with extraordinary fervor. The town [was full of people—two carvans having [just arrived, .together .with:a great;train of pilgrims, I began to .preach .in the jcustom-.house .plaza, under the.^uns of ;Eaat. Effendi's fortress, in the place (where .the- Ulemas of Haroun Alraschild's jcollege once taught <the laws- I Great crowds thronged tohear :me, in creasing every day, aud they listened,, to ime with over increasing excitement. I |and ,my followers organized processions and fasts,, and we fanned the flame of fer vor ia every ppssible way. One day there sat.m front of. me a group of women of the place ; veiled, and behind .them a throng of wild sailors of the Montefik Aarbs,. who liad come from Bassorah. i preached in the fervid sun, .with corresponding fervor, of the power, the aggressiveness, the destiny' of the Giaour, and theduty of resistance. 'If we,do not rise,against the infidel, he' will leave xis nothing—not even our lands, our houses, pur whjes, our children. He will;take from.us our. homes, our faith, our Mahpruet, our Allah, aud leave us only, the pale-faced, Christ, and wine to drink, aad.swine to eat and ,Eblis for us; here* after.!' ,I wojjit on iouthis strain for some time, while the crowd, grew densex,. and [more excited, and. my dervishes, on its extremities more frahtic'in theirexercises. Suddenlytine1 of the sailors from'Bassorah sprang, into' th> air,'the blood gushed from I his; nostrils, and he. fell backwards in a i fit-,' The .crowdj panic '.stricken,, shrank away .from'h'im, shrieking :' ,"The plague I rilie" plague'! 'Bat'l lifting up .'my arms, I with; a great cry and truly; inspired;' Cried aloii'd:: ".'AvBiB, him"' hot'! ■ .Avoid "him ! not! It is the judgment of Allah come' ft upon ye for,your hardnefss ''of heaH and I yo'tir unbelief!' , I continued, to. preach, and presently one

j of,the, wpmea^fell, screaming, rand, she and I tlw?sailor. mere, , Thus'began ■ the great .plague.in. Bagdad. .The. fiery- I breathed Sarpielrraged over-the town like ' a'ramj>ingli(^yaJQ4':b.efor,e; nightfall there were/twenty r cases of. the pestilence. I I preache.dVagam,,the next day,,and.the nest, I and the malady spread.like a,,fire amongst i inflammables. j..-. •~. ,'■ ,■■'■. -.-•

' £vat Effendi-determined rfc 6 prevent me j from gather"ii)# csueh:-great'crowded ar \ rested me and casfr.meinto prison, but I' I wasfa man; distracted.'! Ipreaohed.in1 the prison, yard *, r-I .preached in; the solitary dungeon,; I raved and lidwlecl like a rabid dog'chained up, r After .-.-a /fortnight I. "was" released still mad, and'werit abroadi'dazed into the '.Strßpts -of the stricken city^—" stricken,.oh. Q-od; by me J Oh thißTVr'etch edness and miseryr-rthe' deadi;anidi dying,' : ncfglected an<3i abandoned—^tho ' apathy * 'of : thp. ;iiv.ing-,.rt|ie stendhoof ithe"linburied ' tainting theair, the'terror,'the' brutality I and. cruelty.oftman.!- -'A whole-city-perish- I ingj-if^illipg away, fromitself/'gtruck; down' and stunnedf as if> by a thuuderbolttli Over I aU y( thq hot.Sa-mier.burjied,- and the stench I raged; a,nd corpses .lay in -the- .streets, but I tli'c 'bazaars, were deserted, and the camels no longer thronged'io>vei' the,'bridge, nor even ~ditl- the muezzins .< .call frora a tl^p . .minarets of 'the. hundred' I mosques. I strayed into the abandoned khan^-my follpwers and dervisheshad fled I all save two, favorite pupils of mine; who I lay in the death agony-upon their carpets, I with none to attend them. They died in I seeing me, and in saluting me "Prophet!' Prophet! rent--my .clothes. and; fled from the place full' of'a great laorrpr; I j ran ypng ' the "desprted . streets ' until I■> came tb the governbr's pdacp. :$~ negro, just recovering from the disease, j sat' at the divanJ He made'tae ;a : fefeble sajaam; ajid called me great prophet, : and solicited bles3ing. 'Where ia Faat Pasjia?'. I crjed, and he.., pointed within. I entered the Pasha's audience \ hall,, but it was completely empty save for fa fcockatoo that shrieked upon a perch, and la street dog that lay asleep in the plash |of the • fountain. I sounded an alarum I upon the. jgong-against the wall, an alarum I loud; enough to,have suoimone.d a regiment

I of guards, but none came, until presently, I from the interior of the house, with,feeble, I slow steps, a tent man came forth. It :Was the Pasha, but I had difficulty in recognizing' him. 'Prophet,'"he cried, I ' flee from the house1-of woe -from the city of jwrabh !'■ Then. in. impassioned accents. I denounced myself to Euat as' a Bulgarian, a spy,,a liussian,a traitor, an imposter. -a murderer,!,,. He, listened to me for, a few mihutesj' then.he ,took me by the.hand, ' dome with Jme'.' he said, and led me into the'interior'bf £he house, into the apart ments of thelwomen.' As we approached, thtfrei ware 'wild cries and -shries. The Pashaled me to a little cushion, whereupon' •lay a small boy, the image of my Baba, ijjust-•. dead with. the..plague.* .' Prophet, i'God wills it. t There, lies.the. hope-of my ! house, the joy of my life ! H^s mother I j: buried yesterday —to:morrow will follow 'him myself.. t There.is no God,' but God, j and Mahomet is the apostle of God !■'■' I fell down ia' a fit, and when : I again. I. denounced . myself still- : more 'i|loudly for what I was. '.But Fuat said:

I' Distress hath .'made thee mad, ohprdphet, ;and I must befriend thee.' And as con-

I tinned to rave qbd tqbruisemyselfagainst 8. the stones, he sent for an officer and some '; meh still left:in the fortress, and they 'i bound me and put me upon a.swift !; dromedary, and fetched me to Damascus, II ■ still raving. And here*they would not '[admit us within the city gates on account !'J of the plague, so those having me in charge ?;; bought provisions and then fetched a ' circuit to Aleppo, where kind Moslems J /were ready to nurse me and care for me. >' But I escaped at night and ran to J3eyrout, jo the Kussian Consul there, and he,

.deeming me crazy, put me on a Greek •boat and sent me to the Consul's at Symrna. And that . officer telegraphed about me: to Constantinople, whereupon some Russian surgeons came down in a dispatch, boat, claimed mo as a Russian subject - announced me mad and sent me in charge .of sate-keepers to Marseilles and thence to this place. Bat I am not ! mad. I am only that Yorvaki, the j Bulgarian, who in pursuit of his revenge, i became Hnji . Oglou* the prophet, and | preached tiie plague in Bagdad. Arid, [ heaven be praised, that plague has me now jin its direfdl clutches, and: presently will make an end of: all my woe.-r-£Le Petit Journal (Medico Psychologiquc. !

Through Wind and Rain.

|Bi r THE AttTHOE OF 'OLD MYDDLETON S

JIONEY..'

I Yes* that js ; the portrait of the present • Squire Handsome ! No, I don't think we (Old servants ever call him handsome. ;-I i daresay you are right, though, and if we,'d, ■ known hinxless, we might have:spoken of jhis being handsome." We only know him. ias the kindest master and tenderest so^ Sin, the, whole world. Yet I'daresay you' are right, for when I'm here by myself, (among the portraits Cthe servants wonder-' ling why. their '"qld- housekeeper wanders lover the house sp'mucValPne) it is always Ito "his face that I turn with the' best memories,.;and. there is nothing .there, to aim my spectacles,- '&s there is when my eyes rest upon the. portraits opposite— lyou see them ? the, portraits of liis father jand grandfather. ■ . , _ , ! Jti was just such a night as this, that iusftered iuthe newyear'five and twenty jye'ars'.agQ ;' and even now, that'evening is W clear in my memory as this has beenV ■tEbugh ' "V^estmede ' to-day is filled 'with igiiests and gayety,, and the1 old house jechpe^ music and laughter, instead of that, oiie strange cfj. Promised ' to' tell' you, [did I? Come nearer to the fire then, .and Itlirpw on another log. Many a night I've jsat jitsthere !ito see:the' ;old year': dip.; {Sometime^ iri the wonderful ' 'silence of 'that stafshine j sometimes' ifr brilliant 'mophlight,' 'wh'en ''that line of heathiroad' ibeyond the park lay a broad white' ribbon1 ion the brown'; and sometimes, as it does' k'cAnight'-T-and did thai? 'other night just jfive. and twenty years ago—panting for its j breach ' and 'dying in passionate tears': JYou'_can see how how the poplar's, far away" against the sky, there, bend like; reedsr; and; when the' hutfryirig; clouds -fly by'iCnd lealte the young'moo_h' uncovered;1 lyoii 'caA trace1 the bridle-path across;'the Sheath, ■ glistening like a shallow Kvpdk. jjust such"n night it was,' Wild,'1 wet; and' £usty,'when'the old Squi/e and I stood' hya^ciiing."-'"; •" ;.' ■. ' '■' ■ ' '•' ' ";'; i But" how 'is this ? I Ought tlot to "be in jthe middle of my story before I begin".' [Lettne see—there's anotlißi* Now Year's |li!ve that I 6nnr remembeil^ fifty years ago, jwheli the1 Squire held hisnew-borninfaint in his a^mSi with such a smile as wo liad never seen upon his Face before, and stood' therein a dream until Tbliey roused him to: tell him thart his young' wife could: ribt live. '' " ■ •"■ '■' ; l;' i- '■'"' •:' ■■ '''•'■'■ )

j All in all, waS the boy to Ms father'from tbat Very -nights"yet at'fi'rst 'there wa> sometimes a fancy among us that' pur piaster's great affection for his son came fce'cond "tohis^pride in'his heir. 'He was grotvihff old, iyou sec, an'dof icoutfse there must' have '> been times when he ' had feared that the prond old name would die, and the place he loved' so 'Well'go to that distant branch, of Capletqns, of whitih. Captain Warder' was tho living represen talive—a cold, middle-aged man, who the Squire never bad liked. But now that the son and heir -was born, Mr. Capleton (with some new feeling) turned round and seemed to grow fond of this heir presumptive—as they called him. But we didn't, and there was a conviction among us that whenever he came to Wesmede it was because he either wanted money in a hurry, or had nowhere else to go. For: years after the little heir was born, Captain Warder didn't come to Westmede at all. • Be might have been too angry, or he might have beenreallyabroad as it was reported. But gradually his visits were resumed,. and then, year'by year, they grew longer and more frequent: '

At Wesmede every thins wont smoothly and Happily for the ' Squire through his son's boyhood; for though, of course, Mr. Will got into trouble sometimes, as schoolboys will, the trouble never lasted.; for the boy was gentle and true-hearted, even if he had a share of his father's self will; So the time went onuntil within' a few days of Mr. Will's leaving dbllege, when he was to come home for a few'weeks and then1 join a party of friends and'travel for a. year before settling-at Westmede and taking the Squire's duties upon him self. . Just as we were dreading lest Mr. Capleton should fret through his: son's long absence, a distant connection of his died, leaving an only daughter unprovided for. •So the Squire,- when he heard this, went off at Once to, Scotland and brought back the orphan with him. ; ; ' Her portrait here P Of course it is, for she was one of the. Capletons^ you know, though she wa3 so poor that I've seen her turn the bows of ribbon on her dress, and patch the pages of her music. Beautiful P I don't know, because I've seen so many different faces to be called beautiful. At first the servants called her ' puny,' then I noticed that ,the maids grew to imitate her, and dropped their voices when they spoke of her. As for me, from the very

first moment that my eyes rested on her, I saw. what' Won my heart. Her face-wg,'s narrow and delicate, yet there1 was asw;eet and steadfast light upon'if, whieh-rhadeit beautiful beyond what; I had ever Ibefore understood of the word. ' •'■'' ''<-''"

Hi.w well I remember the day Mr. Will came home from college and found' her stand;hj*I'shyly at his father's side waiting for him. Such a glance came into his eyes, that, thoug I'd known them all his lifei I felt I'd nevei' seen them properly till then. Of course I could only-guess how he spent that evening, the -first through which he had ever: had a girl companion 'at home ; but before a week had passed I had. seen what had made me sad enough.

'If Agnes does her duty, Will.' I heard the Squire say oneI. morning, while Mr. Will stood against the low osik chimney piece in the hall, with his face bent,' 'I shall give her a wedding portion and marry her to Warder. I shall be doing both of them a good turn.' Andthat reminds me, Will; Luxlei'gh tells me his daughter returns from Paris next year to take her place at the head of his1 house.'

.Ko answer from; Mr. Will, but the squire didn't notice, and went on in a pleasant, satisfied tone.1 "

I ' I've never kept you in the dark as to imy intention's; Will, • have I ? You've lalways been • fully aware of the good ifortune in store for you. Luxleigh's estate, and Luxleigh'a daughter go together, and the.prize is to bo yours on-your return; always supposing, Will, that you act your' Own part like a gentleman and-^a lotrer.'

'And if I don't?'

; The Squire's laugh rang out with" a merriment which had not a grain of suspicion'in it.

; ">if you'lose your reason during the next year—put it that way, Will.' When Mr. Will looked up, I was pass ing him in leaving him in leaving; the hall, and I remember wondering how it Was the Squire could be so unsuspecting. When 1 had reached my own room, still thinking over that expression on my young master's face, I found Miss Agnes standing at the! window, looking out into the park as she waited for me. When we had held our usual morning discussion, she turned to the wtnd6w before leaving the room. ♦If you are looking for Mr. Will, Miss Agties,' said I,; standing- with my back to her, and speaking easily what, with my ' old-fashioned notions, I fancied would be wise to say, ' he is in the hall. ■ The master has - been'1 talking td him of his wedding' with^Miss Luxloigh. I wag• 'rearranging the curtains and tho1 master told m& uPti to: to.'so^lheard them.' j She was facing me now, innPcently aniJf wistfully looking into my eyes, so my next word'*:iiearly choked me. ; ' , 1 'i?or years this has been an nridCrstpoii thing/ Miss Agne's^did you1 n'eVbi"hekr; it?: You see the Luxleigh property touches '■ Westmede north, south and east.' ;Of course it will be a wise marriage.' '_ ;. , She was looking at me still, and the 6ld; light was':within her eyes andtthb';gentle smile Upon her lips ; but oh, the whiteness of that face! ' ■ ; ' . 'Idare'say, Miss Agnes,'said I; bend ing: over my fire, ' that you have ! never even h«ard of it.'

i i« Not—yet.' . ■ ' '•' | When she went away from the room so Quietly,; of coarse L wished! hadn't said a word rbut still I'd done it with the fancy that it might be kinder to do it at once. Somehow it never seemed to 'enter the Squire's head that there could be danger to bis plans in the close intimacy between His son and Miss Agnes ; or inlhe charm fo'Mr. Will, of such a sweet girl-compan ion in the home in which, he'd never known a! mother or sister. As for Mr. Will. I don't think he ever even tirod to feel that Miss Agnes was like a sister to him, for from the first he had bved her as brothers don't love;. and—yes ; after all these years I can say as confidently as I said it then —firmly as Mr. Capleton's heart was set upon that projected marriage for his son, everything would have ended happily for Miss Agnes and Mr. Will, if ithadit not fresh for Captain Warder. No; even yet I cannot tell' how, but I feel as sure of it as I am that that's the wind, sobbing on it's way across the! heath.

"When the day came for Mr. Will to leave home, no one saw his parting with Mi3s Agnes, but two hours after I had watched the carriage out of sight, I found her at the window, with her eyes fixed on the spot where it had dissappeared,-and though they were filled with tears, I never saw that trustful look upon her face so trustful as it was at that minute.

I think that Miss Agnes had made a determination that, as far as she possibly could, she would be both son and daughter ,to Mr. Capleton in his son's absence ; and it'was prettier chap any,picture to see them together—always , together. She. would'walk „ with him round the estate, discussing Alterations and improvements, just as his son would have done ; his arms in hers, and always the brightest interest in her face., She would drive him for hours1 among his tenants, remembering everything-for him, and doing as much,in her gentle, quiet way to. win their hearts : as he "could do'with, all'his wealth and power. She.would ride beside him-into Exetqr on his .we.ejtly visits, and the two horses, by force, of habit, kept so closely together, that it became a proverb there. She would go with him to the heavy country dinners, leaning on his arm as his own daughter would, have done, and so grateful to him for her plain white dress (and making so much of it in her pleasent way) that often when I've watched them off, my eyes have been to full to meet her —the

idea of It! Tears, becausei she loved; the old man so Well. ! ; " '■'"'. /• I '/' ' •,' ' all was'it tpsrie.theni together tjirojd&li the; long wiVHfet ey^inffs/at; hbnie when she would siriir and read, to ( him, talk to him—ah,"well, itlrsUcbi a.'nature' as hers; I think, that" can make home for,' a riian in its highest and holiest sense. ••' For many weeks after Mr Will left ua, Captain Warder did not; show himself at Westmede, and when he came at last, I walk ins: quietly and undemonstratiyely ■ through the little eastern door, it wasn't very wonderful; that nonq of us, could j suspect or'be guarded apainst the misery ;he brought. 4-ft-r that first visit others . followed' rapidly ; and I nnderstopd very i well how the Squire; having planned the marriage between Captain Warder and ; Miss Agnes, should be willing to throw Ithem togeteh'r. But still Miss Agnes, avoided him whenever she could, and when. Tasked her (just for ho purpose at all) w^iich of her cousins she Hired best, the rush of pink to her face, and' the trembling of her lips when she said 'one wasi all truth and hotio'i^'-pauci '.\ $hen she, failed for words—was proof 'enough' that she had sounded Captain Warder's nature.

, Gradually, during those visits of Cap itaih Warder to Westmede,'there came a consciousness of something beincf wrong, ildort'tsuppose I can make you understand, for I cduldn.t understand it myself, but all the peaceful calm of the old house seemed ruffled,' and not only,did we sec that the Squire had grown suspicious of his adopt-' !ed daughter, bxit we' noticed that' in every word .lie : uttered of his absent son his voice had a fretfulness which I had never heard in it before. Quite sure I felt that Captain Warder's influence was effecting this, change, but I coiild never have fully cpmprehended.it if I had not once chanced to overhear him speaking unrestrainedly. The master had'sent for me to the library to .check some bills for 'him, and while 1 did it,' Captain Warder came in, brin^in^ tw6;for6ign letters which he had called for! in Exeter ; thinking—so he Said—to please his cousin by anticipating next morning's post.- The: master's eye ( brightened; at sight of .his son's hand ; "but with a slow smile—l remember thinking it tho ugliest smile .1 ever saw —Captain' Warder laid ! upon the Squire's .letter one addressed in the same hand to Miss Agnes.'

•Well?' questioned Mr., Capleton. .' ''• 'May I'heat b'bfore 1 deliver this, of nay cousin Will's health and welfare?' askpd Caplv Warder, putting /his1' arm through the Sc^nireV and, sauntering with1 him to the'next Tobm,; 'Miss'Agnes's letter in one' hand. ' 3i3fi't pretbrid to! gd on, .with ''«#■ figures, for j every word^they' uttered .reached me' through the .cur'fein'sy and. presently 1' understood ;w'ell'' ;cpo^h whoydV. making' "Mr.'1 VTill's absone'e fital'tof'the old" homo. "'^conl that',Te: ry hour thd end followed so naturally irts'pito of its misery, tha,t 1 Seemed to have b,ecn expecting it all just as-'Tt. cim?.' ' /'' ' , That very night", when 1 was. sitting alb'rio in myroom, fancying thb whole house hold Wa3 in bed, my door was softly opened, and Miss Agnes canio in in her white dress, far more like a ghost than—. She came in, 1 say, almost without a s6und, arid dropped upon her knees by my side just as she might have done if 1 had been her mother, and she—bro en hearted.' 1 conldn't say a word'; 1 only nut my hands upon her soft dark hair, and tried to keep back the tears ; old women are so1 silly with their t'earsT" : />■ 'This is good-bye,' she said presently, raising her white face; and at that moment 'the steadfast light'within her eyes was sad to see.';' G-ood-bye. ( This dear life is over for nic—;frotn to-night.'

' My ' dear,' I cried, as I took both her chilly hands in mine, 'what is it that you mean, 'Miss Agnes ?' 'I am—going.' Her voice sank to a very whisper at the last word, so no wonder I could not feel sure that I had heard aright. Yet not for anything could I asked her again, because I secrned to understand it all so well, after those suspicions of Captain Warder's which 1 had overheard. :

''I am going—to-morrow,' she whispered' her, wicre eyes meeting mine with, an unufctored longing in them. 'I am going because—my uncle has lo9t—his trust in mfc. JECe'thinks I would ruin —his son's— life. 'I ruia it 1 1 hare an old friend who will receive me—l think. She is poor, but ; I—will help her, I—need1 —need not be a burden.' :

■' Where is she Miss Agnes ?'

But no, not by hinting, or asking, or even entreating, could 1 win that infor mation. ; She Would riot leave me the power ■of telling Mr. Will where she.had gone. f But tell him,' she whispered very softly, ' pleas tell ■hira-r-dnly this one thing that kneeling here; just as '1 might have knelt at my mother's side, 1 pray that he will do^as his father wishes. 1 shall be quite happy —presently. His father has been: as my father*' and 1 ha^e no word to say to-night, or ever, but—God bless him.' 1 don't know whether 1 answered at'all j I fancy not; but 1 held'her to my breast an^.—well* never mind that. Strange t6 sfey, it was on the!very'next morning; just before Miss Agnes, left us,.' that. Lord Luxieigh brought his daughter to Westmede; fhdn, of course, but 1 did! think that the frail, sad girV who was going alone into the world for the sake of Mr. Will, wasjjfar better worth his love than the girl who, with her foreign voice, and dress and manners, was come to win what my dear was resigning. Quite courteously the Squire introduced his young cousin to Miss Luxleigfo, but somehow, his voice sounded all different. Ah 1 how the minutes fled till she was

gone; then how they crept by us, bringing luj, riaVcv. the music of a girlish voice and J willing step; bringing us even no word from the outer world to J"tell us of her. I Though.! could see that the Squire missed ! her more than words could say, he never i evenf\ittered her name. Captain "Warder did wisely not to leave him alone just then, knowing what the empty rooms would be for. him, after the bright companionship of his adopted daughter. The intercourse j between Luxleigb. and Westmede*became : Very; close. Perhaps Miss Luxleigb. i enjoybd the Squire's perpetual narratives jof "his".son's perfections, and perhaps adultation, of every kind was welcome to her. In any case she came very frequently ■to Westmede, and ,so aided Captain War der's attempt to keep Mr. Capleton from being, solitary.1 So the time Went on till Mr. Will's returnr^fi^^urse I know nothing of what passed in trl^^st interview between the ; father and son, but I happened to meet my .young master on the stairs just afterwards, and he passed me without a word or glance, ; his eyes burning, and his lips drawn tight upori: his teeth. Later on, when I was tired of hearing him pacing to and fro in his room, I ventured quietly in to him, to give him the welcome I'd always given in olden times, when he had come home from school or college! At'first 1 thgught he was going to turn away from me, but quite (as if he remembered that his ;seeret was in my keeping) he turned and ;greeted me' . It1 was a good while, though, before 1 trusted myself to give him Miss Agnes's message, and almost as soon as ever 1 repeated it—he, standing in utter stillness to listen—the door opened, and Captain Warder came in with^his greeting, far too loud and cordial to bs quite honest from him.

I Mr. Will looked down with silent bontempt upon his cousin's outstretched •hand1, and then he turned to me as if he jwcre.not even aware that any one else stood there. ' Old friend,' be "said, '1 am going away again, to fetch my cousin Agnes back to Westmede; so you see 1 must answer your welcome by another good-bye'

1 was looking straight into Captain Warder's face> but 1 could not find out whether his surprise was real or feigned. i' Your, father found himself deceived in Agnes'-Capleton,' he said, 'and naturally he will'never consent to her return here.'

; Shall 1 ever forget my young master's fierce reply, or the savage gloom of Captain iWardef s face when tie left the room ?

; ,' Mr, Will hida long interview with liis jfaWer after that; and from what he told jnie afterward, when he came to'see if I icould Help him by the faintest clue to !Miss Agnes's present home, 1 understood that my ma'sfer m<L Jsaid if he could not jreturri to rnafry' Miss Ituxieigh, he need nerer.return at all, and had strictly for bidden him to bring Miss Agnes toWest md3e.' From that—even without being told—l could guess that Captain Warder had been present at the interview in spite of Mr. Will's earnest wish to see his father alone; but 1 did not wonder the father should fear, trusting to himself this refusal of his son's anxious prayer. Not for months1 after Mr. Will's depar ture'; did the Squire betray any symptom of having taken to heart the defeat of his sceeme or the absence of his son ; and so the people grew to say he didn't care, and jthat Captain Warder was as good as any isbn to him ; but 1 knew better. Some times, wandering to his dpor late in the night to be sure that all was well, 1 would hear the old man weeping like a girl; and a year afterward I.'found those letters of Mr. Will's, which were never answered, worn to shreds, as a century could not have worn them had they lain in the Squire's desk instead.of—where they did lie, ■'.:""■■'

I As time went on, and the old Squire's strength and spirit, gradually failed him, he graw to lean more and more upon me ; ft, sure sign that his hard resolves were outliving his physical strength. But no wonder,' for those resolves were constantly propped by crafty words and deeds of apparent devotion from the one enemy of all his good and kindly impulses. Just as if she understood the state of the case, Miss Luxleighleftoff coming to Westraede; and this .served Captain Warder for another argument against Mr. Wil!, as I knew, because I was so often with niy master now. He had grown so to depend upon my always being ready to his call, that I heard the tales Captain Warder ■> brought of Mr. Will's past life.; stories, whether true or false, which lie simply raked up' to widen the present breach, and which fulfilled their purpose with crnel success. If I could by any means have I Discovered where Mr. Will was, all this time, I would myself have written him an entreaty to return aud put an end to this misery; but T have shown you wherethose unanswered letters lay, and now they had .ceased altogether. Never had the Squire let any one look upon these, and Captain Warder's poison had done its work so well that'the very mention;of Mr. Will's name now was enough to throw my master into a state of suppressed passion whjVh wn « most dangerous for him in his enfeebled condition, . At last, one day— nearV a year'had passed since JVJ r Will jLrf followed Miss Agnes from Westmede, and though Captain Warder had heard of their whether to believe tt or not—the Sou re's lawyer came over from Exeter, in a do* cart, which Captain Warder had dji-en m, and spent a long day at Westmede closeted with Mr. Capleton, whose raised unsteady tones reached me often as I passed the library door. There were

Evening Star* Sxipj>leine*it, September 3 9 1870.