CHIEF LADY-KILLER.

CHAPTER I. • Most awfully shabby,' said Dorothy St. George calmly • ' but then, since I have not another, what am 1 to do? lam not a spicier, therefore I cannot evolve a new gown out of my inner consciousness.' ' Let mo give you a gown—two gowns, pleaded Jack Sinclair, Hushing a littlo under the girl's steady y;v/,e. yet looking very handsome and soldierly in tho brilliant Juno sunshine. 'My good Jack,' returned Miss St. George quietly, ' have you sufficient money to pay your debts?' , .„. . ' No,' ho admitted unwillingly. 'Then how can you afford to buy mo gowns, and how can you imagine for ono moment that I should take thorn if you could?' 'If you loved mo --' he began. 'My good Jack,' said tho girl again gravely, lifting her azure eyes leisurely to his, 'it seems to me that you are a groat deal too well assured Of the state of my feelings. Some people, you know, havo a habit of counting their chickens before they are hatched.' 'O, Dolly, you do lovo mo!' he cried. 'Perhaps, just a littlo,' half indifferently: ' certainly not onough to lot you buy me— clothes!' with a sudden shamed flush at the bare idea of it. . . Jack Sinclair sighed impatiently. He had no Such prido himself; but then, 10 be sure, no cavalry officers over havo. except they arc rank men. Ho that very morning had shaved him self in lli-oughton's room, because Broughton hadjust had his razors ground; ho had passed on to the next room to spongo tho remains of tho lather oil'his faco. because Broughton was using his spong3 and basin for a like purpose ; lie had borrowed a collar-stud on his way back to his own quarters, becauso his laundress had sent his shirt homo minus a button at tho throat; and before ho had finished dressing he had lout his last clean cotton tie to Dickson, who bad got two days' leave; he had surrendered bis hair-brushes to Squints, who had walked in for no apparent reason-perhaps because some one was using his—and had helped Ponto out of a difficulty by the loan of a shell jacket. Thus Jack Sinclair, accustomed to regard his belong ings andithoso of his brother oillcers as publio property, could not understand why tho sugges tion that ho should buy his fiance a gown— which, goodness knows, she stood sorely in need of—need bring that shamed ilush to her proud face. 'Then how will you do?' ho asked at length, rather ruefully. ■ ] ' Slay at homo,' sho laughed ; then sang in a rich, mellow voice: Stay, slay at homo, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest. 'Oh I daresay I' Jack put in, very ruefully, indeed. Bat tho girl only laughed and sang on : •Por those that wander, thoy know not where, Are full of troublo and full of care— ■ To stay at homo is best. 'But, Dolly, my darling,' he interrupted ' couldn't Mrs St. George lend you a dross?' 'Mrs St. George,' answered Dorothy, regard ing him gravely, yet with laughter in her eyes, 'is possessed of ono presentable gown beside the one you see her in every day.' 'I'm sure sho would loud it to. you,' cried Jack. '•It is a moire antique.' said Dorothy, as if there need he nothing more said upon tho sub ject. ' Well, what of that? I remember tho last timo I was at homo my mother was wearing one, a bright green ono it was, with whito-pot buttons—sho said they were porcelain, but I knew better.' 'Ah!' remarked Dorothy, without much in terest. "Then you'll come to the sports to-morrow, darling?' i ' Tho moire,' returned Dorothy, 'is of the most startling rose-colour you evor saw. Why, Jack, all the women would be laughing at us!' ' Let thorn,'ho rejoined fiercely; 'who cares?' ' 1 do. for ono. No, Jack ; some day when wo are rich I will go to tho sport j; and I'll give a cup, and you shall run for it." 'I don't, sco why you can't come in tho gown you've got on,' ho grumbled ;' it looks awfully jolly;' but, all tho same, ho was very well aware that the garment in question was very, very shabby. It was sp entirely out of keeping with its wearer. Jack thought, as he watched her that lovely Juno day, that he had never seen a more perfect picture than she mado as alio sat upon tho rivers bank, tho willows and tho turf making a background against which her radiant loveliness shone out more like a gem in a dark setting than anything else ho could think of. She had taken off her hat and the sun shine streamed down upon her golden head, giving tho heavy braids the appearance of a diadem. Jack wished passionately that he could have given her a crown of rubies and diamonds, and yet ho knew that no gold would ever become her as did those imperial coils of lustrous hair; no sapphires would ever equal tho beauty of hor azure cyos. And yet sho was so very, very shabby; her brown-stuff gown was positively threadbare— ' bright as a sixpence,' sho said. One little foot was invisible beneath tho frill of her gown and an inch or two of a slender ankle; they, the foot and the ankle, were all right; Jack had admired thorn dozens of times but the boot which covered the foot -0. it mado him abso lutely shiver ! Seven-and-sixpence a pair, with square toes that scorned to bo of an inquiring turn! Ugh! Jack looked from them to his own patent leather and canvas boot at .15 shillings a pair, and thought of the dozen or two others which stood all in a neat row in tho lowest com partment of his cupboard, and he had tho grace to feel a?hanied of himself. If Dorothy George could case her slender feet in such boots as those and keep out of debt, why need he, a great, hulking brute, with fcot like potatoes, have a bootmaker's bill as long as his arm ? Ho looked, too, at her little hands folded idly bofoi-e her. such pretty* hands, with pinktinted filbert nails; then his eyes fell upon a certain mark along the forefinger of tho one which lay uppermost, and bonding down, ho kissed it, as if he would fain kiss that disfiguring seam away. O, why should she have to work so hard, whilo his sisters, not. half so fair, dawdled their timo away, and gave dresses to their maid such as Dorothy could never afford to buy? 0, why should it bo? A Hush mounted to the young man's brow, and his ores sank before the glory of hers; the question was easy to answer. Ito had' sown the wind' in a long course of reckless extravagance, in the. raising of his father's just anger; now ho • was ' reaping tho whirlwind' in banishment from home, and in tho pain of knowing that between Dorothy St. George and himself lay a long array of debts which ho had no money to pay.' And there are people who say our sins do not find us out in this world ! ' 0 my darling,' ho cried, with a sudden burst of passion, ' how 1 will make up to you for all this some day !' 'Some day,' she repeated wistfully, 'if, by the timo you come into your kingdom, you have not repented. Jack?" ' Repented 1 Why ?' ' You will be rich, I still poor.' ' Supposing 1 remained always poor and you became very rich, would you desert me, Dolly?' • I cannot say, I am sure,' bho laughed. ■ I have always been so awfully poor, you see, that if I were suddenly lifted up in the world I might tiptilt my nose even at you.' ' Ah, you don't mean that,' he said, coolly. ' There's many a true word spokonin jest,' she quoted gravely. 'Then, thank God, there i 3 no chance of it!' lie cried venhemently. ' No, indeed,' with a smile half bitter, half sad. 'Do you know, Jack, that I don't know who I am ? I never shall know it.' Yes, yes; you told mo. Don't talk about it," ' But I must talk about it; you ought to know.' she answered. "To begin at the beginning, I must tell you my mother's name was Meredith. At sixteen she was left to the care of her uncle, a clergyman in North Wales. Her father also had been a clergyman. She had not beon many weeks at Llangwylt before sho met my father, who was staying in the neighbourhood for tho trout-fishing, lie fell in love with her and married her; my graat-uncle married them him self. After the marriage thoy went abroad ; and one day it came out quito by chance that ho had been married under a false name—Georgo St. George. He assured her that the legality of the marriage was certain. He told her also that his reason for deceiving her was because his uncle who had largo unentailed estates, had arranged a marriage for him ; and if he heard anything of my mother would probably cut him off" with but a very small property. My mother never troubled herself about it; sho loved him, and she had perfect faith in him, and so a few months passed over. He seems, although quite young, boing only soven-and-twenty at the time of his marriage, to have had a most passionate and unforgiving temper, as my mother found to her- cost—and mine; for ono flay she angered with him so much that he left her. I fancy sho had been in a passion herself, and had cried out that she had no longer loved him. Whatever it was. he novel- forgot it or forgave her. ' You shall never sco me again,' he told her; ' and you shall never know who you are/ From that day to this she has never seen him. For anything we know to the contrary ho may have been a chimney-sweeper. Mother went back to Llang wylt, andl was born there; and when hpr uncle died, six years ago, wo came hero, to starve upon seventy pounds a year," she broke off bitterly. ' Did sho never try to find h'm out?' ' Uncle Meredith did; but mother was too proud.' ' What a strange story!' Jack said thought fully, ' and 0, by Jove, what a beastly temper he must have had.' ' Ah, that's where mine comes from,' rejoined Dorothy calm]}. ' Who's that, Jack?' as a boat passed them, a graceful outrigger, with a man

in white flannels, who came as noar to tho bank as he could venture, evidently to stare at her, and who, after a salution to Jack, sculled away and was out of sight in no timo. 'That, my darling, is tho handsomest man m the service,' answered Jack. ' Wo call him the Lady-ICillor-in-Chief/ CHAPTER 11. Tho Lady-KiUer-in-Chiof had changed his flannels for his ordinary clothes—light gray trousers and a coat of gray valvoteen. He certainly, as ho sauntered down the high street at Blaukhampton., merited the homage which was paid to his personal appearance when his brother officers spoke of him as the handsomest man in tho service Tho only fault in his face its extreme coldness: cold, classic features; cold, blonde hair, irreproachably parted down tho middle and brushed straight away behind his oars without a hair being out of place; cold, hazel cyos. largo and beautiful In themselves,, and a cold smile, like tho iliokering o£ a fccblo wintor sun over snow-topped mountains. An utterly cold manner, to-which to women seomed irresistablo-and - perhaps the most cutting caustic wit that evor made itself felt in the messroom of the Blankhamptoii barracks. Swaggering leisurely down the high street ho met with Dickson, who, as a matter of course, stopped. ' Whore have you boon ? • , 'I've been for a pull. Tho rivors awfully jolly to day, and—by the by, Dickson;— plunging at once in tho subject uppermost in his thoughts —' can you toll mo who that girl is Sinclair goes about with—tall girl with golden air? 'I don't know,her name. I believe Sinclairs going to marry her.' . ' Going to marry her! Ah, is it settled ? ' I really don't know. She's a very hnndsomo girl,' remarked Dickson, carelessly. ' Uncommonly,' Montagu replied, with what, for him, was great warmth. ' And so Sinclair s serious?' , , , , ITT ' Oli, quite so!' adding, with a laugh, Has sho " taken " you rather ? No use; sho s awfully in love with Sinclair.' , . ,„, 'Pooh! I'll cut him out in a week,' cried Mon tagu, confidently. • I don't beliovo she'll look at you. ' Won't she ? Well, you'll see;' and then tho two mon parted and went their respective ways, noither of them in the least aware that the subject of their conversation was JU3t with in tho 'door of tho shop behind them, and had heard thoir whole conversation with proud scorn filling her violet eyes, and utter contompt on her imperious mouth. , . , , , Bryan Montagu did not find tho task he had set himsolf altogether easy to accomplish, for he could not, succeed in making a start. In tho first place he did not know who she was, nor where sho lived ; and since ho never met her anywhere he could not obtain an introduction. However, at last he happened to meet her with Sinclair in a shop, and asked boldly to be intro duced. . ... Miss St. Georgo wa3 very gracious to him. Shu smiled so enchantingly that Jack straight way went off into a towering rage and scolded her all the way homo, at which sho laughed more heartily than he had over heard her laugh in his life. To add to his wrath, Montagu in formed him during dinner that evening that Miss St. Georgo was very decent-looking, and I bolievo I passed yon on tho river ono day last wook,' ho added. ' Yes, and you turned and stared at her as if she'd been some little milliner-girl,' Jack re turned sulkily. 'The penalty of beauty, my dear chap, laughed Montagu lightly. ' Now I assure you I'm so accustomed to be ogled that I should tcel quito uncomfortable with people who didnt admire me.' 'Miss St. George didn't admiro you at aU events.' retorted Jack with a short laugh, ' for sho said she never saw such a "screw' in her lif°.' At which Bryan Montagu, who was really a very pretty oar, though perhaps with a ten dency to 'screw,' was for once taken aback, and registered an inward vow that before many days wi-re over ho would pay Miss St. George out with interest for that unflattering remark. And pay her out. how? As he had made many another girl suffer before-broken-hearted for the cold hazel eyes which for her had been wont to havo no coldnoss in their cloar depths; for the straight-featured classic faco which had miulo itself ho heaven; for the sound of the smooth persuasive voice which would fall upon her ears never more, or if perchanco it did so, fraught only with slighting indifference more hard to bear than silence. That was tho plan Bryan Montagu marked out as Miss St. George s punishment. Accordingly the following afternoon, instead of betaking himself to tho club, or his more favourite river, ho turned in the direction of tho village in which Mrs St. George's littlo house was; and, as luck would have it, just as ho passed tho Cottcrstonos' house ho saw Bliss St. George emerge from tho gate of her cottage and turn down tho lane loading to the river. Ho followed instantly, and reached her just as sho was about to pass tho littlo gate which opened into the River Eiolds. Mr Montagu lifted his hat with his most fascinating smile. Miss St. Georgo blushed becomingly, and half-drooped her splendid eyes. Mr Montagu thought ho had never before beheld so lovely a face. Miss St. Georgo thought—well, she looked as if she found her self in Arcadia. ' You are going for a walk?' ho asked. ' Well, no. lam going to sit by the edge of tho river and read.' sho replied. •Slay I come with you and talk instead?' ho asked imploringly. ' Oh yes, if you like.' she replied calmly, think ing what a lucky thing it was that Jack wds safely out of the road, boing on duty that day. Anyone who could havo heard, their conver sation that afternoon must have laughed, oven if it had been .Tacit Sinclair himsolf; they wore so awfully polito to begin with. Each seemed to be trying how fascinating he or she could be. Each seemoi so desperately anxious to make the other pleased. They got along like a house on fire, whioh is, as everyone knows, a tole rably rapid rate. In fact, they had got along so well that Mr Montagu had already advanced as far as personal compliments ero Miss St. Georgo found out she really must be going home, with an emphasis on tho 'must,' by which sho evi dently intended to convey to him the fact that only stern necessity compolled her to inovo at nil. But they still got further before they reached tho gato of Mrs St. Georgo's cottage; for, after a little circumlocution, sho promised to meet him at the same timo and place the fol lowing afternoon. All tho samo, she raised but very little objection before sho consented, and Mr Montagu felt he had never come across a cherry so ripo and ready to fall into his mouth. ' Hollo, Sinclair!' he called out to Jack whom he met in tho square. "Down in tho mouth oh ? Ah, it's an awful huisanco not being able to get out of tho spuaro, isn't it ? Particularly when there's a nice young woman half a mile off waiting for you. And she did look so nice this afternoon.' Tho hot anger leapt into Jack Sinclair's gray eyes, but his heart grow cold as lead within him, for ho had never felt very sure of Dorothy; and if Montagu mado up his mind to go in for her, he-know well enough that he would spare no pains to accomplish tho desirablo attainment of putting his (Jack's, that is) noso out of joint. ' How do you know?' ho growled. ' Because sho has beon with mo for the last three hours.' Montagu returned coolly. 'I don't beliovo it!' poor Jack thundered; but all tho samo he felt from tho other man's manner that it was true. ' Just as you like, of course, my dear chap, said Montagu, carelessly; 'but go along the path leading through tho river fields to-morrow . afternoon, between t.hreo and four and you will sco for yourself. Sinclair turned away without answering, for Montagu's quiet manner had left him without hope. Of course, tho following afternoon ho wont and saw for himself that his comrade had spoken truly. There, just visible about the river's bank, was Dorothy's hatless. golden head, and in suspicious nearness to it Montagu's sleek, blonde caput : and whilo he stood there watching and hidden by the hedge, her morry laugh rang out upon the still summer air in a poll which re-echoed in Jack's heart like the death knoll of all his dearest hopes. 0, ho was reaping tho whirlwind and no mistake about it! ' Now did you do as I advised ?" Montagu asked him at mess that night in a tone of sneer ing triumph. ' Aro you convinced?' ' Hang you!' cried poor Jack, passionately. 'By no means,' returned Montagu calmly, going on with his dinner as if that was the chief object of his existence- ' You shouldn't allow -. yourself to fly into such transports of rage, my dear chap ; it's not good form, to begin with; it's bad for tho digestion — bad every way. You're a deuced good fellow, Sinclair; but you go into everything with such terrible earnest ness. It spoils you, my dear fellow; and it will bo getting you into troublo one of these days, take my word for it.' But during tho weeks which followed, Jack's rago had time enough to cool. As far as Dorothy was concerned, ho had resigned in favour of Bryan Montagu, who had contrived to got the entree to the house and who pretty nearly lived there. T vvico Dorothy had written to know why ho kept away, and to ask him to como: and both times he had sent a formal reply, declining tho invitation. He scarcely went outside tho barracks, and when he did so went between six and seven—a time when ho knew Dorothy was very unlikely to bo out. At last, however, ho was ono day compelled to go into the town early in the afternoon, and about half way down tho High street he saw Dorothy and Montagu coming on the same side of the street. They were close upon him before he perceived them, but ho did not hesi tate a moment, He turned sharply to the right and crossed over to the other side with out so much as a look and without any recognition whatever. Dorothy turned very white, but she kept a brave front to the -world,

and laughed it off as usual. Montagu tackled Jack upon the subject that evening. . 'Now, I toll you what it is, Sinclair,'ho said, leaning back in his chair, and surveying Jack with much amusement in his eyes, ' your beha viour is what I call uncommonly shabby. Blow hot, blow cold, you know.' 'Mind your own business," returned Jack, sulkily. 'Ah, conscience touching you up a bit, eh? Well, its what you must expect whilo you behave as you have lately. 0, Sinclair, you've a great deal to answer for! You've brought desolation to n once happy home; grief to a once happy heart. Of course it's right and proper that you should pay attention to the fair sex; their youth and beauty demand it; tho honor of your regiment requires it; but you should not con centrate your attentions, my dear chap, you should not concentrate; thoy should be more general and less marked.' But Jack was sulky as a bear with a sore head, and would have no argument with Montagu on the subject, so ho was obliged to have it all to himself. Not that that had any effect on his tongue; ho never lot Jack rest a moment. '• 'Ah, you may well look so blue,' ho would cry, ' with such a conscience as you must have onough to give you blue-devils for the rest of your life 1 Think of the young affections you have blighted; think of tho irreparable injury your heartless conduct has wrought; think of tho gay hearth now made desolate, the light heart which will be light no more. Look at him, gentlemen,', appealing after the manner of a counsel in a court of justice to the grinning oillcers round abo'it •--' look at tho depraved in dividual who stand,? before you; the male flirt. Ah, well, well, Sinclair, of all my sins, and thoy aro many, I do not carry on my conscience the shameful weight of young, fresh affections trifled with ; won and thrown aside/ Poor Jack! ho met Dorothy often enough now. Dorothy always alone, with no Bryan Montagu in attendance, but with, 0, such a blanched face, such a world of woo iv the azure eyes, that if Jack had wished for revenge there it was. But Jack wished for nothing of the kind. The sight of his false love's white face only mado him miserable, so utterly miserable that ho could havo fallen down upon his knees in the very street and prayed her to try and look happier; ho could have choked tho very life out of Mon tagu as he sat sneering and jibbing at the mess table, only that would not give him back to Dorothy, or take away that piteous woe from hor face. And then Montagu took his long leave, and Dorothy grew whiter and whiter, until at length ho missed hor altogether, and feared sho must bo ill. Once or twice ho felt half-way inclined to ignore tho past and go to sco her, but the re membrance that sho was fretting for Montagu kept him back; sho wanted Montagu, and Jack Sinclair would be of no use ; and so when his turn came for long leave he went away, sore at heart, as was over Dorothy St. George with hers breaking for the love of the man who bore tho nickname of tho Lady-Killcr-in-Chief. CHAPTER ni. The Cuirassiers had left Blankhampton for Colchester on their way for India, and Dorothy St. George had seen nothing more of her two lovers since tho day that Jack Sinclair went away on long leave. True, Bryan Montagu had called twice; but Dorothy had not seen him, being indisposed- otherwise lying on her bed in tho exhaustion which usually come after violent weeping. Mr. Montagu had stayed half an hour each time, talking serenely with Mrs St. Georgo and left, with graceful rogrots that Miss St. George was not well enough to sco him; and that had been all, that was the end. And yet sho |could not forget the past; sho was not al lowed to go out of tho house, for a terrible cough had taken hold of her; she could not rest any where ; she thought herself that she was going mad. As tho year drew to a close, and the day fixed for tho embarkation of tho regiment drew near, she persuaded her mother to take a daily paper that she might see the latest, and indeed last, intelligence of them. She was not hard to persuade, for a great dread had come over her, lest her child, wlio was all she had in the world, should be taken from her, and so for a, timo tho paper was left at the house daily. The news about the Cuirassiers was but scanty, and Dorothy used to fling tho paper down and sigh pitoously each day, hoping that the next would tell more. And at last the sight of her own name caught her eye, and she for the first time looked at the paper with an interest unconnected with the Royal Regiment of Cuirassiers. 'If this should meet tho eye of Florence Meredith, who, in September, 18—, was married in the parish church of Llangwylt, North Wales, by tho Rev. David Meredith, to George St. George, gentleman, sho is requested to com municate immediately with Messrs. Owen, Lucas & Co., Grays-inn-road, London, when she will hear of something to her advantage/ Dorothy read it aloud to her mother. ' What does it mean V she cried, thinking it might have something to dowith—with— 'It is to say your father is dead,' Mrs. St. George replied, an ashen hue overspreading her face. Two days passed by, and no reply came. Dorothy was wildly curious, fretfully impatient, and when, on the second morning the postman passed the house, intensely disappointed. ' I believe it is a hoax/ sho cried. But it was not so. Toward noon, an impera tive knock resounded through the house, and tho woman who had gone every day to help since Dorothy's illness, ushered into tho tiny sitting-room, a small, grave gentleman, clad in black, and with an irreproachablo white neck cloth. 'Mrs. St. George?' ho said, with a grave bow. 'Yes,' sho answered rather faintly. 'Are you—' 'My name is Lucas. May I ask if this is your daughter?" "That is Miss St. Georgo,' she answered haughtily; the words 'your daughter" rather angered her. 'Pardon me/ said the little old gentleman, politely,' this lady,' taking Dorothy's hand and leading hor a step forward, 'is the Countess of Beaunvago. You are now the Countess Dowager;' at which theatrically told piece of news- Dorothy burst out laughing, and her mother sat down and quietly fainted away. Not only had great honour como upon them, but also great wealth. The lately deceased Earl had managed, shortly beforo his death, to pick a violent quarrel with the heir presump tive, and to annoy him had left a will giving an exact account of Ms marriage and what had taken place since, and leaving every farthing he possessed to his daughter; his wife he left unnoticed, but thon, as Dorothy said, it didn't much matter. And so the sailing of the Croco dile passed apparently out of mind. Tho romantic story of tho Earl of Bcaurh age's marriage and tho succession of tho beautiful young girl to the title was naturally enough wafted into tho papers. Thoso containing it were handed on board tho Crocodile at Malta, and read almost simultaneously by the two men who had known Dorothy St. Georgo most in timately in her days of poverty. ' Think what you've missed, Sinclair, drawled Montagu. ' Who would have thought of littlo St. George turning out a countess in hor own right? By Jove! it almost equals a novel/ ' I suppose you'll find it worth while to go back and marry her now ?' said Jack bitterly. ' Pooh! Not I, I amused myself with her; but as for marrying—' Ho did not finish ths sentence, for Jack flew at him iiko a tiger and flung him down the companion-ladder, where Bryon Montagu was picked up extensively bruised and very careful to give Jack a wide berth as was compatible with the capabilities of the ship. ' Curse you! Jack shouted after him. ' I don't believe sho would have you at any price !' And yet it puzzled him to guess why Dorothy had acted as she did. Ono week the regiment remained after landing at a place called Deohleo, and when they went forward to Unapore they inarched without Bryoh Montagu, who returned to England by tho next steamer. Ho had seen enough of India during these seven days ho said, hut Jack Sin clair always felt with a thrill of satisfaction that he had something to do with his return. He had not forgotten tho time, not' far distant, when Bryan Montagu had talked of the delights of Lidia with what was nothing short of raptured CHAPTER IV. Threo years passed away before Jack Sinclair returned to his native shores. He did so then because he had come into his inheritance; or his father had gone into that higher region where such things as earthly riches and troubles have no place. But he died, blessing Jack to the last, and Jack had been sent for, reaching his home, alas! too lato. And so ho was no longer Jack Sinclair, tho dragoon, troubled with numerous debts and other.'difficulties, but Sinclair of Cleve, the owner of a good estate, the head of .a good county family. It was porfectly astonishing how nice every ono seomed to find him. The self-same pcoplo who had looked very much askance at 'that dreadfully wild fellow, Jack Sinclair/ found out. that, after all, young jnen will be young men. and that wild oats aro best sown. Some ladies even went so far as to affirm that the wildest young men make the best hus bands. Those wore ladies with marriageable daughters. But they angled and baited their traps for him in vain. Jack would have none of thorn. His mother remained, the undisturbed- mistress of Cleve, and his sisters declared he must have left his heart in India. Jack said, ' Exactly so ;' and then they won dered why ho hadn't married hor. Effic sug gested that perhaps sho was married already; but tho more strongminded Laura scouted that idoa altogether. She was sure Jack would not bo such a fool as that. No; depend upon it, Jack did not feel altogether satisfied about her. Perhaps her family was not to his liking.' That the lady might be unwilling never entered their heads. Was not Jack—Sinclair—of Cleve, with seven thousand a year? .-v.: .■;

However, their conjectures brought them no nearer to the truth, since Jack turned a deaf ear to all their hints, and invariably answered them with the same word"' Exactly/ 'You ought to marry,' Laura told mm one day. ' Exactly,' said Jack, easily. ' Then why don't you ?" sho asked. 'I ni sure you're in love.' 'Exactly.' '; ■■; . ... To say tho least of it, the answer was dis couraging. _ However, in love or out of it, Jack did not change his condition. Ho went about in the character of an eligible bachelor, and seemed to find the position a very pleasant one; at least, he certainly made no attempt to alter it. He had returned from India in the summer, and during the autumn and winter seemed as if he was trying to mako up for the society he had missed during his sojourn in tho East. The family at Cle vo saw but little of him until Christmas, when he remained at home a whole fortnight. At the end of that time ho went northward to pay a long-promised visit at the house of a man who was in the Cuirassiers when he first joined the regiment. He had a long and cold journey, a-rriving about on hour before dinner. Major Holroyd went out to the door to meet him, with a thousand apologies for not having been at the station, three miles away. 'The fact was my bailiff came injust as I was starting; and as his business was urgent—roof of a cottage tumbled in, worse luck I—why, I was obliged to go round and make some arrange ments for the family until it can bo attended to,' he exclaimed. 'It really did not matter,' Jack answered. ' How is Mrs. Holroyd? Oh, here you are/ as he followed his host into the hall. '' How are you ? And how's our old friend,' Ethel?' 'Grown a monster,' Mrs. Holroyd laughed. ' You'll sco her presently, no doubt. You'll have a cup of tea, Captain Sinclair? I remember your old weakness for it. I think you must know everyone here excepting perhaps Lady Beaurivage/ Jack turned from a young lady who was greeting him effusively with a great start. Yes, there she was 1 The one love of his life. No longer pale, no longer with that look of hunted pain in hor great azure eyes; but calm smiling, self-possessed; and sitting near her was Bryan Montagu. Jack determined, as he held out his hand with a grave bow, that his visit to Lark's Nest would bo cut short on the following day by a plea of 'urgent private affairs/ • Then you do know her ?' Mrs. Holroyd cried, seeing the friendly yet half-distant salutation. ' I used to know Captain Sinclair/ answered . Lady Beaurivage distinctly, ' very well indeed; but, for some reason or other, lie cut me/ ' Dead as a doornail!' Montagu affirmed. ' I cannot believe that/ cried Mrs. Holroyd emphatically. ' It is quite true/ answered Lady Beaurivage calmly; ' ask him if it is not so/ 'I won't ask you. Captain Sinclair, because I have too much faith in you to believe it,' said ' Unfortunately it is perfectly true/ Jack re turned gravely. ' Why ?' some one asked thoughtlessly. ' Why ?' he repeated. 'Oh, you must get Lady Beaurivage to tell you that 1' at which tbe young Countess blushed so vividly crimson that every one laughed, and Mrs Holroyd, to spare her further confusion, made a movo and carried her off to dress. . •".',. ' Of course there's no truth in all that nonsense about your cutting her?' Mayor Holroyd asked when he and Jack were left in possession of the hall. ' Oh yos. it's true enough,' Jack answered bit terly. ' If I'd known she was staying here I shouldn't have come, and as it is I think I had better leave you to-morrow/ 'But what on earth has she done?" ' It was just this way. Lady Beaurivage was engaged to me and jilted me—for Montagu. Thars the whole story, Holroyd, and tho less I see of her for the future the better/ ' Then why doesn't she marry Montagu?' ' Sure I don't know/ Jack returned forlornly. 'Because,' Major Holroyd continued, 'he has been running after her for three years to my certain knowledge. He worships the very ground she walks on, and she always ssems as' if sho detests him. To be sure, one never can tell what a woman is up to/ he ended; ' but at all events. Jack, I don't see that they need drive you away from us; you'vo done nothing to be ashamed of/ ' No, exactly/ Jack answered. ' Then you'll stay ? '■-..< . 'Yes, I'll stay,' holding out his hand and grasping his friend's hand, a display of feeling of which ho repented instantly, and marched off up staire, wishing he hadn't mado such a fool of himself. All the same. Major Holroyd, standing staring reflectively into the fire, did not consider ho had made a fool of himself at all. ' Queer concern that,' he muttered. 'I'll keep an eye upon them/ So he did, but he learnt remarkably little. The intercourse between Lady Beaurivage and Mr Montagu was exactly as it had been afore time—abject worship on his part, persistent snubbing on hers. Jack Sinclair kept aloof from both of them, and spent most of his time With small Ethel, a child of ten, who had been a great pet of hi 3in the old days before he fell in love with Dorothy St. George, otherwise Lady Beaurivage—and time slipped on. ' Ho came in one afternoon after a long day's hunting, tired and wet having missed all the others and returned alone. Just as he reached the hall he saw Lady Beaurivage with three of tho children clinging about her, coming down the stairs; and as he never met her, if by any chance ho could possibly avoid her. he slipped into the library, thinking they would be going on to the drawing-room. A moment later, now ever, the door of the library opened, and the four, not seeing the red-coated figure in one of the deep window-seats, entered and went to the other end of the room, where was the fireplace. His first impulse was to get up and go away, but he could not do that without speaking, to Dorothy, and if he did so Ethel would instantly entreat him to stay; therefore he remained where he was, almost hidden by the curtain, and listened patiently while :Dorothy related a ; long fairy tale. 'And then they were married and lived happily ever after,, said the soft voice tenderly, bringing tho story to an abrupt termination. 'Well, and what then?' Dick asked eagerly; 'whatthen, Dolly?' ' Oh, nothing more than that,' she answered, with a soft laugh: ' what more would you have?' 'People are always happy when they get married,'put in Ethel, wisely. '"' 'Who told you that?" Dorothy laughed. ; 'Captain Sinclair said so, because this morn-. ing I told him Jinks was going to be married, and he said,' Happy Jinks!' Would you like to be married, Dolly V 'It would quite depend/ Dorothy said guardedly. 'If it was Mr. Montagu?' Ethel suggested. , ' Oh no, not at all 1' very emphatically. 'If it was Captain Sinclair? He's very nice, you know; Dolfy.V ■•Is he J1 'Hike Captain Sinclair best of any one I know/Ethel returned critically; "and he's got the prettiest dressing-case I ever saw. And he's going to buy me a watch and chain when he goes back to town—a real one, you know; so Dick, you may have the old one mother's keep ing for me. I say. Dolly, if it was Captain Sinclair?' . 'Captain Sinclair would not have-me/ said Lady Beaurivage, with what sounded to Jack likeasigh. . ■ 'I'll ask him if you like," Ethel cried obligingly. ' No, thank you/ with a genuino laugh. ' Tell us another story/ Dolly, do/ put in Jini, imploringly. 'Do you know that tho bell has rung for the nursery tea/ Lady Beaurivage asked, 'and that you were promised some honey ?' ' I forgot. , Come, Dick, Ethel, let us go;' and away the three youngsters scampered, leaving the library to the other two occupants. ' And so they got married and lived happily ever after,'said one of them, moving forward Into the firelight. Lady Beaurivage started violently, and jumped up from her seat. ' I did not know you were there,' sho exclaimed confusedly, wondering anxiously if he had heard what Ethel said about himself, i ' My little friend Ethel/ he said coolly, ' asked you if you would like to marry Montagu, and you said,' Oh no, not at all!'. If it is not too im pertinent, may I ask why you did not give the same reply when sho asked you another ques tion?' Lady Beaurivage remained silent, and Jack continued. st< ' Would not the same reply have done 1 And how is it you have not married Montagu V ' Ugh 1' cried Lady Beaurivage. without much dignity, but with a very large amount of expres sion, at which Jack laughed out aloud. It might be that the laugh gave her courage, but certain it is that she held out her two pretty hands with an imploring gesture and faltered, ' Don't be cross with me any more, Jack/ She seemed to have parted with her dignity alto gether. A heart of adamant must have melted before those azure eyes shining through amist of tears, and Jack's heart was not of an adamantine quality, so far as Dorothy was concerned; and so, somehow his arms found their way round her, and the golden head was pillowed on his breast. 'What did you do it for?' he asked after a while, without much regard for grammar. And then she told him of the conversation sho overheard, and how she had determined to pay the Lady-Killer out in his own coin, never considering that Jack would object. ' And I thought afterwards,' she stammered, ' that perhaps you only wanted an excuse toget outofit/ ' Oh my darling!" Jack cried reproachfully. And so they were married and lived happily ever afterward.— London Society. ■'• • ' , :

Commercial Candour.

'Did you ever observe,' said Colonel Gilhooh/ to Major Spillkins, as they meandered: down Galveston Avenue, 'did you ever observe/ Major, huw difficult it is to get a stfaightfor-' ward answer, a plain "Yes" or "No from, people generally ?' 'I don't think! I ever did;'. 'Well, sir,' continued Gilliooly, Til bet two schooners of beer that you can go into a dozen stores and ask if they have certain things, and, if they have not got them, the storekeeper will not say so plain out in any one .single instance.' Spillkins investigated his clothing, and finding two car tickets, said it was a bet. Then they strolled into a French or Italian fruit-store, and! Gilliooly said ' Have you a green watermelon! for sale ?' ' Watermelon !' exclaimed, the astounded foreigner, 'zis is ze wiritairs season.' ---' I didn't ask you for any meteological intelhV gence. Anybody who pays ten dollars a.cord, for wood is apt to suspect that-summer is. fading away; besides, I've got an almanac at home. Have you got a green watermelon?' 'Here is ze orange, ze banana, ze apple,' 'Don't want lessons in botany. Have, you got a green watermelon ?' 'Ze green water melon is not ripe.'' ' I didn't ask whether it was ripe or not. I merely asked if you had one; but come, Spillkins, let's go. He will give us a history, of., the French Revolution before he answers the. question. Let's meander.' 'Madame,' said' Gilliooly, 'have you a fried mule for sale?'- The lady got as red as a turkey gobbler, and craning her neck out, said; 'Sab.?' 'Have you a fried mule in your elegant establishment?' 'I've got a husband, sir, and brothers, who will protect me from insult.' ' I didn't,ask for your pedigree, ma'am. I've got one of ray. own. There is no insult intended. I merely asked you a civil question.' 'I've got a hus band.' John! O, John!' 'No need of call- ing him, mam. If you will say that he is a. mule you needn't produce him. . We will take your word for it.' 'John! O. John ! come , quick; here are two galoots insulting me.' ' Let's go,' said Spilkins. 'I'll pass an appro priation to pay for the beer.' ' You might as, well,' responded Gilhooly, 'for you won't get one answer straight out. If you go into a drug store and ask tor a cranberry pie, or some baled hay, or a copy of "Pope's Essay on Man,' or an accordion, they will .spring some new liver-encourager on you, or a box of bunion eradicator. And they went and go,, the beer.— Galveston Neivs.

SUNDAY READING.

SHORT SERMONS. ' Tiie soul of woman.liveßin love.-Mrs. giaour* ney. -. Hope being born with love, always lives with Whoever learns to stand alone must learn-to fall alone. There is not a leaf stirs on any tree without permission of Heaven. One man is no more than another, only inas much as he does more than another. There is not a single thing in the human soul that oughtnot to work by love. . No one can persevere long in an affair of love unless it be kept alive by some hope. • ■ ■: Riches aro of little avail in many of the cala mities to which mankind are liable. God permits and ordains that there should' always be some scourge by which to chastise us. . All beauties do not kindle love; some only recreate the sight, and never reach nor captivate the heart. There is no remembrance which timo does not obliterate, nor any pain which death does not put an end to. j. ~.,„ God, who provides for all, will not desert usj since he neglects neither the birds of the aii« the beasts of the earth, nor the fish of the waters What greater satisfaction can the world affof ?l or what pleasure can be compared with that ot winning a battle and triumphing over an adver sary? ~ The true principle is do with your might that which is lying at your hand day by day, in the firm conviction that you are hereby training yourself into fitness for your future vocation. The meaning of the conflict that goes on in men is not that they commit sin here and there and have a. hard time repenting over it; it is that their earthly and physical life is in pre ponderance over their heavenly and divine life. For though it were in their power to impo3e silence on our tongues, they could not do the same on our pens, which reveal the secrets of the soul more effectually than even the speech; for the presence of a beloved object often so bewilders and confounds its faculties that the tongue cannot perform its office. Christian heroism has not died out in our age. Men and women "of whom the world is not worthy" cros3 our tracks every day on their missions of love. The earth is all agleam with' tho brightness of their path as they in Heaven see them. And there is no need of martyr fires to attest that the spirit of the Master and > that which He kindled still burns on. '■;. r! Some have spasms of activity -when' every body is active, and then subside when the "rest grow dull. There are others who are steadfast. Whatever they are they are always.l They do not depend on the impulse about them for their impulse, and so they do not vary with the temper of their surroundings. We say of such men "we know where to find them." • -j

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT; AUGUST 27; 1881.

Printed and Published by the Proprietor, Henry Brett, of Symonds-street, at his General- Printing Office, Wyndham-street, in the Pro- < vince of Auckland, New Zealand. ,• v:, Saturday, August 27, 188'- '•■;■'■'■'-! v -

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WA NT E D X' N O W.!N,t G. HAZELL, Fruiterer; ."■'■'• : ' Upper Symonds Street, ' , . .' ':',. Has added to his Fruit Business that of Grocer and Oilmen's Stores. ■' ■•'■•; His Teas will be found of the choicest assort-" ments. Has also a large assortment of! Jams, Preserves, Spices, etc., etc.,, . AT THE LOWEST TOWN PRICES FOR CASH..-.. UPPER SYMONDS STREET CHEAP!' ■ GROCERY STORE. ":.!!; Jut J. HEAP, Family Gro'ck-b/ i; Corner of Symonds and East Streets, " Is selling Groceries and Oilmen's Stores for '.'.. cash as low as any house in the Trade. Good Family Tea at 2s per lb ; Excellent do. at 2s Bd';' Good Salt Butter at lOd per lb ; Bacon .and „,, Cheese as good and cheap as any house in town. '. Trial and Inspection Invited. .'..', ',/ ANTED KNOWN THAT ' H. WATT, ' ■:, -fl, V;: GENERAL DEALER,. ... :";;'.; ," Grey Street, ' •'"■ Has always on hand a Large and "Varied Stock' of all kinds of Household^ Requisites at the , lowest Cash Prices. Now Selling Cheap, 470 Volumes of Assorted BOOKS. * "■.'' "' Good Salt Butter, 8d per lb. .'.,., V,,'.'.'.-. ~ by the keg, 6d per lb. J 0 N :!E "IT.!' . Watchmaker and Jeweller, KARANGAHAPE ROAD! (Next door to Mr. McPherson's). . Watches, Clocks, and Jewellery neatly repaired . _ <$° I B. CROCK E- R, BOOT AND SHOE MAKER, ' '. 61, Victoria Street. All kinds of Ladies' and Gentlemen's Boots made to'order of the best quality. Town and Country Orders promptly executed.