Why Should a Man Marry s Dead Wife's Sister?

WHEN Hugh Follct s young wife was on licr death-hed sue turned to her husband— who was holding one of her thin hands between his-and whispered, almost with her last breath, " How nice it would have been, dear, if you could have married Maude. I should have gone away so happy to think she would he a mother to my poor babes." There was a wistful look in the dying young mother's eyes as she said this, for thoughts were passing through her mind which she could not speak. Maude was her •Sa-ouritc sister, who had nursed her through her illness, and had taken the tendeicst care of her children. Nobody else could have taken such care of them, and the youni» mother could not help wondering why any law should exist to prevent Hugh "from marrying Maude. A time might come when Hugh would be married to some strange girl, and when Maude herself would go away to a ho-nc of her own. What would become of the children then ? Woulr Hugh's new wife love them as Maude did, treating them as her own llesh and blood for her dear dead sister's sake. The young wife considered ir, would he a natural and almost holy thing that Hugh and Maude .should be married to each other, and hor last moments were saddened with anxieties from rellectiug tha' this could.not be. Vet, when the young wife was dead, her sister continued to reside in Hugh Toilet's lions'". Maude became her brother-in-law's housekeeper, his companion, and the guar dian of his children, whom she truly lovod as if they were her own. She was a sweet and comely girl, _ very like her sister in npponvaiice, and with a voice which so much resembled hers, that when Hugh closed his eyes and heard her talk, he often fancied that his dead wife was in the room. He could have felt for no other woman what he felt for her, for part of the love which he bore her came from the deep ali'eetion which lie had cherished towards his wife ; and she could have regarded no other man as she did him, because the memory of her beloved sister and the duties she had undertaken towards her children formed the strongest natural link between her heart and his. ■Vet Maude was in law only Hugh's sister, and other men had a right to pay her atten tions and make her proposals of marriage— which they did, to her own distress and to Hugh's misery ami annoyaDce. Maude refused all_ oilers; hut when it was seen that she did this systematically, people began to whisper. People arc very good natured. They might ha vc tolerated Maude's residence with her brother-in-law had she been an elderly woman ; but they doubted the propriety of her living with him as things stood ; for all which they kept oh repeating emphatically that she was only his sister, and several of them expressed the hope that she would not so far forget herself as to marry that brother, in whose house they held it improper for her to live otherwise than as a wife. I

This curious confusion, produced by an unnatural law which had muddled public opinion, had its effect upon Hugh and Maude. It would have been very bitter for them to part; indeed Hugh felt that tho whole future of his children must be affected lor the wotse by their being deprived of such motherly love as Maude gave them ; and Maude, on her side, believed it was her plain duty to watch over the poor little things who clung to her, and were learning to caliber mamma. Besides, was it not the opinion of the great majority of the nation—nay, of the whole civilised world— that a man. ought to be allowed to marry his dead wife's sister ? The House of Com mons had just passed a Bill, giving its sanction to such marriages, and it had only been rejected by tbe House of Lords, a body which in no way represented public opinion. Everybody was saying that the Lords could not hold out long against the good sense of the community ; and so Hugh and Maude waited another year, hoping that the Lords would at last give way. But, meauwhile, Hugh thought it honest to tell his friends that he and Maudo had quite made up their minds to marry, and were only waiting until the Jaw had been altered. The consequence was that poor Maude was more whispered against than ever. Once again the Hereditary House threw over the Commons' Bill, and then a day came when some of Hugh's friends told him it would be better for Miss Ashurst's own sake that he should make her his wife without further delay. "People will talk, 3'ou know," they said, "and alter all, every person whose opinion is worth having, will think you are doing right. The Bill will be passed before long, and then a clause will certainly be inserted to give it retro-active effect, so that your marriage will be legalised."

Accordingly, Hugh and Maude went to .Switzerland one autumn, and got married. If Hugh had been rich ho would probably have settled in Switzerland until the Lords chose to hear reason; but he earned his living by an appointment which obliged him to reside in England, and even this short trip abroad caused him inconvenience. But he took it, because his conscience" would not have allowed him to give an untruthful answer to the adjuration :—" I -charge.ye .•.. if ye know any just

cause or impediment," &c. Though he knew of no just cause before God why he should not contract a marriage for which unanswerable Biblical warranty exists, yet, admitting his allegiance to the lavf lie found himself in a dilemma. Beside^ a marriage in England would have beer. 0 _ no use to him. In Switzerland, whero a man may wed his deceased wife's sistef he was joined, as he believed, in a perfectly lawful union.

Mr and Mrs Follet came back to En" lantl, and had some right to expect that they would be kindly received by the friends who had counselled them tc marry. Certainly, their men friends greeted them pleasantly enough;, but it was different with the ladies. It is curious hoy certain ladies, irreproachable in most resjects—or, at least, apparently so—should take such a pleasure in seeing members of their owh sex placed in cruel and ]iumil; a tino- posi tions. Maude Follet was known"to be •very good; and yet many, wt 0 passed for good, forsook her. Even thos; w ho braved prejudice for her sake did not _j_ e to do so long. The magnate of the neighbourhood was a Lord Jinks, whose owe morals were none of the strictest, generally speaking; hut on this question of marrying a deceased ■wife's sister he professed to j lave strong •opinions. So had Lady Jinl^, __ c noble pair tabooed Maude Follet, and their example was followed by th. community, not because anybody though) much of the Jinks' opinions, but because few had the courage to put themselves in opposition to a peer and a peeress. It Vas a painful lifo which Maude was made to lead. To live amid the respect of one's neighbours, or to be exposed to ungei_ a _ stares and whispered jibes, makes all.the difference between residing m a sunny yimate or in an icy cold one Moreover, the cold intro duced itself .into Maude's h&ae, Accord tug as men are made of stroto jrfft or dis posed to feebleness-, they mB nnblic in justice with a stern fronf, c ,ftcomes ■more and more stern, or elk. their self cespoct gels slowly obliterated[.Hugh

Pollct first suffered keenly from his wife's unmerited disgrace; then he got accus tomed to it, and, from weakness of charac ter, came to make mental concessions towards public opinion, or, rather, towards the opinion of Lord and Lady Jinks. He was a person of sociable habits, who found it troublesome to bo obliged to keep aloof from the houses of his friends because their wives would not receive Maude. One day he compromised his dignity by accapting an invitation to go and dine at a friend's house, without his wife. Every step ho took from that time was a false one.

He loved Maude still very well, in his new way. Two children had been born to her, but they had not diminished one par ticle of the affection which sho bore to her sister's little boy and girl, and she brought up her small family of fpur like the. most devoted and impartial of mothers. Hugh saw it and admired her. She was a good wife ; she had never said or done a thing of which he could complain. However, there was no denying that the deceased wife's sister question was a testing one. There had been a general election, and the new Parliament, which was Conservative, had destroyed all hopes that the law would be altered within any measurable time. Hugh dined out more and more often, and fell into the way of talking and being spoken to as if he were not a married man. Ladies made it a poiut of never alluding to Mrs Follet. If they asked how Irs chil dren were they always meant the elder two and assumed chilly expressions if ho inad vertently said that the last baby was doing well. He had the meaniKss at length to invent excuses on Sunday for not going to church with his wife, ile was ashamed to show himself with her in the street. She, poor woman, was a long time before she suspected nil this. lv her simple trustfulness she imagined that her husband was more sedulous to shield her from an noyance than to avoid any on his own account. Even when Hugh's manner changed—when lie became irritable, quick to find faulr, and generally unkind—she still thought that he was vexed at the public injustice against herself, and as it was for her sake that he was suffering all this she felt- for him with the grateful, wholly unselfish, sympathy of women who love.

One evening, when Hugh had gone out to a dinner, Mr Swain, the rector of the parish, called on Mrs Follet. He was a young man, but lately beneficed—one of the good sort of clergymen : gentleman like, earnest, and yet pleasant to talk with. He knew Maude's story, and en tertained the sincerest respect for her. He had called on her several times before, and had always sought to give her con solation for the injustice she was endur ing by assuring hoi- that he looked upon her as beyond all doubt legally wedded. On the particular evening in question he took one of her children on his knee, and seeing her sad, said a few kind words to exhort her to bear her persecution with fortitude. Some tears escaped from her eyes, and she had not wiped away all traces of them when: her husband suddenly re turned. He had come away early from the dinner party, as he did not feel well, and he was in a bad, nervous temper, .he sight of Mr Swain eyidently did not soothe him. \ , ;

" It's a strange hour for that man to pay you a visit," he remarked, sulkily, when the rector had gone ; " this is the thirdl time he has called within ten days." J " He came to-night to bring me a book,"' said Maude.

"It was quite a family picture, I de clare," continued Hugh, with a spiteful sneer; "you in tears, he sitting in my chair with a sentimental look, and holding baby on his knees. Did he make you an offer ot marriage ?" "Hugh!" "Oh, he might, you know. Yott'ro a tree woman in law. Only, if you mean to play that game you had better'tell me, for I can play it too."

" Hugh ! Hugh ! what have I done that you should treat me in this wav V ex claimed the poor woman ; but her husband left the room, telling her not to make a scene, as his head ached.

He did not mean what he bad just said. He was sorry for it the next day, aud did not refer again to the subject." But the last remnant of dignity had been swept away from his relations with his wife by the insult he had thrown at her, and nothing he could ever say thenceforth would have the power to restore that confidence which Maude had felt in him, and which he had broken, The consciousness of this rendered him morose. Seeking self-justification, he accused the iniquitous law which left him uncertain as to whether he had a wife or not; but on Maude there fell a heavier blight than mere moroseness. The cou tempt of the world had been very hard to bear, but the slight from her own husband was unendurable. She dared no longer receivevisitors, lest Hugh should be jealous, and she became ashamed before her own' servants. Hugh.seeing her every day, did not notice/ that there was much change in her ; but, sifter some months, the doctor, who had come to see one of the children, was alarmed at her wan appearance, He went at once in quest of her husband, and told him the truth. ,fYou must be very careful, Mr Follet. Your wife is in a decline."

" What makes you think that ?" said Hugh, turning pale. In an instantthere came beforehis imagin ation the picture of what his life would be without Maude. He hurried home. By the light of what the doctor had said, one glance at Maude's face was enough: he read coming death in it. He sat down beside her, and took her hand. It was a long, long time now since he had done her a kindness, or spoken her a truly kind word. She looked surprised ; and that half-shrink ing look cut him to the sonl. "Maude, the doctor says you are not very well," he faltered; "you want a change of air."

She.forgave then all at once, as women do.

" Hugh, dear, I think I shall not be here long," she said gently ; " I would try to get well if I could, for the children's sake "

" Oh ! and for my sa.ke, Maude I"

" Yes, and for your sake," she said with a faint smile, as sba stroked his head with one of her wasted hands. "Hugh, dear, you will promise to be good to the children, when I am gone? If you marry again, don't let your wife speak badly of me to my two darlings." It almost broke Hugh's heart to hear her talk in this way. From that day he went about aslriug everybody what was best for patients in a decline. As if to atone for his former want of spirit, he talked inces santly, land, indeed, aggressively, of his "wife," lookirjg as if he would pick a quarrel with any person who denied Maude's right to that title. But all this could not save the poor sufferer's life. She declined rapidly, and one winter evening died, leaving him with the miserable re flection that she might have lived long and happily with him, had lie protected her with more manliness and cherished her as he had sworn to do when she had bound herself to him by a marriage as sacred as was ever contracted. Hugh's troubles were not at an end when Maude had been laid in her last bed beside hpr sister. The bishop of the diocese, who claimed jurisdic tion over churchyards, and who, like Lord

Jinks, had strong views about marriage with a deceased wife's sister, took it upon himself to object to Mamie being described as Mr Follett'a wife on her tombstone. "She tv as not your wife by law," wrote t lie bishop's chaplain to Hugh,"and his lordship trusts that you will, however painful it may be to your feelings, see the propriety of avoiding anything that may promote scan dal." A man who cannot stand up for his wife while she is alive, is not likely to do battle for her very chivalrously when sho is dead, so, after a weak interchange of letters, Hugh gave in, "to avoid worry." The words on the second Mm Follet's tombstone, which was the same as her sister's, ran simply.—"Also of Maude, sister of the above, nged 27." i But evoh tins concession did not piicify Lord and Lady Jinks, who declared it out rageous that the two sisters should sleep in the same grave.

Colonel Burnaby's Balloon, Voyage.

Colonel Burnaby returned to London after completing his trip, and arrived in the Metropolis from Dieppe, having travelled all night via Nowhnvcn with that object. Subjoined is the interesting account which Colonel r.uruaby gave of his trip and expo-

nenc.s :—

When he ascended from the principal gas works at Dover, on Thursday last, 'at 10 35, a.m., a very favourable south-west 'wind prevailed. Several gentlemen ex pressed a desire to accompany the gallant Colonel, but in all cases they were met with a firm refusal, thcacronautexplaining that he did not wish to risk a failure, and that such would be the probable outcome of his voyage it ho had any Rupot (hunts weight iv the car with him. lie declined also to take safety-belts and other miscel laneous apparatus, which would only have the effect of impeding him in the manipu lation of the balloon and tackle, Colonel Bumaby was so certain that the voyage would be successfully accomplished within a few hours of his ascent, that he only pro vided himself with the bare n. essaries of life for that short space of time. Attached to the car were barometers thermometers, a mla variety of other scientific instruments, the different changes in which it was an important part of his work to observe and record from time to time. In doing this he experienced no difficulty, as lie had tho roughly mastered in every detail the work ings of the instruments, and was thus able to keep a complete register of the various changes that occurred every qunrter-of-iiu hour. Thi" will be most interesting to men of science generally, as well as to aeronauts iv particular. The balloon, the moment it was released, shot up to a high altitude, and commenced at once to travel at a sati-fnc tory rate of speed in the direction of Folke stone, leaving the high pinnacle of chalk known as Shakespeare's Gill'on the left. The Colonel, as soon as ho had time to look around, saw that he was moving in the right course for Paris, and for some time aftorwards he expected it would he a close race between himself and the passengers by the Continental mail packet as to who should arrive ' lirst at the French capital. JAs noon approached he experience I a decided check, He was, iv fact, drifting down Channel to the east. At the time when the wind changed he was within seven miles of Boulogne and travelling at a fair rate. He now tried several tactics with the view of getting again into a favour able current, hut did not let out any great quantity of gas, as he hoped bclore long the wind m ght change in his favour. After thus drifting for about two hours matters began to look serious. About three o'clock a dead calm set in, and the balloon remained motionless a couple of thousand feet above the level of the sea, which was plainly discernible by the unai ded eye. For a whole hour the traveller remained thus becalmed, and, as it were, lixed in mid air. Eventually, finding that the wind had completely failed at the alti tude he had then attained, Colonel Burn-by determined to make one more effort to gain a favourable current. Carefully gau ging the instruments, and taking reckonings in ever}' quarter of the compass, and notic ing an apparent drifting of the clouds above him towards the French coast, the gallant Colonel availed himself of his last resource, and emptied every remaining snek of bal last, and awaited the result with some tre pidation. The balloon shot up far into the midst of the clouds, the altitude being over 41,000 feet. For a moment the Colonel could not ascertain in what direction he was progressing, if at all. When the bal loon, however, had steadied itself, the obser vations he was enabled to take showed that he was travelling with great velocity, for tunately towards the French coast, which he had kept in sight the whole time. The only fear ho nowr entertained was lest this favourable wind-current should chop round suddenly, and carry him out of his desired course. Thera was nothing to oc cupy bis attention for some time but to take readings and observe the speed at tained. The Colonel felt well satisfied with the result of his reckoning, and was glad lie had refused to allow anyone to accom pany him. Very soon after getting into the favourable current, he for the first time found he was over the French coast, and could see the villages quite distinctly, although he still kept the balloon at the greatest possible altitude. Many villagers ran out of their houses and assembled in groups, but Colonel Burhaby was too busy planning a descent to make many signals to them. Originally he did not intend des cending until he had expended all the carrying power of the balloon, but after his experience in mid-Channel ho determined not to rely upon the constancy ot the winds. He passed directly over Dieppe and gradu ally drifted to the south west until he had left Dieppe some 15 miles behind. Then, as evening was closing in and ho was in a strange country, be decided to descend at once. Opening the valve, therefore, he brought the balloon down, hut when close to the ground he found that he was only IS miles south-west of Dieppe. Selecting as his landing place a recently ploughed field, free from trees, he threw out the grapb'ng irons and "brought up" most successfully. Numbers of peasantry, who had run after the balloon for some distance, now lent valuable assistance iv holding it down while the Colonel set free the remainder of the gas. He was received with loud cheers and great hospitality by the people from several village? around, who assembled in the held while he was putting up the balloon in readiness to transport it back to its owner, Mr. Wright. He found with satisfaction that the balloon had sustained not the slightest damage, and that every cord and knot was perfect. Then he sent oil' a messenger to the nearest telegraph office in order to wire to Mr. "Wright the intelli gence of his safe arrival. The station was a long distance away ; hence the delay in the news reaching London. Colonel Burnaby willingly accepted -the courteous invitation of the owner of a neighbouring chateau to dinner.

"Too mucfi absorbed in bis business," was the comment of a Western newspaper on the death of a brewer who was found drowned in a tank of his own beer.

FAINT HEART NEVER WON FAIR LADY.

(Fkom Hakpek's Magazine.)

I wish to introduce my readers to Miss Marion Laurie, born in New Jersey, but as perfect a little Scotch beauty as if she had Leon born among the Grampians. Indeed, her forefathers may have been the indige nous growth 01 that locality, for Deacon David Laurie "allowed" they were there when King Fergus pre-empted the Cairn gorm tracts—a circumstance touching pre historic time..

David Laurie, however, seldom permitted himself to speak of such unpratical matters ; those blue hills belonged to his childhood and youth- states which he had nearly for gotten, the more so as the bonnic lassie ho wooed and won among their golden brooms had ticen lon<j dead, and there now remained no \isiblc link between the shadowy past and the Intensely real present. Excepting—and I make the exception with all respect—.Miss Janet Monteith; a "far-awa cousin of Mrs Laurie's, who had lilled the dubious portion of maid and companion to that lady, and after her death a somewhat similar one to her daughters, Julia and Marion. But whatever her position, she had discharged its duties with an unselfish devotion that would have dignified the humblest service. True, J ancthad grumbled somewhat through her twenty years' care, hut grumbling with her was merely a habit, without necessity causes or consequences.

And she had always had two stock sub jects for grumbling about. First, the Hat country ; it was a constant irritation to her ; and if Janet had possessed the faith that could move mountains, doubtless the Grampians would now be i:i New Jersey, Second, the still, stealthy river; had it been a river of any sensibility it would have risen against the comparisons she was al ways making between its sullen-looking waters and ttic wimpling, rattling, clear running streams or Scotland.

But the river did iis business—that is, it run the cotton and silk mills of David Laurie in an admirably consistent, regular manner; and David was not ungrateful; he had always a word of apology for his aid. " It will not make a picture, Janet," ho would say; "but then in's just likeyoursol', woman—better than it's bonnic." Yet Janet in her white lace cap and neckerchief was no uncomely picture, for instinctively she knew that age surrounds itself with a kind of youth in garments that are always sweet and fresh. So, though she was a contrast, she was not an unpleasant one, to the lovely girl cuddling among the crimson damask cushions in the same room with her.

This girl is Marion Laurie. I have been prosy about my introduction, but a beauty, like a queen, requires some ceremony. Now you may look at her dimpled face, oval in shape, pink and sweet as a rose just bloomed. There is in it something fairly luminous ; say it. is the glory of her eyes - largo blue eyes—bright and clear as hea ven ; or say it is the glory of her hair—pale golden brown hair—like the aureole of a saint. No one would care particularly to analyze any creature so exquisite ; it would be like pulling a flower to pieces to Jiad out where the perfume dwelt.

But as she lies with her small hands crossed above her head, and her small feet crossed just outside the rulllcs of her robe, one cannot help wondering what she is dreaming about, or what ripple of song or murmur of sweet words will lirst part the rosy smiling lips. She has been still for fully ten minutes. Janet wonders, but respects the mood : for it is a little [crisis iv Marion's life, ami for the lirst time she has full liberty given her to decide upon her own movements. She may spend the winter in Ntw York with her married sister Julia, or she may stay in New Jersey, and gather around her such pleasures and company as the rather lonely locality admits of.

Ten minutes is not long to canvass both sides of such a question, out Marion's rapid mind managed it quite to her own satisfac tion in that time.

" Janet," she said, decidedly, sittiug upright in order to clasp her knees comfor tably, " I am going to New York ; that is clear."

" 1 would ask your reasons, Marion, if I thought you had any."

" Oh reasons are plenty as blackberries, Janet. First I want to go; second, I Want to go ; third, I want to go ; and—" " You needa specify further, Misi Marion. I ken weel that ' I want to' is reason enough for you." "Yes, I am not dour and hard to please like some people I know, Janet; and I don't believe in being very kind to other people and awful hard upon yourself. I think Marion Laurie has some slight claims upon Marion Laurie's attention."

" I dinna think you owe the lassie any thin". She's weel enough looked after." " Well, at present I owe her half a dozen new dresses ; but I shall get papa to give her a cheque to-night that will clear oh'all demands. Heigh-ho, Janet I I believe I must make myself look pretty for dinner; for, first there is that cheque to smile for ; and second, there is a stranger coming—is there not?"

"Nobody but my am nephew, Miss Marion. He is just frae the hills o' Scot land, a plain, sensible body, that kens moro about weaving than women. It's no worth your while bewildering the puir fellow."

"I am not so sure of that, Janet. You have a depressed view of the value of all men. I shall just run my own eyes over him, so get out my navy blue silk dress, an' pearling an' brooches and a, said or rather sang, Marion, for the order ran easily enough into the merry lilt of " wood an' married an' a'."

Perhaps Janet had really not so very many objections to the bewildering of her nephew; certainly she went very lovingly to work to assist in the bewildering process, and there was small wonder jthat the two gentlemen in the midst of a discussion about wheels and bands." catching the first sight of this radiant girl in silk'and gleaming gold, should get bewildered, and lose their argument inextricably for that, night. Mr Laurie being partly accustomed to such revelations, simply wondered and admired, and gave her a cheque for double the amount she asked. What man could have helped it with such a lovely face whis pering close to his own ? Mr Monteith looked, and the bewildering was fully accomplished. Her face smote him at once into tender adoration; her glancing dress, with all its amazing loops and rallies and folds, was wonderful to him. "Shecame, she saw, she conquered." The man, whether a lord or vassal of creation, was her slave for evermore, bought with a glance and fettered by the touch of a little hand that fell like a white rose petal into his own great brown palm. What an amazing evening it was to John Monteith I The dinner table was spread in fairy land; the meat and wine had the flavour of paradise. And Marion's singing of the little plaintive Scotch airs her father loved ! There are no words to describe its influence I over him. Does any one wonder that three -1 fourths of the human race have always ,vor

hipped some woman ? It is the instinct of men to deify tho soul lhatawakcnsthoirown.

And truly John Mon'cith entered into _ now and larger life at Ma> ion's first word. Hitherto, to weave the finest goods at least possible cost, t_ economize labour and material, and to ainuss money, nail seemed to him ends sufficient to justify life. Hut now, even in the first tumult of'bis awaken. ing, there arose hef re him the question, what shall a man do to be worthy of such a pearl of womanhood ?

It was later than usual when Marion wont to her room that ni.lit. Sho had her cheque in her hand, but her face wore an unusual shadow of perplexity and doubt. Janet, sitting by the fireside, sipping her glass of inullcd claret, noticed at once the new ex. pression. "You are late, child," she said, looking admiringly at the lovely figure, with its daintily gaitcred foot upon the fender.

'* Am I ? Papa kept mo singing." " What do you think of John Montcith ?" " Oh, he is nice.'' " ' Kice,' Marion ! Tho adjective is a, very improper oho applied to men." "Is it, Janet V I did not know. Choose one .yourself."

"Entertaining?"

" No, he is not entertaining. He listen., and lcti you talk. After all, I don't know but what that is cutcrtiiining." "Handsome?" i

'It would be a sin to say 'no.' Yes, Janet, your nephew is handsome. I don't mind admitting the truth, even on a point of beauty. li ho going to stop heic ?"

'lie is going into the mills with your father."

" Where is he going to live ?"

"11k will hoard

t Mr Uosart's, I hear."

"What a light Mi-mic and her cousin caii have over him ! 1 should think he would lie a man girls would quarrel about. I have half a uiitid to slay in Jersey, and act as umpire. While we are away, Janet, why can tho live with papa ? 1 should thinfc they would to good company for each other."

"Suppose you suggest: it?''

" I will. I don'i like our folks boarding round. B-side-, 1 have no doubt that ho will be all the better ot your keeping him in sight. Men arc lost quantities unless they are tied to .some woman's apron strines."

"Ymi are quite certain about going to New York.

" Oh, yes ; but we need not hurry a few days, I shall let Julia get the furnaces into woridng order and ths children's win ter clothes nindc. She is always fussy at the beginning of the season, and very few nice people arc at home yet."

But Marion's few days lengthened out into a few weeks. Mr Laurie was begin, ning to talk of his own holiday trip to Julia's before she again ►erionsly considered the subject. But somehow the quiet rou tine of the house had been wonderfully brightened by John MonUith _ presence at the breakfast and dinner table, while in the long lirelit evenings there was always a deep rich baritone mingling with the sweet soprano in the wild, weird, tender ballads thnt lulled old David Laurie into dream-land.

Was Marion in love ? Who could tell ? Girls have blushed and smiled, and sung tenderly, and glanced sweetly, and dressed ravishinglv, before now; and men have read all these signs by signs of their own, and been miserably deceived. If she let her hand linger in John's clasp, and dropped her white eyelids over rosy checks beneath his loving gaze, could he trust that it was for love of him ? If she wore the llowcrs he brought, and sang the songs he liked, durst he risk his fate on sucli evidences? Ah I it is often the bitterest part of love's lesson that it knows not what it may ask, fears where it ought to hope, and hopes where it ought to fear.

Two days before Christmas the halls were littered with trunks and travelling wraps, and John Monteith with a sorrow ful face, was walking up and down among them ; vet it brightened almost painfully, as a little figure in c.ishmcrc and fur came slowly down the broad stairs, Marion was going away; would she ever come back to him again ? He hud not faith to ask the question ; and though she was in a tearful, tender mood, all the more reason, thought he, to refrain from pressing his own claims at such a time. He sits beside her in the double slci.h which carries them to the railway depot. Mr Laurie is driving, and the Bcrvunt beside him keeps him in busy conversation about the greenhouses. For ten minutes John has Marion all to bim dclf; he wraps the fur* carefully around her, draws her to Ills side, but a strange silence falls on both of them, and not un til they are parting docs he find words to say, "Miss Laurie~Marion]! will you try and remember me ?" There was iio word in reply, only a clasp of the baud, and a bright look of sympathy, yet somehow John took it for a promise.

Hitherto Marion had seen nothing o£ society ; she was now to enter a new world. She came to it as a queen pre-ordained to conquest. The men followed her foot steps, the women imitated her toilets. Her perfect physical health stood all tests. In the middle of February she had not lost anything of her exquisite beauty —nay, she had gained, for a woman rises with her wardrobe, and often puts on genius as well as confidence with.a mag nificent attire.

The middle of February, and she had not seen John Monteith since they parted at the little way-side depOt. But she heard through Janet that he was putting up great buildings, which were to bo lilled with new machinery and appliances. _ Did lie remember her amid these business cares ? Did she remember him? How could she? Her present occupations so filled every hour that she could not find time to rcacti back after the love and promise of weeks ago, Lovers waited .on her footsteps ; slio was fed on incense and flattery ; and yet, and yet—only two little words, but love had lived on less.

Well, it was thel-th of February, and'a keen, bright, frosty day. There was a sloigbing party in prospect, and Marion, full of glee and anticipation, joined a merry group at the breakfast tabic. As usual a little pile of letters was waiting for her; and among them one of a- strangely un familiar aspect. She opened it curiously ; it was an unmistakable old-fashioned valentine. The jests and laughter seriously annoyed her. Of course it was John Monteith's doing. None of her New York lovers would have been guilty of such a vulgarism. " Stupid !it was just like him. People did such things, she supposed, in Scotland. They had sent them there, and of course they would go on sending them long after the rest of the world had for gotten tho custom. But in New York ! On Madison Avenue ! In the year of grace IS7- ! What a barbarian the man must be !"

That valentine worried her all the day, she laughed at it, said it was ridiculous, but yet she did not destroy it. Janet noticed that circumstance, aud laid it up in her heart for John's comfort if need be. He needed it sooner than she expected,'for that very evening, just as Marion was dressing for a grand bridal reception, John Monteith came for the answer to his valen tine. He did, of course, a very unwise thing ; but men that are far-seeing enough in a business speculation are often very foolish in a love affair.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, JUNE 3, 1882.

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