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[For The Sunny South.] |VIOL*ET EYES. BY FLOY FAY. ’Tis summer again, anti the flowers Are blooming everywhere; The little wood-daisies gleam in the path, And the jessamine fills the air. But ah! 'tis sad 'neath the still dark pines (Though above is the glad blue sky)— I hear them moftn for one that is gone,— They moan till their voices die. And sometimes when I venture in, The shade is so dark, so deep, I fear to tread on the violets That low in the shadows sleep. Ah! their blooming brings such memories Thronging back against my will,— The sad old pines knew the story once, And they sighed as they knew it still. All is so weird and silent, My voice seems not my own; The winds too sigh as they pass me by, Where I stand in the gloom alone. Alone! but my spirit follows A ship on a distant sea; For my last year's violets faded fast, And nothing was left to me! But I turn from the gloomy forest, Where each violet has a spell To chain my thoughts to the sweet blue eyes I loved last spring so well. On the hill, outside the shadows, Laughing voices echo far; And above, through the deepening twilight,' Glimmers the first bright star. The sunset clouds are rosy yet; Before I go, one sigh; Then good-bye, oh my violets,— My love, my lore, good-bye! “Theadvertisement? Oh. Madame, has it—” dreaded object, while frequently her eyes wore j be the daily “ No, not that,” she said, interrupting me; a strange, half-frightened expression. In Lady : to confess , that lias not been answered yet. I think I have Stanhope, also, I had several times noticed this had to ascend it. I could not help associating something better for you than that, in this letter, strange behavior; while Lord Stanhope, too, had | it in my mind with danger ever since Arthur which had just reached me. It is from Lord a nervous way of starting at every slight noise had mentioned its needing repairs. Lord Stan- tily bug-bear of my life. I was ashamed I him, my answer, as I placed my hand in his, ss it, yet I grew nervous every time I j and let him draw my head down to his shorn- cend it. I could not help associating der. Then, when I had grown calmer, I told hope often spoke of having it repaired, but the days passed on, and still he neglected it. it was just a week later when Arthur, going to his room, stopped when a short distance up, and turned back to say something to Ethelyn, ;y. I think you will be pleased with this i one which contained my sleeping apartments; who stood with me in the hall. He leaned ation, and so had best accept it. The family 1 while often I had been waked at night by lights against the railing as he spoke, when suddenly, Stanhope, of Stanhope Towers, near Ralston, near the door. I puzzled greatly over the mys- He writes to me to procure him a competent tery. There was something wrong somewhere, governess to take charge of the education of his Had this family its skeleton also? young step-daughter. I can recommend you, For several nights past I had beard queer, Katy, for 1 am fully satisfied as to your compe- half-muffled sounds in the story just above the tency situation, and so had best accept it. The lamily | while often I had been waked at night by lights [For The Sunny South.] THE SPIRAL STAIR-CASE; OB, GUY OliKXEY, THE MAXI AC. BY ANNIE MABIA BARNES. I was eighteen find alone in the world-—I, Catherine Derelord. All my life I had been an unfavored child of fortune. At an early age, I had lost both parents. Our family had been a is one of the oldest and finest in the country, flashing past my door and the hurried sound c>f with a snap, a number of the panels gave way, The Lord is a polished, high-toned gentleman, passing footsteps. AA'hat could it mean ? I w as and with a crash, he was precipitated to the and Lady Gertrude, his wile, is a most excellent growing ncrious, too. From my earliest child- floor beneath. AVe sprang towards him—Ethel woman. I know her well, for we were at school hood, 1 had read stories of long-deserted castles, and I—both very much frightened; but the dis- together. If you are willing to go, I will tele- where the hobgoblins and elfins held high car- tance he had fallen had been so short that, with graph to them to meet von on the express, nival—of haunted houses, where ghosts and the exception of a few slight bruises and a w hich leaves Melbourne at neon to morrow.” restless spirits wandered to and fro; and as brave sprained wrist, he w as otherwise unhurt. Of course I w as w illing to go, and thanking as I had often flattered myself to be, I could not When the accident was reported to Lord Stan- Madame gratelnlly, I hurried lip to my room to help but feel nervous and frightened at the hope, he had said: make the necessary preparations lor my jour- strange noises which I heard. But they were “I will no longer delay in the matter. I ney. evidently not the work of ghosts or of hobgob- ought to have had that stair-case repaired long The noon of the next day found me cn board lins, but proceeded from some real and living ago. I will send to Brighton to-morrow for the express train flying at a rapi^l rate toward person. I was convinced of this the second or j workmen.” Ralstcn, nearly a hundred miles dist; nt. The third time I heard. Perhaps there was some one The morrow was destined to be an eventful day was a dark and dismal one. Heavy black confined in the tower—some insane person, per- one for me. That morning, just after the early clouds hung in the leaden sky, and soon after I haps, w ho was too dangerous to be allow ed to breaklast hour, which was one of the established Lad left Melbourne the rain commenced tailing— wander at will. I had often read of such things, customs of Lord Stanhope, we stood upon the at fifst in fitful showers, which had increased to and how persons like these had been kept in broad piazza—Philip, Ethelyn, Arthur and I. a steaely fall by the time the express stopped at close confinement for years and years. The more The air was crisp and cool. The sun hail not Ralston. Pulling my veil carelully over my I thought of tLis the "more I became convinced long ago arisen from his last night's slumber, face, and buttoning my waterproof close up that this theory was the correct one. But who and the leaves of the elms were glowing with under my chin, I prepared to face the weather, and what was it? his radiance. The early flowers in the yard were Then taking my handkerchief, I wiped the mist The evening was a cool, lazy one of early sparkling with dew-drops. Everything seemed from the window-pane and peered out. : spring. I had been at the Towers for several , so fresh and sweet. There would be someone to meit me, of course, months. We sat around a pleasant fire in the “‘Come into the garden, Maude,’” quoted as Madame had telegraphed. My heart sank library, for the air was still damp and raw from Philip; “‘for the black bat, night, has flown.’ within me as 1 noticed tie almost deserted ap- the heavy showers we had had during the day. Come, Ethelyn, would you not like a stroll pearance of the platform, ’lhere was no one It was growing dark now, and a servant hail among the flowers? I see your favorites are out there who looked like they were expecting ceme in to light the lamps. waiting for you.” any one. 1 began to feel strange and fright- “Now for some music,” Arthur said. “Will “But the dew?” Ethelyn said, deprecatingly. ened. But I must get off, that was certain, you not far or us, Miss Dereford?” “ Oh, that will only freshen you a bit. You With trembling hands and a raj idly beating ‘ I was j assionately lonil of music, and liael girls are always too much afraid of soiling your heart, I picked up my satchel and started to- always been told that I performed unusually feet. Come!” and linking her hand within his wards the door. Just as I leached it a tall, fair well. I had played olten since my arrival at the arm, he bore her off in triumph, man, with tawny hair and beard, and wrapped Towers, anel all had joined in praising me. In- “Shall we follov their example?” Arthur to the chin in a huge overcoat, came up the steps deed, Arthur—grave, silent Arthur—whoseldom turned and asked of me. “Or, as my brother ' ’ " ’ ’ " ' - - ... .... says, are you afraid of soiling your feet or wet ting them with the dew?” “Oh no,” I made response; “I am not so over nice as that.” ‘But wait a moment, please,” he said; “here to the platform ol the car. One glance at the paid a compliment, had once told me that he kindly blue eyes and the fine, strongly-cut fea- “could never tire of listening to me.” As all tbe^ family now joined in Arthur's re quest, I arose and followed him to tire piano. I tures, and I knew instinctively that lie was a man one could trust. Raising his Lat with the courtly grace of a polished cavalier, he said: “ Miss Dereford, I suppose ?” 1 Lowed in the afliimative. “And I om Arthur Stanhope. My father was rtmember distinctly the situation of each one in the room. Lord est the fire—the loimer him of my fears in regard to the objection of Lord and Lady Stanhope. “You mistake them, Katy,” he said; “they will never interfere with my happiness. Besides, they too have grown to love you, and will gladly welcome you as their daughter. We will not live here, darling. This place is too gloomy for my bright young wife. I have an estate of my own not far from Brighton, and there we will live after our marriage.” The workmen did not arrive till late in the day, and so it was decided to defer the repairing of the stair-case until the next. Early the fol lowing morning the work was commenced. That day, just as we had finished dining, Eth elyn and I stood in the hall talking to Philip, who lounged upon the piazza, smoking. Just then, Lord Stanhope came out of the library. “Bhilip,” lie called, “ do you know where that copy of the Times is which contains Lord Dart mouth’s last speech ?” “Yes, sir,” said Philip, springing up; “it is in my room. I will go and bring it.” “Do; but be careful about the stair-case. Stop—I think you had better not go; you might make a false step.” “Oh ! no danger of that. I shall be careful;” and springing away, he started upward. Nearly all the railing of the stairs had been removed—that of the lower flight entirely—and the workmen were now at their dinner. Philip had nearly reached the first landing. A few steps further and he would have been on the floor above, when, horror of horrors ! a wild, de moniacal scream rang out upon the air, and a tall, gaunt figure, with flying hair and eye-balls blazing with the fire of insanity and hate, was seen bounding down the flight "of stairs above toward the man coming up. Philip heard the scream, saw the figure flying towards him, and then, recovering his presence of mind, turned quickly to speed down the steps again. But too late! Ere he had gone a half dozen steps, the madman was upon him, and there, on that weak and narrow stair-case, when a false step on either side would have launched them into eternity, the two men struggled, locked in a deadly em brace. With a piercing scream of agony, Eth elyn threw up both hands and sprang towards the stairs. s the latter tngaged with a piece of embroidery, ters, Miss Dereford ? unexpectedly called to Brighton on business, On a low ottoman, at her mother’s feet, Alice sat, “No, I believ and Lady Stanhope sat near- comes the mail-bag, and I am expecting some j “Philip! oh, Philip!” she cried, and then, as ner busy with the late papers, important papers. Are you looking for any let- I started after her to hold her back, she fell _.*ay. _ i ;o»» | senseless at my side. A figure darted past us. and flew with light ning-like rapidity up the stairs. It was Arthur, _ ^ going to the rescue of his brother. But too late! proud, aristociatic one, and in time past a keep under the uml rella, or you will get very dreamy expression upon the lire. On a sofa opened the bag and glanced at the contents. Just tnen the madman, getting the better of his wealthy one also; but my lather, the last male , wet. ’I lie carriage is waiting just acioss the plat- ntar the piano, Philip and Ethelyn sat convers- I took the large, white envelope he handed me, I adversary, wrenched his hands away, and plac- representatiye of that lamily, had died utterly l'oim, and we shall not have lar to go. The Lov ing, while Arthur had placed himself at my in much surprise. I puzzled for some time over j i Q g them against Philip, pushed him backward —* I-"—*•- 1 ’ ... . - - .. ... .. • down the stair-case; then with a wild, unearthly laugh, that will ring in my ears to my dying day, he sprang to the landing above, and throwing his hands above his head, with a fiendish shout penniless, without so much as a dollar to leave his only child. For the next three years I was thrown upon the bounty of strangers—for in all the world I had not a single near relative that I knew of not. I have very few corres- and requested me to meit you. Allow me to . her fingers resting between the ] ages of a half- ponilents.” assist you with that satchel; and be carelul to closed book in her lap. her eyes fixed with a “ But here is one, nevertheless,” he said, as he side for the purpose of turning the music. I the rather cramped and angular handwriting of an hour when, ] ointing lrom one of the car- in the midst of the wildest'and most unearthly were still more surprising and unexpected. , a superhuman effort to clutch at the stairs for riage windows, he said. j art, when a scream tic m Ethelyn made me start They were just like my uncle, short and to support; then, as his head struck with force “lliere is Stanhope Towers now.” so suddenly that my fingers came down with a the point, and ran: ; against the wood-work, he was knocked sense- I glanced in the direction indicated. A mas- discordant* crash \i]tn the keys. Glancing “My Deab Niece,—This letter will no doubt * could hear the dull, heavy thud with sive, regularly-sLaped stene structure, w ith tall, around, a sigLt met my gaze which almost froze t a R e vou very much'bv surprise* but I am a per- i , tbe bit the steps one at a time, and ''•**1. i ~ ~ i- ~ 1 —'—'i - — •• 1 —— rrl •• - - — a — ( j then it rolled oft tli6 stuirs und fell witliin a few feet of Guy Orkney. Arthur was the first to reach the side of his brother, and then Lord Stanhope, with stream ing eyes and quivering lips, knelt beside the prostrate form. “Oh! my son—my son!” he cried: “to think I should be the one. to send you to your death !” Then kind hands raised the prostrate bodies here will attend to your baggage.” I was considerably embarrassed as I thus had played several pieces— among them Arthur's I could not imagine who it was from. Excus- founel myself so unexpectedly under the pro- favorite, a sweet and quaint old Scotch ballad— ing myself, I withdrew to the library, which was tectiin of this quiet, selt-j ossessed man: but and now my fingers, as if by some sudden and then deserted, for the purpose of perusing it. once seated within the carriage, I found him so irresistible "impulse, struck the chords of a weird There my astonishment increased ten-fold when ofglee, he sprang downward—down through the when behold ! an unde ot my mother's, rich j pleasant, so agrecal le, tLat 1 so< n lilt quite at anil ghostly melody. I had never played it since I had opened it and found at the bottom of the winding space between, and fell a crushed and and unmarried, and ol whom we had lost sight 1 home in his j resence. It did not semi to me I came, and to this day I can never account for page, in the same peculiar chirography, “ Your bleeding mass upon the floor beneath, for many years, came to light, like the prince in j that we had been riding for more than the s] ace the impulse that led me to play it then. I was Uncle, 1‘hilemon Landor.” But the contents; As Philip was thus thrown backward, he made the fairy tale, when he was most needed. .... - - - • • •" * ' He was a gruff, crusty old fellow in exterior, yet I think the heart underneath this rough coating was well enough when cnc-e you had found it. Although he silenced, in his gruff, off-hand manner, all my expressions of grati tude for the benefits he bestowed upon me, yet I could not but feel grateful nevertheless. He took me away from the life I had bein leading, which was hard and bitter enough; lor any one who has been so unfortunate as to eat the bread of dependence, when grudgingly given, knows full well how galling it is to any nature endowed with the average share of sensitiveness, and mine had more than its share. For this alone, I could have gone down on my knees to my ben efactor; but when he placed me at the first-class boarding school of Madame Cressey, and paid my tuition for five years, my gratitude knew no bounds. Tistruelie did this as he had done all else—in his gruff, curt way; and when I would have told him again how much I was indebted to him, silencing me with the injunc tion “not to thank him, but to make the best of it, for when the five years weie out, I would have to shift for myself.” But I cared not for this then. The end of the five years seemed a long w ay oft'. I would not mar my present happiness by anticipating the future. But the years had flown rapidly. Look ing back from the present to the past, how infin itely short seemed the intervening space. To morrow, my term at Madame De Cressey’s would end. And now I began fully to realize the situ ation of a young girl thrown upon the world to fight out alone and unaided “the battle of life.” The kind-hearted Madame knew my story, and dark-looking turrets, deep, broad windows, and me with honor. TLt-ie in the emtre of the huge, frowning buttresses, loomed up before me. room, and not five stips from me, stood a wild, The tall, gaunt elms, scattered here and there strangi-looking creature—a man evidently in over the lawn, looked like the ghostly sentinels the prime of life, with thick, disheveled hair, of a long-departed age. The only thing that and cyfs Imrniug like two falls of fire. Evi- redeemed the whole place from positive ugli- dently fie"*had been at /irst unobserved, and had ness, from utter dreariness, was a beautiful yard | been held under the influence of the music: but covered with rare sweet flowers, which lay be- \ as it ceased, with clenched hands and eyes in tween the lawn and the building. "'*' i<, llAv‘' LUuJiirht ol a deadly hatred, “I see you do not like it,” said my compnn- he spring towards thb sofa where Philip anil ion, who must have read my thoughts by my countenance; “and I do not blame you. The interior is far more prepossessing, however. AA’e have begged father many times to pull the old place down, and build a new one; but as he still holds to the notions and customs of his ances tors, by whom the Towers was erected, and ns he is so much attached to the place, he cannot bear Ethelyn sat, and grasping* the former by the col lar of his coat, hissed out between his clenched teeth: “Villain ! coward ! have I found you at last? False friend ! traitor ! you thought to wreck my life’s happiness, but your heart’s blood shall pay for this!” Then like a flash Arthur and Lord Stanhope the thought of letting the new supersede the had sprang after him to Philip s assistance. The f or vour reception, and will then come for yon. old.” madman—lor such I now knew him to be—was j} e 'ready, as I shall be punctual at the time We entered the broad, winding avenue, and torn lrom his hold anil forced backward against appointed. Your Uncle, drove through the long row of elms on either the wall. But he 1 ought with a madmans des- Philemon Landob.” side. As the carriage reached the flight of mas- peiate power, and so luriotis was the passion jt -would be difficult for me to describe the sive stone steps, guarded on either side by the which possessed him, that it was as much as the mingled feelings of jov and grief with which 1 three men could do to master him. But at last, .... with the assistance of one of the servants, a tall, powerful man, they succeeded in binding him fast. _ —-n - , 4 _ __ o _ At the first knowledge of his presence, Eth- S j,jte of my nervous dread of the madman up glnnce how much more inviting was the interior. e lj" n hail screamed, as I have belore said; but stairs, for all had been kind, very kind to me, The rooms were large and handsome, the doors when he sprang with clenched hands toward an( ] treated me more as an equal than as the T titqo cni-o v . . i * anil windows beautifully carved in oak, while Philip, she had sank back white and rigid against hired governess of Alice. But above all. in that ,i er sympathy anil assistance. She the furniture was rich and luxurious. There the arm ol the sola. Lady Stanhope, pale, trem- hour, when the news had come to me so unex- i . * e araei me in the school as ! ' n was something that attracted my attention lrom bling and frightened, had arisen lrom her chair pectedlv, when I knew that in a short time I , ■. ' , ’ u e .\ er ' ' l( 'I liir tmint was filled. ■ the moment I entered. This was the stair-case during the struggle, but at its conclusion sank must leave the Towers forever—that henceforth son lend of creating surprises. When I placed you at school for five years, you remember I told you that at the end of that time you would have to shift for yourself? I had an object in so doing. I wished to prove you. I wanted to see of what kind of stuff you were made. You have stood the test far better than I expected. You have shown that you are not too proud tj soil your hands in earning vour own living. You , , ,, , ,, , . , are made of stronger material than I thought them both tenderly away you were. After watching your course for some „ 'extinct, time past—for through your teacher I knew of , a .\ bee ii \‘ d Put Philip was vour whereabouts—I have come to the conclu- ; e a n e ', a< ^ n .°* ^ il l en rom tbe sallle dis- sion that vou will do. I write to tell vou that my tance as that from which Guy sprang, as he had home is now open to you. From.this time you f.°“ etl P art ot the wa / ‘ 1 ? wn . tbe , s . tairs ' ' shall live as becomes* the niece of the wealthy I 1 T ltt 1 le J?°P es "f e .entertained of his recovery. Philemon Landor-like a lady. In two weeks Indee,i ’ the physician, who hail been hastily figure of a deer-hound cut in solid marble, my companion sprang out and assisted me to alight. A servant in livery opened the door for me, and I found myself in a wide, well-carpeteil hall. My companion was right, for I saw* almost in one I shall have made all necessary arrangements perused this letter,—joy that at last there was to be a home of taste and luxury open to me, and grief that I was called so unexpectedly to leave the Towers. I had been very happy here, in As it was, she could only assist me in other ways. summoned from Ralston, said that »he had re ceived such severe internal injuries that it would be a my-acle if he got over them. He might sur vive these, however, but he would never recover the use of his lower limbs again* The next morning, the mangled remains of poor Guy Orkney were tenderly laid away in the family vault. At last, the tempestuous soul had gone to its rest. The dead buried, now the care was all for the living. A dark pall seemed to have settled down upon the old place, making it seem ten times gloomier than ever. Lord Stanhope had grown pale and haggard. He had aged terribly since that dreadful day. As for Ethelyn. she did not appear as the same person. It seemed to me in those days of dark and terri- rible suspense as if she too must lose her mind. Then it was I had glimpses into the innermost m , , t i • i , .. , • that led from the lower to the upper apartments. gi er, had advertised in the nD( j instead of being built after the usual DrinGi’ml _ <• •, •• . imu hhuii, niniciiu ucuij; uum tmci me u»uiu Al ifiiBUi, Wlltu iiir> Uitu icu limi uuu id iuc—i id iuc J f J P J’ 1 Uil , n as governess in straight fashion, wound upward in an irregular, Lady Stanhope and Ethelyn had withdrawn, I to every woman at lea • v‘ ,i , a 1 hail a tin- | serpentine course. There was something so nil- heard the sto;“ from Arthur, who still remained mv heart was no long A , <l . ’ an ! s ° lu ' uncle s purse and | US ual, so eccentric, in the construction of the with me. Guy Orkney was the eldest child of what I half suspecti back again entirely overcome. this much of the past would be as a sealed book recesses of her heart, and I shuddered to see the At length, when they had led him away, and tome—I awoke to the consciousness which comes j depth ol passion with which this usually calm ' " * * ' it least once in a life-time, that : «nd self-possessed woman regarded the man who longer my own. I knew now, hovered between life and death. “It he dies," was not beloved in return. Once or twice I had thought, by several acts of his, that he regarded me with more than a passing friendship; and thin again he was so grave, so studiously polite, that 1 thought him hardly aware of my exist- lavish?d ence. And now I asked myself the question, strange taste of upon her. Gilbert Mortimer had been the friend How dared I fall in love with this man, who in the one who designed it. AVe would like it and play-fellow of Guy from boyhood. In Gil- the eyes of the world was so far above me—he removed, and a new one put in its place, but bert, Guy put the utmost confidence, but false wealthy and high-born, I poor and obscure? father is unwilling. It will have to be repaired friend that he was, he proved utterly unworthy 4 “ 11 “ ’ 4 ~~ :4 at least, as I do not think it safe in many places.” of it. He, too, loved Maude Estcourt, but he Stanlioj flip At- i .. . • . *. ~ v. i usual, pu ciTtriuiii', m me cuusii uciiuu ui me wuii me. uuv 1.11 a lie > was me emesi cmiu ui wiiai i uan suspected and fought against all nlT*'!, e . I ? L - , an ' conscientious- whole, that I could not refrain from exclaiming, ,L»dv Stanhope bv her first marriage. In youth along, I loved Arthur Stanhope: and more liu- ‘-■t * ‘ s , \■ e cost itoubtlul in re- fj le r j s k 0 f being thought ill-bred: he bad been a brave, bright, promising young miliatin^ than all else was the knowledge that I Of tl i In ! q k A 1 an ' V bl r? ; “What a strange idea, to construct a stair-case fellow, and gave many hopes of a brilliant future nice V TL?; „ w ere t0 - get ‘, Lft af ‘er that fashion !” But alas ! liis confidence was betrayed, his hap- tl/rtTA • fA. om w? 161 i? T e . ftSler i “There is something rude and bungling about pine?s wrecked by one whom he trusted with i ‘ mif f ’ V.. e advertisement had j admit,” my companion made reply, his whole brave, honest soul. He loved a maiden it a Ti i f i :, ^ o answer had come to «• It is the first spiral stair-case I ever saw in a sweet and lair, and, as he thought, every wav ‘, s a u . t€ j r -. dejected and private building, anil I do not know of another worthy of the idolatrous affection he ’ ~ ’ ’ nf ti \ * i * ^. ln d < ?' w m my room, like it. I cannot account for the strange taste of upon her. Gilbert Mortimer had been t thinking ot the hopeless situation which stared me in the face. The soft afternoon breeze came i stealing through the half-parted curtains nt the j window; the sweet summer sunshine lay in golden patches upon the floor, while the robins , and blue-birds chirruped their blithe they flew in and out ami tall old elms and cedars heart took in none of t could hear the merry words anil gay laughter of husband*, andnoneT my school-mates, as they talked of the coming I hope had two sons, Philip* holidays and ol the joys which awaited them at | ,i ie younger one. had m< nome—tne glad reunion with parents and loved ones. But none of these were for me. I was friendless and alone; and as I sat there that after noon, with my head bowed upon my folded arms, there were hard, bitter thoughts creeping into my heart. Why was it that God should give all sunshine to one of his creatures and shadow to another? Was he not a just God? ^. b f n , wh Y this injustice ? Why should these she had said to me once, “I do not care to live longer.” But he did not die. Through tender nursing and untiring devotion, he came back to life again: but not to strength, for ns the physician had said, he was a hopeless cripple. It was a hard, bitter blow to Lord Stanhope,—it seemed as if he could never become reconciled to it. Philip himself bore it bravely, and it was not long before his old spirits of gayetv and cheer fulness returned. Ethelyn, too, seemed crushed by the blow, but the knowledge that he had been I found Lord Stanhope and family as Madame was cunning enough to conceal it from Guy, too low hearts, to work, forged. by the last. Lord Stan- falsehoods carried from one to the other, until and Arthur. Arthur, at last he had succeeded in his wicked design. After all it was best as it was. for Lord and Lady j spared to her at all made it easier to bear. Stanhope would never consent to his marrying “Ah ! Ethelyn, ’ said Philip to her one day, as their daughter's governess. Again, as I ‘hail sLe sat close beside him where he lay upon the done once before at the Mailame’s, I sat beside the window, with my head resting upon my aims, while the hot, scalding tears fell thick and fast up< n the open letter in my lap: and once again, as on that evening, some one stood beside me and spoke my name. This time it the younger one, had met me at the station. But a few weeks before the time appointed for was the deep, rich tones of the voice I knew and PJjilip, the elder, was like and yet unlike his her marriage with Guy, Maude had eloped with had learned to love—ah, too well! brother. He had the same fair complexion, the Gilbert Mortimer. ' “Miss Dereford, Katy,” it said, " did your let- sofa. looking so pale and thin, “I could bear this better but for the thought that I must give you up. Of course it is all over between us now, for, my darling, I could never ask you to bind yourself to such a miserable wreck. ” “Hush, Philip!” she said, as she placed her fingers upon his lips; “you must not talk so. Your helplessness does not alter our relations one particle, but only makes yon the more tenderly beloved. Through health, through strength, through joy or sorrow, I am yours and same deep-blue eyes and tawny hair; yet Arthur The blow had fallen with crushing force upon ter contain such unwelcome news as that?” j was the graver and more thoughtful of the two, Guy—so crushing that later he had lost his 1 1 dared not raise my head; I dared not look ~ _ -. - . t ! while Philip was of a sunny temperament, lull mind entirely from it. But the strangest part him in the face, lest the man beside me should nothing but death itsell shall ever part ns. ’ of fun and spirit, and always ready for a joke. . of all was, lie could never after that see two read the secret I would rather have died than “ n '* 1 , s * ie Y "'ere married, he the man weak Lady Stanhope’s younger daughter, Alice, was lovers together, but he would think they were reveal. and helpless—she the woman, strong in her love I the pupil I had been tngaged to instruct. I Gilbert and Maude. Then his passion knew no “Will you not tell me what is the matter?” tor him. ^ cririB 7 ^ 11 I found her an amiable, intelligent child, with ex- bounds. For Philip, he entertained the ileailli- he asked again. "7 Arthurs request, I had written to my ? j -j r e "t ri enils and loved ones, while I ceedingly sweet and winning ways. The elder, est hatred; why no ene could tell, unless he as- The voice was so soft and pitying it went uncle, informing him ot our engagement. His i; ’ -" as growing wicked anil rebel- Lady Ethelyn Orkney— how shall I describe her? sociated him in his mind with Gilbert. Once straight to my heart. I could only stammer out answer came, and instead of upbraiding me and in his-ill.wise “g a .g‘ uns * the Creator who, while A tall, graceful figure, with midnight hair and or twice before, when Philip and Ethelvn had between my sobs: casting me oft entirely, as I had expected he fi-nm i„-, ov , f. nc f “ e oad wTtlihelil these j eyes; beautiiully-chiseled features, but so pas- been together, he had broken away from his “I—I must go away. My uncle has sent for value—1 itv> he’,1,1 bestowed others of equal j sive at times that they seemed cut in solid mar- keepers, and with the stealthy step* of a tiger me.” not of tliis tlier. • strength. But I thought iq e _ j n nianner, she was rather inclined to and the ferocious strength of a lion when about Tlnn, ns I found my voice fail me, I could i 1,0 " ln g m y head still | haughtiness and reserve, and when I first met to '-ij-’e.its prey, he liaiLsprang upon Philip and only hand him the letter. her, I thought her cold-hearted and indifferent; tried to take his life; but every time he had been He took it, and it seemed to me an age the but when 1 came to know her better, I found prevented. To-night, by some cunning, he had time he spent in perusing it. At last he had out my mistake. She was a woman incapable freed himself from his apartment, and attracted finished. of forming a quick, romantic passion— a woman J byjthe music, had found his way to the library. “And do you really regret leaving us so lower upon my hands, I gave way to a passion ate fit ot weeping. I was not aware that there w T as any one in the room till a hand was placed upon my shoulder, and the voice of one of my school-mates said: “ Katy, Madame sent me to tell vou that she wished to see yon in the recitation room.” I started at sound of the voice and raised my head. Then, ashamed to let the girl see my tears, I wiped them hastily away, and without a word, rose and slowly went down the stairs to the room where Madame awaited me. She was sitting at a small table, with an open letter in her hand. As I entered she glanced up quickly, and seeing who it was, said: “Ah ! there yon are, Katy ! I sent for vou—” think I have some good news for you. See this who, having once loved, could love with a mighty, This, then, was what made Ethelyn and Lady much?” he asked, as he folded it and gave it undying passion—vea, on to the very death. It ; Stanhope act so strangely at times. They did back. “Why, child, any one with your youth was the dearest wish of Lord and Lady Stanhope : not know at what moment he might break away and spirits would be gljul of a release from this that she and Philip should mnTry. Thev were : and make his appearance among them. After dark and gloomy old place. But, Katy,” he went engaged, and had been for some time. The day that evening, he was kept more closely confined on, and my heart gave a sudden bound as I had been appointed for their marriage, and was than ever. noted the weight of tremulousness there was in not far distant. It did not take me long to dis- Since that night when the event I have just the voice, “why need you go at all? Could you cover with what a deep, strong passion Philip j related had taken place, I, too, had grown ner- not be happy here with us? Katy,” and here regarded Ethelyn, while she loved him as only j vous and timid, and had fallen into the habit of liis hand sought my chin and raised my head till such a woman could love, though far less demon- starting at the least sound. Once I remember, i I was forced to look at him through eyes that strative than he. j when going up the stair-case to my room at were swimming in tears, “will you not stay if I There was something about Ethelyn that pub- night, the branch of a tree had rattled against a ask you? Cannot you see how dear you have zled me strangely. Often while sitting in the window at the head of the landing. I gave a grown to me in these few months we have been room, engaged as I thought in perusing a book, ; quick scream, and started back so suddenly as together? Katy, I love you; will you be my or busy with her needle-work, she would start j almost to drop the lamp from my hand. This j wife?” and glance behind her with a quick, nervous j same Stair-case — the curious construction of My heart was too full to reply; but he read in movemint, as if fearing the approach of some | which I have before mentioned — had grow r n to , my eyes better than my lips could have told would do. he wrote congratulating me in his short, gruff way, and sent me a handsome wed ding portion. AVe are married now, Arthur and I, and are happy in our beautiful home. A'ery often we visit the Towers. Philip Las improved wonder fully in the last few years. Ethelyn’s love and constant devotion seems an unfailing source of strength to him. There is a little Philip there now,—a bright handsome little fellow, with the deep-blue eves of his father, and the fine, delicate features* of his mother. Lord Stanhope has grown vouno again in his grandson's childish prattle and merry bursts of glee. The Towers has been much improved, the exterior handsomely remodeled, and many mod ern improvements made. The old stair-case has long since been torn away, and a handsome one of carved oak has taken its place. I may live past my three-score years and ten my mental and physical faculties all fail me! memory grow dim, yet never while life lasts will fade from remembrance the events connected With that SPIRAL STAIR-CASE.