and clung, drawing nearer and nearer to her. Would she walk straight off the dizzy edge, or would some invisible hand hold her there till he could reach her? He crept on—he touched her night-dress, then balanced himself firmly, and grasped her with both arms.

She awoko with a frightened scream. He hold her fast, and retracing his stops, lowered her through the scuttle, around which the whole household was now gathered. ' That was well done!' commented Capt. Elkanah, as tho young hero descended tho ladder.

As for Aunt Constance, sho rushod at him and hugged him till he was breath less.

' You bravo boy!' sho sobbed ; ' you splendid boy ! What do wo not owe you for this ?'

Well, tho weeks crept on, and tho sojourn of the planter's son at the old New England house drew near its close. In the attic, already mentioned, stood a cedar chest, with curious brass mountings and a spring lock, but the key was lost, as both tao children had heard. They wero rioting through the house, one after noon, when Gillian cropt into this fragrant retreat to hide. Down upon her, swift as lightning, banged tho lid. Gisbert ran through- the attic, searching her in vain. At last ho heard, or fancied ho heard, a faint noise from tha chest. He tried the lid.and found it fast.

to'<3_Con Dibit,' cried he, and flow for a hatchet and a box of tools which he had seen among tho rubbish of the place. Ho hacked and sawed away the lock and ro loased the prisoner, but not until the blood started in a stream from his own hands, and Gillian was nearly suffocated. Tho two came gliding down tho stairs in the gloaming, vory palo and subdued, and found Capt. Elkanah standing on tho iiearth, talking with his sister-in-law. 'Come, young monsiour,' he cried, at sight of Gisbert, ' mako your adioux with tho littlo ono! To-morrow you will be on yourjway back to Martinique.' Tho lad staggered back a step. ' I will not go !' ho gaspod. ' Hey !' cried Capt. Elkanah, ' what would monsiour, your father, and madame, youp mother, say, should I appear in Port Eoyal harbor without you ?' ' I cannot go!' ho persisted;' I cannot leave Gillian!'

'My dear,' said Aunt Constance, 'sometime you will como and see us

again.' With such breath as remained to her Gillian began to sob and roar. As for yonng monsieur, in mingled French and English be continued to reiterate his determination to remain, unless Gillian should be allowed to go with him. When AuntConstancc pronounced this impracti cable, he seized all his beautiful carved chessmen and flung them into tho firo crying out, 'Nobody shall touch them after her '' and than sent his fluto on tho same journey with,' None shall hoar mo play it again!' after which ho flung himself down, tearing his fair hair in Then lie fled from them all, and hid himself in a nook of the dark staircase where Gillian found him. after weary search, and mingled her tears with his. Tho next morning they parted. ' You must wait for me !' whispered the palo lips of the creolo boy in tho car of the weeping Gillian. 'I adoro you ! I will como back some day.' « No ' she sobbed, 'you will marry your cousin,'and forgot me. I shall never, never soo you again !' .' 'I will, come back,' ho repeated. I Aunt Constance embraced him,and bade him bo a good boy henceforth and mind his mamma. Keturah, in the background, called out to the captain : 1 When we see you again, master, you Will bo upon four "legs.' «pour legs !' cried the captain._ VV hat ! am I to be turned out to grass, liko Nebu chadnezar ?' . _ , •What's writ is writ, said Jieturah, cn_;imatically. , Then they went their way, and the good ship Mary Jane sailed down past harbors and islands of Boston harbor, and Gillian s fairy prince, with his blondo face and his tropic heart, faded out of her life liko a ,'i • i i jfe rife -fc '-/'• "Ov -fr -A" splendid dream. * • That was Captain Elkanah s last voyage. Paralysis siezud him on shipboard and when he had got back to the Marblehead house Keturah's prophecy was verified; for he could move only upon crutches, and the old life was over for Captain Elkanah. It was a terrible blow. Then, too, his investments had proved unlucky. Loss of money was added to loss of strength, and his temper, savage enough at all times, now becamo diabolical. Dark days—days of sickness and trouble—had come to the old house. No word from Martin que ever reached Gillian. She wore a ring, which Gisbert had sent her on her father's return. All that the girl knew of her lover was that he had been sent to complete his education in France beforo the Mary Jane weighed anchor for home. He was rarely men tioned now in the house, except by the parrot, who, in certain moods, would still call out for «Gisbert, Gisbert!'—at which tho tears started iv Gillian's eyes. She was just seventeen, oval-faced, pearly-skinned, and with plenty of fine manners and graces, when John Fordham first saw her. It was a winter twilight. With Q. Mb of proud patience ju her face,

she was sitting by the captain's side, read ing to him by the light of the open fire. Her elocution, it seemed had failed to satisfy him, and ho was just lifting his crutch to reprove her with a blow, when Keturah ushered liud stranger into the room. Ho strode across the hearth, and' seized the old man's arm.

' Good God, sir !' he cried, 'you would not strike a creature like this ?'

Uaptain Elkanah stared up into tho shocked, red-bearded face of the new comer.

' Why not ?' ho answered peevishly, ' She's my daughter ; 1 may do with her as Hike. Ah, Mister Joon, see what a wreck I have become ! I shall nover walk tho dock of the old Mary Jano again!'

John Fordham kept his fascinated eyes on Gillian. liising from her chair, pale and unspeakably lovely, sho roturned the look in amazement.

' I am the owner of the Mary Jane,' he tammered. ' I come to pay my respects to the man whom my father used to call tho best sailor that ever trod a quarter deck.'

•Ho was a stout, good-looking fellow of thirty, with a florid face and kind blue eyes. Gillian bowed and retreated into the nearest window.

'I never knew before that you had a daughter,' said Fordham to the captain. ' Ay,' answered ho ; ' she's tho last of the stock, and she'll be next door to a beggar when I go.' ♦ Fordham remained to tea. Ho talked principally to the captain and Aunt Con stance, but he looked only at Gillian. When he had taken his departure, Captain Elkanah called his daughter to his side, and eyed her closely and critically. ' Bloss my soul! you've grown up !' ho cried. * Yes, papa,' said Gillian. * And you're not ugly cither! Wo must bo looking up a husband for you—oh, sister-in-law ?' •

' Thoro is no hurry,' replied Auut Con stanco ' she's but seventeen.'

John Fordham came again, and deli cately apprised tho captain that he had settled upon him an annuity for past services.

' I am only sorry,' said he, ' that I did not think of it beforo. But I havo been abroad for years, and knew nothing about my father's affairs until his death.'

After this ho becamo a constant visitor. His purpose was understood by all save GHllian

Sometimes he found her reading to tho savage old captain, or trying to amuso him with chess, or cribbage or piquet; and then ho would tako her book, or board, or cards, with such eagerness, such evident desiro to relieve her for a littlo, that she could not but be grateful. Sometimes she sat in her favorite window seat, with tho white Martinique parrot on her shoulder, and her eyes fixed in a far, dreamy gazo upon the sea. Sometimes she worked at bits of sowing or em broidery, liko other women, or played at an old piano. But whatever she was doing, John Fordham's eyes dwelt upon her with deep and steadily increasing passion.

An inkling of the truth first eamo to her ono blustering night. With a cloak of sablos thrown across his arm, and his good-natured faco rod by tho frost, John Fordham entered.

' How I wish,' he said, as he crossed to Gillian's corner, ' that you would once talk as if you were glad to see me, Miss Endicott!'

Sho did not withdraw her eyos from the darkening waters.

' I cauuot bo otherwise than glad,' sho answered; 'for ymir visits horo aro a comfort to papa.'

' And are they nothing to you ?' ho urged

' Oh, yes !' sho answered. ' You aro the only person that takes tho trouble to visit us.'

' Why aro you always gazing at that sea,'he rnumured, 'like Hero watching for Leander ? I wish you would look at mo instead, Gillian.' He got hor hand betwixt his own. Sho drew it away, ' Gillian, pretty Gillian ?' called the Martinique parrot sleepily, from her cage overhead.

' Gillian, darling Gillian !' groaned John Fordham, in a miserable tr&mulous voice, and he laid his hot lips upoa her burn ished hair.

She sat for an instant as if thunder struck, thou started to her feet, Hashed him one astonished look, and was gone, before he could utter ao much as a word.

The next timo ho came, Gillian would not sco him.

' She had a headache,' whispered Aunt Constance, deprecatingly, to the captain, ' aud had gone to bod.'

' Go up and bring her down,' he ans wered, Aunt Constance went, but return ed alone,

' She will not come,' was the message she telegraphed to him across John Fordham's shoulders.

Captain Elbuiah seized his crutches and hobbled out of the room aud up the stairs to tho door of Gillian's chamber. He flung it open without ceremony, and limped in.

She lay on her white pillows, reading her Bible by tho light of a candle. With a face like a thunder-cloud, he advanced and lifting his crutch shock it over her head.

' Got up,' he commanded. 'Oh, papa, papa, papa !' cried Gillian, affrighted at his look.

' Get up, I tell you, and come down to John Fordham.' You think because J.

am a cripple that you can defy me, eh ?'• You shall see!' ' Oh, papa,' moaned Gillian, ' spare me this once. I do not want to see John Fordham again.' ' I will give you five minutes in which to dres3,' retorted the brutal captain ; 'if you are not ready, I shall drag you down as you are.' j Gillian made her toilet, and descended to the room below. She found John Ford ham alone. As she entered, pale and perfect, he little dreamed of the scene upstairs. Sho gave him her cold finger tips. ' Gisbert! Gisbert!' called a sudden voice from tho window.

11 was tho Martinique parrot. She had awakened on her perch, and was fluttering uneasily in the firelight. Gillian's hand dropped from John Fordham's. A swift sharp pang struck to her heart. Her fairy prince, hor hero, her lover —where was he now P Had he quite forgotten his early love ? Without a doubt. Gillian moved shivering to the fire. ' I hope I havo not disturbed 3 ou,' stammered Fordham, his florid face grow ing redder; ' but it is timo, Gillian, that you knew my heart. I love, I have loved you passionately for weeks. I think, yes, know, that I can make you happy. Will you marry me ?' Sho shrank away, pale as Niobe. ',1 will not decoive you,' sho answered ; ' I have never given you a thought. If I marry you, it will solely be to please my father. There is no will in this house but his.'

' That sounds very cold,' said John Fordham.

' Yes,' she replied listlessly ; ' but I am not like other women —I have no heart.' 'Bo that as it may, I will tako you, Gillian.'

After which there was nothing for her to do but to lay her white, reluctant hand in his.

The only ono of the household who did not rojoice in Gillian's betrothal waa Keturah,

' You will never marry him, Ja-ly bird,' sho said.

' For heaven's sake,' cried Aunt Con stance, ' don't listen to that old creature, child! Love will come in timo. Thero was Gisbert St. Cyr and his cousin———'

'Hush!' cried Gillian, ' don't speak of him.'

The old houso began to ring with notes of preparation. Gillian, who was losing flesh and color, came to Keturah.

' They have set my wedding-day,' said she.

' No matter,' answered Keturah, ' you will never marry him, I tell you !'

' My bridal dress is bought.' ' You will never wear it, ladybird.' ' Oh, Keturah,' prayed Gillian, 'do not deceive me.'

' I will not,' replied Keturah.

Years after, Gillian remomborcd the weeks preceding her marriage day as a dreary, confused dream. Sho neither tried or wished to love John Fordham. She knew from the beginning that she could not.

It was a winter morning. In her chamber stood Gillian, robed in misty whito —the palest, loveliest bride that morning light ever shone upon,

Aunt Constaneo tried to kiss her; she thrust her way.

'Don't?' she said, coldly. ' You are a Judas, Aunt Constance—you have helped to betray me.'

Then she turned to Keturah, who was sweeping up the coals on the open hearth. ' Oh, Keturah,' she cried, 'you promised that I should never marry him.'

The old womam did not lift her eyes from her work.

' You never will,' sho made answer,

' How dare you still tell me that ?' scoffed Gillian. ' All things are ready, and everybody is here.'

' No,' contradicted Keturah, ' the bride groom is not.'

True, guests and clergyman had arrived, but not John Fordham. A half,hour went by —an hour; he did not come.

Gillian stood at her window, staring out upon the storm-swept sea. Everybody felt that it was no trivial matter which kept the ardent, eager bridegroom from his expectant bride.

' Poor Gillian—poor Gillian !' croaked the Martinique parrot from her porch. Far down the crooked street the sound of horse-hoofs rang suddenly out abovo tho clamor of tho storm. Gillain at her window was tho first to see the messenger. Alas ! nono ride so fast as he that bears ill news. A great chill and terror crept through her veins. He stopped at the house, and, leaping from the saddle, en tered with his tidings among the gathered guests. Gillian heard voices and con fusion, and then the door of her chamber was thrown wide open, and Capt. Elkanah and his crutches stood on the threshold.

' Take oil' that dress, girl! cried he, his old face terrible with grief and baffled hope, 'and put on widow's woods. John Fordham i^i dead. He was flung from his horse, this morning, and killed instantly.'

The room whirled, the day vanished. In the bridal white, which in truth, she never was to wear at the altar, Gillian fell senseless to tho floor. After that day Capt Elkanah never held up his grizzled head. Hardly had Gillian donned crape for her lover, when the old tyrant departed on his last, long voyage, and left his empty chair iv the chimney nook. Blow followed blow. Aunt Constance began to droop preceptibly, At the end of twelve months, she, too, died, aud Gillian aud

Keturah were left alone. To its desolate hearth the two came back from Aunt Constance's grave. They sat on either side of the fire—Keturah, old and feeble ; Gillian, in her deep mourning, with big, sorrowful eyes, and cheeks from which the roses seemed forever fled.

' Keturah,' she said, as the tears slipped one by one ofl her lashes ; ' what are we to do ? Do you think we two can live on here alone ?' Keturah roused herself slowly from her torpor. ' Hark !' she muttered,' there is somo ono coming over the snow.'

Gillian listened. The wind screeched in tho chimney ; tho clock atruck out the hour But that was all, ' I hear no one,' sho said.

' There is some one coming over the snow,' repeated Keturah, like one talking in a dream, ' and he will tell you what you are to do.' A sudden peal rang out from the brass knocker on the hall-door. A visitor, and upon this night, and at this hour ! Gillian looked up, startled and amazed. ' Who can it be ? Go ; open the door !' she said to Keturah. The .'old woman obeyed. Lo ! out of the storm and out of the night a traveler stepped across the threshold ! 'Does Capt. Endicott still live iv this house ?' ' No,' said Keturah; 'he is dead.' 'And his daughter?' ' Sho is hero alone.' Gillian started up from the chimney corner. She saw a man, blonde, bearded, lordly as young Antinoiis, but with the heart of his boyhood looking still from his eyes. He saw a woman, with parted lips and lustrous hair, complete in every promised grace, who was to the Gillian of his memory what tho radiant blossom is to tho closed bud. They stood on that familiar hearth and looked into each other's eyes. She was the first to speak. ' Gisbert!' she pronounced,' is it you— is it really you ?'

He still retained the extravagant wayß of his boyhood—he sank at her feet. .' It is I! I promised —do you not remember to return, sometime ?'

' And you have not married your cousin P' she faltered, betwixt smiles and tears.

' How could I when my heart and soul were yours P She has taken the veil at Paris.' Then ho told her of the long battle which ho had waged with all his kindred, and,' finally, of tho death of his father, aud his succession to tho family estates, whereby he was for the first time enabled to follow tho dictates of his own faithful heart. ' Your memory,' he said to Gillian, ' has grown with my growth and strengthened also with my strength. But you—how is it with you ? Do you love me still ?' ' I have never loved other than you— never!' she answered, shivering as she thought of John Fordham. And so ho married her, and carried her away to Martinique, aud Keturah went with them. But the old house still stands overlooking the harbor of Marblehead, and tho story of this pair—high-born French lad and beautiful New England girl—haunts it like a spell.—

The Old Soldier who Played Capitalist.

He didn't look as if his pockets held fifty cents, but a rich man has a right to dress as he chooses. He loated up Griswold-street until he saw the right sort of a face, and then he asked:

' Can you show me a bank ?' 'Yes, sir; three doors below, or just across tho street, or right back there.'

' Thanks. I'd like to put some money in some bank, bnt I'm a little afraid of banks. I always did prefer a note of hand to a bank.'

Tbe citizen pricked up his ears and asked :

' You have some money to lend, have you ?'

' A trife,' was the answer. *Do you know of anybody who'd like to take some and give mc a note for a year at seven per cent ? I think of going to Mixico for a while.'

' Let's see ?' mused the citizen.' I don't know but I'd take some myself.' ' Lemme git a drink and then we'll talk,' said the stranger.

' Yes, certainly; come on " replied the citizen, and the two went into a basement. Drinks were ordered by tho citizen, one after another, until his shinplaster felt lonely. He said he could make good use of a few thousand dollars for a year, and somo of his friends might also take a few thousand more. The stranger put down gin, whisky, larger and brandy until his legs gave out. The citizen laid him on a bench and tried to sober him, but the fellow went dead asleep while they were trying to force vinegar down his throat. The barkeeper said he was an old loafer, and a policeman was sent for to take him to the station. When they got him down there and searched him, tbey found four cents, a brass-backed comb, and a door key in his pocket aud the citizen who wanted to borrow a few thousand dollars went to see if the mail had come in.

• Maria Theresa Jennings and Clotilda Jennings, gimme that the book ! The idee of gals not more'n nineteen readin' all about that are Beecher scandal! And you perfessors, too I Ef your poor mother was alive now, what do you calkilate she'd say 1 Gimme the siaful pamphlet till I destroy it,' and the pious old Deacon indignantly took ,' The Story of the Great Scandal' from them **and sat up till 2*45 A. m. reading it in the dining-room with the doorjlocked, and his hat hy«g over the key hole.

A Woman's Mistake.

I HAPPENED to Itnnw „ from an honorable b u i S n„Wllo tak I to become a wife. Lik7? y Sacce«lii 1 her sex, she was mistake,,?*? 7 oth <*s 11 -not that he had wW her hußb »* S» of these fchtf^^vS! drank, gambled, nor fcSlJ*^! had he any immoral proSf- club8> "& did not believe that a? wife ?\ Bu^ anvthin g ofherhusbandvL? oula S which idea also comnrehL? 8, 111? 88 affai t uot believe she3,^thatbJ*: wife Ithappoued, however Jj \?** I to her whenever hi, S^^Wej 1 desperately straitened, 'ft rs becai 1 her severe economy O fS y mea^o; extricate himself. Oioe 2. to ly exhausted his' 2 m W> bo>4 additions to old house??;* Mdfi repairs for exacting tenant, f eSpen2 ' his bills came ? n Ut\ for patiently showed him how t ' , M certain investments, n rn w °H stores in lieu of tt&|g§g«.* 4 a successful change, sS? g hous^ servants, and executed, tnZlVl^ I with her needle Sa^ mcredable. BesidesSiS6^' pie at low wages to tak? 2J ?n t 1^ she instituted a kind of £!? n(W than which nothing could? StlC econ^ able and praisewoSC^^?B^ this, she never gS_d he/t^l'J regard or confidence He wl^' * hertagothimoutofhtSTM as he called them, but wLK/ aces' out, and was doing a P X£°£ a n \ he ceased to consult ffSjS^l howfer his income ouK elhnglle!! whether he had anything left Sfi°' f general expenses. Helwft-^i step under the. eircJms^. lllffl; some small capital, however, aid his S ventured certain purcha c ? real estate, but he disregarded her S [ She mentioned to Hpf^^fe, chances for mves ment allofwichhaveS doubled or trebeled ia other hand, £ hewo^noili 8 te B teher"MSS her wishes, he purchased an old-fash™ houseforhisfamilytolivem^S moreonitsrepairsthananewonew have cost. He sold it subsequently t price that would scarcely meet tt ongnal outlay. He agreed to sell vaiuab pieces of property, while she was positi^ ly refusing to sign her name to the train ter, and was afterwards compelled toffij her signature on being told that«th property was his, not hers, and he would do what he pleased with his own' Sffl' her work went on-mending, paMk going to market for frugality, keeping S house clean and neat, and her chith clothed with her own hardiwork. Cei. tain property was under mortgage; ill hoped to save something to pay this, ai never took sugar inhertea.hoping to msk even that an item in her rigorous economj But though his wife's influence was of w little consideration, he gave his eonfideiM to an intriguing man of no honor and little j credit, who had become known to him through some former business connectioii, This man beguiled him, made him wm. the very investments against which Is] wife had remonstrated; borrowed monejj from him which he never intended to »i pay, almost entangling this weak-mindei husband in a net-work of bankruptcy, So years went, on, the poor wife expeciiuj sanguinely that the time would arrin when she would be living upon an assuied income and see the reward of herW and unremitting labor in an easy old age. Alas ! such was his promise and such h(i hope. But hope is delusive. He U,j broken his promise arid had deceived h ' in all his transactions; his whole income was pledged to pay notes on bogurtoti and other fancy investments against wait! she had before strenuously protested, and would still have warned him had he con fided to her what he was about. It wis found by careful calculation that if lie U placed 70,000, dols. which he had receivd by inheritance, into such estates as she had proposed, he would have been wot in less than six years more than doable the amonnt of the legitimate investment. Nearly thirty years had this careful woman been a wifei assisting judiciously in the education of her children, studying character and the vast internal growth ol our city—capable of being the adviser of her husband in all things pertaining to domestic and financial economy. 'W» am IP* she said to me, one day, in the agony of her heart. 'I am only a * lie* of wood and a drawer of water' in my W band's house, when I wanted to be to true and faithful partner, lightening to cares and aiding him by advice m counsel.'. /• 7MiAp

They recognized each other at one. of* liflh stands, and one called out, 'Is that* Mrs. Jones, aud are you after a fish?' *& is that you Mrs. Toddle ? And no, §M buy fish.' 'You don't Mra -JeW 'No. I have got thepiarticularestjhiW you ever saw. If he's eating fish WM four or five scales in his mouth he:ffl»W»" much fuss as some men would over a coDDiej stone in a loaf of bread. So I buys H* «J there's no scales on it, and allyouhayeto" is to give it a rinse, flop it into the ,spw»t and the butcher gets all the blame.'

Printed and Published by the Proprietor, p &» B«.bt_. of Parnell, at his General Steam.J*™>* Office, Wyndham-str'eet, in the City ol &.W". New Zealand ;-. • Saturday, Jw? 17. 1^

Evening? Supplement, June 17, 18*7®,