THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 23, 1887.

I SUPPLEMENT.]

MORNA DALE; OR, The Guardian's Forgery.

VigySYLVANUS COBB, Jr. ,-• rWe here give a synopsis of that portion which has already been 0 uj-led -60 that H.eio. readers of tiie Stak r ub win with this instalment and under 080 Jflie story just the same «s though f! had-read it all from the beginning : i cy; heroine, Morna Dale, is,'the only Th9; £ of Dr. Lawrence Dale, and is t thed to Dr. Ralph Ashmoie, a young iViiin of great promise, who has a physicitt" , -9 t thousand pounds. Dr. nt'f brother, Sir William : JDale, is ill •India, where he holds/a high go -10 meat ' appointment, dip- has sent velB S« doctor to visit him as speedily fol ' SiSe. Dγ Dole resolves . to g° to ? other? and to leave life affairs in the i «f lonas Crandal, whois Sir William's haD *£ manager. Ra i ph m d Morna both disliked Crandal, and did * want "to have him left in charge of the f to' bat Poctor Dale was immovable on S Mint. In his last interview with Dr. DJe iftandal managed to get possession nf a sheet of paper on which the doctor's f II name was written near the bottom, which paper he carefully concealed. Several weeks after Dr. Dale sailed for India, Tom Crandal the only son of Jonas, came home. I w e tfjr a sailor aiid a pirate, and ready for any .yillainous work. He told hi 6 father that while he was at Cape Town he learned that Sir William Dale had died, and that? the ship—the Begulus—in which Dγ Dale was voyaging to India, had been i lost inacyclone, with every soul on board. Jonas, then told his son about Ralph Ash more and Morna Dale, and hinted if Ralph were 'At of the wav ne (Tom Crandal), might marry the heiress. Tom at once said he wonld have Ralph put out of the way, and made arrangements for that purpose. JJalph was one of the physicians of the Marine Hospital at Wallingham, not many miles from tW Grange, where Morna lived. On the Tuesday evening after Tom Crandal!s return,' Ralph, with the permis sion of his old- friend and superintendent, Dr. Layhrook, set out to visit Morna. He was kidnapped on the way by Tom Crandal and Wo accomplices, taken to the coast, tardea seyerfil miles out to sea, and left afloat boat, at the dead of night, while Iliofentiraihstorm was raging. The lwatTOS&uttled by. Tom Crandal, just be fore he left.i V.by' pulling a plug from the bottom. u ßalphhad been left with his hands bound, but, by- a lucky chance, he freed, bonds, and prepared to . battlewith the elements for his life. How lie sucSeded is told in the chapter which follows.-]' ::;- ~' ~,; ~. ..' CHAPTER IX. - ... .< ." . DESPAIR. Though the hands and the wrists, and even the arnisV 6f onr hero were swollen and be , nambedT'to an extent that would have rendered ithem; iwell nigh powerless on an yet, in the supreme need oftte-Inomenti with but a single effort ber tween himself and swift destruction, he felt - ' H i iJ£*gfqw j; strong, and their excruciat ing pauijjwas.iforgotten. . His brain, was cleirjand,■ as was natural with him in. great'etoergencies, when- a human life. might;: depend upon the decision of a >was cool and collected. He remembered the spot where Crandal had stopped/and-to it he went; and with his ii»hi hand the very soon found the hole wiere the water,, was pouring swiftly in. What should;.he;do ? There was but one thing: t'press".his hand over the hole—he judged*iJPtb,be an. inch" and a quarter in diameter','and hold it there until the light ning should come again to help him. iti He to wait long before the^flood of | and he i saw within reach, floating "upon -the surface of the eddying' water, tfieplug that had been taken from the anger-hole. To grasp it and slip: it into its place was the work of a very ; few seconds.VTHea he remembered that.the boatss mlder lay on,the floor of the stern, sheets—or did lie there—together with the tiller. Hehad.thpught first of the latter instrament,; -but," on second thought; he chose the s rudder] which was rendered heavy by" its'iron fixtures; and having: found it,,he;used it as a maul with which to drive plug well home. : : The nexji movement—no-rest yet—was to look for something with-which to bail-the water from'the boat. It was now nearly; if; full : ; and considering/the sea that viras on; it was imminently danger-. CIS. The^xfc r blaze in the dark vaultre-. vealedtlietyecy.thihghe wanted -a wooden, hncket floating forward. , , He reached : it, ;, ; tod went v at^wiork. ; .It \yas tedious,' and; at: frst, painful-," but after a time the exercise Seemed WiimbTer his-wrists aiid-reduce.the Celling,And ;by and by thepain was for : gotten. ~/..if ; ^/...: . .:;: ■ ■, /"u ..'-mo ■ .£: The task was completed at length, and. without mishap,, after which, feeling the pains of tKirs'tj/he, looked around for fresh water. I|e immediate relief by Peking his drenched clothing; ac had wiffi'him two'handkerchiefs—linen ; ■<■ these he spread to catch the rain, which was still falling,; and thus, aftera time, his thirst was quenched. ; , ■ And noyrhe sat down to think. First he; wk out his watch, protecting: it from the. r ain with his cap, and .waited j for the' light of the next electric bolt. It came ere long, and he caught the hour exact. Half-past twelve— half an hour after midnight! ■■■ ■■ , And now,; where-was he ? But, first of his situation.,'. TJie'rain. was;still falling :• and .did not think the wind had changed, ji it had not, it was.blov.dng a good stiff weeze from the .northeast directly down the Channel. '-There was 'considerable sea, jmt it was not. chopping. The wind and ' n e tide were in the same direction, so that "angerous;condition of the sea was not pre *t- n Of ,course. it was; dark, but not so aa rk ac it.'had -been. Not only had the young doctor's eyes become used to the gloom, butthe moon had how gained a high fJtitude, and something of her light must we stmggled through.the dense curtain '' the stoim. Occasionally a sea broke 5, ver the side, but .not many of them. ino «gn theiboat was drifting as she would "•most of the time broadside to the wind — ""e was light and buoyant, and rode the -She-had been,.in her day, an «ceUent little pleasure boat; and though apparently old, she was tight and And now—where was" he ? He thought °c matter over. He remembered that it "« flood ffcide at, ten o'clock, or a few \&» a before - The tid e had been near sho When the two boats had left fche D ,Pr S0 n '& that though the ruffians had WT it, it had not seriously inter l? tneh- progress. Since ten o'clock fr. ? ™ ;and tide had been setting the RaL quS Awards" the broad-Atlantic. I reckonedrit as closely as he could, v came to-the J conclusion that he bad

passed the meridian of Lizard Point. The nearest point of the coast of England was probably thirty miles distant/and before movmng he would be beyoud the limits of the Channd, on the bosom of the Atlantic Ocean. ■ . ■ . Of present danger he had little fear. The storm was but a summer's thunder shower, prolonged into a drenching rain, with a sweep of wind not at all dangerous. 'He could not help thinking of the'thousands of husbandmen,: on shore, lying snugly in their beds, blessing the Heavenly Father fou the self-same rain which was making so much discomfort for him ; and the' thought gave him strength to endure. Of his personal property the ruffians had taken not a thing.' Once he fancied that one of the helpers cast a longing eye upon his gold watch-guard and upon the brilliant diamond on his finger; but the chief had forbidden them. He, Ralph—could well understand, now that he knew who that chief was, why he had been unwilling that any item of property should be taken from the person of his victim which might be r& cognised on shore. His gold watch was plainly marked—his name, and the story of its giving, engraved on the inside of the case ; and the diamond was historic—one of those rare gems known to every lapidary in England, and on the continent. And now came thoughts that drove the sufferer almost frantic. The more he dwelt upon it, the stronger become the conviction to his mind that Dr. Lawrence—now Sir Lawrence Dale was dead, or at least that some accident had befallen him that, might result in death. If such were tin; case, what might be the situation of Morria ? For a time, under the torture of his wild im aginings,' he really became frantic, but by and by, when he had grown more calm, and had settled down to a dispassionate con sideration, he told, himself that Jonas Crandal could have no power to do her harm. j Fortunately for him, he had not imagined, nor could he imagine, a thing so dangerous to Moma's peace and well-being as was that simple sheet of blank white paper with Lawrence Dale's name honestly written on its margin, which the archplotter carried snugly folded away in his pocket-book, or had under lock and key at the abbey, He remembered that the good doctor had given Mr Crandal no shadow of authority over his child ; and', further, should he attempt to exercise such, she could apply to aay one of her many dear and influential friends, who would readily give her all needed protec tion. But all this was under the supposition that he was himself to be absent for a length of time. He hoped it might not be. In deed, he had every reason to believe that with the 'coming of the day he should fall in with a vessel that would speedily land him on British soil. Fortunately, the acccidental discovery of ' a drinking-cup, hanging under the rail at the bows, led him to think of gathering a little fresh water while he had'a chance. The cup, holding a pint and a half,, had hung so that no salt water.had remained in it, and probably but very little hadentered it. Spreading everything he could raise in, the shape of cotton and linen fabric to the rain, he managed, by allowing the pieces to become saturated and then wringing out the water into the cup, to completely fill it. Against the stern of the boat was a close box or locker, on. the tightly-fitting cover: of which the comb of the, tiller was fixed. Inthis place the precious cup was and shut away", from the salt.-, spray and breaking seas., . < ■ ; . ■. U ■.-.!< ■■ ■ Scarcely '.' had the ■ ill-starred youth: secured his measure,of fresh, water ,when the rain ceased. to fall. ,'lt did;not;Stop gradually, but a smart • shower j seemed ito pour down from a passing ; and with the sweeping on of the fount the flood stopped.. The last,time; he had been able to consult his watch- he had found the hands pointing to, half-past one. - -That had been; before he had begun tp.gather his fresh water, and he judged that it-must be now very near to half-past two. : tiuij . ,(, Though wet to the'skin,- it did hot cause him much discomfort. His blood was pure and warm, his: circulation rapid ; his < whole system, .in short, glowing -with u'obust health and vigour. . As he sat now,- with I nothing upon his thoughts but the-situation, he.felt an irresistible disposition-to'sleep, and after a little reflection he resolved to give an hour or two to the oblivious rest, if ne could. He was confident- that the first; peep of dawn would arouse Jam;,, Further,; he saw no'danger to the boat. J The wind ; was still fairly, fresh,,but the :ittle barque rode the seas like a cork, .with never a dis position to overturn, or ship any large amount of water. However,- any accident of that description would call him up on the instant. ... .' , . ! ,: So he fixed himself safely in the stern-, sheets, half sitting and. half lying, with his Scotch cap linder his head for a pillow,, and was goon fast _ He.slept and dreamed '. - dreamed' for the .third or fourth time! that awfully significant dream of shipwreck, and .destruction', in 'the midst'of, whiqh fromthe storm-lashM 'sea, Morna's t father .called', to him for ~he{p'.,., ) G .saw;.the,good old go J ddwii into the grave ,of the. waters with : an,expression i 6f.,agony on-his ; face 'that, stirred the,dreamer to .■ his: j profpundes.t'i" "depths., ; , It 'y?ak , J;he same, look; \ fie had seen' at, Jeast twice before, rand the, self-sametry'of anguish had sounded the third, time on his ears. ——- ... With a low, wailing cry , r . he. started up and opened his eyes'i ; For"a- : few -moments he was, utterly bewildered. When he had awakened from that same dream before he, had fqund himself; in • his own bed, with a . dimly-lighted gas jet near its foot, shedding light enough to cast weird shadows in .the room. For the ;: moment he. was in alarm. . The-gas was flaming !—the whole side.of his chamber: Was ■ aflame ! l But ' his senseswere soon collected,:,and he,remem-., bered the events of the night.- miili o-Jfrt.riO tv His face,,as he reclined,' wasturned to wards the rising sun, about half the glowing discibeing aboye.the: horizon/ The' storm had passed,],.;the]:wind had settled' to' a■ steady'breeze, still from .the eastward!; ;and > the only jclpudsito be seenrwere' lus masses hanging- low -in the. west, , j where the' storm had passed away. -' Ralph sat up '• and looked around. .His first thought, after he had aeco.unted to himself for his'situ ation, was of help, and he ,strained:his eyes in every direction.; .but only ■- a boundless .waste of waters, met his)-gazei -{KToland; no sail-—nothing;,anywhere, mi sight :< but the blue'arch j above and, the . bluer solitude aroundhim.ij .; ■ ■;' V h!o iif'rf ' : '" :r, * ■;', , Where he was he y knew riot,. nof had he any means of judging, .saving ■ only this : From.the direction,,of the: rising sun knew 'that,,the Scilly Islands*'<if -he had passed; them,.or u if he;-! were near their meridian, ,mUßt"be at a considerable'dis tance , 'to' the northward 1 .; He • must (have left the English. Channel not farfrom mid way of its and had hence drifted' out into ! the; ocean. But never, mind. Wherever it-was, it could not be a great while.before.avsail; would fappearl He only prayed now,'ior a, friendly sail. His boat was tight; .the , plug had. riot: started'; nor was there a leak anywhere. He, bailed out the small quantity of water that had coined in over. the. gunwales ; 'then he took a few swallows from his tin cup, the contents of whichhefound>pureand sweet;?! and then he'saib down to watch and wait. t ■■■'.:}'■ - The Jihought'of watching, gimple as it •nras, reminded him of the watch in his

j pocket the first time he' had given it a thought since heawoke. He drew it forth from the protected, rest he had, given it and found it unharmed. The cases had been ; warranted water-tight, and they wore doubtless so. At all events; at was running i perfectly; its tide clear and sharp; its dial dry ;. and when he opened the" back to , wind it he found no moisture there: -''It was : now half-part five somewhat.' early for : breakfast; but considering that he had 1 eaten no supper on the previous evening, it ! is not to be wondered at that he should have experienced a slight craving.of hunger. i However, he could wait until some inward bound vessel should pick him up: It could not be a great while,,he told himself. But how, if a vessel should pass ab a dis tance, should he signal to her ?* There was , no oar ; not even a boat-hook ; nothing that could serve him for a signal-staff, saving the poor tiller. This, however, for want of , a better, he put to use. To it he made fast ; his large handkerchief, finding in the.stern locker a few bits of spun-yarn with which to secure the two corners. When it was pre pared he laid it aside, and resumed his watch. '■ ■ It was now very neariy seven o'clock. Seven half-past seven ; eight half-past eight; nine-ten. Ten o'clock, and not a spot upon the broad expanse of water like a eail. At ten o'clock h.e went to his can of water, and started to drink. He paused and reflected. It was not quite half gone. There was lifctle more than half a pint re maining. Something whispered to him that he should be saving of the only life sustaining thing he had, beyond the free, fresh air of heaven. He took a simple sip; and then, blessing of blessings ! he chanced to think that he had somewhere about his person a small magnifying glass, which he had used in microscopic examination of ab normal tissues of the human body. He drew his cigar-case from his breastpocket —it was full of the very best Cabanas. They were moist, but the case was of firm leather, tightly clasped, and the only moisture that had reached them had been such as had soaked through the substance of the leather through thedrenched clothing. He found his magnifying glass, and having therewith brought the oright rays of the sun to a sharp focus on the end of the cigar, he had it quickly alight. He was not a great smoker—not bound to the habit beyond the power of leaving it off when occasion or propriety required; but he found solid comfort in that smoke at that time. It quieted and soothed his spirit; and, for a little time,, filled his heart, with gratitude ;• and, moreover, by par tially benumbing his appetite, it indirectly made iip in a measure for the want of food. Twelve o'clock. - Meridian. - ; The lonely voyager had just put away his watch, when his eye caught a sail—a small, white speck on the western horizon. He stood up, and swung his signal above his head. Then he thought how foolish he was; and, with a sigh, he sat down and waited. Would, the sail come .nearer I—Yes,1 —Yes, yes ! Nearer and •nearer still, until, at the end of an, hour, he saw the royals, and topgallant sails, and a portion , of the topsails of.a ship. : And now he held aloft his signal. The, minutes passed on, till half-past one, when he.saw, with a sinking heart, that the ship would pass far'to the northward of him if he could not attract her notice. 0! for a pair of oaa-s !—for even a paddle. He thought;of the rudder, and tried to use; thatas a paddle ; but it was too cumber some.! . There' was no way iriVAvhich he could grasp it so as to use it with effect. _ ..: Again he stood up and gave to the breeze his signal. -Aloft he waved it, as high as he could reach'; and he added his voice, shouting until he was hoarse. ..'._ j ~. i 0 ! the agony of it! The great ship—he believed her to be English, and homeward bound^—passed him without varying her course: in the least She was so near that occasionally, when both his ■ boat and 'she , *arose, upon a sea at the same time, he could see the whole of her hull, and yet he i could not attract the attention of a living soul. 0, : the agony of it;!—the hope- neartrending misery ! When the ship had gone so far beyond him that her hull had sunk from sight, he sat down" and ; bowed his head , 'upon* his hands, and, for the first time since the calamity had fallen, upon him, he wept aloud. He cried heart ily. ■• The hours passed on, and at four o'clock the despairing youth saw another sail smaller, than the first, and to the southward. That,also, was bound toward the dear' old 'home, but he signalled in vain. He dis ' covered that it was a-brig, and that was' all. The hull he did not see. Night shut in without the sight of another sail. ,- At ten o'clock the 'moon was above the horizon, and he ventured to wet his lips with fresh water. •'■ After this, faint and weary, he threw himself down upon the boat's, flooring and slept. He awoke twice, with parched lips and fevered tongue ; but lie'would not touch his treasured: drops of freshwater.... . ;:,•_ ■•".■*'.■"•' ' : Morning came again, and in-his agony the last'drop of. waterwas swallowed. He must see a sail soon. There should be scores of ; them passing, ta and fro. AhM had he known thatjhe was tqo far south for veesels bound western; continent, and too , far north and .west.; for, those I coming _ from the : sojuthj': He, might; have, understood it.- •; v. The second, day passed, and , another night." With the rising of another < sun he staggered pp,. whenja lurch ,of- the'.boat, threw him; over, his head striking a thwart as he fell; and'Jie knew no more , ;of. pain no more of Ugonyi,. His senses .were locked [ in.a faint like unto that,ofideath.' ■: <•;'■' Bms ■<•<■ j. : CH^TER ; :.\y-[.'u ,' '' DISCOVERY —THE DECEASED ATTORNEY., It was" on the evening of Tuesday that Dr. Ralph Ashmore left the; hospital for the pur pose the Grange;" at'Coveda'le:' The liextday, Wednesday/ passed'without i any uneasiness on the part of the good presi dent • but ,: when evening came, and the young man had not returned, there wasdis ■ ;appbiritnient. Dr. Digby, who had volun ■ teered to take care >pf Ashmore's patients, Was obliged to be absent, or suffer, great , iii • convenience. j)aybrook allowed him to go; and offered himself to take Ralph's place, u<l ■ At the. Grange, Morna did not feel greatly disappointed at;, not ;.seeing her. • dear■" lover on the evening of Tuesday, though he had led her to look for him;at that time ; but when. Wednesday came, and passed •away to evening, and.she did hot even hear from'him, she was more , than disappointed ; shebegan to feel alarmed ; and sheresolved, if she did not see or hear from '.him by the morning of Thursday! that she . wouldVride, over and .learn;' what had happened.,;' A namelesS,: shapeless ; fear—almost a. terror -i-had elbwn upon her! ,; On,.'that Wednesday' jmbrning, despite the, mud and the puddles'caused bythe.'he'ayy.rain of the previous night; she hacl 'walked, out to visit two of her charges, "elderly women, who were quite sick—arid on the way she had met: Jonas Crandal and his son. Tom Oandal she had recognised the moment him. She remembered'him , as'a cruel j 'heartless' youth, whom even the dogs in the neighbourhood had feared. He had :seemed'cruel to her, because she had wit nessed his wanton abuse of an aged servant who had unintentionally offended him, and she had also seen him iabuse dumb preatures. Yes she knew that many girls in the place admired-; him, and; were' ( pr6ud of his I smiles.

Jonas had stopped her, and Tom had in troduced himself. But few words were spoken, and those seemingly of the kindest, but their looks had frightened her. She could not tell why it was so ; she only felt it in her heart; and she could, not put the dread away. ; Thursday morning dawned, and when Dr. Laybrook entered his office at the hospi tal he found that Ralph Ashmore had nofc yet returned. He sent a messenger to his hotel, to inquire for him there. The man went swiftly, and came back bootless. The young physician had not been seen, or heard, from, at the hotel since Tuesday. Then the old doctor proposed that one of the men of the institution should procure a horse, and ride to Dale Grange without delay. Ashinoi-e might be sick. The man was upon the point of leaving the office when a messenger came in with two telegrams,—one for Dr. Laybrook ; the other for Ralph Ashmore. " Stop !" said the president. And be opened the missive—it was from Portsmouth, - and read. A deep groan burst from his lips, and the hand holding the telegram fell at his side, "0! 0 ! -That explains ■Ashmore's absence !" " What is it, Doctor ?" asked one of the physicians. Before answering, Laybrook raised the telegram, and read it again. "Alas!" he groaned, his whole frame quivering, "I , can scarcely find words to tell you ! The Regulus was caught in a terrific tornado, four hundred miles beyond the Cape of Good Hope, and went down instantly. Every soul — every soul - perished !" " Good heavens ! Doctor Dale was on board that ship !" "Yes. I saw him last on her quai-ter deck. Oh ! this is dreadful! And this telegram for Ashmore is a duplicate of mine. I have a mind to carry it to him myself. I may be able to speak a word of comfort tohim ! ~ " "Miss Dale!" spoke a porter, as he opened the door, and held it for the young lady ta enter. And Morna came in, the very picture of disquiet and alarm. " Dr. Laybrook !" said the fair visitor, the old physician's trouble so tying his tongue that he had not been able to speak even a word of greeting, "where is Ralph? Mr Ashmore? Tell me 0! tell me, there is no trouble !" The old doctor was thunder-struck. " Why — when ■• when did he leave you ?" "Who? Ralph ? 1 have not seen him. Something has happened !. I see it in your face ! 0 ! tell me ! Tell me at once !" " Miss Dale ! Morna !-Dear girl, will you nit down ? Henry bring some wine and a glass." "No ! no ! no !" cried the terrified girl, clinging to the old man's arm with frantic energy, " Tell me what it is. You are killing me with suspense."' > . The good old doctor struggled mightily. He must be calm if he would be of assist ance to the poor girl before him. .But how could he bo calm with smeh a burden of torturing anxiety on his mind? What could have become of Ralph Ashmore ? Tht death of Lawrence Dale was forgotten —or nearly so—in this new horror. It occurred to him, in the midst of his tribulation, that it might be better to break to the girl now the news of her father's death ;,and with the thought came the determination to do so. ~. t "Dear Morna," he said, gently moving her towards a chair, and at the same time motioning for the- others to leave the room, " if you will sit -down I will give you infor mation." • lit > "< ' She sat in an instant - sat down in the great easy-chair—and.ilooked up eagerly. The doctor also took a seat, at the same time taking one of her hands. " Morna, hero is a telegram which I have just received from Portsmouth. Another like it came at the same time for Ralph. It is from it is about your your— father." . . . "My father is dead !". she said. "I have felt it here ! - for a long time. How was it ? How did ho die ?" Her voice wae calm, but the dead whiteness of her face told the feeling of her heart. Laybrook read to her the telegrom. 'When he had finished she continued to look into his face, as though, waiting to hear more. At length, as he did not speak, she asked him : ' ■ . "Why did Ralph go .without opening his telegram?" . ," ," Go ? - Ralph ?—Where ?" gasped the doctor, bewildered. ■-. ' " Has he not gone to find out-to inquire • about papa?" ,", . The good man was again at sea. He arose and got the wine, which hadrbeeii brought in, and poured some into .a glass. "No! no ! no !" the girl cried, starting to her feet, and putting the glass away, before the doctor could speak. "I cannot drink it. I do not want it. Tell me of Ralph. Where is he ?" He gently forced her back in the chair, then resumed his own seat,, and then told her the truth. ; Ralph had left the office on Tuesday evening for the express' purpose ofs visiting her ; and he had. left,in,haste, in order- that he might, if possible,. reach,the Grange before the storm; should set in. ■..: ■ ■ "Until you came'—until, this present time," he added—"we < believed ■'■ ho was with you ; and when this telegram came, I felt relieved in the thought that this had kept him by your side, "r. , riad ; ! ' For a little time sat likeone stunned. ;> By and by life returned; and she ai-Ose to her feet. ■ She.: wais still pale, but not with the deathly whiteness that had ap peared a short time before. There was a tinge of colour in her lips, and her eyes had become warmly bright arid moist. •'Dr Laybrook, do not think that I for get to' mourn for my father. - 0, he wae a good father ! -how good', to-me ! But we ■know he is gone. Wei can! look , upward,' and find consolation. But, 0 ! where is Ralph? Of him I think in this terrible hour; What more can you tell me ? What can you suggest ? ■ What what-do you. think ? o,' dear Doctor, you must think something. Ralph Ralph, 1 I shall die if he,be snatched ; from' me ! Have mercy.'! have mercy, 'Doctor, and tell me something, even thongh it be only what'you think. Speak to me ! For the'love of Heaven, speak.!" J '• ..'[■' '', . She clung to him in her wild, paroxysm, her arms around his neck, arid her head pillowed on his shoulder.. He had .been like a second father to her ; had always smiled upon the love between herself and Ralph ; and next to her father and her dear lover, she loved the good old man best of all the world.' : • ' , /' .". ~-'_'.' , .„ Before the doctor could reply to her the door was ■ unceremoniotisly opened, and Jonas Crandal entered; followed by his son. At that moment' their' presence was a wonderful relief to the good doctor ; arid even Morna, when she had' seen who were, was not sorry they had come. They might help to find Ralph, or','at least, to tellsoriiething about him ; for in her deepest detestation of both father and son, she had not yet'allowed herself to think them as sassins. ' ■' A few informal words of greeting were spoken ; then the newcomers were pomted to chairs, Dr. Laybrook at the same time gently seating the stricken girl, after which ne drew up a chair for himself. (To be Continued.)

FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS.

DECISION.

" I can't decide," says the raindrop as it comes down, " whether I will fall on the meadow, or in the garden among the flowers, or out on the wide ocean. I can't make up my mind." " I can't decide," says the streamlet as it rushes out of the mountain, " whether I will ilow toward the great river yonder, or whether I will go straight down the. valley and into the sea at once." " There is plenty of time for me," says a , , young girl as she comes away from the Bible-class on Sunday afternoon. " Teacher wants us to decide at once, but surely there is no hurry. I must think about it some day I know; but not now; I can't de cide. " But the raindrop comes on, and so does; the streamlet; while they are hesitating they are coming on, on, somewhere. Pres ently it is too late to choose, »«« M not decide in time, and >*6w it tiding. They gone too far ; they can not cnange their courses now. Take care, young people ! take care, boys and girls ! Your life is just like that fall ing raindrop, just like that rushing stream. You do not decide the way your life shall go, but all the time it is going on. Is it going toward heaven '! Have you thought 1 Will you not decide at once which way it will go ? If you do not choose now, the time may soon come when you cannot choose.

Fun With Flamingoes.

"They're funny fellows, I can tell you," the captain declared. " I met a man down the coast who told, me that once he waa liuntin' on the Florida lowlands and came upon a whole colony of flamingoes among the mangrove trees. He watched their antics for some time—some standin' on one leg, some with their long necks in all sorts of curious positions, some stalking up and down as solemn as parsons - and he thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to play a joko on them. "So he took a fishline, and when the birds flew away he fastened one end of the line to the root of a tree and climbed with the other end into another tree." " Before long the birds came back, then the fun began. As soon as one or tw.o~ stepped across* the line, the man in the tree fave it a pull, and the flamingoes began oppin , and trippin' and dancin' about, npw fallin'down, now jumpin'acros; and really seemin' to enjoy it immensely. Hβ actually had 'em all a-skippin' rope, and there's no tellin' how long the'd 'a' kept ib up if it hadn't been so very .funny that my friend couldn't help laughin' out loud ; thab frightened them off. That may seem a rather brisk story," said Captain Sam; " but, from what I've seen of my specimen, I fully believe it."

Look It Up.

I-r will not hurt you, boys and girls, to learn a little accurate geography, by looking up these places before going on with the story; and if I were your schoolmaster, instead of your story-teller, I should stop here to advise you always to look on the map for every town, river, lake, mountain, or other geographical thing mentioned in any book or paper you read. I would advise you, too, if I were your sehoolrhaster, to add up all the figures given in books and newspapers, to see if the writers have made any mistakes ; and it is a good plan, too, to go at once to the dictionary when you meet (i word you do not quite comprehend, or the encyclopaedia of history, or whenever you read about anything and would like to know more about it.

Something in a Maine.

"My maiden irnme, was Butterpole. It really was. I'd just as soon it had been Beanpole, every bit. And, as though that name wasn't frightful enough, my father and mother named me Betsy Jane. " My parents were good but old-fashioned people. They always called me by my full name, and would not hear of such a thing as ' Bettie,' or ' Beasie, , and my rougish brothers would drawl out ' Bet-say J-a-n-e' in a way that would always rouse my anger. Sometimes they would kindly abbreviate the name to ' Bets," a concession that drove me frantic. " How I always dreaded the first day at school ! We lived in the country, and had a new teacher every term. I always felt sick when he or she came around with the roll-book and asked : • "' What is your name ?' "'Betsy Jane Butterpole' I would stammer out, and there never was a teacher proof against that name. They . always laughed right out. , ■ . There was a boy named Johnny Jones — who thought a great deal of me in I spite of myname., He tried to make up a valentine for me, but this was the best he could do with the material at hand : >'i > ■ ■ f<; . Oh, my girl's name , . le.Betsy Jane; , ' And also,Butterpole, ; t . ■ : = I love her withmy very heart, , i 1' '' And also with my soul.' '■I " Many a timehave I gone crying to bed after father or mother had introduced me to strangers 'as ' Qur daughter, j Betsy Jane;" and I hardly think I should have ever contemplated matrimony if it hadn't been to rid myself of the Butterpole part of my name.' My husband has told me since that he laughed for fifteen minutes when he first heard the name of Betsy Jane Butter pole. And when we were married I saw his mouth twitch when he had to say, ' I, Harry, take thee, Betsy Jane,' &c. "None of my children are named after their mother. I, for one, am of,"fche opinion that the naming of children is an important matter, and that they have a right p3 expect' consideration."—" Waverley.Magazine."

Old Clothes.

Then the old clothes of the-great people of history, what an air of dignity they have, even in their decay., Nelson's old uniform, shot-torn and blood-stained ; the hodden grey coat in the' library at Abbotsford ; what associations they suggest! In ; what limbo, I wonder, is that yeomanry uniform of Sir, Walter's, about which his friend Pringle of Whytbank used to tell,so, good a story ? How they /were in Paris together soon after Waterloo. Paris was very gay and crowded,, the Emperor Alexander I. and a number of fire-eating Russians being there. The two Scotchmen were asked to some ball given in honour of the Czar where uniform was de riguetier, and Scott was rather in difficulties, till he bethought him of his old yeomanry uniform, in which he accordingly appeared. Being in the course of the evening presented to the Czar of all the Russias, who had no idea as to whom he was, that great potentate, struck by a uniform quite strange to him, asked Mr Scott with some interest in what en gagements he had taken part. He replied with ready wit: "La bataille de Cross causeway, etPaffau-elde Tranent." The Czar, too polite or too proud to show his ignorance of these .battles, bowed with grave courtesy, and said no more.—"Chambers's Edin burgh ."