VELLA VERNELL: OR, AN AMAZING MARRIAGE.

BY MBS SUMKKB IUvI.RK,

» tharot "Little GoMlO." "Tho autinigni A Marriage," "Geraldine." etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXV

AT THE EXPOSITION

" Some faces show The last act of a tragedy in their regard.

..* very singular marriage!" repeated L(iwyer Grime, for tho third time that Mrs Cham laughed out in a way that .Lowed to perfection all her dazzling teeth. "Very ' Sucll a ma(l marriaße noTer waß before ■»' she quoted, vivaciou.%. «SThlSfmmonao,nb.roo f od n SS which gas and electricity, globed do their united best to illn- brilliantly raccood. At the S t ported unho. load into rooms V iJa tn art and sou pture ;in a division Irtie grand entrance puflf, and spin, and JnA and steam miniature engines, mam !£h pJo»». numberless scientific curios ™ and patent mechanical marvels, in Sain" and bewildoring unrest; confeo . ,„< ,tollt "*y with Hags and lantorns ; 5 "pStalS1. oy n which are displayed the SEtlovittag of chairs, raoit dainty tables; Zd supporting musical instruments of .« variety; booths, each a good-sized 1m roofed and sided vrith.pWglaa., '*■' nro displayed tho richest furs, rtSckeitsilks, longest plumes, most web-like I'laces fans, and jowels, and things of ?.' t .;.' in tho centre of tho building a Sic fountain, which, from its loftiness, £Sr»dow» again into tho enormous basin X) id and roaring torront; tho crashing Mm of o great band—nocturne, opera, wbl™. ; add to all this thousands of people, Zmam floor dense with them, the galleries Mack with thorn, the stairs a-swarm with ,Za und all surging, admiring, jostling, Lunterlne, purchasing, expatiating, com- SSS. «itieising -all adding to the thun- S»rof the waterfall and brazen music of the Zai to the clamor of traffic and rattle of machinery, the sound ot converaation, tho Seadof feet, the ring of laughter-and you lvT a faint idea of the annual Inter-Stato Industrial Exposition of Chicago •'A clear case of May and December," commented tho lawyer. A eood-looking man ho—one who, in any nosWon WO uld have attracted attention. H« was a man to whom tho ordinary and ■awrficial observer tendered instant homage and admiration—from whom the super-sen dtiTe and super-subtlo shrank with instinc tire and inexplicable aversion. ■Ha was twenty-seven or thereabouts. Older he may have been. These florid peo ple bear their age lightly. Ho was tall and wall-proportioned, but with n pronounced leaning toward rotundity. Ho had a large blonde face, hair which wavered between brown and brick, a nose which barely es caped the indignity of being characterised as a i snub, a pair of light, sleepy eyes, a cleft chin, big, bright, vomnnish-looking lips and a luxuriant auburn mustache. A* year ago, in Switzerland, he had met Mrs Uharu, Between them had grown un cooßciously a bond of sympathy, which latterripened into a blooming flirtation. An important trial being unexpectedly called, Orimea had been obliged to return. At the time of his leaving the chalet, Mrs Ch»ra had bean away on a few days' visit tosfriead. But there was no help for it. Henwstatart, and immediately. So he had left for her a regretful note of farewell, and harried back to America. And now, just a month ago, quite a delightful surprise for both had been their mooting. Af;ain the spell of mutual attrac tion bound them. Tho old flirtation was vosurrtcted, the old drives and companion ihip renewed. Just what each found con genial in the other neither could have told. v Grimes did well in his profession—might hnvij done better was ho possessed of more plodding perseverance and fewer airy re sources. leg*l lights older than he, and of assured integrity, shook their heads at mwb'ono/A'kname. He was clever, yes, and brilliant, but it was the cleverness of a juggler, the bri.'liancy of a dextrous con jurer. . When ono spoke to him one discredited the rumours of evil report concerning him, and was quite fascinuted. His manner was hearty, blithe, insouciant; his speech frank, boyish, almost innocent. There was a sug gestion of effeminacy in hia soft, full voice. "Money is a very good thing !" declared Mrs Charu, arching her brows and smiling, "»nd Mr Claflin is blessed with it in abundance." Without appearing to look at him she wised her eyes to regard a picture just •bore his head, quietly scrutinising him as the did so. The remark had been a leader. They were both in tho Art Gallery now. They occupied seats before the picture of the season.

Grimes snappod at the bait. ,"Ye3, and so is Vernell. He ought to con eider the bestowal of his. He is not as old wClaflin."

" Oh, dear, no ! Tho colonel and I have kaown each other for—oh, for ages I" Singing oat hor plump, kid-swarthed arms. Grimes regarded gloomily the toe of his patent leather shoe. " The old acquaintance has been renewed with a vengeance of lato, hasn't it?" It was hardly a gentlemanly way of put tingit, butflattering in the jealousy implied. The widow hesitntad, but not long enough to let tha chill of reaction cool the fever of suspicion.

"Oh—yes. I see him now and then Ah, here he is now I"

'And sure enough, there ho was, making Vn way to them through the swaying orowd, fittingly attired aa usual, in one hand a catalogue, in the other the stiff, white hat fie hw doffed at Bight of them. Dennis Grimes's face darkened thunder ously at his approach. Mrs Charu, on the contrary, beamed and biightened. She was no longer youthful, and the meet- Ing of two men in her presence—both of whom admired her—recalled the triumphs other girlhood, tore from her the weight of ten years at least.

"it v you, colonel!" holding out her kand with gracion3 warmth. " flow for tunate we did not miss meeting ! in this fenge barn one might seek a friend as vainly as the proverbial needle in the proverbial ■haystack."

' "The good fortune is all mine I" he res ponded, bowing. And then turning to hia lawyer: " How d'ye do, Grimes ?" '■Be was not overjoyous at discovering «l»m together. Hia resolve to marry Mrs vbaru had been by no means the offspring 01 affection, but as his visits to her had in- Wased, hia admtraton had grown to a sort «i obstinate infatuation. And just now he »*} come to the stage when he regarded ow*B his absolute property -without pos- Msatig any valid claim or legitimate rela tionship which would warrant him In so doing.

Grimes grasped quite cordially the fishy «wd extended. "Glad to moot you ! How d'yo do, edlonel.?"

Be would not betray his discomfort at too meeting. He was too clover for that. Bumble pie was a dish he could discuss *wacion«ly on ocsasion, provided its masti wtion at present promised pates and truilles >» me future, Vernell's patronage meant « him quits a ueat sum yearly, and he *o»li not throw it over his shoulder lightly -nothe!

tyne of the trio observed in the eddying «owd back of tho bench they occupied the "Bore just behind thorn, oho had bean landing there since Mrs Charu and Grimes ™W approached. The swaying multitude "aa not stirred her an inch. She vvas there oow.

■4cnnons-loo!ringw-oman,perhap3twenty- | *v«.perhaps older. A woman agoa more rapidly than a man. There are exceptions rnotably..Mr3 Charu-but this is the rule. „'. ** "times bore airily liis years, hers upon h 3 r like lead. iH 6f. garments a'ono might have drawn v, ■ ;V n to her> in each striking contrast 2* "wy to the (jay gowns around, hers *«ng rf rusty blick. The well-mended .|«»es, though, the little grey straw hat, 2^ X With ohea P bnt daintily vivid 3' atteßted a BtrugKline ''he had been protty—very pretty !—one glance would have told you that. Now, sg*«. handsome-fertured, olive ginned face bore the pitiful impress of en ™rante and heart-hunger. There was but JJf-'*" of crow's-feet about the •tw7 6 gre/ eyes- a BliKbt dipping at ■'&-80fthePatientl'P3- Uh,. mcß tur"edhiß head ever so little he §\t Tl ]i have fftllen "P° n hw- Bufc V.. "SV tarn hiß bead .:iT«Mll bent over the widow,

" Havo you seen J. G, Brown's picture yet ? No ? Como and see it ? Excuse mo, Grimes—you will forgive tho theft, 1 know. I do want you to sco it badly ("—turning again to Mrs Cham. "It is called 'The Dress Parade.' It is delicious !"

" I should like to sco it," and sho rose, smiling. She was looking particularly well this evening, and she knew it. There was a vivid colour in her dusky cheeks, and her eyes flashed like the diamonds in her eara. Her costume, too, was exquisite—the material pulm-leaves of brown cut velvet on a ground of dull gold satin. This, a Bebe bonnet of bronzs braid, at the loft aide of which glowed a bunch of crimson poppies, artistically completed. "In your favour I resign," Grimes de- C aved, bowing. But as tho colonol bent to pick up the cntaloguo he had dropped, Grimoa turned to Mrs Cham. His fajo was all aglow, his oyos eager to lurldness. "When will you see me?"—in a rapid whispor. " To-morrow, at two ? I will be at your hou;o. Give him his conge, Letitia," and then lower, "my lovo!" And then, as the colonel joined them : " Reluctantly do I resign Mis Cham, my doar colonel, to your gallant charge. You will find my car riage at tho door. So," gayly bowing, "lion xoir!"

Tho fnc3 of the woman standing just behind the soat paled curiously. Under hor stuff shawl her hands twisted each other fiercely. Aa tho group separated, she turnod hor back to pass unobserved. Tho colonel passed toward the south gal lery, with Mrs Charu on hia arm. Sho was included in Crimea's sweeping glinco as ho wont abruptly in the opposite direction, but without recognition.

" An act of dubious politonosa !" rumi nated Dennis, smilingly, as he dodged away out. " One should return with one's escort, but she will understand. To morrow I will explain all to her. For the matter of that she is no dullard, and re quires no explanation. I could see aha resd my meaning as I spoke. My leaving her so lightly, and to him, will throw the old boy off his guard. Ho will think I don't caro a continental. Ho will feel cer tain of hor for the speaking ; so ho will not speak for a while. Socurity and vigilance are sworn foes. I must not get him do-vn on jme—great Scotland, no ! Take care !—look out where you're going !" as s tolegraph messenger almost tripped him up, Again tho band, for awhile silent, brayed out in a popular air. Many took it up and hummed it. Just without tho gaunt mouthod entrance a young fellow with a silvery tenor lifted merrily a verao of it:

"Oh, my lovo sat undor a walnut troo Over the garden wall; She whispered and said she'd be true to me, Oror the garden wall. Sho had beautiful eyes and beautiful hair, She was not very tall and the stood on a chair. And many a timo havo I kissed her thorn, Ovor tho garden wall."

Grimes stood a moment irresolute, glanc Ing up and down broad Michigan Avonuo.

"I'm a novice in reading hearts," ho muttorod, "if there wasn't a spark of the passion divine ia your eyes to-night, my be wildering lady. Here, Cabby !" The individual addressed sprang down from the box and wrenched open tho door of one of the long line of cabs drawn up at the kerb-stone.

Grimos leaped in. " Flournoy and Ogden Avenuo," he com manded ; " and drive like tho douce I"

CHAPTER XXVI.

DISCARDED.

" And days may come, thou folao one, yet, Whon evoa thoso tjos Btaall Bover ; And thou wilt call with vain rogrot On hor ihou'st lost for over ; With smiles had still received thoo, And gladly died to prove thee all Hor fancy first believed thee." Away rolled the carriage, straight west I on AdaniK. Within Dennis Grimes lighted a cigar, folded his arms, put his feet on the opposite seat, and began to dispassionately review the difficulties of his position. Now that ho was on his way to see her, he characterised himsolf as a colossal fool for obeying tho impulse which promptod his coming, yet did not order the coachman to turn back.

As ho was about to break with her, would it not bo bettor if ho did so instantly and without warning—went away—sent her a note ?

No, no ; that would not do. Tomorrow he would bo tho affianced husband of Mrs Cham; of this he had no doubt. Oldor than ho? Perhaps she waa, Buthedidnot think of that, He thought her wealthy, for she was a capital manager, and made a dollar make a show of ten, but only she knew how perilously small was her annuity. To do him justice, though, not oven this mistaken idea of her money once entered into his calculations in regard to hor. Ha did not consider, either, very seriously, as did Colonel Vernell, her ripe beauty, hor dashing air, her einprexsmenC, though these he, of course, acknowledged. His complete capitulation to her was, 1 think, the outgrowth of a certain affinity— rapport between them. She had touched a secret, Bubtle chord in his being till now silent, and it had responded vibrantly to her awakening. Ho was not at all backward in appreciat ing himself, not over modtsb in hie own op pinion as to his personal appearance, not diffident as to his manner and power of fas cination. So he thought Mrs Charu would marry him for the asking. Was not that love he had road in hor eyes to-night?

But this business in hand nowheabhorred, detested, but it must be got through. It was a deuced hard job. As to sentiment, the suffering of others, and such things, he was decidedly thick-skinned, but this par ticular interviow he would have shirked if possible. Were he to do so, though, and later rumours of his approaching wedding to roach her, she would go direct to Mrs Charu, and then there would bt, in hia profane and homely praseology, " tho deuce to pay and no pitch hot." No ; it was far better to get it over, and at once. If she only would be sensible. But she wouldn't—he might as woll make up his mind to that. VVomen never were sensible. They were sometimes adorable, and often charming, and occasionally lovable, and ordinarily faithful— too foithf ul, ho told himself, with an oath—and fro quontly aggravating, but they wero not sensible. They would not tako things calmly and without demur. Tho fact of their lack of philosophy remained. But it was a nasty bit of work all tho same, and he wished it was well over and done with. Perhaps she had got past the period for caring mush. Goodness knows he had done enough to make her. The cab passed Ashland Avenue to where Ogden cuta diagonally across the city, turned up Ogden, and whirled southward. Excepting the drug stores and saloons, few buildings along the route wero lightod up. At Flourney-street the cab drow up. The driver got down and presented himself at the window. " Which street, sir, Boboy, Ogden, or Flournoy ? and what number !" Grimes aroused himself with a start. " Oh, we are hero, are we! Never mind the house, 1 can find it," alighting and paying him. The starlit September night had grown quite chilly. A crisp breeze had sprung up He Hung away his cigar, which had gone out between his fingers, and buttoned up his light fall overcoat. Phow ! his courage, like that of 15ob Acres, was oozing out at his finger-tips. Porhaps a drink would set him up. Ho went into a saloon at the north-west corner ot Ogden Avenue and Kobey-Btreet, and called for whisky. He drank two classes and wont out. He turned up Floronco-streot. Ho walked past the frame cottages prefacing tho more- pretentwuß buildings of red brick. In the middle of tho lattor block he paused The house before which he stopped was, as are all in the row mentioned, and for that matter the majority of Chicago houses, a two-story and basement dwelling, with high wooden steps leading up to the parlour "Tlidark! tho family retired early. He went op the steps, inserted his latch-key in " Guila I" be called, softly, Guila ! But there was no answer. He opened the door of the bed-room aa joining It was empty. In he tried the other two rooms the floor boasted, but both were uotenanted. Hia browi n»t \a ftn inZ*y ßooW'l

" Now whoro the mischief is she at this hour ? Doubtless visiting some friend. She didn't oxpoot mo, that's evident 1" He went back to the parlour and eat down by the tablo whereon stood tho studont lamp, sat down in tho little cane-bottom rocker Guild's own deft hands hnd obonizod and gilded.

Ten minutos later there came the click of feet along tho sidewalk, tho patter of them ascending tho stsps, the sound of a latch key turning in the door, the carpet-hushed and weary tread of one upward bound. She opened tho door of the parlour, came in.

She started at sight of the niim sitting under the light of the student-lamp. A curious expression flashed into her face surprise, distrust, joy. " Dennis ! you t" And she came forward.

lie did not riso to meet her, juat cooly turned his head. He mot her beseeching eyos with a look which arrested her whore she stood, bado her advance not an inch farther.

"So! You havo come at last. 1 was be ginning to despair of you." Ho did not ask her where sho had been. He did not care.

" I camo as soon as I could, as quickly as I could, Donnis, I did indeed !" in nervous vehement assertion.

Sho Hung of! her shabby Bhawl as she spoko, disclosing a form not unworthy of tho cliisol of a Phidias.

A less conailiatory speech would have onvoked a loss surly reply.

" You chooso your own hours of course. You are your own mistross."

Tho jealousy, rage, protest of an hour bo fore changed to rogrot, submissivenoss, a passion of love. She tlung herself on her knees beside tho little cane chair.

"I am not. You know I am not. Not a day of my life is mino—an hour—a second ! All aro youra—all I You know it, Dennis—ah, my dear, you know it!" He rose, putting aside her pleading hands with a gesture of distaste " Don't, Guila! No scenes, if you please. Protestations aro such abominably bad form !"

She, too, rose. A curious compression tightened the pationt lips. His lighU lnzy eyes grow a trifle nervous as he glanced at her. Ho had not been sufficiently polite ; ho know that now. He went up to her and put his arm around her. His fat, fair face took on its most brightly boyish smile. " Now, don't look like Ophelia in tho fourth act—thore'a a dear I" and all in his softest voice and airiest manner. "To behold you at this momont, one would imagine that—to use an old country oxproa sion—' your husband was dead and the black hen laid out,'"

Her grey, unsmiling eyes met hlg. In her quiet voice was a world of repressed passion. "My husband it dead—the husband I knew, and loved, nnd honoured, Bheeted and in his coffin, and can never be more utterly so. With the death of love, all dies. Dennis I" — with sudden agony — " you know it is true." "Hush!" ho commanded. "You will arouse the house."

She put her olbow on tho back of a chair, and shaded hor face with hor hand.

Neither his hoart nor hia honour were very vulnerable I think that haa been inferred. Something in the drooping atti tude of tho woman near him, hor ovidont loneliness, despondoncy, urged him to that from which such would have dotorred a better man.

Now was tho timo to break it to hor— crush her now I A certain inhuman enjoy ment in so doing, a certain excited dospora tion, took possession of him. "Your husband?" he repoated, coldly. " I was not awaro you had one." Sho thought ho was indulging in a cruel joke. Sho kept her face buried in hor hand. Silence. Suddenlyaauapicion.toomadforcredonco, came to her. Sho looked up, wido-oyed, startled. " Donnis ! What "

He lifted hia hand with a repressing, warning gesture "No hysterics, if you please. I moan what I say. If you havo a husband—have ever had—it is nows to mo." Ho took a cigar out of his pocket, and bit off the end.

She fell back a stop or two and stood so, staring at him, her face quite greywlth horror. A now, curious stoolinoss in his eyes murdered tho anguished questioning in hers.

" Donnis!" faintly, " My dear child," with a pleasant laugh, "our housekeeping has boon quits a nice little comedy—in spots, really charming. But it grows monotonous. Lot us ring down the curtain." And ho laughod again as ho lifted hia leg, struck a match on his boot, and lighted a cigar.

CHAPTER XXVII.

FREE !

" But go deoolver. bo ! The heart whose hopes could mako It Trust ono so falso, so low. Deserves that thou shouldst broak It " Go. (so t 'tia vain to curse. 'Tis wcakncß? to upbraid thec— Hato cannon wißh thee woreo Than guilt and shamo have mado thco I —ttoore. On o scarlet covered bracket near, a littlo nickel clock ticked on in maidoning mono tony. Thoro was no other sound. For not ono socond did tho woman ro movo her eyes from his face. If sho sought to there discover a trace of humour, tho faintest contradiction of tho words his lips had spoken, she sought in vain. Now ho did not look at hor. Ho was smoking slowly, and with evident apprecia tion of tho flavour of his cigar. She it was who broko tho silence. " Do you mean—todony—our marriagei" quietly, but with quickly drawn breaths between the words. He removed his cigar thoughtfully from his lips, puffed forth a blue ring of smoke, and watched it aa it writhed away a apiral thread. " No," placidly; " that would be super fluous, seeing there is no marriagoto deny." Again no sound, save the tiny clock's exasperating tick, tick, "Do you mean" —and now her voice sounded unfamiliar to him, so low and grave it was, "to deny tho fact of a marriage betvie^n us?"

" Most omphatically !" This time ho did not remove the cigar from between his teeth as ho reseated him self in tho obonisod rocker and flung ono log over the arm. Sho came close to him—stood before him. " Tell me !' Not anothor word, but the tono was enough. Ho glanced up at her. Hero was a woman who would not bo denied, trifled with, how ever impotent when all was told. He must got it over, ho vowed, with a vicious Bnap of his teeth, he must. "There is not much to tell. You know the position you occupied at tho time of our meeting—ono decidedly menial. That was a year and a half ago, wasn't it? 'I chanc ing to visit at the same Louse " She interrupted him, calmly still, though her lips were white as the wall. " I did not ask for biographi«s. Come to How well sho held herself in control. For the moment ho regarded her with posi tive admiration, as a weak and shifting naturo must ever regard a stronger. "A little revision is necessary in ordor to prove tho unavoidability of what must now transpire," he doclared. "As I was saying, you wore only a housemaid—no, a nursemaid, 1 beg your pardon-in the house of my friend. I was a rising lawyer. You took my fancy " She smiled, for all her misery. Where was now all his warmly protested adoration? Despite himself, he quailed sefcra the splendid scorn of her eyes. "You took my fancy," he went on, but now a triflo diffidently; "but you had some high-strung notions concerning the necessity of a ceremony, and so, to make brief a tiresome tale, I asked a friend ot mine to perform it. From the fact that I was obliged to write the questions and responses necessary, and that he studied them expressly for the occasion, you may imagine how valid was the contract. Silence. Grimes, puffing his cigar with slow enjoyment, did not look up. He was growing miserably nervous, for all his out ward placidity. "Since then," he wont on after awhile, anxious to say something, anything to break that awful quiet, " with the excep tion of the few months I spent in Europe, we have lived together very happily. Of course, I have spent somo time elsewhere, and we've differed on some subjects. But I must say your coffee has always been delicious, and your porterhouse broiled to a turn. But all that sort of thing must end now," rising and dextrously jerking the ashes from his cigar into the cuspidor a few feet away. "It is time for me to get mar ried and settle down into a sober, respect able member o{ society. There v some Bjoney-you. m»y need, a little," tosalng a

roll of bills on the chair from which he had just rison ; "and tho sale of these traps," with a comprehensivo sweep of his hand around the apartment, "will furnish you with more. So no'f let us have no scenes, like a good girl," going boldly up to her. "Kiss, and say good-bye." But, as ho bent his head towards her, with the sublime impudence natural to him, she recoiled with a face the remembrance of which would haunt him to his dying day, so colourless it was, so full of passion, bo desperate, and yet, in spite of all, so ter ribly calm. She lifted her hand and pointed toward the door.

"Go !" she said. Hers was no aimless, unemotionless peace. It was the silence of purpose, the self-repression of knowledge, the truce of revenge.

Again that sparkle of approbation came into the shifting eyos of Dennis Grimes. She had lost her good looks lamentably, to be sure, but she was game to tho last, she would die game. Ho did not quite like parting in this fashion, though. Why under the sun couldn't women bo sensible? She had been a good littlo thing—had done her best to make him happy, but all that stud' and nonsenso must ond—now ; the soonor the bettor.

"See hero, Guila," and speaking softly, ns ho did, one noticed more than usual tho offeminacy of tho voico, "don't let us part bad friends. I know I'vo boen what Borne goody-goody folks would call a ecoundrol, but what was I to do ? I wanted you, I was bound to have you. If I couldn't make sure of you without a ceremony, why a ceremony there must be. You novor can seriously think I should have married you. In the social scale you are miles beneath me. More than that, you woro not even well educated. To an aspiring man there is no such clog as an ignorant wife. I think, on tho whole, I've treated you fairly well, better than many a husband does his wifo. I shall not forget you," and now again did he falter under those untranslatable grey eyes of here. " I shall send you money occasionally. One of these days you may marry someone In your own class, some good, deserving dry-goods clerk or salesman, and be happy. Won't you even shake hands ?"

This was adding insult to injury. Again she pointed to tho door. Now in either pale cheek a bright spot grow and deepened. Ho did not quite fancy such a separation. Not that any sentiment or dolicacy troubled him—not that: but becanso hor brooding air was ominous, in it thore seemed some thing to bo feared. "Guila," he bogan. "Will you go?" And now he wont.

She listened ob his heary tread w»nt down the stairs. Sho hoard the front door open, oloso, heard him descend tho steps and walk away. Then she turned into tho tiny bod-chambor opening off the sitting-room, flung herself faco downward on tho bod, and lay there without word or cry. But thinking ! Ah, thinking as women will when tho ono lovo of thoir lives is trampled in tho miro, and only tho hunger for vengeance seethes through tho ioul and sears the brain.

And out in tho cool Soptember night Dennis Grimes looked up at tho bright stars glimmering in tho purple vault above with roliovod, triumphant eyes. " Poor littlo aoul I she does not droam tho law is on her side, that the United States Courts would hold such a marriage legal. Sho nevor will know, for sho will bo too proud to breatho tho affair to a mortal. Fow in any caso would make hor tho wiser. You managod it vory noatly, my doar Grimes, very noatly. Allow mo to con gratulate you. And now for tho charming widow. I wish I could forgot Guila's faco, though." Ho ran for a passing streot-car and swung himself on board. "I wish I could I" ho repeated. And thon in sudden exasporation, " Confound it I I do !"

CHAPTER XXVIII,

Alfal.Kß AND ANCILED. " Oh. tho Widow Blalono was sliT, Ohone I" —Irish Song. For another woman than Ouila Grimes, in a different fashion, did tho evening pass. Attended by tho colonol, dovotod and admiring, Mrs Cham passed from tho Ex position Building to a luxurious carriage, and was driven to a Washington-street cafe. During euppor sho looked across to her vis-a-vis with a smilo of friendly intorest.

" Have you hoard from Mrs Claflin sinco her marriago ?" sho qttoriod. Vernell sot down untested tho'glass of champagne ho had been in tho act of rais ing to his lips. "I—l havo—heard," ho begin, vory Blowly and dubiously. Sho stretched her arm to him half way doross tho littlo tablowith p gosturo romorsc ful, entreating. 11 Don't answer me. I beg your pardon. Had you chosen to toll mo, you would havo done co without my asking. Occasionally thb matrimonial halter galls. I"—with a drop of tho eyolids—" know how that is my solf. But lam suro, my doar colonol, she will yet be very happy." Her "doar colonol" evidently derived littlo comfort from the sanguine prophocy. Ho twisted his glass round and round betwoen his kidded thumb and forofingor of his loft hand, looking very gloomy indeed. Ho lifted his sullen eyes at last, and looked over at her.

"I don't think sho will. For her present lawful spouso sho novor cared a straw. To her, Jonas Claflin is ono of tho blessings which will only brighten by taking flight. No, sho isn't happy, and sho won't bo: but I'll bo blest if I caro I" "Oh, colonol I" But in responso to tho soft ejaculation, tho colonel only gulped dow n his champagno and scowled moro ferociously thun over.

Just tbon a gay party camo up tho carpeted stairs, and, with ranch musical chatter and frou-frou of gowns, took posses sion of tho table just boyond them.

Vernell bowed in answer to thsir saluta tion. Mrs Charu's faco took on a slight expression of distaste, and she held nor head perhaps a littlo higher than before. " Thoso are tho Scholia," declared tho colonel.

Sho drew up hor Persian wrap on hor shoulders.

" Yes, I know them—by sight!" and hor tone implied that aho dovoutly thanked Heaven it was by sight only.

The colonel himself, though rovorencing raos and pcsiessinga goodly sharoof family prido, cherished a strong interest—by no means incompatible with the former senti ments—in all successful speculations and speculators. Domineering by nature, ho could not brook opposition, and the cpn tsmpt in hia companion's voice angered him, though not reasonably could sho have boon aware of his respect for the financial mag nate just beyond. " They are vory wealthy people," ho averred, in hie voice just a note of irritation. " They know, too, how to spend money as well as how to make it." Mrs Charu was unpleasantly conscious that beside tho fresh young fares at the next table hers must look a trifle worn and passe. "They are, doubtless, very worthy people," she rejoined, coldly, as she rose. " But you must agree with mo, my doar friend, that they are of (ho nouveaux riches, and, on that score, socially objectionable." The colonel had taken up his white hat and was drawing on his glovos.

" Why socially objectionable on that score?" a trifle tartly. "There, my dear madam, I venture to dissent. The fact that a man earns his woalth and position rather than inherits it should not subject him to ostracism."

$. Tho widow his chagrin, and smiled. It would nover do to acquiesce too readily in all his opinions. Wholesome opposition was gojd for flagging intorest. But sho would generalise.

"The case individually considered, cer tainly not," putting her band on his arm as they descendod the stairs ; " but you must confess, colonel, that this is a nation of parvenus. " Whereat Vernell propounded a thoroughly ungentlemanly question in a vindictively innocent manner.

"My dear Mrs Charu," pointedly, but quietly, " what was your husband!" She very seldom changed colour, but now a red flame dyed brow and throat.

By neither birth, education, nor natural instinct, could Amos Charu have been called a gentleman by his best friend. His wealth he had acquired behind the roulette-wheel of a notorious gambling den. In his best days he had not been the kind of a man to win the friendship of a refined woman. He was a big, swaggering, bull-necked fellow, with a loud laugh, a fund of coarse jokes, aud—diamonds. Ignorant and ill-bred wag he—obtrusively so, from his sanguinary cravat to his canary gloves. But Letitia Gruyson, then a handsome slip of a girl had married him—why, she only knew. Butshe knew remarkably well. Now was her time, Bhe told herself—now was hor time !

She said never a word, not even as they went out, nor yet when he helped her into the carriage,

As thoy rolled off, tho colonel noticed that her head was bent, her plump shoulders were heaving. \\ He bent over her in a suddon access of solitude.

"MrsChnru! Letitia!" "Oh, colonel I" came the softly breathed reply of reproach ; " how could you ?" Tho carriage was bowling oast to Michigan Avenue. "Could I what?" bewilderedly. "Oh, yos; I recollect—ask you about Charu. Why, you know yourself he was not nearly as presentable as is Sehell." An ungallnnt reminder ? Yen. But deli cacy on tho part of Mr Vernell has not been asserted,

" Oh, colonel I" again protested the widow, and now tho usually ringing voice was low and plaintive ; " you don't under stand I"

"No!" he confessed ; " I'll bo hinged if I do 1"

"I married Mr Charu to—to save my dear fathor. He was in—in his debt. I—l was the ransom. I"—very brokenly— " sacrificed myself."

If thedead could onlyreturn, herslandered paternal relative would have appeared at that momont in tho speeding carriage to proclaim an indignant denial. But clay presses heavily. Tho colonel immediately capitulated. Ho was not tho first acute, suspicious, cunning man who has walked into v preat, cnido, gaping trap, with oars, eyes, and sensos all on tho alert for danger.

"My doar Mrs Charu! My dear Lotitia! I beg your pardon —I do, indoed. I always know tho world misjudged you. I entreat you to bo calm." For she had broken down into qulto a pathot ie littlo storm of sobs. " I—l have been, indeed !" shaking tho head whereon glinted the bronze braid bonnot; " I have been shamefully mnligned. I was a good wife to Amos, but of course we were not congenial spirits. You, whoso perception of the fitness of things is so koen, can readily understand that. At the very timo of my marriage, my heart was—" Sho stopped abruptly. " Was what '!" tenderly whispered the colonel.

Ho clasped in his ono of her brown-kidded hands, For a sonsible man ho was making a most consummate fool of himself.

Her directly disimilar views as expressed in the cafts had attracted him. Hor re proaches, tears, confidences, had shamed him and quite carried him away on thoir sweep. " Was what?" ho urged again. " Given— already ?" Sho bowed hor head with a little convul sive pressure of tho hand closing over hers. "To whom?" Ho wasvory muchinloveatthomomont,at least he thought he was. Of the many phases of that much-profaned word love there are two peculiarly distinct. Ono is sublino, quick, wholo-hearted, passionate, onduring, fevered not nor chilled by mercurial changos. Tho other is contented, oasy j going, constant, pleasantly assured of tho faith and loyalty of tho individual honored, vaguoly hopoful of warmer depth of feoling after marriago, lukewarmly confident that tho possessor is blest. Colonel Vornell was absolutely certain the former now nwayod him. Ho did not dream it was only tho first flush of tho latter.

Mrs Charu started at his question. Swiftly drawing away her hand, sho put up both and covorod her faco.

" Don't bo so cruel !" in a voico sharp with suddanly crcatod pain. " Don't ask mo! I can't answer you I I—l—Oh, .Fames, how can you—3ay such—such—" Since the days of thoir youth sho had not addresaod him by his Christian name till this momont.

It positively thrilled him, in such an oddly receptiyj mood was ho. But not for a few minutos did tho full forco and meaning of hor agitation strike him. Then it was with the blow ©fa bomb-sholl.

Could it bo ' Could it really bo possible? No ; no I And yet—yes, ye.? I " Lotitia, am I—am I deceiving myself insanoly, or—or—was that lucky fellow—" And hero ho paused breathless. They wero noaring their destination. Only a block moro. What a delicious scent of violets was waftod toward him as f.ho leanod noaror 1 And what a coy murmur : " Ho was!" (To be. Continued.)

The Prince of Wales's Eldest Son.

TUB law is singularly bnro in its recog nition of tho socond generation of tho Royal family, ovon in tho oaso of its senior male roproscnlotivo, wlion tho first generation includes his father. He is not oven entitled in strictness to bo called heir presumptive to tho Crown, because there can bo no heir presumptive when thoro is an heir appar ent, and his father's titles admit of no cour tef-y titlj customarily boruo by tho heir apparont to them. His placo iei point of procodenco is after his unclos, as was settled in 17C0, when tho Duko of York, in tho lifetimo of Georgo 11., took his soat in tho House of Lords. Nothing remains except tho comparatively modorn titlo of Prince, to which must bo added tho first Christian namo, as in point of law tho first Christian namo is the only Christian namo, no one being entitled to moro than ono. Even the position during minority of a con of tho Prince of Walos is rathor vaguely dofinod by tho law. In 1718 it was docidod by a majority of tea judgos to two that tho education and tho caro of tho novoroign's grandchildren bolong to the sovereign during tho lifotimo of their father but tho docision of tho majority has had doubts thrown upon it. It has novor been doubted that, at common law, tho approval of tho marriage of thosovoroign'sgrandchildj dron belongs to tho sovereign, and now by statute control is given to tho Crown over tho marriago of all tho English descendants of Goorgo 11. Ik is a popular orror that a princo in tho diroct lino of tho throne comoe of ago, in the scnao of tho capacity for reigning, before he attains 21. Tho fact is that the heir to tho throno is always capable of roigning, as the aovoroign is never a minor. In the caso of sovereigns of tender yoars, regents havo boon appoin ted; but the ags at whic & sovereigns who wore minors began to act for them selves hag varied from timo to timo. Honry 111. and Edward 111. woro con sidered at full age to act as kings at 18 ; Richard 11. and Heury VI. not till 23 ; and by the statute of Henry VIII. his successor, if a malo, was to bo under guardianship until 18, and, if a female, until IG. The modorn practice has boon to make 18 tho full ago of a sovereign, as ovidencod by tho statute in regard to the .children of Frodorick, Prince of Walos, in regard to tho children of George 111., and in regard to the children of her presont Majesty and tho late Princo Consort, in the event of tho Princo surviving hor Majosliy, and the heir to the throno being under that age. No age, however, is now fixed by law before attaining which the sovoreign cannot reign without a regent. Tho attainment by which Prince Albert of Walea cf the age of 21 has legally oven less significance than in tho case of an ordinary subjoct. Although he is, like others, no longor under pupilage in the general sense, he, unlike them, is still not master of him self in regard to marriage.—" Law Journal."

How to Sleep Gracefully.

In Cincinnati there is an acadomy in which among other accomplishments, young ladies are taught the art of sleeping gracefully. One of tho fair professors explained the course of instruction to a reporter as fol lows :—"Did you ever consider that one third of your time is, or ought to bo, spent in sleep? And if you did, it is highly im- Erobablo that you have had a thought as to ow you looked when sleeping. Well, it doesn't make so much difference in a man, perhaps, but a girl owes it to herself to be at all times as handsomo as she can, ir respective of her natural expectation to be coming a wife. Therefore I have intro duced the study of slumbrous comeliness. Tho main fault to be corrected is that of Bleeping with the mouth open. Very many girls do it. It is a habit carelessly acquired but often hard to eradicate. Dreadfully unfeminino snoring is a consequence, I teach my girls to close their lips snugly bo fore dropping asleep, and to avoid throwing their heads too far back on the pillow, so that their mouths won't fall open as soon as the muscles are relaxed. I conjure them, too, to prepare a toilet for the bod as care ful, though less elaborate than that for tho day. Their night-clothes should be neat well-fitting and adapted to their individual ity. They should regard a nightcap with horror. Their hair should not be unbecom ingly done up in a tight knot, but adjusted with a view to both comfort and present ability. Their poses on their couch should no more be awkward than those of their waking hours, and I instruct them to so habituate themselves to gracefulness in bed that it will become instinctive. That's about all thero is of the system.

BLACK AND WHITE.

[By Geoeob R. Sims.]

A LETTER TO THE DEAD.

It wa3 little Charley Hailsham's twelfth birthday, and Mr and Mrß Hailsham were entertaining a family party at their town residence in honour of the occasion.

Charley wag the hope and pride of the house. A bright, intelligent littlo lad, the greatest things were expected of him. _ Mr Hailsham, who had been a briefless barrister when he married, had a few years after warda unexpectedly inherited a largo fortuno, and with it an estate and a country seat in Hertfordshire known as Elton Hall. Master Charles wasnotonly heir totho wealth and the estate, but he was to make the name of Hailsham famous. Ho was to go to Oxford.and then he was to be a barrister, in due course ho would be a Q.C. and enter Parliament, and eventually he w 0 ild become her Majesty's Attorney-General. Hailshara pin had mapped out his son's career from start to finish. "My boy Charley " was the perpetual subject of his conversation. There was never sucli a boy D.3 " my boy Charley," and if the lad had not boon as good and amiablo as ho was intelli gent, his littlo head would long ago have turned by his father's idolatry. Mrs Hailsham, a pretty woman, fair, with aratherirresolu'e-lookiingfaceandfrightenod eyes, was as fond of Charley as his father, but she was not so enthusiastic.

Whenever Mr Hailsham prophesied that tho boy would bo this and that, and ap pealed to his wife for her opinion, Mrs Hailsham would answer meokly that she " hoped" it would bo so ; and then she would turn and look at tho lad with an expression of the dcopest love, not un mingled with anxiety. Mrs Hailsham was always anxious, always a little nervous. She never seemed quite at her ease. A close observer of charactor woulA'iavosaidthatshewasoneof those women who are always expecting something to happon. Sheand her husband had met under rather romantic circumstances. She was giving music lessons at the house of a family that tho young barrister visited. Some times of an evening sho would be invited to come in and play and sing. The family liked her, and made her feel one of them selves. It was at those evenings that Mr Hailsham and she were thrown a great deal into each other's society. Result—love on both sides, and ovontually a bold plungo made by tho briefless one into tho ocean of matrimony, with a pretty music-inintross for his fellow-diver.

Kate Reunio hesitated a littlo boforo she aocopted the offer. She was very poor: she and her mother lived on the littlo the daughter earned. She pointed out to Charles Hailsham that ho could do much better. Ho would not see it: ho pressed and pressed, and at last they came out ot a church one day Mr and Mrs Hailsham. They were happy enough; they never quarrelled. The old lady fitayed witli them, and was a quiet, unobtrusivo, amiable mother-in-law. Charles deeply regretted the nice old lady when, one winter night, sho diod quiotly, and without inconvenien cing auyono, in her sleep. During tho first year of their married lifo tho only thing Charles had to complain of was n littlo moodinoss on his wif j's part. Sho would occasionally lapse into long fits of silence. When asked what aho was think ing about, she would say, " Nothing, doar," and pifU herself togother with an elt'ort. Sho had tits of nervousness, too. A loud knock at tho door would make hor jump. If Charlos suddenly touched hor on tho shoulder when they were outwalking, she would turn round and gasp out a little startled " Oil I" But gradually these symptoms disappeared. All that was left of them was the chronic look of fright in tho eyes. How shall I describe it ? It was tho look of an animal who has been haunted who hears a noise and turns to see if the cruel hunter has discovered its placo of shelter. Thousands of men and women havo tho look. And there is generally a good and sufficient reason for its presence. Mrs llailsham ought, howevor, to havo lost it long ago. Surrounded by every comfort that lovo and monoy could procuro, blessed with a devoted husband and an affectionate, clover son, what had tho little woman to bo afraid of ?

Sho has almost lost it this night of Cliarloy's birthday. Sho cits a proud and happy mother among her guests, and her oyes "fill with tonrs no her husband speaks with piido of tho many good qualities of their son. C'harloy is vory modest and vory quiet. Ho hopes his father will not bo disappointed with him, and ho fools quite glad when thoro is a slight cessation in the song of praise, and ho can help himsolf to somo dessert and fool liko a jolly boy again instead of an embryo Attorney-General. Presently there is a littlo music, and Kate goes to tho piano and plays beauti fully. "Sho was a music-mistress, you know, my doar," whispora an onvious cousin to a friend who has come with her. Then Kate singe a ballad—ono of the ballads that sho used to sing in the days when Charles was courting nor. Charles stands by tho piano and turns the loavos. Tho old days como back to him with the old song, and his band rests caressingly on tho good wife's shoulder. When Kato has finished, tho company applauded gently in tho orthodox fashion, as somebody mur murs " Thank you." But Charles Hailsham turns to his boy and says, "Charley, my boy, that's tho song your mothor usod to sing when wo wore sweethearts. Sho must sing it to us always on your birthday—oh, Charley boy ?" And Charley boy says, "Yes, pa; it'a a jolly song." Then the conversation becoinos general, and in tho midst of it a servant comes in and whispors to Mrs Hailsham ; and Mrs Hailsham, the old frightened look back in hor oyos again, asks to bo excused, and follows tho servant out of the room.

Then papa insists that Charley boy shall sine, and he does—a pretty ballad in a sweet boyish troble. And everybody declares it beautiful—the boy would make a fortune as a singer. " Ah, but ho can't be a Sims Hooves, you know," Bays papa ; " ho has to be tho At tornoy-Genoral." Mr Hailsham never entertained the slightest doubt but that "my boy" could bo Sims Reovos if ho chose.

Thon the envious cousin sings, and sings dreadfully, but everybody applauds and aays "Thank you," juat as though the ears of tho company had boon delighted with something oxquisito. And then papa begins to wonder why mamma does not como back. What did tho servant want? Porhaps something's happened below. He will go and see. Ho goes downstairs, and meets the servant coming from tho front door. Ho had just closed it. " Who is it, James?" asks the mastor. "A gentleman, sir;" a gentleman that called to see mistress. " Callod to sco your mistress ! Where is she?" "In the library, sir. She rang the bell for me to lot the gentleman out." Charles Haitaham onters the library. 1" Kate, my dear," he says, " I " But he gets no further. His wife is sitting all of a heap in the library chair. Her faco is deadly white, her eyes are almost wild with terror.

As her husband runs towards her sho rises and cries, " Charles, Charles, forgive me —I—l —" and then with a groan she falls heavily into his arms. "Kate, Kate, my darling, what is it? You are ill I"

Suddenly ho comprehonds the situation —his wife has had a stroke of some sort. This is no fainting fit—the staring eyes— the clenched teeth—the holples3 inert body —it is something serious-something ter riblo. " Help ! Help 1" he shouts. The terrified servants run in—the guests come down. Aghast and horrified, they de part while a servant runs for the doctor. Charley boy comes in, and is gently taken away again. Tho heartbroken husband is left alone with his helpless, speechless wife in his arms. Speechless ! No ! the oyea speak. They tell a tale of terror—a tale so fearful that it has overbalanced the reason for a while. What is it the woman would say if hor lips could interpret her eyes ? What! Will the doctor never come ? Yes; there is a quick, sharp ring at the bell, and pre sently the man of science comes to interpret the sudden seizure. It does not take him long. It is a paralytic stroke, he tells Mr Hailsham. The patient must be got to bed at once.

Mr Hailsham is confused. He does not quite grasp the truth at once. _ Then the doctor explains. A small vein in tho head has given way, perhaps under some sudden excitement, and there is a clot of blood pressing on tho brain and prevent ing the power of speech.

Mr Hailsham does not leave his wife's side until the night is far gone. She dropa into a heavy, dull sleep at length, and those terror-stricken eyes that have been fixed on him for hours are closed at last.

The doctor remains. He says there may bo a second seizuro in the night,

" Some sudden excitement." The words prey upon Charles Hailsham. What can it all mean ? Tho arrival of the strange gentleman, the wife's interview with him, and then this terrible catas trophe ! The servant who brought her the message has not gone to bed. He must be questioned. The servant's story is brief enough. While the company were upstairs, and mis tress was singing, there came a knock at tho door. It was a gentleman—a man of about fifty. He looked like a foreigner spoke with a alightly foreign accent. He asked to see the mistress; was told she was engaged. Told the servant to tell his mistress that someone wished to see her upon important business, and she would como. Delivered the message, and mistress camo down and saw tho genteman in the library, in winch he had been shown. Thoy were there ton minutes, then tho bell rang, and the gentleman came out. Knew no more till he heard his master call for help, and then saw that his mistress .vas ill.

That was the servant's story. Who could this mysterious visitor be, and why had the wifo'a interview with him had such a terrible cfl'ect upon hor ? Charles Hailsham thought, and thought, and thought, but he could think of nothing that would account for what had happened. And his wife was speechless ! The man had given no name ; what was to be done? He must make inquiries—ho ought to. The least lie could do was to find out tho cause of his wife's illness—to learn what a strange man had to say to her that could bring hor to death's door. But that was a question for tho future. For the present he must watcli by his wife —see that all that science could do for her was dono. Ho would havo the best phy sician in tho morning—ho would know the worst. He went upstairs to Cnarley boy's bed-room. The lad was asleep. Gently the loving father stooped and lightly touched the innocent brow with his lips. What a terrible end it seomed to his dear boy's birthday party.

Charles Hailsham did not know the worst even when the celebrated physician came the next morning. There was grave doubt. Tho poor woman might recover-she might recover—she might lie like that, speech less, helpless, for months, living but dead. Charley went back to school broken hearted—a great gloom settled down on the houss. Hailsham was a changed_ man The loss of the companionship of bis dear wife—the piteous spectacle oi her helpless ness—the magical suddenness of the seizure, and the mystery surrounding that fatal interviow,—these things preyed upon him, and made him utterly wretched. Now and then, to cheer himself up, he ran down to the school and saw Charley —that was his only pleasure, his pride in his boy. He still built castles in the air for Char ley. But even hishopesthereseemed clouded by the good wife's illness. If she died, how lonely it would be at the great house and down at the Hall for himself and the boy. A mother's love—a mother's care—the boy would have no more, and what might be the effect of his loss on tho young man's career? Hailsham still hoped for tho best, but ovory day saw his hope fade little by little. There was another seizure, and then the great physician prepared them for the worst. Mrs Hailsham would never recover. She would die and make no sign. The gift of speech would return no more—she would pass with her secret untold to the grave. Tho physician proved a true prophet of evil. Mr Hailsham was called hurriedly to his wife's room one night. The end had come—it was a calm and pcacoful death. For a moment before the last spasm came it seemed as though speech would return. The dying woman, her eyos fixed on her husband—those strange, frightened eyes—moved her lips. Ho bent his ear down to listen, but he caught only the long deop sigh that was hor last breath. Whon he rose from his knees he was a widower, and Charley would know a mother's love no more.

On the day of the funeral a letter in a strange, cramped foreign handwriting came for Mrs Hailsham. The servant put it on tho master's table, and it lay there un noticed. Whon Mr Hailsham returned, leaning on Charloy's arm, his eyes red with weeping, and his honest heart achiig with griof, he wont to his study and shut himself in. He wanted to bo alono with his sorrow,

As ho sat in the chair by his writing table, littered with correspondence that ho had been unable to attend to, ho caught sight of tho letter. Ho picked it up, looked at the hand writing, and wondered what he ought to do. lie had a right to open it, but ho dreaded to. To read this letter addressed to a woman lying in her newly-made grave seemed like a sacrilege-an outrage on the But something—an uncontrollable feeling that ho could not account for—conquered his hesitation. He opened the letter with trembling hands and read it. It was dated Paris, and this i« what Mr Hailsham road: — " Madam,—l havo waited a long time for the money you promised to send me. I was not in great nocd when I camo to you. I am now. Unless you eond be a hundred pounds within a week I shall come to London and see Mr Hailsham.—l am, Madam, your husband, " Luigi Vasabi." Her husband ! With a cry of horror Charles Hailsham let tho letter fall. Was he awake ? Had ho dozed off in his study and dreamed this horrible thing? "No! It was no dream. There the letter was—he read it again. " Your hus band." A hundred thoughts flashed through the widower's brain. What did it all mean ? Was it a lie or true ? If it was not true, why had tho coming of this strange man killed Kate Hailsham ?—and killed hor it had.

And if it was true, how in Heaven's name could this woman have deceived him for thirteen years—lived with him happily knowing she was another man's wife ? Tho more Mr Hailsham thought over this terrible letter the moro horrified he became. Could his wife havo gone to the altar with him, knowing that the marriage ceremony was a farce—a crime ?

A crime ! Great God ! if this man was not an impostor, Kate had never been hiß wife.—she had only been his mistress—and Charley boy, his hese, his pride, tho heir to his ostate and his fortune, Charley was

a Oh, it was too horrible ! This man—this Luigi Vasari—was a scoundrel. It was some infamous plot; but he would know all—at once—at once. How could he get to Paris ? By mail that night. The man gave his address—he would go to him and confront him with his lie.

It seemed to him in his excitement, in his terror, that he could not wait; that the time it would take him to get to Paris was a lifetime. He wanted to force this man on hiß knees and choke the truth out of him there and then—in the study as he stood there now holding the ghnstly letter in his hand —this message of shame from the living to the dead. i This is the story of Kate Kennie's life aa the man who had for years believed himself her lawful husband knew it at last. He learned a little in Paris—the rest after wards. Kate, when a girl of seventeen, had been captivatedby a handsome, unscrupulous ad venturer, a man whogaveleßsonsin singing at a girls' school in London. He persuaded her to marry him secretly. Tho girl was romantic then, and listened to him. It would ruin his prospects if it were known he was married. Her mother micfht object to the match. Ho urged a dozen pleas, and the girl, weak and foolish as she was then, and inexperienced too, yielded. They were married by special licence, and she returned herself, at his bidding, as of full age. They lived together for a week. Kate was supposed by her mother to have ac cepted an invitation to the house of a pupil in the country. At the end of the week tho Sigror left her, taking her savings, her gold watch, her jewellery—all that she had with him.

Knte went back to her mother terrified. She sobbed out her tale to the good woman, and hegged her forgivonesß, and they both made up their minds they would never see the Italian scoundrel again. So, the wife ot a week kept her maiden name, and taught music, and lived iust as heretofore, Only she was a married woman, and s]\e lived in daily terror of meeting again the man who had betrayed her. There was no love now. The baseness of the rasoal's conduct had shattered her little romantio dream. She knew what a fooj she had-made of herself. Once only the man turned up—a year afterwards—to demand money—the money that his wife had earned. She gave him all she could to get rid of him. He di 1 not want her, and she thanked God for that. And then another year went by, and he made no sign; another year, and still no ejgn; and Kate made inquiries, wondering if she was free. And at last she was able to ascertain that Luigi Vaiari bad been killed fighting under Garibaldi,

Sho was a widow, and free—free with only tho secret known to herself and her mother that she had been tho wile of a foreign swindler who had, for some reason best known to himself, turned patriot, and been most opportunely killed. Kate Yasari—or Kate Ronnie, as she called herself—hesitated when Charles Hailsham asked her to be his wife. She hesitated because she did not know whether to tell him of the Vasari episode. Once again she was weak and foolish, and held her peace. She wai strengthened in this by her mother, who, having consulted another foolish old lady equally unlearned in the law, had discovered that Kato had never been legally married because she mado a false declaration, entering herself as of full age when she was only seventeen. In such manner do many old ladies deceive themselves with regard to little points of tho law.

Kate Hailsham was Luigi Vasari's lawful wife when sho signed her name Kate Ronnie in tho vestry after her union with Charles Hailsham. She was always Luigi Vasari's lawful wife, for the man, instead of having died a patriot as Kate believed, had been a convict, having earned his protection of the Italian Government for as charming a little fraud as ever a scoundrel concocted.

It was soon after his release from a long term of penal servitude that he made his way to England, and, searching for his wife to sponge upon, found her no longer the little mueicmistress, but the wife of a rich man.

Luigi saw his gold mine, and played his cards woll. Ho waited to strike more surely but waited too long. When his letter arrived his victim was beyond his reach. Poor Charles Hailsham, however, paid him handsomely to hold his tongue. For tho sake of Charley—for the sake of the dead wife's name—this husband had to lie pensioned oil". It was a terrible storey for a man to find but in the first week of his bereavement. It was a shocking thought to know that the woman he loved had been killed by the dis covery of the secret she had tried in vain to toll him ere she died.

Charles Hailsham is a widower still. He will never marry again. He is known far and wide as a country squire of the right sort—and Charley boy. now a young man, gives every promise of fulfilling his fond father's hopes. Only the squire is haunter) by a fear that one day ho will have to tell the boy that he is not his lawful son. He wonders at times whether he has a right to keep the secret from him. He has taken certain precau tions in his will, but he hopes and prays that Luigi Vasari will die with his secret untold, and that nobody may ever learn that the heir to Elton Hall and her Majesty's future Attorney-General is Charles Hail sham'B natural son by a lady who was the wife of an Italian convict.

OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

Literary, Social, and Theatrical Jottings.

(BY OUR LONDON CORRESPONDENT.)

PRECIS

HOLIDAYMAKINO IST THE NORTH — A MODRL Dance—The Arrakgements — A Sensible Suppkr-Dainty Dishes—How to Mark a Bonne Boucnu — Champagne Cup — The Phinck ov Walhs's Recipe — Dry Mono pole, 1874 — TnE Pantomime Season — Drury Lane — TnE Cirqueries — Hakry Ricicards vice Patti — The Procession at Druhy Lane—The Music—Betrothal of1 Princess Beatrice —A Mesalliance- Scandal of Germany — New Books — "George Eliot's" Life—Davitt's Prison Diary — " Vjcnetia's Lovers" — New Edi tions— Tns New Serials in the January Maoazines — Music — The Waltz of the Season—" See-saw "—Nb w Style ov Dance cards-Their advantages-Etc, Etc.

London, January IG, 1885. I iiave been up in the North spending Christmas after "ye goode oldo fashion," and only returned to town a few days ugo, co that my knowledge of what has been going on in London during the festive season is somewhat limited. We had an " awfully good time" in Lancashire. The weather was, indeed, cold and frosty, but sunshiny, and the amusements practically unlimited. I dined and danced, and dined and danced again. There were peveral good Christmas and New 'Xear balls, but the best of them all was given in a small house, and in a comparatively unpretentious fashion. I was specially struck with the arrange ments here, which, from first to last, were in their way almost perfect. To begin with, the house was hung from top to bottom with Japanese rugs, weapons, ivories, and fans, the doors being draped in Eastern fashion. There were only about 100 guests, so that instead of the crowding usually inseparable from Buch dances, everybody could move about comfortably. It was, however, the supper that specially excited my admiration. Ball suppers are generally speaking, exactly alike. From the stuffed turkey, cold game, and chicken in various forms, the trifles, jellies, creams, &c, one knows exactly what one will get. At our friends' there were hardly any of the ordinary things. A splendid dessert, including hot - house pines, grapes, peaches, certainly ornamented the tables, and I fancy I saw all the inevit ablo jellies, creams, and trifles ; but the pieces de resistance were nearly, or rather mostly, appetising little dainties one could eat with a fork. To mention the lot would be impossible, but for the benefit of givers of colonial "at homes," a hint or two may be of use. Some tiny cold cutlets, ap parently made up of maehed-up game and chickens, were especially good, as were the croquettes of shrimps, the stuffed eggs, and the mayonaises of lobster, salmon, and chicken. Salads (both French and Rus eian) abounded. I counted at least ten sorts of sandwiches. The latter were formed of the very thinnest wafers of white and brown bread lightly buttered, and about the size of a fat man's finger. The most popular seemed to be the chicken (made from very thin slices off a tender fowl's breast and slightly dashed with red pepper), the pate de foile gras, the pheasant, the Westphalian ham, and the devilled anchovy, A bonne bouche sandwich was in special demand with the men, as were some caviare sandwiches made of toast. The former you make thus : cut a single round about a quarter-of-an-anch thick from a brown French roll about 2 inches in diameter, and butter fairly well. On this spread a layer of mustard and cress, followed by a section of hard-boiled egg. Wrap a thin slice of an anchovy round the egg, crown the edifice with a small stoned 1 rench olive, and your bonne bouche is perfect — a thing of beauty and a joy to the palate. Champagne cup at balls is generally execrable. At this dance it was excellent. Here is the recipe, which the host assures me—and he is a map who ought to know—is the only one the Prince of Wale 3 will permit to be used at his table; To one bottle of a thoroughly sound dry champagne, and one wineglass of white curacao, cne. glass of Hennessey's three-star brandy, a little lemon-peel, a squeeae of lemon, a suspicion of nutmeg, ice (not too much), and two bottles of Schweppes Bodawater. If not sweet enough or too sweet, increase or lessen the curacao. Half-a-dozen glasses of this eleemosynary mixture is warranted to put tone into oven a "masher." The champagne (parseul) was Heidsieck Dry Monopole of 1874, a superb vintage. Altogether, I don't think I ever enjoyed a dance more, and towards 2 a.m. everybody was saying the same thing. What Londoners call the "pantomime season " is now at its height, and twice daily the two great theatres at Drury Lane and Covent Garden, not to mention «i dozen or more transpontine houses are filled with a rapturous and ps^pmng audience of juveniles, wh.GSO crowing laughter and amazed shouts of delight are by no means the least interesting portion of the ohow. Druvy Lane has this year tho. oply really first-rate West End pwiomime. The classic shades of Covent Garden having, to tho great scandal of Italian opera-goers, been converted into what Holland, tho new manager, calls the " Cirqueries." Full of memories of Patti, Nillson, Titiens, Lucca, and othor great singers, an aesthetic musician strolled into Covont Garden the other ovening. He didn't stop ton minutes, for on tho stage aacred to Wagner, Bellini, Rossini, and Meyerbeer, stood Mr Harry Pvichards, braying—ass only a star-comique can hray—a dismal descriptive of his chaste affection for a certain "Matilda Morgan." The visitor departed hurriedly to his club, whence he despatched to the daily papers an affecting history of his woes,

The Drury Lane show is, as usual, very splendid,though possibly just a trifle heavy. Its great feature is a prooession of London city companios, in whloh 700 supers are employed. This is certainly a triumph of stage mnnagoment, and outvies anything I ever before witnessed even at Old Drury. There are two very pretty children's ballets and a wonderful cat (younp Charles Laurie) —a really cat-like cat that purrs and spits and curls its back in a manner which sendß the youngsters nearly frantic w jtb de-

Tho music, too, is well arranged. In some of the concerted pieces I noticed marceanx of no less than 10 comic songs welded together with tho greatest skill, and full of "go." Yesterday, there were no stalls or dress circle seats to be had at Drury Lane for a week, and yet two per formancos aro given daily. Another great success this Christmas is the children's "Pirates of Penzance" at the Savoy. I have "not seen it yet, but the papers go into ecotacies over the acting of the little lad of 11 who does the Major- General, and tho beauty of the boy Frederic's voice. The strong point of this children's performance is that the opora is played in the afternoon only, so that neither the Infants' Protection Society nor any other well-meaning busy bodies can interfere. To change tho subject, I may tell you that tho news of tho betrothal of Princess Beatrice to Prince Henry of Battenberg camo like a thunderclap on most of the Royal Family. It is just tho very mesalliance tho Prince of 'Wales and the Crown Princess of Prussia would havo moved heaven and earth to stop had they but known in time. Apart from the fact that Prince Henry is poorer than tho pro verbial church mouse, and will certainly have to be kept at tho expense of the long suffering British tax-payer, he is an altogether improper match for a Princess of our blood Royal. The bod of a morganatic marriage, the young man ranks in Germany far below an English Earl; indeed, so common are these semi-Brum magem hereditary princes becoming abroad, that almost any British nobleman is thought more of, The Queen, however, has a morbid penchant for the graco less Hesse family, and so soon as she saw that "dear B." really liked "Heinrich,1 her consent was certain. 'Xho wedding will bo a very quiet att'nir. At present it looks as if none of the Imporial family of. Germany would even countenance it with their presence. The publishing season proper camo to an end at Christinas, but several interesting new works aro still on tha tapis. First and foremost comes Mr Cross's life of " George, Eliot," made up from the famous novelist's letters and journals. Messrs Blackwood promise this next week, and its publication will be quite an event in literary circles. "Michael Davitt's Prison Diary," from which I sent you some extracts last mail, is another book in great demand just now. I can also recommend " Venetia's Lovers," a capital love story by Leslie Keith, whose " Alasnam's Lady" you have read, and a 2s reprint of James Payn's " Thicker than Water," which originally ran through "Longman's." Miss Emily Spender's popular novel, "Restored," is also just out at 2s. The new serial etoriea in the magazines nearly all begin well. In " White Heather" (Longman's), Win, Black returns to familiar ground in the Highlands, and is, of course, delightful. Jas. Payn'a "Luck of the Darrels," in " Good Words," commences in his liveliest style; and Clark Russell opens his " Strange Voyage " (Belgravia) in a way which lets the reader know it is going to ba an unusually weird and gruesome yarn. Other promising tales are D. C. Murray's "Rainbow Gold," in the " Cornhill," and " A Girton Girl," by Annie Edwardes, In "Temple Bar." In the "World" of last week a serial story, entitled "A Prince of Darkness," by the author of the " House on the Marsh," was commenced. The first volume of Leslie Stephen's Dic tionary of Biography is out, and on the whole promises well. To take if in, how ever, necessitates the possession of money and youth, for the work is to consist of no less than 40 12s vols. issued tri-monthly. All newspaper offices should, I think, sub scribe, as there can be no doubt that it will be by far the completest biographical on cyclopaedia is ever published —ranking in deed, by the fide of the Encyclopffidin Britanuica, the latest edition of which can now, by the way, be obtained complete. Those who appreciate Mrs Oliphant's works will be much pleased with her new novel "Madam." It is not, perhaps, so full of original character studies as some of her recent stories, but it is a far more in teresting tale in all respects than "Sir Tom," oreve»"Hester." "Madam's"secret, certainly, is never any secret to the reader, and it is difficult to believe a sensible man like John Trevanion would ever have al lowed her mystery to bo set aside uninves tigated. It does not, however, do to be too critical about such work as Mrs Oliphant's. Would there were more romancists like her. Be sure, by-theby, to read the ghost story Mrs O. contributes to " Black wood's" for January. It is called " The Portrait," and though scarcely so powerful aa "Old Lady Mary," is a remarkable addition to "spiritualistic" literature. "Old Lady Mary" and another "tale of the seen and tho unseen," called " The Open Door," can now be obtained bound up in one volume; price, half-a-crown. Dr. Shorthouse's second part of "Little Schoolmaster Mark" has also been reissued in this form. Phil, Robinson, the newspaper special, is re-pub lishing the most interesting of his articles in shilling volumes, called the "Indian Garden Series."

At this time of the year there is always some waltz tune which one hears every where, at pantomime, balls, and even on, the barrel-organs, and being whistled about the streets by dirty urchins. Last year it was the " Estudiantina," the yoar before the " Mia Cara," and the year before that the "My Queen" of Bucalossi. This season we hear nothing half so often as Crowe'sJ jingling " See-saw," which, however, is excellent to dance to, played by a good string band. Talk ing of dancing reminds me to mention that the "chic" thing in dance cards is now just a thick, white card with gilt bevelled edge, about tho size of a rather large gentleman's visiting card, on whioh the dances are inscribed in gold, leaving ample room for partners' names to be in scribed opposite. The pencil is attached aa usual by a silk cord to one corner of the card, and on the reverse side the name of the house where the dance is given is in scribed. The special advantage of these cards is that they are easy to write on, and can be put in the vest pocket without fear of crushing.

"Labby" and the Spiritualists.

" Ligiit," the organ of the Spiritualists, ia indignant, says Labouchore ift " Truth," at my remarks upon Eglinton. Very possibly ; for I have not the slightest hesitation in as serting my conviction that the man is a rogue and a vagabond, who ought to be conveyed to prteon, not for communicating with the unseen world, but for obtaining money under the falsa pretence that he does so. Like all Spiritualist humbugs, he is not prepared to perform his feats under con ditions which render jugglery impossible. This doos not surprise me, for the stock-in trade of all Spiritualists consists in evadine such an inquiry. As for his slate-writing, Slade did just the same, and yet this Slade, having been caught in a horrible crime at Ontario, in Canada, con fessed and explained his slate tricks. With regard to ghosts, nothing is more simple than to deceive half-a-dozen credulous persons by making them believe that they are in the presence of. spirits. It is the easiest of easy trioks. It is done either by the medium personating the ghosts, or by means of a confederate. The medium requests his dupes to sit in a circle, and one grasps his right hand and the other his left. The medium then writhes, and manages to slip away, jeaving two to' hold each other's hands, which, during his con tortions, helias brought together. The rest, of course, is not difficult. The spirit-hand trie& is performed in this way ; the medium puts a hand made of a stuffed glove up his leg, and attached by an elastic string to his waist, When the dark Eeanee com mences, he gets the hand down, to the end cf his foot, extends his foot to the opposite side of the table at which ho is sitting, and waves the stuffed glove about. If a little phosphorus be rubbed on it, the effect ia better. When the performance has been gone through, all that the medium has to do is to lot the hand spring back under neath his trouser. The floating trick is porformed by taking off the boots and put ting the hands in them. The hands arij then waved about above a person's he?.d, who grasps the boots and feels the arms of the coat, which he ta'ics for legs. Of course so long & s peopl© are prepared to pay money for witnessing these tomfooleries, knavos will be found to practise therri, According to. "Light," Eglinton'B spiritualistic preten sious are vouched for by Mr Gladstone. What are the facts 1 Mr Gladstone was o guest in the house whore Eglinton per formed the slate trick. The Premier stated that he did not know how it was performed. He would say probably the same thing wen he to witness the tricks of ilr Maskefyne aft the Egyptian flail. It is a common "habit of Spiritualists to do some simple triok before a man of note; if he cannot tell them how it is done, they poll him in aa admittiog all the Spiritualistic nonsense that he has never seen, and by means of which, they made money out of fools.

THE AUCKLAND 'EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1865.

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