Mark Maynard's Wife.

A LOVK KOMAXCE IX KEAL LIFE,

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER IX

IKB RUNAWAY WIPE

CaSWCKi «» Bno rode throw'sll tno cold and darkness, thought! only of hor young nua , n j an d gobbed behind her widow's veil ntil tho fountains of kor tears were dried, ft'hen morning dawned, cheerloas and grey, ff ith feathery enowflalces falling rapidly, she gazed out on tho " Qucon City " they waro just entering with dry fovorish oyos. g er( j was her destination; horo fl h6 must nlight, and then what would be aof her ': Sho throw hor yon aside that c0l) l air might fan hor feverish chocks, ' j t)ie d u pst official and waiting paseon " KaZ ed in wonder at tho face boforo thorn rhe brown °>'B8 wero wild nnd u i' B l,ed, her pale visagoshono forth white Id colourless as any lino-cut cameo, and h er long auburn curls woro toasod and tumbled by the wind. Many kind-hearted womon looked after her with tears in their eyes as sho passod by. «poor thing I" thoy murmured, softly ; .. M youngtoboa>vidow!" A crowd of busy hacuraon swarmed »bout hor, confusing her by their rapid utterances, ...... "Hack, MissY Step right this way!" Ono brawny fellow opened tho door of hi 3 vehicle us if to induce hor to enter. "No! no!" She wanted no hack; sho mast walk, for she know well tho vnluo of money.and had but little to spare, Hurry jntt on to escape thoir importunities, sho found herself on onooflhoerowdod thorough fares As sho .realiaed sho had nothing ia common with this throng of laughing i-ayly-dressed women, she hastened up tho jirrt side etreot to vrliich she camo, think ing to escape from tho gazo of so many wndoring eyes. Sho passed along tho boulevards, and her brown eyos widened with awoas sho looked upon tho magnilii cont dwellings boforo hor. Kudo men passed her and stared at her openly, but, too innocent to notice them, sho wandered on and on. ,_..,, "Katie, I muet hnil Ratio,' was her con jtant thought, and onco or twice sho ac costed passers by, asking if thoy could tell her auebt of Katio Maguiro, but they laufhsd in her faco or answered pityingly, thinking the was crazed and know not what ehe asked. One young man turned and followed her, wishing to attract hor attoa tion, but she was Mind to his presence, and 8t last he turner, may discouraged. She was hun^ .»' and weary, and stopped at a little bake-shop to buy a few cakes, asking permission to rest whilo sho ato them; then again she hurried away. On, on sho went, but Katie's cheery faco did not greet her view, and considering how wone than useless it was to soarch for har, Candico, worn-out arid hoartsick, entered the first boarding-house sho came to, just aa the evening shadows were falling over the noisy, bustling city. Tho landlady glanced" at her suspiciously, but was touched by the look of sorrow on tho fair joung face, and kindly made room for hor among her already numerous boarders. A tiny apartment was given hor, poor and mean, out Candico was not used to bottor, and accepted it grutofully ; the room was heated by a drum fed from tho base burner beneath, and tho pleasant warmth was very acceptable to the cold, shivering girl. Throwing herself on the bed, Candice closed her weary eyes. An hour or raoro ehe lay there utterly exhausted, without a flutter of tho eyelids or a motion of tho toil worn though shapely hands, folded co tightly over her heart. Mrs Harris, more troubled than sho tared to admit over her new boardor'a ap jearance, stole noiselessly up to her room ami knocked softly, but recoiving no answer, opened the door and entered. Sho noticed the girl's position, and was about to withdraw as quickly as possible, when tho eyts of the sloeper opened and gazed sonderingly about her. Noticing tho waiting landlady regarding her curiously, she struggled to her feet. "I was so weary, Madam," sho said, in apology; "tho warnth after being out in tho cold made me sleopy, and I did not hear you enter." "Cm I do anything for you?" Mrs Harris Eaid, kindly; " you look utterly fatigued." "No, thanks,' Candico said, gratefully ; "I am quite comfortable, and you are very kind." "My dear," Mrs Harris said in reply, "will you tell me your name? You aro very young to be a widow, and yet you are dressed in t, tiidow's garb." "My name!" Oandico said, wearily. "AY. yes, 1 had forgotten I had not already told yon. My name is Mrs Mayno." "I am not mistaken and you are a widow fien, poor child!'' "l'ej.'yeal" Candico moaned, plain tively, "I am widowed. Mark !oh! my husband I" Theroundsd arms were thrown Tip wildly, and the wine-brown eyos were dry and tearles?. "Poor child! poor dear!" Mrs Harris Mid, tears moistening her own eyes, and (he (lid tho greatest kindness sho could havodone to the friendless girl ; she went straight up to the fair young stranger with tba pasrionate, anguish face, and drawing her head corned with a mass of red-gold tardwn on her motherly shoulder, talked ii kind, sympathetic tones until tho little bands unclenched their passionate grip and wo hard, tense look left tho girlish faco, JM the was sobbing freoly. The kind «ed w»man then wont down to tho kitchen below, and with her own hands Biwda cup of strong tea, and with somo TOra muffins and rich preserves again •wght the girl's room and pressed her to The first morsel nearly chokod hor, but "«er she had drunk tho tea and oaten a fow "mthfnls, (he felt hotter, and the kind "jantafther, after tacking her warmly in Wand imprinting a motherly kiss on her °rw, Mrg Harris did not reali-o tho full •rant of the kindness sho had dono ; poor hTiTV" On the ye of madness, and ™«nd,mstherly treatment, so unlooked "Mad started the tears once more, and wa the throbbing brain. K«5 Uld thero Tere more women like Mrs ™™ j many a p Oor girl would be saved if nun* Tf' kind wordsin pity spoken will ■M the heart, but bitter ones will drivo Zf""§ one furtner and further in tho "mmwardcoureo.

CHAPTER X:

"SO mil AND YET SO FAIt." W>ndi* ta' Bitting at tho window of a Bnnfi? br. own-Btone residence, in tho last „ 2™°,' Bpnng.time, were discussing Leta's "wi. ?V n *few weoks °t furthest. Md. .";. Bhall *do without you, Leta?" «Es!fr "Iwillbe^ desf in Can got 80me °ne to 611 my place, X*. »', yery easily. An advertisement "nog hundreds out of employment to tom»? you can Pick from among them bt^O Will suit y Ou .» ** liearilJ".! not ba y°u' doar>" A!da Baid> fyj'l', and ! cannot bear to think of a Herem i? with ms constantly." Then W.n i . ghtPause in theconvorßatioo, Colo Mt by Alda's voice- lo(v and itai n '* v' Lsta> do y°u nofc think il: la linn. r brotller has nnver been to sco ,™>W wo came hero?" •itinjU 9!, 80, 6"^'" L°ta said, quietly, Had Taddßned heatt how tho fair face •Mm »»? pa!ed> for strange as it may Cun KB-]" Dtof Mark' 3 marriage and UuS1"^ flight had reached Alda's ik ß hJ) l d almo3t entirely from society, liai »;,u },mt any Person who was fami ike U ew ,,° Btrang° romantic tale. But *»tcmiM I r only a fevv months at been Bo t; i * l t4y among=t those who had «»uttJu i her' and the lon Ked w'th «n ttltk «„ °T ng to %azo UPOII the face of ""nelS* i oncß moro: t0 feol his "il ha t ij l p hers would seem alm°st «Cb r , ,holdher back frf"n death ■• *• had „„?,• As has been said, she know 'IV «*^withT vto Uve' She had talked HhovJl nn Leta' cal"i'y and quietly, as Sk« h, d o^ WMgnedto the dread thought, between T d', vided her girlißh possessions and Alioe: her vast woalth !' h« miad » ment, ioD(:d- but stored away a8 * plan wMch wa3 destined Ul >i:! 6 Ha™ ero many months rolled by. pJiaEßaw n , a ?^ hed Alda w'th a great *« alon o f *\ llß very hf art ttrings ; he "Weltnr "I 6, World- having 8 never S^ «n h° B n/ ld,\ he had be"towed all flllß^ itS-Tm. havo Rivon t0 a cliiW asd fernS; n had boen ble"Bsd with wife Ted h'^m to see Alda I'piWM lZ P """"erandmoreshadowy, fllo!grand? to.' link that young life so ttf*SSSS?«!"»"* go o!t when Shis Z t °Id°t Perfect womanhood ; ? glCam oJ sunshine, was A,5 a«Ca OHU C°? ld contei"Plate now ,i 41j»»adT» °l h ' 6x'stence, t'.?4 ft Iflt}"* P'nlour win ffy-baft,j k the Pae9ill K throng, saw *ly V fc° m Irißh Birl sauntering " wt» leaned eagerly forwaiS

and eaid to Alda, half laughingly : I believe that was Katie Maguiro, our fiory Irish help of lust Bummer; yes, lam sure," eho added, deciaivoly, as Katie turned her head in that direction. "Tho one that loft so suddenly!" Alda said, smiling. "Your mother was torribly put out that morning : I remember it well." And Katio, aauntoring slowly by tho ele gant houso, had not tho faintest idea that Mrs Maynard's daughter Lota was gazing out at her from tho parlour window. Katio's mind was filled with othor thoughts just thon, and sho did not notice tho girl's fami liar faco pressed so closely against tho window panes. Candico, in the boarding house where wo laat saw hor, was moro than grateful for tho kindness Mrs Harris showed hor ; but sovoral days pns-ed : hor little stock of monoy was nearly gone, and sue had no way to obtain moro. Day after day she wandered out on tho streots in poarch of Katio, but sho could find no traco of her, and nt last gay« up in despair. A week elapsed,and then two, and her last dollar waa exponded. What should sho do ? Sho was conscious of onlyonothought-She could not accopt this sheltor longer. Mrs Harris had boon very kind to hor, but plio could not for got eho had no claim upon her, and that sho waa poor also. So once moro poor Candico found herself out on the sidewalks of Chicago, friondless and without money. Sho wandered all day through tho stroots and along tho boule vards, and at nightfall found herself in a strange part of tho city j tho buildings of brick and granito woro roplacod by humblo cottages, and tiny shops woro scattered about instead of tho mammoth etores Hark ! What was thatnoiso, thundoring, roaring in hor ears liko imprisoned wator striving to burst their boundurios?

On, on sho wandored ; now her feet woro

not upon tho hard pavements, but treading soft, yielding sand, and tho waves of tho Inko, leaping and splashing, broko on hor astonished sight. Thon a wicked thought surged through her brain ; hor breath came

short and pantingly aa what sho contem plated camo to hor in its horriblo po-sibili. ties, Why not, yet rid of it all, tho pain and hoartaehe, bury tho present and past under tho cold, cold vravoa ?

What was that stretching far out almost boyond hor eight? 'Twaa tho pier whore thoy loaded and unloaded vessels. She would go out on that a littlo way. Sho would not drown horeclf ■- no! no! only walk out over tho waves and watch thorn splash ing against tho abutments beneath hor. Sho was young and strong ; it would bo so hard to dio.

No ono noticed tho fair young girl in widow's weeds wandering out on the pior among tho tiers of cordwood. Sho wont on and furthor on ; beneath hor lay tho cruel, treacherous waves. Oneloap, and all would be over : the waters would uncirclo her, and the (bating driftwood would float on tho same as ovor ! But no; an icy hand seemed to ro ich out and save her from herself, and turning with a weary sigh, aho hurried toward the shore. It was co far, so very far ; sho was faint and weary ; sho could scarcely scoher way, and just at the water's edgo her poor feet, bonumbed with cold, stumbled, and sho fell into tho leaping waves. A faint cry struggled from her lips, a terrified, agonisod cry ; a brawny labourer beard it, and saw with dismay the woman's form sink from sight. For just ono second's space ho stood as if paralysed ; thon, hurrying toward tho spot, ho waited for her reappearance She was borno on the crest of an incoming wavo almost to his feet ; another minuto and she would be washed out again, nover to return. With oneloap hestrotched out his toil-worn hands and clutched her drees. The water was receding. Would ho loso hor again ? No ! no! and clutching her garments with a firmer clasp ho drew hor from tho waves and laid her tenderly on the beach.

"A suicide!" So thought this timely rescuer, and snatching up tho lighted lan tern ho had dropped, he hold itabovotho girl'a fuco, scanning it curiously.

It was by mere chance this man was on tho beach ; his cottage was only a fow rods distant, and he had como in soarch of drift wood for fuol; but now he forgot everything savo the young girl lying unconscious be neath his gaze.

Sho was no ordinary suicide ho felt puro ; that dainty, high-bred face, refined oven in its rigidity, was not the face of a common unfortunato, but of a lady whom cruel ad versity had drivon to this step !

Hark ! Some ono was coming. Tho moon just bursting through a cloud revealed two men in the police uniform, their brass buttons and stars glistening in tho silvery light. They must not find thin fair young girl; sho might bo dead, and thoy would send her to the morgue, or, worpo still, if living, to the polico station, as a suspicious character ; sho did not belong there, and, gathering bor up in his strong arms, ho carried her rapidly towards his little home.

Sho breathed ! Ah ! yes, ho was sure of that! Opening tho door ho entered tho tiny cottage ; two women looked up at his suddon entrance, screamed slightly, and then grew palo as thoy caw the strange burden ho cirriod. It was no armful of driftwood to bo laid in tho oven and dried, but a fair girl with curls of rod-gold hair streaming over his shoulder !

Ono of tho women, rod-haired and ruddy faced, started forward impulsively and fixed the bed for him to lay her on; then the wine brown eyes fluttered and How open wildly, and the palo lips murmured : "Katio ! Katio !"

Tho ruddy-faced young woman poeitd into tho stranger's countenanco anxiously. What did she mean by calling " Katio ! Katio !" Surely she did not know her.

Again tho young voico rose in delirium " Katio ! savo mo ! save mo !"

Katio Maguiro, for it waa eho, caught tho small hands in hers, and, in a wondering, awo struck tono, said :

"Bo aisy, Mies Candico, darlint! Katio will save you, ahure !" How camo this fair young girl here, lying so low, for now sho was cortain it was Miss Candico of Vnlloy Farm? "Can it be," Katio thought, wondoringly, "that sho is in need of friends and has come to poor Irish Katie? Shuro, 'tis cruel treatment hai drove her to this !"

"You know her, KatieV" It was her brother's voice, bringing her back to the present. " Know her !" Katie answered, quickly. "Shure I know the poor lamb so well I ■would do aught in tho wide werld for hor ! It's Mistross Maynard's own niece, moro shamo to her to drive tho child to this ! Dear Miss Candico, do you know Katio ?"

The brown oyes rosted for ono moment on tho girl's ruddy face aB if in recognition, and the pale lips murmured : " Katie ! kind, good Katie I I have hunted for you so long !" But the girl was delirious ; Pat was ox cludod from tho room and Candico's wot garments wore changed for warm dry ones from Katio's slendor wardrobe.

Mrs Maguire looked anxiously at Katio as they disrobed her, but Katie, resolved to shield Cttndice at any coot, met her sister in-law's gaze defiantly. " 'Tis all right !" she said, as if rosonting the slightest intimation of wrong. •' Shure the poor thing's husband is dead and sho bo nearly crazed ! Mayhap sho will die if sho don't g"ot cared for quickly !" and so tho really kind-hearted sister-in-law asked no further questions ; I'at was despatched im modiatoly for a doctor, and boforo morning the feoble wail of an infant was heard in that humble cottage, and Mark Maynard had an heir. But tho mother's life was despaired ot; sho raved in hor delirium of Mark, and called on Katie pitoously to save her from tho cruol waves. The kind hoarted Irish e irl kept by her sido constantly, assuring her in tender tones that she would cave hor.

CHAPTER XL

TIIK JIUBDKK o*' HIKE,

Fob several woeks Candice lay fighting tho battle of life Katio excluded the rofct of tho family from tho room entirely, for not for worlds would she have them hear what Candico said in hor delirium. And to Katie the girl's ravings wore a revelation, for the constant, nover-varying refrain was of Mark, begging him to tell tho homo folks. Katio could not read, or she would havo known that tho piece of paper she had token from the girl's bosom was a marriage cer tificate, but thinking it was something of importance, sho laid it safely away until the girl should recover, if she ever did. She understood now that Mark Maynard wm to bW for the Kirl-BM4 plight, and if she could have red tho papers ehe would have noticed Mark's advertisment for Candice to return to Valley Farm. But Kate, thinking she would do Candice a kindness by keeping silent, would not inform one single member of tho Maynard family that iIM «8 with her. If Mark had aPP<^ on tho threshold of that cottage, tho horj Irish girl would have slammed the door in his faco. , .. ,-,.i_ Kutie tooV complete charge of tho little flaxen-haired infant boy, with eyea « pansy blue and curling blonde hair like thoeo of the young father who had nerer gazed upon his baby boy, nor know that Candice was a mother. , It waa Katio who bought the fabrics and stitched away on garmenta for tho protty

littlo infant that lay so contentedly at Its uncon-cious raothor's sido. It waa Katie who, whon it cried with hunger, would patiently drop by drop put milk in its tiny mouth, and when it cried with pain would walk with it hour aftor hour until the little head dropped on hor shoulder and it would sloop ; and then with it tightly clasped to hor she would sit for hours holding it in her kind, strong arms, while it slept the dream less sloop of infancy. But at last Candico awok« onco more with the light of reason shining in the wine brown eyes, and looked about her wonder-

ingly, first at Katio, in the big arm-chair, with tho 3looping infant in her arms. Sho could not understand it. How came eho here, with Katio by hor sido, and whoso baby could that boY

"Katio!" sho called, but hor voico was weak and Katio not easily awakened; so with a little contented sigh Candico droppod off into a quiet, refreshing sleop.

When Katio awoke with n littlo guilty start, Candice was once moro arousod and crying: •' Where am I, Katio V" Her voice was weak nnd tremubus.

"Hush, darlint! you must not talk,'' Katie said, soothingly, noting that this was not delirium. "Bhuro 'tis Kato that's caring for you ! Just lay there quiet like, and iook at your baby;" and Kato laid the infant by hor side, " My baby ?" and Candieo gazed at it wondoringly, as it lay with its little roso bud faco close to hors. Now sho romom-

bored it nil : her Might, and tho search foi

Katio. How did sho como boro? She did not recollect finding hor after searching so long, but Candico was' vory weak, and in tho offort to remember once moro foil asleep, whon Katio stolo on tip-too from tho room.

"Tho poor dear is hotter," sho said to

ho»sister-in-law, "and I'm that worn-out that if you will listen and see when she wakes, I'll be after taking a breath of fresh air." It was that vory day Lota and Alda hai seen her from tho window. After that Candieo'a recovory waa quite rapid. Sho would lio for hours at a time watching tho baby sleeping by hor sido, and traco in its tiny features a resemblance to tbo young husband at Valley Farm. "My baby !oh ! my baby !" sho would whisper to it, softly. " What a horitage is yours !" and hot tear? would cllilso oach other down hor palo young olioeks ; but nevertheless sho regained hor health rapidly, and in a few weeks was ablo to sit in the big easy chair, propped up by pillows. One morning Katio wheeled hor to tho win dow. Candico started in surprise. The last thing bho could remember was that the weather was cold, bitterly cold, and rhv was wandering out on the streets, friondless and alono; now tho trees woro full of summer's foliage, and tho sunshine, glinting through the small window panes, bathed hor pale faco in its ruddy glow until it looked like thut of somo fair, pictured saint. Candico was changed ; so changed that if Mark had passed by at that moment he would not havo recognised in this pale faced, sad-oyod woman, his roso lipped, bonnio Candico of a little ovor a your ago. Hor eyes, roving over tho busy throngs of peoplo passing, saw them not : hoi thoughts were always of Mark, her young husband. Sho was thinking of him now with a yearning tenderness. Had he missed her in tho least, or was ho glad that she had taken hor presence from out his life, although tho shadow yet remained' Candico's long auburn curls had been cut oft" close to her head during her sickness, and Katio had wrapped them in tissue paper and laid them away : now tho young mother's head was covered with boyirli locks, crisp and curling, of deepest, darkest bro.vn ; not ono trace uf reddish gold re mained. And Candicc, gazing at her changed appearance ill tho littlo mirror Katio brought her, was glad ; for oven if sho-should meet the folks from homo they would scarcely recognise thin dark-haired, widowed mother as the girl they remem bered. Katio was Candico's most devoted attend and, but as the young mother rogaiiiod her strength sho noticed that this kind Irish family w. ro poor: the little shop barely hHorded tho commonest of livings, and Katio was inroad to tend it more and more, while Pat worked as a day labourer whon ovor ho could get work of any description whatever to do. Candico caw with rogret that every little delicacy was bought o.xpros.-ly for her, and that none of tho family would touch a •niorsol of it ; she thought with dismay that it was through her money was .-o scarco with tho Maguiros. The doctor's bills and tho additional expense of horself and baby had exhausted their little store of money, and Candicc saw ono day that kiml-htmrtuil Mrs Maguiro was making overalls at five cuts a pair, a starvation price, for one of ho neighbouring shops. Sho was strong nougli now, nnd must do something. Thi charitable family must n"t support her in idleness ; but what could she do with an infant on her hands?

TilK ADVEUTISKMKNT

It was summer, warm and sultry, and the door loading from tho sitting-room into tho little shop who-c Kutio tended was open. Candico, watching tho kind-hearted Irish girl at hor work, thought and thought con stantly about what she could do to run money, but tho baby troublod her. \\ hat could she do with it :

Littlo Mark was crying now, and Katio, bustling in from tho chop, took him from his mother's arms.

" Shure it's meself," the said, laughing gayly, " that can tako care of baby bottor than its. own mother! Hush: hush! mo darlint, Katio don't abuse tho boy and mamma does !" and sho tossed him, tumbled him, until the little fellow actually laughed outright. Katie really took most of the charge of tho baby, and Candico, nothing Katio's fondness for the child, was struck with a now

idon. She would obtain a situation, anJ Katio could tend ."hup and euro for the baby also Yes ! yea i she mint do some thing, and this was the only way ; with a roof to covor her own head, eho would save all her earnings for Katio and tho baby. " Bring mo tho paper.-, Katio, 1 want to look at thorn," Candico-aid, quickly. " I'll go buy ono," Katio said, quietly, " for wo nono of us read, and there's nono but wrappin' paper in the shop or house." "All right, Katio," Candico said, cheer fully, full of hor now project. " f.*ll take baby,and you buy oneof tho latest editions," and Katie, obeying, hurried out, wondering what new idei Candico had in hor head. Hut it was soon oxplained to hor, for tho first thing that tho oyes of Cnndico noted waa an advertisement of a position that sho folt sure sho could fill, It ran thus :

" Wanted-A young woman as compan ion for an invalid ; mu«t bo propoaeossing and intelligent "

Then followed street and nambor at which application was to bo undo. Candico noticed with satisfaction that no roforoncos woro required, and calling Ratio in pho told her briolly what shu was going to do. "Oh ! Mies Canriico, you lnu.-t not ! and Katio shook hor head in a ncgativo fashion, but when blio found that Candice wasdotor mined she listened more ({uiotly to hor plans for tho furturo. " You must tako oaro of Baby Mark, ' tho young niothor said, with tears in hor eyes, " and I will pay you for it, Katio." "No! no!" Katio said, decidedly. "'I want no pay for oaring for tho elarliut:" but Candico was firm,and at lastK-itio consented reluctantly. Now for the first timo sinco hor sickness, Candico thought with some interest of hor appoaranco, and concluding to still retain tho widow's coatumo, elie manufactured a very becoming widow's cap from sorao laco that had been givon to Katie by a kind hoarted mistress, and was soft and dolicato. Candico surveyed ib with satisfaction ; it' woe very becoming. But what troubled the young niothor most was this : hor oyos had been weak ever einco hor illness, and it had bocomo neces sary for hor to wear glasses to shield them from tho light—dark, smoke-coloured glasses that hid hor oyos so completely that one could not tell if thoy wore black, blue, groy, or brown, after tho first glanco in the mirror Candico turned away sadly. She was not prepossessing ; thoy would not employ hor ; but nevertheless she would try, and pressing her old black dross out as neatly as possible and donning it with the widow's hat and vail, sho kissed Baby Mark sadly and started to Eearch Chicago for the street and numbor designated in the advertisement ; but thia time it was not such a useless quest as her search for Katio had boon, and she soon found herself, trembling and excited, standing on tho stops of a vast brown-stone mansion. Kinging tho bell quickly boforo hor courage "failed, she waited expectantly. Then she wildly thought of fleeing from the epot before tho door was oronod ; but it waa too late ; already some one was coming. It was a servant. " I called in answer to an advertisement 1 saw in the paper," Candice said, hurriedly, fearing lest she should sink fainting on the door-step. The man bade her follow him ; passing through tbe marble-floored hall, h« opened

n door and ushered her into a room al warmth and sunshine. A yellow bird hung in a gilded cage, nearly bursting its little throat iv song, and an old man rose ut her entrance At first, almost blinded by lhe Hood of brightness in tho room,, such a strong contrast to tho dark hallway through which sho had just passed, she did not recogniso him. "I came in answer to the advertisement in to-day's papor concerning a companion for an invalid," sho said.

She had takon a step forward eagorly, and now, for tho first time, gassed at the old man's faco ; a startlod cry escaped hor lips, for it waa Uncle Sam Desbro who stood before her : had bo recognised her? But no sign oi recognition appeared in tho keen old eyes rogarcling her curiously, y«t kindly. " Do you wish tho position :" he asked. Should sho toll him yoa, or, turning, floe from his prosonco V But ho had not recog nised hor : why thon should sho give up this chanco, if chance it woro, for hor own ami baby's support? Ho would not know hor, she was s» changed; and thon thoso hatoful glasses, how thankful sho was for thorn now !

With lightning rapidity those thoughts chased each othor through her brain. No, sho would not throw this chance away, but trust to tho changes in hor to conceal .her identity.

So, in answer to the old man's question, sho rospondod low and tremulously that sho would liko tho position if ho thought sho would suit. Mr Desbro asked sovoral moro questions, wkich sho answerod its quiotly a.« eho could, and thon in braver tones ns sho saw she was not recognised sho told him she was a widow with one child, a baby boy, and needed work so badly. Mr Dosbro was vory much intorestod in this palo young woman who stood almost liko a. culprit boforo him ; ho thought sho "■as timid, and pitied hor tho inoro. bul willingly aa ho would havo taken her tho baby was a groat drawback, and he told her so in gentle, kindly toned. "My doar Madam,' ho said earnestly, "1 like your face, and would give you tho preference over all tho other applicants if it woro not for ono thing, your baby. My ward is in a very precarious condition, and (Uo least noiso oxcitoa hor, so wo could not very well manage with a baby in tho house,' "Oh! sir," Candieo said, eagorly, "I did not moan that ! Indeed, 1 would not bring my baby hero; 'twill bo woll cared for elsowhoro ; I would only nsk that I might fee it onco in uwhile, whonover you could spare mo from my duties." " Poor child," ho said, kindly, "you can conio then and try it for a time ; i' you do not liko it, of courso you neod not stay, md you can go and visit your baby when you choose. Would you liko to eoe Miss L^rno, the lady you aro to attend '! ' Candieo answered in tho allinnativo, anxious now to luvo tho ordeal over, and see if the could withstand nnothor pair of eyes and conio oil unknown. Alda was reclining in an invalid's chair, white and weak : hor hands, which lay idly dusped In her lap, were almost transparent, md tho bluo veins looked nearly bhek by contrast with tho mnrblo llesh. Sho w.h *urtly approaching closer and closer to tho other shore : only n few moro weeks at tho furthest could sho linger on oartli. MrlK'sbro approached the in valid, and enid, softly : " Alda, thi.< is tho young woman 1 havo engaged as companion to you. Sho will read to you and itinueo you when you ui-li." " You arc very kind, Guardio," Alda said, tremulously, and thon a spasm of coughing shook and rackod hir frame; ifter this was ovor cho gapod curiously at the slight ti;;uro before hor, aivl thon, orer courteous to strangers, said, kindly : " \ ou do not look voiy strong and you ire tired ; «ill you not lm.o a chair?'1 '■ No, thank you," Candieo said, grnto fully, feeling as if sho were in an angel's iiresonce. " I will hurry home, make n few preparations, ami return immediately." Mr Donbro led her back to the cheerful r.iom she hid tii--<t entered, and then told iior gravely the price ho would pay for her -ervire. "Does it suit you?" ho eaid, wnnduring at her start of surprise " Suit me !" she said, sobs almost chok ing Inr utterance. "If you oidy know what it will bo to Baby Mark and mo I" ho raid tlii-< quickly, gratofully, not think ig he nii^ht recognise that name, but ho did not, and with a feeling of thank fulness in her heart that sho would no longer bo dependant, s-h.i hurriuii inpldly toward homo and Baby Mark, and catching ■lim up from tho bod where ho was crowiny md sucking his thumb at her entrance, sho hugged him to hor heart, thankful for tho privilege of caring for hur darling, her pro- I'imn baby boy. Itatio was informed uf tho dm-Miin arid listened wondoringly when Candico told n'hn it was wanted iier Mrrico-'. "And tiiey did not know yon, poor darlint!" Katio said. "No wonder, for 1 would niver know you moself if 1 had not tindod you through it all I" So Candico, after nearly sraothoring littlo Mark with kisses, left him, jumping nnd crowing contontodly in Katio's arms, «nd ro traced her steps toward the houso sho had led a short tinio boforo. Hur stop was almost light, and tho futuro lookod brightor tj hor than it had dono for month) ; no longer dopondont on othors' bounty, sho would work, live ior baby Mark ! No rustling broczo whispered of tho sad oyotl young husband of Valley I'arm, mourning her loss as ono dead, and blaming himself for hor shipwrecked life, while his sun seemed for ovor sot in darkness ! Sho

imagined him always gay, laughing and in dolont, with scarcely a thought for tho young wife ho had wrjngod so cruelly !

CHAPTER XIII.

ARDUOUS DUTIK.i

[t wa? no sinecure, this rorvlng «8 com :nnion to an invalid, but work from morn ing till night. " The spirit is rilling, but

tho flesh is weak," and Candico for the tiret fow days could scarcoly botr it, and it was only tho thought of tho buby that kept hor up Strange as it may cocm, this dying girl had taken a groat liking to Candice. " What shall I call you ?" sho had askod Candico on her arrival.

I'nor child ! she had not thought of that, and under a suddon impulse anßwored:

" Slay : call me May, Miss Lorno." " What is your whole namo?'' Alda asked, moro for soinothing to say than might elso, and Candico answered, truth-

fully enough thij timo : " Loo ; my name is Marion Leo, but call mo May, Miss Lorno ; do not call mo Mrs Leo."

Alda complind, half wondering ttt tho sharp pain in tho young voice, llow could sho guotss this daik-robcd widow was think ing of tho innocont Oandice Loo who had p;ono to Valley Farm, nnd how that poor, tortured heart was yet quivering over tho way in which hor happy girlhood had ended!

The hands that smoothed tho invali'" pillows wore soft and tender, tho voi ■ that road to hor by tho hour was low ana sweet, and tho delicate broth and tempting moreols wore nil prepared by May with tender solicitude

Sho looked in hor black robes hovering ovor that sick couch like some gracious Sister of Charity, soino fair, pale nun at her holy ministrations to tho sick and dying ; and Alda, noting the low voice and soft touch,' had tondorly christened her

"Siitec May." And Sistor May, who in days gono by had 'ooked on this fair girl with envy and jealousy, now sought by erory means in her powor to mako hnr last days paas away at loast in contentment. So essential to Alda's happinosd did eho become that when she awakened and Sifter May was not by hor bulo, hor young eyes would wander rest lessly toward tho door until sho made her appearance; thon with a littlo contented sigh, tho invalid would sink back among the pillows. May, as we must now call her, noticod Alda's partiality, and rarely loft her side oxcept to go for a few moments to kiss and fondlo B'lby Mark. Each time she gazed at tho lovoly infant ifc seemed as if Mark, hor young husband, wore before her in miniature. How sho missed the tiny baby from her Iifo! No love is liko a raothor's love ; sho longed with a longing sometimes almost unbearable to stay with baby always, and dreaded her return to the darkened chamber of sickness. But that

was impossible. Sho could not remain with Baby Mar':; sho knew he was well cared for, as Katie loved him dearly and spent every extra hour from the shop in fashioning dainty garments for her pet, hor wee man as she callod him Candic* came loss and less frequently on account of Alda's condition. When sho did como, however, and stretch out hor arms to him expectantly, ho would put his curly head cloeo down on Katie's shoulder and glance in roguish re bellion at his anxious, waiting mother! Ah ! babies aro tyrants ever, and her hoart would aohe with a dull throbbing pain bocause her baby boy was forgetting hor ! " Come, Mark," she would fay, coax ingl3'; "como to mamma, darling!" but tho curly blondo head would bo instantly laid on Katie's broad shoulder, and the only thing Candice could do was to tak» him

forcibly nnd carry him to the window to at tract his attention ; then ho would stay very contontodly with her during tho re mainder of hor visit. 'Twas very hard for her to be parted from Baby Mark, vory, very hard ; but who would want both mother and child ? Sho must be content as it was. Should she not be grateful above all olso for tho situation so opportunely obtained ? Sometimes when she was reading to Alda her eyes would fill with a blinding rush of tears, and sho would have to turn Hor head and dash them aaido hurriod y, AJJa must not sco her cry. But Alda huit already noticed the palo girl's sadness, and one day said, kindly, pityingly : " Will you not toll mo your story, Sistor May? Tell me why you weop? Surely sympathy ia sweet to ua all." But Sistor May, with a cry of intense pain, sobbed wildly: "1 cannot, oh! I can not !' Alda was not satisfied, and in low, plead ing tones asked for hor confidence. "I will toll you my own hoart sorrow first," sho said, sadly ; " thon Burely you will tell mo yours ; but you sorrow for the dead, I for the living. You think, porhaps, Siater May, that thoughts of lovo and mar-

riago are not for mo, but I havo been foolish enough, wild enough, to indulge in them. Hero aho waa interrupted by a spoil of coughing so long continued that it loft hor almost panting for broath ; thon eho ro- Burned.

" Last tummor,"sho said, softly, scarcely above her breath, " I first mot him ; ho was bo strong, so masterful, that my hoart went out to him. I could not help it, though I had no right to think of onrthly love. " I loved him passionately and I love liim yot • Mark ! Mark ! my darling !" and a throo of pain passed ovor tho lovely face. "Nay, do not stop me," sho continued, as Sister May made a littlo, deprecating ges ture and strove to stem tho torrent of her words ; " I love him, none savo God knows hovrwell, buthedooanot know it; however, it ia bottor so, for ah I my love is not re turned !" Mark did not lovo this dying girl then ! Evon in that momont Sister May felt a little glad thrill steal through hor ; then pity for tho young creature lying so holplessly before her tilled her heart to tho oxculeion of all elso. Alda'a sorrow was almost ac groat as hors, loving for a year this handsomo young man, not knowing ho was already woddod, and finding it at last a ca-o of unrequited passion, while thoangolof death was hover ing ovor hor, waving hia black pinions above hor bond and waiting, waiting ! "Now will you not toll mo what makes you pad 1" It waa Alda's voico, wooing her from hor rsvorie. Kiator May answorod, in a tremulous voice : " Miss Lome, 1 pity you, but oh ! my story is too sad for ov<<n your sympathis ing eari. I nan toll you only this —if it woro not for my baby boy 1 would not care to Use ! Tho man you adore was not untrue to you, for you novor possessed hia lovo ; but my lifo was cruelly wrecked ! Miss Lorno, my lover, loving mo, woddod mo and broko my heart !" " But ho is dead,'1 Alda eaid, gently, frightened at tho storm of passion sho had awakoucd in pale sad-eyed Sister May. " Aye, ho is doad to me," tho lattor answered, almost stonily, but tho words "to me " wero very faintly uttered, and Alda did not hear them ; after this conver sation thore soemed a closer bond betweon these two fair women, and Sister May caw with a heart made still badder, if that could be, that Alda daily grow weaker and weaker. Undo Snm, as Alda always called Mr Dosbro, was vory grateful to this black robod woman who lingered so patiently at Alda's side; not tho faintest wish was uttered but »ho fulfilled it if sho could. Ho watched Sistor May curiously. Somo whoro in tho fur-away past ho had mot aonio ono who resembled this woman ! Who could it bo'; He puzzled his brains in vain. A turn of tho head or somo gesture would sot him thinking ; occasionally it would almost como to him whom sho rosomblcd most: then a chance word would dispel tho illusion, and ho would bo as completoly in tho dark us ovor. This pale faced widow was suroly naught to him, yot ho took n "strange interest in he'", and moro than onco caught himsalf thinking about hor baby boy. Only hor glissus saved hor from

recognition, for if ho had caught v glimp.-o of her wine brown eyes tho missing link would huvo boon supplied and ho would havo remembered it all.

Sister May also was drooping. Tho old man saw that, It was very hard on this dolicato, tender woman, this night watching and daily attendance ; but Alda would havo no ono olso. Sho was aellish, possibly, but who could blame a dying girl?

Tho ond was vory near, und tho old man's oyos wero suspiciously full of moisture when ever ho thought of it: Sister May waa moro attentive than over : skilful doctors had mot in earnest consultation, and tho word had gone forth that Alda might live a day, even a week, but surely not longor. Tho sufloror guessed it from thoir pitying glances.

" Toll mo, am 1 going to dio ?"' sho asked, reading hor answer in thoir averted heads and saddened looks. Sho turnod her taco to tho wall and lay in silence for somo time ; thon sho said, gently : " Undo, guardie, I want you to sond for Murk and Lota "

Knowing her pitiful secrot, ho consontod, nnd that vory aftornoon a mossago wont speeding o\er tho wiros.

CHAPTER XIV,

"I WILL (10 TO HKR."

Tiik loaves were just beginning to fall when tho telegram camo to Vnlley Farm, startling tho inmatos out of thoir accus tomed quiot

Alda dying ! poor Alda ! so very young to die !

Mrs Mnynard had not boon very strong for como time, and tho shock nearly unnerved her.

"I cannot leavo mothor," I.ota said, nor rously ; " and oh ! I cannot soo Alda die ! Do not ask me to go !"

Mark had answered, sternly: "Shame on you, Lota, fora coward ! You must go, child ; sho has sent for you, remember, and I will go to her." So Mark and Lota, with saddonod hearts, hastened as fast as steam could cany thorn toward tho city where Alda lay dying.

Alico was Mrs Maynard's greatest com fort now ; badly as tho young girl wantod to see her dying friend, sho would not loaro hor mother ; so sho was obligod to bo con tent and wait for furthor tidings, which Mark had promisod thoy would surely sotid.

Unclo Sam met tho arrivals when they alighted from tho hack at tho gate. Ho shook handa with Moil; kindly and touchod his lips to Lota's forehoad in greoting.

" How is aho ?" Mark almost whispored. "Still with us, (lint is all," tho old man answered, sadly, " and hourly asking for you." A servant conducted them to thoir rooms, ulmro they waehod away tho dust of travel • '■ ''trashed their dieordorcd hair ; thon,

.y, thoy waited tho summons to tho sick room. It aimo a last, and with soft tread and saddened mion thoy entered the chamber. Jt was darkened ; only a. faint gleam of daylight shone through the closed shutters; eomo moments elapsed beforo Mark and Lota becamo nccustomod to tho gloom; then Alda spoke; hor voico was soft and low like the wind playing over the strings of a broken harp.

"Markand Lota, come to me," she said.

Mark bont his handsoino head reverently us ho approachoi tho dying girl, and taking her poor little hand, said, brokonly : " Alda !oh ! Alda !" That was all; his strong young roico, now as tender as a woman's, faiterod and broke, whilo toars which were no disgrace to his manhood courted down his sun-bronzed cheeks.

" Do not weep !" Alda said, gbntly. "Be lievo mo, dear frionde, it is best aa it is. I could never bo woll and strong like others, and it is better, much better, for mo to bo at res*! Mark !" and Alda's voice sank almost to a whispor, " Mark ! oh ! my love, I could not dio without seeing you ones moro I Girls do not generally toll their love," she addod,with a little, wan finilo, "but this if> difl'orent, Mark, for I am dying !" No one noticod tho black-robed Sister May, crouching by tho chair on which Alda was lying ; no one noticed tho storm of sobs which shook her slender frame at the sound of hor young husband's agitated Toice.

" Alda ! oh ! Alda ! my pure white dove, 1 am not worthy of such lovo aa yours !" Mark groaned. How did this black-robod kuecler know his heart was torn by bitter, reproachful thoughts? How did eho know that this list confession of tho dying girl was as so many dazgor points piercing his heart?

He had sinned, had wrecked his own life by his indolent ways ; his wife, liin poor, wronged darling, ho had driven from him, and now this confosMon came to him from Alda's dying bed, nnd well !io know he wa» not wholly guil 'L'H' Ho had won her lovo caroltßsly, thoughtlessly, and he a married man ; hut she did not know it, did not dream of it.

" You will not leave me, Mark ?"

"No, I will not leavo you, dear 1 " and Mark, with her frail young hands clasped

closely in his, stood quietly, patiently, wait ing. Once the pale lips murmured faintly, and Mark, bonding above her, heard her sweet voice speak his name and then these words :

" Will you not kiss me, Mark!"

He complied, tenderly, lovingly, pressing his warm young Hpß to hers, already chilled by death, All through the long hours of the night he sat there, scarcely stirring for fear of dis turbing her ; but when tho first grey streaks of morning shone in the leaden oky they noticed a change in her, and, standing silently about the couch, they Badly awaited the end.

The oyolids fluttered, opened, and gazing at them from the very borders of the other world, Alda noted only two faces and her pale lips whispered : " Mark ! Guardie I"

Then all was over ; the spirit no longer in habited that fair tenement of flesh ; Alda Lome was with tho angels !

Stifled sobs filled that chamber of death ; whon tho old man, stretching out his kind old arms and finding naught but emptiness, staggered from tho room; it was black-robed Sister May who led him tondorly away and ohoered him with loving words of comfort.

(21b be Continued),

The Old Sailor.

It was still stormy at Marseilles. For some tvooks, owing to the gales which had visited tho Mediterranean, the port had been crowdod with vessels drivon in by stress of vroathor. In times like those Prospor Cor nilion reaped a harvest, for his boat was iv demand from morning till night. It waa tiring work ; but a gonorous impulse gave him onorgy. Ho was toiling with tho direct object oi obtaining hia father's frotdom. Ono evening, worn out with his unremit ting labours, Prosper had thrown himself down, with his olbows on the table, in a corner of tho cafe near tbo hearth, and soon hid head had sunk upou his arms, and he had fallen asleep. In front of tho fire waa seated his sister Nina, with 8 weary look, too, upon his face ; but her great, dreamy eyes wore wide open, for although late in the ovoning, it was not yet the hour for closing the Cafe Cornilion. At any moment a customer might enter; and some eua tomore, if Nina wore not very wakeful and attentive, woro apt to grow impatient; in dood, sho hud scarcely lesa peace and quiet noss during tho twenty-four hours than her brother Prosper. At tho moment whon it bocamo so lato that Nina was on the point of rising to turn out the lamps and lock up for tho night, tho door was slowly opened. An old sailor in a rough coat, the collar of which was turned up about tho neck, mys toriously entored the cafe. He touched his slouching hat with his sunburned, horny handjn v feoble, hesitating manner; then choosing a tuble near tho hearth, opposite to the ono upon which JProsper'a head was resting, ho sat down and bogan to stroke iiis long white beard thoughtfully, without raising his oyos. " With what, monsieur, can I sorvo you ?" Tho old man answorod, in a low voice, with hie hoad etill bent: "Cafo noir." Nina hastonod to placo a cup of coffee before him, and when sho had filled a 'ittle glass with cognac, eho resumed hor seat boforo the hoarth. The girl's chair waa placed wtih tho back toward the door. On ono sido of hor was tho table at which the old man sat sipping his coffee, and on the other sido was Prospor, still fust asleep. Looking dreamily into tho fire, Nina soemod to havo forgotten the preßonco of both those men, so deeply was she absorbed in hor thoughts. "This is tho Cafe Cornillon— is it not ?" asked tho old man. Nina started as though the voioo had awokoned hor. "Yes, monsieur," answered tho girl, recollecting horsolf, nnd looking up quickly, " the Cafe Cornillon." " Kept by Prosper Cornillon J" " Sleeping there," continued Nina, with a little jerk of tho head. "Ah," said tho old Bailor; "I am tho boaror ofamosfago," " To him ?' " Yes —to Prosper Cornillon." "Shall I rouse him?1' "No. I will delivor the mossago to you.'' "It is the samo thing," said the girl, with a pretty shrug of hor shoulders. I am his sister," '•Nina Cornillon?" " Yes ; that is my name." Tho old man loaned forward, but still without raising his oyes, and said, in a hoarse, indistinct voice : " You may romom bor, perhaps, a fow woeke ago, entertaining a young soldior who passed through this port on his way to Greoco. Your brothor convoyed him in his boat on board tho Livadla, a ship bound for Syria."

"1 romoinbor tho gentleman well," said Nina, in a faultering voica. "Ho gave Prospor a piece of gold boforo parting, to sustain us in our efforts to collect the large sum of monoy which is demanded by a Greek pirato as a ransom for our father's liberty." "It is from this young soldier, Colonol Lafont," continued tho old Bailor, "thatl bring the messago." Nina lookod round quickly, with spark ling eagor eyes. "What is the message, monnieur?"

" Well," answered tho old man, speaking slowly, " his words to you —1 mean to Pros per Cornillon wore words of encourage ment. You must nover despair ! That was how tho young colonol oxprosaed it. Bocause, as ho argued, tho day might not bo far distant whon your fathor would be set freo."

With hor eyes bontthanghtfully upon tho tiro, Nina said, "A very kind message. How good of him to think of me !" " The mossago was to Prosper Cornillon." " To think, I should say, of my brother Prosper. But—" " But," continued tho old mun, "I have not finished yot." " What more, moneiour?' The old sailor, lowering hie tone, and speaking as though ho had difficulty in not botraying some agitation, continued : It was tlio colonel's hopo thatneither of you would bo despondent—that you would rather indulge tho fancy that you had heard tho ransom domanded by this Greek pirate had been paid—that your father had regained his liberty—that he had even started on his voyago home, and was nearing tho port of Ma-soilles—"

Nina claapod hor hands and cried, in a trembling voico, " That is what I dream of, night and day !''

"Imagine, thon —even imagine—that tho ship has reached Marseilles—that it has ontorcd tho harbour. Nay ! figure to your self-though it may mako your heart boat painfully-figure to yourself a weather beaten sailor entering your cafe late ono evening - a man with a grey beard and a shaky voico—" But at this point tho old sailor was interrupted. Looking round, Nina uttered a cry of joy, and sprang up with outstretched arms and with the word "Father!" upon hor lips.

It was Captain Cornillon who had come thus as a terribly trying surprise. Yet he was so changed that oven Nina had not recognised him. But tho recognition was complete now ; bo taking his daughter in his embraco, the old sailor kissod her as he had. kissed her at their parting ten long yours ago. Not many weeks elap3ed before Colonol Lnfoiit again made his appearance «t Mar seilles, ['rospsr, who bapponed to be in tho harbour at, tba moment of his arrival, accompaniod him in triumph to the Cafe Cornillon as soon as ho landed.

Nothing could oxceed tho gratitude which was fhown by the captain and his two children toward this young soldier, who, on reaching Greece, had taken active steps to obtain the old soldier's release Years pasae.i before Niua loarned under what difficulties Colonel Lafont formed the resolution of restoring Captain Gornillon to his family. For he was not a rich man — he had gained promotion from tho ranks as a reward for bravery— and when ho had paid the ransom he had parted with nearly all tho money he possessed in the world. But he loved Nina Cornillcn. From the moment when, upon that stormy winter's night, Colonel Lafont entered the cafe and saw the girl standing by the hoarth, he had never ceased to think of the droamy face nor of the low, passion ate voice in which she had told him the sad episode in hor life. The?e events happened many years ago, and Nina and her husband, Colonel Alphonsc Lainonte who became a general before ho was 40 -should be old people now, if they are still living. But one thing is certain-on the quay at Marseilles thero still stands tho little cafe, in appearance unchanged, except that it is called tho Cafe Cornillon no longer.

Woman's E'uiem—A mother's advice to mothers: 'Ivtop by you. for youraelven and daughters, Mrs Dr. Stuart's Female Remedies. I have novor met with any medicines so well meriting the name of ' Woman's Friend.' They are invaluable 'or tho weikneaaes, hoadaches, and other troubles experienced by [cmalcD. Koad,—[Advt.P

AN AMERICAN SPECULATOR.

James K. Keene's Failure* and Triumphs in Speculative Life. j

Jay Gould's Gheatisst Antagonist —An Eventful History—His Oabeer ikCam fornia—His Daring Coups and Im mense Success—Hia Fi.val Overthrow —Personal Traits,

A slightly built man of light complexion, with cold, penetrating grey eyes, issues from the chocolate-coloured building, mansard roofed and mastic-coated, at the corner/of Exchange Place and Broad-street, and beckons to a cabman. The face is sickly looking, the expression moody almost to testinees, He is well dressed in a quiet stylo, with no perceptible display of jewel lery, he wears a Derby hat that tends to give him rather a common-place appear ance. He enters the cab, and is driven rapidly away. The man inside the rather dingy-looking vehicle, driven by a stout, jolly-faced Jehu, is a man who made 7,000,000 dols. in mining stocks in San Fran cisco in a few years, and lost most of it in Wall street. It is James K. Eeene. 11. iiT»_r T- Ail 1. :j.t- XT- V I 1

" Before Ifget through with Mr Keeno,1' Mr Gould is reported to have said some years ego, " I will break him." It is denied that Mr Gould ever made sucb a remark, His friends claim that he never indulges in throats. Butwhetherhemakesopen threats or not is of little moment. That he had considerable to do with the downfall of the bold and enterprisingCalifornian, however, seems to be a fact beyond question. Jay (iould was his evil genius. He is said to have tricked him in several large ventures which they jointly made when they happened to bo temporary allies, Then the two men became open enemies. 111. Mr Keene'a parents were English, but he

Mr Keene'a parents were English, but he was born in Lynchburg. Vn. He is now about 47 years of age. He studied law at the South, but quite early in life went to San Francisco, where for a time he prac tised his profession. He became interested in the wild mining speculation that formerly kept San Francisco at fever heat; through his professional relations with various mining companies, he became well informed on minos and speculation in mining stocks. At that time everybody speculated in these shares. It was as natural to do so as it is now for everybody to speculate in wheat at Chicago, or in petroleum at Oil City, or cotton at New Orleans, or as formerly to spoculate in railroad stocks in New York. When rough uncouth men like Flood and O'Brien became mining kings over night; when the keepers of cheap and disreputable i groggeries werotuddenly lifted to opulence; when men bribed miners with large sums to reveal tho exact outlook on tho Comstock lode, where the most profitable mines were located, a man of Mr Keene's restless, dar ing spirit might well have said that he, too, would try to scale tho height whose summit is wealth. He had nerves of steel in those times and an iron will. He made even the reckless Californians stand aghast.

At first he was a broker for stme of the large firms. Ho was what was called a curbstone broker, but he pleased bis patrons so well that some of them purchased a seat for him on the board. Ho became tie Murat of the San Francisco stock market, a gallant leader, who, as one of his admirers says, " dared to beard the bonanza kings in their den, and came off victorous with many shekels of gold and silver." One of his friends speaks of him as being at one time a " dare-devil sort of a street broker." In the board room he was no less bold. IV. In thoae titnoß—about fifteen years ago,

In those titnoß—about fifteen years ago, especially—the market price of mining shares shot up and down with a sudden ness and rapidity that took away the timid speculator's breath, and made him, as we might almost imagine, dizzy. It was a speculative orgy, a gambling debauch. The board was a commercial pandemonium, its scenos and incidents strange and in credible a? some of the extravagant fiction in tho tales of "A Thousand and One Nights." Servant girls became rich in a day ; the rich were suddenly put down from their seats of opulence and power to the level of those of financially low dogree. In the thicket of tho speculative battle, " Jim " Keene, as ho was generally known, was a conspicuous business knight, charging tho common enemy, the Bonanza Kings, with the intrepidity of a Cceur de Lion assailing a stronghold in a worthier warfare. His policy was always to do the opposit* thing to that which men like Flood, O'Brian, and Sharon apparently favoured. When they said yes, he said no. When they said sell, he bought. Ho was successful to an extraordinary degree. In a single week he made over half a million from Ophir Btock, and from the Belcher and Crown Point mines he made two and ahalf millions more. After he had accumulated 7,000,000 dols, he came East, with the avowed pur pose, it is said, of entering the Wall-street arena a« a speculative gladiator to overcome Jay Gould. That was a fatal mistake V.

Speculation is a battle. Anyone accus tomed to operations on the great Exchanges of New York realises the fact moat tho roughly. But as, in former countries, the kings at war with each other would some times eottlo their quarrel by riding out from the scrrisd lines of their armies and engag ing in single combat, co the financial warfare in New York Boon after tho down fall of the Bank of California and the suicide of Mr Ralston was changod to a business duel between the impetuous and fiery James K. Keeno and tho cold, passion lots Jay Gould. Commodore Vanderbilt was always afraid of Jay Gould. The issue of the battle betweon the free . lance from the West and the cool, schemer of tho East was awaited with the strongest interest, but it might havo boen foreseen. The impassive little man with the searching black eyes and quiet ways was victorious ; tho gallant Californian was unhorsed. VI. The struggle continued, howover, for a number of years, and not all Mr Keene's losses wore due to his ventures on the "bear" side in Wall street. He speculated largely in wheat, and ho lost hoarily bj a bogus telegram which wag sent to Chicago directing his brokers there to sell three million bushels which he owned. Ho speculated in lard and lost heavily. He dabbled in cotton. He tried to get up a corner in opium during the Turco-Russian war. He fought the Standard Oil Company in large speculations, in which he met with what the French call various success. Always fearless, always ready for a specu lative fight, he no Booner met with a reverse in one quarter than he promptly tried his luck in another.

The man is a strange compound of cool ness and excitability, of phlegm and a nervousness that leads him to chew up a dozen unsmoked cigars in a day. Sensi tive to a painful degree, all his fortitude is due to the exercise of sheer will powor. He is apt to be decidedly morose at times; his manner is frequently harsh and repellant. But this brusquenesa is due to the fact that for years he has been a martyr to dyspepsia. Ho has matsy ingratiating traits of charac ter. He is v diamond in the rough.

One of his San Franoieco admirers says of him: "He has hosts of friends—friends whom he grappled with hooks of steel. Generous to a fault, ho was brusque at times, but with tho heart of a woman, roady to melt at a momont'g notice ; open handed and open-hearted to the appeal of even an aquair.tance -no wonder that Jim Keone was the idol of the market." This represents him as he was in San Francisco. He ohanged somewhat in New York. Ho met Sam Ward, and the two became close friends. The Californian became something of a recluse; be rather avoided society, being content to learn the news and gossip of the day from the famous bon vivanl. viir. * Mr Keene is doing very little business just now. Hie fortune has dwindled to a few hundred thousand dollars from the princely co yen millions,and he was recently, it ib understood, obliged to ask an extension on notes for some two million dollars. He ia not connected with any railroads ; he has always endeavoured to lower the price of their securities, but he haa been open and manly in hiswarfaro, not like some directors of the very railroads which Mr Keene has attacked, who secretly sold the Btock short after resorting to various dishonourable ex pedients to Javour their ends. His funda are not bo invested that to secure the cash would require a marked sacrifice ; he seems to bo waiting for bettor times before at tempting to realise npon the securities whicli lie ia known to hold. In hia more prosperous days he settled 500,000d015. in his wife, and this the lady has still.

11 in office is on the fourth floor of 30, Broud street, at the earner of Exchange Place, in th« building whence we have seen him emerging at the opening of thia sketch. Ha has three rooms, well but not luxuiiously furnished. On the walla are rariouß engravings, including com» racing

pictures. Among the latter is the picture of his Foxhall. He has been quite success ful with his horsea. One won the Biennial Stakes at Ascot, England, in 1883, though the victory at Paris in 1881 was more brilliant and consolod him for Borne heavy losses in wheat. This was the victory of his horse foxhall, that won the Orand Prix. Mr Keene has been specula ting moderately, it is said, within the last few months, both in wheat and stocks, and has made, it appears, a number of successful ventures. He will not deal in puts and calls now, though not bocauso he lacks courage like Russell Sage, who with an agonising recollection of his losses in '■ puts" last year of about 8,000,000d015., would not write a " privilege" unless there were ninty-nine chances in a hundred in his favour, or better still, the whole hundred. Mr Keene lost very severely in this once special field of " Uncle Russell Sage" because he was top daring. He is now more cautioue; ho is feeling his wey. He no longer throwß 10,000 shares of stock on the market at a time.

In hit more prosperous days he lived with his family in a flat of 51, Tenth-street, in the most luxurious style. Sam Ward bought many of his pictures for him, as well as the furniture and the handsome equip ages which he then had. Mr Keene, in other words, allowed himself to be governed by Mr Ward's taste in tkese matters. He at one time appeared to be somewhat disposed to make eomothiug of a figure in society, but if thin was so it was doubtloss for the sake of his family, and not from any personal ambition in that direction. His poor health and also hie temperament tend to make him a recluse. He takes great pride in his children, especially in his son Foxhall, after whom he named the cele brated racer. He now resides near Rocka way, coming to New York every day, He is a sharp, shrewd observer of the business world, looking it over care fully, as a general might a prospective battlefield, and though he shows defect-on at times and is not quite so abstemious in business hours as formerly— relaxing doubtless only for a time as a rule rigidly adhered to in hie better days—no one questions the wonderful pluck and energy of this frail-looking man, and it is not at all improbable that he will yet re gain much, if not all, of his former prestige. —0. W. R. "of the Brooklyn Times."

THE ATCHAFALAYA CREVASSE.

By Alfeed Rochefort.

Txieei; was no finer plantation on the Bayou Atchafalaya, in Southern Louisiana —or, for the matter of that, in any other part of the State—than Colonel Vance's. Ten thousand fertile acrei ; an island sur rounded for ten months in the year by deep, currontless bayous, and for the other two moaths hemmed in by mighty, swift-mov ing floods. High water was guarded against by embankments that surrounded the es tate, and in the flood season the people on passing steamboats looked down on the land. This part of the State is literally seamed with bayoua or natural canals, which answer as highways between thepla»tations, and are tha avenues by which the rich pro ducts are transported to distant markets. Isolated though the plantations are, the people are hospitable to strangers and neighbourly among themselves; and there is an old-time courtesy and heartiness among them that is uever met with in dense communities. But apart from the natural impulse to kindlineßS, a unity of interest and the yoarly threat of a common danger serves to bring the people nearer together. A break in the embankment—or a crevasse, as it is there called—might deluge half a parish if not checked in its first stages. So well arranged is the system ot communica tion, and bo alert are the people in the flood season, that an alarm runs rapidly, and from all sides the people speed to the point of danger, and cease not their efforts until tho crevasse is repaired, or it has deepened into a roaring torrent that human strength is powerless to arrest. The embankment about Colonel Vance's plantation was very old and very strong. Wide-spreading cypresses and deep-rooted live oaks grew on in; and it was nearly hidden from sight by a tangle of flowering vines and the broad leafed water plants which grow so luxuriantly in that semi tropical land, The Vance mansion was a great rambling house in the midst of orange and mimosa groves, and back of it was quite a village of white cabins, occupied by the hands and embowered in magnolias. But the glory of the place was its live oakß, with their wide spreading, interlaced branches, draped by a mist of long Spanish moss. Colonol Vance had a son away at college, and a daughter who was being educated at homo by a governeßS, Alice Vance was just eighteen ; this was hor birthday, and from far and near, crowds of young people came in flower-adorned boats, to ottend the ffite with which the occasion was to be celebrated. It was a rare eight to see the gay flotillas moving along the watery highways, over which the cypresses and oaks "locked arms," making in places miles of shaded arcade, down which the white herons Sew in alarm at the unuHual sight. Doctor Howard's plantation was on the Atchafalaya, five miles north of Colonel Vance's, but it had become a very familiar five miles to Fred Howard, who for two years had goae down and come up bo often that even the sluggish alligators knew the dip of his oars. Fred Howard was a tall, manly young fellow, famed for his skill aa a hunter and his expertnoss in handling a boat. This morning the light shell in which he sat fairly flew down the bayou, and aa he shot past tho crowded boats, he rested on hie oars toexchange congratulations with the laughing occupants. He blushed at the gentle banter of the fair Creoles, for his love for Alice Vance was as widely known as the fact that it was reciprocated, As be neared the Vance plantation he passed a beat, in which sat a stout, dark fsatured young man of his own age. " Good morning, Bardon; beautiful day for the f6te I" shouted Fred Howard, as he swept past. At tho salutation, Peter Barden turned and fixed his black eyes on the young athlete, but made no reply. The expres sion of hia face betokened no love for young Howard.

There was a dinner spread under the livo oaks, and near by was a dancing platform, which was rarely without its whirling couples. When nic;ht came, great fires wero lit, lamps were suspended from the trees, and scores of black men moved about with flaming torches, so that it looked like a scone from the "Arabian Nights." The fete was to close at ten, and Fred Howard, aa the last set waß forming, sought out Alice Vance. As he was about to con duct her to tho platform, Peter Barden stepped before them, and said, with a clumsy bow and a motion of his arm : "Can I have the honour, Miss Vance?"

" Gladly, Mr Barden ; but this cavalier,' said Alice, looking up at Fred Howard, "has a prior claim for the dance." Peter Barden, with his back to a tree and an angry scowl on his face, watched the dancers till the last sefe was finished.

It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the boats moved off from the landing with shouts of gladsome laughter. Merry songs rang down the long arcades; and through the interlaced branches the moon beams pierced, "blazing" a path along tho bayou. Fred Howard was the very last to tender his congratulations and say " good night" to Alice Vance. And as he rowed away he was happy in the assurance that before an other year rolled round there would be another and a greater fete in the aame place, for Colonel Vance and his wife had that night given their consent where their daughter had already given her heart. Tho pull back was longer and harder than the pull down ; Fred Howard was not at tending strictly to hi 3 boat; how could he when heart and brain wero full of Alice Vanco ? What mattered his getting homo an hour sooner or later ?

About a milo bolow his father's place the Atchafalaya made a sharp bend, and a side bayou marked the entrance to Peter Bar den's plantation—a dreary place, where that young gentleman lived without any white companions. Fred turned the shell on a spot where tho moonlight shone full, and by the act he slacked hie speed. To one look ing out from the shadow that boat and its occupant would be .very conspicuous ob jects. Bang! bang ! rang out two shots, and the bullets and buckshot splashed the water in Fred's face and cut through the side of the boat.

Fred Howard was astonished, but he did not lose his presenco of mind. He knew he could not resißt, even if he had been armed, so he threw all his strength into bis oars, and though the shell was tilling through the renta. he succeeded in reaching hie own landing boforo it Bank. Ho was fully con- Tinced that the shots wero fired by Peter Barden, but he Raid nothing about the attack, not even to his father. After this ho took the precaution of going armed. For months succeeding ho frequently saw Petor Barden, who, though unable to con

ceal his hate, d:d nothing that could be construed as aggressive. Tho approaching marrinee of Fred Howard and Alice Vance was tho ruling topic of conversation for many miles around, and some of tho older people wondered why it was pet for New Yoar's Day. "Tho floods do not come till lator," they said, " but then there have been very mild win tors in the far north, when tho Mississippi and its tributaries aro in full Hood by tho last of the year." But the young people gave no thought to the floods, or if they did, it only strengthened their determination to attend the wedding. Some one has said : " It is the unexpected that happens." This year heavy rains fell over all the lower Mississippi Valley in December, and they kept falling with un ceaeing persistency; this and the open winter to the north swelled tho rivera so that by Christmas every levee was being tested to its utmost.

There are some things that it is nearly as difficult to postpone as the weathor. There is a superstition against deferring a funeral, not to speak of the inconvenience, and the same is true as to weddings. The young people along the Atchp.falaya, with saddening hearts, saw the wate: rißing higher day after day, while never an hour's cessation came to the falling rain. it soon became evident to those moßb deeply interested that tho wedding festivi ties must bo postponed for the want of guests, and that only the immediate families of the bride and groom, with tko officiating clergyman, would be in attendance. It seemod to rain harder that day of the wedding than at any time before or after. During the ceremony all the handß on the place were pacing the embankment; and even those whose whole thought under ordinary circumstances would have bean given to the happy young people, could not but think with dread of the storm in the midst of their congratulations. At this time a rat could have burrowed a hole in an hour that would have admitted the first trickle of water, following which would come a a-evasse and a deluge.

An enemy with a spado could have cut a ditch in a few minutes that the flood would speedily convert into a roaring torrent. But there was no dread of an enemy ; no man could be so fiendish aa to attempt such a wholesale destruction of life and property. The dark day wore into the blackest of nights, and word came in from the men pacing the embankment that it was with difficulty the flood was kept back from points hitherto considered strong and secure. That they might not bo lost for the want of vigilance it was decided to pui ovary man, woman, and child that could do duty on guard. Colonel Vance, hia son and tho clirgy man donned their water proof coats, and, procuring lanterns, said they would go a»d keep watch. " And I," said Fred Howard, " will go with you." They tried to prevail on him to remain back, but he was not tho man to shirk a danger. Putting on long boots and oiled clothes, he kissed his brido, and with a lantern in one hand and a spade in the other, he wont out and took up a position on the threatened embankment.

All around tho plantation the moving lights could be seen, showing where the faithful guards ware patrolling. The little circles, lit up by each lantern, showed that the flood was, in some places, but a few inches from the top of the levee, and that even a heavy step in tho spongy ground might make a fatal break. There was not even an occasional flash of lightning to relievo the dense blackness of the heavens, from which the rain poured steadily down, as if again to drown out the sinking earth. Now and then Fred heard a crash* and he would raise his lantern to sec a tree tossed on the roaring flood and whirled out of sight like a plaything. Despite his waterproof clothing, tho rain came through, and before he had been out an hour he was as wet aa if ho had been plunged into the bayou. Another tree tors post, and he was in the act of lowering his lantern, when he saw a boat, and in that boat a man. He rubbed the moisture from his eyes and looked again, but boat and man were swept out of sight. "It looked like Peter Barden's face," mused Fred Howard. " But surely he would not venture out such a night." Satisfied with this reasoning, he turned and began to walk down tho bank to where he saw a light, about a hundred yards away. He had gone over half the distance, when he was startled by hearing a shot; this was the danger signal agreed on. He ran to the place where the light had vanished with the shot, and great was hia horror to find a trench dug over a wounded black man.

The man was shot through tho right breast, but he was able to tell that he came upon a man digging on the top of the em bankment ; that ho ran at him, and was Bhot just as he struck the man with hia spade. "And where is this man now?" asked Fred Howard.

" Gone, sah, as he came—in de boat t" gaeped the faithful negro. The ring of the pistol brought a score of men and women to the point of danger. The instant the wounded man was lifted from the ditch, the water began to pour through, and as the soil was spongy, the current threatened to eat such an opening for itself as would speedily turn the mighty flood of the Atchafalaya into the planta tion.

With spado and axe the people went to work, piling logs and throwing earth into the chasm. Thiire was no chance to summon assistance from the neighbouring plantations till after daylight, when it would be too late to render aid.

It now became a fight for life—property was out of the question. The bride and her mother heard the awful news, and hastening to the point of danger they joined their efforts to those of their relatives and servants : but still no gain was made on the fatal breach.

The grey dawn came to show the fatigued workers the frightened faces of their com panions, and the extent of the damago that threatened them. Tho flood was tireless, and the bravest began to lose heart. Boats were got in readiness, but there wore not half enough to accommodate the people. "It is a useless fight," eaid Colonel Vance, coming back to whore his wife and daughter stood. The words had but passed his lips when a cheer burst from the peoplo on top of the embankment, and the down-flowing stream was suddenly checked. He ran up, as did Mrs Vance and Alice, and the cause of tho exultant shout met their eyes.

A boat, thrown by tho current to the shore, had drifted broadside into the crevasse, and checked tho torrent In this boat Peter Barden lay, dead, with a spado by his side, and a frightful gash down his face.

The body was lifted out, nnd tho boat filled with other earth ; aftor which it was found possiblo to thoroughly repair tho breach.

Boforo ovoniag tho rain ceuted, and tho waters began to subside

An investigation nhowod that Peter Barden got drunk tho day of tho wadding. and swore to his servants that he would drown out tho Vances and Howards. Though nearly successful in this, tho moans he employed defeated ttio end ho had in view. Tho shot at tho negro gave tho alarm, and tho blow of tlio negro's spado re- Biiltod in his own deatli. Though severely wounded, Barden rowed buck against the current until his strength gave out. Then, as if directed by an overruling hand, hia boat drifted back and into tho crevasse, so bringing safety.

Tho faithful black man recovered, and being a famous musician, ho ltd tho players at the bridal rucoption that came oil' when the water had subsided.

Though many years havo paused sinco tho events wo havo narrated, Peter liardon's odious memory has not died out on tho Atcbafalaya; and to this day oIJ Colonel Vance delights to tell his grandchildren of the New I'ear's crevasse, and how thoir father and mother spent their wedding night on the wator-soaked embankment.

Homes of the English Working Classes.

The bill produced by the Marquis of Salis bury, "An Act to Amend the Law re lating to Dwellings of tho Working Clasoes," provides for tho adoption of tho Labouring Classes' Lodging Houses Act for the Motro polis and any urban or rural sanitary dis trict. In the event of removal from their presont sites of Milbank Ponitontiary, Pontonvillo Ponitontiary, and Coldbath fiolds Prison, such sites may be conveyed to tho Metropolitan Board o/ Works, so that that body may be onublod, without incurr ing aoriouK 1o?h, to appropriate them foi the purposes of labouring-class lodging, houses. Tho Artisans' Dwellings Act will be amended, and extended to all urban sanitary districts iv England. Tho general sanitary law wilt also be amended, and in any contract for letting an unfurnished house thero shall bo implied a condition that tho house is in all respects reasonably fit for human habitation.

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATUKDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1885.

3