"155 Baia PJI1CE25CENTS J LIFE AND LOVE By BERTHA M.jCLAY HEART SERIES «<& i V 4§ tl ■ * w^ i^..<: '■•'>•.'' Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive ^ in 2007 witii funding from ^ IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.archive.org/details/forlifeloveOObramrich ,<* * ^ ' '^^ ^1^'tx-/&^t.„£_,^^^^^. 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 ■■*••• —■.'■'> 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'*..' 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 morninenn« 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 buancs. ■.., 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 eidr 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' 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 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-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/' •' 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-^...}^, 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, commic 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 .. . 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 . '• : '• :no and bes^n Jo sing *' Thy voice is near." ido nci Li . "■ .'tics, I feel s? ' 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!iJo; 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 ^ 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 "; 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. " iv.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;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.< 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^'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 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 sponuiy 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 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!- ' 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>.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^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! 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 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(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 listeninoks, 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 hVE. ] 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 "'' ' ■ ^- ■ !""■" 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 ^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;. ; 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« intver 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, 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 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 ;; 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'' 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, lop£'» 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?wrrr 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. . 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-,* 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 caree,'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;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 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. . ■'. 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 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,," perempttna]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 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>'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 {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 !<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, 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» Payne's '/o '^/'ofsderful Detective " Detective 45 Ti'^^\Fal--a Res£.m'biS2ce P^,r^.»c '*Shadt>Tv 48 The WesS P©aii 49 From Street to the Foe 50 The Detective Taso siifiiBgmmiiiiiJiijaMJi.jamMii^MM I Charles Garvice is known the world over as a writer <^ stories that captivate. The ibllowing are printed in the "Heart** Series, on good paper, in large, clear type, most of them being copyrighted and published in no other line; PRICE 15c EACH Farmer Holt's Daughter My Lady of Snow Woven on Fate's Loom Behind the Footlights, or A Love Comedy The First and Last The Slave of the Lake The Female Editor Dangerous Delights The Woman Decides Leave Love to Itself In the Matter of a Letter A Sacrifice to Art The Taming of Princess 01g» A Sample of Prejudice For Sale at All Bookstores, cr bf MAX STEIN, Publisbere 40(M02 D«aibora Street, CHICAGO \\ «TH FOR 2 5 CENTS! Old Secrets and New Discoveries COSfTAINS ITOrORMATION OF KAKB VAtUE FOR A£X« CLASSES, Ur AJLJ^ CONDITIONS OF SOCIETY. This book is a c«mi%1tia> tion of six booka, •aoh eon?- plete in itself, and Tfhdeto Trere fcrmerl^y publink«d at ^ cents pbr copy. Following are the titles of the gix books contained in OLD 5BCRB1*C AND HBV/ DiACOVBIUeS: (1) Old Secrete; (^) 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» dies f rona lard. St^Ua how to mako a borse app^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 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 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*«naaafMM.i'- .1.. ;• ^.^.T.i<'Isomeoolcre •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»n0 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«on to propose a ton*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 Fiiaer DKAW P€)KER ^ '■^l* a^fl DecepSoQs PracSiced by jassblers wttb Cards e&AwrMicK rea4 MAX STEIN c .00 S. 8T JAGQ, ILL. I M wasATiss OF USE sm^owmM mss os^ stand it txom. begin* 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: arid tiai. ; 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 superior qoaiity of paper from aevT iarj^e type. Prgc0.;i^ VolSo.cSpth&tainng^... .^ .v. $2.00 Stes^Vditnae9.PArtl» cloth..... ...^.....^ 1.00 «• •< Partit.clotti f.OO SEN!> FOR CGWIPLEie HXUSTBATED CATAtOGUS FRSS MAX STCIJN-a: CO.. 508S, STATE ST,; CHICAGO IU» ^ 'ae sdiooU m» toeir «v«r75r(i«y teztrU29inustrations. 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 iOi TBMS PAGE ONLY 10 CQ9T8 isvm ^»LaA« • MMMN LOVERS' B0D6ET M WRHMK «M> «/1tJSfnCe 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 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 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