A WOMAN'S FAITH: OR, THE Mystery of a Bunch, of Pansies.

By CHARLES T. MANNMSS,

AUTHOR OF

The Lord of Lyle," "Octavia's Pride," "The Blenkame Emeralds," "The Flaw in the Diamond," "Dragging Him Down,"

" A Silver Brand," &c. &c.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MEETING OS THE STEAMER.

The explanation of Helena Yerrington's absence and mysterious disappearance is a very simple one. The advertisement which arrested her attention was that of a wealthy lady asking for a companion and maid to accompany an invalid across the ocean. It opened to her an avenue alike of escape tram Col. Rivera's importunity and the dis tasteful dependence upon his bounty, while it also gratified the one wild desire of her he.trc—to reach the English shore, and look upon the face of him whom one as sharp and intelligent as Chester Harris pro nounced to be Conway Searle himself.

Concerning the duties she was to take upon herself she had little misgiving. She knew the potency of a quick wit and a ready will. She found herself in a strange position, indeed, for the late petted darling and belle: but Mrs Inchbald, her new mistress, while she secretly rejoiced over the daintiness of the service received, never suspected that her new servant was one assuming such duties for the first time. And the position was no sinecure, for the lady, aside from natural caprice and fussiness, was a severe sufferer from sea sickness all the time they were on the water. Helena Yerrington performed her duties faithfully and unfalteringly, all the better, perhaps, that her strange sorrow lifted her out of all personal selfishness, and made her thankful to find any outside employ ment to hold her attention. When they reached the Liverpool dock Mrs Inchbald found herself too much pros trated to take the immediate leave of the steamer which the other passengers made sich precipitate haste to do. The courier who had been secured to take charge of her came promptly on board, and it was at his suggestion that the lady waited another day before attempting toleaveher state-room. Helena left the lady in a gentle sleep and went out upon the deserted deck, looking off wistfully to the shore. Wnat new experience had she come hither to meet? And whither was this suddenly tangled pathway leading . were the questions she asked herself, drearily and listlessly, while she watched, half unconsciously, the moving figures and passing drays upon the wharf. Still vaguely did she give her interest when a richly appointed carriage was seen upon the landing, and two ladies and a liveried servant leaving it there, came slowly forward toward the steamer. " Pas.seiigeri to secure their state-rooms for the trip across," wa3 the passing explana tion that drifted across her mind. And after she had seen a boat official meet the party and escort them to the main saloon, she gave it no further heed, but fell back into her own sad reverie. The proba ble duration of Mrs Inchbald's nap, how ever, was on her mind, and she passed quietly back to her post when the allotted time was up. The captain and purser both were in the saloon, and it was evident by their manner that the part}' was one of no common significance. " And so you remember the passengers of that trip distinctly, captain ?" a clear, musical voice was saying. " I have half a mind to show you the picture of a friend of mine, and see if he was one. I should be able to put .1 merry jest upon him, if so." "Your li.uvhip shall command my best efforts," replied the captain, bowing gallantly, and with an air of the utmost respect. "I will send for the passenger lists also.'' Helena could not forbear a momentary pause, nor a closer glance at the singularly charming young lady who was standing in the midst of the little group, with a pecu liarly winning smile on her rosy lips, albeit 6'iorf> was an air of wilful, childish caprice about her, upon which her elderly com panion seemed to look indulgently. Half-deSantly, half-deprecatii'igly, tho lovely young creature produced a tiny vel vet case, and opening it, lifted out a" dull, red gold locket. iuvoluntarily Helena Yerrington gave a low, panting cry : "My locket!" Ana instinctively her eager ringers pulled at tho ,-■•.,, ul>out her neck. Low as the exclamation was, it startled the fair visitor, and when once her eyes rested upon Helena's agitated face, they deepened from their lovely azure to a pirple black, and swift flashes of crimson wint surging across her cheeks. " One of my passengers,"said the captain in a low voice. "Her mistress was too ill to leave with the rest." " But she said something," persisted the young lady. " What was it she said ?" " I beg your pardon," interposed Helena, recovering her composure. "It was very absurd in me. As if there could not be many counterpart trinkets—only I have never ssen one like mine before. See ! let this he my apology." And with hasty fingers she drew forth her Own locket and laid it beside the other. •' Ex'ict mates ! It is certainly a singular coi::~ ! .■■■;" :" ieolared the elderly lady. " And it is such a delicate, intricate pattern besides ! You certainly cannot ■wonder that the lady was surprised, Lady Hortonse." But the bright, restless eyes were search' ing over the face of Helena rather thar. ■giving attention to the locket. The lattei "shrank back from their fierce, haughty .stare, and drew herself up with dignity. "It is of very little consequence, I pre sume," said she. "The two lockets an not likely to meet. Our paths in life li( far asunder; and I shall soon return agair to America. ' She drew back her hand, which still hole one end of the chain, and thus swept awai her own locket from its aristocratic com panionshsp. The movement, or a suddei start of the lady, caused the other locke to fall to the floor, and in its fall the spring Vt'H". ppiiiU'i :.:.:: the lid flow open, disclosing the ivory oval on which was painted th' portrait of a young and handsome man. Helena Yerrington saw the picture, am turned deadly pale. The other watchei her with fierce, flaming eyes "So," she said, with a bitter laugh " since you have seen the secret of ?«; locket, it is but fair that I should look upoi yours. Open it." Helena silently obeyed tho imperiou gesture. "Good Heavens !" pjaculated the elderl; lady, bending ;-er to look likewise. " Wh> Hortense, dearest, what does it mean ! Sh has the likeness, also, although of a diffei ent date, judging by the way the hair i ■worn. That is surely Conrade Earl 6!"

Lady Hortense gave a fierce stamp of her tiny foot, and still with blazing eyes confronted Helena, whose brain was in a whirl of dismay and terror. "Speak!" she said. "Why do you not say how you came by that likeness, and whose it is ?" "It was given, me. It is the face of a friend of mine—a friend I knew in America. His name was Conway Searle," stammered Helena. "Your ladyship may not mean it, but you are very cruel " The red lip that had looked so sweet and childish but a little time before curled in a fierce, angry sneer. Lady Hortense made her a mocking bow as she returned: "Perhaps I ought to make an apology : but I do not —not yet. Some things de serve cruelty." And now she turned to tho astonished and embarrassed captain. " See, now you are favoured with two likenesses of one man. Tell us if he sailed with you, or if we must look on your con sort's passenger list ?" The captain studied upon hU reply, while he examined the two pictures, and then spoke, suavely: ' "I think I do recall the face, though he was sick, and kept his state-room. But there has never been a Conway Searle among my list. lam confident of that." "Nor a Konrade EarleV" she asked hoarsely. He was silent an instant. "Yes, there have been several Earles of late. I think you will find an H. Earle in my old list twice. It may have been meant for X, but I read it Rt" " And the gentleman s face was like that," questioned Helena, forgetting in her own despairing doubts that the inquiries came from the others. The captain bowed coldly, and turned a little anxiously toward the liveried servant who had kept discreetly in the background. The beautiful lady of rank looked as if she might turn upon any one in a fierce paroxysm of rage. Her companion was evidently distressed and perplexed by this unexpected denouement. " jjear Hortense,' began she. A gay although a forced laugh inter rupted her. "Pray don't begin to tremble, as if there were some woeful result to ray wild escapade, dear Mrs Ashcourt. I've had my frolic out, and there isn't quite so much sport as I thought. Never mind ! Thank you very much, Captain, for your courtesy. I have no doubt that you are entirely correct. When I make a visit to America I shall be certain to take passage with you. Now I have gratified my curiosity as thoroughly as I desire, and we will go back to the car riage, James." Lady Hortense spoke all this in her ac customed clearly ringing voice, and her face was wreathed in smiles. Every one breathed freely again. Only Helena Yerrington stood looking off with dim, despairing eyes. Who would make an explanation to her ! A few parting word 3 of courtesy were spoken, and the little party moved toward the door. Helena still stood like a statue, the locket clenched tightly in her lingers. The next instant light steps were flying back, and a troubled, wistful faco was lifted to hers. "This is sorrow and trouble for you also ?" questioned a low, tremulous voice. " God knows it is!" answered poor Helena, " and mystery—utter mystery." " I cannot stop now. I must remember my position, and what is due Mrs Ashcourt, whom I coaxed for a chaperon in this wild visit. You will come to London. Promise to seek me at this address. I know your name—you are Helena Yerrington." " You know my name—what does it mean ?" ejaculated Helena. " You will find out when you rome. Promise that you will come. I must not stay longer to arouse further suspicions. Promise !" " I do," answei-edHelena, herhandclosing over the dainty card thrust into it. " Good heavens, what mysterious leading has brought me here," she murmured, when, like one in a dream, she walked on to Mrs Inchbald's state-room, and answered the peevish call there for endless service at the toilet in which the lady was to be trans ferred to the hotel when the courier arrived with his carriage. Hartman, the courier, stole a sharp, ques tioning glance at the pale, beautiful face, when his new patron's companion followed him with the lady's shawls on her arm into the suite of rooms engaged for them at the hotel. " Ma'm'selle is not well herself," he said, almost too politely to please the one ad dressed. "I can .see that madarae has little thought for other people's ails. But all that is ended now. I have brought a femmc dc clw.mhrc to attend madame. You shall rest yourself now, ma'm'selle. And give me the shawls, plea=e. Those hands are too fair for such service." He was puzzled to see that this gallant speech brought no look of gratification, still less the coquettish airs he had expected. Was the beautiful American a statue of ice, or did she fail to understand the fluent English upon which M. Hartman prided himself'/ She never turned her head, but walked straight on, still with the look of one under the influence of a nightmare. She gave herself freely to the exacting service required by the invalid, not saving herself when she might readily have done so. tfhe bore herself through it all with a calm dignity, a serene majesty of bearing that made a deep impression upon the man. "I foresee that this trip will not be a monotonous one," said Hartman to himself, when he had completed his arrangements with Mrs Inchbald. " ParMecm I are American maids all of this sort? The Empress herself had not more graceful manners nor a loftier unconsciousness. 1 .-hall study this lovely Helene. Her name sake of Troy could not be fairer, surely. I think you have met your fate at la«t, Franz Hartsnaan. Look to it, that you may main tain your reputation for invincibility with the fair sex." He was on the watchfor every opportunity to ingratiate himself into favour, and Helena could not be ianorant or unconscious that it was solely owing to his tact that Mrs Inch bald accepted tho services of the rosy cheeked Welsh girl during her stay in Liver pool. She gave him a melancholy smile for thanks, then, when lie informed her that this desirable result was secured, and she drank obediently the mild sedative he brought her when he found her standing listlessly at the window of their little parlour, after Mrs Inchbald had retired. " You need rest, mademoiselle," said he, in the most respectful tone. " I can see that you have had a hard time on the pas sage. Pardon me for looking after you. It would be but a poor beginning of our trip on the Continent to have you pale and worn out with fatigue. You must take this, and retire early." "Thanks," replied she, mildly. "You have been very thoughtful of me. I hope Mrs Inchbald will be stronger after thissea sicknesf is entirely gone, and make you less care. I hope we shall have a pleasant trip." "It shall not be my fault if it is not. Has mademoiselle ever been in Italy or France?" " No. I have never crossed the ocean before."

And here her sad, low sigh showed him iere was little animation in the idea for ler now.

" Mademoiselle has seen trouble. I grieve n heart for her. But she is young and— )eautiful. Joy returns always to youth and jeauty. Take courage, dear ma'm'selle."

He said this with his hand on his heart, lis supple body bent in the most graceful of >ows, and withal such an air of profound espect pervading look, aud tone, and esture, that Helena was . not alarmed, carcely annoyed, and answered, listlessly : "It will matter very little about me. [rs Inchbald is the one you have to please, ood-night. I will obey your suggestion, nd retirepromptly." " Good-night, ma'm'sello. Propitious reams be yours oh this your first night in 16 old world."

And, bowing, the gallant courier with rew.

More tham two hours afterward he lappened to enter the little balcony which pened from their suite of rooms out upon ie street. A tall figure leaned there, with ace uplifted toward the sky. " JUon Dicu .'" exclaimed Hartman, in ignantly, as he rushed toward it. " You >romised to seek rest, Mademoiselle Helene. tis maduess for you to linger here. I shall evor allow you to cheat me so." " I beg your pardon. I moant to go, but —could not sleep," answered she, in a lollow tone that made him shiver.

'•Thenmademoiselle must have another leeping powder. lam answorable for her _jood health. I cannot allow •" "If you could give me something to stop houglit," moaned pc»v Helena, swallowing i dry, gasping sob. "If you could only do hat, Hartman."

" I would like to try to teach you pleas anter meditations, Mam selle Helene," he answered, promptly, "and I will or fail as Tranz Hartman has never yet failed. I hall send another draught to your chamber >y one of the maids. I shall instruct her to give it to you herself after you have retired. ' have learned already not to trust you to care for yourself."

And when he was again alone the courier repeated :

" Ma'm'selle Helene has seen some great :rouble—some very great trouble. I must ook into it. If she is so lovely now, in her coldness and grief, what would she be in gayety and joy ? It is a long time since 1 have been so interested. I shall accept hor challenge. It shall be my enviable task to teach her to forget her sorrows, whatever they may be."

CHAPTER IX. " HEAVEN' PITY ME !" "Mary, my dear, this is a fearful knot,' said Christopher Stone, one evening, as he came across Mary Converse upon his land ing. His own eyes were dull with work and the entrance out of t%vilight, or he would have seen that Mary's were swollen and faded with that rare experience for her steadfast, patient soul, a fit of convulsive weeping. " \\ hut U it, sir, can I help you ?" she asked meekly, though she turned her face aside that he might make no further dis coveries. " Hear heart, I don't doubt it, if we only knew where to act you to work. It's almost time we gave it up to women," he added, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. "I don't know what you are talking about, sir, I am sure." " Why, about thi3 business of ours. Here aro three .shrewd men all ran ashoro and completely in the dark. And each so sure in the beginning that he had the right clue. It's an infernally black case, Mary, that's the fact." " You have heard from Chester ?" she said a little quiver in the patient meekness of the voice. " Yes]; there he is fuming and fretting over there, spending his money in a fashion that don't suit his plans for a certain economical house-furnishing we've heard of. And not a whit nearer his proofs, he says, for all he is dead sure of hi? man.'' " Poor Chester ! it is very hard !" breathed Mary, scarcely above a whisper. "And there's poor Si Green wandering over the land like a lost spirit. Not a shred of tangible evidence doe 3he obtain," went on Christopher. "And as for me, I've run my own trail into a nest of hornets. Col. liivers knows something that I do not about Conway Searle's disappearance, but what it is I haven't the luck to discover. I'm dis gusted with the lot of us. I say it's time we let women take hold of the case." " We know it's always darkest before day break," murmured Mary, who could not be Mary Converse and not find a ray of com fort for other people's tribulation, though her own heart might be ever so heavy. " It's a tough knot to untie. I feel rather blue, I'm free to confess. How's the old cat to-day ? If she isn't extra snarlish I wish you'd manage to look in upon me to-night a few minutes. You do know how to cheer a body, you good little girl." " I will try," answered Mary, gently, but not in her own bright fashion. And then she glided down the stairs, back to her dreary mission, too unselfish to betray how her own heart was aching for a crumb of comfort, and what piteous need she had herself for cheering up. For life was growing very hard for our gentle little Mary. The one consolation for the sore trials was failing her. The blind mother was growing querulous, reproachful, exacting. Poor soul, it was not so very strange. Mary said so over and over again, that it was not to be wondered at. The temptation was very strong and these were sore times. The new trial was this : The owner of the building had lately looked in upon his tenants. The fair, meek blossom whose fragrance beautified the dreary room of the snarling paralytic had not escaped his ad miring notice. He came often, lie watched closely, and it is needless to say that his admiration deepened, and a new resolution He was a man a little beyond middle age, prudent, sensible, with a more than com fortable income. He did not need to be told what puch a woman as Mary Converse would be in his lonesome though handsome house. He began by seeking to brighten their hard life, to soften theirWttcr depend ence. He brought fruit, wine, a dozen needed delicacies for the blind mother. He took her out to ride, even after he knew tier daughter would not be allowed to accom pany them. He made known his hopes before he ventured a word with Mary, art fully securing this powerful ally before ho startled the unsuspecting girl by his pro posal of marriage. Of course it was quietly but firmly declined. Poor Mary hoped that her mother's first bitter upbraiding when she learned this unwelcome result would be the most painful of her trials. But she had not learned her olderly lover's character. There was a sort of dogged per severance about the man that grew to sullen obstinacy when his wishes were thwarted. The refusal only whetted his desire into passion. With cruel adroitness he set before the poor, abused dependent on a crael relative's grudging bounty, what it would be to be mistress in an independent home, with plenty, and good cheer about her. What it would be to know her pretty Mary as the lady mistress of a handsome house,

)reased in eilk, and riding in her own nodest carriage. The idea was one full of a own fascination, that only needed to be ntroduced to cast its seed, and bring forth n abundant harvest. From that hour the one refuge of poor lary's troubled heart was refused her. She ould no longer slip away from her aunt's siting sarcasm, and nestling close to her mother's loving lips forget it all in the onder kisses given there. " Don't ask me to kiss you, a daughter vho persists in keeping her blind mother in suffering and penury. A headstrong girl, who sets her own will against the best ad vice of her nearest friend. Who mights be a proud and happy woman in a beautiful home, instead of living upon begrudged charity, in sorrow and wretchedness ! Don't pretend you love mo, Mary," was the repeated reproach runs; in the poor child's ears, until she shrank frond any attempt to obtain sympathy or affection. This day the trial had been unusually severe. Aunt Lucinda had been more savage than even her quarrelsome wont. Mr Smith had sent in a basket of grapes for the blind woman, with a label especially designating their destination. Mary, shamed to the very quick to bo accepting such favours, had tried to spirit them away before her mother's other alert senses took service for the poor blind eyes. But Aunt Lucinda, with her usual amiable motive, in tercepted her in the act by tho sharp de mand : " What aro you doing now, Mary Con verse? Setting away those nice grapes for a private lunch, I presume. It's come to a pretty pass when folks a? eat other people's bread hide up the delicacies. I s'pose the grapes are too nice for my eating. Oh, yes, of course." With a patient sigh Mary came back from the closet, basket in hand. "I'm sure mother will be glad to give you some, Aunt Lucinda. I had no idea of eat ing any myself." " Eh," spoke up the blind woman quickly, "what's that, Lucinda? Grape? for me ? Was that what that knock at the door meant ? I thought it was the grocer's boy. Mary Converse, didn't you mean to tell me that I had received another present from that good, kind Mr Smith ? Bring them here !" "Bring them here!" mimicked Aunt Lucinda. "It's quite astonishing what airs some people have come to assume ' This wonderful Mr Smith has made quite a lady of your mother, Mary. I expect he'll be ottering her a iine house and carriage next. I wonder if he won't settle up old scores besides. I'm 3ure I should like to have him." "And so I might have my house and carriage," declared Mrs Converse, quickly. "And it's only because I'm a poor, un lucky, unfortunate creature that I don't. It isn't right for me to be comfortable and happy. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear !" And here the poor creature broke into a low murmur of sobbing articulations, and rocked herself to and fro. " Don't mother, please don't," begged Mary. "Here are your grapes, they are very tempting-looking. Let me give Aunt Lucinda this cluster, and I will bring a plate for each of you." " Oh, no, pray don't think of such a thing," sniffed Aunt Lucinda, in the most sarcastic tone ; "keep them for your own delectation, my dear. Set them away a? you originally intended." " I had no such idea, Aunt I could not eat a single grape, it would choke me," faltered Mary. " Oh, yes, because they came from Mr Smith, a kind, worthy, respectable gentle man, who ha? a house of his own, and every •omfort besides, to offer the woman he asks to marry him. Quite a contrast to some body else who doesn't even stay at home to look after his bedridden father, and sister, but goes rummaging all over the world on a wild-goose errand. Mr Smith i? a man with a steady business ; but that isn't romantic enough to suit some people, oh, no !" interrupted her mother, pushing away her plate angrily. "I'm sure the grapes ought to choke such ingratitude, ft is a shame to accept them from dear Mr Smith, while you are <*o unkind. Take them away. I won't eat any either !" " I should be glad to return them, mother, if you don't care for them," said Mary, in a low, sad voice. "I don't think it is right to accept favours from him ; but I was afraid jou——" " Hear her ! just hear her !" cried out the blind woman. "She's ready now to snatnh away what little comfort a poor blind creature can obtain from a generous friend's kindness. And I so fond of grapes, and with such poor appetite ! She wants to take away my grape.". Was there ever .such a cruel daughter '!" And she made a rude grasp at tho basket, and held it fast. _ Mary's brave lips quivered. She turned silently and went about her work at the other end of the apartment. " Some people aro so selfish," presently ruminated Aunt Lucinda, grimly, as she watched the glossy emerald globes dis appearing as fast as the blind woman's slender fingers could pluck them from their stem. " I know it well," returned Mrs Con verse, in a deeply injured tone. "It is of no consequence to anybody in this house what becomes of me." " Nor whethor / have a single taste of those elegant grapes," pursued Aunt Lu cinda. And both women turned indignant faces poor Mary's way. The girl looked at them one ningle in stant with piteous reproachful eyes ; then swallowing down a low dry sob that would not be conquered, she came forward. " ou don't either of you me.in one-half you say, and it is well for you that I know it," she declared. "You aro both well a wars that if I had no thought about either of you, I should go .straight out of this houso, iind myself a comfortable place as some milliner's or dressmaker's apprentice, and live decently sponding my earnings on myself as other girls do. Mother, will you spare Aunt Lucinda some of the grapes, since y^u are going to keep them V" "Take them all," returned her mother, pettishly. " I know very well how angry you are to have mo eat one." Mary quietly divided the spoils, sot a plate by either chair, and went back to her work. Peace, however, was not to ensue. Mr Smith's visits had done incalculable harm in rousing Mrs Converse out of her old meekness and filling her with a vague but positive sense of her own ability and deserving. She had fed herself so lavishly with daydreams of grandeur and position that she really looked upon herself as the veritable mistress of Mr Smith's handsome house, unjustly kept out of her rights by an undutiful daughter. The taunts from Aunt Lucinda, that had formerly wounded sorely, but been met by abject silence, now roused an irritated bel ligerency that was morbidly on tho watch for offence. The wordy warfare that ensued, flung to and fro over the head of the devoted Mary, stung her like so many nettles. And, indeed, neither of the wranglers had the wish to spare her, and both turned often to fling the bitterest taunt to the gentle peacemaker whenever she ventured to intercede on the one side or the other. Quite worn out by this scene, Mary seized the first opportunity to escape, and ran up

stairs to old Mr Harris, trusting that here, at least, she should hear a tender, comfort ing: word.

But the old man had had a bad night, and lis juvenile nurse was weeping bitterly when Mary stole in upon the scene. " What is it, Curry, dear ?" she asked compassionately. " Oh, Mary, I'm clear discouraged," eom :lainedshe. "I was up almost all night, and [ couldn't get my lessons to-day, and the ;eacher scolded. And the pudding was iurnt. And the doctor's bill came. And ■ather is worried all out because Chester didn't send any money. And, oh, dear ! .ts hard work living. Sometimes, Mary iear, I don't think it is quite worth while, [wonder if anybody else has such hard limes as I do." " Hush, Carry, child ! Don't bo ungrate. -~-« ful. You have your brother, and your father loves you, and Chester was never un kind in his life. These are a great many blessings that other pooplo don't have," re turned Mary, steadily. But how her heart ached ! " Oh, Mary, I don't know. It looks so dark today. And then I think of other girls in our school. Why, they haven't a care in the world, except to match their ribbons; and have loving mothers, and servants to wait upon them. And I am only fifteen, and I liavo all this to bear alone. You don't know how my back ached dragging father around, nor how my hoad snapped when I tried to study. And what slia'l I do about the money?' "It will be all right. Mr Stone will attend to it. I'll speak to him about it. I thought Chester paid John May to come in and lift his father about." " So he did : but he's sprained his ankle, and can't come. Poor father felt bad enough about it." "I know he did. He grieves more than you guess, Curry, over his helplessness, and the care you are obliged to bear. He is a loving father, dear child : don't ever forget that." " Oh, I know that—poor, dear father ! I didn't mean to blame him ; no, indeed. Only I—l guess it's nothing, Mary. I was tired, and blue, and cross, I do believe. How yon can brighten me uji ! I suppose half was the disappointment of Chester's let ter. He's out of spirits himself, it's easy to see. Oh, and there's a letter for you, Mary. I forgot rill about it. I'll get it for you." Mary returned the girl's penitent kiss, and went forward to speak her cheery word to the invalid. His eye brightened when it met hers. "Dear sir, Cany tells me you've had a poor night. I'm afraid you've fretted over business matters. You kno -■■• yon promised Chester not to do that. I will got Mr Stone tosattle the doctor's bill ; you needn't have any concern about that. And I think I'll come to-night and stay a while with Carry." " You're an angel, Mary Converse, and I know it as well as Chester," said he, speaking in the slow, halting accents of a paralytic. But it was the sweetest sound Mary had heard that weary day. It gave her strength to smile serenely while she stroked hi.s poor stiff arm, and to add a few more en couraging words for the young girl's benefit, when Carry came with the letter. "I hope—oh, I do hope Chester has not written discouragingly. I shall be sorry to have this letter a blue one to finish up the wretched day," Mary murmured, as she carried it away to read in solitude. It was, however, the last ounce. The youag man had never before given -nay to such despondency. He told how cunningly his best attempts at incontestable proof had been baiiled ; how farther otf than ever seemed the longed-for pri/.e. And he ended with : " Oh, Mary, if I only could have a few of your comforting words !" Mary sighed softly, and wiped away a few tears as she folded up the letter. It was the last ounce indeed. "Carry is right ; it does seems a hard life," she thought. And then she lifted up her meek eyes penitently. " Heaven forgive me ! Am I going to be faint-hearted, too? No. no; the good are always, cared for, the right must triumph in the end. The clords will roll away, and we shall have blue sky and sunshine again. I won't despair ; I won't be disconsolate." And smiling bravely, she went back to the thankles3 charge that was her own especial duty, feo that, after all, the back was not broken, even when the very last of all the ounces came with her unwelcome suitor's ovoning call, and renewed hia de scription of the superior lot awaiting the enviable Mrs Smith that might be. Would her brave little spirit hold out also against the severest trial of all for which that evening paved the way? For, ac cidentally, Smith said to Mrs Converse : " I'm afraid you're not as well as usual, madam. You look quite wasted, I declare." And she answered, dolefully : "It is quite true, and no wonder. I Rha'n't be here to trouble anybody long. I have felt weaker every day." "It's certain she does look worse," whis pered Smith, when he saw the wild alarm that dilated Mary's eye. "You won't object to my sending my own doctor, will you ?" And when he went away he said to him self, triumphantly: "It will he the first game I set my mind to win, and failed. I know what is trump card now." And the next week Mrs Con verso took to hor bed, and the doctor came and shook his wise head mysteriously. " We'll see what can he done. But thero is some insidious cause sapping hor strength. She ought to have a decided change, and that speedily. There's nothing fretting her secretly, is there ? If there is, she'll slip through our lingers in spite of us." And Mary heard, and pressed two iieree hands against her .startled heart, while she turned her anxious eyes upward, and mur mured : "Heaven pity me! I never thought of that !"

CHAPTER X.

AN IMPORTANT LETTER

Koniiatjf.Kakle's fine forehead was wrinkled by a heavy frown. Ho pushed away tho silver tray upon which Pierre, his valet, had just brought his fragrant cup of Mocha, and his dainty breakfast.

"You've no appetite, sir," said Pierre, discern?olatcly, and really feeling it a per sonal grief ; for the old valet had more affection for his mastor than for any other living being, since his motherless girl died in that master's arms, to whom the little creature had been devotedly attached from the vory first moment of hie kindly patron age. "No. In truth, Pierre, I am getting nervous. I have affected indifferenco about this everlasting csjiionagc kept upon my movementp, but it is growing insufferable. I tell you, I'ierre, that man has been in this very room. I am sure my papors on this table have been tampered with." "Confound the prying villain, the auda cious upstart 1" muttered Pierre, fiercely. "I'd like to settle the account with.him."

"That's the trouble," groaned Konrado. "X he would only give us a chance. But there is nothing done that we can seize upon as legally offensive."

STAB. SATURDAY STJPiPLEMENT, FEBRUARY 9, 1884.

2