NELLIE.

A STORY IN TWO CHAPTERS,

4W______r tor the "Star" Supplement)

BY EKTCA.

CHAPTER I,

**'I am going to see Mrs Carlisle to-day, Ray," piped pretty Neliie Maynard, as she ■helped her husband on with his light dust coat. Not that'any help was needed, but Nellie always considered it her special right, and never since she had been married, fivo r_oi!th_ ago, had she neg lected this little work.

" Good-bye, dear.; going to Mrs Carlisle**,, did ynu say? ,f would rather you did not, Nellio," replied Raymond Maydard, a tall, handsome man of about three-and-twenty; *' Oh, .why, Kay '." This came in a disap pointed tone! for Nellie ■•<-asnot accustomed to having hor v.ishe, l h -:. arted, and besides, the little wo*aian did liko to have her own -way "just w*:»." But Ray did not wish to givo hi- reason-!, so he answered, ** I cannot tell you wliy, dear. But really 1 must go, or J. "pl_r.ll bo Lite." Nellie stood on the verandah of choir snug little home «ftef_her husband h-.A g me. Very pretty t^^'r^r^S.*™ shining on her golden hoir. Cn -rar*ii%___.__,^^^ rightly namrai Kli'ior. -<_»«, "It is too bad of i U y," she said to herself; "why does lie want mo not to go." Then •with a sudden thought -he *'Oh, I know, there i» scarlet fever near Mrs Carlisle's hout-e, and he is afraid.l shall catch it. Not 1 ; besides, I have had it, so lam going. Ray enn't beangry ;he never is with mc,"' nnd Neliie danced into the house to tell the cook sho would not be home for dinner, and io give a few orders about her misb.'-ji-Ts i-. a. Then, after telling the man to saddle hor horse for her in an hour's timo, ehe r.:i away to fulfil her household duties. But they were poon done, and presently "Nellio was cantering over the read to her friend's house, a distance of about live miles.

"Why, Nellie, I am glad to see you," eicelaimed Mrs Carlisle, as she hurried out to welcome Mrs Maynard. "I thought your husband would r^jver let you come near the place : everyone thinks we have scarlet lever here, and the house where it is is fully three mile- distant. I declare I was beginning to fee! quite isolated. No one will coma near hero, they are all so terrified. But come indoors, I have kept you out ia this burning-sun long enough." Nellie spent a pleasant day with her friend, hushing any little pricks.she might ■have by the assurance tiiat when Ray knew there was no fever about. Mrs Carlisle's he would not mind, Neliie started for home about four o'clock. i<he inquired of the man as he helped her liown from her horse if her husband was home.

"Yes, ma'am; h. came home half an hour or more ag.).'* Nellie hurried to her hus band's study, delighted" at having him home a little earlier than usual. She opened the door, and then ■stood still with amazement, for there was Ray, but never before had Nellie seen hl:_ kicks':;, -o stern and ODgry. Could it be j/osMiic, .-sho questioned her self, that he was angry with her for going? Ray had turned when he heard the door opes, and now be said coldly, " Good ovening, Neliie."

Nellie started. Never had Ray addressed her in that cold way before, and she began to feel thus e„o Teally had dono something wrong. "Ray,"-he .'aid, going forward, "don't be angry ; v. ait until I explain." All her little wilfulness had died away. "I need no explanation, thank you," replied Raymond, is, the same cold dis tant tone. '' You di.- •11 eyed my wishes, and that is all I earc to -•■■ .v. You had better go and get, ready for t.a now." "But, Kay, do ii-en to mo, oh ! don't look like that,'' almost sobbed Nellio, thoroughly frighten. I by hor husband's tone and manner.

" Nellie, it i* five o Mock, and tea is almost ready."

Nellie saw it was 10 use trying to say anything nou', and going to her room she •hrew hen=e;f on th■: bed and burst into *<ars. "Oh, Kay., my Ray, what have I dOie? oh, why did I _■> when you wished me notto?" she sobbed. Never before had she felt go wretched, .'-'he had vexed Ray— morethan vexed him • -him whom she loved with fliher loving h<.r<rt. How heartily she wishedghe had stay.-d at home ! Yes, she would _vve stayed at home for weeks sooner than hay, really angered Ray. (For, to do Nellie ju^iee, she v.-raJd never have gone bad she th, ujr.it h•:■..<• husband would really have i-uiucV..*, "And be called it dis obedience," & 8 had dirobeyed his wishes. And Nellie v,\,,t 0 ,, raping reproach after reproach on hVself v ntil she cried herself to sleep. Abo',u\ uvo hours after she was awakened by h'A_. n!; . the clock strike. She rOse up, but b.ersi_„d was aching so badly that ehe thought the had better go to bed. But she must go _fa oay good-night to Ray, aid Nellie trembl_.\; rto uld he kiss her? He had not clone so *hon she came home, and Nellie knew he v a s very angry. She wen. slowly down-taif, to Ray's study, but he wis- not there. Co<____g into the little hall, the ask.-l the servant where Mr May nard vas. (tlo*A thank Vii Nellie felt that the hall-lamp was not lighted.) *. "Mr, May nam went ofiT. he said you were not to wait up for hit,, mann, as he would n»t be home until laty replied the girl. Nellie s^hed as she went ujHairs again ; she wisheo Ray bad not left t_Kt message, for she wanted to wait up for hiS ; but she felt that the safest course she _>uld take now was to yo to bed. But it w_p a lono1 time before e\e went to Eleop. H<r heart •was very heaty, and she was blaming her self perhaps uther too severely for K what bad occurred.. \ * \ Ray had let\her have protty m.i\ her own way until nW, and though she didnot understand why \e was so angry, Bhe neVer for a moment lairfany blame on him for tin. telltog her his rea-» n ., ard taking her morij into his confidence\ no, despite aU her lit.li wilfulness, Nellie vAs too noble to do such a thing. H Raymovi could have seen her then, surely his heart Would have softened; but he did not see herjand noxt morning he was as stern-looking asthe evening before. Clearly he had not for Wen his little wife yet. Ahd when NellieNaw his face all the vague hopes that had cW_ie into her mind died away, and she fell, as miserable bb ever. V Hardly a word was spok\n duririg break fast. Nellie could not corfmand her voice, and as for Ray, it took a lorY time to rouse his anger, but when it was r»lly awakened it was by no means a tbiij to be dealt lightly with. At nine o'cloey Ray started for his business, and Nellio Wohed with beating heart the hands of the lock as they neared the hour; but she resorted to carry out the plan ehe had made last.rwht. She lingered in toe dining-room untithe heard Ray go into the hall; then she slifted out of the room, and went up to him, infcdißg to help him on with his light coat as Wal. But a cold "No, thank you," ftm-iini almost made her burst into tears, V_t she

bravely'restrained, them,''and laying her pretty little hand on his arm, she said, **Ray,- _ay yon will forgive me; Tarn* y'e'ry sorry, inaeed I: am."' ,Ray looked .at her with..' a sort of■; surprised sternness on his handsome face, then he said, briefly, "It is a pity you were not sorry before you went yesterday, my dear," then he took up his books to go. •-,'. ---"Ray, Ray, do kiss me,*' Nellie cried, feeling as if her heart would break, " Say good-bye to me." '-~.. "Good-bye, my dear," but it was a very cold kiss that fell on Nellie's soft cheek that morning. She watched, him until he was out of sight, and then going to her room, she relieved her aching heart by another burst of tears. Some few moments after.she rose, and putting on her hat, she went out into the garden. Some two hundred yards from Mr May nard's garden ran a creek, or rather a. small river, for it was too large to be called a creek, and hither Nellie loved to resort, for Ray possessed a boat, and ehe often spent hours sitting in it, working or reading as the case might be. And here Nellie went this morning. She seated hersolf in the boat, and began working, But soon the work dropped out of her hands, for Nellie's blue eyes were full of tears, and a sigh escaped from her pretty red lips.

"Oh, dear;" she murmured, "I would much rather Ray gave me a good scolding than be so stern and quiet; he makes me feel so miserable ; but there, I deserve it, no wonder he is angry." But oven if she did think she deserved it, that did not in any way cheer or comfort her repentant ond «_bioj_ heart. •-.-.. +v i-I-? ia,t~-'-llel*ie-hecame aware that tho little boat waa Wr_.,-5..-j, OHt very much, and to her horror she saw that lbhaa got loose from its moorings, and was float ing quickly down the stream. Nellie's first thought was to row back as quickly as possible (Ray had taught her how to handle the oars), for she knew that in a few moments sho would be out in the open bay, and what could her little strength prevail against its rough waters ? But, alas! no oars were in the boat, and then Nellie remembered that Ray always took them out of the boat when he came back from a row. Nellie's lovely faco grew deathly pale as she fully realised her situation. "Was she to die in this way ?" Swim back she could not, and the boat had now got so far down that even if she had had the oars, she could not have resisted the strong current. No, she must sit still and await her fate, aad the terror imprinted on Nellie's face grew greater as the thought flashed across her mind that Ray had not forgiven her yet. Yard after yard the boat drifted on, coming nearer and nearer to the bay—now it was on, tossing and heaving, but no other boat was in eight to save the fair inmate of the tiny craft. On and on it went, getting further and further into the great waves of the bay. Still it went en, but suddenly a wave dashed over it, filling it with water Thero was no hope for Nellie now. A second and greater wave camo rolling up, and the little boat was overturned.

"Ray ! Ray !" a piercing cry rang out upon the startled air. But what cared the cruel waves for that, and Nellio, loving and beloved, had eunk beneath the dark and cold waters.

CHAPTER 11.

But how had Ray got on ? Well, it is astonishing what an effect a good brisk walk has upon one's anger. Before the two miles of Ray's walk to the city was quite over, his anger had already begun to cool (for Ray found it a very hard thing to be angry long with his sweet winning little wife), and by the time he started for homo he was in a very reasonable mood.

"Poor little thing," he said to himself. " Perhaps I was too hard on her; and how white she looked 1 I believe she Bpent half the night in crying. And then I refused to forgive her when she asked me this morning. Poor Nellie, what a hard-hearted wretch I was.' How was she to know what my reasons were, poor child ?" How sorry she looked ! Really I ought to have token her more into my confidence, and then we should have avoided this quarrel, and our first too; and how Nellie felt it ! Of course she took all the blame on herself ; sho always does, the dear little woman. How could I havo been so angry with her ? Well, I shall make it all right with her to-night. I will not go out to the lecture. I can well afford to lose that, for the purpose of making things straight with my darling," and Ray, now angry with himself, strode quickly on, bent on getting home as soon as possible, little knowing the agony which awaited him there.

Arriving at the gate, he was rather sur prised not to see Nellie, for she always came out to meet him.

" Poor Child ! perhaps she did not like to after this morning," thought Ray, yet still it was not like his little wife. Nellie did not meet him in the hail, and Ray did begin to wonder, and, ringing the bell, he inquired if Mrs Maynard had gone out. " Please, sir, I do not know where Mrs Maynard be. She went out this morning, but she said she would be back in time for dinner, and I have not set eyes on her since," replied the domestic. "Was she dressed to go out?" asked Ray. "No, sir ; she went into the garden, and all she said was that ehe was sure to be bace by twelve. And, Mr Maynard, Mr Jenkins sent for tbe boat; he said he was to have it."

" Well, did he take it?" inquired Ray, impatiently.; he was eager to get to Nellie. " Why, air, the boat is not anywhere to be seen on the creek; the rope is there, but the boat is gone." Ray dashed out of the house. A strange and unutterable fear had taken possession of him. Nellie gone, and the boat—could it be possible ? No, no, and Ray tried to crush down the terrible thought, but still it rose before him like a quaint spectre, seeming to beckon him down to the river. Along down to the bay Ray went, hardly knowing where he was going, a terrible vision of his sweet lovely Nellie lying cold and still on the sands, was before his eyes, and in his agony the strong man groaned aloud, "Oh, God, spare my darling to me." Ray's eyes were attracted to something lying oii the sand. In a moment he had it in bis hand: it was Nellie's hat, and somehow with the finding of that all-hope died out of Ray's heart. His beautiful Nellie, his Ireasure, never again would ho see her, nVrer again hear her clear ringing laugh, and feel her soft hand laid lovingly in bis. NeVe? until now bad he realised what Nellie had been to him, what an essential part\ of his life she bad formed, and now, if he must live without her—but the thought'was more than Ray could bear, and , oric. more he started on his way. "Someone," he reasoned, "musthave seen her; surely the people living about know something." But no, no one knew anything: none had hea-fd that cry which rang ou_ over the stormy waters. Hour after hour Ray went on'i his agony growing greater ; almost all the hope had died out of his heart; it was impossible Nellie could have been saved if once She got out on the bay. But Ray tried to think that perhaps after all Nellie had not gone out in the boat, but had gone over the hills, and that even now she might be waiting.at home for him. With this new hope Ka§* turned and walked rapidly back; but Nellie was not home,

and' Raymond went down to where" the little boat, was usually moored, vainly hoping it might be "there, and that his eyes had deceived him -before. But the hope was vain, and he saw that the rope bad'loosened, and it was evident that Nellie had been sitting in the boat, for in the sand were footmarks, and Nellie's cloak lay upon the bank. Yes, Ray saw in a moment that it would be impossible for Nellie to pull back if once she got any way down, for the current was very strong, and needed a man's strength to pull against it. With a bitter groan, Ray turned away, and took the opposite direction to that which he had taken before. The sun had set long ago, but Ray did not heed that. For a mile and a-half he went along the beach, past the fishermen's cottages, and' although he did make all the inquiries possible, none there knew anything, and only gazed open-mouthed after the man they thought had feone mad. And Ray did feel as if he would go mad if this awful suspense lasted much longer. He longed to get away where he could not hear the sullen roar of the waves which had deprived him of the one he loved best on earth. But something seemed to keep him there; he felt he must not leave the beach, he must know the truth, even if it were the worst.

Ray's progress was suddenly arrested by a man stopping right in front of him, and inquiring, at the top of his voice, the way to Mr Mayrfard _ house.

"I am My Maynard; what do you want with me ?" asked Ray in a hollow voice. " Weel, sir, me and my mate was a-comin' homo after a fishin' when we heard a cry. Well, we pulled sharp, and was just in time to save a mighty - purty leddy from drowhin'. She only came properly to herself to talk a few minutes ago, and then *-b_~4__Ua_any Sally who she be, and Sally she says, • 3t_--.g_.str_.ight to Mr Maynard and bring him here at ohceVso•-_-cams., and— " But the fisherman was talking to air, for when Ray heard that it was he that was wanted, he knew at once who it was that wanted him. Ray reached the cottage, and then he stopped. Was he dreaming ? Had he fancied he was going to have his darling back? Dreaming? No ! And the next instant he had entered thar-ottage and breathlessly inquired for Nellie. "Oh! be you Mister Maynard? Then come right in; the leddy has been a wantin' of you for a long time. She is in this here room," said the before-mentioned Sally. Yes, Nellie was there sure enough, only looking paler than when Ray had left her in the morning. In a moment she was clasped in his arms, and her face hid on his shoulder. "Nellie, my darling," he whispered. "Thank God you are safe."

In the pretty drawing-room of.Mr May nard's house Nellie was resting on the sofa. She had been ill for some days, but now she is h_ a very fair .way to recovery. At present she is alone, and she seems rather nervous, as indeed she has been ever since her accident. Every now and then her large dark blue eyes would glance towards the door, and then fill with tears. But why, you ask, is Nellie so nervous ? We shall see.

Presently the door opened and Ray came in, and sitting down by his little wife's side, he made a remark or two about the weather; then, after a minute's pause, he lowered his voice and taking Nellie's hand in his, he said gently,

"Nellie, what is the matter with you. dear ? why are you so fluttered whenever I come near you ?"

But, to Ray's astonishment, instead of answering Ijim, Nellie burst into tears. " Nellie ; you must not cry so ; you will make yourself ill again, little wife," he said, stroking her softglossy hair. " Come tell me all about it, dear."

" Ray will you, I— I want yoa to forgive me for going to Mrs Carlisle's on Monday, when you did not wish me to. Oh, Ray, say you will forgive me. I have been so miserable," and Nellie burst into tears again. " Nellie ! My poor darling, is that what.is troubling you ?"

(To tell the truth R-iy had forgotten all about that little incident.) "Of course I have forgiven you," and Nellie's new frill stood a very good chance of being spoilt altogether, but she did not mind that one bit. "I was a hard-hearted wretch to have been so cold to you on Tuesday," Ray continued, "and really I ought to have told you my reasons for wishing you not to go to Mrs Carlisle's. Now don't cry any more, Nellie dear, but give me a kiss to set it all square." And you may feel quite sure Nellie did.

" Oh, Ray, I can be happy now. When I was out on the dreadful water, it mado it doubly worse when I thought you had not forgiven me." "But, there, Nellie, you are safe now, darling," said Ray, hurridly, as he clasped Nellie^ little hand closer in hi. own; and then, in a calmer voice he added, " we owe a great deal to that fisherman, and we must not forget him. Bat, Nellie, how was it you did not look if the rope was tight ? I cannot think how the boat got loose." " Well, you see, Ray, I did not think of the boat-rope or anything except——" but Nellie stopped, a crimson flush spreading itself ovor her face; however, Bay quite understood.

" Nell, don't sit in the boat again, unless Thomson sees that the ropes are quite secure. In future the boat must be moored farther up the stream. You won't sit in the boat, again unless you are ■ sure about the fastenings ?" "No, Ray, I •will not.T will me more caieful another time."

" That is right. Now, Nellie, I want to tell you why I did not wish you to go to the Carlisles' house."

"Ray, don't tell me if you would rather not, because I ought to have trusted you," replied Nellie, in rather a distressed voice. " But I would rather tell you, dear, and, after this, we will start afresh, and be what husband and wife ought be to to each other, knowing each other's reasons for things, and trusting each other more. For, Nellio, we have both been to blame for this: I ought to have treated you with more confidence, and you to have trusted me more. But new for my reason. I have had a little business trouble with Mr Carlisle lately, and I was afraid it might have proved serious, and have cost me a great deal of money. Bat happily I settled the affair with him on Tuesday, and now it is all right." "Did Mrs Carlisle know anything about this, Ray?" inquired Nellie.

" No, dear, so I found out op Tuesday afternoon. But, UMr Carlisle had been at home on Monday, he might at least have made it unpleasant "for you., You know now, darling, what my reasons were ?" " Yes, Ray, and after this I wiU trust you better." Nellie kept her word, and never did Ray regrot taking his little wife into his confidence, for in all his affairs she proved a true and loving help to him.

[the end.]

A RA-TLESN_kb's Bite.—The quick venom Of the rattlesnake has not killed so many people as the more insidious but deadly poison found in the air of foul rooms. Tho aeration ot the blood by the lungs becomes impo„si_le some times, and the failing health, growing weak ness, and loss of appetite are harbincers of." ap proaching death". For suoh oases Hop Bitters sre the potent and all-powerful remedy to drive all fevers out of the a_ stem, purtfyingthe blood, and giving a new and happy lease ol life. Notice, .'_■"

EXORCISED AT CHRISTMAS; OR, The Fitzgerald Skeleton.

" There is something mysterious about the Fitzgerald-," declared Mrs Grundy; "depend upon it there is a pretty .big skeleton in that closet, if a body could only find it out."

But that was the puzzle of it. No one could find it out. Neither the keenest scented gossip nor the closest observer among the intimate friends detected the faintest sign to lead them on the trail. Yet, nevertheless, one and all declared they were sure of a presence dropping its grim shadow over the brightest scene of festivity there in the grand bid house. •I. __~ ••' • This one bad seen Mrs Fitzgerald in the very height of the most successf ulfele that the fine old drawing-rooms had ever witnessed stop suddenly in tbe midst of her merry sally, and, while her colour paled, glance shiveringly behind her. Another had seen her lovely eyes brim frequently with tears, and that in the midst of the most cheerful surroundings. As for Malcolm Fitzgerald, self-possessed, stately man of the ■ world though he might be, again and again had those who knew him best seen him suddenly frown and wince, as if some painful thrust had been secretly stabbed into his heart or con science.

Yes, their best friends admitted, though reluctantly, that there was something wrong somewhere. All perceived the sud den chill that would come, no one knew how or whence, upon the spirits of host and hostess at the most unexpected moments.

' But what could it be? They had met with no misfortune of w,. ich any friend was ever cognisant. Wealth was theirs, and a lovely home, bequeathed openly in the eyes of all the.world by the last surviving mem ber of his father's family. They had health, fair fame, and every prosperous outlook. A gallant boy and a sweet little danghter graced the old home. What was this yague, impalpable, and yet decidedly per ceptible chill which hung about them ? No one was more profoundly impressed "ww»-thig uncomfortable conviction than Constance^Vaa^r-^iasweet young protege who owed so much to tKei_*-_cn_K,«_ ne _ ca r e and generosity. " ~—-

Dearly had she learned to love those friends who had sheltered and protected the desolate orphan sent to them by Mr- Fitzgerald's cousin, who died suddenly at Florence, leaving this little child of eight years behind her without other kin. Never theless, the older she grow the more deeply she became impressed with the belief that some mysterious trouble lurked beneath all the apparent happiness and prosperity. To find out what it was and to remove it had been the secret desire of her heart since she had grown to a woman's thought and knowledge.

And now, on this Christmas morning, as Constance came downstairs and laid her pretty gifts of embroidery beside their plates, her eyes filled up with a soft dew of tears rising out of this very thought. " Oh, if she might do something better than these idle knickknacks—something really worthy of their kindness. If she might only discover this ghostly secret, and defy and exorcise it." To attain such an end she would count no effort too arduous, no sacrifice too great.

"You have, been very industrious, my dear," said Mrs Fitzgerald in a most tender tone of voice, coming into the room while she was yet arranging her gifts. "All these pretty things, Constance, from that busy needle and those skilful hands ?"

" Oh, but they seem so poor and weak," answered the girl, turning upon her' sud denly, with her blue eye 3 full of tears. " I have been thinking it over all the morn ing, while Mrs Tompkins was telling me bow much you had always done for one who had no possible claim upon you. Dear, dear Mrs Fitzgerald, you have never let me feel as if I were a burden or a pensioner. What can I ever do to repay you- for ail your generosity'and delicacy?" " My dear Constance, you can love us all. You can trust us implicitly. You can be §uided by our advice as to your future life. ■c sure that we shall consider this ample recompense^" answered the lady in a gentle voice. " You must never doubt our love."

But her own lip quivered a little, and answering tears rose to her eyes. " You have given me abundant proof of that. It is oniy at long intervals that I realise what a desolate creature I ought to be, an orphan child, with no father or mother, sister or brother. Indeed, indeed, you make me forget it most of the time." " I should hope so," returned the lady. "I should be very angry if you did not consider us all as ot your own in love ond care. Does not Guy hold you quite as dear as Mabel .?, I never saw much difference in his affection."

"Ah, he is kind,-as you are all kind. But the' same'?. Ah, no, how could it be? Blood, you know, is beyond mere liking. It was only yesterday when, we were out in tho boat, and so nearly upset, he said I must look out for myself, because Mabel was his own sister, and "

"He was a foolish lad," spoke Mrs Fitz gerald, sharply. "He meant because Mabel was younger than you." "He was right—of course I knew it. Don't think I have the slightest blame for him, I should censure him if it was the other way. Oh, it is'right to prize your very own ! I wonder how you could be so kind and tender with me, having your own. Indeed, I do. I have often wondered.' Such goodness is almost angelic. Oh, if I could only do something to repay you." "You can, Constance," answered the lady, catching a sudden breath, as if'from shaip pain. "Be happy, and forget these morbid yearnings for kindred' of your own. Adopt us, as we have adopted you, arid be at rest." -. o<*

She passed her arm tenderly about the girl's waist, and left a fervent kiss upon her forehead. " Christmas caresses !" said a gay young voice from the doorway, "Take care, Constance—l shall be jealous lest you are defrauding me." And young Mabel Fitzgerald, a miss of eighteen, came dancingintotheroom, fol lowed by her brother, and in another mo ment by her father. Immediately after the half-dozen guests appeared, and general ex clamations of festive good-will and cheer pertaining to the day broke up any further personal conversation. But the thoughts of Constance followed this train of ideas persistently, and Mr- Fitzgerald's watchful eye saw that they did. Bator in the day, after dinner, one of the guests fiSed his glass with wine and gave his toast: ' '■■'-,'''■'■ ■'■ ''"■■■ "To the 'good health of the eldest born, the heir of the" house of Fitzgerald^ May he be worthy the name that has known no stain of.dishonour or injustice." Only Constance saw the delicate hand of the hostess clench itself fiercely upon the slender crystal stem she held, while a hot flush rose in her cheek—the signs the girl had long ago read of secret excitement. And she was almost positive that a shudder eho6k the slender, shoulders as her eyes f lanced for a single instant toward her usbahd. ■ f Malcolm Fitzgerald smiled and said* withoat a moment's hesitation or tremor :

--;•-■■■;■ •- --- "Guy, my lad, this la your first call out. You will be of age next month, and .will' need all the practico you can get to-day at this sort of tiling." •'■ And in the* diversion of attention, as young Guy, blushing and startled, rose to his feet to respond, no one noticed that the host had frowned a warning glance in answer to that one swift appeal of some sort from his wife's eyes, or that his face blanched and did not recover its colour, even though he drained his glass in answer* to the toast.

Only Constance saw this little episode, and vaguely wondered over it. .:, / In the drawing-room the ladies gathered around the table, filled with Christmas gifts. " You fortunate girl," said Mra John stone. "Why, Constance, if anything your presents are more expensive than Mabel's. How kind they are to you." "And why not?" interposed Mrs Fitz gerald's voice. " She is the adopted child of our affection, and is older than Mabel. Pray, Mrs Johnstone, don't put discontented thoughts into either of my girls' minds." The guest felt rebuked, though it was mildly done.

"To be stare," she said, "Constance is really of your family. We have often said she resembled you more than Mabel does. But she was your cousin's child, was she not?"

"My cousin was very dear to me. We were nearer in confidence and love than many sisters are. She left Constance to my love and care; Mabel, dear, can you not give us some music V- - And again Constance marked the bright spots gather in tbe pale cheeks, ahd saw" the nervous contraction of the eyebrows, as Mrs Fitzgerald turned away from this un congenial guest. - The girl went hastily to the library, while Mabel gave them the desired music. Something vague and intangible was hovering in the air, and disquieted her. Was it the mysterious skeleton rattling its bones in the midst of this prosperous home? •

She went to the great bay window, piled the luxurious cushions there about her, __*_ dropped the heavy damask to hide her from auy chance visitor.

"What ails me to-day?" she asked sternly of herself. "Why am I co* — thoroughly happy ? I who have fallen into -»«e_____tender hands, who have been so genero_-*ty-_«-twith?" .. . - And then, whl[eßhV-___blußhing rosy to her forehead at the very thought," came-he answer to her own searching. " Gilbert Dare had looked more than he

spoke," but his proud sister asked, Super ciliously : " Who is .his Constance Ware ? Is site anything but a pauper dependent upon the Fitzgerald bounty . - And Constance knew that this had been the origin of her growing discontent with her own position. She remembered well the pain in gentle Mrs Fitzgerald's eyes when she had indignantly repeated th; = to her, and the sorrowful sigh which had ac companied the answer:

" Tell them you are the adopted child of our affections."

The Dares were to visit them this even ing. Constance could not tell whether she longed or dreaded to meet another of Gilbert's earnest glances. She was vaguely picturing to herself the way she should meet him, when she heard hasty steps crossing the threshold, and the next moment Malcolm Fitzgerald's voice said hastily, in accents of keen reproach i " Marion, you aro losing your self-con trol. Your looks nearly betrayed you to-day at dinner. You must be more guarded." ." Oh, Malcolm, I tried my best," sighed back his wife's low voice. " But I fear you are right. lam growing weak and worn out. When can we escape this dreary watchfulness, this cruel masquerade?" " Not till we die," was the gloomy reply "We have put our hand to the plough, and the furrow has been made. There is ntt turning back. Dear Marion, it is hard fox you. Ana yet it might be worse. If yo*. could only cauterise the wound, or deaden your conscience a little."

"Ifwe might only take the He back, Malcolm ; that is the only relief—Uving or dying, it is the only way."

"Hush ! That can never be. It would kill us all. Come, my darling, throw off this gloom. I fear our guests perceive it. Come back to the drawing-room and be, your own bright self." And' the next moment they had gone again. Constance remained with hands clasped tightly, with eyes dilated with wonder and 80ITOW. ;

Was this, indeed, the track of the skele ton ? A lie ! What lie ? Why did her heart sink, and the whisper come : "It is'yo_—it is something connected with you."

She sat there in the shadow of tho cur tain, her fingers plucking idly but nervously at the damask of the cushions piled about her. Suddenly she became aware that a stiff rustle followed the movement of her fingers, and, drawing out the cushion from which it came, she made sure that a long and narrow paper was beneath the covering. It was a richly embroidered Turkish | cushion, and the cover was buttoned on oa& side beneath a heavy silken fringe. Care* fully inserting her fingers, she drew f»rfc*_ to the light a yellow folded paper, aad rca_i the indorsement on the end : "TEE LAST WILL AND _ESTAHE_tT OF •■«■_-, FITZGERALD. THE LATEST COBIOiru" The girl stared at it in blank amazowesw j and something like terror came over he_ zif she gazed. George Fitzgerald was the uncle ftoiß whom her benefactor had inherited this grand old place and fortune. What if this newly-discovered document should undo it all? -

She dropped the paper as if tihe thought stung her. - - *

"But I must give it to Mr Fitzgerald- He will know what Should be done with it," was the next suggestion. "Oh, can it be that they knew of it—that they have hidden here some deadly wrong? Nb^ no, I wiH not believe it; and, springing to her feet, Constance hurried to the door, as if afraid to trust her resolution to a moment's delay of execution. She found Mr arid Mrs Fitzgerald in the midst of the merry party in the drawing room. But she managed to say to them, without attracting the attention of the guests:

" Can I see you a moment away from the others ? I have made a strange discovery, and—possibly it is of importance. You know the_ Turkish cushion with that stiff old embroidery ? I have found a paper be neath the cover. It says on the outside that'it is the last will of George Fitz gerald." . .' "Great heavens!" ejaculated Malcolm Fitzgerald. "Come with me, Marion, j. once. The cushion was my uncle's fav«*3_: ite pillow, when he was in his Indian karx mock. Don't you remember r" v, And we have preserved it carefulh ***3«: this time ifbr that very reason," added $:;..•: v. if c, in wondering accents. • And they followed her to the library. With hands that trembled visibly *f.©*j - stance handed to him $he long-coM*_-S. document. .-.•'■ He opened it, ran his eye -tastily daw*-** the boldly written lines, and with a fow cry, passed it to his wife. ■ -Cft.i ■--■,*. .. -