. 
 
 " Then ]jow do you propose to live?'* 
 
 *' 1 shall live by my art " 
 
 •' But you must practice your art before you c; 
 
 '* And 1 intend lo practice it." 
 
 "And if you Mjf 
 
 *• I shall not fail with such an incentive to wor ' 
 
 •* You are ve.ry confident," 1 say, gazing into : '^hich h 
 
 dark as night under their black lashes, '* But ;: ou she. 
 
 aot succeed?" i 
 
 " 1 Fhall succeed." ! 
 
 '* But you seem to me ta be more anxious to^ ' 
 cious origi^nality than to conquer by sober work,' 
 
 " 1 cannot be conventional!" he exclaims, fro 
 have my own ideas about choice of subject and 
 with it.'^and 1 sliail ftdopt the ideas of no 01 her m 
 
 *' But your i< lea may not plea.'^.e the public." ■ 
 
 " If tb.c public cannot understiund me, it is the' f 
 
 " And, meau'.vhiie, you and those tjelongir 
 
 Ho is silent, looking down at me— at tLi 
 frn-vn who dares to stand there and call not oni.\ 
 ne. 3 of pHirpose in question, i>ut llie principles ot 
 
 " Truth nitist conquer m the end," he -says at I 
 
 "if it v; ^..f•kwl up by ddiberate, rue>-.]i:i!' \ici 
 
 to;]." 
 
 "1 v-",.t .^ i:-L tor yoi.1, AlL'e, if you wLi Ji^ 
 
 chance!" 
 
 " Villi you work for me. Gerard?" , 
 
 lie bends down and kis«u.'si my hair — a quick p; 
 
 ** As long as iliere is breath in my bod\', d: 
 
 ** Then 1 will ielJ you what i v.id do," 1 s '.Mhei 
 
 gtely. " Ou the day that you sell a picluie fo' :uijds, 
 
 it v;m come and ask me to marry you, Gcr. . i say 
 
FOE i.y.^ ;...^ ^J7B. ^5 
 
 ..... ...w . ■ >.. ot tUe hunclred pounds, AHicV -fic. 
 
 '* No," I answer, smilini; back again; *' bat boc _ rovo 
 
 ic Ui8 that you have begun to work." 
 ** "lou will marry mc liiwi, Allie? * 
 '•Yes." 
 
 "1 won't be Ion«? painlin? that picture!" In . lily. 
 
 *• ?■ \' v;\: ■'■'■, do you know- how Jmppy you have r 
 
 '\ ■ . in^ cio.se To me, liis urm.-; round n. ncp.d 
 
 >L my fair one, our two foou'sli hearh .iish 
 
 !»('. ftiUilled. 
 
 '11 to me fi-ora the other end of t 
 
 liicir u.,. >. ,. , ,.o from the piano and Crniilord's i 
 
 to peer itito our sliadowy space of twihi^ht. " Aii. 
 *GalWi WatcT.'" 
 
 I move down flie room :n my long dress, a nreseTico 
 
 with po f^-poc of darker color about it than th: 
 tu^kncid into iho coii ot liimy lace about the IIm 
 a darker liiiure which locks like its shadow in 
 of thi^ l.:)n<r !-'ia'.liv.vy room. 
 
 .1 to sing ' GaUa Water/ Aliic, o* 
 
 Ana 1 sit down and sing them with the carele>>.s "ir'sli 
 
 nnd lnito>fc:>rnce wlWioui whidi, Olive Dcane tei'a ' not; 
 
 ' AlJie Scoti. J3ut all the time 1 am thinking of ■ lii.;^- 
 
 ''t'S outlinfKi ; ■ •: taint gold-green Bky, of ;i ! 
 
 to red and ."of a voice tiuit 'had . [ 
 ■any me, Allici." aud of auolher voice that h, 
 
 " Your n.v,v.i Ii v--, come.'* 
 
 3ucii is Alary Vnue's greeting to me. in the hall oi O^irleton 
 
 ■ .,.t 
 
 :at !imif : 
 
 J OCT ;'■.!'.' ■r;;in the cor.ntry. Siio carae ar . ■. t^nd 
 
 iS that sMritr«(l to lind yoa had gone out!" 
 
 " But V- she come for? Is anything v 
 
 *' Noi •• :i the world. She swys she \^ 
 
 ) liave i\ room ready, iK^cun.' < . ' 
 
 '' 1 n^nrat. thinkiuur of ilio u' "' ■ 
 
 d, shesavs; but 1 think it!'^ 
 
 "^. W'auc- :. 
 
 SI 
 
 ,:ing abo .hat 
 
 of mind t-iie mubt hnve been in before j to 
 
 ;t> !i) t>-v-, ■■! suf'li ;i l!viM\! 
 
 ■c of the mo 
 
36 ion LI... .....^ :.- 
 
 The sop'^ " "viy be ambiguous; but Aunt Rosa does not per- 
 ceive it. 
 
 "So aiii J., iizic .says, when she has planted a cold kiss upon my 
 nose. " 1 did cot tliink you came up to Jjoudon to go to evt-ning- 
 parties.'* 
 
 "But I was with the Roilcjitons, anat — perfectly respectable 
 people." 
 
 •* Hump]] how did you eome home?" 
 
 " They senl ma home in their CM'riage — they a'lways do. '' 
 
 " .1 wrote to you yesterday. Is Iherc any thing the 'matter with the 
 pos'a I arraniremeuts ? ' * 
 
 '* N"ot that 1 know of, Aunt Ro.sa." 
 
 " Then 1 am to conclude that you never open my letters?" 
 
 " 1 wae in a hurry this morning — breakttist was late, and 1 was 
 afraid of being late at Madame Cronhehu's. I did glance through 
 your, letter; but I must have overlooked anything you said about 
 coming up to town." 
 
 She i^;r 3 iioihing to me about Mis. Wauchope's contraband 
 k)dgei; biJi I know, as well as it she had told me, that somebody 
 faas been- oil' cious imough to write and tell her ail about him. 1 sus- 
 pect Mrs. Den no; but 1 ask Aunt ROsa no questions, nor does she 
 volunteer auy inlormation to-night. 
 
 " It seems ]^'i:r.-j. Wauch<)pe has no spare room for me. In tho'^-' 
 circumsiriri;:^. '■:•—" 
 
 ** My :jI It03a, you can have my room. I will sleep hery 
 
 on the ; ju^t run in tlieie to dress. There is a dressing- 
 
 room — . perhaps I had better have a shake-down in the 
 
 drcs^iii; Mrs. vVauciiojie can manage it." 
 
 •' Shf ;• it m)w. 1 don't like that woman, Rosalie.^ She 
 
 nasair.- iongue." 
 
 " Si. (J ys been civil to me, Aunt Rosa." 
 
 ** Oli, you just let her do as she pleases! Have you been 
 
 Durniiia but Scotch coal since you came up to town?" 
 
 *' I li. • '•■■ 20Qd fires, mmtie." 
 
 ** I i.: :, it, then. That coal in the grate is- nothing but 
 
 rubbish, i; : u^.^ a iiare say you are paying the very highctl price for 
 it. And the V'a ."-iie gave me was execrable— perfectly execrable!" 
 
 '*Vv.i ,ch judge of tea. Aunt Rosa," I say, yawning. 
 
 "1 hop brotight me up some jam trom Woodlicy, thc'Jffh, 
 
 and some of oar own butter." 
 
 "I've dnn« 'iO Buch thing. You're coming hojuc . :. 
 
 0:oriow--t: ;i enough and too much of this folly, and your 
 
 lincle i.4 ve: , .....; .:e was ever foolishly | "''•'• ''ded into giving his 
 consent to it." 
 
 *' To i!;,^rrow, Aunt Rosa!'* 
 
 " Not r. >Iiy hiltT thnn tomorrow." 
 
 " But ';r/a": y m v. nut to see something of London, auntie?" 
 
 " 1 \\u::*, I ; -< iiir} last of it. I'm only sorry I didn't know what 
 1 know imw three weftks ago, and your ridiculous freak would ha^e 
 come to an end a crv-^at deal sooner. How youi' Uucie Todlnm-er 
 f-ouil ! L:;i ' o such an egregious piece of fciiy passes ir 
 
 f ( :;:^:' ' '■■'.' - 
 
 If she only knew that th; olen, ho 
 
LIFE AND LOVE. 37 
 
 ■er fiiie woiiiti liave mode in ! 
 s that Siic i3 ri;iht. 1 luivt» 
 (> wbnt hUq wouM consUler i 
 
 '•T!i;it ! 
 Which did wiu nij . 
 
 " 1 cnncot possibly go home lo-raorrow, Aur -ay, lay- 
 
 ■ rel-lmeil clonk nwl the f:u: 
 1 siiuc i c.Mtiie into ll;^ ronf> 
 ii iiiut I ttm IcaviDg tow! ^-by to 
 
 " You can write to thon both. A note vvil! ■ well," 
 
 '• T '^^■ "il fx.t 'v'iie. You can go borne to-inf ■'■ 5 v.*'^ ■' '- 
 
 f you do not caro to stay iu J 
 lu.i ,i.i/t;yo!i bi'iiiad mc, Rowalie.*' 
 " "^ ;y well, then: you ir.ust Ht«y liil the day 
 " jQiii your unt ' ' woixi by uxe that coiii'j noms 
 
 ! not £^0 7, " 1 repeat obs i Aunt Rosa, 
 
 ;e ot ol il bt'trer not to [. ^. 
 
 je nsy bi»v u«^hui. Tijis is tito iucu \^ 
 1 canu'^t f'o !i\v;!V wlthour, seeivii^ 1 ^ 
 
 V' it? 1 n;ay r <* to meet him. to- 
 
 ...v»,v; nr^^' ^'' -^ ' .,..,. » -o forced I o go av '■"■;• 
 
 m gfto:; w fhirt evening that our ■ 
 
 't b': ' - i .1 Jill nc.t dream tluit it would he : 
 
 " 1 !i Tvon't be vejy uncomfortable, A 
 
 "'■ as yoiir -■ ■ 
 
 are you. And 1 have improred 
 siniH! i v,,^nt to Mndame Uronhchn's." 
 
 :t Rosa snits, sitting bolt upright io the . -lioomtort;.: 
 
 lir in the room. -^ 
 
 '* 1 thir 
 
 jIj 2 ,,.;:5 ,„-, .^ :,.^ " oV.^ c-..-^ •< *ri.o* , 
 
 ■rr/^*>'W\»^ f-»rtt» rf-^ 
 
 fited me out." 
 
 
 1 li^rht 
 
 her btjurco!^} rr;::;u;0 v i::i aiacrity, r 
 
 ■ie iicr ir;!o 
 
 ^ innf r 
 
 room. A lit tie curiin bed baa bcfn 
 
 .>r me in li;'^ 
 
 tir 
 
 : but, be* ■ !o bed, and 
 
 
 Ii 
 
 k. liJT i : oienta, 1 or' 
 
 
 in 
 
 •room, and, silling on the rui:. 
 
 
 pa, , 
 
 •.k ot those J wo lijrures in that tmi 
 
 .'■■■■' i 
 
 « tooJi?h promise made only to bo. broken. Bui it he comes to ine^ 
 Bkall I not say "licri''? \f he keeps his share of ^he airrecn.rn': , 
 shall 1 not keep minoV A foolish Imppy smile curves my \\[)a in \i.c 
 
 ■' v;- •:■:-. _ij,e lipg that he bas kissed by the li;:ht of that grr.it 
 
 i^-star. Yes, 1 will keep my promise, Geriu-d. Jiut 
 u keep yours? 
 
 to Madame CronhcUn's in the morning. 
 
 i'-!-'. Tho lvOileStOU3 ;<{C so-rv T ", 
 
especiallVc ^Ii. Baxier i^ nui at Ijcrkcic}- Si root, nor docs any odq 
 mention" his ua?Tie. 1 oonie back to luncheon at Carletou Btree!, 
 though the Roilestons try hard to keep me, aiid have just linisiied 
 that long tie] ay ed meal when Mary Anne conies in with a card \a 
 lier griniy hand, which she proflreif) to me. 
 
 " Who is it?" Aunt liosa iisks suspiciously. 
 
 " The sentleman upstaiis," Mary Anne answers, with malicious 
 enjoyment m either squinting eye. 
 
 •*\VhoV" Aunt Rosa exchdms, letting her knitting fall into her 
 lap in the extremity of her amazement. 
 
 *' Ask Mr. Baxter to walk in," 1 say quietly. " Aunt Rosa, this 
 is my Iriend Mr. Baxter. lUr. Baxter — Tsliss t'lerrick." 
 
 Gerard Bax'.er bows. Aunt Rosa inciiacs her head stiffly, her eyes 
 blazing through her spectacles like the eyes of her own cat Mull 
 when he is vexed. 
 
 '* 1 was son}'' to hear that you were going away,** Gerard Baxter 
 says, as he niuks into a chair beside me. 
 
 •* Yes," 1 auswcr, laughing. " My laave is stopped!** 
 
 Aunt Rosa is rather deaf. Unless we speak in a kind of raised, 
 sustained tone, Bhe can hear very little of what we say; and 1 do not 
 think it nect^^sary to do this — all the time. 
 
 ** 1 hjid a great deal of assurance to venture to call upon ycUj 
 hadn't 1?'' Gerard says, smiling. 
 
 *' 1 bhould have beeu sorry not to hav(3 wished you good-by.'* 
 
 '* Allie, may-vi write to you sometimes?" 
 
 '* Oh, no; I think not!" 1 answer hurriedly. " 1 coj!<^ no" answer 
 your lettei-s.'* 
 
 "But how am 1 to live without either seeing c Leaving from 
 you?" 
 
 " You mvuit work,*' 1 say, smiling a kittle; but tneie are tears in 
 my eyes. 
 
 " 1 intend to work. 1 have been wild enough, Allie— you don'S 
 know how much of the Bohemian tnere is in iiie — but the thougbt 
 of 3"ou will steady me, d^arling; while i love you 1 shall hale evei 
 thing 1 know you would not like." 
 
 Something in the admission, frank as it is, saddens me. Is I 
 love for me really great enough to work such a change in him ho 
 this? if ho forgets me, will he not relapse into his eld idle ways, 
 and then h.i sorry, and so despair of ever doing imy good? 
 
 " Gcrtu'd. v.'ill you promise to let me know the day that you f 
 get mc;" 
 
 "For 
 
 ** If yoii vio ioigti ine, promise to teH me so at once.*' 
 
 "1 do r^rnKse; but that da}' wiil never corac, darlinir. I f.i^;-. 
 never h. woman but you, Allie, and 1 never shall 
 
 ^ Auni . . .iiws upon us, speechless with wrath ^"i 
 
 tion. W iicit aie we whispermg about, this torcign-lo. 
 unubaslicd young pian and 1? "We make the conv.- -aw,;;, im 
 jccneral after this; and in about twenty minutes Gerard gets up 
 
 " Gc^i: :.8 says, holding out his ving p« 
 
 i^;oc(l I . .[ Rosa. "It is hard that v. 
 
 %r ^^no^; . ; ^ ',...:! this, Allie- isn't it?" 
 
FOR LIFB AKD LOVB. B' 
 
 My eyes ay« mil of foolish teors, so full that 1 am at - wJTi 
 
 flow over nnil attract Aunt iiosa's atteutioa. But Aua, ..^..„ ^s iiol 
 lookiniijat me. 
 
 ** Gooil-by:" 1 echo mechanically. 
 
 And so hf leave* me, and returns to his studio and his unSnished 
 pictures, while 1 pack away a lew tears into my portmanteau— -th« 
 firet 1 have shed bince 1 was a child. 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 *' Well, Allic, the more I look at you, the mote i t&i;:k you 'Jixg 
 most exiraordinary girl in the world!" 
 •■ Extraordinary, Olive?" 
 
 *' To think you could have been satisfied with those t^, rctckaci old 
 rooius in Carleion Sirect when you had such a Inline as thial" 
 " I n :is very happy in Carleion Street," 1 auj>w..*r dreamily. 
 ** ILiy.-y! Because that boy was there." 
 
 " And i was not a bit obliged to your mother for bringing Aunt 
 Rosa down upon Lne." 
 
 " But maratna did not like your belns; there alone, Allie." 
 •' What nonsense 1 1 am my own mistrcj^s, Oiive, and can do as 
 Hike." » 
 
 " Not till to morrow, my dear," Olive laughs. ** After to-mor 
 row, 3'ou can p!e;\»<3 yoiirseit." 
 " And I n do it, 1 jissnre you.'* 
 
 We ai\ ': from the vicarage to Woodhay— it is only a ferv 
 
 minutes' \ .uk throu-ih the wood. It is June weather— - 
 weather; all my woovis are a mystic tangle otjireen leaf an^. 
 and lii' ;.;'Li-dropping sunshine, all my nicadows are bloomy p;; 
 " '■ . ' for the scythe." Jjctwecn Woo<ihay and the vicii...... 
 
 a little rushing brook, and beyond the brook, on my sid 
 ' ■ ' '"et ot woodland runs up steeply, with a wealth o 
 - and tangled foliage throwing their shadow fnv 
 y combe. It is up this southern slope that we are 
 ) path overhung with woodland tatiirle ot wood- 
 .• bramble, with a thousand liny fern^ and velvet 
 ; 11'* from the crevice of every lieheu-^r^iticd r rk, 
 : of that boy of yours, AilieY" < 
 ' steep logxither. baSiied in alterc, 
 
 i repeat inanel}-. 
 
 to be great friends, you know, though I think yo: 
 
 ru jack Hollestou used to cimf? him ' 
 
 allv cared awfuUv for jou, Ailie, j 
 ■ ' i-at tool, olive!" 
 
 .. hadn't much 8*»tv«p! But you know that 
 :. to Brighton for P 1 
 
 .»rking himselt into a 
 
 . , and ii;e«nt to : 
 
 ilil !ueV' 1 r:'iviMi\v .- ..,__ ..'Tfthonng 
 
 ■ does. 
 
 ;,"0!iv^ ■'"i:5"-^^"'>^iond6 
 
iO FOR LIFE AKD LOYE. 
 
 head, *' Poor fellow,! think lie met with some dl^snppomtmeiit 
 about his pi('.ture--he was ol liged to sell it or soiiieliiiiig, aud they 
 only gave him eighty for it, whereas Jack said he valued it at ov©r 
 a hundred, and it would not have been a penny too much," 
 
 A little sharp pain runs tluxnigh my heart like a knife. This was 
 what 1 had dreaded — tliis reaction alter possible disuppointment. 
 
 •' 1 am sure you are sorry for him, ^YJlie," Olive says, looking at 
 me. '* We used to call him 3^our handsome sweelbejirt, you know — 
 poor boy, he used to follow you about like your shadow!" 
 
 " You speak of 1dm ?•« if he were dead, 01i\c," 1 say a little 
 sharply. 
 
 *' 1 am afraid he is gring to the bad, and that is worse,** Olive 
 observes soberly. " 1 met Jack RoliestOD the other evening, and he 
 told me he hardly ever saw Gerard Baxter now, that he never came 
 to Berkeley Street, and Ihat he was afraid he had got into a very 
 \rild set, and was going downhill as fast as he could." ■ 
 
 Olive is preceding m<3 up the steep path, and has enough to do to 
 maintain her tooting, without turning her head to look at me. I am 
 glad of it. If she had looked at me, she must have noticed the ex- 
 ceeding whiteness of my face. 
 
 *' It Is a great pity, you know," she went on — Olive likes to heai 
 herselt talk. " He is so young, and so remarkably good looking! 
 Katie Rolleston told me — you know she came down to Brighton the 
 day before 1 left— that he y>a9sed her in Regent l^tre^t tke other day, 
 and it quite made her heart ache to 3ee how shabby he was. She 
 said she would have spoken to him, even in such a seedy coat; but* 
 he passed by without looking at her. 1 suppose he knew he was 
 rather a disrepufcdble-looking figure to be seen speaking to any lady 
 ia -ne street." 
 
 " Is he still lodging in Car-let on Street?" 
 
 " 1 do not know, Jack knows very little about him. He says ho 
 doesn't like to- seem as if he were prying into hi-s ail'airs, aL.d he is 
 such a proud fellow. Jack says it would ho as much as his life is 
 wortti to offei* him a good luncheon at a restaurant, and that ho 
 would Jie pure to guess it was because he looked half starved." 
 
 " r>oes he look like tliat?" i ask, infinitely distressed. 
 
 ** Well, he looks very thin," Olive says, laughing a little. ** I say, 
 Alli«, they are putting up triumphal arches here; did you know 
 that?" 
 
 " 1 heard they intended doing it. We witl come round by the 
 garden, Oli^e. 1 don't waat them to surround us like a swarm 
 bees." 
 
 Taming from the glimpse ot the lawn and carriage- drive, seen be- 
 tween the steins of the walnut-trees, 1 open a little gate loading into 
 a long straight walk wailed by tall, green, fragi'ant hedges of box 
 and yew, 
 
 " DoJtt't ymi mean to let th&m s«e y©u, Allie?" 
 
 ** Not to^-day, if J can help it. 1 shall have enough and too much 
 ^f that to-morrow," 
 
 '* JVIy dear, you talti as it coming of age were a grievance!'* 
 
 ** It is a nuisance to me, Olive," 
 
 *' You will teli me that Woodhay is a nuir^ance to you nextl" 
 * Gi;» so; 1 should not care to givts up vl^^o s, -•>' 
 
) vii i.ibi<i ,".->! LOVB. 41 
 
 "i sLou.a luiriK cotl'* OUve Tfliijartifl, as we pass ircm the coo? 
 
 i'Cluded frr\?en wullc, (hrouw^h a tail urchway cut in the hedge, ami 
 
 tind ourseivc'ti in a blazo ot sunshine and scarlet geranium, -mk] 
 
 brown Vf'vet culceclaria, and blu« lobelia, and a h\mdred oliiei 
 
 radiant bloss.oins. 
 
 " A Hie, v.'heo are you coming to live here at Woodhay?" 
 
 •' To live lieri^?"" 1 repeat absently, jay eyes on the gilded weather- 
 
 ,^^,. xv:,.cii ivsinklca like a star on (he point of my quaint rod brick 
 
 1 »'u have done nolhing but echo me since -we left the vicarage 
 
 Vhen urc. yv.n going to tak« up youi- abode here in your own manof 
 - -'"-'■ * ■ ■ • 
 
 ow. Not till Uncle Tod is too old to do duly, proba- 
 i)ly. lie .> ui never leave the vicarage till tlten." 
 '" But c.iu'r you live here without your Uncle Tod?'* 
 **By mv.s' If, Oliye?" 
 
 •* You could get lots ot nics elderly ladies to come and live with 
 you." 
 " 1 think one would be enoughl" 1 say, shrugging my shoiUders. 
 '* Of eourbe I incuu one — at a time. VVliy wouldn't your Aunt 
 '^ id live with you here?" 
 
 I would not leave Uncle Tod." 
 
 ^ jret ihe '^ I Ilj'aciith Lockhart to ccm« 
 
 ■ at the V . 
 " 1 (i< u . . ouki. The iioverend Hyacinth has set up for 
 
 hhnscrlt in r -you know the pretty cottage near the church, 
 
 just out-i k' i. i? >,•;;. rage uateV" 
 
 ** Going :*. iiw.vrj BomebodyV" Olive inquires, with great inteiest. 
 *' Very probacy, though 1 have not heard anything about it— as 
 -et." 
 ** 1 hope be I-? not ffoing to marry anybody," Olive say* pathetic- 
 'ly. •* I half as much fun wlien I come down here 
 
 i therf ' .;th Lockhart." 
 
 " '; , you iv.fuse him last summer, my dear?" 
 
 •' < quite prepared to marry him, 3^ou know! But I 
 
 'on't vo::: i ;;u ro iiiarry anylK)dy else." 
 *' V'; ' .' dog in-tho manner! Come in and have some straw- 
 1 told off Digues «ve should want any amount of 
 
 The ol ;l butler, who has lived at Woodhay as long aa 
 
 ^ - .[;a a great deal Fonger — meets us in the hall. 
 
 •on, IHggcs. Where are the ctra wherries and 
 . e-um ? ■ ' 
 ** In h"re. madam," Digges says, throwing open the door of tha 
 
 low Toom, with carved rafters and a high bbrk onk 
 ^ it rath«»r a somber look. But tli- .a 
 
 "^ in through the stained alass of the ; ;i- 
 
 iiid talis in blue and purple and ruby i*ays of 
 le of the iioor, on the hcary quaint furni'iiro 
 8 of mv ancestors and anccstrcsser? huPirins 
 
 " • ---il! iu :h ■ ' ' ' 
 
 loroJtith 
 
42 
 
 inio more or'.cr:M:on, ^liiie, u. ve ej;'.!'vve.s, r 
 b'on.le henri at llie familj'' poi1i>!'i». *' li: 1 b 
 I b'jcioubieied ijidies iiuu gen-ieuieo lo 
 • ith such ' awful ■j^pet'iilaf^m ' in th 
 ill ink i would be a great deal more siiS and ^ 
 ill ail vou AVI'..*' 
 
 " ] n ■ look at them,'* 1 confess candiflly, Ic 
 
 <'Tiair, TiJ.a i:;ok?lni!; al tliefii uovv howevei'. " Wt . 
 
 •>!ive— (here's not a doubt about it! Hideously 
 
 ■1 ?tn(i VvOincQl" 
 
 i p;;ppa-o you mean to say that you are plain, 
 
 at me over l;fjr shoulder. 
 
 " I m no lii^uty, >uy dear. Look at the extr 
 thafe b'ue ligiit from th.o window on my great p- 
 fare! I)oi-:;n't i!, lor>k exacliy ns if somcboJy hnci 
 e} V- ? ' ' 
 ' " lAy dr-ar Allie, if Digircs could hear you!" 
 
 ' I'm not going to let Dlgges hear me; beeM 
 Aunt Rosa." 
 
 " Is not that the Lidy whose eyes have made 
 in yo-.i, Allle, after lying dormant in iho tjimiiy.r<> 
 or ^o?" 
 
 ' ' i believe so. xlnd 1 have heard that sh3 was tl 
 w;\:r.nn of the age In whi<"h she lived." 
 
 '■ Her eyefs are exactly the color o/ j^ours, Allie- 
 bl.'o i;ray, like an autiurin io%.'* 
 
 "it does not sound wel!," 1 laugh, shru|:?gi' 
 *• Fo!2'gy e'yes don't give one the idea of an}tl 
 Olive, you don't mean to say you can't eat any m 
 *' ] am reduc/fd to that de| lorable plight, my dv 
 i.ooking at the table, with its delicate appoint!- 
 • Iver, ili* driiaty tlovi'^ers, the cake and cream and 
 " • ■ . my hedit aches, tiunking of m\' '>-• 
 •re is food and tt> spava in my ; 
 ' on the fat of the ,]tvnd. The Lhou^^ 
 tin Jhiou.n'h my heiirt again. 
 
 va and see vrhj-.t they have don^ 
 
 priin 
 
 ilher'b 
 black 
 
 as deaf ai» 
 
 a^^aia 
 
 j^ headed 
 
 .ide of 
 
 aes! of 
 
 
 Ofire .ssya, ireMin;^- up from the 
 • {'r« iire to be aonjcthing splendid- 
 :.t till' ]i5of?o('>4 t:nd ^..^.g." 
 
 they 
 r the 
 
 • 1 >'\-y.i^a ;!:;(' exc:'c-;;nL;iv to si!;;:;f' yo'i! 
 ■cail my r6$prvf.ab'e arioe^sfoiti, OHve?" 
 ' is^ioie thf-.m nil. Oh, Allie, 1 lor:^ot io r min. 
 to '-.^ coni'ectiourr! "We left it lying on the at^wly 
 
 "It v;iil be late lor past tlien "unless 1 : 
 Un-h To^l to t-hii p«;-ugf^ of it," 
 
 a.sks readily. 
 
nciwf ! 
 
 ni. V.-;; 
 
 1 th;f 1 
 
 ;ue before he 
 he T\-ouUl hiivs- 
 
 . iiiciiitle noisy brown rivev 
 ■t. tl« 0^■ •' -• • r.cka w!? 
 
 . finii tr , .■■■ ot biii 
 
 ■';, I niii i;...i::i!)^^ ot c 
 a droHiuini;' for the !: 
 tiic qiu'rition whioh not 
 ■ i!'i Jie not. have found iv. 
 10 tell me, in tlie .nloornN 
 vj 1 hey not tli« very i as l .. 
 il-by V lie Ims not ior^^otl en 
 
 _._ . . iiie— KG 1 rcpM-at to myself for: 
 
 tiie liionght is in my lieart, 1 ruiKo my oye*jan(l sc- 
 ''ore in(% ■ ■ ' : at and shabby, in Uie soft 
 
 ■, tf i?U' V, ' 1. 
 
 " ' . and yet,. the realify of Lis 
 
 Ktf*r L Had he been to my ihcivzi; 
 
 H-3 juuwcis ijoiijiu,£^, not a sinde word, onl; 
 r/ rae tii it 1 "s^-ere a.gbosii But it is lic T,i;o 
 bis tonner salf. 
 
 " GciarV "''Te bave j^-> 
 hero?' 
 
 " 1 have cu;i.(! from London, nu duswx-if-, 
 -ri his fice — " from London, to sco 3'ou." 
 
 "jter cliiil:i me, and scua 
 
 on my 
 
 n.i o'l 
 . Hafl 
 t. If 
 is-ro? 
 ^ni in 
 
 ;.l in 
 
 a-r be- 
 ladow 
 
 nrcely 
 
 .rai Llci' 
 
 '■ \oa I. a. 
 
 " No," he 
 " 1 shall nev(. 
 
 1 am <"'>i^- 
 him, an;: 
 
 > led me Uiat you have f' 
 , a duisky red coming ini: 
 ( i)me to teli you tiuiL" 
 • >' -^ '">! a fecdng of reliei'. 1 
 :icr hiul secined like the 
 
 .1 (:!i(>c^ 
 
 liaud 
 
 ' :u)(l .^badow, looking wit 
 
 ' TCpP^U, ?»,lniC£J 
 
 ii^iit i'l ; " 1 wi 
 
 " iiui i e..;i; ; ;•• i ^.-.. . 
 
 Vttor ad, what docs :)rjv;)!ijij: mntier, if we lo 
 
 *• It wo In '^ ..r ....'••. *.. 
 
 eyes devoni'^ 
 
 "If yoii 1 i, i can lo: 
 
 " I tried 1; .s bixikon'y, 
 
 tried hnnl lo i .. \va!;l.y wf you, Al/uv ' 
 *• I kno'.v yni; f^<r^'' 1 nnr^wer lenderL 
 
 Ociard— 1 ha 
 
 ni in 
 ,10 his 
 
 v.:y-"l 
 al?out iff 
 
It was a bad day lor you "wben you caietJ 
 
 <:>r u)e — ■ ■ -u «-yiv. '" 
 
 " I dk; Olid gravelv, Lojdin^ my heart as high as his 
 
 or yon, ixu^ I caj"e for you still!" 
 ,^^. ..... ... cxcluims quickly aud pasMOnalely, stretchinir 
 
 ut tiis iiaods as if to ke^p rny words away. " 1 am not worthy o 
 ou — ^3'outmist not. waste aooiLer thought on such a miserablo dc- 
 radeci vrrtit.ch as 1 am!" 
 
 " But if I iox^8 vou, Gerard?" 
 
 * Bill yon do not know how low I have fallen, child, " 
 
 " Not so lo-y l(!ix that 1 can reach to lift you up, with Heaven's 
 
 ip," i F.iij, ifi iiie same grave tender 'quiet way. " Do not thrust 
 \c away, C'crard. 1 should DOt be a woman if 1 turned Irmu you 
 eca\ise you were unfortunate — if you liad been ioitunate i might 
 ot have cared for you halt as much." 
 
 " You are an angel!" he returns brokenly; but lay head is turned 
 way from me. lie makes no movement to cross the yard or two of 
 .!Ossy p;i''- •" ^ ""lint of sunshine nnd flicker of dancing shadow, 
 
 liich dr. rr-m each other. 
 
 " You i i'ered since 1 saw you last," 1 say, with a pilif u' 
 
 ■ance at . ii hollow cheeks and faded eye.s. 
 
 '* SuffetL^.! ' lit- echoes, with an indescribable intnnation. " Allie, 
 : VOU cared lor me — us you say you did — wLv didn't you nuirry 
 
 ■' li:i.rdea to wlut' .. ..../, '^,^k 
 
 v.\<(, of poverty? What lun.i^^ n nu .:, id starved 
 
 'getuar! nild not have starred — you would have given 
 
 ivLii. And if we had s'tarved one day, we shoul ' 
 
 •xt — we feho'.dd have been liUe tv.o ciiiklren — \v; 
 
 ouiu b. and laughed lOgPiL'Ml vTe should have been 
 
 ■ppy. A ■'"C v.'e should have jo^^ed each other; hut we have 
 
 '--n tcr 
 
 , /. It it had not 
 
 QCel shoultl have thought that he was mad, or 
 ' -o much wine. But 1 do '^"i ''■•^' ••■^ look, or 
 lis eye^. 
 
 ■J, stretching out my liaLn: lo lir.u, "There 
 vho w^ould say that J had acted wisely;' but 1 
 .0 ' ui ' { did not. 1 ought to have married you, or 
 
 rbidt"! : of me at nil." 
 
 1 i lose ha «:gord hunjiry eyes — looks at mv face, 
 
 'jsiio movement to lake my out.*tretcheii hand. 
 
 lecture. Aide. I wisli 1 coukl piiint you in tha- 
 
 - - all those tangled leaves for backgi-ound, youi 
 
 ad ihM; ) dclicatc'ly agj^inst that patcii of pale biue*sky. 
 
 )u look nd ."^vveet 9jk1 good. Wiiat right had 1 to drag 
 
 u (urM) a life ot struggle and poverty with met" 
 
 ' '' ' 1 ought *o have been glad to shai*e it. 1 ought 
 
 "'U alone Jo baitle v.ilh poverty and (rmptnlion. 
 
 ;, sMfish /Tiif.takp 1 made^th " s me 
 
above ali waui i inis:bt have placed him— i;.:); 
 
 bttve stiug^icd with the woiid which has treat 
 
 *' Aud jut, ii" I loved you as 1 ought," he says \ ht 
 
 be glad to see you "here — hoppy amoug all ' y 
 
 things. I wondei, he adds, v/ith a short cold thakt you 
 
 even condescend to speak to a poor shabby ov.t ;; v.: etch. 
 
 like me?" 
 
 " Do jou wonder?" 1 ansvrer a little cole.,. ^^^ .,^. 
 have but a poor opinion of rae, Mr. Baxter." 
 
 *' 1 was 9o sure you had forgotten me. Tou had sefimed to t ..: 
 for me so little always — it was 1 wl)0 had cared tor you. I said ( 
 If ' She will despifee me— she will not believe ' ny more.' 
 
 I hat unido mo reckless — 1 did not c&re what at me — I 
 
 .o not care now." 
 "But I care." 
 
 " Do you?" ho asks a little curiously, looking down into my 
 face. 
 
 ** How often must I tell you 1 love you, Gernrd?" 
 " But you must hate me, Allie, from this day for-'"- • " 
 " Did you come here to tell nie this?" 
 
 " 1 came here because 1 felt that 1 must see yo' > you 
 
 now that it is nearly three mouths ::ince 1 saw yo. 
 How well I know it! But 1 only ask gravely ami co^di}'— 
 *' Hovv-- did you find me out?" 
 
 vv you lived here with 3'our uncle. You told me he w;i 
 yman of this place." 
 " Where are you staying? At Yattenden?" 
 *' At the inn there. 1 came down to make > . ... ,. 
 
 Hi- ::il)orhood," he adds, smiling— a very faint : a\ gml], 
 
 ' ihere are some pretty bits about here — at AVt •.<> Uiey teii 
 
 m^. But 1 suppose 1 could not venture to carry n and' easel 
 
 in here without the owner's Jeave?" 
 " 1 can get that for you very easily." 
 '■' 1. suppose you know tlie j)eople who live here?" 
 " I know every onp in the neighborhood." 
 
 " The sketches are not ct much moment — it was to see you that 
 T. fame. 1 had something to tell you — eomethin" T imwr s-iy to 
 ou—" 
 
 " And 1," I interrupt, with a happy thrill at m l. w. — i have 
 )methlng to say to you, Gerard. But 1 have a fancy lor saying it 
 I'; morrow— you will know why afterward. 11 yon come here to 
 mon'ow, I will tell you a— secret." 
 
 will keep till to-mofrow," he s. 
 1 w!>ich a drowning man will cai 
 it wili be soni .^ live for, to think that i 
 
 ** If you CO' . fxxlhay lo morrow, you v, 
 
 " 1 am in no trim for fetes," he answers, bitterly -lance at 
 
 liii threadbare sleeve. 
 
 *' Oh. th<'re will be all kinds of people here t 
 " Even beggars like me! Is it a school i"' 
 
 '* The ownt'r of the place is coming ot ot notice 
 
 '^ rlumji^ai arches they are putting up ail iiio:ig lucroaa Irom tiio 
 
46 FOLi ::VK. 
 
 " !No, i vHnie licroir^s the fic'ds iroui Jbe vilujgtj. iViy landlord 
 told me tibtre was a rijfbi of-vruy, cvei; .m' t^uch trwinps us J." 
 
 " 1 am sure mine bosi of tiie ' hjta^'.s tiwui ' d:ti uol say auything 
 so uncivi;. >'-'^" ^ -hoiild you iiuveuoLLe ii' yju liad uotmetme here 
 to-day?" 
 
 " Loaica jinout me victiruge tii! I did meet yon," lie aiiswers, 
 •with a gieam of the old boyish fuu in his hoi low eyes. 
 
 His iiiuniier would have saddened me if 1 did not know how he 
 will langh at his waut of faith in ine to-mono^v. 
 
 " I must go," I say at last, thinking how Olive wdl wonder what 
 has becomeof me; '" but you will be sure to come lo-morrow?" 
 
 "1 will come," he promises, looking at me with the sad eyes 
 which trouble mo. "1 shall see you to-morrow, Allie, and after 
 that— the Deluge." 
 
 But that is not the programme I arrange for myselt, as 1 run up 
 the pa.th through the vicarage garden, between the cabbages and 
 rows of currant and gooseberry busiies. 
 
 CHAPTEIl VII. 
 
 '^' Allie, you have an amazing power of adaptability.'* 
 *' How do you mean?" 
 
 " Why, to-day you look as if you had been acting the Lady- 
 Bountiful all your lite." 
 
 *' Becfiuse a'set of old men and women and school -children don't 
 make me neivous?" 
 
 •' But, when the band struck up and they began to cheer, I declare 
 it nearly made me cry ! And you were as cool as a block of W^en- 
 ham Lake ice — you never even changed color, while 1 was trembliBg 
 like a leaf." 
 
 " Every one is not audi a goose as you are, Olive." 
 Uncle Tod has just returned thanks, in my name, for the cca- 
 iratulatory speech which Mr. Prout, the steward, has delivered, and 
 AG welcome and good wii^hes for my future happiness which he h:^" 
 xpressed on behalf of himself and ot my tenantry, who have ei) 
 a?.isized each card uUy-prcpared compliment and laboied pleasantry 
 vith rnth'^r ir.dis^rTivninating cheers and laughtcT. But, if they are 
 mused, ■ id only an^tious to get it all over as quickly 
 
 s 1 cr.n. 
 
 I am s^acding with Uncle Tod on the low balcT^ny or terrace h.- 
 fore the hall -dour, at Ihe top of tjie wide shallow flight of stone ster 
 . ading dov.n to the drive. A crowd of well-dressed people stand 
 ohind 1! ' •■ ■ " nearest to me. Aunt Rosa is in the open drawing- 
 oom wi :i a whole party of elderly ladic*s; there are f ac 
 
 > V of the pic'turoscnie old red-brick house. But th; 
 the sea of faces in front of us; the whole village — an 
 jI only liic village, but the country-side — set^ms to have tniued out 
 -> welcome rr^y r.'.Uicr's child to the house from whicli they hud seen 
 -those oi them who were old eaougii to remembf 
 ■ tears and lumcntations <^f a t^nunlry which idoi 
 ized him a«, i amiifraid, lliey will never idolize me. 
 1 sij'Ti;! (i\,'u\ .Muietly at Uncle Tod's elbow, looking down at the 
 
I'OB LITE AXD LOVE. 
 
 crow : (be dear old man. bareheaded, his silver lock* glisten 
 
 UK' •- lie 5;iiDJili:ne, snys hh few pleasant fathei ly wordx to tho 
 
 ■, sur.I irfclvos u iKsurtj cJj«er or two, at which he sniiks, 
 
 ^ ^ •. Then the crowd scatter jiway lo the rt.rious iiniud*- 
 
 ri d f(<r them, which Jirc to occupy the time betore tin 
 
 ■.'S in tiie niatTTipog on the lavrn. 
 
 and SOP the ciiiMrt-n dance!" Olive says; and she and I 
 
 u\ half a dozen oihtis— Gv.s Deane and young Algy Dullcrin and 
 
 -.Ir., Lockhart amona: Uietn— m;ike our way to ttie old croquet- 
 
 ^onnd, where the riiildren rich and poor, are dancing merrily to 
 
 *?ic muwic of the vi.'laiAe lirass-band. 
 
 " What are you looking for?" Giis Deane asks, standing besid 
 
 '•♦Looking for?" 
 
 " You seem to be searching in the crowd for some one or some- 
 ;ing." 
 
 "Oh, J cxptTted a triend here tv^-day!" 1 answered carelessly. 
 1 dare say he is here — somewhere in the crowd." 
 '* Will he not come up and speak to youV" Gus questions, sur- 
 piised. 
 
 " Of course— by-and-bj'." 
 
 Island up, very tall and straight, in the cltai >inn-v mai is left 
 for nin wherever 1 move tD-da}'. The sunshine gilds my birthday 
 1 the woods aie bathed in it; it dreams on the smooth 
 a lip I lie green Iriumplial arches and the leci and white 
 m long ieiiioons airainst the cloudless blue ot the sky. 
 ne very cool and quiet; but she dots not know how 
 iL"; un'ler my cream-colored bodice sIumIkuI wit' 
 .. ... tx'atlng becau^ic 1 am the c» nter oT attraction her 
 
 ) day, ri :: at llie sound ot the jnusic or the cheering, but 
 
 ' ■■ hirig for an opportunity to steal awt y to meet my 
 
 Aix)d— my lover who is t^aiting theie lor me. 
 
 1 shabby and hj'.ggard and unfortunate — 1 love 
 (1 Mi'ver have loved him if he had betn well- 
 perous— ^lis 1 could never hfive loved ai: 
 . 3'oung men who are cro'vdinT .'''^'Ut r; 
 Mien lovc best wljHt most cx' 
 ujx)u ihem for comfort and < 
 am everything to him— because, un 
 • 1 long to take him by th<' ha'vi ; 
 He shall suller no more { 
 I to hand with want and ' 
 ■ lore! 1 will help him t- 
 
 vff (^nt 1 am fbe Tirro* 
 
 .cs have ;• 
 
 >..vpicion oi . ) 
 
 will wonder at m^ 
 
4:8 '^ ¥0R LIFE A'SCD I.GVE. 
 
 Hubfina '.iat? linftd with the sairm &is3^ey hue Rrd r>'7i*v«<>f! xtr^ih. soft 
 c-'r i) Oo not come out ©f quiet r< —even 
 
 1; i;!rn . ;0w- as R)uch as tbatj Bnt 1. look- 
 
 ^1 well. Uhve bf.'s told iTie tlmt shtt D(r dl 
 
 L^ior!^ ;!t> 1 am i(»okmg io.-duy. 
 
 i mp away irom thfjm all i\t kist, into the f.Mrt" n the long, 
 
 cool, jivoni.'tiic ailf.y of bo<^ and yew, imo tlje ^. r. ;,lu1 eraorald 
 mu/^-ea oj: the wood. The path is very sleep: but i hurry clown it — 
 down into the cool depths of my f^liiidowy co: '^e is there 
 
 \vaii.iti;4- tot me, li^aning ovw a bit of ivied wall. Jowd into 
 
 lh« river — '.he noi\r rushing livisr^ which d:o -:ant Xuusic 
 
 aad ihe hum of the crowd. 
 
 " Gerard,'* I cry joytuHy— " GciardI" 
 
 H(5 turns nt tlie sound of my vokx?. 
 
 " Why didn't you com€ and see us raakii-; up at the 
 
 liouse?" 
 
 " 1 did not. caro to ^o; 1 have bo heart, for merry-makiDg/' he 
 KH^s a liule sallenly, lookina; at ms, " Tliey ■vvere iriakjng 8nch a 
 3'!!i;se, shoutinp; and dancing. Aiid you — I suppose you were i*> the 
 middle oil r, aliv" 
 
 '• Yes," 1 answer, smilinc: n liltle — " in th' 
 
 " You look like it. Wi;y tire yoc dressed ( 
 
 " Everj'body puts on grS-^, at! ire tor ?ueh a : 
 
 " Tlien i! vras weli i did not vanture in ymor,/,^ ',y ra^ft!'* 
 
 "(rCMVird." I f^ay, lakinn; him by the hsuxd qu "">^. v..--:in 
 
 me: i want lo teil you something — something t; 
 glad," 
 
 " Kothinq: coukl mnke me £rkid," he re! 
 br.nd ?ia ii h sliu^g him, " ■ : io knovvti:at lu 
 
 clay i had to live, 
 
 " Geiard, all this plr.cc Is n.ine; it is for mc 'J;ey are making 
 all this noise which vexes you! Woodhay is mine, "and 1 — 1 am 
 yours, it you will have me!" 
 
 He shires at mc In bewiiderment. 
 
 " WootihHy is mine, Gerard — do you hear?" 
 
 " Why did you not tell me?" he a.%ks slow';'^ ^i^sh 
 
 risinj» to his face, up to his very lor^ih^ead. 
 
 "Because 1 thought you knew, at l^rst; anu lu-u, ui^aiuse 1 
 wanted to try you— whether you loved me tor nnself ulone." 
 
 " Ajid i dared to ask you to m-ariy me?" he 'says, staring at me 
 
 m the sam.e bewildered w^ay. " 1 am'not surprised that you refused 
 
 y " — wiUi a short cold laugh. " 1 am not surprieedthat you 
 
 i my magnanimous offer that flight in Beikeiey Street! 
 
 ileaveijii, huw yoii must liave laughed at me!" — aai heHums awaj 
 
 in a sudden passion of anger and resentment. 
 
 " 1 did not laugh at you, Gerard. Oh, Gerard, you are treatiag 
 me very badly — " 
 
 *' Don't cry," he says, but without looking at re — " don't cry, 
 or 3''ou will drive me mad." 
 
 " You will drive me mnd! What have 1 done that you should be 
 so hard to me — «o cruel—" 
 
 *' Yon >:r;ve done noli), . is 1 who 
 
 " ' ■■ are not ruined. We siiall by . 
 
FO?: ;:. 41 
 
 • il liou' Inv^jau^se icrtii ^ive ii to yvn." 
 ;ll^ . a look of paxsionute siiame and ao*Tii-5ii 
 ' Don't talk like iLut, cifi d: youcai^ ^:o 
 
 - ^it, 1 have done for m^'seiT." 
 
 te. No m-dAiev what yo-.i have clone, 1 love you, 
 many yon to monoxv*' il you like." 
 !" he SKjs, tnkiug me by the wvjst with a grasp 
 :.• uri;isf)a iiiy tiesh. '-' Lislen to m>i ior a minute. 
 ■ I coiiie hert to tell you something, Alllo — soraethiag 
 ri'orc to tell Hum it will huit 30a to hear." 
 ; a' k, fri^chiened by Ibe str.-intre lurid clow which 
 uess of his eyes, 
 ich will make you h... ; .... 
 " '. (.' . v/!'ist," 1 say, pitwusly. 
 
 ' ' n!" he e.xncJuinis, and, ttoui-n- M;u-u.ii.y, he 
 
 isn't it hard tliat 1, who would lie down and die 
 ', if 1 could, must hurt you?" 
 iiurt me much," i aoawer, smiling through some 
 
 AUIe, walk up and down here with me 
 >vuile 1 tell you my sloi'y— justlieie — i shall not 
 10c " 
 
 i down, through liie sunshine and the shadow, 
 river in our cirs. Aa lou^ »« 1 live 1 ehall re 
 .uues — not more than ten are they, though they 
 pain and sorrow to us both. 
 ' reckless, Allie. 1 did not care what became of 
 was to liave made my lorluae went for ' 
 od to find oblivion where the wretched ■ 
 ior u • and lost what little s>elf-respect remained 10 
 
 mc. ar ;; of ever winumg you." . 
 
 " ■ Jence — " 
 
 " " fi'. And it was so c. . ... _.. down-hilL .so 
 
 up! A loituight alter my picture went, 
 ;. .1 ..V. il) London, ashamed to show my fac-> i-\ 
 1 Ijave been a^^hamed to show it ever since." 
 flicker, the river biawls aniuuir its mossy bov 
 H swell of music comes tons on the soU brc; ::, 
 V. 1 do not j^penk— 1 let hiai toll Ids story iu his? 
 Il, when he has fuushed, 1 will tell him imnr>. 
 . woman named White — u wretched 
 oi a color Herg^-ant. She said her k 
 a wild m«?dieal student who had got ii 
 I'd in her hoU5e. boarding with her. 1 o,,^^^ ..> ; 
 her bill run on— if she had not, 1 must have 
 cud to myself. I was too sliabby to— to think ot 
 ul employment. I had sold evcrvthing for ^^h u h 
 tu the locket with my mofher's hair. The 
 ; — a girl whom 1 had oficn admired for her 
 U)ok it into her hf*;\d to full in h me." 
 
 ;i ^rniu* ot ang'ry scern aud hu. a. 1 say 
 
50 Fou LIFE a:nj) loa^e. 
 
 "Tbe niotlier knew i was a gentieman. and eni 
 faseiiiated— iK'Vvitfhed b)' the child's beauty. 1 
 not care whal becinie of me. And she was fon.i v-i .. x, — i 
 ber the insiicc to say that she was iond of me, n'ir-:?'i'jlt; 
 that 1 was.'' ~"r. 
 
 "And you lovel her!" 1 say quite quietly, : ' .'^art !« 
 
 beatino; lovr in its passionate pain. 
 
 The raouient lie incntloiied the woman's name- ,..i< .i.-. 
 
 b(M*ed the .j^irl 1 ]iud seen iu London --the youn nngied 
 
 red gold hair, \viil» an exquisite innocent face, w. , ulvety 
 
 eyes thai looked dark ns night under their b];ick -i face 
 
 whose exceeding beauty 1 Lad envied, not dreaming ' -vaR: 
 
 to be to me. 
 
 *' Ino," he answers quietly enough, " 1 did not love hoi, Allie — I 
 
 sliall never love any woman but you. Eat 1 married L: r." 
 * -;«■ * > w * 
 
 *' Gerard, will you let me help you— in the only w V 
 
 We are standing, looking at eik-h other with whi; i faces*, 
 
 set and stern. It is all over now— the miserable sh ded — 1 
 
 know the ^vorst. And, if the telling of it has brou ngitish 
 
 which is almost intolerable to me, it seems to hav certain 
 
 relief with it to him — a sense of having dared and .■ worst. 
 
 *' You ofler me charity?" he says; but he says ii 'u\x, ^\u\\ T. may 
 hurt him now; he will not retaliate, having hurt m - f;o miTch al- 
 ready. 
 
 " 1 oflcr you of my abundance," I answer, think 
 
 plea^'ar. or profit my abundance Vvill be to me hence Lor y/ard. *' 1 
 ask you, ns a lavor to me, to let me lend you w^- - ' ''' '" "c,.v«a 
 to me — if you wiii be so good." 
 
 1 use the word " lend " advisedly, as more p;ii;i.:', • ui.-^ x;ri'.u.^ 
 
 than the v.'ord "give." He looks at me, shame and bot row and 
 regret strugding i« his face. 
 
 "Allie," he exclaims pa?-sionately, "is it — c; 
 that you care for an unfortunate, good-ior-uoLhii: wreick 
 
 like me?' 
 
 It is my turn to draw buick now- misenibly indigut?:!:. 
 
 " You dare to say tills to me, Gerurd Baxter — to \v- ■ ' 
 
 " But haU an hour ago— live miiiutcs ago, you to" at you 
 
 loved me," the Ixr.- sa}>, a light of iwr^slonaie Iriur 's hag- 
 
 gard eyes. "Even a woman cannot love one minu ate the 
 
 next!" 
 
 " No," I answer quietly; " 1 do not think they can, ' 
 
 He looks down iuio niy eyes— looks, and turns his 
 
 " To tliiuk tk'it i have lost you, Allie — you whc 
 than ail the world!" * . 
 
 " ilush!" 1 exclaim almost vindictively. " Think « rtchcd 
 
 child you have niarncd! Do not make m.e despise 
 belt!" 
 
 "Despise me!" he echoes with the quick hard 
 worse than a sob. " 1 wonder what else you c;m doi 
 
 " 1 pity you: and, if you will let me hy'p }0U —as if to 
 own brolhcr—1 shall count it a kiudneas. And uu 
 will be cuiiinir lor me." 
 
vo:: LIFE AKD LOVE. 51 
 
 10 It:; i! says bitterly; " wh 
 
 3Iy he;irt bieeti^ lor iiim, asl look at \he sir 
 -^-'o!i oHii- ' '■" r bis throudUire coiU. ' f 
 I'lcred 1) y; but 1 do not dare. 
 
 urn bave ^inn m ihe revels tor me," i a.: 
 rn; and, as bo looks into uiy eyes, he seem- 
 :'■ iniUi, for his ow'n cloud over, 
 ' 1 wjvs not woi-:liy ot you, Allie, " lie says bro^ 
 '^n justly punished, though my puuishmeii' < au 
 
 r.'"' • • . 
 
 "on are yonncr, Gerard — the world is befoic 
 i: ,!.ti M f; Ml start. Want of means shall n.(; 
 dl be famous, and I shnll bf 
 
 in;dce a fresh start — 1 will .or your 
 
 ..■c, ;i!.u .^-jr.u d.y.or otlier we may be — friends. 
 Th(v Mie ills hiat words to me. 
 
 Tc brcn looiviiii; icr you cvcrTwiicre, A 
 
 e the prizes to tlw) boys who have won i 
 
 ■ yo'i' Seen u ghost? You look as wl;' ;" 
 
 ti'cd," Oiive says, prdting hpr arm , d draw- 
 
 : me n the excited ;^roup on the ter 
 
 ijt*r 8;nii lr;e pxve away the prizes, dc 
 
 ;dd do it just as well.'* 
 
 >j.ivc ](.:uii> lu;' inr,) uk'. iioi;.-^;.'. i iic f.\c:t(.".!( :> uuif'h 
 
 r me— so everybody Fays. Oiive tnkes oft' nt\ s m.- on 
 
 •. and 1 lie there quite quietly, hoUl !. The 
 
 a nKMTkly. 1 hear the music and the jtnis to 
 
 lie and ^o curion^^i}', 8\vcll.":g and dyiui^ aw:: 
 " Shut it oul!" 1 Siiy we;iriiy. *' Shut llu; w : T n;,) 
 
 (■d of listenin<? to that river, and the sunshiii 
 /e me that sli'-e! <^" music — I know Mada-iiie 
 r m6 to sing. 
 
 CHAPTER Vlll. 
 
 '1,' ■:)..: 
 
 sunshine dreams along ,i . 
 ;>oks, seen fiom the sh'adowy 
 . 1 ui.u.v ; ;iif li;^ht slants more froju ;' 
 left*:nel>ere to rest for a lilUe, ^\*hi;. 
 ':irt to pl:!y tennis atlcr luncheon. 
 
 .: wano A',:- I's! jtir comes in tiir(>tj<.^h ' ;(h- 
 
 turnin;;- m; ' can ieel it • 
 
 ^rc are t'Af to Il\is qua' 
 
 jce in llie ' 
 
 ' "s n!;;r the 2. . , . .:, 
 
 -ili oid-i. ..cir 
 
52 3J0R Li 
 
 /eaden settlui i ca» see my fibwecs bliizivrg in the sunshme, )say pet 
 
 ' i lue sloue balusijjade, ray three tawuy black- 
 
 ei* one a-nolber oa the sirjooth gravel, the bosky 
 
 iK-^y. u. ■ .,aJ. and, far awa}', a high blue hill, so fainl with 
 
 he:-..t tiu.. . ,-.. So lose iis outline in the cloiid"^. 
 
 I look u- i^ ;;i fi'i! drevijnily, with a curious kind of languid un- 
 concern. It is nut: wenluijegs or lazJness — lor ray sirength has quite 
 come badi to me, and 1 never was indalent— but a blrange teeiing 
 ot indifference, which prompts me to lie still on my piilov;^3 and 
 look about me dreamily like a liaii-awakened child. 
 
 The shadows creep round, followed by the sunshine; the peacock 
 hops r!own and sialics away 1 know not wliither; my dogs have 
 curled themselves up and gone to sleep in the sunshine; a bee comes 
 IfOoruiug aguiiiNt t lie glass and m way again; a Ilight of crows cross 
 the sky'^in^ue clistance; 1 hear Olive's voice counting her strokes; 1 
 k;now the glorious August afternoon is wearing away; and yet 1 do 
 not stir. 
 
 There has been a hiatus ol six weeks in my life; and, now that I 
 am gathering up the raveled threads of consciousness again, it is 
 with a curious unconcern, a want of energy, which troubles Olive 
 and Uncle Tod. 1 have been so near death's door that it seems as it 
 1 scarcely cared to take the trouble to come back iigam — as if 1 hart 
 somehow got outside the worid's attraction, and were floating apart 
 in some drec.rn.;' mid-region out of the reach ot their sympathies. 1 
 feel as ii I v\ "1 nor, bring myself to care for anything, to feel an 
 interest in \ to care to reuse myself out of the stupor of 
 
 languid inc. - into which 1 have fallen since that six weeks' 
 
 fever out oi w r; in they thought 1 would never have come alive. 
 
 Thesunli^iii UiO-eson — dies od the terrace — glides to the top of 
 my bosky w uod. Tiie colors of the flowers in the garden arc not so 
 rich now as ii e coat-of-arms let into the upper part of the deep bay- 
 window in CO i Ted glasrj — the stag's head above the shield with its 
 dc&cron char li three Jleurs-deAys, over all the bloody hand to 
 
 which 1, as .. .m have no right. The person who has a right 
 
 to it is here, u. v/oodhay. 1 wonder vaguely if he ever thinks of 
 measaui^ur; :? if 1 had never been born VYoodhay would have 
 belonged to . 
 
 1 study v\\ al bearings wdlli the same vagne curiosity with 
 
 vshlchT iiaie sipJiadthe garden— as if it had not been familiar to 
 m<3 ali-m}'' hie. From the stained glass my eyes wander to the heavy 
 curtains of crlrnson velvet, to the panelled wall, to the oil-paintiug 
 above the pnzicilng — a chorus ot radiantly-beautltul cherub heads, 
 \rhose rosy ciu;c'ks fire only a shade less rosy than the heaven which 
 forms their b'^/ii-ground. I am studying this last as if it too wore an 
 uniamiliar ^b;ng, when the rustle of a newspaper at the other end 
 of the room iu'racia my attention. I move my head h<nguidly, turn- 
 ing down the corner of the piPow with my hand. Ronald Wcott is 
 Bitting in the great red velvet chair by the window, reading. 1 have 
 made no sound in turning my head, and he does not 'look i*ound. 
 And cfiimly and gravel}' 1 study him, as 1 have studied •■he other ob 
 jccts in the room and out ot it, with cold, ur:^'"^'"' •^<"'^ '^'"lost m» 
 diiTerent eyes 
 
 1 know hio face very well. He was at *' 1 first 
 
FOK LIi?E AKD I4>VE. 
 
 ] him bel'ore. UiKJe 'i'od bra. 
 
 . j"a, ;md bad taken a faucy Id 
 
 ; Had com;* l)a('k to Eng'land lor a year's ! i lo 
 
 vit« him dovvu to the vicamg'e, pi-omishiu x., 
 •ny of my grouse and \voo«icock —and I > 
 
 ' —0.6 he chose to i> ' 'i. Ho had r > n i.i: i 
 
 ! to meud — the !.: i luui been ■ 1. fell H) 
 
 and iie does ijot seem to hnd iile at YM'. 
 : liave gi>)v\u tired ot shooting over ir. . 
 bi'O'.vn brook to pay us a visit hc?re at ^k- > i imv. 
 
 come for cbauge ot air with Oiive, Aunt TI< ime iiU' 
 
 rtially between the two houses, but being u a visit 
 
 , i'h me. 
 
 Studying his face thus at my leisure, 1 try to.fanry what 1 wotUd 
 ■^ fnk ot Ronald Scott if 1 had never seen him 1 - it is a p' iii 
 ;e, thin and brown, \Tilh a droopinp; brown ;e— a ui . 
 
 who has conquered in thr'fi-..'. LocIeTod 
 
 1 of hie comine; no-nie on leavf, ty^t T^ln•^ld F. 
 ts a hur(I-v>orlving lellovr, and would soon ' 
 
 0, 1 remember quite well hearing of his go:: 
 
 ly little interest and no c^tpiial, nejir].y twelve 
 
 inv '.". it would be to him to get his foot eve„ ,. ... ,. . . \ ., 
 
 ier. Even then 1 had wonderetl.if he wlsbod there wer« 
 
 ' ouvn I-. rson in ex!st.en( e as tiie lutle wild r'"^ -^^ ' ■•^<' -M-n A'^icair- 
 
 0. It seemed hard that he should have i but tiie 
 
 \pty title — someiinieal v.'i^lied my father \\\.x. vav 'xx\ w o ' 
 
 .', but to him. jj'it Woodlinywas not eutaii<^-d, ?md n. 
 
 cared for no one but me. Nevertheless, as ; 1 had (>;i< a 
 
 Ihonght of my cousin, Sir RontUd Scott — woudt .ihcwas like 
 
 even made up my mind to many him some uav, ;ind so repair 
 
 jury I had unconsciousl)'- done him. Now, as 1 iie among my 
 
 ivet cushions soberly regarding him, 1 bethinli U7e of X)m& resolu- 
 
 n I have come to lately, of leaving Woodhay to him whttn 1 die. 
 
 s yearly income in India promisee soon to be equal to my own; 
 
 ;t that makes no difference. Woodhay ought to go w^ith.the ScoU 
 
 '.e, as it has gone for the last lour or live Hundred years. Thj^ 
 n:: '.oaaiuTi? ' fills me with no sorrow for mvr 
 
 li ■ my en iidyine* his worn profile as it 
 
 .iiii«t the sun indow bev"ond, 
 
 ■' You are n . .e ocri^lt mtiuence has drawn hi8 
 jook toward me, or perhrt{)8 the i a of my own steadfast 
 
 raze. He throws down the HewBp::^.- iconics s.crnss the room. 
 
 i hope you feel rested, cousin Y" 
 
 " Oh, yes, thanks! Have 1 been long asleep t 
 
 '* 1 do cot know — you were asleep wliea 1 cnrae in half an hour 
 "■o — at leas*^, I suppose po, lor you were so qui»t tl; ' ^ ■ — - ' v 
 
 u were in th;2 room tDl Miss Dcane came to tlie 
 r not to "U." 
 
 vou wev , tennis?" 
 
 "1 ing; bat 1 vv anted to read that article about Indian 
 
 affahij ;V's ' TiniQa.' " 
 
54: FOR LI-FB AKI) LC- ". 
 
 " Has Olive finished lier gauie ytA?" 
 
 " Kot yet, 1 tliiiik." 
 
 1 glance at Uie Uible wliere Digges lias just deposited our atler- 
 noon tea-tray. 
 
 " 1 wish siie would coine in and give us some tea." 
 
 " Sliall I go for her?'; 
 
 *' Oh, DO;"slie will come when she is reardy?" 
 
 " You ■will feel lonely without your friend," he says, as Olive's 
 merry laugii coiiies in through the open window. Olive is going 
 away to-morrow ; EUiuor is not strong, and wants lier at home, 
 
 " Yes," 1 answer, tears coming into my eyes — I must be weal; 
 yet, or 1 should not cry so readily. " They have written tor her; 1 
 shall mi&s her very much." 
 
 " You aie going away yourself very soon, are you not?" 
 
 " TJjey want me to go to Monte Carlo; but 1 don't aire about 
 it." 
 
 " Yet 1 am afraid you will find this place dull in winter." 
 
 " 1 never foumi \Voodhay dull," I answer, looking out of the 
 window. " 1 never, lived here, to be sure — that 1 cun remember; bat 
 tJien, even as a cliil:!, 1 was constantly coming aiid going, and 1 
 loved it better than any other place in the world. " 
 
 " It is a line old place." he says, following my look; **anv one 
 might well be fond ot it." 
 
 r.u'laace at hi« face; but it is perfectly unconscious — en;.,. .. i.vv. 
 from haired, envy, or^'any unchtuitableness. He speaks of Wood- 
 hay just as he might oi any of the neighborin • ^ ' ; — the Towers 
 ot Dunsandle. 
 
 "1 think one alvrays cares for one's own property; very few peo- 
 ple hale the place xvliere they were born." 
 
 *' Very tew," he agrees re&dily. " JSo matter how well people 
 get on m India or the colonies, they always intend sooner or latei, to 
 'go home.' Kot one man in a hundred would be satisfied, to die iu 
 a foreign country, " 
 
 " jSIot even a Ciiinaman!" 1 laugh. 
 
 " Kot even a Chmamau or a coolie who has lost ca'^ie. But th'^- 
 never do go hoUiC; if a Ghmaaian by any diance loses his pig-ta 
 he never goes borne again."' 
 
 " Docbu't he?'' 1- say, with mnch interest. 
 
 I have risen frojn my sofa, and am standing in the window, my 
 hands cj.i^vr'rl Mt the back of my neck, my eye.; on ihc distant blue 
 hill mei' y into the bluer sky. Konaitl is sian.iiDg in t; 
 
 vrindow e, his hands in the pockeis of lii^ vvo.y tv.\. ,! co;: 
 
 " '. /mething were going to hajv 
 
 \\y. " ^ ..;..,, ."-ify It was a thunderstorm, i 
 so mn6li more like wind. Have you ever i 
 ilonald?' 
 
 " Not mean," he answ 
 
 " Have yo;i ii'^/cr feit that something v,;:'^ -^'iiig lo i'.;i;;;; ir;" 
 
 "Often. But it was not from any preTuonitorv mentji! depr< 
 sion." 
 
 " Low are siirn > 
 
 Don't you kuov/ wkaJJShakesijeare says — ', .; mea , 
 
 v; ere ever meriy * " '' 
 
..iJa-j A 55 
 
 " iS- i wirrii oivi wmnrit Icli Cllild'ru iin-j, \\::i mjd.u t'l j , innUU88 
 
 they are IfUijzhinir so iiuich!" lu; adds, shrug^^ing liis shoukleis. 
 
 " Tlii;l is anoUKT ca-se in point." 
 
 " 1 don't tl'iflk you i»re mwry enotigh now to dread any mtefor- 
 tun.'; ! 0!» tho skirls of your merriment?" 
 
 1 '. hini, displeiicM'd.* This brown eyed cousin of mine 
 
 !it me, tijitl 1 do not like it. 
 . on will believe me when we hear some bad news perhaps!" 
 
 *' 1 thought we were to have ridden to day, Rosalie. A gallop 
 ,u.ro9S the moors would do away with a «n ■' '■'•■'•'■ <-^ .'^..r pievis- 
 ions." 
 
 " 1 teit so tired, 1 did not care to ri(ie." 
 
 I look o\}\ into the g:irden again indifferently. I wonder what 
 RonaM hinks ot me? 1 know mv want of inteietst in every- 
 
 thing i •in a little— he cannot imagine why 1 <lo not take any 
 
 pleanurt; in my woods, my meadows, my hor^«ef;, my dogs, and my 
 beautiful old liouse. Cerlainlv 1 have been ill, but 1 am well now — 
 f*o well that 1 have been on horseback several times, and have driven 
 ^'lireand mysolt all abo'U Vattenden in my basket-phaeton. But 
 
 Mple fcsa.y my illness has changed me very mi-icii; mv face looks 
 imggard, there are dark shadows under my eyes. Nobody knows 
 what 1 suffer: through all my wandenng-s i have never mentioned 
 Gerard B. - * :me. 1 am surprised that 1 did not, lie is ne^er 
 out of my ^. 1 have nevei heard of him since that day when 
 
 we said go. u :iy to each otjjer in my leafy combe— not one single 
 word! 1 (io not know wiiether he is dead or alive— Olive docs not 
 know. Sii^' iias never s])oken of him since that morning jshe told 
 Tue all sl»e k:ew about him a*s we came through my wood. 1 do not 
 
 nk slie pu'^pects anything— she never tliought J cared for him; 
 .^at, if she ^ • i<-"'i -uiytliiiig about liiin, si i' »'•>"'' ' ■ ^- ■ !""■" sure 
 to tell mr. 
 
 Ronal 1 ': ii:i^ iH-en Tfiygood to me in ;i nroinfiiy iviim oi way 
 
 — lit, ""'^ Oiivf fri'at me vcr}' much like a spoiled child — sometimes I 
 
 nything but an agreeable kiiul ot per.>^on. 1 
 
 1 for anybo<ly himself — if he cares for any- 
 
 ,ii be impose i hi u to tt :^ U-om that grave stern face 
 
 is a man who would haVb/- 
 
 . one to face the world T/:'"' 
 !' t'> ^iiow c """^tuan when he iov 
 
 " 1 a.sk suddeniv, wit"! ' / ueudj 
 
 •art in En iliind?'* 
 
 • U) have you km/. 
 ': -.e?" 
 
 1 in your eye for mc?" 
 
 i i.r.c back for a w>' 
 
 \ >'e so?" 
 
 1\ IO lOO'.s. ' 
 
 yiswroup j ^. concerned." 
 
56 FOE LIFE AXD LOYE. 
 
 use yon know -wLeie lo find her?'^' 
 
 ViSe I did not come iiome on any ev. t. Cousin Ro- 
 
 salie." 
 
 "Upoii,^... .vord?" 
 
 " UpoQ my honor!" he laugbs, looking around at me. "Why, 
 cousin, I never tiioaglit you had a tain for maichmakinKl" 
 
 " 1 never tiiougbt so eiiher. Bui 1 knov7 plenty ot nice girls— 
 Ellinor Dearie uuvi Ada Kolleston and Katie." 
 
 " "Why do you leave out your own particular iricnO ' 
 
 " Do you liivt' Olive?" 1 usk quk:kly, glancing liim. 
 
 *' Or do you like her too well to wish to see he . to me?" 
 
 " 1 think you are too late to try tor Oiiv /, shaking my 
 
 ^ead. 
 
 " \ou would not advise me to enter the lists against Lockhart?" 
 
 he asks, su?j!iug. 
 
 " Yv'ell, 1 think Olive likes him — a little. But she is such a mad- 
 cap — what «he jikes one day ?he hates the next." 
 
 " Then, if she likes Loclihart to-d^y, there may be some chance 
 for me lo-morrovv." 
 
 "1 sli-:^' ^ ' ' e you and Olive to care lor t n uu;vr/' 1 say 
 
 dreamily -Lie her better than any other giil in the world." 
 
 " Then YCHi must like me a little, to wis!) to bestow her upon me " 
 " 1 like yon very mv.i'.h, cougin, Tou have beeu very kind to me 
 •' Ra&; well enough to at becomes of 
 
 me?" 
 
 " How can you a^k siich a foolish question;" 
 
 " As you said just now — because 1 Avant to know." 
 
 " Of course I care. Vou are the fonly cousin I have— it is not a& 
 
 ir 1 had half a dozen, or half score, like most people." 
 
 " And you care for me with all the caring that you might have 
 
 divided among hyif a dozen, or, perhaps, half a scoic?" 
 1 do not answer. 
 
 " Rosalie. I did not come back to England to look for a sweet- 
 heart—or^ wife. But-do you think you could (^rcr care enough tor 
 me — at any future time — to give me both?' 
 
 1 turn my head now to look at him. His r,,.,^ ,yes meet mine 
 unwaveringly; his head is a little bent as he looks intently into my 
 face. 
 
 •* 1^0," I answer, in the same srrave matter-of-fact tone in whicii 
 he has spoken, without any change of color or added pulsation of 
 the heart. " 1 shall never care for any one, Ronald — 1 do not intend 
 to marry any one. This j>lace ought to have been yours — at m}^ 
 death, it will belong to you." 
 
 "At your death!" he repeats, with a shocked look. "Why, 
 child, 1 am ever so many years older than you are!" 
 
 " Only ten. And, when onje does not care lo live, it makes a great 
 diilerence — " 
 
 " But you care to IWai It is only some mcrbfd fnncy jom 
 tak(«i into youi' hx-ad—people often take f. ' into luc 
 
 hcuf-B when iIk-t uav<; boi;:n illi." 
 
 it, T 
 
 see how iiitlc iiie ih vroiLh iivhj;^'-] 
 
 Til is is no l;incy of JTiaie-r-flx* stiouger 1 i cem to 
 
1 ■ : • \ 
 
 11 ; s. V 
 
 iii-eiJii' 
 
 i to 
 
 i<:d la 
 
 
 •ftn-1 I 
 
 
 LOVE. 57 
 
 so much to live fo: ive everTTtJiingjour 
 
 nf answer hi j;Tcat peorlv 
 
 's are bJowiy tui'iiliig liuiu silver to gold 
 
 .n. 
 
 .1 lei iiic try to make j'du happy? Will yon try 
 
 ii:? 1 love ybi] — 1 have loved you slnco the first 
 
 mcnt A I- face. Don't you think 1 could make you. 
 
 "•■ '^ ■ .-. ..0 much iia that?" 
 
 ; it ior a moment. 1 do not seriously entertain th6 
 1. lOr oue second of time, A yeur o<;o" it miy,ht have 
 tue a very desirable arraugemt-nt It would ret;tore 
 ' > man who 1 uiways felt ought to liave had it. But 
 • rot cfiFe for any oce else. Kow my heart lies hur- 
 . dug lor it- down among lj»e tangled ferns 
 s m my shadowy combe one day— a grave 
 iiHve never vibit-ed — a grave where with my dead 
 il hope, all pleasure, all desire of iiie. 
 ou reafly care for me, Cousin Ronald. I don't 
 '.. .4w.. " — smiling slightly — "hi:': ••••.i.- ■ . -j-r..- 7 .,..,i» 
 
 ■' Iday I ; (iue question, Rosalie ? ' 
 
 ' '•■■-• xiiou U before 1 Ioo'k jouim in'o uih i;., . 
 
 .\']y; " 1 .suppose you havu a right to a:-k." 
 ic il by reason of any right, and yoa are not 
 
 • 1 to answer you." 
 
 vVfir L;riC!c(i that vor. CLired for anv q!1 cr 
 
 jusL as gravely, just as composedly, looking 
 smooth gray lerrace^-walk. 
 '^Lu Rouald! 1 have cared for another man 
 , ou uuiy he a huiul. ' rer, atliou- 
 
 u can never be to m- ..:e was," 
 
 >sk you his u;,me. EuL Lhio iiiun, Rosalie, it 
 \'cc\ you in l^*Ulnl?*' 
 
 li a stiange little smile; ' he is married." 
 aid Scoll sliujds 1^- • *■• -^^ '■■ '• • •' ■i-"-. 1 
 '- 1 caai fancy tl- st. 
 
 vs a! labt— iuid his loii. pitiful, not 
 
 child!" 
 md I do no: 
 
 .to rriv fVes 
 
 vi ihiit qiicbtion il i iiaci i,d your 
 
58 FOB LIFE AXD LOVE. 
 
 lurning my head. The loolish tears drop dc ud fall 
 
 upon the i»ovvu whose d«.-ad violet shade Oliv: 
 
 " 1 sLall be your IritiKl always, Rosalki— i'. . 
 
 " Yc',"' ^ ^'ixy vaguely, not. dreamiug how soon :o trial 
 
 of Ills friciidship; *' I shall lerueraber." 
 
 He sloops and k!sse» my hand gravely, di?pass!; >. ■ 
 
 out of tl-f '•■ • ;■ • ' *■'". '' '"". Lockhar' -• 
 
 -.i- . -/f >' 
 
 " There i? no nevrs in the paper to-day," Oltv ng up 
 
 the " Times " i'Tom the fl(x>r where llouald Scott it. 
 
 " Is there no! V" I answer languidly, still standii .p bay 
 
 window iookiiio; out. 
 
 " Kotliing that I call news. Oh; ^vhat is thi??" 
 
 She does "not, spe.ik again for a minute or two. ' - she is 
 
 studying the parygrnph "which seeiaed to have t: atten- 
 
 tion. I am studying the sunset colors in the . mys- 
 
 tic glory of my snuset hill, the deep ruddy gretn r ulowy 
 
 wboiis." Mr. Lockhart has just wished us gdo .'t the 
 
 room; Digges has carried away the tca-thiug-s; O ; • than 
 
 once suggested that i! is time for my ante-prandia: 
 in no mood for (■"'■' '^•- ^' ; ^' ■ "^^fiu lo the v' 'o ^'^ 
 
 my hal. 
 
 *' Such ahorrib'e Uiiiig. vj:ive exclaims. " i. '.«^— 
 
 that unfoituuale Gerard liaxter was married?'* 
 
 " Yes," I anf^wer calmly, without turning my hej.a 
 some time ago." 
 
 " 1 declare I don't like to tell you about it— it i ■ 
 you it you had never kuovvu the w^relched boy." 
 
 * What is it?" 1 ask, confronting her. The gr 
 coiner of the sofa, looking up at me with a wiiile . j. 
 
 ■ '* VThy he was a nested the day before yestertl charge ©1, 
 
 ;•/■"'-• '■''-'■d his wifel" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Olive Deahe wfjnt away this morning, and " 
 alter luncheon— the house seems quite lon'ely an.: 
 .on not thinking ot either my friend or my cous^i! • 
 
 my brown-iwmelod morning-room at Woodhay, he ivdiui 
 
 the "Times ■' ot yesterday. 1 had hidden 'the :lmt 1 
 
 might study somi^thing in it tit my leisure to-day— >■ 
 
 1 heady kiiow by heart. As 1 sit in the deep old- i 
 rio^', \vith the paper in my hand, my eyes are on 
 without, intenily staring. 1 see no sunny ganien 
 by tall green hedges topped by the blue sky. 
 prison-c^il — gauut.haggard — the man whom 1 st;] ,. ali ii.^ 
 
 reckless obstmMcy of my oature —tho boy whose .. ot pur- 
 
 pose has spoiietl both his lite and my o^vii. 
 
 1 believe every wo;d of the story Jie told to the 
 wliom Uicy took him, though, in the Ir 
 cviiii'r!"e >i^ wtc^ n!'niiuced airsinsi him, 1 i 
 any :\ui Juaosia-atc bat t' 
 
; OR LIFS JL^D LOV'J. 
 
 cora7^i:ft1n?' htn' fcMfeon to take his trial at the Or:tf .cj3 
 
 for 
 
 ; nation before the ?:!:!:"! ' -Wrrt in 
 
 full in tne pni>f r in my haod, ijndfT the he. 
 .w>M.-,. " 7 1, • II .•isi'tjred every parlkriilar o! 
 M my owu mimi. But, ( 
 :.vi.ii« >.;• H- 1. w i^ui home to the wretchevl .a. ..: . ; 
 
 trial in OcioiKr, 1 »m ua entirely convinced that he i or 
 
 part in it :is i :iu» i' ' ' ! no liaml or part in i' 
 
 Tliive .'.(■;■:. ^ if (Ihv Gerard Baxter ihe 
 
 charge o[ ; itli his wife — or 1 o£ 
 
 July— lii'^ V White, deposed : *o 
 
 hisloii'.'cu^ '\.' v;\;!. litT dauiTliler. The prisoni'T op. 
 her, ami \oU' hr/: that her daughter had L'on? o 
 hour brfose U buy something in a neigi/ d 
 
 go"" 1" '^ ' ^' ' '.-..'ii- <.,f;.fi,.(t, and tully in > n 
 
 Ih jess of her own ] 
 
 anu, •,\ ij'-r .,c; i'M».':ii(-ii ufi visit on the follow mi. .. 
 ratiier gpr^r^scd to hejjr from her sou-jn hiw that h 
 again ;^nn', out. On neither occasion hnd be '• 
 room Oi',( hud stood in the duorway to answer ii 
 her dijghter v t;'; quite well, and that he e:;: 
 minu'e; but he did not ask her lo wait; nor iv 
 ■wailing for her. g^he thought Gerard J3a.\ 
 
 nnd surly; l> - Hi/ n he never had a very \ 
 
 de no 1 upon her, Siie was so >; ^ 
 
 Lciling her .uc .iUih on both ocxiasions that s 
 malting Hny inquiries among the neigbbor?. In 
 istrale, she Haid the lodgings were very poor o; 
 was nu nrtist, anrl could not always sell Jiis i 
 m ■ ' ■ '' ■ ■ .i:jy 
 
 h. 
 
 id not ( 
 ,;h;er for 
 had been in ihc lubii or running into lier house e 
 iii,wf -viw.. 1,... 1. .-I- n-t went out. Tbey had ^^rvf 
 
 r was a child aliuost, ,'i 
 iii;:i '^ ,1' ,\.'.^ foured by disappoin'- ' 
 
 had I n to drtnk*-nol hard. »)ut n- 
 
 him -, ii ' !ie . 1 to his ' 
 
 go li> , 
 
 verv r » 
 
 in- s to loo -lU, 
 
 I"' » ''<"• •'!'• .. ... ,.. , 'om 
 
 a worn ot 
 
 I- .in in t!ie um r — 
 
 Irs. HaHiT s:iiil t : to 
 
 ♦bom :i!l - 
 
 ley had ; . au^ihiag o. ;Uc 
 
Ij FOIl LIFE AXD LC TE. 
 
 i':Yf':'v-\oc ,'hUe herself had seen tier on tlie 
 
 lure. -Wliile liien resolved to wait tilV her sou in-law sfhoul<i come 
 :tj. ■,,,* 'f .nigh siie S!it wLih ilrs. Htuig for more than two hoiir- 
 hJa ;3i aiake bL« dppeanmce. Meanwhile Mr.-J, Riiag t' 
 
 her ;*!■ oi;- /.new — now tor ihroe days JhJaster liocl told lhr;:"ii, wbru 
 they luquU'ea Uk bis v^ite, that the had just o;one.ou< (lud \vo«ld be 
 in preSbxiOy, r.rui on the iourlh had told ijer— Mrs. Ihiiv^ — tt.}tt «ha 
 had gone U; vi :'. Kome cousins in the eoaniry. The flei^'hbors fus* 
 peeled QOihing-, Wiien the3' asked for lier later on, he said tie had h d 
 ieitcrs troni kt-i". Hu.ievfn gave them messages wijlch die sent io ihem 
 in the Je ';:.s. He iooiced dark, Mrs. Huagsaid: but then he aJw:. 
 did iooli 'htrk, iind kept kiniseli very much to him.sel*. Slie aid i 
 think i'ucy nr:d go: on very ^ell of kite. He left his wire rsone vt 
 mw::- :•■ li^y^Kil pilied her — she v/ us so young — a mere cbild, ;; 
 £sn : Un iiit; morning of ^hc. tweuty-.'^eeond. ihey hud h 
 
 •^'01 ;- c •. ._ s< iL.;;;iimg; she— r»Ir.s. Haag — heatd hiui fLreuten to - 
 h:ajst:I' I • :;-:•— :o c-iioke her, she thouj^ut he said: bnt such tkvi- 
 were Ciiitiiii. h in that ttneoieui-house- 
 
 them a "f-'r: id. 
 
 Jwi.'j. ■, J,' Baxter did not come baeii, left ." 
 
 and w'vi , -j knew Lily — her daughter's name w . 
 
 tyt^dalii own. b-;i ahe always calJed herpeii' Lily— hud so' 
 
 co:''.^'- uJ, (bough she \Ta8 surpr.sei to hear fh- ' 
 
 gL- .iiit, it was not outside llie boiuids of pi 
 
 i .' ,u hvive done so. And, beina- troubled wiu. 
 
 o .. ; ie gave no ?nore thought to the matter until t 
 
 ai'ie;::o::'; .: ;eeutli of August. 
 
 Hf.'^ :'e as so overcome b}' grief (hv .-^ome tir 
 
 b^j! ' ux eovdd proceed. 
 
 ii. of the iourti^enth of 
 
 to Ijc:-, :■) . v to tue mottuary, A body Had ! .-a iioaii:. 
 
 in li :"''.cklriars Bridge; Mr. Uawg h. . ^..:iie;) ?;> ^ 
 
 i;. ; iuized it a« the bodyoi^rs. l^axJer, ;r 
 
 giii'b i,, ..I. •: :";ir to identify it, :■■ '"- ^ '-■■ ' -•■ 
 
 be foun;:], 
 
 Mrs. ■'': ;'9 (iiftlcuUyin idcntiiyng ic;' '.•'•!y, iiin 
 
 had beci' i- a considerable tim^-thrcd xve» i<.s, the &! 
 
 wbo ;.,;::-; u.e /Wcr^-WY/y.'e'w, exuniination. The i'yiX' v^a.^ uiu 
 '•«7!"'d /:'•;•• Ihe action o.! tbe water; but the beautiful rod gf 
 ei! tm'ih, the girl's height and ago, tiie wc 
 • • - , re all couclusive evideiK^e. ■ il'.r roMije.-; 
 
 »nr..i ii, ,. ; o .. upon ihe.m — a black cashm- 
 
 aad a lis lie biwruii v\dth hair in it, -which Jlr^ w... ,,. c. ... 
 
 nized as having been a present from herselt to her daughter — si 
 had put '' • ' •• ■ ••oil herself — it was btr father's hair." Mr. ai: 
 ^■Ifp. Hi; uleniitred the eIo(hes, but could not rememb 
 
 the broi; . iinacr, being called up, cor ro bo Mi ted Jslrs. vVhih' 
 
 evhh}V(\' :y particular. The pri(\oner oi)Siinalejy refused ; 
 
 ions put to him by the bencii, and in:unta?ned :. 
 .-"' asuHen demeanor, v.hicii had ('jt:' ■!•:('rab^v pi~ 
 au'C^iti ii iist hiui. . ■ 
 
 fto nv .1. aladnui?' every word— I !! 
 
FOR UVR AND L®VE. 61 
 
 tave bnTDed themselves into my brain. There ^ere no marks of rio- 
 
 on the body, so far as could be r d; but, 
 
 it w;ls ia wiien found. Ibis could .' be sat, ^ 
 
 ■d. It was supposed that Baxter had pushed hie wif« int<rthe 
 
 .,,-,.. ii.. M;,.ivt of the twenty-second ot July — the day Mrs. Haag 
 
 lad rerHening lo lake away her life. 
 
 1 b.jiivf ut liid Baxter to be innocect ot the crinr- • '^od to 
 
 lim, 1 have not asked Ronald Scott his opinion, nor ckI — 1 
 
 'Vfielf to ask {hern any questions. Bui i Uua heard 
 
 Tod at break last wnat they wouM do to Gerard 
 
 L'uclo Tod SHJd they would try bim, f,' \r 
 
 y, and condemn him to death. Theguiii L 
 
 eiy brought to him — whether he would bo ri-c 1 
 
 ny MOt, he could not say. It might come out that .... ...d 
 
 rmg circumstances; but, lo Uncle Tod's mind, these 
 ii^j c^iuaualing circumstance^ t* "^as a horrible busineae r '''- 
 r. 
 i! ■ ' rible business. 1 think ho. jy^ 1 sit starin.T ' '' 
 nnn . i, into vnich even the echo of such evil d 
 
 '. it, 13 all so peaceful, so orderly — the blackbirds ;;n;l t!;ru^kcs 
 
 '1 n.nd out of (he tuli (hick walls of yew and beech, rny neacock 
 
 ^ up and do\yn in the di<tance, faint y. 
 
 U-' serene sky. How different it is from li _ ) 
 
 4reet, p<trhaps more wretched court or alley, where the man to 
 
 win I would have as freely given AVoodhay, with all its gardens 
 
 nd Terraces, woods end meadows, has worked and starved till it 
 
 sems that his misery has driven him mad! 1 hate the blue sky, the 
 
 nlerly flower beds, the ruddy gables, and carved window-seitings 
 
 i mv ■ old house. 1 cunnot bear to look ni tiiem, thinking 
 
 ovy' :;piness thej' have given me. If 1 h^d hron r^hnt hB 
 
 ; me, the penniless gu'l learning mufjic as o 
 
 'd, I would have married him, and we n 
 
 ■y. But 1 refused him, because 1 was Miss bomers bcott of 
 
 . . udhay Manor. And nww all my woods and moors and meadows 
 
 ave turned to ashes betvveen my teeth. 
 
 " Aunt Rosa, 1 am going up lo Lonaon. 
 
 ** To Loudon!" Aunt Rosa repeats-, staring at me through her spec- 
 icles, r.ghast. 
 
 " Ye*^. 1 am going up on business." 
 *' But, my dear Rosalie, you arc no more fit to travel — " 
 " .Mv .!.. r Aunt Rosa, it is just what 1 want — some variety. I 
 ave lied to Mrs. Wauchope to have my old rooms imCarle- 
 
 m ^ -... -v.idy for me tomoriow." 
 ' You have telnijiaphed to Mrs. Wauchope! Do you mean to tell 
 
 }« thnt you rfo going up to those dreadtul Jot^ • ".^ain — alone?" 
 
 "NTiiere e'-c ^vould you have me go, Arot 
 Why, I thought you might be going ! ' ; * '" ;". 
 
 Dns'.' 
 
 Vnmark; aad 1 uoa t wanl to catcli 
 too- 
 
I 
 
 C2 FOR LIFE AND LOTE. 
 
 *' Not that 1 am afraid of the fever," 1 ara bomid to add hon- 
 estly. "I am not in Ihe Jeast a^rakl of it; but I preler going to 
 Carietoa Street foi* a ^^roiji many reasons." 
 
 "if you go, 1 sh-Ail <.':o with you," Aunt Rosa, says decisively. 
 
 *'"Aud leave Uncle To(l with that cold on his chest? My dear Aunt 
 Rojsa, 1 assure y«a I am very well able to taiie cj^re of myself." 
 
 ** i'on \vi!l take Xanuette with vou, of course?" 
 
 '* Indeed 1 shall do no such tl^mg," 1 answer at once. My nj8W 
 maid is a weajiness to me. If old nuree Marjory had not been pjist 
 hei work, 1 v;ould n>ver have iustailed her in the lodge and hired 
 thi3 pert French aonbratle in her stead. 
 
 " Bat, m}' dear child, it is an unheard-of thing for a girl in your 
 posiiioa to go up to lodgings in London alone." 
 
 ** Kobody uetd know. And it is not as if Mrs. Waucliope were 
 cot an old friend; and I ehuli only be gone a day or two probably. 
 If anyihicg should, liappen to detain me in town, you may follow^ 
 me — if you like, and if Uncle Tod's cold is better.'-' 
 
 Aunt Kos^a does not like the arrangement from nny point of view. 
 
 '* You are very self-wified. Rosalie. You were always headstrong, 
 since you were a baby of three years old. If ever a girl wanted a 
 father or mother to control her, I think you wanted them. As for 
 onr Uncle Todhsmtc^, if you had cried for the moon, he would 
 ave tried to get it for you. 1 often told him he spoiled a^ou, and so 
 he did." 
 
 " 1 thmk T was alwa5'^8 obstinate, whether Uncle Tod spoiled me or 
 not. Aunt Rosu, do you know Couvsin Ronald's address in town?" 
 
 Aunt Rosa stares at me, scandalized — this time over the rim other 
 ep:^c^;i-ies. 
 
 " " 'If'nr Rosalii . .,- yjxi going to Sir Romild Scott's hotel in 
 all upon hiin?" 
 
 "--'- 1 should want him, auntie. But it is always well ' ■ 
 -3 of a ti"iend in London." 
 
 ' " ' ' oar uncle always goes to in London* 
 
 " ^v :, - . . . uo auyihiu.i; unbecoming. My dear Aunt Rosa. 
 
 I c.'!!' ' ;■ ■ "-—when 1 liKe; and 1 am sui\j you can trust to 
 
 tl'L' ■ friend Ronald Scott." 1 
 
 t is a perfect- gehlleman. What will be thiuk of 
 
 this tn. 'iirs, Rosalie? Do you suppose he wiU approve of 
 
 V"' ^ ^ M 1 'r<n alone like this?" 
 
 on of my pt oceedings is not of yit Jil impor 
 i >, iij, :;,ving up my head. ** \Yhether he is pleased 
 
 o .tteis very little to me. 1 am iioing up to London 
 
 c:j . ' ' ly else cotdd manage for nt«'. If he chooser 
 
 i'> I 11 — should 1 feel called upoa to make it— ii 
 
 '^mothing to you, " Aunt Rosa says a little wist 
 fu! ' lie is a fins fellow — a true jz:eEtleman; au( 
 
 1- J it! — he ajsked ^()u^ riu-h^ To lliunter's per 
 
 -; to yoi. iu snubbei 
 
 i.. ,...; re?t." 
 
 1 answer gravel v^, *' you cannot like Ronal< 
 
 '•■ : • ' ' ■' ' ' "•*' ■ ■' r;rlv as 1 could. 
 
h'Oii LIFE Ai>l7 i.\jV1I» 63 
 
 ** Why must you have said it at all. child?" 
 
 •* Because 1 could not aire enough for him to marry him, auntie." 
 
 Aunt ]los« sighs. She would be so glad to hand me orer to some 
 STOod steady man like Ronald Scott, wlio coujd kwp me in order, 
 would be 8o thankful to wash hsr hands ot me and my ta^- 
 . tond as she is ot me, once Jind lor ever. 
 
 " 1 don't dpspair but that jou will come to your sense? some day, 
 ftud marry him," she says, deliberately, getting up from the lunch- 
 eon t.abk\ '• 1 think your Uncle Todhunter would die happy ii he 
 knew thfit you were married to such a man as Sir Ronald ScofcU" 
 
 " You're looking poorly enough still," Mrs. Wauchope says, re- 
 ling me by the light of the gas in her great dingy drawing- 
 n. " 1 don't know whether it's the bonnet, or what; trut you 
 look ten years older than you did when you were up here with me 
 in the spring." 
 
 3Irs. ^ auchope is truthful, if she is not complimentary. Glanc- 
 
 •'-' at myself in the scagreen depths ot the mirror over the mantel- 
 
 G, 1 am forced to acknowledge thai 1 do kH)k ten years older 
 
 Iiirm when I last saw m^yselt reflected between the tall vases of imi- 
 tation Bohemian glass which giace the mantelshelf. In deference to 
 'it Rosa's old-fashioned notions, and tor other reasons, I have en- 
 vorcAl to give myself as staid an appearance as possible, weanng 
 close black bonnet which Olive always said gnve me a demure 
 i, though my diuiples were against me. And 1 am wrapped up 
 ny long fur lined cloak, and" have altogether the look ot a rc- 
 •table young widow, as I say to Mrs. Wauchope, laughing, 
 'e she gelB my tea ready with her own plump hnnds. 
 
 I' Isn't tiiis a terrible business about poor Mr. Baxter?" she re- 
 marks presently. " 1 never got such a turn m my life as when 1 
 " ' at it in the paper. And such a young lad as he is too; 
 e she was little more than a child!" 
 
 I' i..; \ .1 think he did it?" 1 ask, standinu on the rug. My land- 
 liri' i' i '■'►<1 ;tt the table, with her back toward me; she does not 
 I can scarcely keep my voice steady while I 
 
 • Oil. everylx»dy knows he did it!" 
 *' How ran they know?" 
 ** Ivi: ire wan no one else to do it." 
 '* TiiuL proves notliing." 
 
 "Oh, but he was heard to threaten her! And then thf 6tori«« he 
 \nd I believe she wtv5 a n" " ' " iiins, and too pretty 
 ui in life. Those pniute: her, tor eret paint- 
 
 only the other day 1 found her photograph 
 1 to the wfdl." 
 tiiriil ot Koineihing very like jealousy of th« dead girl, whose 
 I'M- i;-i Ci :,i:.I Baxter had cared to }>in up in his room, runa 
 Ii my heart. But what right have 1 to be jealous 
 ^- - — ..> ■> i. iv M.il child who had been his wife? 
 
 !ve 3'ou seen hlni since he gave up painting here, Mi's. "Wau- 
 chopc?" 
 
 " Once o; not more than that. 1 heard ho wag married; 
 
Gi • i'Oxl LIFE AlsD LOVE. 
 
 ftnd 1 vfiiB soriy to liear it, knowtn^ the kind of person Lt- inmi ilu. 
 Tb-ere was a great deal of good ia him, poor lad; but he was as un- 
 stable as waler— he never fiuifched anything. There are upward 
 twenty pictures upstairs, not one oi" them finished. If they v., 
 any uood, I'd sell .them to ]>uy up his arreai'S of rent; but they it 
 nothing but useless lumber." 
 
 *' I wish you would let me see them, Mrs. Wauchope. 1 shouldn't 
 mind takiui; somt* ot ihem off your hands. And, if I'v. "R; xicr eve:^ 
 <;omes to claim them, you can reter him to me." 
 
 " You are welcome to see them. Miss AUie. The ii:-^u...^j ..- j^^t 
 he left it — I never even let the bedroom since. You see I had i 
 regard lor him, havin.i; known him so lon^; and 1 thought he woulc 
 come back to me some day, till 1 heard he had married that girl." 
 
 After tea, Mrs. Wauchope takes me iii:)etairs, . If the studio hac 
 had an untidy look when 1 lii-st saw it, it looks like nothing- now bill 
 a gloomy altic lull of lumber — the empty easel pushed into a corner, 
 the unfinished can^'ases covered with gray cobwebs, every chair sum 
 table covered inch-deep with dus<.. 
 
 " Here is the photograph," Mrs. Wauchope says, taking somethias 
 from the table, and wiping it with her black apron. " A pretty face, 
 isn't it? I've known a man to lose his life for a face that wasn' 
 half as pretty as that." 
 
 " But wluit had her face to do wnlh it?" 1 ask vaguely. 
 
 " Why, they say lie was jealous, you know. She was a flig 
 little thing, and some arnst was painting her picture, and Mr. 
 Gerard didn't like it. That was what they were quarreling about 
 on the morning of the day it happened." 
 
 1 stand in the light of Mrs. Wauchope's mold candle, looking au 
 tho photograph in my hand. It is a beautiful lace — an exquisite 
 face — soft and bright and innocent as a child's. 
 
 " I will keep this for the present, Mrs. Wauchope. May 1?** 
 
 Mrs. Wauchope nods. Lily Baxter's photograph is in all the shop- 
 windows; but she does not care to have it at all. i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Eajrly tiic next morning 1 transgress all Aunt Rosa's rules ot ; 
 propriety by taking a cab and driving to my Cousin Ronald e*cott'si 
 hotel. 1 find him fini?hing breakfast, hall a dozen business-letters | 
 scattered al)Out the table. 
 
 " Ronald," 1 say, in my honest fearless way, " 1 have come to 
 put a promise you made me to the test. ' ' 
 
 "1 am dad to hear it, Rosalie," he answers, standing by the 
 table, ' ' 1 have refused the chair he offered me, with the plea that 
 my cab was waiting below. 
 
 " Do 3^ou remember the promise, cousin?" 
 
 " 1 have forgotten nothing," he says, smiling a little. 
 
 " 1 want you to manage an interview with that man — Gerard Bax- 
 *«r — who is in prison for murdering his wife." 
 
 Ronald Scott looks profoundly sui7Ji"ised. 
 
 " For me or for you?" he asks, his eye« on my white face. 
 
 " Foi me. Y'ou can be present, of course; 1 should wish you tc 
 be present. And it need not last more than fir-e minutes, if so long.'' 
 
FOR LITE 65 
 
 iiokes CO anRwei juinule or two. He 
 
 i>e tiiMc, oue hand icittuig upuu u, looking down at 
 't lilui, 
 
 '11 (-nil do ibis for me, Rocald?'* 
 . hf Hii ncouaiutaiKie oi jours':" 
 — Vii*. aLG Is." 
 ^.as,' " Hf^tKiti ohscrvpc. slirupi^u ., i.i» -liwu uera. 
 < ' " 1 reptiat stubboriiiy. ** Gerard Baxitr is a friend of 
 
 lu.,;!i: !' . {^nrk browB meet in a rather hetivy frown. 
 
 '' ' 'ou' you made bis iicqutviuLaoci', liosulle?" 
 
 ;;i the Biuve bou'^e. in London — ihe house in Cttileton 
 Ire A am sliijiug now. " 
 
 lean linghJng outright at the exceeding 2:ravity of his 
 
 ■"" the bunch Ot violets; but 1 do not tell Konaldaboit 
 
 Jerent relaliujc; a ijiece of ihou^ldlesF folly like liri 
 -J x^ • feo mucli more buinou*? an oliense repeated • 
 
 le CO.. ;itb^lic eyes of my judicial couvsin! 
 
 "' ' MOW you ever niiiJe ui!^ ac<)'ifliiitance, Eosaiie. .. 
 
 3ii :; in Ilie same bouse for itiiiy yeai's, you slioi! \ 
 
 iv\ :::nce with him." 
 
 " .:e respectable! 1 met bim in other plac 
 
 iji lesions knew bim — be waa at ibeir bousK 
 
 '' A; pectabiiit)'," Konald says coidly, " that must be a 
 
 laiur u. Subsequent events have proved that he cou d 
 
 :>! li.i^ very re.'-peclabie Hcquaintance ior you or any one 
 
 " Oh ..-^nt events!" 
 
 " " c Vv'ei'e no subai-quent events. Tldsllavlcr 
 
 iv< ,' n>i;m — not exactly the kind of friend Miss 
 
 W' a for her — at least, 1 think not." 
 
 ..ii, Fioiinld. Idan* sa}" yoii are r'l ■ ' ; 
 
 lit .in my want of exclusivtmesJ no'v^ 
 
 :.:. ....;aago that I uu.y see iv^ "?•:. .m1_ ^ 
 
 " . ^'"^ rather sharply. 
 
 " . single question. " 
 
 r Mbiiully' ' Tiice has grov/n pale under ail iL. 
 
 \\i !ny owi:. 
 
 , Kusuiic. But it will be altogether iu 
 ev: , ,fnt." 
 
 rh Uie more 1 Lh'ink you for keeping it. If it co^l 
 ?.'■ keep a prouuse, tnere would not be occti&ion f(»r 
 
 . v.ould IbeieV** He do(!8 no! answer, stan<ling Ik-- 
 ■ ' • "M ibe Jahle, still isludying my face. " ** '"'■' ■ 
 ill wish you ;;oOii by, Cousin Konab: 
 
 i Slrcfct. 1 have written to Olive to come to see 
 
 ••> see this man that you csuie up to town J' 
 
66 FOR J.i__ 
 
 .1 
 
 " But what i> li;' lo \'.'u, T^osalie. that yo\i .'Oiicern yourse 
 
 in his affiiiis?'' 
 
 " He is uothiij., \^, i^.c, 
 
 " Then why mix yourself up in such a disgrficeful busincsf 
 
 ** Because I he mnn is innocent, anfi 1 must prove it." 
 
 " Prove it, my poor child! Ho-.v couLl you prove it?" 
 
 " Thero must he some way to prove it — if the miiu is innoceui. 
 
 1 believe Ije thmivs my nana lia8 not quite recovered from 
 ellc^ra oT !he fever — he certainly looks at me i. ihought 
 
 si igh t ly d e ran j^erl . 
 
 *' 1 have not studied the case. But my-own "impressions arc t 
 the man is guilty. If 1 can manage wind yon \v-:in mt\ :.) do. whi.., 
 shall I meet you?" I 
 
 '* If you come to Carlelon Street for me, I ,b.^<.i . ... ^o with 
 
 you," 
 
 "It will very likely be to-morrov^^" 
 
 '• Tben I shall ren\ain at home all to-morrow. And, if you fail, 
 you will.Iet me know?" 
 
 '* 1 will let you kuov/, 1 hope you are taking care of yourself, 
 Cousin Kosalio. You look thoroughly worn out." 
 
 " Oh, 1 am ver3' well — a little tired from the journey peihaps!' 
 
 I wrap my fur c]oi\k about me, shivering, though it is August 
 Ronald walks down the hotel-stairs with me across the hail, i" " 
 silence which I do not care to break. He puts me into tJie cal> 
 the same almost stern sdencx}. 1 do not glance back at him as 
 cab leaves the door, though he siands there bareheaded, look 
 after me. 1 am thinking of a man in prison- a man wliom 1 s; 
 to love the raore tlie more the v;orld hates hun — riie more he set 
 to have madd siiip wreck of his own most miserable ii 
 
 1 have seen Gerard in piison. Ronald Scott manr.Q'sd it all for mi 
 — came with me himself to the prisoner's eel'. 
 
 X have heard Gerard's story — I have asked Ihv; .^■..^■., vi>.v.,...?D 1 
 wanted to asti; and tlje anawev ha^continned my own belief — Geraul 
 Baxter is innocent of the horrible crime imputed lo him. 1 beiievv 
 every word of the story he has told me, as tirml}'" as I believe that J 
 am a living woiiian. lie knows no moie of the manner in which hi."^ 
 wertched wife met her death than 1 do, except that he had no hand 
 or part in it. 
 
 My intervievir with him lasted half an liour. Ronald Scott stood 
 leaning with folded arms under the barred window; Gerard walked 
 up i\r.(\ do.vii il,;- <•, 11 restlessly, reminding me ' r ■-.*- <• fii- ■•■!"! creat- 
 ure ■ 
 
 .1 all his stretch of burnincr satil 
 
 hhi'iiiks to ii twiliglft fif'ii, whicii his desjMH- 
 (Jail jMsasure at u stride." 
 
 He and 1 met without a word, with white nblino 
 
 outstretched hands—two mi^:eral)le beings — so Your.ii;, yet lor whom 
 all the happiness there might have been in the world seemed to jiav< 
 come to an end. What Kcnald Bcott thought of our m{,H.'fing 1 l.p.cn'^ 
 noi, — 1 L^id never given him a thought during the whole of the inter- 
 view. 
 
I'j'.: 1.;. 
 
 laa loM me iiis w retcji".! -loiy in very /• 
 
 of Hay JQ self di;iensc to the Hijji^istratc 1 
 
 isiify him betore the worit] — he 
 
 ;' — but that he might juBtifj' him 
 
 ■ fc?i)e lui't the bouse ou the Iwentysecoud 
 ■/or sceu her since, Jtiive or dead," he said, p 
 
 up and down to confrcnr, me as I sat on ihe : pallet. 
 
 ..^ ran away in a rage becau«c 1 scolded I"" '• inn-. — 
 
 II never saw her n^aiu." 
 " Then wliy did you U'U her mother what ;<UM-.M>; w ns i.'i>^Mt 
 
 f nt those siorics'tor the neigV.bors— uboui letters and messages?" 
 ■' T: il me. and 1 had to say Romelhin;;. " 
 
 ot have told tb.e I ruth?" 
 " 1 would railier 1 ave said I killed her than luive told Iho truth," 
 ''But whv?" 1 :;skL'<l, astonished. " If you knew nothing about 
 r, whv >' iowlmtmust turn tosuch terrible evidence against 
 
 .irself?" 
 ■' 1 did not care a])ont rayjelf," 
 
 ■ But you did not benefit her." 
 
 rie turned away from me, walking up and down the floor again, 
 lo<?p red angry fluith o:i hiB hag;:?ard face. 
 
 * ^be was such a fool, such a poor senseless idiot; and 1 bad driron 
 ; to if — or so 1 thought 1 oiiiiht not to have tried fo . itJi 
 :• n*- I wo'ild with a rtsponsible bein;jl 1 ought to h . her 
 
 wiih bread and wntrr like an obytinut*; c' 
 . >p£'» hint alx)i»t jealousy came into 'n-. He 
 
 I been jealous of somebody — some artist wli lln^^ 
 
 wife's beautiful face. 
 
 ' It would have been better to have told (lie trnth," I repeated, 
 letter to have said that slie had p,onc~you knew not whore," 
 "But I did know, or I thought 1 knew. She had threatened 
 >re than oneo to oro to — a friend she hiid in London. ^ /" ' Lhought 
 i*he hr\il curried out her threat — at last." 
 
 I had moved rcstlcssl}' at this ' ' 1 had 
 
 it him. 1 came here to liear Gc. ; story, 
 
 ,1 to hear it to the end. 
 .uiist hnve come out sooner or lati' 
 "Then 1 ahouM have destroyed mjrself 1" the iad said fierceh*. 
 ' often wonder uov.' why 1 heid my hand!" 
 
 '. liavo wondered .since how 1 had strenuth tr wn 
 
 >lution; but my mdomitable wdl, the o- • ' dc- 
 
 ivd so much in my cbanu-tcr, imd the i ird 
 
 vAcr could s>iv<* him, car, 
 ^aw her !i«!i»in. (ro!?i iha. 
 
 •okfnsf into ills hol'nv; eyes 
 uo you (hiiiiv t^iio — put nu end to herself?^' 
 
 " I do i)(»; lliiniv it. Sib* v.a^ iiol !li'.' icliid of rirl t. h\ ' 
 
 • thai ■.'" 
 
 ^N here i- i:. 
 ;() not know. 
 
^8 FOR LIFE AKD LOVE. 
 
 why slix3 hnd not come for any more sittings for the picture. Bowas 
 an lioiit's!, Ijilow though ho paid her coinplirnejits eonietimes— every- 
 body di<], Aijd 1 did not care cnoiigl) yl.out her to be jealous, oi; 
 1 tOid i;er 1 v-iould linre no nonsrense-^l wouki kill her lirst!" 
 
 " She was not happy, Gerard?" 
 
 "H;;ppy!" he repeated scorntully. " >Ye are neither of ua. 
 happy !'■• % 
 
 " \ou inust hnve broken her heart." 
 
 " Her bear' I She had no heart— she was as, thoughtless as a baby, 
 and us iiiuorant. Her ignorance disgusted me a hundred times a 
 day!" "- 
 
 " You -should have had patience with her — she was po young!" ' 
 
 " 1 or^yht. It is that which is killing aie now. Whatever she 
 did, 1 drove her to it; but I do not think s-he took away her own 
 life. 1 think she must have slipped into the v.'ater — 1 don't know 
 how it happened. 1 only know that, since slie left the house on 
 the twenty-second of July, 1 have never seen her, alive or de^d." 
 
 Tliis had been the subt-tauce of Gci'ard's story. And now, as 1 
 drive away from the prison, breathing more freely outside the shadow 
 of those hopeless, stupt-ndous iron -gray walls, 1 say toKonald Scott, 
 Avho is sitting opposite to me, looking not at me, ,but out into the 
 crowded street: 
 
 " What do you think now, Ronald?" 
 
 *' Very much what 1 thought before," he answers, coldly enough. 
 
 " You do not believe his siory V" 
 
 "His story s'eems plau.'^ibie enough. If the girl's body had d'.^ 
 been finrnd, 1 might have felt inclined to believe it. But the fir 
 ing ot the body is a proof that she ni«t with foul play; and that lu 
 conjunction wiLh the false reports he gave of her — which he himself 
 acknowled£=:e8-vvere false — and his jealousy of tJie man whose uame 
 ne would not give, seems to me most couclusi'»e evidence of his 
 guilt." 
 
 " But he was not joalous of her," 1 my, feverishly. 
 
 " I scarcely believe that. He must have cared for her to have 
 married ])<'■'. ' And she seems to have had a moiit bcauUiul fjifc." 
 
 '* tlo.v (;.>you know?" 
 
 " klci' pliorograph is in ail the shop window?'.." 
 
 RonaM ficott is not communicative. Anything I do gather from | 
 him is dc.iit out Viilh a reticence wnich would hav > annoyed me 
 if 1 had nut been too much wrapped up in my own thoughts to re^ 
 sent it. 
 
 *' vVliere are you going now?" he inquires presently. "Home?" 
 
 "' No. i am coing to ' interview ' Mrs. White." 
 
 "Ptosdie, let me advise you to do no such thing. You don't 
 kuow what the woman is, or where slie lives. Your uncle would 
 DQ justly angry with me if I allowed you to go into such purlieus, 
 among the very lowest ilregs oC society — " 
 
 " Xj'scle Tod need know noihing about it. And it you think your 
 
 respeciTibility in any wise compromised by being seen in such a 
 
 * ' . the cab, and allow you to step ont ' • 'he 
 
 will certainly, go too," he nuf?wrr<i. d 
 
 ;. itis s^aie i\>r you with me. iZ.iC \ u 
 
)Vj:. 69 
 
 . ui-y siUuLg pioLcwt a^aiust the entire prace«el- 
 
 ' TLieii ict t bill quitit your coDscicnce> 1 proml^-- 
 .1!' !!:inlc;ui ho!p in Taw Al'.cj/ — I have no '. _:: 
 
 (1 of localit}'- 1 presume it \o bo. But 1 want to st.-e liiiK 
 ' 'hou^di 1 do not kuow thsif i* '^^ '^' ''• >'' "• •"'•' miiscovlt}' 
 •nefit our cause." 
 lit V :viii-v IS uot sp utterly wretched u i.,ji.i.- ii.s 1 "', There 
 
 ;'(. piroe of wuslc pjonrirl at tlie f wd of il, whore c re play, 
 
 "lere soinu c.iothes nn^ htin«r out oii linos to cry. it isrsi "■ 
 . m^'Mi) by street, Vr'ith snujll nicrm houses, iiot one of -.. 
 Kjilncss 1 hiui pictured fo myselt. 
 . tlie ci:b ;it fhe cntumre of the alh\ I ask tlic 
 
 oir.jjn I see slaudiuir m a doortvay if she could direct me to the 
 of iTilrs, "Wliiio, 11)6 UnndrejB. 
 
 m Airs, White," tfie woo.aa ansvrors, wilh a quick cunning 
 
 '• * 'dt my conqvinion, r.nd thfji ;U me. She is a white- faced, 
 
 ..shed wonf.m with red hair— i rather pity Ihe defunct 
 
 . w i.iuj who was " once a gentleman " as 1 look at her. 
 
 "Oil! 1 jmi a friend of 'blv. Baxter— your son iu-law. And 1 
 
 you — Mud this place." 
 
 t seems a:^h;4sl at niy tcmeiitj'. But he dftea not at- 
 
 o iutL-i(-re. At Gerard Baxter's name the Tvom^m's fr.ce had 
 
 ^ il. Slie li.Ues jiim — I know it Die moment 1 seelliatchanpte in 
 
 r counlenance — hatc3 him, not«-ilhstauding the "impartiality" 
 
 ''1 liad won her such fas"or in the court. 
 
 iiave heard of your daughter," 1 sny, cioubtful how to enter 
 
 ua Mich a delicate subject with u perfect straiuT " ■ '' nugh 
 
 .' Ltranuer be a per.'ion like jttrs. Wliite. 
 
 " JLbout lierl" the wom.m exelaims quickly. *' 'Whatauoui juer?" 
 " Why, ail about this sad biisine^ss!" 
 
 The wo;v;;:i niihcs her ftprou to her face. She hasprotrur! 
 -HO VQvy protruding thnt the)' look as if they might at uny < 
 1 out of liei head. And 1 know by experience that a woman with 
 ;'se eye whi talk while she ran get any one to listen to her. 
 " You may wtil chIi itasad business, my lady. Many a one 
 ues here lo see me, and they all calls it a Bad busi*^-^'-^ " 
 *' She was very young, and very pretty." 
 
 "Indeed she was! Much like myself whenlwtis agin. jJnc 
 
 'TOW changfis a person \^ look^ — sorrow and want imd a bad hus- 
 
 'vill 6oon take the beauty out of the handsomest face in the 
 
 *'irns away and stares down the alley. Mrs. White, whose 
 not reacii as higli as lier eyes, changes her tactics. 
 ■ She was the only child I had— the only one. Think what 
 iitiVl i>i> to you, »ny Imly, to see the only thing you lovtd in tho 
 j(\ up out ot the river there like a dead dog! There's 
 iM.iiody can forgot if they was to live a Vhousaud years!" 
 Liliinees at Rouald wlien she ?peHks of " the only thing you 
 i.a ui the world." 1 sn; ' ' uks he is my huBband. 
 
 " V7asslie," 1 ask, and know what prompts me to 
 
 ►>fiti<m — " wn- .'" 
 
 .; woiuan Q.. my face. 
 
VO FOE LIFE AND LOYE. 
 
 " She was over three weeks in the water, my lady — in course she 
 was changed." 
 " Yet you recognized her, beyond any manner of doubt f 
 "I was her mother, my lady. 1 would have known her if I saw 
 nothiug but hei hair. Loveiy golden hair it was— you may have 
 seen it in her picture — lots of people saw it. It was her hair the 
 Artist-gentlemen admired — Venetian hair they called it — though 
 some might call it red. We set no store by lier looks till people he- 
 gan to take notice of her — 'twere an uncommon kind ot good looks 
 «he had — like a picture!" 
 
 " You identified her dress of course; you would remember every- 
 thing she W11S in (he habit of wearing?" 
 
 Agtiin the woriuin pauses, eying me. And at the pause Ronald 
 Scott turns round to look at her. 
 
 " It would be queer if 1 didn't, and I seeing them and her every 
 day of her lite!" 
 
 *' It would be queer indeed. And you recognized her clothes at 
 once?" 
 
 " The minute I laid my eyes on them." 
 
 " Even the little brooch yo\i gave her— that you put her father's 
 hair into yourself!" 
 
 "I'd luive sworn to that, if I could have sworn to nothing else," 
 Mrs. White asseverates with what seems to me rather unnecessary 
 emphasis. *' 'Twasn't much jewelry poor Lily had, and he never 
 gave her anything — he hndn'tit to give." 
 
 " It must have been a terrible shock to j'ou when you saw her?" 
 
 Mrs, White's apron is up to her face again; but she glances over 
 the edge of it witl'. more speculation in her eyes than is compatibi 
 with Siny very deep-seated sorrow. 
 
 " You may say it was a shock to ine, my lady — a shock I won't 
 be the better of for the rest of my life!" 
 
 " I do not think anybody could be deserving of greater pity than 
 a mother who has lost her only child," I say -Advisedly. 
 
 And then 1 slip half a sovereign into the woman's hand and turn 
 away, Ronald folio ving me. We speak no word until we find our- 
 fiees in tlie cab again, well out of hearing distance ot Taw Alley. 
 
 '* Weil?" 1 say then, stooping forward eageiiy to look into my 
 companion's face. 
 
 *' You would make a first-claas lady detective. Cousin Rosalie!" 
 
 *' Bui what do you think, Ronald?" 
 
 *' What do you think, Rosalie?" 
 
 "1 think," 1 say deliberately, leaning back against the cushion 
 again, " that woman would swear to anything." 
 
 "Sodol." 
 
 " The body they found was not Lily Baxter's body." 
 
 " I do noi think it was." 
 
 *' And Mrs. White has perjured herself!" 
 
 ** She hates her son-in-law, and will hang him if she can." 
 
 I shiver in my warm cloak. But at the same time I '"' - '^ long 
 
 iireath of the most exquisite relief. 
 
 " Do you think she kuows whena her daughter is, KoiuLar^ 
 
 ** Iso; I do noi think she does. She has merely sworn to the iden 
 
FOR LIFE AND LOVE. 71 
 
 tity of the body as a in«ani of being revenged on Baxter for his 
 
 * ""--atm en t of t he gi r 1 . " 
 
 And Gerard Baxter is Innocent!" 1 exclaim, "with a little womau- 
 jy triumph. ** And you, a judge, i^ould have condemned him to 
 death !" 
 
 " Isot quite," Ronald says, smiling for the first time since we 
 drove through the prison-gates an hour ago. ** 1 said, it the girl's 
 body had not beeii found, 1 would have been inclined to believe hi« 
 ?tory. And now 1 am of opinion that it has not Ix^en found," 
 
 I am silent for a minute or two, enjoying that delicious sensatioB 
 
 relief. The tension of the last three or four days is relaxed—l 
 
 1 as if 1 could breathe again. 
 
 ' Ilow to tind Lily Baxter 1" 1 say, at last. 
 
 ' Ah," my cousin answers deliberately, " that may be more easily 
 said than done!" 
 
 Ve put advertisements In the papers — almost in every paper in 
 -land. The corouer who held ihe inquest on the body of Lily 
 •cter must be astonished if he sees the notice in the papers, calling 
 )a her to cx)nie forward and save her husband's lite. Nobody 
 )WB anything about it but Ronald and 1 — we are probably the 
 y people in London, except the girl's own raotJier, who are not 
 . iug the unfortunate victim and execrating the unnatural hns- 
 i. The traged}' has made a sensation; but already the interest 
 :; out — doublless all to bo revived when the trial comes on iu 
 I. 1 remain on at my lodgings in Carleton Street day after 
 ■■, vainly hoping that Ronald may bring some good nev.'s. But, 
 ugh he is tioing everything he can, it is very little beyond insert- 
 ad verli^eraents an<l putting a detective or two to work; we hear 
 hing of the missing girl. Whether she knows the jeopardy in 
 ich bor silence has placed her nusband or not we have no means 
 'vDowing. But it can hardly be that, knowing his innocence, she 
 lid let him suffer the extreme penalty ot the law. However it 
 s' be, or wherever she may be, the days pass by —the long weary 
 ^ — nnd atill she makes no sign. 
 
 time ilxed for the tiial is very near. I have made no attempt 
 
 tt njy visit to Gerard Baxter's cell ; but Ronald iSco'tsees liim 
 
 y otlen, and seems to take great inteiest in him— he is so young 
 
 \ch a uvjY^ lad, and, we believe, innocent of the horrible crime 
 
 i to his charge. That Ronald will exert hiuiself, when the case 
 
 -" •'• •' tri.'d. 1 am very sure. But, so long as the public believe 
 
 jd Lily Baxter to be lymg iu her grave in the litUe 
 
 lie was buried on the twentieth ol August, they 
 
 i till they have their revenge on the wretched 
 
 i'he bloodoflhe victim cries out f fid, 
 
 ro'lnce Lih' Baxter, alive and well, l>. . iit- 
 
 1 Baxter may be found guilty «X her miirdcr 
 
 a. 
 
 )w tinnly j^ersuadcd both Ronald and 1 are of 
 
 ■^''i!ie. Jt we had not known hr«* »" '"• <> " 
 
 wbo is ac^juainted with her ne 
 
«>'3 FOR LIFE AKD LOVE. 
 
 lie when she said slie recognized her daughter's body. It was tun 
 thin.ir in her maoDer, slight, in-deflimble, yet enough to convince r 
 watchisg lier so closely, tiiat she not on;y was unable to identify the 
 body, but that slie knew it was not Lily's body at all. 'l\ie hardi- 
 hood of the woman in rissking diacovery did not surprise us. S 
 jooked hardened enough for any thing — quite hardened enough to ]' 
 a boki front upon it should Lily suddenly turn up and rendei- i 
 liable to a charge of perjury. 
 
 1 am weary of waiting, sick to death of the suspense which 1 suffer 
 day after day. 1 am going honi« to morrow — 1 cannot put it off any 
 longer— I have been nearly a fortnight in town, and Aunt Rosa threat- 
 ens to fome up to look after me. I can do no good by remainuag ia 
 Carloton Street— 1 can scarcely t ufter more at W oodhay than I am suf- 
 fering here, though at Womlhay 1 should have no hoi>e atler post 
 hourrwhile here HtHiaid Scott might walk in any moment with some 
 good news. 1 cannot believe it possible bat that somcthiag will turn up 
 to throw some light on tlio mystery of Lily Baxter's dife*ppearanee 
 before the day comes v/hen her liusbMid must stand in tlie dock ae- 
 cused of her murder. Sometimes 1 feel half tempted to think we 
 were mistaken in supposing Mrs, TVliite had not really identified her 
 daught-er's body. The girl's silence is so unbroken, she seems to 
 have slipped so completely out of the only world which had ever 
 known her, that sometimes 1 think, whether that was her body th> 
 found in the river or not, that; she must be dead. 
 
 Olive Deane cornea to see me very otten. 1 think she is puzzled, 
 about me — t am sure she wonders wliat can keep me in London. J 
 have no excuse now of music -ie&sone—thej'e is no piano in M 
 Wauchope's drawing-room, and if there had been, 1 would not ha. . 
 touched it. But slie confesses tluit my sojourn in town has dos'.e me 
 good. 1 seem to iut^rpst myself moie in everything', 1 have more 
 color in my cheeks, 1 do not look so like the ghost of ray f ormfji self 
 as 1 did at Woodhay, when she »nd Uncle Tod thought— vio she 
 confosses to me now— that 1 was going to die of consumption. 
 
 1 shall live till Gerai-d Baxter's innocence is estabiished, 1 shall live 
 to fiod Gerard Baxter's wife. This exciloraent makes life endurable. 
 A.nd (ipr^^f i do not tliink of any afterward. 1 am bound up in 
 the present, heart and soul. 1 have fouiad a work to do, and, thougl) 
 1 seem to have been baffled at the very outset, 1 do not despair oi 8X2- 
 eompUshing it yet. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast 1 have an inspiration. 
 
 It i*: a solitary breakfast. It is still raining dolefully— 1 know ^ow 
 Carleton Slreet'looks, though ] deny myself the pleasure of looking 
 at it, oo principle. But, wiihout going to the window, 1 can see the 
 djcenched Imlcony blackened by the rain, fringed by bright drops 
 w h«rev^ a dr»pcan hang; I should kaow it rained by ihe limp dioop 
 of the ctraJb moreen curtcuns and of the muslin ones stiil hanging be- 
 hind them. Bat the rain does not trouble me much, does w' ''"- 
 pi' ess me as it depressed me ye£tftrda3^ lor 1 have got an idesi. 
 
 My train will not kave London until three o'clock in the attenuxn; 
 therefr>re 1 have five houi'S ia town still at my uiiipc-T/i, it not having 
 
FOR LIl'E A^"D LOVE. "3 
 
 f wiruck ten. Two LcHira woiild be r.mple tor (he Ir.v ' 
 li;inf»— it iy merely to pay a visit. Slioulcithe visit r.( 
 1' ■• fujiy, lind 1 hope will — a longer slay in 'Loudou, i l 
 
 tv. o Uncle Tod a«?ain. Aunt Kosa will think 1 have; 
 
 lUHii; hilt that ciiunot be helped. Some diiy or other 1 will explain 
 everything (o ihcm — it may not saliaty Aunt Rora, but it will ac- 
 count lor what certainly must seem a very wild treak to them both 
 now. 
 
 1 shall not ask Konald Scott to go with me thii time. I dare say 
 he will be very angry with me for not afikiug him; but 1 have given 
 him trouble enough already, and can do what ] have to do just as 
 well vithout him — indeed pei'haps a great denl beiler, 1 am going 
 to see the i.Iis. Haag wiio kKlged in the same house with the Baxtery, 
 the womaa who gave evidence at the exammalion bctore the magi.s- 
 trate, tlie wife ol the German Yiolinist, the lust person perhaps who 
 saw Lily Baxtf r alive. 
 
 How tlie visit can benefit the cause 1 have taken up I do not 
 know. But some strange impulse prompts me to make it — not 
 prompts me merely indeed, but drives me — J can describe.it by no 
 other word. 1 feel impelled to go and see this woman. She ha(i 
 corrobor; led Mrs. White's evkleiice, and Mrs. "V^ hite I believe to 
 have peiiurcd herself. But she had only sworn to M'hat she knew, 
 or tho knew — if Mrs. While identified her daughter's body, 
 
 surely -. Haag, would naturally be led to sec in everything 
 
 corrolo; itive evidence that the bocl^ was Lily Baxter's body— tJiough 
 at the iriv} iiry she had stoutly denied having ever seen the brooch 
 before wlii. 1! was found fastening the collar of the drowned girl, 
 '•^his ckcuniiiauce alone gave me an idea that the woman might be 
 nest --had been honest in her conviction that-the girl they had 
 joand flording in the river was none olhor than the girl siie had last 
 seen aiive on the morning of the twenty-second of July. 
 
 1 know trom the newsf)aper report where Mrs. Haag lives, or dirl 
 live in »li; 'i'^>« of Ihe inquiry into Lily Baxter's disappciirance. If 
 
 omebody Ihesi'e wfil liable to tell me 
 . ; :l,\y, or the people at the theater — 1 re 
 ue and sijuatiou — will bo abie to give me her lius- 
 I liavp becomd quite clever at hiding on expedienls 
 py cl<»vefneS3 has led tosolitlle. But my want of suc- 
 - i! ; •. . I anted me, though 1 did lift up a htrnwlfible voice in 
 ' own V >i);t! last night and ciy as it my heart would break. But 
 ny courage has come bnciv to mo. tJie old indomftahle 
 nt Rosa calls stublmrnncss, the obstinacy whic) I rri'ict 
 from the grcat-gveat-.iriau(imother whose or 
 d to me, and who was known as the most pi^ i 
 
 lime, 
 
 ■Hi my brcalcfaat, put on my bonnet, and sent Mary 
 I by my own umbrella, to fetch a cab. 1 have a re- 
 
 >. v .. totid, grimy-faced maidof ail work. She had liccu 
 
 p.d to tijc poor lad who used to hxlge here— bad she not on one oc- 
 ion lelt Uiv newly-lighted lire to its own devices to attend to his 
 MuerV I. 'iary J^nne would like a situation in the countrj', 1 wiK 
 d one tor her; but 1 doulit if ifary Anue could live out of the 
 vcmeut ol II Loudon lod^ijig- house. 
 
/* -D LOVE. I 
 
 kt ftliil mfns, a fiue cheeiie>-H diizzle. But I am not ruiUKiiig cm 
 thn weaJiier jis I staie sirai^h^ beforg me Rt Ihe din<;y' " Ccming o: 
 AL,'e Of ihe Beir " wbif b romiuds lue so muoh of tile weeks 1 spen 
 hate Va^*. MiucU — those bap|)y careless weeks wneu Gemnl J3nxter aH<s 
 1 fell in lOve w'iib eMcb oiher. Then the g-itiomy old room was s 
 frtiiy land lo me, a ioors paradise wbereiu 1 shI and (Ireanied of h 
 day th>-,* was never 10 be. Now no boyish laugh echoes down thai 
 stnifi*, no suspicion ot cigar -smoke conves \s-*irt^d up from iheli ' 
 door steps. Only all iLe place is full of jibftjinung prefeetKe, the > 
 rowtiii {i'hor*!. of the poor n^oud boy who bad dared lo fall i - .». 
 with me, and wham I bad been loo wise or too weaiv to sjivo. 
 
 Ho%v can ihrU ^M-| he married care so llitle about him? She is 
 wite, be li'r busbanil. It she l)c indeed alive, bow can she let 1; 
 lie ia such jeopardy? Siie had care<l for bim once; be bad said 
 me tbftt day at Woodbay — " Siie was fond ot me— 1 will do, her 
 juslice to say that she was fnnd of me, niiserable beggar that! wa 
 If she has any feeling tor him sfiil leit in her bear^— if she does i 
 bate him utterly, as her mother bates bim, bo^^ can sli£ leave Ijim 
 languish in prison, ac-cuHedof a crime of which slje done could prove 
 bim innocent ? i bt-lleve her mother to be a stupidly vicfons womart, 
 who woaJd shrink from noihiagshort of actual iir -i in ah 
 
 BiU the girl bud tlje face ot an anicel — 1 cannot ;- r cnpn 
 
 ot the hovrib":e eriieby of allowing her husband to d: 
 from her coidd save ills life. 
 
 Mary Anne comes back in the cab. 1 put on my warm.doak — the 
 d&y is raw and cbUly — and set out on my erratic vejiture, witho' *• 
 spying a v/onl to any one of where 1 am i^oino;. Nol)ody will .^ 
 m.3; even it this had been a daj- when people would V " :\' lo ije 
 out of doors, nobody coald recognize methrouirh Ihetl. ...e veil 
 
 1 ')-vrii tied closely ovx'r the upper part of my face. It iioiiiid Sc-: 
 cui.s at Carieton S:ree}, be will suppo'^e 1 have gone to stv', Oi' 
 i>e,'inp, or liu' Kulleslons, who came Ivack to town yesiciHay. t' 
 he is more lik'My to meet me at the rail way-slat ion at three n'rlnr-!.. 
 indeed he is alriiosl, aure lo be there, t« look after my hi^ 
 I)or{mr.nt(m:i -and to wij<h me goodb3\ 
 
 1 le.ich Shitor's Bairdin;2:ci after much drivhi<?- through devic 
 
 ^'r ■' ■ ' uies ot whose existence even 1 bad not been cognizanr 
 
 w ^ -U's Ihe mere sight of which makes ine wondej' how a; 
 
 i>;im 111 '!'j..n:j; cou](i live and b)eathe their loa'hsoiiie airs. B 
 Biator's Building'? arc not so bad an some of these, nor is the ter 
 ment-ho.i:^.!' i am lo search of in sncb lameufabie v.ant of repair ai 
 vcntilafirm a.s some I have passed in my journey to it 
 
 A woman, minding a lillle toddlingchild on ihe dooistep, tells me 
 that Alis. Ra;»g dou^ live there, eying meat the same lime witJi acun- 
 ning!y suspicious look. Deslriiig the cabman to wait, for me, and 
 rather gind ;o see a policeman at tlie corner of tbeslreet, 1 follow the 
 wo;»an -s diicotinn.-*, and a minute later find myselt in tbe presence 
 of tbe Gerjf.an viojlnist's wife. 
 
 She is a Genu;; a tfM)— 1 know it before she .^ipeakB — a stolid, good 
 -•lumored lornuti,; woman wish round blue eyes and flaxen hair 
 :!no;.)thiy drawn Ita'-l-; under a whife cap Hei room is quite neat 
 and cieau; sJie vva.* working a >:evving mnchine when 1 tapped at the 
 utjor: huL she bus kik Jier work lo speuk lo ukc, politely Oitering rao 
 
tell ber ; 
 
 •Oil ill !kU tne flnyrhiiit; 
 
 , ': In Ibe Uoan2 rj tlip su:: 
 
 1 if she liio'ig iuMe V. ticy 
 
 Mjpied. 
 ;iuii sbnki-s bei bead; she does not tbiak it possible tbat 1 could 
 
 Ibe room — tbe lunJlord bad tbe key-— it had no' ' "" '-t since — 
 •jple did uot seem to care uLout taking it — nobon to take ;; 
 
 i)ud naine, and people will i\l'\ ' .v^ ■ 
 
 .;^b a liiiu|^ b.ippcns— it issil.j, 
 it. iiao .-i-'ca.x.s in quaint GiTQiun-Englisb. i 
 .d lier boa-'-s! lound blue eyes. Sue tells nie nil 
 .li Baxters, wiib liHsit;;ilon. I can see tbat it bus nyvei- d^♦^ 
 »on ber but Ibal Lily Jl'jxter is dead; no doubt of tbe body 1: i 
 on ijpj* bod}' bas evei enicred ber bead. Tl»atsbedid uf)t i 
 ' i>— •!. iH notiiing — 8lio luight bave hadtweaty brooches .. ■..■,,. 
 
 seeinfic tbem~and she was not observant— she could no. 
 •u s vMur to liui d less she had on — it w^s tl-e red hair 8he recou- 
 /ed, sbf» sjiid, and the black-cloili jjickt-u Tliat altuost everyho'lv 
 : I jacket did uol seedi to have " ' er — slie ' 
 
 tbe c?Irl found bad been thi- , and, \. .. 
 
 .'d os\ II luollier swore to iier identity, it wa^i iioJ, for ber i< 
 1 could see all this plainly in every word she said— she ba:^ 
 •en it tor gran'ed that tbediowned woman bad l)een her neii^hbor, 
 . I there, with true Gerruiin pblegn:, she had let tbe matter rest. 
 
 1 do EOt rouse any suspicion to the contrary in her mind now— it i 
 
 ) for that 1 carru- to Si:dor a Buildings. Aflcruavd v - '■■' 
 
 \i wofuan into. our conbdetiee; but what 1 want to iii 
 
 I r had any fri^juds — any girl of her c.\ii 
 L'iris have. Mrs. ilaag dots not know — .vl. 
 -r vviis very childish— silly rather— and very vaiu. 
 iiflemeu had fc-poilod her— not that sho way bad either, ■ 
 : y anfl cliildisb; if used to vex her husband. And he did not allov 
 •I to associate much wilb her neighboi'<»; he was a ev.'lt-iii.ui once 
 ' I kept biins«-lt to himself, and would baveljer o 
 Ki was so childish, she would not bo i^aid naj*^ by iii.-i. 
 * B\it bad she no liiend at all, no compacion, no old Bcliool 
 
 ■" 1 Mi*U, looking hard into the woman's con ' 
 
 >i 1 vou nes^er hear her e-peak of any oo\ 
 it seems so strange for a girl 
 
 •;'t itV" 
 
 Id not allow her to ii^i 
 " It wa<» one reason • 
 as one thing whuh made us dislike hitn; he 
 '^ t'^^ 'road. There were some people lod 
 luily — the latbei played llie ' cello' 
 nd. They w<^re not fortunate — thef ,,,,11 
 
 another was dead — of the children, t is m tli 
 
 ;d (me was a cr" * 
 
 v', or tbt; child 
 ;hc ileir soon put a .stop ;u . 
 ' other thf»ater~l kuo>v no; 
 
,. FOlt LIFE -L.. J _. . „. 
 
 '' Do ; . \, iicre they are now?" 1 ask eagerly, 
 
 " i do u.)i Kiiow. "The father wha a poor wtelch, always besot! 
 -:-■''''' ■ ■■:, Kow tiii liifpt his dtustioa ia auy orchestm 1 do l 
 Bn[ tie was a .irootl musiciaa — he had talent — it was 
 iiiousnnu pfiif-s he€cui(i not keep Lim«elf steady." 
 
 " The ciippleii child— 1k)\v o;d w;^s she?" 
 
 *' Ten or eleven, periapc; but she lookwl like an old woman. Si 
 fed thvoiii^h a liap on the stage and hurt her back — she was playi.. 
 In a Chrii:i:n:iH panlomime— and she never recovered irom it. t" 
 was like a -.vitcli or a aionke^'. But &he loved Mrs. Baxter, that ciu/ 
 She loved her whh her whole heart and soul." 
 
 1 miL'^r ond tUnt rliLid! 
 
 ** CtxT: v J L not give tne any cletv by v;h!ch 1 mi\u;ht find that fa; 
 JIY? 1 CIO lioi mind s>pe<iding inon<?y — 1 iiave plenty ot iiioney. 
 I wouid give, anytiung to see that child !" 
 
 Mrs. H^iiiip: Blares at me. Aly excitetnen-t puzzles her. 
 
 '• Wait a riioment," she sa}'^, and, leaving me in possession of h 
 him little rooni, she ^ocs down stairs. 
 
 Hhe is gone about tive minutes, which firne 1 spend gazim: 
 belwetu tL'i uerauiums on. the Avindow-sill at my cabman, v\ : 
 stands besiac his vehicle in the mirrow street, rubbing his har., 
 together and glancing impatiently from time to time at the open dc 
 below, 
 
 Mrs. Haac: comes back at last. 
 
 " 1 tho;!:;lit my n-eigiibor in the next hou^^t' (iiigu; khow uiq i\.\\. 
 .iddress— biic too is a German — she can hardly speak any Kngli> 
 She says it is a piaoc CiiUed Frigj^te Lane— a very lo\y place— .v; 
 hiippens to [mow, because r.bout two months ago siie heard iium o. 
 of the chiuLf.-n, and she stijl had the letter by good chance, ii; 
 ing son«a ajy to answer it." 
 
 " Tiuijjk you vrry mach," 1 say hurrit^y, slipping a note ir 
 hxi woman's hand — I say it is for lImj baby whoui 1 see a-sleep in li 
 rudle. and turning to leave the loom, " with all Hope's torches ; 
 in boih njy eyes." 
 
 *,' 1 hope niadame does not intend lo go to that place," the worn; 
 sax's, d'..^;ainl;ig me. ** It would i>e no place for madume." 
 
 " Oh, I aiii not af/aid — Imusl go!" i exchiim, thinking of Bona; 
 andA\;n' jio^a, but teeiing very niuch as a fox-hunter must It 
 v.hen he ijir.Me the "view ludloo." " 1 dare not waste a momeL 
 t imiy be a matter of lile and death; but i thank you all the san^ 
 lor yoM!' ! '■ 1.ne3S; perhaps it may be in niv rK';\v<.r some day to ;. 
 tiira ;. '' 
 
 I'Ill V .. "'OSes the door upon mev.u.i ,. v...... which sp. ...v. 
 
 'VOiume''. 
 
 " ^^b" / ..'. ir^iss?' 
 
 " To ;\ , !i;l;er Xine, Frigate Lane." 
 
 1 give lie iidilrr-ss a« unflinchingly as I can. It is almost at ll 
 other end of Use ciiy — so, at least, 1 judge from the man's lace. B'. 
 ■3 climij-: (o hi'3 box Vvilhout entering any compiaiut, tucks hi:j n. 
 ; bont hiia leisurely, and slarls alf fit a t>!u-c vi-bicli pronn^es to br:;; 
 IS ihMe Hoo It du'ik. 
 
 1 1)M' .. .; nje fijue duri;.,, 
 li ui father uucoiiVti. 
 
Srivflto detective in such a wretchedly discrediln.M . ... .uv .-h oe 
 axter case. 1 can quite syrapathize with mj Cousin Ronald's 
 robation — Ibis drt^^'s work will bring hh o no lo a 
 
 but it lie had sliown ten times nioi-e disu; nay, a 
 
 J limes, it would nof hare made any dilfcrence lo i.ic. VVhat 
 o to sar? the mnn 1 loved— the man whom, Ihro'i^h all my 
 id 101101' lion, 1 ieel thaf 1 love siiii iu eveiy 
 
 . my UD' _ —1 will do, if it coste mo not OQl,y 
 
 naid Scott, but every friend 1 have in the ■\vorld. 
 
 CHAPTER Xll. 
 
 N, in the course of time, and after some more or Ifss tedious 
 '»s for the |v.iii-)0se ot inquirin*:^ the way, tliecablji'nily coiniis 
 ill, and 1 let down the Ynndow, ] am positi 'ied 
 
 x'lne wretchednesB of tlie locality in which 1 i elf. 
 
 xiucdui is it that 1 shrink from the ideti of steppini; out into the 
 (1 und dirt, among the swarms of raggal children vho look as if 
 h, air and soap and water were alike unknown luxuries. The 
 is horrible to breathe, rage:ed clothes, hung high overhead o» 
 3 stretching across the narrow street, drip with moisture, the 
 Iks are strewn with refuse of fish and vegetables. In all my 
 ore 1 have never been iu such a place, and my lirst impulse 
 turn my back upon it then and there. Ilut 1 think ot au even- 
 ; not very long ago, ot a faint, clear, gold-green sky, of a boy 
 o had promised to love me, hohling me to hi.s heart lu the star- 
 it; and, dnuving a long breath, which i? almost a sob, 1 step out 
 lie cab, desiring the man to wait for me as before, and cross the 
 ddy pavement with my silk skirt held tightly in my hand, 
 EH) the Raffs live here?" 1 ask of one ot the wretched-looking 
 (iron who have crowded round me. 
 
 Ye.s," the girl answers not uncivilly; *' they live at Ko. 9— right 
 
 it the house." 
 
 in the nairow eatry, I eye the broken dirt-begrimed 
 
 isly, winding upw-yrd betvreen walls the idea of com- 
 
 I with which aende a shudder through mr veins, so 
 
 oLed are they by the gruny ksndfi andshoulder.'^of 1 know not 
 
 ..lany generations ot nigged passet'supauddown. But. it is for 
 
 ard; the thought nerves m^ to encounter even the nameless hor- 
 
 - of that ill-lighted staircase and 1 know not what further dens 
 
 loul air and wretched n<-s»8 lo which it Iwiils. And, with the fur- 
 
 vtirauce that iu a few mioittes 1 shall have left F :" ' ^.ane 
 
 iiH horrors behind me, I set out on my adventure ;. 
 
 ay to the top ot the house. The latter juili of the 
 in almost totaj dirUne^L^j; but at last 1 r<"'"jeli n nflrrow 
 lee low doors op ;>n It. 1 kn :u» near- 
 
 no answer; my • i , :J ihc next i- I bv .i 
 
 rp" Oomein!" 
 
 "^ in, and am ac^reeably surprised ;.. w.. .. .... .^ .„.y 
 
 ^;sK of the gMirft-roo'n. There are plants in Tug window^ 
 
 i'ii«g plants hanging frmu Itllie wire-bj\skets, cc (ems in 
 
 .3S covered with pine cones, a geranium, a iX)t < Two 
 
78 • li LIFE AKD LOVU. 
 
 beds covered with cleae pal cb work quilts stand at one end of tlie 
 room; there are some unframed pictures on the wall — prints troin 
 the ** Graphic " and the " Illustrated News." But 1 see only one 
 thing when 1 open the door— a little girl pausing in the middle ot 
 the floor, leaning on crutches — ^a chikl yvhh a quamt old-fashioned 
 lace, with sharp black eyes, with short, thick, black hair tied back 
 from her ta<^e with a piece ot scarlet woolen braid, with a blue check 
 pinafore over a very poor, wnli-patched, bicwu statf frock. 
 
 " Is your name Raff?" 1 ask, shrinking from rhe gaze ot thos€ 
 eouaprehensive black e3'^es. 
 
 '* Yes," th(5 child answers warily. 
 
 " 1 have come from a friend of yours—Mrs. Haag." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " 1 wanted to see you, because you knew a person once m whom 
 1 am greatly interc^sted." 
 
 " What person?" 
 
 *' Mrs. Baxter. Do 3''0U remember her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' Do you know where she is now?" 
 
 "Bheisdead." 
 
 My heart sinks. The child's lace I(X»ks blank, impassive, stupid 
 almost. 
 
 " You are quite sure she is dead?" 
 
 "Oh, quite surel Everybody knows she is dead." 
 
 " But I happen to know that she is alive." 
 
 It is a bold stroke. The girl looks hard at me, without a cbangj 
 ©f countenance. 
 
 '* Nobody knows that," she says deliberately. ** How could they 
 know it?" 
 
 " Because w^hen a person is not known to be dead it is generally 
 taken for granted that he or she is alive." 
 
 '• But doesn't everybody know that Mrs. Baxter is dead?" 
 - " Do you know ii?" 
 
 The sudden shai p question seems to stagger her. 
 
 " 1 know nothing about it," she says, after a moment. 
 
 " You were fo-nd ot her — were you not?" The bh;ck eyes glisten 
 a little— whether v/itii tears or not 1 cannot say. " You would be 
 glad to do hei a service?" 
 
 " You won't bribe me," the girl says stoutly. " I wouldn't teJi 
 you anything, even if 1 knew." 
 
 " Has anybody ever askwl you anytiiing about her?" 
 
 " No— never! Vv'h}- should they nsk »ne?" 
 
 '• Because vou and she were friends; you might know more than 
 ether people. 
 
 " 1 wasn't there when it happened," the girl says, her eyes tr 
 eling to the wiiidovv, and resting there. 
 
 " 1 am a ware of that. But it she wanted you, she knew where 
 to find you." 
 
 The black eyes come hack to me for an instant, then go to the 
 window again. 
 
 " Wliat would she want with me?" 
 
 " You mig.ht be able to help hex. What is your name — ^youf 
 
POE LIl'j: LOVB. 1^ 
 
 liOHio, i; ; on f.iKni ivt :in\ tuif, vvu'LJun't JOB like lO GO SOUao- 
 
 ttiinjr ili:it vrould benyfit tiicm rerv {uucL?" 
 
 ^ ts rminc] the jx-or ro<;m, leauin^ heavily on her crutches. 
 
 Bu kew no auiiwer — dom nol a< tempt lo make aoy answer. 
 
 " i a-ii Lil}' Baxier's friend, I want yovi to believe thlit " 
 Tiie child turns her biack bright eyos upon me, scriiiinizin^ me 
 from ht'ftd lo loot. Leaning on one crnlfni, she stretch»'8 oui her 
 h.ind, anil poliiy sfrokes tho fur on my jacket, as if it were » living 
 thinsjT, Hnd could feel pleaaure at thetoucli. Then she takes hold of 
 my dress. 
 
 ** Lofiie,'* 1 exclaim impatiently, '* you are keeping me waiting all 
 
 this linio! la there nothing you want — nothing I couid do for you? 
 
 1 orn very rich — I have a ^eat deal of money. If you will tell 
 where to find Lilv Raxtei, 1 will give you" money —more than 
 ever hud in your life!" 
 
 r iR an tmgr;i(.etui task to me to offer bribes to the litile creature 
 >se loyal y 1 cannot help ndmiring, though it pu's my own i>a- 
 (re to so severe a test. I3ut 1 have a powerful incentive, a dea- 
 
 i>ir ue obj^xit in view— tJic saving of a life which is more dear to me 
 
 a tho.isanil limrs liitui my own. 
 "Well. Lottie ?" 
 
 Suddenly, >vi!lu)ut any preamble, she bursts into a passion of 
 teurs. 
 
 " Go awa_, , . ..> .m^1)s vehemently — " go away out of this! I don't 
 ii your money —I don't wunt you here — 1 hate the sight of you!'* 
 I will riot go Hway till you tell me >> here Lily Baxter is hiding," 
 /. with detemiination, "* 1 came here lo find out, and I willuot 
 iway till yojn tell me, if you know." 
 1 don't know " 
 1 thinly yon do." 
 i tell you she i« dead." 
 
 She is not dead. You are telling a falsehood, Lottie. 1 don't 
 - ' ' ■"! tier — it she knew how much I wanted her, she would 
 i>u for not telling me — vou are doing her harm and mis- 
 very wicked falsehood besides." 
 . e, her small pale face very troubled, the tears 
 ou her long eyelashes. I am sorry to b to 
 
 iVon) her; but there is no ottier war to he 
 
 y only excuse." 
 
 list me, Lottie. 1 ani i,:iv i>i.\;t'i .- iritm;. 
 
 one of the small hard hands in mine; the upwanl 
 black !• ' ' ' nrdihoO'; 
 
 .' the ill 
 
 iH-r ii i at last. 
 
 in he:' a 
 
 lold my ur«uLh in an agODj of sus- 
 
 I nic/» face," she ol/serves > 
 
 1 do her any harm. I don't ki, ... .. ...^v -.ii r- m-.i , 
 
 1 me, because I might be asked, you know — but sko 
 
50 FOE LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 ** Have vou no idea where '^^''^ •'?*' 1 ask, my heart sfeiklng a ;..» 
 tie. 
 
 " 1 know where you coul. ''' you ^Yeat thero to-niErht. " 
 
 " "Where;/" " • 
 
 The i'lnlii nanips a Iheater uu kijovvn lo me. 
 
 " Bhe d^icccs — m the ballet. Shu has another nair; 
 1 don't know it — she didn't teil me — and «.he looks dii/t;ieiii- 
 hair issn't red now, nor bright. She comes to see rnc." oa.eti:. 
 Oh, 1 hope she won't be anj^ry with me for telli: ver 
 
 foro-aye me tor telhug on her, what bliouid 1 do?" 
 
 'the bliick eyes have clouded over with teiirs agaiji. it burls me 
 that I have wounded the child's con&cience, but there ■'' ■■-^ '^'^ ? " '" 
 for it. 
 
 *' She won't be tingvr with 5'ou, Lottie; yor have don.r iiev 
 greatest gerviee you ever did her in your life. Does anybody-r-u 
 your fatJier— know?" 
 
 " Nobody knows it, but me." Lotlie nods her black head. 
 
 " You are a good little trieud. i wish 1 had a rrreat many like 
 you." 
 
 But this is an \mfortunate speech, and adds bitterness to the sobs 
 which threaten lo dt^lroy the equilibrium of the poor little stunted 
 figure lejminji: so heavily upoa the old ^ell-polii^hed crutches 
 
 *' Don't cry, Louie!' 1 am going to he your friend too. Tell me 
 "what I can do for you. 1 must h\irry away n6w; but i will come 
 again soon; 1 wou't forget you. Would vou like that?" 
 
 1 hold out a sovereign on the palm oi my glove. The black eye* 
 gliUer. 
 
 " Will you give me that?" — Sfcaaning my face cn.Terfv. 
 
 "It is for you." 
 
 She puts out her hand and seJaos it greedily, -.„ ... 
 
 thsmks. 1 am disappomted — aad yet vrhat else could 1 have ex- 
 T> T'ted to find in Frigate Lane? 
 
 " What will you do with it?" 
 
 " We owe so mnch rent," the child says, her- voice j^mKing sadl3^ 
 ■" Father doesn't bring in an}' money — " 
 
 " "^^"ho then keeps the house, Lottie?" 
 
 " 1 and Gretchen and Elsie, Oh, we kepp it xery But the 
 
 rent seems to collect so last, do what we will." 
 
 " And what do you do?" I ask, looking dovi-n at the brave little 
 creature. 
 
 "1 make match-boxes. 1 don't get much for them.; but it is 
 something. 'And 1 can make a great many in the long days; but 
 not s*) many now." 
 
 1 make my way «k>wn the filtliy staircase again, detennined on 
 one thing. 1 will make a friend of Lottie Rtifl. 1 do not think she 
 is lavish of her friendships; but it seems to me that it would be f 
 feather in my cap if 1 might e.dl her my friend. 
 
 It is growing dark and raining heavily; the cabm: 
 wrapped up in an oilskin cspe on (lie box of his vehicle, too sur;. 
 take any notice of me beyond moving on when h*' ( ;,';^;;m'«..s il, 
 have had time to bestow mye*'if inside. J. k 
 shabby cushion, drawing a long breath. Cap i' 
 Lily Baxter at last? It seems too stran^ic 
 
FOR LIFi: 
 
 81 
 
 ler 
 
 Ot It ; 
 
 ■.r\i 
 
 tlie ; 
 
 It s 
 
 ,; 
 
 Koi 
 
 ndon. qaite doi-e to us, rw, one 7n:vy say, all ibis time 
 
 u huiiliii^ the counfrr for bcr tar aud wide. Aly 
 
 1 a ynaL ^low ot triumph. I am jihid it wan 1 ivljo 
 
 ,u tjoi^ jiiMKhx.'!'— 1 am g\%d ihat it i« to me Gerard Bax- 
 
 ui* lUniriy, HiDce it vftB thiough me — or so 1 have al- 
 
 uat he sunk to so lovr a dppth of mivsery. 1 wonder, im- 
 
 .'iHt Jiouald Scott wiil n».y. i am. g.oiiig stmiglit to him 
 
 A Uim my wondeiful news. He will disbelieve me at first, 
 
 -not me. hot my iuformsnta. He never was sanguine, 
 
 of the pi-oceedingR. But we can prove the 
 
 .:, s *itt}ry ; for my o's^n part 1 believe ever\' woit 
 
 I jeQ i am only a woman, and not an Indian judge. 
 
 . drive lip to the door ot the hotel, the windows ;v.o «., 
 
 : t-m are crossing tlie great hall in every direction. 1 tell 
 
 !o wait lor me, and. getting out, a.sk one of the waiters 
 
 ! Scott is in his rooms. The man stares at me dubiously. 
 
 hear me?" I exclaim impatiently. " 1 wish to see Sir 
 
 " is at his dinner." 
 iiim. Here is ray card." 
 ■:.. 1 akes the card and stares at it, but makes no attempt to 
 
 Tiu 
 
 IM il'c 
 );\v»' (• 
 iriv (>-.\ 
 
 Tiic :k 
 Jtir. 
 " If you call acain in an hour — " he begins. 
 " '^■'■■- '-i{ card to Sir Ronald Scott tins iustanti*' 
 e refuses to see anybody at this hour—" 
 refuse to see me." 
 
 ^ 8wnv leisurely— I fancy he axchanges a glance of 
 with some of his fellows in the hall. While 
 hue of liie gaslight, 1 feel very much ** out 
 * very iouely, vciy desolate even, though 1 know that 1 
 fiece of my own free will, and on another's business, aot 
 'iut the sea<fe of loneliness and isolation is new to me and 
 ''^vv'ryliady else, seems at home, busy, preoccupied, 
 king out at the pareengers hurrying alf)ng the wet 
 icnt, jvt the caiTUiges driving past with their bright 
 rnuflled occiipjinls, at the ever-changing panorama 
 
 1>. . ■'. t(»»5ling strangely odd and soiiiary, and as 
 
 f * :ind had nobody belonging lo me, 
 
 .ug very long in reality bci'ore Konald himself 
 
 n the staircase in full evening dress, and \\Hh 
 
 uot to say angiy face. But 1 do not care about the 
 
 J, am so glad to see him. If it had not been for «!.(> 
 
 •I sure I should have thrown m3>ielf into his am, 
 
 you need not look frightene<l — there is nothing tin. «. »■- 
 
 lif'T. only thai 1 wanted lo ttil you about — about — that 
 
 . , u went down to Woodhny to-day, Rosalie." 
 
 ^ •' > go (town; bnt 1 found 1 could not leave town." 
 
 , ought to go home, dear. Will you let me take yott 
 
 ■ RtreH now— at once?" ' 
 But your dinner, Ronald — " 
 It, i»; r',1 I ti'>r M'jnni. HIV diinit->r " — siri*' • yoy 
 
FOE 1, . • >-D LOYii. 
 
 ,. „. not to do f liese things, to be out alono at this boirr. 1 car 
 hv.e yuii do it; 1 am very imgry "witli you." 
 
 " But,. Ronald," 1 exclaim, eagtily, ** 1 have a \. ,.-.,.. 
 to tdl you! 1 have—" 
 
 Tiie'hall is crowded with waiters, coming and gomg. 
 
 *' 1 will drive back with you to CurleUm Street,," 
 peremptt<rily, and puts me into the cab. Then - ■ 
 and overcoat, and in three minults is siUiiig Oj 
 we drive slowly through the crowded noisy lamplil sUcc..:. 
 
 " Ronaid, I ha':^e loimd LiJy Baxter." 
 
 "Found her. 
 
 " Til?,? is, I h..., .. .. ;:eve to find her." 
 
 "0.',' Ronald says, less" excitedly, "that is a very di2erenl 
 
 " 0.. >na]d I am sure we have foiuid her tliis A.nc 
 
 then i proce'/d lo tell him wy adventiuee, to which ' ■ s witl 
 
 an exceedingly arave face. And when 1 have fini lead ol 
 
 commend inij me, he mere!y says— 
 
 •* riosalie, you must promise me never to do such a thing as ; 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, Ronald, don't worry about me; I'm all righ"^" 
 
 " Ko, you are all wrong," he says, and then and 
 
 lecture the like of whiciri, AlHc'Soaiers Scott ot .-.. , .,-.. 
 
 certainly never recyivetl before in my life, because theie was uobodj 
 who would dare to give it to me. 
 
 Ann all the lime'tiiat he is scolding me— if £uch srave disap 
 balion of niy conduct c&u be called «co]ding—l ' " ' '■ 
 
 ing how nice he looks, how brave and slei'n t. 
 p'.'it-.ujt it would be for a woman to have sv: 
 i^coit to take care of her alwaj's, and to see t; 
 proper and right. And I supposjc my thoughts ur« wrili'in in 
 |acR, ior sudBer'" 2'.^nr,Ll, who is looking sir.:! It ii-1 • LiV t 
 smiles a little. 
 
 *' 1 am arraid _>uu c;il ;"/i listening to me, ^..-.^......^ 
 
 " 1 am thinking that it is rather nice to have you .'r isl' 
 
 Ilonnla." 
 
 " B;;t 1 want you to think of tie scolding, no! 
 
 " It yoii want me to say that I am sorry for •;'. . 
 i must tell you that I am not sorry, but glad— glad 
 Jiave been able to do so mi-ch." 
 
 *' But you could have done it as well with 
 
 " I am not sure about that." 
 
 " But I am pure ot it." 
 
 "•■ And now, Ronald, 1 want you to tak ' tc 
 
 " '"^' v'n'y JviU not do, Rosalie." 
 
 *• Then i must go alone." 
 
 " You :-.hit!l not go alone, or at all. It is T\r 
 go to— it in one of the la&t places in London iii 
 
 to fice you, or nny one belonging lo me." 
 
 " 1(. If. not a child ov-,\ b.iby'" 
 
FOL LIFE AND LOVE. 83 
 
 Ircrtflf (i1 phv ^ tbinklng of Ger 
 
 a vvue. 
 It is not fit 
 
 ** But 1 must find her— -t^nd there seems to be no olber way. " 
 " 1 will &ea!l a (ietecti-"^ <*' >f'> tr._.,^,n..r,.>x. " 
 ' But to iiioirow— " 
 
 " it aJjie is llicrc to nivi;.Ji, hu-,; v. ui d--.- Ui<;.':,- lo-ifiu; . 
 " But if th-'v triaht(:n ker avi'ay, Koaald?" 
 
 ■ '.i, il you wifth," RonaL-. 
 jg to hear Albani, 1 and : 
 m bill, i I ii vvill make your mind e&sy, i .u-^-t; my 
 
 CO ) lo itiis place instead." 
 
 ■ Dear iiou.ild, if j'ou would!" 
 ■' Then 1 v^ili," he sa\'s, smiling airnin. 
 " DeAT rousin, how sUall I thank you?" 
 "7^^- •"): thankin.i!* me at all, Rosalie." 
 
 s oat oi ilie vrindow, as il he harl ne ll.alited 
 
 uciorQ, while I look at his grave profile ana ^ . Li^dcr it ho 
 
 iHo a niii^cniliie spoil-sport. 1 have spoiled his pleasant cveu- 
 
 iag, aL ail evt^ni^;. 1 haji nure Ik; hates the idea of j:c«jng to this low 
 
 fourilj or fihh r.'ile theaJer at the other side of tlie cit". 
 
 ' Do you think you will rtK-ognize her, Ronald?'' 
 
 '*! SM;ir>o-(' I pli;;]'. froili iiUi d( .-.i-lintliiii voii i::r ;,nJ 
 
 '■ is immrvabte, and I do not presrt the point, - 
 : ou say bl^.e ha.s chimged the co'or of her hairV 
 * Yep— dyed it, X suppose. It wiil alter her apT :ood 
 
 d." 
 
 ' S:» 1 shouM suppose." 
 F'"" ■ ;i; !i ■ ; ■ : till we reach Carleton Street. 
 
 ■ i',! '.i I ;;■ ' ' yourself intliose outlandish places, FoDald." 1 f^avr 
 !h rather tardy concern, ag he wishes me good-ni; 
 
 " Do not l>e inieasy." he ianghs carelessly. *' 1 h 
 :iy cross road^s not to be able to take care of luVsc 
 
 ■ \ ,.A ^ K.,^ ^ijj yQ^ jy^ mQ know? ' 
 
 •rro?/. You are going horti 
 
 :tL li-iii I depend upon what you fiiid 0';i lo i; 
 ^u !TUT--.i f'ohonie, liosalie. Isiiallgo down Wi . od- 
 
 11 mu»t ftrsl brln«;Gerar(' 
 ■s H liiii'.', lurnimr his nojid a\vay. 1 1 
 he din.! liviit of tbe t;a«ijet.. bvilfoport 
 1 coat, 1' ' his hand. Tl; 
 
 '^^ • ' • ..; of mine, someUi...,- V ......... 
 
 \enda itself to ray careless fancy > it 
 
 •' Goo(l-idL'!i!." ' 
 
 nor, 
 
84 FOE LIFE AKD LOVE. 
 
 whirl of suspense and dread of 1 knjow n&t what. A tlionsftTid 
 nameless terrors and conjectures flit tlirough my brain. What if Lily 
 Baxter skouid escape us at this last moment! What if that child has 
 outMritted lue — put us on a wrong scent, altogether? But over and 
 above all is the glad triumphant consciousness, the hope that will 
 not be put down, that to-nabrrow, through my instrumentality, Ger- 
 ard Baxter may be free. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 ** Well, Eonald?" . 
 
 I have started up to meet him, the terrible suspense of the night 
 and mornmg showing itself in my white face and shaking limbs, 
 
 " 1 have found her, Rosalie." 
 
 1 cover my eyes with my Lands in a passion of thankfulness. 
 
 "Ami Gerard Baxter?" 
 
 *• Tnis evening Gerard Baxter will be at liberty.'* 
 
 "He does notku o w y et V " 
 
 " !1N o "—curtly. 
 
 1 stand by the table, leaning my hand upon it, Ronald Scott oppo- 
 «ite to me, watching my face with curious intentness. 
 
 *' Did you recognize her at once?" 
 
 " No, not at once. But 1 saw^ her afterward— coming out of the 
 theater; and then 1 recognized her." 
 
 " Did 5'^ou speak to her then?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Was she frightened?" 
 
 " Not in the very least." 
 
 " But did she intend to let him die, Ronald?" 
 
 " No. At least, she fjays so now." 
 
 " And you believe her?" 
 
 " She is nothing but a foolish, giddy child. 1 am only surprised 
 tnat she was clever enough to baffle ua all as she did. She intended 
 to punish him, she said. He had su.«pecled her of horrid things, 
 and s-he meant to be even with him. Slie ne^er meant to let tiie 
 trial come on — so she said. She pretended to know nothing abotit her 
 husband at first — not even that he had been suspected of making 
 away with her; but 1 soon letker see that she could not make a fool 
 of me." 
 
 " And she allowed him to lie in prison all this time, knowing — " 
 
 " She seemed to think it rather a good joke," Ronald says, shrug- 
 ^4ng his shoulders. " 1 tell 3^011 she has scarce!}'' any notion of right 
 or wrong — she looks a mere child, and a more ignorant uneducated 
 utterly thoughXlcss child there could scarcely be. 1 never saw such 
 hardiiiood in my life — the idea of the body that was found having 
 T/een identified as her body seems to have been the greatest source of 
 amusement to her — she could not speak of it without laughing." 
 
 " Did her mother know?" . 
 
 *' She knows nothino; about her mother. I believe she dislikes the 
 woman exccnsively — and one can scarcely wonder at it." 
 
 " She is vcr7 pretty, is &he not?" 1 ask, hesitatingly. 
 
 " She hcz a most beautiful face." 
 
 "You ackniceher?" 
 
FOR LIFE AJTD LOVB. 85 
 
 '* Ko man can look at her wUhotit aflrairiiig her. " 
 
 If ^ si'jh, Ronald Scott doa* not hear ma 
 
 •' \\ 'vM will you do about Gerard i'lirtrr?" 1 inquire, after a p«use. 
 
 " 1 am goini; for tlu? girl now, t< r before the authorities." 
 
 " It she sliould have run away, i ' 
 
 " ily dear Kosalie. you must think me a very simple person! I 
 took care to put the house ^here she* lodges under the surveillance 
 of tJie police. But 1 do not think she has any intention oi running 
 way." 
 
 •'Did she winder how you discovered her?" 
 
 " She did aot ask me any questions, and 1 \ ' 
 lation; 1 think, myself, she was rather suipr. 
 'und her belore." 
 
 " Can slie be punished in any wayT" 
 
 " 1 think not. She is so young, you know; and she will say she 
 .new nothing about her husi>and's delentkni in prison." 
 
 " Ronald^" 1 ask, in the same hesitatmg way in whieJi I hjtd asked 
 another question, " do you think she cares at all for him?" 
 
 " I am sure she does." 
 
 Ido not know whether the answer pleases me or displeases me; 
 but 1 put my hand to my heart. 
 
 "Go!" 1 exclaim hurrieilly. "Don't lose any more precious 
 jie; and, when Gerard Baxt^ir is at liboty, send him here to me." 
 
 Ronald's face darkens; but he merely snys — 
 
 **And YOU will allow me to take you down to "Woodhav this even- 
 ing, Rosalie?" 
 
 " When I have seen him." 
 
 He goes away then; and, for the next hour and a-half, 1 walk up 
 and down the room in unoontroilable excitement, 1 cannot sit still 
 — every sound startles me, every passing cab draws me to the win- 
 dow, every voice down-stairs causes my heart to beat so lun' ' 
 nously tliat 1 wonder how it can bear the strain. Twenty ti;, 
 
 ok at my watch— how slow the minute? drag! — it is not out 
 
 dock -^vt: riTui vet 1 feel that 1 have endured an eternity of s«s- 
 Y' { Scott left the house at eleven. The cool, autum- 
 
 ti . Li into the room, creeps across the colorlejss carjiet, 
 
 s on tlie familiar pictures, on the faded table-cloth, on the silver 
 vidsps ot my fur cloak as it hangs over the back of a chair, on the 
 dead dry griusesin the vases on the mantel-piece. How weary 1 am 
 ~f them all, how 1 hate the «ight of thtnai, and of ' *'v 
 
 ce in the glass! 1 see it every tmie 1 turn fa my : i 
 
 id fro— a white fact:*, with dark shadows 
 
 '*h contracted brows, with ptde trrmbli^^ 
 never smile agtiin. Can thi 
 -the girl who used to lauj^h, 
 
 . who used to sing " In my CbaMau ot , I 
 
 ■V Lee " in such a gay rollicking vrnce, who u. . .. „. 
 uook-chair, eating almonds nnd raifiins and ( 
 ,i.ir.- wi a boy upstairs painting away in a shabby velref^i u - wi, 
 
 lio had thought h sucJi a terrible tiling to hicve been fownd out in 
 
 e unsolicited gift of a bunch of violets? 1 can st ^ • '■ •■. 
 
 y own idontity when 1 look at Uiat ghostly fa( 
 
 ow more ghostly with ^t^j loud moootonous tick ol the oki 
 
Sb rOE LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 .ick en t1)ri landing, vHtb cvciy ^:^p that passes by the door — tliat 
 passes and d^fs not come in. 
 
 Another hour pfisses— two hours. Mrs. Wanchope comes up witli 
 my Juocbeon, and carries it away again imtas'ted; a telegram arrives 
 from Uncle Tod to say that the carriage has been sent to meet me; 
 but the carrin^e may go back again, for 1 am late tor that train al- 
 rqady. 1 am beginning to teel that I cannot bear this terrible strain 
 on brain ana heart any longer, when the door opens, quickly, is 
 quickly closed again, and 1 turn round, to find Gerard Baxter stand- 
 ing just in-uile the room, looking at me. 
 
 With a low exclamation, 1 hold out both ray hands. He starts 
 fonA^ard, and, seizmg them, falls upon his knees at my teet. 
 
 For a moment neither of us speaks. He has buried his face in my 
 dress and is Bobbing heavily, while I hold both his hands in a close 
 hai'd grasp, shivering as it t had the ague. 
 
 *' Gerard," 1 say at last—" Gerard." 
 
 Still he sobs on, like a heartbroken child who has wearied himself 
 out with sobbing. 
 
 " Gemrd, you are killing me. It is all ovei now, dear; you must 
 not give way, for both our sakes!" 
 
 He raises his tear-swollen face— that face which apcms to me but 
 the ghost of its former self, so gaunt, so haggard is it. 
 
 *' You have saved my life— 1 would thank you for it, if 1 could 
 speak; but I cannot speak!" 
 
 ** Do not trj^ to thank me, dear," 1 say, with stiff lips that almost 
 refuse to forru (he words. " It was all my fault — I know it; but it 
 is lul ove" now." 
 
 He looks up at me with drowned eyes, with piteous lips that 
 tremble like my own. 
 
 '* And 1 do not care to live. It would have been better f6r me if 
 1 had died." 
 
 " But you must care to live. "Why should yon not care to live, 
 ■^JeTard? The world is before you — you are young; it is only cow 
 ards whoTsish to die!" 
 
 He makes no answer, but kneels there looking up at me, his 
 cheeks wet with tears; and, though i spf-ok so brsiyely, 1 myself am 
 trembling exceedingly; my hands are as cold as ice, though my 
 cliceks burn. 
 
 "You shall go to Italy, Gerard; you shall study in Rome ar 
 I'lorence; you shall make a name for yourself and do me credit— . 
 who am j^our friend." 
 
 His haggaid young face brightens a little, but only a very little. 
 
 * It could not be done. I am a beggai' on the face of the earth. 
 Ulie— twice lieggared kow. ' 
 
 *' But i am rich— you forget that!" 
 
 He siiakcfe' hLs head, with tlte old ohstinate gesture. 
 
 " But listen. "When you are a great artist, you shail pay me back 
 — with interest, if j'ou like." 
 
 He smiles faintly at that; we both smile, he looking u)p and I 
 looking down. 
 
 ** But thai wretched child!" he says, at last. 
 
 '* 1 will take care of her for yeu, Gerard." 
 
 "Toul" 
 
rGK Lire AND LOVE. 87 
 
 " Yes. Miu siiuli live with me at Woodhay while you areolar. " 
 
 " T.'ish yo:i, Allie?" 
 
 " "With me. AucI, wheu you have grown rirb, yon shall come for 
 ferr — in I wo or tlnce years perhnjw, it you work v( ry hard." 
 
 UediUidcJerH, siili kneeling beside me, still holding both my hands 
 ag:iins-t hisbrijjist. 
 
 " I.Iave you lorsriven me, Allie?" 
 
 " Eulireiy. 1 wiUi 1 could as easily forgive myself." 
 
 Ho bendiB hixS head and kisses my hands passionately one after the 
 other, 
 
 *' flow can you tell rae to lire— 1 who have lost the only thing 
 worth living for in the world?" 
 
 Lookiu^^ down into the boyish careworn face, remetnbering all his 
 • for me. all that he has suffered through that love, a great flood 
 
 jtitv feurgcft thioiigh my heart. 
 
 'Tvly poor boy," 1 say, smoothmg the dark hair back from his 
 loi'ehcad — " my poor boyl" 
 
 " Can yeu care ior me still, Allie — a miserable wretch like me?" 
 
 " 1 shall (iare tor you always, Gerard — always!" 
 
 ■ As you cared for me once, Allie?" 
 
 For a moment 1 hesitate, with the hungry hoi!0".v dark eyes de- 
 vouring rn}' face. 
 
 ' As 1 might cnre for a dear brother, it 1 had ene, Gerard." 
 le standB up. Hinging away my hand. 
 
 ■ Ih that all?' 
 That must be all." 
 
 And you can mote out your affection to such a nicety as thai?" 
 I hope so — with the help of Heaven!" 
 
 1 c»tmot!" he exclaims roughly. " 1 have not my feeVin^fS so 
 ■ '' ' -r control— 1 cannot love you like a lover one day, 
 
 or the nextl" 
 v» e liJii iievcr be anything but friends, Gerard; but 1 shall ; ' 
 s be yonr friend — }our best of friends," 
 
 be your lover," he says passionately — " your lo"\{ , 
 
 You may tiiink po now," 1 answer quietly, but my heart rebels 
 ■?v;t ti... bitter tnte that has divided uj». 
 
 it; and 1 glory in the knowledge. I love you with ray 
 .... J . }_}^^^ J shall never lovccin}^ o'her woman. And 
 r that 1 do not greaily cjire to live?" 
 
 ^ 'ting my hand to rpy forehcf^d 
 
 ;.ve wearied yoii — you look lii?eji he ex- 
 
 . tj'nce as passionate sis his anuer n a mo- 
 
 1 will go away — i will do anything you ask me. 
 
 rvv darling, you do uof know il.»^ungui&h '■* '^ > 
 
 day!" 
 
 •y from me; i..i .,, .. ,. ^.,^.n w, ...lor misers 
 ;n the wild dark eyes. I am afraid of 
 ^ ^me def^perate thing, perhaps, in I " 
 lie, you will promise to do what i 
 
 You w O'-".^-^ O'uce — to Italy — to Ro: u will start 
 
88 FOR LIFE AND LOYE. 
 
 to-morrow— 1 'will give you a chock on my banker's— (o be 
 when you come back. Gerard, you have brought suffering u>). n me 
 too — you ov/e it to me to make this reparation — it is ail 1 ask of you 
 — oi will ever ask perhaDS. And you ovre it to your wile." 
 
 " Do not speak of her.''* 
 
 " But 1 must speak of her. The child 1ot€S you, Gerard." 
 
 " So much the worse for her. " 
 
 *' Yes, unless you prove yourself worthy of h«r love.*' 
 
 " Of her love, AUie?" 
 
 " It is the only love that can rightly belong to you now. Aiid it is 
 a precious gitt, Gerard— even the love of a child." 
 
 He turns away impatiently. 
 
 " Gerard, vrill you do this— tor my sake?" 
 
 " If you asked me to lay down my life for you, Allie, 1 wotiid do 
 it." 
 
 " And you will go at once?" 
 
 " As soon as you like 1 do not care what becomes of me." 
 
 " De^ Gerard, do not speak like that. It breaks my heart to hear 
 you." 
 
 "'My heart is broken," he says, letting: his head sink upon his 
 rjreast. 
 
 '* 1 hope not," 1 answer, with a poor attempt al a smile. And thjpn 
 1 fill in the check for him with a hand that sliakes a good deal — a 
 check for a hundred pounds. " You may write to me from Ita! 
 And I will write to you — to tell you about jout wife," 
 
 He kisses my hand passionately, looks at my face with eyes which 
 seem as if thej' were trying to take away a memory which must last 
 them through eternity, and then, without another word, he goes 
 away. 
 
 And I throw mj'self face downward on Mrs. Wauchope'Q drab 
 moreeji sofa and cry for two long hours as if my heart would break. 
 
 We are rushing along through the darkness, my cousin Ronald 
 Scott and 1, as fast as the express train can carry us. Ronald is 
 leaning back against the cushions opposite to lue, his tweed cap 
 pulled well dovsTi over his eyes. 1 am sure he is not asleep, though 
 he sits there so quietly ; but 1 see his eyes in the shadow — the lamp 
 over our heads gives such a miserable glimmer of light. "We have 
 been traveling for nearly two hours now— in another hour we shall 
 have readied the nearest rail way -station to Yattenden, where the 
 carriage from Woodhay will be waiting for us. T^e have scarcely 
 addressed each otiier during the whole of thoste two hours. Ronald 
 does not seem inclined to talk, and 1 feel too wretched to do anything 
 but brood over my misery, staring into the darkness with wide-open 
 miserable eyes. 
 
 " Are you very tired, Rosalie?" 
 
 Ronald's voice startles me, the silence between us has lasted so 
 long. 
 
 "Rather. Why do you ask?" 
 
 " 1 thought you looked tired." 
 
 " Have 3M3U been studying my face?":::;ajittle querulously. 
 
FOR LliTE AND LOVE. 89 
 
 One cannot very \rell help seeing '^hat is strais;ht before one." 
 •' I t^ " our eyes were sbut," 1 ^ay, reniemlfjfirinf^ how 1 had 
 «itiuii»»'i was visible ot his calm gravn i'ace a while ago, A\oa- 
 
 uQ thought of me. 
 veie not bhut. What were you trying to find out just 
 
 V t ' ■ 
 
 Whcnr" 1 ask, thougjh 1 knovr very well. 
 
 When you did me the honor to consider me ao intently." 
 
 1 wa.s trj'ing to find out what you thought ot me, Ilonald.'* 
 ' And did you find out?" 
 
 " Not much. You have one of tho.?e faces which 1 cannot read." 
 ' ' Then I have the advantage ot you there." 
 " Can you read ray taoe?" 
 '* Very ohen 1 ran," he answers, smiling a little. 
 
 Youl'.HVe an interesting otudy, then " — shrugging my shmdders. 
 
 I think I have. Pwosaiie, would you like to know what I think 
 
 •our' 
 
 1 know you think me very foolish." 
 ' Then you do not want to know?" 
 
 ' Yo^i could not tell me anything pleasant " — with a rather forced 
 i:rb. " I wish we v/ere at Yatteuden, lionald; don't you?" 
 ■ 1 do, foi your sake. Rosalie, are you to see that fellow Baxter 
 
 The naiiie sends a shiver through my veins. 2\.nd yet it is for ever 
 
 -'■^ ■ ' rars. 
 
 do you ask?" 
 
 I) hefU" it," he says, without answering my question. 
 
 ■a glad?" 
 
 s neither good for you nor for him." 
 
 agry if Rouald did not iook so grave, did not speak 
 in s: r of -fact, fatherly way. 
 
 to Italy," 1 say, in r"\ther a subdued •'"^* •" 
 
 ..7u taken charge of his wife." 
 
 :r»resses neither approval nor disapproval. 1 wonder U 
 -it he (thinks that I am brr-ak in g m}' heart about a 
 iccounts could not have cared very much for me? I 
 1, like a coward, refused to let him tell me what he 
 ... jiist now. But I had shrunk fr<m\ another lecture, 
 <.! foily and wickedness ol my undisciplined heart. 
 , you have redeemed yxjnir promise nool}'"," Isay, stretch- 
 liaud to him in my old impulsive fashion. " You have 
 ' a me; you have borne with rne very pn*'"'" ''^ 
 of me. if you can help it," 
 ..aid out ot the shadow to lake my band. 
 .?t*^ must be dirfcte^l the other way, Rosjilie,'* he nn- 
 ■swers < ookiiig at me with brov/n eyes, which for one 
 
 '■'^'^ i" But I shake my heail. laughing a little. 
 
 1 love yoii ntore than jo"u do uiu!' " 1 quote, draw- 
 • rather (|uk;k'-' 
 num> til! th 
 1 Lhedarknu^ 
 
90 roa life aisd 
 
 IVr Yattend ' 
 
 they Liic ;Ui M'c::, ijul vcryuneiisy uccau: 
 the earlier train. 
 
 CfTAPTER XIV. 
 joll3^ little tellow, Olive?" 
 
 Olive _G;laacoH at the clier Lib- faced boy on my lap, whojr 
 been smothering with kisses. 
 
 *' He m a line^cliild, ceilainly." 
 
 '* A vine (iiilcl!" 1 exclaim vrith It'.ughin!.', inc.i^-^iM.'-jn. 
 sppak of him as if he weie some youug creature w-iom you v. 
 fattening" tor a prize." 
 
 Olive glances at ua from her low chp.ir inside ' 
 sitting on the slops just outsi'le, holding the sturdy, Ivvuv 
 in ray ai ms. September siinBhine makes glorious the r" 
 of my old house, rising shiirply defined against the serene b. 
 September sumyhuio dreams on the smooth terrace, on ihefrini .. 
 and careful flower-beds of my slieltered garden, just as it drear. 
 upon thera three yeju's ago, when my sick eyes f»* •' ■■ ' • •' 
 them, nor in ihe sunshine, nor in any other tuir or 1 
 
 " You will spoil him, Aliie," Olive says; bat a 
 smiles iadulgenily. 
 
 '* Spoil him! You are not cnpable of being spoiltd. 
 Ton take atter yom- godmother, my fair chUd! As it , 
 spoil such a darling, Olive! Why, the nicest thing i euu v< 
 him wouldn't be half nice enough!" 
 
 " Not half nice 'nough!" Scott corroborates, in a peri!' 
 of chucklas. 
 
 " You delicious little mite!" 1 laugh cneoaraginglv, kie^ing 
 rosebiid mouth, h1« bloomy cheeks, his dimpled ewK ^ - . 
 
 makes vain snatches at ray hair, at my ear-ri?v"«. »^ 
 with his chubby dimpled' {ists. *' Wh}', C 
 ahould do noiJiiug bat kiss him all day lon^i': 
 
 " I wondcT whnt would becomeof ilyacioiha' 
 thi palish geu( I'aiiy, if I made sueii a > oose ct :; 
 demurely. 
 
 1 take gre;;., . . ....jt in spoiling my ,.,■,-■ .:^ 
 
 is s-uch a splendid little fe'ilow, but principal: 
 ing to hear Olive prct&sting against ii. She h....-> : 
 
 matter-of-fact since she marfial Mr. Lockliarl! 
 transformed her from a scatter-brained girl in»o t" 
 clem\ir3 matron who ever pretended not to adovc 
 think her chiidrm tlie most perfect chijdreu that 
 
 " I v/onder how you will bring up your ov«-n r 
 days," Olive observes in her precipe voice, gi. 
 pinafore she is embroidering. 
 
 " I shall never have any children to bring u: a rich 
 
 old spinster, and Scott shall be my adopted su... ,,; . . , - 1 len^^ 
 Woodhay to him when 1 die, and he shall take the nacua oi Scott 
 Scott Lockhart Scott. Doe-sn't it gr)und well, Olive?" 
 
 *' ]t sounds well enough," Olive Sitys, snsiling, 
 
 " ■" ■ " ' " ' ■ ^""" come ta 
 
.?;d love. CU 
 
 ** I bopr*3 it will never com'O to pass. " 
 
 " ^"^ lopo your sou "won't have "VS ' /iiver ' 
 
 ■A', your own son ^vill have )', Allie. "Von bavo 
 
 an ugly silver mug the day he was 
 
 Hikes bet head, denuded of its golden ,, , svith 
 
 n braiiis drrt'vn buck pininly from her torehead i as teat i, 
 
 .. i j;t neatly at the back, of her neck. 
 
 "My dear Aijie, I shonid be sorry to think of your livino- tb( 
 
 ^..,.1.. , ]:f^. y(,Q iiuve mapped out for yourwlf. It seems ail ver, 
 , ■while Tou are youiij;; and have plenty of friends. Bii; 
 JoL'ely y:>ii would feel by-nnd-by Tvheuyou ' 
 ut husl)and or children to care for you — w; , 
 who rtally loved you, perhaps, ife and iaoliici is 
 
 ioved!" 
 
 ii i fii'^ii, Olive does not h'?ar me, though her pink ears are sharp 
 
 :^^'!:!'b. ' •■ 
 
 y dear. 1 have been resigned to my fate this lon|r time back,' 
 •••■•'•JessJy, pulling one of Scott's elastic curls straight and then 
 un into gU)S8y flaxen spirals Ji^ain; "and, afler all. it is 
 i.i;L >.:i; ■ :i vlt}' ten-ible thingto be ah old maid." 
 •' 1 thjuk it is a lerribie thing," Olive answers seriou 
 rrible thint;." 
 
 " Yon did not think so always, Olive. 1 remember when yon rid- 
 ii' a of marr-mony and were going in for woman's rights 
 . X idad of thing." 
 " uh, that was before 1 ^?ne\^'!" Olive s;>7S soltly. *' Did yo 
 ev hear of a woman who had ;> lni<'V!T> : ami child? ^ AisUiug she. 
 ^if? r.n okl m;ud, AlUeV" 
 
 " ^Vhy do you try to put me t^.n w^ u</.iceit with .u v r.ji, Olive?" 
 iim fretfully. "1 said long ago that 1 should never many, 
 ju '.i 1 never shnll. But 1 mean to be htippy in my v. 1 titii 
 
 happy— in.-; :i.;^ hnpo" 8« h?jlf the innrried v^-omen i. id." 
 
 O;, ,UQ, very positively 
 
 *' ; 'i onr te:i," T )«!v..v, v 
 
 .-. 1 filiiver in my bine and gold 
 
 .-., .. . . .,, yet." Olive T;>>'Tnc t^i.r-i^iiv i^'' 
 Not so vci y f\riy "-- 
 
 "■ ^" •• ' ' lulH l»a(.l? I ii;i • ' ;j I tit.:: :i :.::\ j.i.u'.^ iv. 
 
 >t hear much when vou and Scott ; iih 
 
 u) hav 
 to pnli • 
 
9:;'; FOR LIFE AK» LOVE. 
 
 '* OTive, the ead of it will be that 1 shall quinTol Mvith you." 
 
 " 1 bopf? not,'"' Olive says equably. '* Here is Sir IloDald coriuDg 
 Ujj- the lavrn." 
 
 L bad seen bim before she spoke, crossing the grass Iclsureitj^ his 
 >!;un under his arm, and his 'logs at> his heels. He weais knicker- 
 bockers and coarse ribbed shooling-stockings, and he looks very 
 well — or 1 like his looks very well— as he comes up Lo the window. 
 
 " Just in tinoe tor tea, Hoiiald." 
 
 " i don'tcare tor tea, Kosaiie," be laughs, leaning his giin against 
 the waii unl sitting do'«vn on the slt^s at a little distance from me. 
 " But 1 don't miiRiasyiisting at the ceremony once in a way." 
 
 " Had you any sport, Ronald?" 
 
 " She hopes you had not," Olive interpolates ir.ischievously. 
 
 " Vriiy does siie hope that?" KonaUl ftsks, looking at me. 
 
 "Don't mind Olive; she is intensely disagreeable today' 1 
 laugh, shnigging my shoulders. 
 
 Digges has brought up a gypsy-table in front of me. and laid the 
 tea-things upon it — my dainty Sevres cups and sjutcers, my gdued 
 spoons? my favorite plum-cake, piled high on a Sevres dish, Olive's 
 iavorile home-made biscuits, a basket of ripe black plums. 
 
 ""What have you been doing with yourself ail, duy, Rosalie'. 
 Kourtld asks, with apparent irreievancy. 
 
 " Gardening a little, and driving with Aunt Rosa." 
 
 " Why did you not come to meet me, as 3'ou promised yiu 
 would?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " 1 was looking out for you in the larch wood." 
 
 " Were yon?"' 
 
 '* Is that the way in which you keep your promises, Rc«alie?" 
 
 ** 1 scarcely ever make any promises." 
 
 ** So much the better, since you tan break them so easil}^" 
 
 *' I inlenricd to go, Ronald." , 
 
 /' Tiieu why did jou uot come?" 
 
 If I had any rciison at all, it wassuch a silly one that ] do not cu 
 (o tell it W him— indeed nothmg would induce u\e to tell it to hit 
 ot all people in the world. 1 hav"e gone to meet 1dm on his way ba( 
 from shooting probably a hnndrtid limes; tuit of late 1 have shruj 
 from treatmg him wUh the sisterly familiarity which has lendei' 
 our intcT'couise with each c-iher so*p^'-asant— to me, at least— for li 
 -ciSt three yeais. When or how this new feeling of shyness sprm 
 up it would puzzle aiie Lo tell. Rpnaid lias always treu'.ed me like 
 younger sister, ^Aith a crcntle protetrting kindness which has nothii;., 
 of the lover about it. 1 believe his isjst attempt at love niakmg was 
 in the train that evening, three years ago, when he brought me dow?-« 
 lo Woodbay. 1 do noi. remember a single word, a single look aim 
 then which could be cocLtrued into the most distant approach lu 
 anything beyoud cousinly or brotherly afiection. And 1 have ig- 
 nored the past just as entirely — perlKips it wjis easier for me to do it 
 than for him — aod found it very pleasant to have Ronald to go to in 
 ■11 my dilSculties, to ease me -in a great measure ot jili my cares of 
 -tatc, for, though we do not live in the same county, or in the same 
 countrj' cvea—'Ronald's place, Ba'quharrie, is in Scotland — 1; 
 comes to Woodhay very often,' and \v^ write to v.irh ,)i\H'v con.s^ini; , 
 
FOR LIFE AKD LOTE. M'd 
 
 — lot»g letters, cbicSy on business, but letters M^hich 1 think are a 
 pleasure to us both. 1 know they are a ' to me. 
 
 i bave bail a great niauy offers of in during Ibe last three 
 
 years, more than 1 care to remember, i dianissed my suitors one 
 after the other with no qualms if conscience, lor even tlie vainest of 
 them could not say that 1 bad bestowed any favora upon him, or 
 given him any reason to believie that 1 would lend a favorable ear to 
 his suit. The only one for whom 1 felt any sympathy was poor 
 Gussie Deane. It did grieve me— for the space ot a day and a half 
 — to send him away sorrowing; but then neither had 1 ever given 
 him any encouragement — my greatest enemy could not call me a 
 flirt. Gus had gone out to the Cape, he went more than a year 
 ago; Olive hears from him sometimes. She says she thinks he in 
 getting rather fond of his colonel's daughter, a ni«e girl whom we 
 used to know in London; and 1 hope it is the case, Ellinor Deane ia 
 married to Jack Rolleston; 1 have had them down here at Woodhay 
 on a visil. Poppy and her ^usbaud are in Ceylon. 
 
 Ronald Scott had never gone back to India. A. distant relative — 
 a third or fourth cousin of his mother's, 1 believe, and a very old 
 man — hud died before his year's holid.ay was over, leaving him Balqu- 
 h.vrie, a fine wild p>aee in the north of Scotland, which it seema 
 he always knew would one day be his. 1 have never been there; 
 but 1 have seen photographs of tho old CAStle, with its keep and 
 drawbridge, and the great wild mountains towering up behind it. 
 Bometinaes a disagpeeable thought obtiudes itself lbio my mind that 
 Ronald will be manying somebody some of these days, and that 1 
 shall lose my friend. But 1 put the idea away from me persLitentlT; 
 when the misfortune happens it will be lime en&ugh to lament over 
 it Me.anwhile Ronald ])elongs to me. 
 
 Dear old Uncle Tod died two years ago, and since his death Aont 
 Rosa has lived with me. At his death the Lockharts moved > 
 vicanige. It is plcjisant to have Olive so near— scarcely a da 
 t we do not see each other — her nursery is one of my 
 anis. When 1 am enjoying myself there, nobody would ^^ 
 that 1 was the unapproachable Miss Somers Scott of Woodhay — so, 
 at legist, Olive tells me when she interrupts some glorious romp. And 
 1 am happy enough, with a kind of negative happiness — 1 manage to 
 '■^'(^ and lake aome pleasure out of life — without the heart which 1 
 led, the day 1 came of age, far down in the depths ot my shad- 
 owy combe. 1 hare never attempted to raise it up again — I do not 
 8iippo.se 1 could, if 1 would. 1 have loved and done with love— 1 
 /e my heart to Gerard Baxter three years and a halt a \i i 
 
 e any heart lett, it is iiLs stixl. Deep down, far a\\; :}io 
 
 urbing pleasures and cares of every day, lies ttie n if a 
 
 Avi!;! thirk eyes — the memory ot a tall handsome ml 
 
 ;igo, whom 1 know — it I dared to disturb the moss and 
 s about that buried heart— ^ i'^vc still a& 1 «i' 'i' n..., ri.^v,. 
 »^ in the world. 
 L wi. night you were in a hurry Un n.iv, Allie?" 
 ' )Hve'8 voice wokcs me out of a reverie. 
 1 wonder vrhere Lily is?" 1 remark, as 1 anange mj cupe and 
 !^orf». 
 
94 FOR ilFE AKD LOVE. 
 
 " Poor cbildl" i stiy softly. 
 
 "Stie seems eery ncrvoas and excited, Allie, doesn't she?** 
 
 " Is it any wonder?" 
 
 " 1 s appose not." 
 
 1 fesl nervous and excited rayself, tliough I try not to think of to- 
 TOornotv. 1 ha'^e been learning a lesson for the last three years, and 
 I am afraid, now that 1 shall so soon be called upon to repeat it, my 
 couraue may fail at the last moment. If I could have saved myselt 
 fso severe a trial, 1 would have done it; but I could not very well. 
 And, after all, it is better to have it over. The test must come 
 sooniT or later, and sometimes 1 almost long tor it with a fever of 
 impatience, for, till 1 have tried my own endurance, bow can I know 
 tk'it it will stand? 
 
 *' Scott, will you run in and pvill the bell, darling — or stay, I will 
 go lor her myself. Here is your te^, Olive, and excuse me (or a mo- 
 ment — 1 want to see wbat Lily is about." 
 
 1 find her in the pretty south roon. which 1 have had fitted up for 
 her. iSbe is standing before the glaas, a foiender figure in si long 
 white covvn. 
 
 '^UTyl" 
 She turns round at the sound of my voice. 
 
 '^ Admirmg yourself, you vain chdd?" 
 
 Slie runs lo me, throws her arms round me, a-d bursts into a 
 sudden pnssion of tears. 
 
 " My dear Lily, what are you crying for, on tliis day, of all days 
 in the yenrl" Only sobs answer me. 1 touoti her hair tenderly, the 
 soft hair that fleams like gold as it rippka away from her white fore- 
 head. " You are a very foolish child, Lily; do you know that?" 
 
 '' 1 cannot help it, Rosalie, ob, Rosalie, what if he should not 
 care for me — what it he sbould have cared for somebody else — " 
 
 " He has not cared for anybody else since he left you, darling." 
 
 " But how do you kno-w?", 
 
 ■ 1 know. And 1 have come to take you down to tea. Dry your 
 eyes and come with me," 
 
 Bbe dr es her eyes obediently; she is just a«i much of a child still 
 as she was tbiee years ago. In other things she is improved out of 
 nil resembhnjce to her former self In appp.arat»ce she has, if any- 
 thin.r, .^r.iiiod in attractiveness, while in manner she is as differ fnt 
 ho2\ r;;e lirl 1 brought down to Woodhay three years ago as she is 
 in euii''::iion and refjnemenl of speech. I have taken pains to make 
 Geraxd's wife as beautiful mentally as s-heis outwardly, for his sake, 
 and 1 have been rewarded by a most unexpected measuie of suc- 
 cors. Lily is as fair as the flower she m called aftei — the w^retched 
 gun<)ritidin;;s of her neglected childhood have not smirched the white- 
 ncpa of her 8oul. 
 
 A iltt- ,rd slie is still, a little willful even; but to me she is 
 
 always ( ;; itself. 1 think ehe always vrould be to anj one 
 
 she ;OV(^4l4 . • " 
 
 Ai)' r])e lotes ine with a perfect passion of devotion. Wlietli 
 e'uj \. (;u.!d lore me so much it she knew how Gerard once loved me 1 
 1^110 V y~(jl — '1 have taken care that she shall never hear that story from 
 me or fro«) any one else. 
 
 «*^.v^j, .' cVmP 1 /i.> >f iiehaf"'-' "'"'-> T^n.-.TTov" 
 
roil LI1''K A SI) LOVE. 95 
 
 1 am holding one of the small trembllnj^ hf>nd«t. smoothing back 
 "s of red goUl Lair out of I ho xci' • vie eyes. 
 
 cf the wiatfui fiice Siinds a sfrai/^ .learL 
 
 ;... , o • <: -ling! As if ho could!" 
 ' Ho ut;vci :<',o 1 me ae 1 loved him, Rosalie." 
 *' Then bo will full in love with you to niorroTr," 1 assare her, 
 smiling. She smiles too at fhat, a rery childlike smile. 
 " If oowld ouly Ihkili it—" 
 
 ** My darliug, you may bo sure of it. He will not be able to help 
 iiioaseif." 
 
 ** Am 1 so different from what 1 was then?" 
 The deep velvety eyes s<>arch my face wistfully, the color buma 
 deeper and de'-nf^r in the rounded cheeks. 
 
 " Just the d'.ucrence that he would wish to see, Lily. You were 
 I (hen, darling: now you are a woman, readv to lend a woman's 
 helpful life." 
 ' it 1 noay only help him, Rosalie!" 
 
 '* You sihall help liim. See how he has got on — what a name he 
 ^ made for himself! And if he has done so much alone, what 
 X- iil he not do with you to cheer and encourage him?" 
 She sighs, as it the picture oppressed her with its weight of felicity. 
 " VVl.'Hi have you been doing up here ail the afternoon, Lily?" 
 *' Looiving at niy«elt in the glai?s," she answers at once. 
 " Tv ou are!" 1 say, laughing. 
 
 *' II , wasn't it? But, if you knew, Rosalie — ' 
 
 "1 do know, Uiirliug— 1 know all about it." 
 It is L who sigh this time, rerneml>ering a girl in a blue dre.';^, 
 h a bunch of violets nt»etl)ug over her heart — a girl who had 
 , ;ked up mto Gerard Baxters dark eyes and " lovevl him with that 
 lovo which was her doom." 
 
 "Come down and have some tea," 1 say, drawing her out ot the 
 room with me 
 
 1 love tho 'hi.'d, for Gerard's sake; but it hits cost me ma»v- ; 
 T->'.n|/ to w;ii<}; hi'T gvowiniv loveiip.fvs and tbink who.9e arms - 
 
 1 by when i am fo 
 ' ^> has come ovej it 
 iy in al)cyan<-e — that the very sound 
 .. bring it aii to life agnin, to ht«""» ■"■■ 
 oki ish of unrest. 
 
 •" '^■•■">w," the girl says dream! 
 tb know tomorrow," 
 
 Bh^ ot me. And 1, 
 
 r--^ »o the window 
 
FOE LI?E AKB LOVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 '' On, Tlosalie, why have you put on that hideous drees?'* 
 
 "Hideous!" 1 repeat/looking down at it. " Do you think it 
 Wdeons, Lily?" 
 
 " Why, everybody does! It is aDout the only unbecoming dress 
 you have, Rosalie — Mrs. Lockhart is always wishing somebody 
 'would steal it, or burn it, or something." 
 
 '' Oh, Olive never admired my taste in dress!" 
 
 " But it is not becoming to you, indeed, Rosalie." 
 
 " My dear, I have ceased to study my appearance 1" — which is not 
 true, since 1 have studied it particularly liiis evening. 
 
 " And 1 wanted you teik>dk well," Lily says, sighing, as she eosa- 
 aiders n;§, 
 
 " If'Vcrti'look well, tliat is all that is of any consequence." 
 
 " Do 12'" the girl asks wistfully. 
 
 She lonks exquisite in her dress of snowy llama softly ruffled with 
 Spanish lace. 
 
 " ;My dear, 1 have spent the last hour and a half over your toilet 
 —do you think it likely I would have ceased my efforts unless 1 had 
 been satisfied with the result?" 
 
 She smiles a little at this — her infantine innocent smile. 
 
 " You look like a white rose," 1 say, tenderly stroking the pretty 
 white arm. " You must have more color in your cheelis than that, 
 Lily, or else your husband will think 1 have been starving you!" 
 
 There is color enough in her cheeks for a minute after that; but it 
 fades away again; the deep pansy- blue eyes look darker than ever, 
 rhe childish lips tremble, even the little gloved liand shakes as I clasp 
 It closely in my own. 1 shall l)c gkd vhen this interview is over. 
 Mj own heart is beating— my own coior comes and goes at every 
 i o'und without— 1 am almost sorry 1 told Digges to light up the 
 drawmg-room; but 1 wanted Gerard to see his wife in a full blajse 
 of light, to be dazzled by her Ixauity, as 1 know his artiatic Unagiaa- 
 rion will be dazzled by it, surro^mdcd by ov«ry adventitious aid that 
 i can think of or devise. 
 
 It is a quarter to ^£ht o'clock — at eight he may b« here; I have 
 seat a carriage to meet him at the railway-station; he i& to stey at 
 Woodhay to-night. Ronald has been out all day shooting; it is 
 8<;aroBly five minutes since he ran npstaii-s to dress. He too »iWii 
 rather excited— 1 cannot think what has coma over him. He tioes 
 uot seem jealous of mv expected visitor— he seeans rather in a hurry 
 If) have him come. His manner puzzles me a little, because he is 
 ■•^n ("rally so grave and seif-«ontained, so imperriotifl apparantly to 
 i :;^ mere outward influettces wkidi have such paw«r to rais© or to 
 de]:i(reas me. 
 
 Ok? Digges has certainly dene his best to iHuminate the drawto^^ 
 worn. The wood fire ef^cklss and sparkies on Uie hearth, reifleQted 
 in evti'y painted tile; the chrmdeiier sflajiidlktes with ronr after row 
 '>£ softly himiaous wax-ca«dles, i"^e«ted in every mirror about tkoy 
 room, it is a pretty loo^ J^ou^ 1 say it, to whom it belong®. 
 
T!> torra - 9 • 
 
 iaint aad t'A\ aod old f'»«hioii-?d, and it n«vei' icoiis so w«ll as 
 
 hen it is • ' "-^ "* 'i-'j;*:. And itn warm rtti tonoB throw out 
 
 :it Vfhiti V, standing in the tuil hLizc of the wax 
 
 ' ruuiiy velvet throws out some fair ' ^ * ' ;tue, 
 
 iip&a more purely j. hiie by contrust. ' »\vn 
 
 ' i^ht ^^6 r{.<)n] uffordji, uncx' 
 
 ;r (s'aDilif.!; vvhi!« 1 lisleu i. i 
 
 ill to iii to lany {<o lon«f, 
 
 * You I; e if 1 go out to meet him, Lily; lemiiniUir 
 
 -at." 
 'Here — ni'-/;.':" she askc, ■wiUi frightened eyea searchiog^ my 
 
 ' ' My da ,1 will ouly he lor a moment. But yon mast prom- 
 
 : me nor (,, . ;:r. " 
 
 •* Not e . n to the door, Rowlie?" 
 
 ** Koi t om where 1 loavc 3'ou, doar — it is 1 who ^ould 
 
 iflv, you know — " 
 , (It T not coine vrith you?" 
 " isu. ste him first— for ri moment — alone." 
 
 "To:; n me too lor.;'' wriitiiig?" nhe pleads, with a 
 
 ., djirila<^— i.. , .. .... ,c, probably, if so mwch." 
 
 be a long time over his toilet this evcnin«.% ox 
 
 ■ ' ii u." . es not wish to be pre-w^Jit at the " •■ - of 1h>s- 
 
 nd and Vunt Hosa never makes her ap; till the 
 
 ' not think there is much dangoi- oi iicr veering 
 ''>-n!"bt. 
 
 ' "s in the 
 ain. 
 .ays, putting her band to her heart. 
 
 oom quietly, looking back at her over my shoul- 
 il tho li.'rrit' jwftms concentrfttwl about the 
 
 J p'irh. 1 nT>cn the door and 
 (Tf-riini ;o it ouC of the 
 
 ,. . . .-.'cJJib''" ■ 
 
 ot nie in a : .«d comc« ron<"ard quicklj, 
 
 ', the other cm. i m -i oxjt to nvxrf uiiue. 
 oodhay," 1 auy, smiling. And the dreaded meet- 
 
 e anRwers, in tb« voire 1 rem*»Tnb#T so well, and 
 
 m witb eyes 
 
 a^^in.Hio''. . ' cioiheil wiilj every tair atiriburc under the Mm! 
 
 Surely 1 i >> vf ^(ir.;n:i»ti ;,irn r>r »»'si' hr tiMm(, havo Changed 
 
98 Foi 
 
 mysteriouRlY, if nil's pallid liandsome rnia.n is tii. 
 ago— the Gemrd Baxter whrnn my god-like faac; 
 perpetual youtn! Tiiis ra&a looks old tor his iiii, 
 sfout, is ^]>i'^rididly iiaadsojne certninly, Tvitb a kni 
 ff;n!ioa of feature and coioring; but lie k not tlie in 
 
 ■ \\\ love three years and a hulf a»i;o— the sletidc 
 : ist -who "did win my heuit from me" iv 
 BhiU.)l)y Iionse in Caiietoa Slr^K:', 
 the da\' 1 canie of age! 
 
 " Will you go in Uiere?" 1 say, loosiag my h; 
 siriisp, and uofiding my head toward iJie dniwii 
 promKBcd uot to deiaiu you for mors thau a mini: 
 
 '• Is slie there?" he a«kH, in li sort of Ir- ; ''■' ■ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He hesitates for a moment, lookin'; dovvn ai i: 
 he tiiinks of me iu the ugly mouse-coloied vi 
 triends wish somebotly would Bt(^l or di^alro;. 
 
 •* 1 suppose you have forgotten me?" he 6.' 
 
 " Quite," 1 linswer, with a cheerful smile- 
 ten me." 
 
 He shakes his' head at tliat; but I put my baud 
 and impel him toward the open door. 1 can gee 
 ga in, aad .yet he hesitates — cmu it be oat of com-p 
 
 "Go in." i say sroJlingiy, and usher him ial- 
 nfited room, wailing just long enough — unperceiv 
 the !o">iv of bewiidfa'nient on hia face chringf 
 rtf ;• M.iiraUou, and to liear her low ory of dt;. 
 \. ;.r 'i iiito h:s ouistrelclied arms. 
 
 Dirjner is over — such a merry dinner as had i 
 
 *'^ ''ny tor many a long day. Kot even the g^ 
 "i or my oki butler's soK-mn viss^-e (ionld 
 . c, i.'i-: ;>c^;iove any one ,jj:ave a single tiiought to c! 
 Ilci-a iauv:,od till the teiu's lan d^.wn lier cJieeks !.' 
 uros abroad, which he related wiMi u qnif^t kuuio; 
 minded me of 21ark Twain and the irn^j^tib e '^ 
 kuH traveled a g-ood deal, and 8om€ of hia esp 
 cities and i^alleries wei'e most amusing, or he i!i;r 
 tliem in his droll unsnuling way. As for Kr 
 [dm looking so bappy bei'ore as be lias Ic 
 BaA't^ came into tiu^- hoi^se. 
 
 After dinner, we three ladies betake ourscrvrs k> ..'.l- \,iii'.\n 
 room. Aunt Kosa disposos herself tor a imp on the tofa, and h. 
 kneels on the rug beside my favorite lov.'-ei^air, and re<*ts her elbow 
 on my knee aad her cheeli. in her bund, looking into the lire w^tb 
 Eercr, •!7 liappy eyes. 
 
 " Wrii, Liiy,"'l ask t'* ]^'M, " :<• your silly, btti/ 
 
 " I think {■•(>," sb(- , dravniig a loug bic 
 
 ,'.: T .. .,, .", happy!" 
 
 ly yo«ir sg continue, darling/' 1 say, and bt. 
 
hex 
 
 15; up at uie with toft qu- 
 
 iiopt complete content. 
 : lo bo iiappy, ISosahe; you have bar 
 
 arded now by seeing your bap; 
 
 :; he is happv," ehe stu-s drenmllr, lookii; 
 
 • ' lie i-*, f flo not : anybody " ,.< r 
 
 i to-nijrht." 
 
 ' very happy, Lily observer Ci. 
 '-.P fit ni*;. 
 ■■ ies; . .(id in rather br'! 
 
 1 hnv." • ii^' ho\r w.Ml lie i 
 
 viih his gniye tfice and dioopin^ brown r 
 in*;- look in his brown eyes. It is cerlainlv \ 
 oTooU happy, 1 wonder if 1 too look hi 
 
 ; liadn't worn this iicly dnew,** T. 
 -colored velv^ecn with ii 
 iiO;r. I.ilrf' 
 
 " 1 have ]■ 
 
 vof.r T: 
 
 "" T smile to ni}. . ..; . ^ ^. 
 
 ill, ihougb— 1 i 
 smile to ni} 
 •iru3 her head, listenia^ i 
 
 hink yon wUl nerto see him again," 1 1.'. i < r 
 
 !<<in«: frotn her pi 
 
 iiuf, wh«-" 
 lu, 1 &M disuppoinied— 
 
 * * 
 
 eped in mconlip:bt as bri>rht as day. n 
 
 ot niv 
 
100 FOE LIPS A^JTD LOYE. 
 
 " gray against the gray." So Bcmald finds me xv lien he saunters 
 ro^ad irom the dioing^rofrm a PBoni«iit later, finishing his cigai 
 
 '* ' !)• I sl«K'5>— do I drf?aHJ, 
 Or »j-« viiii-OMB aboiit?' " 
 
 be laughs, throwing away the cigar to lean ov^r tlie baioony besi 
 me. '• What lucky chance induced you to take an airing here l<. 
 Bight, cor V 'Li?'* 
 
 " i?o CiUiace at all, but perfect good-nature." 1 answer, pmilm. 
 " 1 did to Oihers what 1 would have them do unio me in the bai 
 circrisBRtujaceo — that was alL" 
 
 '* i bip^.s the kiudiy ihouglit," Ron&ld says, looking atmy smilii 
 fsice by tiii; light of the moon. " We must leave them a long tii. 
 to<!:€4iier, Allie, mustn't we?" 
 
 1 do not tUiofe he has ever called me Allie befoi-e; if he has, 1 < 
 not r&member it. Bat 1 like to hear him 3ay it ia that grave tenc' 
 voice of hk. 
 
 " 1 must give them some tea presently." 
 
 '* Tea! Do you liiiuk they will want tea — or anything else — wh 
 they have c^nch otlier?" 
 
 " But AuDt Rosa will wake up like clock-work and call out for 
 hers — you koow she always doea." 
 
 ** I hope ber jollity at dinner will have a soporific e:ffect," Ronald 
 !augb,>, s:L:'..::ging his shoulders '* Allie, what a night it is. 1 was 
 just \v!?Ijir:i; I could pt'i-suadc you to come out when 1 turned t]»^ 
 comer of 'he house and toimd you here." 
 
 *' Were you indeed?" 1 euy, watching the moon glide across frf> 
 one tutted tree-top to another. " It is seldom one's wishes are 
 qttic' ' "■ — so far, at le^mt, ae my experience goes." 
 
 hiuk you had need to wish for very little, All. 
 
 '' 1 .. Sv;?" 1 ask, turning my head to look at him. 
 
 " ^ . iiy, m.ast people would say you h^ all your he&rt ixi^il'l tl 
 ■■^ipe. ' ' 
 
 "Has ;• vhody that, 1 wonder?" 
 
 1 huvr . k to my c-ontemplatlon of the moon, and I speak 
 
 *hewori. -.uiilj, not so much a question as an "'•'^'^•'•♦^■on. j'et 
 
 HonaM ar- v.eiis them sfi if th^iy hiwi betn a question. 
 
 " Do ; :!!, is there unyboiiy perieclly happy in uk^ world"- " 
 
 " If h 1 the h^iiri, could desire would make one happ} 
 
 yes," 
 
 " 1 only desire one thing at this moment," Ronald says, in a lower 
 tone, 
 
 " To make you happy?" 
 
 •' To Biake me so in'olerably happy that 1 would count one hotjr 
 ot such 1 V njv;s worth the pain and toil oi a lifetime if by thai 
 only cor In it." 
 
 Be is r . ... .viog at me cow, but ^t my dusky belt of woodland 
 
 yismg df,:'.?v>jy hiack against the iaint faix'moonlit sky. But 1 glance 
 
 • t 1 ■ "ace — altROst stern it looks aa he stands there erect in the 
 
 nd wondetr why my heart beats so loudly, mikI wLat 
 
 ne ,-. L . ... has come to the soft epiendor of the Septet 
 
 " J !■ e," he M;iys, In ruing to me suddenly, *' jom 
 th-at '; G i carfod iir loi— -somebody else--thii 
 
NIJ LOVR. l^;' 
 
 «ia times Wilier— « 
 '■wm wo:dj4 — I. ccu['j r* 
 Vcs, " I answci va^;.;t;'.y, rtan. 
 M "t VM(i ^a,id i., stauding in the 
 
 • ferv window, ^liicb is ffliHviBfinna: behind us now in tbc 
 UL u iue moon. * ... »•.,*,•• '^ * • •" 
 
 " 1 did DOt ask } iam« thrn.'Abfi'i flm Tot .Ntlwcf't*) 'ask* ."^ 
 
 now," R(jnald p:c)eii ou, la liie 
 am gw^ciL to Jifiii ynu if you v. . 
 day, AJiie — if you it in jour litmi to iovt 
 
 — 1. rrlir. hare io\ . loiii;!" 
 
 ' 1 M' listi l)e:in V 31 .T" hear; Ile« buried nnder thrv^e ni '; ' 
 - . in tbt* iaolJow yonder! How can 1 give liir; - nr :^n^ . 
 duud find ioath^^osrio Uiimj;? 
 a-.iit 1 Lave no liearL to give you, Honald." 
 *' Have you not?" Ue says, fcmiiin^ a little. " Allie; 1 am wiser 
 '1 tbtnk yoti iiavc." 
 
 ' — in a w.cond of time, it seems to m^ — ttjv ppint flit- 
 - by the 
 liiron;. 
 i-s lili ii . gruve — liuiLj it, ill 
 
 , tJie ;rii ., - :>, the dead lojives ot _ .^ 
 
 s, und di.v.overf^i — rothing. It is not there, the bean ih.-;: 
 .. ,iiere thne years ago— that shallow gnt^-' >i '^ r,/^ >-.ri <., -,, 
 —it 18 trC'C! 
 
 .vllie, ^ ti no heart to s:iT« me— now?' 
 
 lie Is w HV iace, he lias drawn neaixjr to me — uts holv1« ou' 
 
 'lure th*t i* Ujo deep lor \l'.[ 
 ■y aud suffer inyf.fif I© be 
 i)oiri I bciieve i have really k/Yxa feisi"' 
 j -lo make iove U» <P.e' 
 
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 (^) Seerets for FarxBeYS; 
 (8) Preserriiigr Secrets; 
 (4) Maxtmfkcturing:Secr«t»$ 
 C&) t>ecret« for tbM Moa»e- 
 
 'wife; and 
 (6) The Secret of Moaer 
 
 Getting:, by P. T, Bam-utsu 
 
 This Book TeM« how to 
 
 make persona at a •■ 
 tan 06 think of yc 
 Something all lovor^i 
 should know, 
 it Tells how you can tfEmitn 
 thoae you meet ajtid 
 make them lore yoa. 
 fit Telfs how Spirlttiflltrts and others oan make writing appear on the ana 
 Jn blood characters, as perfomibd by Fc«ter and all noted magicians. 
 ^t.'Saia how to roaks a cheap Galyanio Battery ; how to plate and gild 
 Without a battery; howtomake»<Jandle burn all nigtit; how to make 
 » clock for 2&oeal»; how to detect counterfeit money; bow to banisii 
 luid prevent mosquitoes from kiting; how to make yellow butter in 
 winter; Circaseian curling fluid ; Sympathetic or Secret Writing Ink .• 
 Cologne Water; ArtLficial Honey; Btammerinp: : how to make Is 
 nosee small; to «mre drunkenness; to copy leriers without a pr.. 
 V) obtain ^etsh-blowu tiowea in winter; to make good burning Qaj> 
 dies f rona lard. 
 St^Ua how to mako a borse app<?ar »s fhotsgh be was badly foianderedj 
 to make a horse tflmporarlly lame ; how to make hira stand by his teod 
 •nd iK)t eat it; bow to cure a horse from the crib or »u eking wind; 
 bow to put a young ©ountenanoe on the horse; how to corer up the 
 beaves ; how to ns«ike him appear hm if be had the glanders ; how to 
 make a true-puUlng hor»e balk; how to nerre a hors« that is lasne, 
 etc. The»e iaoiise aecrote are being: continually sold at one dcUar each. 
 il>^H4 how t() make tfee Egg* of Pbaro's Serpents, from whieb, wtoea 
 lighted, thoa;?h but the »uee of a pea, ther© issues from It a «oiiiii€:, hiss- 
 ing serpent, wonderful in length an4 similarly to a gcxiuiii* serpent. 
 It^Beils of a simple «»d ini^enloua method for copying any kb3i4 cf diwiw* 
 Ingorpicturo. AjKlxnor8WcindBz{tilsUU,bcrw to print pM£aBQS&^ 
 the print Keeli 
 Ifc^ito bow to perSDWBi fb© Baveoport Bawtbars^ **Bpirilt Mys*8ries;" so 
 that any versen ean ft<j»toni$;h an audiecoe, as bas been done. Also 
 Cfiores c€ other woaad«rfal thiii^s wbiob w« bare zu> room to mentson. 
 0LD SBCRBTS ASm mSW DE5COVBRIBS contains over aSO 8oHd pa^^ 
 {If %0adins vsteMBTt aKd to wortb $1.S0 to anirperson ; b«at it will bs nxailod 
 fjo>a>ny adda<efleen«-eeei|?t tai only ^ oeets. Fastage stamps taken in pay- 
 ment fQ7<M ttee^Easad as osssb. loer aa«p«j^baej&i£-bQQ^'Jd«&tfkS^76r« 
 
 ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO 
 
 M^X STEIN «c CO., 508 S. State Su (faHOAGQ, JUL 
 
1.0 
 
 
 €1 MARRIAGE ""^f^^ 
 
 TrflS is the BG^^rest nad most vf^to-date book on tkese sab^feoka. it 
 ezplaios how girls may become bappj wives, bacliek}xs become 
 happy hnsbands. Cootains complete znstructionB for declaring iah 
 »2ntion8, accepting vo'ws, and retaining affections, both befoce and after 
 oaania^e. It indudes a treatise on " The Etiquette of Marriage," d»> 
 scribing inyitations, the dresses, the co'emony, and the proper behavior 
 ci both bride and bddegix>oDa, whethar in public or behind the nuptial 
 cturtaia. It alao tells pLciJy how to begin courting; the way to get oves 
 bashfulness ; the way t^ "* brace up and be a man * ; the way to find the 
 soft »pot in a sweetheart's breast; the way to write a love4etter; ttke 
 way to easUy win a girl's consent ; the way to "pop the qnestioa," aad 
 tbe wa? to ** do things ** before and after engagemsit ; tbe way to naaka 
 yoaxsejf agreeable during an engagement; the way Ixideamaidi and 
 groomsmen should dress and perform their duties ; the way yom sbooM 
 act and the thin^ yoti should do at a wedding and wedding receptions; 
 bebarior in the bridal chamber ; the way to make wife ajad husband 
 *' reaily ** happy. This is just the book that has k>ng been needed. It 
 tttUs the truth in plain, honest words, revealing knowledge that every, 
 body ought to know upon subjects of vital importance to s^. Erery 
 young woman and every yoang man contemplating matrimony tl^cnki 
 secure this b^ok ard learn for themselves what their parents in Baay 
 cases have nej^'^^^^ to tell them. Every mairied man or woman* every 
 widow or wicov«jr, youAg or old, can learn a great deal by studying tlus 
 book that they have never dreamed of. The old saying •* Never too old 
 to learn " is particularly true in this study of Nature, or, ia other words, 
 ** Lore, Courtship and Marriage,** by a woman of the world — one ^o 
 has been " throu]^ the mill," as it were, and knovirs what the is taMcng 
 aboHt, and in this book gives joa the full beivejit of her many jpearE ' 
 Bxperier>ce. 
 
 In r ' ^o the above there is a mart brilliant etStorial entitled 
 
 •''Rte I. :rce Question '* ; also an article giving statistict, djtf», 
 
 3tc^ cntitk:; ' / '; /rning Gronrth of the Divorce Evil," by the weT? 
 Senown writer, i:c7. Thotaas B. Gregory; and, lastly, an editorial enti 
 tied ** V/onw&n's Di^iity,** whkh should be read by e^mtj woman In tha 
 ^•intry. 
 
 If tbe ycnrcg people of thte conntry would read wp and stndy efies* 
 eerknia subjects before marriage the now-pop>nlar divorce would soon 
 WK>me a thing of the past. Remember, from some one Rttle thing in 
 ^k)s book you may be spared a life of misery, and, cm the other h 
 ^foa may get some little soggestton that, hy foUowing ak)og the , 
 $aigge^t&l, TVXM^ lead you to the reahn^ of everlastiag happecesa. Sv 
 smously spefkking, can you afford to be without this v^uable new bool: 
 mihen you can hare It delivered right to your bomei,ia a piain virxjppet^ 
 ImuS cemts ? To-day n tko time to send Sor it— do Jt ft»wu 
 
 .^ziT of tbe above l>ookB yrUi be ac a^t y maiL p n iHg^ M , 
 
 AE©RESS ALL ORDERS TO 
 
 liAX SnSW & CO., 508 S. State St, CHICAGO, ILL. 
 

 ^ ^^Y[ wg ai is ni^ 
 iwtTjAL iiiiiia 
 
 'E have ft on a POST CARD. Ever notice 
 how it pleases anyone to receive their 
 name on a post card? These cards are beauti- 
 fully embellished with floral designs, rich m 
 coloring. Some people send a letter post card 
 to tteir friends each day, until they spell a 
 name, it is the latest fad all over the country. 
 We have every woman^s name and letters of 
 the alphabet in s^Dclc. They are the best name 
 and letter series in America, Order in E Series, 
 and write plainly what you want. We also have 
 the same cards, names and letters, tinseled in gold 
 or silver, they are beautiful and o-' ^^^tive. 
 Order from your bookseller, or we will Jiem 
 
 to j€ik in sealed envelope on receipt of piice« 
 
 S for S centSe 2S cents dozen* 
 Tingled S cents each. 
 
 ^^ Cw* Out ae4 Unit Thin to tliw 
 
 »?*s6te*fc' •▼3"»«*;i •"■- ' 
 
 '*i ii tna. 
 
 HI iM im I. ^ -rammim 
 
 
OUSI GREAT TRIGK BOOKS ! 
 
 150 NEW GABD.TBZGKS 
 
 By HOWARD THURSTON, th» M*n 41t^! r,'v.«;K*<l 
 Hermsna. PRtCE. 25 CENTS. 
 
 frcT'Jt fk.rifl b»^k hftnd ppJm wit! 
 
 seem ': 
 
 »><y li4^«A 
 
 !n h&ndsome colored oovery Pr^<^, ^ ?.PJ^J!?J^J^il£!?P.y!j^.^:y;^-^- 
 
 ■■H>«naaafMM<nMi 
 
 TRICKS WITH COIWS; 
 
 SH_ «.; ■3.s«.;'">.i'- .1.. ;• 
 ^.^<J"■'■.'.f 
 
 
 
 SON 
 
 oius, _ii 
 
 i^z^u:l i>.T.i<'Isomeoolcre<J. ^ ^- -. — - 
 
 1 en- ••> 
 
 •i 30 
 
 pro* 
 
BBM«««««I 
 
 m WM im 
 
 or, Fortune TeHing by Cards 
 
 iFGRiyNETECLER 
 pmCA 
 
 TiiQ secret of the Mafvelotss srtof tel£- 
 ing the Past, Present and Future by the 
 use of ordinary playing cards ; also^ the 
 full and direct interpr'^tatioos of all dreams 
 and their lucky numbers. 
 
 Price 25 cents, postpaid. 
 
 NEW EDITION JUST OUT 
 
 Qypsy Dream Book and Fortune Teller 
 
 Trith IjQcky Numbers and Napoleoa*s Oracalura. 
 
 CONTENTS, ' 
 
 To see a fa'are BusbaDd. 
 
 To knoTV whether a "womaa vill 
 
 have the man she "vrishes. 
 Tlie \eay to baiHe your enemies. 
 Love letters. 
 To discover st. thief by sieve wad 
 
 shears. 
 Kow to make a dumb cake. 
 
 concerning children 
 _ : .1 gxiy day. 
 A magic rinjy. 
 io kno-w ■vrhat fortune your 
 
 future barJjQiid will have. 
 The tbrer: 
 A bridf: c 
 
 Signs to choose good husbands 
 
 and "wives. 
 To tell whether a pregnant, wo- 
 man will have a girl or boy. 
 A magic laurel. 
 To know if any one shall enjoy 
 
 their love or not. 
 To know how spon a person will 
 
 be married. 
 Xx>ve presents and witching 
 
 spells. 
 To find out the two first letters 
 
 of a future wife or busband'a 
 
 xiame, etc., etc 
 
 Price only 15 cents, postpaid. 
 
 THE COMPLETE LETTER WRITER 
 
 Irjstructof in Punctuation and Style 
 
 Letters on business* comprising all events that occur every day. 
 . Social letters lor ladies and gentlemen. Up-to-date and reli^^t.^ 
 
 Price 25 cents, postpaid. 
 
 ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO 
 MAX STEIN & CO.. 508 S. STATE ST., CHICAGO, %%JU 
 
ovrf 
 
 'I or iii>- 
 y denctn- 
 aod ni>e 
 
 $1.00 Book for Only 25 cents 
 
 6th and 7th BOOKS OF MOSES 
 
 Translated under our personal superyision into the Enr!t»h Ifim 
 gaa^, and published by us for the first time. Witi e> 
 One Hundred and Twenty-Five Seals, Signs, Emblc 
 
 Moses, Aaron, Israelites, i 
 their astonishing roagical £ 
 eluding the period of time c. . 
 and New Testaments. This y> 
 lation is of great !mpnTt?.r.ce •to 
 Deist, Jews or Gt 
 inan Catholic, and 
 • inatiom. The extriitis ii<. u; ^^.■. 
 Mosaic Books of the Talmud and Cabala 
 sre invaluable. This bi-M.k ..''•vs tue uae cf 
 the Psalms for the bo; 
 the Eminent translator, '•. 
 
 the great law giver of_ israei, -t 
 
 five books of Holy Writ. Thes ./ 
 
 known as the Five Books o*^ "^ ' > 
 
 lieved, and known to com:» vt 
 
 there were two more bcok;_ a. 
 
 known as the Sixth and beveiuh BooUs oi 
 Moses. To these we wish to draw your at- 
 tention. Writing, manuscripts, etc., of preo" 
 icus worth have existed for ajres pa3t that 
 could be traced to the time of Moses, but few 
 of these have been published, except in small 
 fragments. This is accountca for By the fact 
 that the hi,Th ^rl-^ts, clergy, and heads of vari- 
 pus reu&:c"r.j b: :u.s were unwilling that the 
 people should be given those deeper mysteries, be- 
 ing fearful of losing their hold on them. ^ Another 
 reason is that it was feared the information would 
 be ■» used for unlawful purposes. It is scarcely 
 possible that Moses confined his literature to the 
 first five books of the Bible, if we take into con- 
 federation the lenf^thened period of his life and 
 ingcs of his associaticn. We find in Acts 7:23 
 t Moses was learned in wisdom of the Egyp- 
 liS until his fortieth year. He acquired dur- 
 his residence at the Court of Pharoah many 
 '.•ptian arts in his constant intercourse with 
 kuned men. He became adept in these magical 
 arts practiced by them. We find in Exodus 7:11 
 Moses cast his rod before the Kinj:, which b»- 
 came * sepent, Pharaoh sent for his magicians* 
 rfho tttso cast down their rods, which, by their 
 eacbantmcnts, also became serpents. Few persons 1»r« not setae belief 2a 
 these strange and oftentimes unexplained influences thrit ?ccm to surround 
 us through life for good or evi> and it is honestiv that the study 
 
 cf this work, the Sixth end Seventh Books of M. be a Kouree of 
 
 1 and u I win 
 
 —risfuage w... . -.ly be 
 
 which were only circulated 
 
 ;ces. 
 
 s« and prosperity to millions. The 
 V will foster superstition, but the e 
 •e that the translation into >'— ^■ 
 tnuic ser^'icrable than all pre-nm; 
 
 in abstract form, and sold at e.. 
 
 These engr.-ivings are exact copies of those by the Ifraelitet and 
 Egyptians to accomplish the designs for (rood or erfl. and are sepzratelr 
 expla»n<ed. Ibis book b.'^s beconv; enormously popular. Beware «f baiiv 
 kxigs. Volumes I and II bound together in one Teltraie 
 Price, 25 cents per crnv. Roctml ^ ^mrtr cover. Cioih AAv*f $t. 
 
 S We also carry f the •; 7 book 
 
 f Moses, 8th and. . bo<ilc - boari 
 
 i^ver U |SU>0 pec iJcwis Ccr AU Turee Hooks, %S.y 
 M«PC STEIN 8 COu, 900 ^ STATE 8T*, Qiri 
 
m BIG lOM! m 181® KIM! IE ff^^' 
 
 Y©ia V/m L^i!?rfs-5 Yo« V/Ul Ve!l» 
 Yoce WIK Screen at 
 
 TiM World's Champion 
 Funny Book* 
 
 """ MBiv. fmm 
 
 It eradicates v/rrnldes, banishes care, and by its laugfoteiv 
 ojopelliRg mirth and irresistible feumor rejuTenetes the whoJe 
 K)^. Whether yoa are a bashful man or not, yoa should read 
 
 TUB BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN. 
 
 ^n this ecreamingly funny vohinio the reader fo5k>ws with rapt 
 attention and hilarjofua delight, the mishaps, niortificatious, 
 confusions, and agonizing mental and physical distresses of a 
 8elf-conscio«s, hypei^sensitive, appsHingly bashful young man, : 
 !n a succession of astounding' sxicidents, and ludicrous predica- 
 .ents^ that convnise the reader with cjrctonic laughter, causing 
 r.im to hold both sides for ie&7 of exploding from an excess of 
 iiproarioas merriment, 
 
 All records beaten sts a fan-maker, sib-tiekler, and laugh- 
 ■ l:er. This marvellous volume of merrimerst proves meian- 
 r-: impostor, and jjrixi care a joke. With joyous gales of 
 dssipates glocm and banishes trouble. 
 
 ANT ST I YOU CANNOT I lUmJT ITI 
 
 'ihRn D^iigs! Better Thau VajidevMleJ 
 A WMOLE CIRCUS IN ITSELF 2 
 .rse, th© Piacsp thQ Qpp^'tunity is ffer-^., 
 
 BUY IT NOW! 
 
 mJL'INDSRS 0P A BASMFU?^ HAN contahis 170 
 as of reading matter, illustrated, is beupd in heavy 
 
 c© 
 
 ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO 
 
 MAX STEIK &. CO., 508 S. State St., CHICAGO, ILL. 
 
Detective Series 
 
 A ThoTUiaiid Ttsmcn S«wasd. . w-k . ,..-yr. « Oaborsaa 
 
 The Black ZSar ,. •«^.. ..•.•^. .• ...▲.Conan Doyle 
 
 The Murder in the Oollj «.,.•.....«.,. .£l. Coaan Doyle 
 
 The Mystery of Sassassa Vallegr .A. CosiAn Doyle 
 
 That She Devil A. Ooaan Doyle 
 
 Sherlock Holmee Outwitted hy a Woman. . .A. Oonan Doyle 
 
 Sherlock Hotmes, the Detective A. Conau Doyle 
 
 Mata Hari, the Kaiser's Female Spy« 
 
 The Seeret of the Studio. 
 
 9«lzac'8 Mysteeey Stories. 
 
 Struck Down. 
 
 The Dag-g-er WUh the Opal EUt. 
 
 Behind Prison Walls. 
 
 The Spy of the Air. 
 
 An International Tragedy Detective Wooldrid^e 
 
 Tricks and Traps. Among* Oonfldenoe 
 
 Men Detective Wooldxldg'e 
 
 The "Life of Crime. In and Oat of 
 
 Prison Detective 'Wooidridg'e 
 
 Startling- Police Mysteries Detective Wooldridge 
 
 Ferreting Out the Woman Orafters. . . .Detective Wooidridg'e 
 Bunting Down the "Oet-Blch-Qniek^ 
 
 Grafters Detective Wooldrldge 
 
 The Conspiracy. Grafters of America. .Detective Wooidridg'e 
 
 Fzposing- the Gamblers Detective Wooldrldge 
 
 Jack, the Sailor. 
 
 The Bed-Headed/ Z^eague. A.CenanDoyle 
 
 A Mysterious Crime. 
 
 Tho thrilling police experiences of Clifton R. Woold- 
 rldge, America's Sherlock Holmes, should be read by 
 everyone who wishes to avoid the traps set by ji^rafters. 
 They are true stories by a real detective who '' ith 
 
 real crimiuals. Ail of his books are profusely ii d, 
 
 very interesting, entertaining, aud worth your time to 
 read. 
 
 The above books are on sale at all book stores. 
 
 will bo sent postpaid upon receipt of 25c each, 
 
 MAX STEIN PUBLISHING HOUSE 
 
 508 S. State Street Chicago, 111. 
 
Pioneer, Cowboy, Indian, 
 and Mexican Border Novels 
 
 Panclio ''TSlla, T^rrbr of Meacico. 
 
 Tlie ToTrngr Scouts, A narrative of tli« early pioneers. 
 
 The Voung- Fiozxeers, or The Kermlt of tlie Cavern. 
 
 The Isisurgezit CMefy or The Battle of the Bandits. 
 
 Texas Border Bifles, or Jagoiar, the White Chief. 
 
 Fighting* the Aedsl^ins in Scnth America. 
 
 The Guide of the Uiesert, ox The Bloody Thrall. 
 
 The Smug'g'lcr Hero. 
 
 The Demon Biders of So3&ora» 
 
 The Tiffer ^ayer, or The Fcrestv of Sonora. 
 
 The Gold Seekers, or Fathfinders on Americfoi Flains. 
 
 The 7ndla?a Chief, or The Bebel Volunteers. 
 
 The Pirates of the Frairies, oc Fighting' for Texas. 
 
 The Trappers of Arkansas. 
 
 Westward Eol or The March of the Adventurers. 
 
 A Mystery of the Sonor^ Seserts. 
 
 The Treasure of Fearls. 
 
 The Mesican ISehel Chief, 
 
 The Mexican G-uerilleros iSevolt. 
 
 The Trail Hunter of the West, 
 
 The Fearl of the Andes. 
 
 The Freebooters?, or Fig'hting' With the Texas Sanders. 
 
 The Flyinir Hox&einan. 
 
 The Whit© Scalper. 
 
 The Trapper's I>&,VL^lxtev. 
 
 Tragfedies of the Flains, or A Treacherous SSaavaore. 
 
 The Prairie Flower, 
 
 The Indian Scout. 
 
 Brig-ht Bye, the Sero of the Forest, 
 
 The Hee Hunter. 
 
 @toneheart, the Sure-Shot. 
 
 The Queen of the Savannah. 
 
 Tlie Eed Biver Half-Breed- 
 
 The Fatagronian Invasion. 
 
 The 2^ast of the Aucas. 
 
 The Spaniard's B^eveng^e. 
 
 The Buccaneer Chief. 
 
 The Border Bloodhound. 
 
 Strong-hand, Chief of Scouts. 
 
 Wild Ziifo in African Jung-les. 
 
 The History of an African Slave. 
 
 These remarkable narratives of personal daring", endur- 
 ance, and self-possession, present wider experiences of life, 
 manners and customs on the prairie and in the wigwam than 
 can be found in tbe •whole range of the literature ot 
 adventures. 
 
 All Indian storie» in this series are written by the 
 world's greatest Indian and Border story writer, Gustavo 
 Aimard. Strictly moral and educational. 
 
 The above books are on sale at all book stores. 
 
 Samples will be sent postpaid upon receipt of 25c each; 
 for $1.00. 
 
 Edited and published by 
 MAX »TBIN, 508 S, State St, Chicago, HI. 
 
 ?■ 
 
•^ (ft rrri ^ 
 
 I i r-^ >|Ja]v t^^:ua * Kn ■ .^H*^ .^^-wrji^ .^•rZTmu r < /< 
 
 "3 PopnlsL 
 
 I tacENts 
 
 TJiis J9 a b«<?k for all classes. There's no tcllinff wl»cn 
 :i Eiay bi3 0<ili<?d «j>on to propose a ton*<t. To t>c unprepared 
 r^^ iins embariUKscacut. Send for this book aud mciXK>ri«« 
 a ffew. 
 
 B<*low ws print a few samples of ^what 
 tiiij book contains 
 
 Here's to tbc jsrirls of the ATr.^^rican shore 
 
 I love but one, I lov • 
 Since p!»e'8 not here t r part, 
 
 111 driuk her siiare v» il, i >- ■ ^ .ny heart. 
 
 Then here's to the jolly Bachelor's life 
 And uiay ho live till ho takes a wifo. 
 
 By Mail* Postpaid* tO cenfis 
 
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 jassblers wttb Cards 
 
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I 
 
 M wasATiss OF USE sm^owmM mss os^ 
 
 
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 the St^esl ?^ 
 
 teJauea. at h 
 
 aad easily i,. 
 
 terra? aird pLroi-u, ha/fc iidenr* 
 
 itously &TOid8d.wij»3re ^■-^■'* 
 
 aod everftl- 
 
 madosopb 
 of ----- -• 
 
 ger: 
 
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 ; wifch htmdreds dt. 'One llicistratioyfS and explana* 
 for \7ill proye & perfect i»liie of iijsGrtictiQn jtor tiie 
 
 Two Ii-.-.-;.; .^ voi;i.ne3, 600 t?a^es. tieariy 51)0 lUuetrafeicsnSi pri|xt€d dSi i9 
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 MAX STCIJN-a: CO.. 508S, STATE ST,; CHICAGO IU» 
 
^ '<U mJ Ji 
 
 
 P06T Card A5r7 A PEARS ' 7«i9Ane'Po^TCAfioroL«f^ 
 
 At the Post Card; the whole cotmtiy is latigh- 
 ing about. It looks Vke a J&poJisse x z^ 
 uata you fold the card, and then it's so diner- 
 ent; it's^ an actual surprise to. eveiyone* It is 
 certainly one of the best novselty post cards 
 ever published- Printed in tw'o colors on card-*. 
 board- Here's a part list of ihe subjects.. 
 
 Be Good 
 
 Ask Me 
 
 Get Busy and Wr& 
 
 Yours as B 4 . 
 
 My Dearest 
 
 Best Wishes?' 
 Not Yet But SooQ 
 It's Up to You 
 I Am Coming 
 Love to You 
 Loving Kid 
 
 Kiss Me 
 
 Buy them froiii your dealer or we 
 them postpaid in envelope on receipt 
 2 for 5c or 25c a dozen. 
 
 ^^Cut O^t and Mfatt Ttito 4« tTa. 
 
 THE STUV4 CQ^ 340:1)44 Stita 9t, Cfikssoi tSU EaetoMd. 
 
 V't lHat^ ■» L. I ■ II I fc M .I IW.,M«IIMI.I ai IWIl ' 
 
OVEE SQfigMtO SOLD 
 0r ELUOTT ESOOKES, AmtmOmd W O^mt WeII4Ciiown Exs»ortt 
 
 lUsrise*! and En^rsrsd N«w E^ldon^Tlie lavaeat and most ^r«ctic«S 
 
 work XKibtst&etL Vsoi hy aS o p ta. d aie aiilom»!>ae sdiooU m» 
 
 toeir «v«r75r(i«y tezt<book. ever 7Sd page* aiod 
 
 cnrer SS9 iOostraUeaa. FoH Leatkar Ump, Round 
 
 CorAsn»Aed£iise«. Pric«.$2.00* 
 
 At tlis. present timeoenrly all astombMIe 
 t/Diabiea or lirezikdowns may, in almost 
 eirery cc»«, be traced to the lack cC knowl- 
 odgecr carelscsne98 of the owner or opera* 
 tor of tha car, catijer than to the car itself. 
 
 The a^tomobila hemd book is a vsrork at 
 P'-BStlcal inicrEiaticii for the n&a of ownera, 
 09SSSdQC9 and autcmobjl« mechacics. giif^ 
 inz iuM 9Md coacise iaformation on aU 
 ^aGStiooB r&itftmg to ths oon^truction, sars 
 Bad apexation of assoiine aod electric auto- 
 BBobiles. including road troubles, motor 
 troubles, caurbureter trotibles, igaitioa 
 troubles, battery troubles, clutch troub!os« 
 Btarttag troablos. With numsrccs tableau 
 ttseful ruJo« and formtilaB, wiring dia^rasss 
 j^ai ove>rU29inustrations. 
 
 Spacial efforts hava been ptri forth to 
 treat the Bubjects of ignition, and igni- 
 tion davicas, in a manner beiitting their 
 importaaoa. A larpSj, section has beea 
 devoted to these subjects, including bat- 
 
 riea, priauary aad secondarv, njagnetos, 
 , . fakct cdl devices used in connection witk 
 
 the produ i spark. Power t/aasmission is thoroughly discaseod, 
 
 »ad the vi - • cf tranamfttiag the power froia the motar to tiie 
 
 driving a'. ' and compared. 
 
 The r^^ >.ork for a*aw lainotes-whcn troubles ocenr, wfU 
 
 joftan net . money, aad worry, but give greater confidence 
 
 in the c?.y. -^ its go'mg ^vudities en tha road, wbsa pcooerlj^ 
 
 atxd tntaiia^w;.*.~v <^':4.i ^-u «or. 
 
 A WORD TO THE WISE 
 
 The ttess fe at hand wbe& aay perflCH caring for and opers^nsr auf 
 triad of se ; .' vehiolar in a pnhlic or private capacity, wiii have to 
 
 undergo ; tion befoi«e astate board of examiners and secure 
 
 a license ' . -^.a collect their salary or sret employment. 
 
 AlrecV :rk Stata has enacted suah a law aad before long, vrilb 
 
 a positive ^v-?ry state ia the Onion tviU pass such an ordinanco 
 
 for the procic ■■. jtcd property. 
 
 Rensmh' a brand n&w book from cover to cover, lust firom 
 
 4he press — Nt^.. . ...c^s — and jmist not be oonfound«d<witk anyfoeoiKflC 
 
 Sd&tioas of (his popular worib. 
 
 Sant prepaid to axiy aA&eM tupoia *feceipt cf tn«9 
 WiKSrmH fk COm SOS S.STA^&ST^. OHlCAGOJUii* 
 
To Amuse and Entertain 
 
 OVERS* BUDGET 
 
 .\i COUECnON OF PARIOR HAGICmCKS WITH CAR1»S, TOASTS. FORTDRI 
 iLLING. R'NNY READINGS. FURTATIONS. AMUSING CXPEMIRNTS. MOKEY 
 HAIONG SECREl^. JOKES. RIDDLES. CONUNDRUMS. PARLOR AAHJ9B- 
 UENTS. PUZZLES. PROBLEaiS. PARLOR GAINES. ETC 
 
 EVEBYTHING M£NnONi3> iOi TBMS PAGE ONLY 10 CQ9T8 
 
 isvm ^»LaA« • 
 
 MMMN 
 
 LOVERS' B0D6ET 
 
 M WRHMK «M> «/1tJSfnC<rT 
 
 
 raecneciTS- 
 
 mmmmmmmmmmmt 
 
 SS9 New Jokes, ConimdmiiiB and RlMlet. 
 
 Bright, Puzzling, Genuine Rib-tickJer»- Yois 
 will laugh till you ache. 
 
 21 Puzies and PreUeiBS. Real stickers. Wiil 
 keep you gmessing. 
 
 I Fortmie Telling Tablet Aa used by tbo 
 EjTPtian Astrologers 
 
 1 New Gypsy Ferloae TcGer, Tell jrour own 
 fortunes. So simple a child can easily learn it 
 52 HwMy Uaklas Secrets. How ta make ail 
 kinda of Soap, Ink, Paint, Glue, Varnish, Boot, 
 Shoe and Furniture Polish, Mucilage, Hair 
 Oil, Hair Dye, Washing, Baking and Too& 
 Powder, etc 
 
 40AaiiiBtciBxpcrinen!sf]iBas!e. Entertain- 
 ing. Will astonish your friends. To MeU 
 Lead in a Piece of Paper. Light produced by 
 Sufar. Artiflcial LigbtniB^ To Make Water 
 Freeze by the Fir*, etc 
 68 Venes la Comic PeeSry. Will drive away 
 ^^ , theblaeg. Hot stuff. 
 
 7 Parlor Games. An EvenJng'e Entertaiximent for Yoang and Old- 
 II Parlor Pasttmes. Majric Agre Table, fiveoiiie Amuseuient Game, etc 
 "Will kftep a coQpany in a continuoua lao^h. 
 
 •44 FUrtations. Postage Stamp. Hankett^hief, PendL Parasol, Whip. Hat 
 Fan, Glove, Cisar and Eye Flirtatioa. How to Kiss a Lady, INJonioe tablo 
 Signaling. Window SignaUoff, Lorer's Tehegraph. 
 .J Wonderfnl Fortaae Tmm Secrets. By the Grounds of a Tea or Coll^ 
 Cnp. WithDominc fttie Month, Augury by Dice. Charactes 
 
 by the Month- Car. 1 SuperatillofME. How to Jud«9 Any Ooeb 
 
 Character 07 Thdr i* cigei' :si.ns, 
 ,l$F<atB In Parlor BE&gie. How to pat an Bnr Into a Bottle. Tb make Water 
 Rise from a Saucer iiito a Glass. To Bring a Peroon Down Upon a Feather. 
 To Hold a Giads of Water Upside Down without Spiilioc 'Do Tell Um 
 Number any Person Thinks ot WondfrfuJ Hat, etc 
 
 10 Fanny Seadlnsa. Create roars of laughter. "Boy Le0t** iBemale 
 Stratagem.** "Riale8lbrLov«Makl»g.»*^*A Dreadful Acddenf* **Rul^ 
 tor Bummers." "A Deceiving Letter. *• •'Hatband's Commandinents.'* 
 **Wif«'s Commandments," **SlightHints.'» ^Office Rules. ' 
 
 tSTTvcksuUaCwnls. IT?© Slipped Card. Tb^ N ■' .1 rirl. Tn Onp«4 
 S nis Chosen at Random. The Recru: ; 
 
 i t>e Noted. Ihc Triple Dcai. T^e 1 
 
 ^,'x.'-cr of Points on Three Unaeen Cards. Witard s i^aek of Cards, CanJa 
 Re voa led by the Loosing Glass. Circle of 14 Cards. Of Two Rows of Cardk 
 to TcU Which One Has been Toucked. Card Named WlttUKifc fidng Seeoi 
 Various other Tricks with Cards. 
 
 ^ 71 TOASTS Heveanafenrwnplet 43CPITAPBS 
 
 8ere'9 to one and ooty osm^ Dont wory abmit the (bture, 
 
 ^Aad may tJwt one >te sJwi, Tbe present ;«- 1 1 1 r K<>a ba#tL 
 
 Who loves hut one and only one* The future ^ • present 
 
 And 02&y tln^t one be me . And the pi t soon beplA 
 
 .AXI. VOB 10 CENTS, POSTI>Aii» 
 MAX ^TBIN & 00., 800 8. STATE ST., CHICAGO, I LIU 
 
USX Ftm ORftfcs ^moNS'iPYou miKTTHe eesr^ 
 
 HOW TO TELL FOBTUNES BY CAROli 
 
 By Madam Zanclg. Fully illusferated. Thia !«» 
 maaaal has been written to give amtisezneBt, soA 
 It describes the methods that are commonly naeH 
 by Gypsies and others when tlioy" read yonr for 
 ttme." Many bare witnessed a great number ofe 
 SQOst wcMQderful and useful conciusums which hay« 
 boMi produced by this science, and many fator* 
 events have been foretold. Any one can teiii th» 
 present, yast and future by following these atm^ 
 tnstructious. 1£0 pc^gee, 50 ilhutratioODS. 
 
 Paper CovefS... •• »..••..«• 28 Centt 
 
 NATIONAL POUCY PLAYER'S 6t»DE 
 AND DREAM BOOK. 
 
 This litMe volume is prtcekss to those who pfo^ 
 the lottery or policy. It contains a complete iist 
 of dreams, arranged aljAtebetically, with their 
 lucky niimbera; Flaying Oards. their numbers; 
 Days ot Week and Month, with siumbers; Holi- 
 days, Uniuoinr Days, Lucky Days. Birthdays, Ccan» 
 tdnatioQ Tables, etc. ; Rules how to sis certain how 
 much any amount of money will bring oa any 
 given row of numbeas, ete^ etc. 298 pages. 
 
 Paper Conr^.— ...^.r 25 OeaH 
 
 Clelb, l,.,..^ 60 CenU 
 
 GiPSY I'-ZITCHES FORTUNE TELLING CABDS^ 
 
 By Madame Lo ITormand. (Gipsy Witdfi,) MmBtk 
 
 Le iN'ormaud has laf t behind such a repuitatkm, tJif 
 tnemory of so unusual a talent, that we believe Wf 
 shall do a favor to the adnurers of her system, by pub» 
 Hshing the cajrds which were found after her death 
 They *ire the same cards with which she prophesied tc 
 NapQiecE L his futore greatness, and. th-e downfall ot 
 maay princes and greet me<a of B^rance. Bach pach 
 oontaiag fifty- two nne illustrated cards, lithographed 
 in colors, with insiiription foretelling your pa«t, pre* 
 . ent and future. Oan also be used for playiag any oar4 
 game. Full sUrections with each pack. 
 
 Price pe? package of S2 cards 
 fn neat case 60 cents 
 
 jftaxy book In this listsent postpaid to any address upon reoeipiof prtflt^ 
 
 Complete Catalogue sent freot 
 
 MAJ( STEIN ft CO:, SSOaS STATIC S7» CMlCAffiO SMU 
 
iThe Star Book Library 
 
 Kn I Tlio C^of VlAifin RAfttr This ifle«oUectlon.of hundred! of clerrer 
 no* ■• ine Oiar IViaaie OOOK rkidles and coiiUBdrumB.Ianiouslor their 
 elevemess. Complote aitswers are ^ivea (or «ach one. In the back of the book 
 vUlalso be foond a cumber of catca problems tkat will prove stumbling blvcioi 
 for the unwary. Here Is material for a thousand sTenlngB* entertainment. The 
 person, be he boy, girl, man or woman, who has at command a number of clever 
 riddles, conundrums and eatch proplems Uio these, is fdways a welcome goeet 
 In any company, and the material furnished In thlci book will keep yon sappUed 
 wltk a constant stream of fresh ones for yecurs to c«xne. Bound In hanaaonie 
 ecarlet cover8,.wiih &i large pages. 
 
 «0. i5« ine Dtar money mSKer gathored special contributed articles by 
 hundreds of pooplo, \v ho, by their own experience have tested and tried the 
 plana a&d suggestions offered and found them what they are claimed to bo. 
 shrewd, clever and orlfirlnal methods of making money ineparo time Lours rlKht 
 at home. Wo luclade in tho back of the book a nnmE)eref valuable formulas, 
 iTjcelpta and trade secrets that »re likewise priceless In raluo. 61 largo pages, 
 set in new elear type, ana printed cm &ie<book paper, haiidsoiDe scarlet eovvca. 
 
 Ko.a. The Star CoHectfoB of Fammw Songs. ^?»?e*Sd\fbS^*c^: 
 
 lected THE SONGS OUR MOTHEBS SANG. The ENDUBINO melodies of 
 America, ttxe ones our forefathevs knew and loved— the ones oarchlkiren'a 
 children will greet with eager pleasure. The WOKDS as well as MTJSIO for each 
 Boag. Hera are a few of tho songs: Home Sweet Home: Blphland Mary; Dlo 
 "Waclit am Bhein; 'Woodmau Spare That Tree: Maggie by My SM(-v: Donglas, 
 I'ender and True: Thon You'll Remember Me: Do They Ml?-^ "' < 
 
 wr Wallaco Blt'd; Brln? Back My Bonny; Yankeo Doodle; 1 ■> 
 
 of the Deep; America; Good Night Ladles; Maryland; Dlxlci ^. . •: 
 
 Jaanlta; In tho Gloaming; Sweet Afton; KUlamey: etc etc. It i.« wc: 
 
 icosic lor ail Amerix^a; a book every home will welcome and pre^ 
 
 1^^ A Tkjk c^»« Tn» M<iirA«. Therbest' : In America, with •oor&i 
 
 no. 4. Tne btar loy iYiaker. pf pj^ns ■, for nmumg aii sorts ox 
 
 toys, mIso useful Rs v.i]\ tvi omameiT' liook has beeii 
 
 worked out by a r rut : nl boy with i ;ilii8; and tho 
 
 BOW'!''' ■' ■ " ' I (n f)l:iir-, !, V vr 1 ' I r«> ul 
 
 and u: 
 
 Pantrx 
 
 and A 
 
 MUli, 
 
 Thla t , _ _ . ' 
 
 o£ oopyxiglii iirawuigi* dud piclurca, an.. i 
 
 No. S. The Star Amatew Et ' aud u. ^ ^' 
 
 have bolnod ns tf» make this bonk, \ >f ppecial 
 
 ^ etc^ etc 
 
 ^uy orthoal>ovobooks,.10ceats,po i r cboJoe of askf^ 
 
 tbreo {3> books, 35 cents, postpaid^ A( len, 
 
 MAX STEiN & C0», 500 S. STATE ST., CHICAGO, ILU. 
 
mmiDMiBooi 
 
 £am 
 
 COMPLETE F9RTI1E mm 
 
 'Vhe ludl and cocrsct nile& ef divina** 
 tion coccemhog drecims and vieions, tbe 
 observance and application of talisme% 
 charms and iiitaaafcalSons. There is no book 
 equal to the Compile Gypsj Dream Book. 
 
 Price 25 cents, prepaid. 
 
 or Book of Fate 
 
 Containing ftartuce telling by moles ; Phy- 
 siognomy by the Kajes and forms of the 
 fece, hair, eyes, etc; Palmistry or Judg- 
 ments drawn from the hand and nail&of 
 the GoQete, 
 
 Price 25 cents, postpaid. 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 f licM Dream M M Ciplete lortie Teller 
 
 Containing the true explanation of all dresama and lucky numbers 
 that belong to them 5 also Fortune Telling by Cards, Dice, Domi- 
 noes, Moles, Marks, Scars, or othef Signs on the Skin ; showing 
 their situation, etc., etc.; Judgmeate drawn from the Moon's Age; 
 Signs of Speedy Marriage and good success attending it by Sundry 
 Signs, also their numbers ; Palmistry or Fortune Telling by lines Jn 
 the hand ; Showing the various judgments drawn from the hand ( 
 slso, Finger JS^aU observations. Price 15 cents, postpaid. 
 
 ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO 
 MAX STEIN 6» CO.. 508 S. STATE ST.. CHICAGO, lUU 
 
'v.V>4i' 
 

 YR 7TISA 
 
 968786 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY