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long, gray hair. He had declined farther sup- the other. She did not recognize me, but 11 human bones were there, they were those of the port from the Sheriff, and stepping a pace in would have known my Madeleine among a thou- ' Chief Wingino, whose skeleton I possessed. •r. he stood with sand. I turned my horse’s head and followed Millv knew nothing of our flight, nor of the front of him and of the prisoner, his tall form erect, his gray head bare to the sky, in sight of the silent and waiting multitude. “People of Alluvia!” he cried, in that rich, her. She entered a little cottage by the road, journey that followed. Puerperal mania set in, I stood at the window and watched her unseen, and for months she had no intelligent conscious- A man sat in the room with a little girl asleep ness. When she recovered, I found that her from the scaffold, not only free from the taint of another man! My Madeleine, whose memory- that all was delirium—that she had never known blood-guiltiness, but crowned with the honors had kept me alive all those dreary years!—who other scenes than those now surrounding her. that belong to the martyr. He is innocent of had sworn to be faithful to me-whose name I After four years of school-girl life, she entered the crime for which he has been condemned. .had shouted in battle and whispered in my society. When she married Mr. Averv, she re- The one who did that deed stands before you prayers, and called upon deliriously in prison! tained no recollection of her Western life, unless now. I alone am the murderer of Marinaduke I could not bear it; the blood rushed to my it was some fragmentary, dream-like glimpses: Archer !” brain. I leaped in at the window and stood be- but she came here, and the sight of familiar j For an instant there fell npon the assembly fore her. I upbraided her with falsehood, and scenes and of one well-known face, started old the silence of the grave. Then a faint murmur she wept and trembled. Her husband inter- recollections out upon the scroll of her mind as arose that rapidly increased to a tumultof sound, posed; I cursed him and he struck me. I heat brings out invisible writing. She thought In the midst of it, Mr. Avery sprang upon the sprung upon him, and we fought like two savage it was insanity. She wrote to me in agonized scaffold steps and waved his hand excitedly. beasts, while she stood by, shrieking and pray- suspense, imploring me to tell her if slie was “Fellow-citizens !” he cried, “I beg you will ing. At last, he got his knife in his hand, and mad or if these memories were true. I told her give no heed to the declaration you have just made a lunge at my throat. I wrested the blade not all, but all I dared to tell, and exacted from heard. It is the utterance of p. deranged mind, from him and drove it to the hilt in his own her a solemn promise that she would reveal it This gentleman knows no more about the mur- breast. He fell- back, gasped, and all was over, to no one—especially that she should not betray der than you or I. He is a stranger in this I looked down at an innocent man dead by my me and herself to Mr. Avery. She has kept that place. He was only brought here an invalid a hand. At a little distance, lay his wife in a promise, though it has cost her dearlv. few weeks ago. He is my wife's father—Judge heavy swoon. As I raised her, I saw a phial half “ She discovered after a time that Neil Griffin j Weir—a highly respected citizen of St. Louis, filled with dark fluid grasped in her clenched yet lived—that he was hunted down by Archer’s and a most able lawyer until his mind was in- hand; drops of the brown liquid were on'her son, who sought revenge for his father’s murder, jured by a recent stroke of paralysis. I call lips. It was laudanum. Crazed with fright and Believing him innocent, she did all she could to 1 upon his physician, Dr. Wilson, who is present, horror, she had swallowed the poison. I was a protect him from discovery. She encouraged to certify if this is not true.” double murderer. Archer to confide to her his plans of detection. Dr. Wilson arose, and in a few words corrob- “She did not die until far in the night. She and she used her woman’s wit to thwart them 1 orated the statement of Mr. Avery that Judge revived. She forgave me and told me all. She When all wad in vain, she made one last attempt Weir had been lately brought to Alluvia-an in- had never been false to me in heart. She had to save Neil, and rode at midnight to his cabin valid, with his mind greatly impaired by a par- received no word from me since I left. Her to carry him a horse on which "to escape. For [For The Sunny South.] I LOVE THEE STILL. BY ROSA V. RALSTON. I love thee still—Tlove thee still! Sad feelings now my bosom fill. Though many years have passed away Since that dreary, that fetal day. When to thy bosom thou didst press Me, in one fond, final caress, I love thee still! In sweet memories I can trace The time when I first saw thy face: Thy manly voice I still can hear, As when into my eager ear Thy first sweet accents thou didst pour; And yet, as in those days of yore, I love thee still! The proud monuments thou didst raise, Wanting no guerdon, meed or praise, To the lasting temple of fame,— The noble, the immortal name That thou didst leave to posterity. Though silent, yet speaks, and teaches me To love thee still! What though my memory should fail. And all hope be beyond the pale? Ah! yes, when I shall have grown old, And my body shall have waxed cold.— When from earth my spirit is riv'n, And mounts up to meet thee iy heav’n, I’ll love thee still! . - - „ — escape. aly tic attack. guardian, Marmaduke Archer, bad shown her a this brave deed, she brought foul scandal on her Turning then to Judge Weir and preparing to. ietter announcing that I was dead; that I had head. She is wholly innocent. She never even approach him, Mr. Avery said gently: ' been killed in fight. After that, she had lost discovered herself to Neil Griffin. He knows “This excitement is too much for you, sir. heart, and allowed him to persecute her into a who she is now for the first time, as he stands You are too ill to be out. Come down with me, marriage with a man who suited him, because here and listens to me. She is the wife he I entreat you, and return home for your daugh- he was not likely to make difficulties about her mourned as dead. I tried to take her from him. ter’s sake.” fortune which he (Archer) had spent. So, all but Fate is stronger than man. Fate has brought It was noticed by the spectators that at this this was the work of my arch enemy-. i it all round its own wav. It was the sudden instant the prisoner, who had before seemed be- “Here was another heavy account to be scored sight of that blood-rusted old knife and those wildered with astonishment, now stepped to the against the villain who had ruined my life. : bloody fragments of the snake-skin vest that did side of Judge Weir and said a few words in a | Over the dead man I had killed and the dying for me. A sudden recollection of the old man’s low tone that seemed to be an entreaty. They woman I loved, I swore a desperate oath to be dying look smote me like a blow on the brain- you so often, dear; I hate to do it.” were answered by a swift gesture of dissent, revenged on Marmaduke Archer. But my ven- and the sight of Neil Griffin’s eyes to-dav as he « 0h i nonsense ' Actions sneak louder than Then checking the approach of Mr. Avery and geance must be delayed; he had gone to Califor- sat on his coffin on his way to suffer death for , . ..... ' , P ... , the physician with a glance and a wave of his ' nia, to be absent for years. Madeleine told me my deed, was too much for me. It shocked me words; and Mlll - V tnmed awa - v Pettishly, throw- hand, he said decisively: this. Then she besought me to go—to save back to sense and feeling, and brought me ing off the arm her husband had laid fondly on “No, I will not come down from this scaffold myself by flight, before this night’s work was here to confess that the crime was mine* No, I her pretty shoulders, until my will is accomplished. I came here to discovered. She told me she had never ceased ! will not call it crime. It was no criminal deed save the life of this man, who would have sacri- to love me, and with her dying breath left her to take the life of that villain.” ficed himself through devotion to—another.” ; child to my care—the child that I had made an “And you done it in fair fight. Cap’n blow Then lifting his brow and raising his voice to orphan. O, God ! the horror and remorse of for blow,” sang out the stentorian voice of Tom the thrilling pitch that hushed every whisper, that night! I held mj- poor Madeleine in my Keid. “Why didn’t you say so then, like a he continued: arms till she expired; then I sat down beside j man, an’ all would a been square.” It her, stupified with despair. The touch of a j “ All’s square as it is, to mv mind,” shouted little hand aroused me the sound of a little I another voice. “I’ll be blowed if as good a sol- “ People of Alluvia, your Mayor is wrong, is true. I have been ill, and bodily disease may For The Sunny South.] PARTING WORDS. BY ANNIE M. BARNWELL. “And yon really icon'l let me have the new carpet, Dick?” “ I really can’t. Mill}-. Don’t make me refuse “What! you won’t even say good-bye ! Well, you’ll get over it by dinner-time, I suppose. By the way, that reminds me: I forgot to tell you that I would not be at home to dinner. I am obliged to go out of town on business, and I won’t be back until night.” have clouded my intellect; but Fate has to-day I Aolce ca ln 8 swept the mists away with one mighty stroke, and as I stand here this moment, mv brain is as “ ‘You will feel sorry for this long before yon ' see me again. Edith. Remember, I shall be away for a whole week, perhaps longer. ’ “ * I don't care if you stay forever!” I ex claimed. “You don’t value my presence, or you would take me with you: and I can do perfectly well without yours, i assure you.’ “He left me without another word, and had hardly passed out of my sight ere I repented my hasty words and unkind repulsion of his caress. It was too late for me to recall him, however, so I wrote him a loving, penitent note, and sent it the next day. The day afterwards, I heard from him. It was only a hasty note, saying that he . was obliged to go on at- once to New York on a friend's business. This he had feared would be the case, and it was the reason he had refused to take me with him. His friend was in trouble, and had enjoined secresy upon him so strictly that he could not even explain the matter to me. He ended by saying he knew I had quite got over my anger by this time, and bidding me write to i him. directing my letter to New York. He had not received,my note.” Mrs. Royston paused a moment, looking down into the fair face beside her. with eyes so full of passionate grief that Milly’s tears flowed fast as she met their gaze, and she clasped her arms , closely around her sister: then she went on: “Millv, I never saw my husband again. He has stayed away forever. I have been forced to live for five weary years without his presence. I must live without it until death in mercy calls me, too, to the home where parting can never enter.” “ How was it ?" whispered Milly through her tears. “A railroad accident, in which his friend and himself were both killed instantly.” They were both silent for awhile; then Mrs. Royston said: “I have forced myself to tell you this, my dear little sister, in the hope of sparing you such misery as I have known. It has been with the deepest pain that I have noticed how crossly you often speak to Dick, and how frequently you indulge in what ypu call -little tiffs.’ They* may seem trifles to you: but oh! Milly, what would be your feelings if the last words your lips ever spoke to him were those of unkindness or reproach. He is dearer to me than any one else in the world, and truly you have a treasure in your husband. He is honest and thrifty— virtues by no means common in these days of extravagance and speculation — and instead of helping him to retain his upright principles, you do all in your power to lessen and destroy tliem. You, too, are very dear to me—only sec ond to Dick—and I wonld fain save yon from sorrow and remorse. Dick is not altogether blameless. He treats you too much as a petted child, and does not make of you the counsellor ling to ‘mama’ to ‘wake up, made me j jer as the Cap’n’s got any business bangin’ from j “I’m sure I don’t care,” replied Milly crossly, and help-mate a true wife should be to her bus start to my feet. It was the little child, who had ; a rope while there’s fightin’ to be did. No, sir; i “You can go out of town and stay there, for all band. I mean to tell him of his error, and you slept through all this horror, and who was now not while the red devils are a thievin’ and -r >. ' must prove to him that you can be all a wife clear as the sanest among you. Deliberatelv and trying to wake her dead mother with kisses. | )Urrlin ’ and scalpin’, n , )t far off, in the teeth of C “ C . should be to her husband. Will you try?” in my right mind, I declare to you that I com- She looked at me wlth scared, beseeching eyes. President Grant and ole Phil and their mighty Mmd I don t take you at your word, little ..j will - so ],b e d Milly. “You shall not have mitted this deed for which Neil Griffin has been That look brought a swilt revulsion of feeling. ] 0 t of blue coats. Come down from thar, Cap’n. spitfire,” said Dick, with a laugh, as he closed told me your storv in vain. God helping me, I condemned to die. * T ,he P 00 T r “°| ber had be 8g ed me to care f ° r , he . r Git your old rifle and let’s be off where game’s the door and departed. " ill never part from Dick unkindly again." “Mr. Avery is wrong .upon another point. ** ^ ^ He says I am a stranger in this place. Why, rapidly down the every foot of its ground is familiar to me. On auuul 110(1 loOK ult ' cunu iu my arms, men r i “Yes, come down, Cap’n; we’ll stand by you.” i plighted his troth to pretty Milly Denver, and front steps, and at once guessing her errand, that hill yonder, I headed the handful of settlers d rfd became aware that the room was on fire. ! “Long live Cap’n Brown !” “Let by-gones be 1 in spite of the above little episode, they were a sent a fervent “God bless yon !” after her. that routed the thieving red-skins, rescued two * Some bn ™ m 8[brands upon the hearth had be- j by-gones.” “’Twarn’t no murder any way.” | very loving couple. Milly had been a spoiled When Dick came out of his office, on his way women and a girl, took back the horses that had e ?“ e . scatte *? d in the scuffle, had ignited the But when the Captain's story was done, his , , , to the depot, he did not notice an eager face been stolen from us, and captured their great clothing on the walls, then the dry pme planks strength had seemed suddenly to forsake him. ! child of wealthy parents and Dick nas onlj a watc hing him from the window of a neighboring chief, Wingino, after liis tomahawk had de- un ^ 11<JVS “ ie ^ as a ^laze. Tne thought His head had dropped upon his breast, his tall banker s clerk, on a moderate salary. He was restaurant, and started violently when a hand scernied here upon mv forehead. Don’t you re- 1 , u 'v d u P on me, that the flames would conceal form, that had stood erect while he spoke, an upright, honest, sensible fellow, and not was laid on his arm, and Milly’s voice said close member that day, boys? Tom Reid, Dick evidence of my deed. I caught up the child, j drooped over the staff he held. even to please his pretty wife would he spend a at his side: Allan, and vou, Fighting Bob—don't you re- i ra ? from the house, leaped upon my horse, and “No murder?” he murmured. “I tell you ■ dollar more than he could afford. Perhaps he “Please, Dick, I’ve come to walk with you to member Captain Brown ?” rode rapidly away from the scene, with the child | there’s ghosts started up this day that will never i did not always refuse to gratify her extravagant the depot. M ly I not?” “Aye! aye! aye!” shouted the men addressed, ; on * be saddle-before me. be laid any more. I can see Shis dying look—I tastes in the pleasantest manner, but he felt Now, truth to tell, that morning was by no and a"dozen others who recognized the speaker, “Days afterwards I reached this place—then ! can hear his last groan ! And that other,—poor that he was right, and as he indulged her freely means the first upon which Mill}- had parted voice if I was a dyin’!” “Hurrah for the Fightin’ Bear |of Bear’s Bend!” “Hurrah for Cap’n Brown ! He ain’t dead after all!” These and other enthusiastic exclamations broke from the excited settlers, who recognized their old leader in the battle and the chase of its natural guardians. No father's love ever stroyerAf her mother. She will never forgive scribed above, in the person equaled in depth the remorseful tenderness I- me ! Sflie wifi lirtte my memory!' Murdei*! yes, ter, Mrs. Royston. Sue wasTseveral years older again.’ Well, nag away, if it does you any good; felt for this child of my murdered Madeleine, it was mur——” ! than Dick, and had been a widow for the last but you’ll never get anything more out of me My ambition centered in her. I determined to | His voice failed, he tottered and fell back into five years. She was a sweet, gentle woman, but than what I’ve said already.” take her back to the civilized States—to educate i the arms of the Sheriff. It was only a moment- very, very sad. Milly had only known her Milly was sorely tempted to make a sharp and accomplish her—to make amends for the | ary unconsciousness; he opened liis eyes and since her engagement to Dick, and she had never reply, but she choked it back and answered: For an instant, a flash of the old fire gleamed ! wrong I had done her. But to do this, I must called faintly: I seen her smile. Dick was devotedly attached to “You are mistaken, dear. I have come to tell in the chieftain’s eye, then as suddenly died out. have money; and while I schemed to make it, J “Milly.” I his sister, and Milly too had learned to love her 1 you how sorry I am that I worried you, and was He staggered baek a step and pressed' his hand and thought her a mere child, she married— j She was kneeling by him, chafing one of his dearly. Mrs. ltoyston’s low, sad tones never so cross this morning, and to say that I mean to to his brow. His ashen cheek and writhing lip married into a family that was not only obscure, j hands. He looked at her with unutterable an- failed to influence the self-willed little wife for ; try and be a better wife to you in future.” told of a fearful struggle going on in his breast, but despised. Bitter disappointment was mine, guish in his eyes. good; and they were always listened to atten- It was the death-throes of the instinct that was j Then, after a time, I began to plan how to take j “Your hate is bitterer than all to bear, Milly— ; tively. ' bitterer than death—even death on the gallows.” As the door closed upon Dick, Milly ex- She answered by leaning over and kissing claimed: him. . “ Isn’t he the most provoking man alive ? mighty as life within him—the instinct of lead ership—the wild, bold spirit of the born parti san chieftain. Once more he advanced to the front of the platform. “ Silence!” he cried with fierce energy and a gesture of imperial command. “I am here, not for an ovation, but fora confession; not to re ceive friendly recognition, but to accept doom. It is true, I was known among you as Captain her away from the man she had married—to carry her off with me somewhere, for the spirit of restlessness possessed me. I had not forgot ten my revenge,—it smouldered in my breast; suddenly it was fanned into a flame. “One night, as I approached the cabin of Neil Griffin, I heard a voice inside a voice I remem bered too well. I stopped without, at the win dow. and my heart ceased beating when I saw him sitting within—my arch enemy, the destroyer Dick did not go alone on his business trip out of town, and a happy afternoon it was to both of them. Milly kept her resolution, and became a model of a wife. At the end of the year, when Dick balanced his accounts, there was a hundred “You do not shrink from me,” he murmured. Confess the truth, sister Edith—don't you think dollars to spare, and with unalloyed delight he “You can forgive the wrong I have done you?” j he might have given me the carpet?” brought home, as a present to his wife, the eov- “Do not talk of forgiveness, my father. Let “ He said that he could not afford it, dear, and eted carpet. God forgive. I can only love you because you surely he must be the best judge of his own *** have loved me. The wrong you speak of is a money matters.” Six Wives in a Life-Time, shadow to me; your love is a reality. You have “I don’t think seventy-five dollars could make . loved me,—you have been kind to me always.” much difference in his year’s expenses; and the j , They live at No 60 North street- Mr. and Mrs. Brown, but my true name is AVeir. It was the ■ of mv parents the wrecker of mv peace, the vil- She pressed his hand to her cheek and to her carpet was so beautiful and such a bargain,” Smith. The husband is ninety-three years of name I bore when I fled from my own State of I lain who had made me a murderer and an out- lips- urged Milly. - a S e > an<1 lias been niarrled slx tlmes - The wife Alabama, with the stein of blood on my hands, J cast—Marmaduke Archer. He was seated by the “Oh, heaven!” she cried, “how cold he is, and reached your settlement at twilight of that fire, excited by liquor, and ostentatiously' dis- an d how feeble ! He must be taken away from playing the treasure of gold, diamonds and this place, It is fearful! Hear the noise of the make Dick miserable to owe it without the means bank-notes which he carried concealed about crowd! See how they are pressing around the of paying it promptly. You know he has such his person. As I watched him, the blood burned : scaffold, their eyes fixed upon it—fixed upon a horror of debt. and throbbed in my brain. I clutched the knife him ! Oh ! pray let him be taken down and put “ Yes,” said Milly, half smiling; “papa says at my belt. But I ; could not kill him there, into the carriage.” Dick is the most honest young man he knows, under Milly’s roof. I postponed my vengeance _ “ Aye, that he shall be, this minute !” cried autumn day with my brave horse staggering under me and a little child in my arms. That child sits there,” he said,-pointing to Melicent, who sat at the scaffold’s foot, unable longer to stand, even with the assistance of old Hagar. “For her sake, as well as of Neil Griffin’s, I will tell my story. She has suffered because of my acts. She has been the victim of unjust cal umny. To clear her from wrong, to save him from the scaffold, I stand here and confess what else would have gone with me to the grave. “I was born in Alabama. At fourteen, I had a father, a mother and a home; at fifteen. I was orphaned and beggared. One man did it,— Marmaduke Archer. He swindled my father out of his property and turned him from his home in the dead of winter. Unaccustomed work and exposure brought on rheumatic fever, of which he died. My mother survived him but a few weeks. I was thrown upon the world at the bottom of Fortune’s ladder, but I was bold and resolute. I determined to mount it. I studied day and night. I worked every scheme Urged Milly. u,in OCCU uiumcu inutra. jLiie >> “Seventy-five dollars is not a very large sum is pretty old too, nearly eighty, perhaps—but in itself,” answered Mrs. Royston; “but it would ! sbe refuses to tell her exact age. She is a grand- —1__ tt-.i—? -a— daughter of Mr. Marsh, at one time Governor of Connecticut. Mr. Smith is now exceedingly frail, and almost deaf. In 1813 he married liis first wife, by whom he had three sons and a daughter, three of whom survive, the eldest lie- But lie need not be so dreadfully honest all the ing sixty-two years of age, and the youngest fifty until morning. Then I wavlaid his path: I con- Dick Allan, who had mounted to the top of the time. I did want the carpet so much, and it is J bre ®- ca nnot now remember the names of fronted him suddenly and bade him defend him- scaffold with great bounds that made it quiver, such a beauty. Why do you shake your head so his first, second, third and fourth wives. All lie self. He did so. He" was no coward, and he was “He’s no business up here. Feelin’s will drive doubtfully? Don’t you think it a lovely carpet, remembers ot v} e . m . at with the exception of a man of powerful frame; but guilt unnerved the best of men into scrapes sometimes. Cap’n sister Edith?” “w; i° n q’„ and h e lived him and revenue gave me a timer's strength. At Brown’s a man, and he's no business swingin' “Yes, dear, it is very pretty; but I was think- nappily mtfi all. His filth uife, who had con- one time he had "the advantage; he struck the from a rope like a cat that’s been caught in a iug not half pretty enough to be the cause of siderable property, died about fourteen years knife from my hand after I had stabbed him i cupboard. No, not while the world’s wide as it your parting so unkindly with your husband.” aeo - leaving the bulb ot it to her lmsi.nnri once. He was about to plunge his own dirk into is, and there’s miles of blue prairie and green Milly’s color rose as she answered: mv heart, when I wrested it~from him and dealt woods over yonder a leetle nearer to the settin' “Well, I was angry, and I can't kiss people sun. Here, bear a hand, friend, and we'll have when I am mad with them. ” him down from this and into his carriage. But “You told him he might go out of town and first let me cut him loose,” he continued, as his stay there, for all you cared. Did you mean eye fell upon Neil Griffin. “Manch, my boy, ! that?” him his death-blow. That knife was the one pro duced in court as evidence against Neil Griffin. It was a silver-mounted, Spanish blade, which Neil had just given Archer in exchange for a ring. Here is the knife that struck the first blow—my own old bowie-knife, comrades, with mv name cut in the handle and the blood of you'll never untie them cords with your eyes full o' salt water. Let me give 'em a slash with my old dirk. There ! Here, shake hands with that villain rusted upon the blade. It was found nie, man ! I m proud to see you free. You ve “ Of course not, and Dick knows I didn’t. Don’t worry about it, sister Edith; Dick and I often have these little tiffs, but we’ll make it up ago, leaving the bulk of it to her husband. “I have had six of them, and they have all been good wives to me,” he said. “l am too old and feeble now to have another.” About twenty years ago, Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith No. 5 re moved to Troy, where he has resided '-.inee; Mrs. Smith dying fourteen years ago, as stated above, and where he married Mrs. Smith No. 6 three years ago, having only courted her two nights pre viously, according to his statement, but a great to become popular to learn every hidden spring in the hollow of ‘Gallows Oak,’where I thrust showed a stout heart, Neil Griffin—a stout heart ever.’ by which men are moved. Finally, I became a it, with the bloody fragments of the vest I had and a brave one, by gum ! I'll say that for you, “I when he comes back, and be as good friends as many more according to Mrs. Smith. The latter, indeed, was inclined to be a little im sure you will, if he comes back,” said indignant at the statement of her husband that While he stood speechless with horror. I ran by a woman at the bottom of it. IVell, you ve earnt stronger than man who has jiower to keep him him, crvin« ‘Keep silent, for Milly’s sake !’ her, boy, and no mistake; yes, you’ve earnt her, away. I mean death.’ -• p - — -- - - ’ ,4,oil Loi-o i,ov ;+• sl.o’s n-illin’ tn an if “ Oh ! dont say such dreadful things, sister !” and yon shall have her, if she’s willin’ to go, if President Grant hisself laid claim to her for a cried Milly with a shudder. “Have you any wife. You stand there a free man now—a free reason for thinking he is in danger ? Why do man and a happy one !” you look so deadly pale? ’ _ “ Free and happy !” Did not the words seem “No; I have no reason for thinking Dick is to me. ‘ You can ilo a better^part by her than I irony to the man who stood there pale and stun- . in danger. Hush, Milly; don’t get so excited, can. and she'd feel worse to have vou swing ned, with a look of bewilderment on his face? I was trxing to make up ni} mind to tell you than to have me. Mavbe it ’ud be a piece of He clung to Manch s hand and looked down mv storv. It mav keep vou from ever patting good fortune for her if I was put out of the drearily. . ’ LtiaL .ti.i onroir, ' (TO BE CONTINUED. ) Poor wretch ! He did keep silent, even unto death. He would not betray me, even when he saw them bent upon hanging him for the mur der. “ ‘Better me than you. Cap’n,’ he whispered times in secret; now. backed by his party, lie made bold to strike openly. His speech was the bitterest personality. He professed to dig up old family secrets; he flung odium on my father's name, on my mother’s honor. I listened until my blood ran fire. I sprang upon the platform, caught him bv the throat and hurled him to the ground. His head struck a stone; he lay mo tionless. and they thought him dead. “I was arrested, confined for days, and re leased when it was found that Archer did not die. The day afterwards, I left the place that had become hateful to me. Before I went. I had an interview with the woman who had promised to be my wife a stolen "interview, for she was the ward of [Marmaduke Archer. She was the one being I cared for on earth. I loved her with all the strength of my soul. I had loved her since she was a child. I believed her when she promised to be true to me until better fortune allowed me to return and claim her. “I went to Cuba and joined Lopez. I threw myself in the whirlpool of that mad revolution, and was speedily stranded on the rock of captiv ity. I spent three years in a Spanish prison, two years more in earning money to return other away and destroy all trace” of my flight. I set than as a beggar. I went straight to my native fire "to the house and slipped away in a skiff at It is said that three thousand women attended town. As I rode into it at sunset. I met a girl dead of nteht. If any flesh was found in the the New Orleans races; but what are hard times coming from the village—her fair head bare, a ashes of the burned building, it was that of a to a tender, loving woman, who vants to see hat upon one arm, a little basket of oranges on dog that was fastened up in the house; if any what's going on ? way. “I thought so too. perhaps: but God is my witness that I never meant he should die for me. I thought I could help him to escape that night. I meant to give him my good horse and a part of the gold, and have him fly to Mexico and leave Milly free. That was what I planned to do. but Fate ruled otherwise. The mob stole a march upon me. I risked rousing their suspi cions by my effort to save him. I cried out that he was innocent. I cut him down before them— too late as I thought. That night my poor Mil ly's baby was bom. while she lay convulsed and unconscious. The next night I resolved to steal “Well, Doctor,” said a chap just from the dentist's chair, “how much do you ax for the job? Guy ! but you did it quick, though ! “My terms,” replied the dentist, “are one dollar.” Thunder! why a doctor down at our place unkindly with vour husband again.’ Milly knelt down by her side, saying: “ Yes, tell me, sister dear. I have often wanted to know more about your past life, but Dick would never tell me anything.” “There is not much to tell until the last,” re plied Mrs. Royston. “I was married to the no blest and best of husbands, and was mistress of a lovelv home in Louisiana. I had been mar- draw'd a tooth for me over two years ago, and it ried n * arly three ypars . w h en mv husW i was took him two hours. He dragged me all around the room, and lost his grip half a dozen times. I never seed such hard work. And he charged me twenty-five cents. A dollar for a minit’s works ! You must be jokin’!” summoned to New Orleans on urgent business. I wished to accompany him, but he refused, was so infirm he could scarcely walk, and so deaf he could scarcely hear. She would remain with him as long as he lived, and after his death she would go and live with her rich friends. She continued: “I like married life, and if my husband were to die to-day, I would marry again to-morrow if I got the chance. On being asked if she thought she would have any chance, she answered that she did not know but she might; but this she was sure of, that if she £ot the chance to marry again she would not refuse it. “I got a chance,” she pursued, “to marry when I was eighteen from a widower—a man with money—when I was down South on a visit; but my father would not allow me to accept it, because I was too young, he said, to undertake the care of ten children. I never got another chance until I was seven—” “Seven what?” suggested the reporter. “Oh, it’s no matter,” she rejoined. “It has always been a rule with me not to tell mv a»e to gentlemen. But I was going to say that "if lever without giving what I considered a good reason g°t a chance again to marry, although the man for bis refusal. I became angry and spoke to ba d fifty children, I would accept it. him very unkindly, but he kept his temper, and “ Quite right, said the reporter; “but in the treated my arguments with such careless good meantime what is to become of Mr. ^Smith?” humor, that my anger increased every moment. “Excuse me. sir, I forgot about him. Poor When he was about to bid me good-bye. I re- man ! It s a good thing he could not hear what fused to return his kiss. He seemed very much I said. I must go and make him some tea hurt, and said gently: here ended the conversation.—Troy Press