DONALD'S PLOT. A STORY OF An Unfaithful Guardian

By SViVANIIS COBB, Jr.

CHAPTER XIX

UONCLCHIO.N

o]( ] nia n and tho horso arrived upon tho spot designated at tho samo moraont. He looked at the paddle, felt the girths and tho broast-strap, then raisod his hand to the pommol and hU foot t0 th° BtlrruP ; but foro ho mounted he turned again to his

assistant. "Walter, there's no danger of the old mm 't spending the night in the offico?"

"0 !—bless youl-no." ■•Then will you do it, so that I can cal! y OU to help me when I got back':" «"Certainly I will."

•'Good! I sha'n't bo back before mid •»kt— tierhap3 not till much later. But '"$ wake early. Goodnight/ With J. tho Vaulted into the saddle like a youth- Ll trooper and sped away, tho foot of his iinrso making no nou-c on the soft turf. Tarbell watched him out of sight, and then turned back into tho house, and to the Sm where ho reported to his master. !-Late, Walter. But never mind. You have no more entries to mako. Just dtrike the balanco, and fill up the memoran dum. I want !t {ull and exPlicit-every thing down in black and white—so that the riioetshall show exactly how we stand. You understand!" "Perfectly. 1 have it nil in mind, Bir. "Good! Go at work, and when you're- Hone lock up everything and go to bed. I shall want you to-morrow." Without further remark Donald Owon turned *rom the ollico and went to the iibrtry, whero he overhauled and arranged Various and numerous papers -somo of them fefiucalculablo importance—until after mid night, when ho closed his labours with a gape and a yawn, and sought his sleeping ' Early on tho following morning there •was considerable fltir and bustle at the ' Owen mansion, occasioned by tho arrival of a confederate colonel of cavalry, accom panied by a troop of a dozen mounted men. Aa he alighted at tho door ho displayed a form tall and inuacular, with no excess of feh— baiiig rather thin than otherwiso ; a face daikand sombre; his only beard a thick, black mustache, sweeping far away on either cheek; features strong, bold, and angular; a massive lower jaw ; with a pair of intensely black eyes, bright and glitter ing. He was habited in a suit of grey, with a spread-eagle, worked in silvor thread, onths standing collar of his jacket. Such wa« Colonel Kirk Bloodworth, well known in those parts as a dashing and intrepid cavalry raider. Be and Donald Owen met like old friends, and very shortly after his arrival tho twain were seated over a flowing bowl, with glasses and pipes. The chief's followers, meanwhile, were turned over to Tarbell, who took them to one of tho eating rooms, where bottles and glasses were furnished. Bloodworth was careful to mako his .side dashes with not a man who could bo in danger of drinking to intoxication, co ho had no need to caution thorn. In fact, he kimself was more likely to drink to excess than w»s any one of his mon, and wo are cot sure that his prosent host did not pre*s toe punch upon him with a purpose. Half an ho,ar after tho arrival of tho troop, and while they wore carousing boisterously, Rupert met his fathor in tho ball.

" father, what does this mean ? Aro \m fond of such unseemly uproar?" "lam fond of being rnastor in my own louse. And," he added, his anger rising, tot he had long since broken all friondly relations with his son, only waiting a fitting opportunity for disowning and discarding iim. Aswe have said before, his love for bia&n-had been a passion, an emotion, not :'■ -a power of the heart; and when his love . Sad changed to hatred, the hatred had boon iUtter and vindictivo as hate could be. -"And," ho added, " I may tell you, ns lA do* as ever, that your stay hero is ifert, You have trampled on my authority, iporned my counsel, and allied yourself witb my enemies against me. You havo ! .Ifyoa denyit you lie. Ho !It hurts, does it! I'llhurfcyou worse than that beforo I'm toe with you. Don't I know— know — that you have taken up Bertram's cause against ma!" "Father," tho young man replied, strug gling mightily to hold back his anger—he was whiteasmath—" I always will embrace the cause of Bight, if I know it—always— no matter where nor upon whom the result may bear heavily,'' '"Sdeath! do you say tho causo of that English interloper and his presuming par - "Stop!" thundered Rupert, with a stamp oi the foot that shoDk tho very waSs and Wed even his father to quail. '' For tho i love of Heaven, don't push me to tho forget ting (hit you aro my father !" "Ho! I could not well to do that, sinco joo have forgotten it already " "Enough! Let the brutal aoldiery — . blots on the cause they pretend to servo — Bake pandemonium if they will; you and ; I willnet add to it." And before his father .could respond Rupert had passed on and left the hall. Towards tho middle of the forenoon Knpert and Doris sat together in tho cham ber overlooking tho main street of tho village. Rupert bad told his fair companion thostory of his interview with his fathor, ; MOfhe was wondering what direction her oncle's wrath would take, when Susan tmrnodly entered, with her finger on her

.Doris was by her side in a moment, but wore a word hud been spoken anothor vptMonce appeared at tho doorway which tho g"l bad left open. Doris saw, and, with a •low, rapturous cry, flow to the embrace of ocr dear husband. ■ For a little time tho eceno must bo imagined. Pew words were needed in the pouring forth of their groat love and tho wondrous depth of their gratitude. At length, when the wild surge of emotion «w passed, George turned and grasped %ertby the hand. To you I nee( j no f ur thor in troduction," lie said. "Though you ™ the son o f one who has uMply wroaced uio, I daro claim you for m 7 brother." «iPlTem«yonr heart, George, and I will ■Mthetray you." "Oh.! George! Doris oxclaimod, as the w young men stood hand -in-hand, "I cannot tell you how good he has beon to mo 1 '"ow you win ] ovo him a i waya ," Scarcely ; la d sho epokon when ft heavy ™PlnK sounded upon tho stuirs leading «1> from the main hall, and presently the 'irnS. y Was darkened by human forms. Who comos there? Who intrudes upon "WtM privacy in this houso?" demanded ttjpert, starling forward. B1 *«|W, young man!" said Col. jooaworth, advancing into tho apartment, "he spoke. "Back, I say, or it may be ;°™ o. for you! Oho! I think this is my ff Now' ffly Une follow ! ;> laying a "a™ upon our hero's wrist, "I must troublo Jon to come with mo. Ho there! Come in neje, soiDD of you |" W fi" d°ZC' n stout troopers came quickly vav i J? n\ Kvt was pushed roughly one *i. ian Doria another, Bert-rum being on- Wysurronnded and captured. *s! J?tlelßloodwOTth," said Rupert, with arro ♦'• dIX»lty- " '''0 you know that you are fon ug f faroled prisoner—ono who has ■juff •D ° y for our caUBe> ancl ia cvon !10W lattT'? ™ ?ovore tfmn»d« received in

Ha ; o!.^"t won't co down, young man, *,«S» he', paroled. nnyh«p." ' ■shoK °oa » Rosecra"B' s safo P aM to » n ln y° • * don't d°uljt it. EoEecrana ofW , iem readVto flonertonthostrength p pf ~T, . lNo' »0.-thatwon't do. Come along ! him along, boys!" ■havnl roUr^ m 8n' to resist wllom wou!d intothl o h.n f' draR uSed younK Bortram °ut thao, I.l' down ths broari stairway-into stoorii ■' l ' in S-room,where Drniald Owen hart » • one of tho cavalry oiiicora who by S""^ behind- He turned to escape C *nothordoor, but tho way was blocked from ?}! mbßl¥ o£ troopers who had obliqued was WjT"l body> to enter there, so he Wore l n ° I tßl' n back i and in a moment *«« J^T l et 0 face with Georse BBr bflhhS tv pßrt' wMl° Do"3 came clo.se SpSp l ir bg'ngher hand 3in th° i?Bffi! lia, vvou dono this thin 2?" rbL, Ba " n M™ nnded» with »storn look into 41 y oncaiac.e. ijried °!ii I-/"" >0 done il!" tho old man cover' anrt "Zr "M J roof shal! not Kivc ■•"?f"f.'y barter! you know ikiJ °''d wtctcb! y°u lie'■ and

All oyes were turned towards the open doorway whence tho voice sounded, and they beheld the white haired old wanderer —calling himself Ben Christie. " Yes, Donald Owen," tho old man added, advancing into tho room, '• you lie ! Your whole life is a lie ! Colonel Bloodworth, you vo been led into an error; but here comes one that'll straighten it out. I'm thinking." He stopped aside as he spoke, and thoro ontored a powerfully framed.handsome man in tho uniform of a major-general of the Confederate service, accompanied by a full Buite of subalterns.

"Bloodworth—old follow! I'm glad to meot you."

( "Renwick !-Jack ! Bless me ! who'd a thought of eecinjj you hero?' "I'll toil you, Kirk, I camo to prevent ■a great wrong-a wrong which you might havo done with the best intention in the world." He took tho colonel's hand, and whispered into his ear, "I tell you, my boy, you'd botter make friends of tho youngsters than of old Donald."

Bloodworth caught tho words, and stepped back, saying, as he did co : " I camo to arrest this young follow as a doserter."

"In mercy's name, who told you he waa a deserter?"

"My information came direct from him," answered the colonel, pointing to the host. " Donald Owen !" exclaimed Kenwick, gazing upon tho old reprobate reproachfully. "Did you do that thing!" ■'^"ea -I did ! —and I had good roason for bolieving him a deserter." " 0 ! man ! man !—what in tho world has possossed you T Then, turning to Blood worth, ho continued: " Kirk, this young man, now known as George Bertram, served with mo under his two middle names only — ' Forsytk Amsrfcn.' "

" What! Colonel Amsden, of your staff?"

" The samo. Twice has ho saved ray life : and once he has aavod my wholo forco.' Sorely wounded, and left ;,ir dead, after prodigies of valour, ho was taken prisoner by the Feds, and when he waa able to get about Rosecrans paroled him. This I know. At somo time 1 would like you to hear his 3tory."

"Colonel !"cried Bloodworth, with en thusiasm, at the same time extending his hand to our hero, "put it there!" Thoy grasped hands warmly. "You'll pardon me, sir, I know. I never—"

"Not a word," interrupted George. " Your friendly hand is all sufficient. I was astonished rather than hurt."

'"0, you old reprobate!" exclaimed the troopor, facing Donald Owon. " A pretty moss you would have got mo into ! I'm blessed if I haven't a good mind to arrest you !"

" Don't blamo jae too sovorely, Kirk," pleaded Donald, road/ with any Ho that could servo his purpose. " I was myself deceived. If you and General Renwick will join me by-and-by in my banquet-hall, we'll quickly find a way to wipo out all hard feelings. You won't refuse me."

_ Instond of replying to this implied invita tion, Eonwick turned to tho cavalryman, and the two entered into a private conver sation, seeing which Donald gave his atten tion to those who, ho felt, had brought him into this unfortunate predicament.

" To your case, you miserable old scoun drel !"—to the white-haired man—" I'll give attention in due .season." Then, to Bertram and Doris:

"As for you, Mr Bertram.— and you, you impertinent baggage—calling yoursolf my cous-in's child, —I wish pimply to inform you, —There's the door ! Not anothor night do you stop beneath my roof ! If you wore dy ing, I'd turn you out ! I don't want to hear a word. You might have found a comfort able homo horo if you had been so inclined ; but [am not to be trodden upon. So—out you go ! Don't lot me havo to call my servant to put you out!

"And you, sir," to his son, "can go with them, if you will. At all events, you are no moro a son of mino. Never— never — Nevek—shall you possess a dollar of my estate."

"0 ! pshaw !" uttered tho white haired, white-bearded man, moving forward as ho spoke. " Where is i/onr estate' Donald Owen, you have run your race ! In the name of him whoso memory you wrong in defrauding bU orphan child, 1 call you to account I

"Who—who—are you?" gasped the striken wretch, like one suddenly paralysed.

With a sweep of the hands the Bilvory board, the snowy hair, and tho black patcli were torn nway ; a few passes of tho hand kerchief removed the false wrinkles from his face, and he stood revealed, a halo hearty man ; tall and erect, of good form, a pleasant, honest face, on the youthful side of fifty, though noaror fifty than forty. Donald Owen, with a gasp, and quivering at evory joint, turned pale as death. " Jack Clearstak ! Death and des truction !"

"Destruction to your foul and wicked plotting, Donald. 0 ! how Ralph trusted you ! What confidence ho reposed in you ! And you would rob his orphan ! But the end is come. Doris—dear child —you don't remember me," turning, and taking her hand ; "but I should havo known you from your resemblance to yuur mother. You havo that gold crucifix 1" "Yes." " Let me take it."

She turned awny. taking Leila with her— tho maid having followed her from above— and having quickly drawn tho precious token from its socrot pocket, sho returned and gave it into Jack's hand. "Oil should have known you anywhere," the Hindoo maiden said, coming up with her mistress.

" Aye, my littlo lady ; and I should cer tainly havo known thoso twinkling eyes of yours. Now for a hammer. Jt won't re quire heat to open this affair. Tho secret is mine, and bo sure it's a curious one." Leila ran away, and soon returned with a small hammer which b!io had found in her chamber, and sho g:\vo it to Jack. " Now, George—and you, Doris-and, General—you'ro a lawyer?' " Yes" answeredßonwick ; "I suppose I must acknowledge the profoesion." " Then you are wanted with the rest, if you'll be so kind as to give your assistance. t don't think you'll refute your friend any service you can rondor." "Bosure 1 will not." " And you, Donald—will you look on and see mo open your cousin's Last Will asd Testament?" With a low cry Doris caught her husband by the arm. " 0, (.ieorge, do you think it possiblo I His answer was hut a nod, as ho was en gaged in witching.Donald. Tho miserable plottor replied not in words to Jack's invi tation ; ho only gave another of those spasmodic gasps ; but ho nevertheless took a 9tep forward where he could observe Olearatai'a manipulation!*

"Now, ludiesand gentlemen," aaidJack, when all was ready, " we'll make (juick work o£ this. I was with Ralph when !io had this crucilix mado ; and I was also with him when ho had the old goldsmith of Calcutta put it together after tho dead had beon put into it. I have already explained to these young pooplo why Ralph did this strange tiling. Ho had kept a knowledge of his vast wealth from Mary Staoton bo causo ho would know that sho married him for love alone. Afterwards, ho kept it from his wife from a strong fancy ho had taken that it would be ploaaant to surprise her upon her arrival on her own domain. His will was aindo after his daughter was born ; and ho never altered it. It was a presenti ment that caused him to hido it in this ecret place. But all these things can be explained hereafter." He then took from his pocket a stout jack-knife; open the larger blade ; then aid tho crucifix down on a window ledgo, face upward; and using his knife as a chisel, ho sot the sharp edge of the end of (ho blade against a beautifully carved rose bud that stood out in bold relief on the very top of the main shaft of the cross ; then f. smart blow of the hammer upon the back of the biude, and tho bud was cut oft and foil to tho floor. Then, wjth a stout needle, the manipulator pushed out a little pin, from the upper end of which the bud had beon fevered, after which he laid hold pon the figure of the Crucified One and drew it completely off. the top of the cross coming away like a sliding cover, revealing ahollow space below, in which lay a tiny roll of paper, looking like a section of a clay Pi?tprovcdtob 0a ,ill<en .issue, very fine andL wyftnn. larjro enough to contain all of George, and two other military ofhceni of the British army in India, idated at Cal cutta, British India, Juno sth, 845. Jack gave it to Gen. RenwicU, aekingifhe would read it and see it properly executed. Donald Owen shrank away into a far rorncr pale and shaking, ever and anon glancing round as though looking for some one who did not appear. Twice ho hod started to leave the room ; but a desire to hear the will read had hold him back. And he soon heard it. Benwick read it Blowly, and n tones clear and diatinct.

After the usual Christian form Of opening, tho will gave to Jack Clearstar fifty thousand dollars, to bo paid him in current fund?. Other friends were remembered. Then : "To my cousin, Rupert Owen, bod of Donald, I give one hundred thousand dollars in money, and an undivided half of my coal mine in the Chestnut Vale." The next item was dovotod to his beloved wife. He provided for her right royally during her life,' all to go to Doris when she should have passed away. Then, to Doris, his dearly beloved daughter, he gavo ovorything not other wise disposed of—all his property, of real estate, money, bonds, stocki, &c, &c, in cluding the remaining half of tho coal mine ; she to come into full possession at tho age of eightoon, or on the day of her marriogo. It cloeed thus : "My cousin, Donald Owen, has been amply provided for by my grandfather; but, should ho ever come to want, or should his needs requiro it, 1 charge my wife, and in case of her doath, I charge my daughter, from their abundance, to provide for him amply." Donald Owon hoard thus far, and then, grinding his teeth with rago, he glided swiftly from the room, his eyes gleaming, and his hands clutched as with fierce deter mination. In tho hall ho mot soveral of Bloodworth's troopers, but ho brushed quickly past them, and had taken a few steps beyond, whon lie camo face to face with his secretary, who was coming from the direction of the office with a bundle of papers in his hand. "Ho ! Walter—l want you ! Stop ! Turn back with mo." And he laid a hand upon his scribo's arm ; but it was quickly shaken off, and tho latter answerod hurriedly : " No, sir. Tamon my way to tho draw ing-room. Don't detain mo." "Death and I Will you disobey me ? — They havo not conquored yet. Walter, if you breathe a word of tho change 1 havo mado of tho pioporty, I'll kill you, as sure as faro ! But you aro too wiso for that. Come ! You shall go with me " —loworing his voico to a whispor as he thus spoko— "to Philadelphia. Quick's tho word! Come !"

" No. I must go anothor way. lam under orders from one who has authority."

A terriblo oath, and—" You will botray mo, eh ? Anothor oath still more horrible, and—" No ! - never ! No man shall live to betray Donald Owen!" Ho drew a pistol from a breast pockot, quickly cocked it, and in another instant tho secretary would havo boon a dead man ; for tho revolver's muzzle was at his temple, with tho murderous ringer upon tho trigger; but the result was wondrously changod. A sharp cry from Tarbell had callod tho attention of the troopers, one of whom, see ing tho old man's movement, sprang forward and caught his arm, throwing it upward and backward while in tho act of firing. The hammer fell—thero was a sharp report—a cry—a groan—and a fall; and Donald Owen lay prono upon the carpot, with tho bullet fr"m his pistol sent crashing its way through his brain !

Thoso who laid tho mortal remains of Donald Owon away in their last-resting place were willing, so far as they were able, to bury his faults, and tho romombranco thereof with them. Thoy woro never spokon of again ; and thus the knowledge of tho night-sido of his life was confined to a faithful fow, and the ghost of his ci'imo? was never to arise, in tho coming time, to confound tho dismay of his son. Gen. Renwick, true to his promise, with such aseiatance as ho chose to summon, caused the will to be proved and allowed in all neodful legal form. Walter Tarbol) opened the eyes of all concerned by his exposition of tho situation in the dietant city. Our hero, having soon Rupert established in full charge at Owenaville, as Boon ao ho was able to travel, with the paosport of Gen. Rosecrans, to givo him safe conduct, taking Doris, and Leila, and Susan with him, and accompanied by Jack Clearatar and Waltor Tarbell, made his way to Philadelphia, where ho found matters exactly as tho secretary had statod. Bertram had brought good and sul\icient vouchers from Gon. Renwick and from tho officers of the court of hia district, and thoso together with tho proved will, the proofs of Doris's identity, and tho presotieo of the socrot iry who had dono most of tho busi no?s heretofore, rendered it comparatively easy for the true owners to enter into possession of thoir proporty. For a timo they were well-nigh bowildorsd wlion they contemplated their wealth. Donald had mado tho exchange with Lim prey, of Richmond, by which the real estate in Philadelphia was brought up to two millions of dollars and moro. Then tho last deposit in bank had brought tho amount there safoly laid away up to a round two millions moro. The cool mine, in 20 years, had done a groat portion of all this. What wanted thoy moro? They liked tho Quaker City, and thero thoy resolved to m-iko their homo. Thoy had known suffer ing, and now, in thoir ailluonco, they relieved it os thoy best could, whorovor thoy found it. Jack Clearstar took to himself tho fancy that ho was still a young man, and he gave the problem to Susan Draper for her solu tion.

" Dear old Jack !" sho criod, " young or not, you are a darling !" That was onough. Ho asked her to be his wife. Sne would say yes on ono condition She should not bo taken away from Doris " Only death can take mo away from Doris's husband,1 was his ready response ; and she gave him her hand joyfully. Wlion the war was over, George and Doris returned for a time to Owensvillo. Tho scourge of the conflict had scarcely touched tho quiot town. Tho property there was considerable, but thoy wanted nono of it, They gave it all to ltupert. Ho had takfln to himeelf a wife; was tho father of a bright-faced, bluo-eyed boy, and had gained wonderfully iv health. Said ho to Doris, in all sincerity : " Dear cousin, your half of tho mino you must keep. It is far too valuable to bo sur rendered no readily ; and, moroovor, I do not need it. "Thon," sho answered him, with a beaming smile, "you shall not havo it." And boforo sho left, aim and her husband had executed tho necessary instruments for transferring tho valuable property to Geohok Bertram Owen—Ruport'a infant son and heir—him and his hoirs for over. TUB END.

Mark Maynard's Wife.

A LOVE KOMASOB X KKA-L LU'K.

CHAPTER IV

" JIVLOVK IS LIKK TMK RKIf, XXI) KOSE !" Toon C.VN'iiiCK, creeping softly through tho tangled graseoi", tares and brushwood, thought bitterly of the scene sho had loft, and of her young husband talking soft, flattering nonsenso to their beautiful young guest. She know ho would, for it was ns natural for Mark Maynard to admire beauti ful women and toll them of his admiration as it was to live !

Akla Lome was as beautiful as eoino fubled houri; she was a botwitching, bewildering brunoUo, with large, languish in" dark eves, and hair of midnight, dark no"?, but about her great spirituolle oyes was an expression aa it happinoes did not always dwoll in her young heart; her face when in repose was unuttorably cad ; fair, dainty Aldn, although so young, had yet tho ineidioua germ of a fatal disease lurking in her systom ! Her mother, a delicate Southern girl, had fallen a prey to deadly consumption, and Alda know that in a few years she also was doomed to an early grave 1 Already she had a.dry, hacking cough, and more than once her handkerchief had been stained crimson by slight hemorrhages. She had not informed her gunrdian of this, knowing it would grieve him greatly, for ho loved his fair young ward, on orphan left to his care when she was quite an infant. Her father had taken his fair youthful wife to India, thinking the change would be boneficial to her, but not so, and when he was stricken down in the full strength of his manhood with a fatal fever, his wifo ' lived only a few weeks longer; they were buried side by side in the far away land. Samuel Dasbro had been a friend of tho family, and the little Alda was entrusted to bis care. Wqplth illimitable was hera, but that could not prolong her life or take the lurking shadows from about her young heart. She knew eho had her mother's disoaee, but made no lament; night after night she lay with wido open, tearless eyes wooing sleep in vain, or a storm of pas sionate sobs would shake her slender frame and her pillow would be drenched with Poor Alda ! Candico in her gentle heart would have pitied her if sho iiad known, but she did not, and sitting in her little room, with the last fading ruyß of the sun bathing her face, she WRtched from her window the younpr folkb -oturned to the house. She envied the till young girl

walking so proudly by Mark's side, and folt a sharp pang of jealousy for the beauti ful stranger so warmly welcomed among them

Days came and went, and still the gueeta lingered, Candice bravely doing hor beat wifli tho work. Katie, after her neuralgia had disappeared, soemed ashamed of her bad temper, and once more took the burden from tho young girl's shoulders. All passed quietly until one day Candice went to her room on some trifling errand. What was her surprise to find it already occupied; the bed was taken down and a small easel stood at the window ;on it was an unfinished sketch. Candice gazed about her in dismay. What did it all mean ? Must even hor little room be invaded, givon ovor to the enemy ? AVas there no spot on earth she could call her own 1 Her errand was forgotten, and hurrying down to Katie, she said, bitterly : " 1 guess aunt expects mo to hang upon a nail, nights, Katio I" "Why, Miss Cundice ■»"

"She has taken possession of my room ; the bed is disposed of, and an easel stands at tho window !"

" Faith, Mise Candice, and is that what it is ? Shure I toted the thing up meself. Your aunt says to mo, ' Katio, tako this and carry it up to Candico'a room.' Shure I thought it was a clothos-rack or_ some thing of the kind for your own special use, and I thought tho mistress was gotting a kind spell on for a change, bad 'cosa to her ! What's the thing for, Miss Candice, that you've turned out for it ? Shuro thore's space for both tho aisil and you, or must it bo a hormit and havo the room by itself!"

" Katie, you do not understand," Candice said, half laughing at her droll romarks. " They hayo turnod my poor little room into a studio "

"A what ?" Katie asked, innocently "A studio to paint in," Candico said, smiling at Kate's look of perplexity. " Shure, and is that tho raisin thoy have turnod you out of your room? Couldn't thoy paint in their own room just as well ?" "Oh ! Katie," and Candico laughed merrily, " ilon't you understand yet?" " Indado I don't!" and Katie shook her brick-coloured hair in a negative fashion. "Faith, and me blundering Irish tongue is always getting things wrong !" " Katio, Mi?a Lorno, I understand, is quite an artist and paints lovely pictures, and I heard them remarking at the table yostorday somothing about the girls taking lossons, Oh !if I could only paint and bo lovod and courted like Miss Lome, courted, feted, and carossed !" and the girl's voice died to almost a wail

" Don't, Miss Candico I Shuro, Katio will stick to you. I'm only a poor Irish gurl, put I don't forget kindness when I meot it, Shuro you can slapo in me bed; 'tis nato and clano."

" But whero will you sleep, Katie?" " Shure there's lots of blankets and quilts in me room. I can make me a bed on the floor."

"No, you will not," Candice said, de cidedly. •' You kind, good-hoartod girl, do you think I would not sleep with you ? If aunt does not furnish me with another bod, I will shaio yours with you." But Candiee wont around the rest of the day with a heavy heart. Sho oxpocted her aunt would seek hor out and make somo arrangements for hor; she did not, ho.v ever, but seemed to shun that part of tho house. Candico felt hurt, more than sho cared to admit. "If sho had only spoken to mo about it," Candico thought, sadly, "befoto thoy took possession, I weuld not havo minded it quite so much, but to ignore my vory existenco,that's whore tho sting is." Candico waited for her aunt's appearance in vain, and, too proud to even mention tho occurrence to any momber of tho family, sho sought her littlo room, gathered up herfow belongings and transferred thnm to Katie's chamber over the kitchen. Mrs Maynard saw hor Hitting through tho hall, well satis tied that sho had submitt.-d so easily, for tho haughty woman dreaded a scene, and even she folt uncomfortable over the in justice sho had done her half sister's child, Candico cried herself to sleep that night. A hoiriblo certainty was taking possession of her mind, an unutterable dread of tho futuro an-1 what it would bring to hor—shamo and disgrace unless Mark acknowledged bor as his wifo, and that possibility seemed furthor off than over. Sho arose in tho morning, heavy-eyed and unrofreshed. Kind-hearted Kntio tried to induce her to keep lior room for awhile, but sho would not, and with this fresh burdon laid upon her young life sho aro?e wearily enough, but with ono thought burning and searing her brain. She would sock Mark and toll him all; then, if ho did not acknowledge her, sho would j»o away and die ! Botter to go out of this lifo entirely than live on liko this ! She watched and waited for him, but no chance came until just beforo dinner, when eho caught a glimpse of him sauntering down the garden walk. Throwingprudonce to tho winds, with no thought of anything but her own pitiable plight, sho hurried after him.

Hurk ! ho was not alone : ho had stopped under the old arbour of grapo vinos, and vas speaking in tho low molodious tones sho loTod co well. Peoring through tho friendly shelter of a bund, of lilac shrubs, she saw her young huaband with « boautiful red roee in his hand, and before him, with a faint flush on hor delicate face, 'was Alda Lome. " "Tib tho Last Rose of Summer! Murk said, laughingly. " Will you accept it, Miss Alda ?" As tho girl's white ringors closed about tho green stem, Mark said, softly, toapingly : " ' My Lovo is Like tho Rod, Red Ro'so !'" and gazed with evident admiration at the fair girl'B blushing face, and then raised tho little, trembling fingers to his mouetached lips. Candico waited to hear no more; she turned and fled wildly, blindly, toward tho house. She could not ask him now; he loved fair Alda Lome ! Botweon the fair young heircs? and Candicy, the working girl, there was nothing in common ' And Mark, in the old garden, had no thought of disloyalty to his youthful .rife., but lior claims on him had been so slight ho had not folt their pressure horetoforo. Ho admired Aldu and had kissod her band ; that was all, but to Candico it was every thing !

CHAPTER V.

KATIB RKBLLS Aiiouts couple of weeks after the incidents recordod in tho la»t chapter, Katio openly rebolleri. Mrs Mnynard had been more tyrannical than ever. Evorythine in her eyes wont wrong; aho scolded Katio and Candice without the slightest provocation. Candice said nothing in reply, but Katie quick- tempered Katie—would not brook co much fault-rinding. Monday, Katie did tho washing and in the evening sprinkled the clothes down for tho naxt day'u ironing ; in the morning she put the irons on tho stove to heat while ahe wan setting breakfast. Breakfast was over, and cloaring up Katio eet the dishes on tho little sido-tablo and com.nenced ironing, when Mrs Maynard ap peared with a face like a thundercloud, dark and threatening. "Katie, I want you to wash thoao diahoa at once I" she cried. Katio lookod up, saw her mistress's ireful face, and lot the half finished garment drop from hor fingers. " You want me to stop ironing, mum' ! " Yes. and wash the dishes !" Mrs May nard eaid, in a moro gracious tone, for she did not quite like tho looks of Katie's head set so deliantly on her shoulder?. "Very woll, mum," Katie responded, quietly, and, taking the dish-pan down from the -wall, she got water from the reservoir and commenced washing the diflhetf. Mrs Maynard glancod uneasily at the gar ment on the ironing-board; it was ono of, Mark's shirts, all ironed but tba bosom. She glanced at the shirt.then at Katie, who was washing tho dis-hes with the utmost unconcern, and spattering the water about in a terribly suggestive manner. "Are you not afraid the bosom will get dry, Katie?" Mrs Maynard asked, trying to speak pleasantly. ■•No, mum," Katio answered, briefly, and Mra Maynard, thinking it would bo best to beat a retreat, quietly left the kitchen. Candir.e was sick, really and truly sick her head burned and throbbed, and her limbs seemed tottering beneath her. Katie had persuaded hnr to romain in bed for a few-hours, and ■what was h3r surprise to Beo the servant como into her room and com monco packing her trunk. 1' I'm going away, Miss Candioe ! Indude I'll not stay here to bo scolded for doing the right aa well as the wrong ! She scolds me for using too much wood, and when I want to use tho irons while they are hot to save the wood she scolds ma for that, and shure a pore Irish gurl can't suit the likes of her!" "Katie, whero will you go? Candice asked, anxiously. "To Chicago, Miss Candice. My brother, Pat llaguirp, has a bit ofushopthere.andhe would be gl;»d to h«ve Katie tend it for him. Many? the time he's said, 'Katie, you nada nc-t be wurUing out; come and live with me !'"

"Oh ! Katie, how can I get along with out you ?" Candice said, eadly, seeing Katie was determined on going. " After you are cone, I'll hare no friend on earth !" " Don't say that, Miss Candi.-o, jewel of my heart!" Katio exclaimed, earnestly. " Shure if you ever made a friend, Katie will be one to you I" Candice had her arms about Katie's nock now, and wbb sobbing bitterly. "Ohl Katie! Katie! if I could go too ! You know not how much I am in noed of friends !"

" Hush ! Miss Candico !" Katio said, sob ing softly, but trying to speak cheerfully through her tears. "\Wti •!. (: burden gets too heavy for the b-uj. >.o oarry, then come to Katie; eho will wurruk for you, if nado may bo. Shuro, Katie Maguire never forgets the ones that are kindest to her !"

Katio packed hor trunk, quickly donned hat and shawl, and hurried to the nearest railroad station, about half a mile from thoro, and emit a boy back after her belong ings. That was the lirst Mrs Maynard knew of the occurrence. She had not been neur the kitchon since morning, and sup posed Katie was still thore. What, thore foro, was her dismay when tho boy came, stating that Katio Maguiro had sent him for her trunk I

" Whoro is Katio ?" Mrs Maynard asked anxiously. "At the station, ma'am," the boy said, respectfully," waiting for the Chicago train. Sho said I was to hurry back."

" Wait here," Mrs Maynard said, quickly, and hurrying through tho dining room straight to tho kitchen, eho paused and looked about her. Tho dishes wore washed and put away, but it was nearly dinner time and no preparations had been made for tho midday meal. In the middle of tho room tho ironing-board stood, held by two chairs, and Mark's shirt lay on it, with tho bosom still unironod. The kitchen was uninhabited save by a large Maltese cat, purring in tho open door-way. Mrs Maynard caw at a glance how matters wero, and hurrying up tho back stairs entered Katie's room. Candice lay on the bed, sobbing bitterly. "Whero is Katie?" Mrs Maynard askod quickly, eyeing tho sobbing girl angrily. Candice sprang up nervously. " Sho has gone, Mrs Maynard !" "Gone, Candice, and you moping up here !" hor aunt said, harshly, "You must come down and help with tho dinner work, and notbeidling away yourtime." Sho did not ask Candico tho cause of her grief, but seemed to tako it as o personal offence against her own dignity. Glancing at Katie's trunk sitting on tho landing whore tho Irish girl had dragged it, she hurried down and sent tho boy after it. Candico, rising, dragged her weary limbs down to tho kitchon, and commenced mak ing preparations for dinner. It was clow work, for her head throbbed and her lagging feet almost refueod to do hor will. Sbo thought of kind-hearted Katie speeding on towards Chicago, and hor eyes wero dim with tears.

Alice Maynard, a tall, gracoful blondo, was not wholly bad-heartod, and when she came into the kitchen after a glass of water for Alda, nho saw at a glance Candice was not ablo to bo working there, and told her in a kindor tono than sho had used for months that sho would help hor with the work. "I will be so glad, Alico !" Candice said, gratefully. Alico'? heart smote hor nioro than once that morning as sho watched Candico fur tivoly. It was wintor now, or nearly so, and only eight months before Candice had como to the old farm house, bright, bonnie Candico, tho very ombodimont of youth and health ; now eho was wan and spirit less : tho wild roso bloom had disappeared ; she looked tick, bodily and mentally, and Alico, calling hor niothor aside after dinner, eaid, decisively : "Mother, Mark must, hunt up another girl this vory day, for Candico is sick and cannot do tho work. We liavo been so busy with Undo Sinn and Alda that we have not noticed her lately." " Most likely sho has tho sulks I" Mrs Maynard eaid, coldly. "But, of coureo, we must have another girl; you must not spend your timo in tho kitchen 1" So Mark was despatched to hunt up anothor maid of all work, and camo back after nightfall with a big, stolid German girl. Mrs Maynard did not mention to Mark that Candico was ill. Sho called it a n't of bad temper, but for sovoral days tho girl was unablo to leave hor room. Mark folt many a twinge of conscience whenever ho thought of her. Ah ! tho confession ho was to make soemed furthor off than over; how could ho explain before his Undo Sam and Aldn» It would bo bad enough before his mother and tho girls, but to note his Uncle Sam's glnneo of stoin disapproval and to soo sweot Alda Lome's eyes shrink from him in aversion, that would bo too much ! No, no, ho could not nerve himself for tho ordeal! He had pondorcd over it, con sidered it often, whenever he caught a glimpso of Candico's sad, palo face, but oach timo some slight thing had deterred him, and He put itolTyot a littlo longer. Samuel Desbro, a jovial, kind-hearted old man. watched Mark and Alda,and shook his head knowingly. What might not happen with two young folks of tho opposito sox thrown so constantly togother ? Surely he was not blind : ho could sco Alda's face Hush in Murk's presence and turn palo at his fhortost absonco, liko a broken lily drooping on its stein.

After a timo Mark noticod this also; not, however, with eocret exultation; bqt with a saddened heart: not with a lovor's fond anticipation, but with a guilty, startled glancs, and whon Uncle Sam announced his intention of returning to Chicago and open ing thA big town house he had recently pur chased, Mark was glad and told himsolf so. Ho would make good his promise to Candico and toll his mother all! But tho best-laid plans aro not always carried out, and right in the midst of tho preparations an unforeseen event occurred which kept thorn chained to the old farm houeo for all tho winter months.

Leta was to accompany thorn and enjoy a winter of gay city life. Alda was glad to have a phi of her own ago with her, and tho preparations went on gayly. Alice suggosrod a fresh idea ono day. 11 Let's givo Alda a farowoll party,' she said persuasively to her mother, .md Mrs May nar;J. who entertained fond hopes concern ing ffttr Alda Lome and Mark, consented. "What shall it bo, Alda?" tho girls asked her, happy aa young, proHy girls always are in the anticipation of an evening's dis sipation. "Just a plain ball, or would a bal masque ba bettor ?" •■ Oh ! a ball masque1 by all means !" Alda bhW, eagerly, and the girls readily ac quiesced. Invitations wore eont out two weeks ahead, so everybody would havo plenty-of time to prepare their coßtumos, and then the girls sot joynusly to work manufacturing their own. Old boxes woro rummaged and antique) drccsos brought to light that Mrs Maynard had worn in her girlhood. Alda's trunks were searched, and many nn odi-looking garment brought forth, rclica from far-ofV India, and soon tho costumos were completed amid girlish chatter and merry laughter. Candico in her own little room, which had beon vacated whon cold weather set in by the young artist and hor pupil'?, listened to the girlish chatter going on in the room below, and formed a wild, foolish scheme of her own. She too would go to tho bull, and as ono of tho maskors, mingle for once among tho family and guests. She had hoard laughing allusions made by the sisters about Mark and Alda. and with a determination born of despair resolved to see and judgo for herself; if it were so, she wouid go out of their lives for over ! Sho had formed no definite plan concern ing her own future; she only knew sho could not live under the Maynard roof longer

if it were true that Mark, hor husband, loved fair Alda Lome. She did not think

that moroly showing her certificate to the family would prove her right as Mark's

wife, for not for ono moment would she force her presence upon him if he had ceased to love hor. Poor, innocent child ! sho thought to go out of his life entirely and leave no trace

bohind ; then he could wed theono he loved !

Her mother's mourning garments were folded carefully away. She brought them out and fitted them on herself. She would go as a widow, for if it wore true and Mark loved Alda and regretted marrying her, was she not worse than widowed ? Better, far better, to lose your loved onos by death's cold embrace than to have them fro from you in the full vigour oF youth and fairness ! Yes, as a widow she would attend the hall, and as a widow would she go out in the world, if this cruel thing was indeed true, for then she could not, blio dare not, remain longer !

CHAPTER VI. HICKSESM AN'l) THE MIEOTQItC FLIGHT. Thh night of the ball, so impatiently looked for, came at last. J't was cold, bit terly nold; the wind whistled and blew down the chimreys of tho old farm houso until tho fires leaped and splattered. toUinp of an approaching storm. The old farm hou,se -was all nglow with light and warmth, Mrs Maynard, regal in black velvet, waited

unmasked to receive the guests. Carriage after carriage drove up the gravelled walk and unloaded their freight of masked revellers.

All wero welcomed gayly, and alter throwing off the wraps that enveloped them entered the ball loom fitted up for the occasion, and mingled in startling contrast costumes of every kind and description. A fair young bride come creeping softly in, and was it a strange fatality that a dark visorod, black-capped widow walked in her train, at first timid, hesitatingly, and then, :ia the novelty of the situation wore off, more regally erect, Mark, conspicuous because of his height and curling blonde hair, made his way to the side of Alda Lome; he knew her in a moment, the fair young bride. The straight, slender, graceful girl seemed very near to him that night; ho forgot Candice in the ball's gay excitement, and when the young widow loitering near them attracted his attention ho did not associate her with his wife, whom he supposed sound asleep in her own room. To Alda Lome no man in that room could compare with Mark. She watched him, a world of love in the depths of her dark eyes. She did not danco, as she had not felt very well for several days, and to-night a strange lassitude oppressed her ; still she experi enced no sadness. Was not Mark by her side constantly, attentive to her slightest wants '> 'I ho gay revelry wont on, and at midnight thoy were to unmask. Candice knew this, and designed at the proper in stant to creep quietly away. She was watching Mark and Alda with a singular, undecided feeling in her heart. Did he love fair Alda? " Alda ! Oh !my God !" It was Mark's voice, full of passionate sorrow, and in his arms like a broken lily lay Miss Lome; her white bridal robes woro stainod and streaked with the crimson life blood flowing from her lips! What did it all meanV Candice gazed with a groat horror in her wido-brown eyes Masks were thrown off amid the confusion, and all the dancors pressed eagerly about. "Carry her to her room ! cried Mrs May nard. Trembling with emotion and with a look of agony on his handsome face, Mark obeyed in silence, bore her through the hallway straight to her chamber, and Candice creep ing softly behind him, hoping to escape un observed, saw him press his lips ardently to the marble cheeks. That was enough ; un decidod no longer as to whore his affection was placed, Candice entered her little room and locked tho door; next sho lighted her lamp and commenced making all her mother's dark dresses up in a bundle She found tho heavy crape voil and tied it tightly ovor a little black straw hat; then she took a small purso from out of her trunk till and counted its contents—thirteen dol ars, that was all; not much for a young girl to think of facing the world with, alone and friendless! Mark had given hei this money off and on to got trifles of wear ing apparol, but foaring Mrs Maynard would notico and wonder where she got the money, sho had laid it quietly aside, and now it was to sorvo hor in her wild flight. Down the stairway she cropt quietly, cau tiously, pausing just ono moment outside of Alda's room ; muffled voices came to her ear, that was all, and almost holding hor breath forfearthey wouldhearhorfootsteps, shehur ried safely by. Through the dining-room to tho kitchen she went, and, unlatching tho door, hurried out, closing it behind her. She stopped then just one moment and listened furtively; the old Multeso cat purred con tontcdly at her foot; she took it up and proseod hor young lips to its soft fur ; then, as if afraid hur heart would fad her, eho rushed blindly, wildly out in the darkness. Down the woll-worn patn which led by tho fish-pond toward the station beyond she sped Tho wind blew in hor face, almost blinding her. It had rained two days previously, and the soil had been wot and milddy ; nOW II llud comuioncoJ froc/.luß, and the ground was rough and unovon. It was so dork she could scarcely see her way : sho approached too near the little lake, down mink her feot in t he soft mold, and ono tiny rubber was loft sticking in the loamy soil In tho darkness she could not recover it Changing hor courso slightly so as to avoid the lake, she wont on ami on : in a short time Ao found horseli at \ alloy Station, and drawing hor widow s veil about her to prevent recognition, eho purchased a ticket for Chicago ; it cost three dollars and twenty cents ; well, sho had enough left to kcop her for a few days at least, and, sink inn on tho hard wooden bench with her bundle beside hor, sho awaited tho train * ""vh v was she going to Chicago ? She did not stop to ask fiorself that question ; only Katie, warm-hearted, Irish Katie, was some whore in that largo city; she would go to her • she did not think, poor child, that it would be a worse task than hunting for a noodle in a hay-stack to find Katie in that babel of noise and confusion ! Tho train came whiraingin ; phe took her seat in tho ear hastily and drew her veil more closely about her face ; no one noticed tho black-robed figure sitting so quietly in tho corner; the conductor came along, took up hor ticket and passed on, and Candice was left to her own bitter, burning thoughts. Somewhere on earth she would find some spot to hide hersolf, and perhaps she m-ght die ; sho was young and strong, but then tho young and strong die sometimes ! Oil on went tho train, screaming and puffing, and Candice, cowering down in her .seat, thought of what she had left behind - her young husband who did not ovo her, ond her tvunt who disliked her. "They will bo glad I have gone, she thought, bitterly, "dad to be rid of'the poor relation, and Mark can marry Alda ! Poor Alda ! and even Candioo felt a pang of sorrow for tho bright, fair girl, lying so low in tho old farm house. In tho room where Alda lay anxious watchers were by her side; a severe hemorrhage, tho worst sho had ovor oxpen onced, had loft her wan and weak. Mark, hurrying toward the station in the darkness, had followed directly in his young wife 8 footsteps ; he was in search of tho doctor, for something must be done to stop tho flow of blood that was gapping the young life of Alda Lorno. Little did ho dream that Candico was hurrying from her right ful homo out into tho hard, cold world !

CHAPTER VII.

THIS CONFESSION, The next morning dawned cold and cheer less at Valley Farm. Each member of the household gnzed at tho others with mute inquiry on their facos as to how this waj goinf to end ; would Alda's life be spared vet a' little longer, or would it go out into tho proat unknown on tho wings of death ? Ann, tho stolid Gorman girl, went around slowly but surely about her duties, and in tho anxiety and commotion Candice was not missed for eoine time. Uncle Sam. poor old man, was nearly heartbroken over Alda's sickness, for full well ho know that even though she might riso from that bod of sickness, it would not bo as tho merry, light-hearted gill ho loved so well, but as an invalid respited for only a little longor. Mrs Maynard was tho lirst to notice tho absenco of Candice, and asked Ann about her; but Ann know nothing, and Mrs Maynard, with a strange dread in her guilty soul,' hurried up to tho girl's room. What she oxpected to neo was Cnndice too ill to riso, for she had noticed the girl's marked listleesness for several days, and had at tributed it to biliousness. Hence what was her surprise on entering tho room to find the bod untouched ; the calico dresoes eho had given her still hung upon the wall, but Candice wa3 not there. "Where enn eho bo? Mrs Maynard thought, wonderingly, shivering until her teeth chnttored. Sho had never before noticed now cold this chamber was in winter "Candice must have a warmer room," she thought, softened considerably by the previous tiight's scene. "Sho must have risen early and made her beel, and is some where about tba houseatpresont," Mrs May nard thought, trying to reassure herself; descending the stairs again she searched the house in vain, and then the barn and out buildings. It was noon now and still no trace ot Candico was fornd. She was gone. The pirls commenced asking about her,_ and Mrs Maynard answered them evasively. Eveninf shadows once more closed about tho olef farm house, but still Candice did not mako her appearance. When Mark took his place at the supper table he had not noticed her absence, or if he had he had given it no thought. "Mark," his mother said, sternly, "that unffrateful girl has surely gone—run "Has Ann gone?" Mark said, inno contly. "It beats all such luck aa we have with hired girls ! I'll have to hunt up another, I suppose." " You do not understand," his mother said, quickly. " Ann has not gono." " Who in creation has then ?" Mark asked, anxiously. "Why, Candice, of course! Mrs May nun1 an?v.cred, with tho air of a highly in jurod party. "Candioo!" and Mark roso suddenly from hi,-< chair, his face pale with suppressed excitement. " Mother, you do not moan tc tell mo <J-' idice is not here ?" Uncle bam and the girls looked up in us

tonishment both at the news and the agony in hia young voice. "Can you not understand, Mark?" Mrs Maynard said, glancing at her stalwart son, hall anxiously. " Candice has gone. She ran off last night, for her bed was not slept in!"

"Oh! Father in Heaven!" Mark groaned, real agony in his face and in the tones of his full young voice. "Mother, this is our work; we have driven her from us ; only you and I are to blame!" "Don't get excited!" his mother said, half angry at her son's accusation. " What is it to you if Candice has gone? The un grateful girl! we are well rid of her !" " Mother," and in Mark's voice rang a tone of determination, "if Candice ia on this earth I must find her 1 No, do not try to stop me 1" ho eaid, impatiently pushing his mother to ono side as he rose from the tnble and reached for hU hat.

"Myeon, do eat your auppor at loaBt; you can search for her to-morrow." "No," Mark answered, firmly ; "I am going now. I shall not return until I find her !"

" You're making a terrible fus3 about a servant-girl !" old Mr Deßbro Baid, with a merry twinkle of the eyes. "If she was old and homely, Mark—" But the sentence waa never completed, for Mark, towering above him like a young giant, cried, wildly : " Hush, uncle ! You do not understand. Candico is no servant-girl I She is your niece, y»ur sister Annie's orphan child, and more shame to my manhood for not telling it months ago, my lawful, wedded wife !" "Mark! is this true?" It was his mother's voice, wild and entreating. "Do not tell me that Candice is your wife !" "Don't talk to me, mother !" and Mark's face seemed to have aged at least ten years. "I am wasting valuable time. My poor darling wandering out and alone such a night as this ! I must go in search of her!" "You can do nothing to-night." It was his uncle's voice, cold and stern, but Mark had gone out in the wind and darkness to hunt for traces ot the Lalf-rnaddened girl. He thought he understood it all now. Poor sensitive child, she imagined he did not in tend to acknowledge her, and she had gone from out his life, thinking to leave him frea and unfettered. Mrs Maynard, gazing after Mark in des pair, was recalled very forcibly to the present by words of cutting scorn issuing from Samuel De3bro's lips. " Kezia, can it posßibly be that a sister of mine has been guilty of an action that the lowest, most ignorant woman in the world would think twice before perpetrating ? I ask you, and expect you to answer truth fully, is this young girl you call Candice sister Annie's child ?" With a shamed-facod look, Mrs Maynard answered: "Yes !"

" And you havo treated her as a servant, let hor live in solitudo, isolated from her cousins ! Girls, are you not ashamed of yourselves for allowing this with your own cousin?" But Leta and Alice had disap peared, frightened at the turn affairs had taken. It was all right when it was not known, but now that tho man they had thought to keep it from had found it out, theyl>egan to realise the littleness of their own conduct, and if Candice were only to return now they would welcome her with at least a Bhow of cordiality. Alda was very ill; whether Bho would be spared days, months, or years was yet to be soon, but only by tho utmost care could thoy hope to bring her through thiß attack. Uncle Sam thought of her with an inward groan. She loved this faithless Mark, and if sho should hear of his marriage he knew not what might be the consequences, so he told his sister on no account to let Alda know. " We mustkoep it from my pure white lily," ho said, brokenly, "and as soon as she is strong enough I will take her away from here."

tk. .~ o ftnr nm«. therofpre. keijfc a pro found socret. Days rolled by ; Mark had sought far and wide, but in vain, and at last bad given up the search as useless Mext ho advertised in all the leading papers in several different oities, but with tho same barren result. Candice had vanished as completely as though she had never existed. A month later Mark was wandering down by tho littlo lako and found the tiny rubber frozen in the mud ; he recognised it at once as one of a pair that Candice had worn, re cognised it with a great horror widening his sa3 young oyes. Could she have drowned herself? He could not rest until he had dragged the lake; the winter so far had been an open one, and the little sheet of water was not yet frozen over, so he had no difficulty in executing the work. No cold, dead faco, with curls of red gold hair, how ever, met his view. Candice was not there.

CHAPTER VIII.

FLITTING?. Alda recovered slowly, but not a word, not a hint did she hear "about the distressing event that had occurred at Valley Farm. She noticod the sober faces of the family, but attributed everything to their anxiety on her account, and in her gentle heart was grateful. She convalesced Blowly. Uncle Sam petted her continually. " You are so good to me, guardio," she said, gratefully, and could not think what made tho tears Btart to hie kind old eyes.

For Mark, Undo Sam felt almost con tempt. How could he marry his young cousin, and, having wedded her, be such a slavo to procrastination as he had been? Uncle Sam could not understand it, even though Mark had come to him and bravely acknowledged everything, not sparing him self in the least. He coul 1 understand one thing - Mark had dreaded to toll his mother, but that was all.

Mrs Maynard's haughty soirit seomed broken, and Bhe blamed herself for all that had occurred. She had repelled her Bon's conlidencefrom infancy, chidinghim harshly foranywrongdoing, untilbe had commenced keopinc his boyish secrets through fear of his mother's wrath. Candice, from the day sho entored the farm houso door, had been snubbed, ill-treated, and she was Mark's wifo ! She had ruined his young life, but the keenest regret availed nothing; this cruel thing was done and past recall. Mark was as kind and attentive to Alda as ever. MrDeebro told him frankly just how the case stood. "She loves you, Mark," Uncle Sam said, pleadingly; "do not let her know her girlish romance is but dead eoa fruit I" and Mark had promised. It was Mark's strong arms that bora her from the easy-chair to the bed, or placed her among Soft pillows on the sitting-room lounge. It was Mark who read to her by the hour those cold winter evenings. Alda wondered at his subdued air ; the rollicking, merry Mnrk of a few short weekß ago was no more, but in his place was a courteous.. Bad-eyed young man who humoured her elightest wish. Tho name of Candice never passed Mark s lips, but he would sit by his bedroom fire after the re3t had retired, far into the " wee ema' " hours of the night, thinking, thinking. Spring-time came with its buds and bloom. " April showers and May flowers"; Alda was pronounced well enough to be moved, and Uncle Sam was busy making preparations for their departure. . Thore was no ball this time, from which oach gueat crept away in affright, but a calm, quiet leave-taking. Mrs Maynard was not sorry they were going, but could not bear to meet her brother's reproachful gaze. Leta was to co with them as companion for Alda until Mr Desbro could engage the services of pome entertaining person as companion for her in her somewhat isolated life. The important day at last arrived. Alda, a trifle paler than when she came to Valley Farm, yet wonderfully improved, shed tears of sorrow at parting with those who had been so kind to her, and made esch mem ber of the family promise to come to the city at their earliest convenience. Mark drove them to tho depot, and shook hands with them warmly at parting. "Will you not come to sco us soon?" Alda said, raising her flower-like face to his, anxiously. " Very soon, Alda," Mark said, trying to speak gayly, bnt it was a miserable failure when he thought of the two fair women who loved him equally well. " Be a man, Mark," his uncle said, as they were going away. "It will do no good to throw away your life in useless repinings. Cast adde your indolence ; active work will do you good." And Mark promised to follow his uncle's advice. At the farm houee the days passed drearily. Mrs Maynard was lesa tyrannical and kinder to her help, and Alice was like some lost spirit strayed from sprit-land. She had spoken the name of Candice several times, but Mark had checked her coldly. Ha was busy from morn to dewy eve super intending the spring work f never once did he shirk from hia duties as heretofore. Every time he came to the house he looked around, half expecting to see Candico gazing at him reproachfully as sho used to do. His fish pond or "Fairy Lake1 was drained, and fresh water caught from the clouds. Whenever he wandered down the well worn path, ho could see in imagination the face of his fair young wifo pleading to him for her rights. Whero was she this lovely spring, living 01 dead? He asked himself this question • time and again, but could not answer it.

How different it would be if she were back, his fair young wife ! He would love her, ah ! so tenderly ! At night in his dreams he would stretch out his empty arms im ploringly for the lost bride who never cams to them.

Surely, he was severely punished for his selfishness and indolence ! Like manyothor wrong-doers, if he csuld have lived his life over again, how different would have been bis conduct!

He had imagined himself in love with Aldafor a time, and in his boyish recklessnes had been guilty of many an imprudence; now he know hislovafor Alda was but calm brotherly feeling and admiration for her as a lovely woman. But alas ! for fair Alda Lome! love and marriage were not for her!

Alice Maynard, a lively little lady, and, like Mark, easily swayed, regretted her share in the wholetransaction If anything, she was kinder-hearted than Leta, and thought sadly of what Mark's tender, sen sitive young wife had endured alone. All this pity and regret came too late to benefit the girl who had gone out from under their roof, her young affections repulsed and a terrible secret torturing her poor brain, for, alas ! they did not know the worst. Mrs Maynard was disappointed, terribly disappointed.in Mark, but she had only her self to blame. When he informed her how near he had come to telling her of his marriage with Candice on the night of the social, but was checked, repulsed by her cold words and insulting looks, she had nothing to say in extenuation, and accepted as her just punishment her son's bitter, re- Droachful words.

Mark was changed. Nervous and rest less, he could not content himself long at any particular thing ; fish-raising had lost its attractions for him, so he turned it over to the hired man, and after the crops were well in and he had but little actjve work to fill his hands and occupy his mind, he ap peared more restless than ever, and would saddle his grey horae, ride off by himself, be gone all day and come back when the even ing shadows enveloped him, sad and list lees.

(To be Continued.)

BIG GUNS

Tho Now [Cannon Being Made lor

the British Fleet.

A correspondent of the "St. James Gazette " at Woolwich says that the now guns for the fleet are in an advanced state, but as they have to undergo a course of experiment to settle the range tables and other particulars, it will probably bo the beginning of next year before they are ready for sea. This will, however, be earlier than the ships which are to carry them can be completed. The first of the four sixty three-ton steel breech-loaders for her Majesty's ship Rodney will be finished shortly, and will be used as an experimental gun. Although seventeen tons lighter than the eighty-ton muzzle-loaders on board the Inflexible, the sixty-three ton gun is. ex pected to surpass the older weapon in its destructive power. It will probably throw a thirteen-aad-one-halfinch shot, of 1,250 pounds weight, with a powder charge of about 580 pounds, and the estimated velocity at the muzzle is to be 2,100 feet per second. The eighty-ton gun projectile weighs 1,700 pounds, but the cartridge is but 450 poundß, and the muzzle velocity recorded is 1,600 feet per second. Should the new gun realise expectations, it will penetrate twenty-nine inches of wrought lron armour at close quarters, and prove too much for twenty-seven inches even at the liberal fighting range of 1,000 yards. Still more powerful, but not in the same ratio of increase, will be the 110-ton guns now being manufactured for Hei1 Majesty's ship Ben >„,,!. Tl,««., ra tlm«i.(ll.««o.in.™Jo».J. one of which will be' surrendered for the purpose of scientific experiment, while the other two are Bent on board the ship, where, however, they will not be wanted until the midsummer of 1886. The projectile will be sixteen and a quarter inches in diameter.and weigh J,BOO or 2,000 pounds. The powder charge will be the enormous one of 900 pounds, or half the weight of the projectile, aupposing this to be 1,800 pounds, on which supposition the velocity may be reckoned at 2,050 feet per second, aud its power of Eanetrating armour at thirty one and a alf incneß near the muzzle, or two inches lees at 1,000 yardß.

A True Story About a Queer Fly

It was on Little Snake River, near the Oclorado line, that I saw my queer fly, one bright, sunny day, in the early summer, when the vegetation was just blossoming in that high latitude, although much further advanced in more favoured regions. On a well beaten path in the alkaline soil, which the sun had warmed and dried, the fly was hurrying along, dragging, with ita slender legs, another insect, apparently dead, which seemed a heavy burden for it. The little creature would stop every few minutes to take a breathing-spell, and at these times it would spread its wings upon the ground and lie perfectly motionless ; then, as if receiving increase of strength from contact with the earth, it would shake itself, and return to its wearisome task. We soon discovered that its purpose was to find a perfectly dry and safe spot in which to bury its burden, until the occupant of the egg that she was about to lay in it should come to life, feed on the entombed insect, and at last rise from its grave.expand ita iridescent wings, and fly away. Tnere were four of us, officers of the army, watching the performance, which was new to all, and, as the sequel proved, very interesting. After a few moments, the fly dropped her burden and went off to select a spot suitable for her purpose. But, in a short time, apparently fearing that her treasure might be disturbed during her ab sence, sho started to fly back. While she was gone, however, one of us moved her Erey a short distance away from where it ad been left, and when she returned and did not find it, she fell into a flutter of ex citement. She flew swiftly about in circles, widening at every round, until she became wearied, when she spread herself prone on the ground until rested, and then retraced her path, lessening the circles and never becoming confused. Soon the insect was placed whore sho could find it, when ahe reized it with unmistakable pleasure and bore it away to the site of the grave, and after resting a second or two began to dig with might and main. Her manner of ex cavating was peculiar; she stood on her head, and, spinning swiftly around like a top, bored into the ground like an auger, making a humming noise with her wings. AVhen exhausted by this violent exercise, she waß not satisfied with merely resting on the ground, but. sought tho shade cast by a blade of grass or a leaf of a tiny shrub, which afforded a cool retreat to hit slender body. The hole was soon bored out, and smoothed to exactly the right width and depth to receive the seemingly dead insect, although no measurements had been made by this Lilliputian engineer, who had worked with unerring skill, unheeding the giants watching her. Having completed her task, she took a good rest within the shadow of her favourite leaf, and then sought her burden. But, again, it was gone! At this, she acted precisely as if she were saying, "Oh, dear, dear! I laid the thing there, close by the grave, as Euro as sure. And yet I must be mistaken ; for I had paralysed it with my sting so that it could neither fly nor walk ; and those hulk ing giants standing around here would not j be so moan as to steal it from mo. _ Oh, fie ! There it ie. I fear my brains are in a whirl from overwork in this hot sun. I could havo sworn I laid it on this side, instead of on tluil" (One of us had moved the insect again.) Then she laid an egg in the insect. The burial did not take her long; deftly she patted down the dust, and butted at it, using her small head as a battering-ram; but before she had half finished, she was forced from sheer weakness to seek again the ehady covert of the leaf. And during this interval-so eager wore we to observe the little worker's queer ways—we took advantage of her ab sence to remove the insect from its hole and lay it on the ground alongside. When she returned, she looked at it intently for a moment, and then patiently went to work to put it back, and this was repeated twice, with the same result. Finaly the patient fly, after resting a longer time than usual, returned to give the finishing touches to the grave, and finding it again despoiled, seemed to become terribly enraged, as if convinced that the insect was trying to make a fool of her She fell upon it and stung it again and again, and finally des troyed it by repeated blows. At this un expected denouement, we walked away to our tents, amazed that so small a head Bhould contain such a volume of wrath,— " St. Nicholas."

THE LAND OF THE BLACKS.

Unhappy Explorers in the Wilds ol Africa.

Importuned to Marry. When an African chief travels he takes tlio whole or a parti cf his household with him. The simple aborigines, therefore, are apt ( v look upon the solitary white traveller who wanders through their country without j« single wife inhis train as a suspicious charno ter. They are quite sure he needs clo-'O watching to prevent his running off witu some of the females of the tribe. Dr, Bartli, the explorer, said, after living for five years in Africa, that it would bo better for a trave 1 • ler in those regions to take his wife with him, if He said the natives would respect him more and he would get alon.^ better. "They had nothing to object tv me," he wrote, "except my being v bachelor."

If the traveller haa no wife, the native chiefs, as a rule, are not backward abnnr, offering to supply the deficiency. KeaiW all the explorers have had some annoying experiences with kings who were anxious to have them settle down, marry into tho royal family and grow up with the country. Some travellers have felt compelled to lea vo very abruptly in order to escape the_ atten tions of women who were determined to detain them as their husbands.

Dr. Buchner, the German traveller, who lived for six months at the capital of tl^o Muata Yanvo about five years ago, was very much distressed by the deep interest wStli which ho bad unwittingly inspired tho sister of that Central African potentate. He describes her as a middle-aged and re markably unprepossessing person of great avoirdupois. She insisted that Buohnor should take her for his wife and settle down comfortably as the joint proprietor of her extensive herds and fields, She importuned him so frequently that he was glad to escape her at last by quitting the country One of the daughters of the king of tho Ambuellas, near the Zambesi river, Ml desperately in love with Serpa Pinto, tho Portuguese explorer, who returned to Africa a few months age. Her elder sister, who ably

Abetted her Matrimonial Designs, was very indignant when Pinto refused to . marry the young girl. She wanted to know, in the shrillest of tones, if there were any prettier woman in the country he cair.o from, and what sort of a man he was any how. The sharp-witted wifo of one of Pinto's porters heard the row and entered the hut. Assuming an air of great indigna • tion, she told their Boyal Highnesses thai: Pinto was her husband, and they had better let him alone. She bundled them out of the hut, md Pinto and his party left early next morning to avoid any further com plications. In the picture Pinto's book contains of the infatuated young woman, ehe appears to be quite a fine specimen of an African beauty Explorers hare learned by experience that it is best to permit their porters to take their women along with them, even if their journey is to be thousands of miles in length. When a carrier has his wife with him he is not likely to run away. Besidee, he women carry burdens nearly as heavy as those of the men. They wash and cook better than the men, endure fatigue better, carry their burdens more cheerfully, and work for less pay. African women have proved valuable adjuncts of nearly every ex • sedition that has penetrated the continent in the past ten yeare. Mr Horn, a missionary on the great Lake Tanganyika, found near the southern coast three years ago a flourishing tribe whoso ruler was a woman. She was a good- - wu^ _-„-....... ~«rit,. fnrf.v veara .old. - and she was attended everywhere sBo went^f~--- by a train of fifty ladies-in-waiting. Mr Sore was the first white man Queen Mwema bad 6een, and she thought she would like to have the pale-faced stranger permanently near her residence. Bho aegged him to live in her town, andwhen he insisted that he could not, she did not let him go until he had promised to send some of his brethren to reside in her dis trict. The Queen said she would give them houses and plenty of land. At last accounts a mission station was about to be established in Queen Mwema's town. The late King Mtesa, whose subjects in habit the beautiful shores of Lake Victoria Nyanza, made a unique response when a missionary applied to him for food supplies two or three years ago. He listened in silence to the good man's petition, and then sent an attendant out into the street ot Bubaga with instructions that the mission ary did not hear. Presently the attendant returned with a dozen damsels of Uganda in his wake. Then his Majesty informed the poor missionary that he was tired of supplying him with food. He had con cluded to present him with these women as his wives. They would plant his garden, prepare his dinner, and support him very handsomely, and he musn't come bothering around the place any more. Mtesa was very angry when the missionary declined to accept this Wholesale Matrimonial Offer. He told him to shift for himself, and the poor fellow and his comrades would doubt loss have had to flee from the country if Mtesa's envoyu to England hadn't oppor tunely returned with such wonderful stories of what they had soon that the politic despot thought it best to keep on good terms with . the whites. He restored the whites to favour. Last year all his daughters were permitted to receive religious instruction, and one of them, who was converted, now occupies as King's Sister a position of large importance and influence among the Waganda. On the great interior plateaus of Africa, whose inhabitants are generally much superior in mental and moral development to the coast negroes, the men exhibit a good deal of affection for their women. Living stone, who usually speaks of African women as "ladies," makes many allusions to this fact, and so do Schweinfurth, Burton, and other explorers. Tho red-skinned Nyam Ryams are as noted as the Zulus for their intelligence and bravery, but if any of their women are captured by an enemy they will make any sacrifice and incur any disgrace to get them back again. The degraded coast negro, however, appears to know neither love nor jealousy. Mr J. Monteiro, who lias lived for years on the West Coast, says that he never saw a negro there mani fest the slightest tenderness toward a negress, or give or receive any caress that would indicate the slightest loving regard on either side. It is to the credit of the natives that the white womon who have entered the depths of Africa with their missionary husbands havo almost invariably received kind treat ment. If they could endure the climate they had nothing to fear from the aborig ines. Mmc Tinn<s is perhaps the only white female traveller in Africa who has been killed. She wandered i.i safety among the blacks of the Upper Kile, but fell a victim at last to Mohammedan fanaticism. Travel-

lors say they would often be unable to make any progress whatever among the most savage tribes if they were not able to convince-the natives that they possessed supernatural powers. A few conjurors' tricks will often open the way among savages, who would fight the explorer if they do not think he could bewitch them all. Young Thomson who recently came back from the Massai country, travelled far on his reputation us a man who could take his teeth out of his mouth and put thorn back again. He had two falee teeth on a plate. When argument and entreaty availed nothing he had only to do the teeth act to get about everything he wanted. A chief couth of Lake Nyaesa, who had never eoen glass, became the warm friend of a missionary whoeo watch ho was examining. He could see the hands right before him, but he couldn't put his fingers on them, and he thought the white man, by some occult power, kept him from touching them. Some petty chiefs have been in the habit of appearing before explorers and personat ing their sovereign, the Big King, for the purpose of getting a handsome present. The explorers have found a means of expos ing those frauds. As a rule, none but great chiefs are allowed to poesees gaudy or highly-coloured cloths. If such goods are offered to a sub-chiof who pretonds to be the King, he refuses to receive them and stands revealed as a fraud. Consul Eicon carried a quantity of red velvet with him in his travels through Bast Africa. Ho says he reserved tho velvet for great chiefs or impostors, and that in both cases it answered admirably.

"ROUGH ON-CORNS."-A»k lor WcifaVitwsb «. (.'onia." Quick relief, ojiuji!ttv, permanent cure. Conii, wart* b'JiltOllS. ■ : KolnHliorae. rnancr 4 Co., AiotU, AucMmil., All farmers, gardeners, and fruit-growers who do not warn to stick fast lv the miro of old-fashioned ignorance, wh«« the raweh of nrostreas leavos thorn far behind, should take Sotfoftheiact that the Nkw Zealand F akmbb. like ovcrv other good rural jouroa. is published to keep tiiem moviuir along the path oi prpgrow wltheredlt and profit to thomsolves and thei*. country. Send yonr gubscriptlon, Bb, for nix months, and judfie for yourselves.—H. BBKTT Fubliaber, STAB Offioe. AuoUacd

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1885.

3



Woman's Friend.—A mother's advice to mothers: "Keep by you, for yourselves and daughters, Mrs Dr. Stuart's Fomale Remedies. I havo ncTcr met with any medicines so well meriting thenameof • Woman's Friend.' Thoy are invn'.uable for the weiknesses, headaches, and other troubles experienced by females. Eead.-[ADVT.F