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[From the French of La Fontaine.] THE RAT AM) THE CHEESE. ’TiB told, In a legend old, How a certain rat, grown tired of Btrife And the care that beset his ratship's life, Wishing to meditate at his ease, Took up his abode in a Holland cheese. He found This great round Gave solitude, shelter, and plenty to eat; And by diligent use of his teeth and his feet, He soon had a hermitage quite to his mind, Its walls and its floors with good victuals lined. This rat Soon grew fat, And he said to himself: “ God blesses hie own. My body would only be skin and bone If I hadn't turned hermit. I really must say Itenouncing the world is the better way.” To his cheese. On their knees, Came some representatives from the rats, Saying: “Katopolis is besieged by the cats. We are going for aid to a foreign land; Old neighbor, do lend us a helping hand. “ We set out Without A dollar to pay the needful expense. Do give us a shilling, or at least a few cents; We'll be very grateful,—we ll surely repay, If we live to return, on the next New-Year's day.” The rat Said that He no longer bad interest in worldly affairs; But for sake of old friendship his two longest prayers Were at their disposal,—what could hermit do more? He gave them his blessing and—closed his door. “ Oh, the rarity Of charity” Among the rat family! If men live at ease, And the world is to them a great Holland cheese; When their friends are distress'd and in sorry plight, Do they give only blessings, then close the door tight and education, although much of his life had | been passed in America. He was wealthy and ! of a noble family. At twenty-three he had mar ried a lovely young American girl of good family, yet in reduced circumstances. Knowing full I well the opposition he would meet with from his j family, more especially from his father, who , had set his heart upon the alliance of his son with the daughter of one of the wealthiest houses in Yorkshire, Delorme determined to keep his marriage a secret, remain in America i and make a support for himself and wife. Here for three years he lived happily with his sweet young wife till death came to separate them. •Just about this time the death of his father also occurred, leaving Delorme sole heir to his vast estates. Taking his little daughter, who was then but two years old, Delorme engaged pass- : age in a vessel bound for Europe. But, alas ! the vessel never reached her intended destina tion. A storm drove her far out of her course, and she was dashed to pieces upon the rocks. Delorme, together with a few of the passengers and one or two of the ship’s crew, was picked up by a passing vessel. For days he lay at the point of death. When he returned to consciousness, the ship was hundreds of miles away from the scene of the accident. Then came to him the but a few rods in front of us, and just in the act of crossing a low stile, which served as an entrance to a path that wound around to the rear of the house, was a young girl of some fif teen summers. Harry’s appellation of houri was not undeserved, for a perfect little houri she seemed in face and form, as she stood there lightly balancing a pitcher of water on the top most round of the bars—a form as lithe and supple in its graceful movements as the bending willow; rich, chestnut-colored hair falling in luxuriant, rippling masses over a pair of half- bare, exquisitely-moulded shoulders; a superb ly-arched neck; soft, liquid brown eyes, skin slightly burnt from exposure to the sun. yet of a rich and creamy tint,—a perfect goddess of quaint, rich beauty—a real fabled houri. A quick wave of crimson swept over face and throat as she turned and beheld so many strange and admiring eyes cast upon her—for in this time we were close beside her. In her confu sion. she would have dropped the pitcher but for the timely assistance of Harry, who sprang from his horse and caught it just as it had tilted for its downward descent. “We are very thirsty,” he said, seeing the girl's confusion, and raising his hat with the courtliness of a knight of old, “and will thank | the saddle and thrown violently to the ground. | I did not scream or cry out. I seemed utterly I paralyzed. I had scarcely the power to guide my horse. The accident had occurred but a short distance from the pretty cottage we had . passed but a few hours before, and as we neared it, I saw a slight, girlish figure throw open the gate and pass rapidly down the road. When we reached the spot, Harry lay upon the ground bleeding: his head pillowed upon Delorme’s knee, while by his side knelt the young girl we had seen at the stile, Harry’s beautiful houri of a short while before, bathing the blood from his brow and cheek by means of her handker chief and water, which she had hastily dipped, with Delorme's straw hat, from the spring near by. I took it all in at one glance. Then, in an agony of grief, I threw myself down beside the senseless, bleeding form of my brother. “Is he dead?” I cried, looking at Delorme with eyes that must have startled him by the fierce agony that glowed in their depths. “No, not dead, ” he replied, “but I think he is seriously injured. Calm yourself, Miss Alton. There may be no immediate cause for alarm: but he must have medical assistance at once. That is an ugly bruise upon the temple. Here, Hunt, help me raise him and we will bear him to the gray pallor : her eyes distended as if with a sharp, sudden pain, while the lines about her mouth were drawn and set. She rose suddenly and left the table, but ere she reached the outer door a faintness seemed to seize her: she stretched out her hand as if to grasp a support, and would have fallen to the floor, but for the strong arms of the Captain, which were quickly thrown about her. “Queenie! Queenie ! ” he cried in alarm, “ what is the matter, lass ? Are vou ill ? ” But there came no reply—the girl lay a white, unconscious heap within his arms. Great con sternation ensued. The grief of the Captain and his wife were pitiful to see. But I soon convinced them that it was a mere fainting fit, and in a short while we had restored her to con- sciou^ness. But she did not leave her room that day. \Vhen we were ready to start, I went in to s.iy good-by to her. Her' pale, set face almost frightened me as I bent down to kiss her. I would not let Harry see her. I thought it best that he should not, and so made everv excuse to prevent him, carrying in his good-by to her myself, taking care to deliver it just as my woman’s tact pointed out. W e went back to the hotel. It was getting late in the season. Nearly all of the guests had taken their departure, among them Miraim age;” and filling a small cup, which depended from a chain at the side, he passed the contents to us. Each one drank of it except Miriam young lady has so kindly tendered. And you, Arthur, ” turning to a young cousin of Miss Hayes, who stood near, “ride over to the village, i bitter tidings that his little daughter had per- you very much for some of this delicious bever- ; cottage yonder, the hospitality of which this Hayes. I was glad of this, for I did not care to meet her again; still less did I wish Harry to encounter her—for I knew his heart still ran kled over the wound she had given him. Mr. Delorme still remained, but had announced his intention of leaving the following week. During Henry’s illness he had been quite a frequent j visitor at tire cottage. At such times his strange ' behavior when in the presence of Queenie puz zled me greatly. He seemed restless and ill at [For The Sunny South.! “QUEENIE.” BY ANNIE MARIA BARNES. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.—Solomon. We were sojourning at the L Springs that summer, mother and I, a quaint, out-of-the-way resort, in a quiet, sleepy little hamlet bordering upon the sea-shore. Very few persons came here. The Springs had not become fashionable enough as yet to attract much attention. Rest and quiet were what we both needed; for since father’s death, three years before, mother had become quite an invalid, and I was completely worn-out with constant nursing, and rest and quiet I knew we could find here, since this was to be our third visit. What was cur surprise, then, to find, upon our arrival quite a gay and noisy crowd of pleasure-seekers ! I would have retraced our steps immediately, and sought still further on, at some of the neighboring villages, that rest and peace for which we longed ; but mother had grown nervous and ill with the fa tigues of traveling, and stoutly declared that she would not “budge one step further.” Of course I had to submit, for her word was law to me, her will superior to mine. I had paid very little attention to my wardrobe; not because I had not the means to afford it, for we were well enough off so far as this world’s goods were concerned; but simply because I did not think it necessary at the quiet and old-fash ioned place to which we were going, where one saw scarcely a dozen people a day, and these of the soberest, prosiest kind. I wished now, when too late, that I hrul paid a little more attention to the matter, had prepared for all possibilities of this kind, in case I met with any of the denizens of the beau monde. As it was, with the half- dozen plain and serviceable dresses which com posed the sum total of my wardrobe, I knew I could not “pass muster” among the crowd of fashionable young people who had gathered at the Springs this summer. After a struggle or two with my pride, and an other with my vanity—for I knew full well how far a fashionable attire went toward helping my appearance—I just came to the conclusion to put on a “ stiff upper lip ” and appear as careless and unconcerned as possible. But I suffered no little annoyance, received not a few cold slights, be cause of the plainness and soberness of my out- fit. Indeed, Miriam Hayes, the leader of the J triumph as I thought how Miriam Hayes would £ I ished beneath the waves. But Delorme would not accept this as true. He still clung to the i hope that she, too, had been picked up by some : friendly vessel, or perhaps washed safely ashore. But he could never find out the name of the | little town near where the vessel had been j wrecked. The sailors who survived did not ; know it, as the vessel had been driven many miles from her course. lieturning to England, he had settled his busi ness, and then set out in his search for his child. But thirteen years had passed thus fruitlessly 7 , and unavailing had been the search. Somehow 7 , . fate had drifted him down to this quiet, obscure little hamlet, girt as it was on one side by the ; broad and beautiful sea, and filled with life- giving springs; and, as his health had been very ; much impaired by his restless w 7 anderings and j unceasing quest, he had announced his inten- I tion to remain through the summer. Rich, fastidious, still handsome, w 7 as it a won der then, that Miriam Hayes should single him out at once as one of her victims? But, like Achilles of old, he seemed invulnerable, and-the numerous darts she cast in his direction fell un- j heeded. Even her great roup de main was un noticed. His calm indifference, his utter disre- I gard, seemed to pique and mortify her greatly. This man perhaps, of all others, w r as the only one who had failed to fall within the snare set for him. Things were in this condition when I was sur prised by a visit from my brother, Harry. “Busi ness was less pressing,” so he told me. after he had taken me up in his arms, and kissed me at least a half dozen times, and, “as he needed a | little rest and recreation, he thought he would run dow 7 n and see us for a short while.” Of course we were delighted at the visit. I think our reception of him was sufficient proof of that. Harry w 7 as my only brother, twenty- ; four and three years my senior. High-minded, pure-sonled, true-hearted, I fairly worshipped 1 my noble brother, with his tender, loving words j and cheery ways. As much as I loved him, j however, and the pleasure his presence gave me, I would rather he had not come than at that ! time. Can yon not guess why ?” Would not Miriam Hayes seize him at once as her prey, and i would he not, as others had done, fall a victim to her fatal charms? A few days more, and my J worst fears were realized. Harry, my brave, true-hearted brother, had fallen madly, hope- j lessly, in love with this fickle, heartless coquette, j In vain I tried to w 7 arn him of his danger; told him of her cruel, wicked intent; held up to him j the fate of others who had been lost through her j dangerous wiles. Yes, in vain, for he w 7 as in I love, and love is blind and stubborn. Of course ; she encouraged him—it was a part of her role to j do so—and he, poor, vain, infatuated fellow, took I this as evidence of a return of passion. But his eyes were soon to be opened—love would be no longer blind. I had mingled but little in the various amuse-1 ments at the Springs this summer. Indeed, in spite of my previous determinations to put on a “stiff upper lip,” I was too sensitive about my attire. But this particular afternoon, there was to be a delightful ride on horseback to the Lion’s Head, a huge gray 7 rock in the fancied semblance of a lion’s head and neck, w 7 hich jutted out into the sea. I had heard much j about this rock, but had never visited it. But I j determined to make one of the party that after- ! noon, especially as Burton Delorme had just j sent up a note by the servant requesting the ; pleasure of attending me. This was a very 7 un- i usual thing for this grave and quiet Englishman to do, and I must confess to a little thrill of Hayes, who declined it with a cool, haughty j and bring a physician as quick as possible. ” circle, the central planet around which the les ser satelites revolved in their orbit, had gone so far as to dub me the “little old maid.” Now no woman likes to be stamped with this epithet, even if she has crossed the shady line and de serves the appellation. But I did not deserve it. As to my years, I was not yet “knee-deep in the twenties,” but the soberness of my dress, and the quiet, sober ways, which had grown upon me from my constant confinement beside an in valid’s couch, deepened the impression, I doubt not. I took a hearty dislike to Miriam Hayes from the very first. Beautiful she certainly was; but her beauty was of that peculiar type which re minds one of the ferocious yet stealthy instinct which lies hidden beneath the beautiful exterior, the silky skin and velvet paw of the tiger. Her ey 7 es were large, of a magnificent cobalt blue, deep and impenetrable; her hair of midnight blackness—strange contrast—lips rather large, but finely 7 cut, which had a way of opening every now and then, to reveal the small and beautiful teeth they enclosed. Her power of attracting and art of fascinating were unbounded. Men had knelt at her feet and offered her wealth, po sition. hand, heart, everything, only to be coldly 7 repulsed and scornfully rejected-—laughed at for their folly by this woman, who had led them on by every 7 art and wile within the power of her dangerous beauty—this woman, who was known to keep a record of the hearts thrown at her feet, and gloat over them as an Indian gloats over the scalps he has taken in battle. More than one suicide lay at her door; yet knowing this, men, unrestrained by the fate of others, recklessly threw themselves into the fatal C'ha- rybdis which seemed to surround her. I do not know what freak of fancy 7 ever led her to this quaint, out-of-the-way place. Perhaps it was to exercise her arts in a different direction, to play the role of lady Clare Vere de I 'ere, here among the simple youths of the village. But here, as everywhere, a crowd of deeply enamored, reck less devotees followed her. Among the visitors at the Springs was a cjuiet, unassuming man. who attracted my attention at once. He seemed to be nearly forty years of age, although the rich, abundant hair was but slightly sprinkled with gray. His face was a noble, handsome one, in spite of the deep lines of care and trouble, which had gathered about the eyes and forehead—the firm-set expression about the mouth showing plainly that he had j known much of pain and sorrow. The richness feel when she knew of it. The rock was eight miles distant. Our road lay for the greater part along the sea-shore. Just beyond our hotel lay the village; a sharp turn in the road, and “ Not far away we saw the port— The strange, old-fashioned, silent town— The light-house, the dismantled fort, And wooden houses, quaint and brown.” Further on, we passed a few straggling huts, the abode of fishermen, where “ Along the gray abutment walls The idle shad-net dried.” Two idle, greasy-looking fishermen lay stretched out at full length upon the bottoms of as many tip-turned boats, watching, with evident puffs of enjoyment, the lazy 7 rings of smoke which curled up above their heads. A sharp, fresh wind, laden with “salt sea-scents,” blew over us, wafting to ns the jolly, rollicking song of a dozen mackerel men, who were plying their vo cation a half-mile or so out to sea. Just where the road made a sudden curve to the left, and wound through a beautiful stretch of pine and birch forest, we came upon a small brown cot tage nestled down like a delicate humming-bird amid a beautiful flower-gnrden, where June’s rarest, fairest blossoms were filling the air with richest fragrance. Tall, beautiful elms and ce dar cast their shade around it, while neat, white palings inclosed the whole. An exclamation of pleased surprise broke upon our party. “A perfect little Eden !” Harry cried. “Upon mv word, it is quite refreshing to look upon af ter that line of greasy, dirty-looking cabins ex posed to the glare of the sun.” “Aw, aw ! quite delightful, aw ! is it not, Miss , Hayes?” drawled out Rupert Fitzjames, a scented, senseless, simpering dandy, who was knows to have been dangling in Miriam Hayes train for the last two years, but whether he had a heart or not to be injured thereby was not known. “It makes one feel quite delicious—aw ! does it not, Miss Hayes ?” he went on. It is perfectly charm ing—aw !” “ I see nothing charming about it!” she said, shortly—so shortly that I turned aronnd and looked at her fixedly for just a moment—the tone was so unlike her usually soft and silky- one. She noted the surprise her unusual conduct had created, and in a moment was her old, smil- ; ing self again as she said: “Oh ! yes, it is pretty enough. Its chief charm, - however, lies in its simplicity. It is the abode, yet want of gaudy display in his whole attire, | I doubt not. of some rustic, who has a little bespoke the gentleman. A _ We had not been at the Springs many days be fore we had learned a part of his history, which our bustling and rather gossipy landlord took no pains to conceal, once it had been disclosed l^to him. Burton Delorme was an Englishman by birth more of that inner refinement than is usually found in this coarse and vulga 77 class.” “It is a perfect little Paradise!” Harry said again, enthusiastically, “and one might expect to see the Peri that inhabited it. By Jove ! there is the houri now ! Look !” All glanced in the direction indicated. There, bow, and an excessively polite, “No, I thank you,” that were chilling in the extreme. Harry 7 drank from the pitcher, raising it to his lips with another graceful bow, and for just one moment the merry, blue eyes of the young man looked full into the shy brown ones of the girl. “Thank, you, Hebe,” he said, as he sat the pitcher down. “ Surely the nectar of the gods is not superior to this delicious beverage, and surely the fabled goddess, who served as Jupi ter’s cup-bearer, cannot rival in beauty and transcendent loveliness the fair maiden who has just served us. And now,” he continued, “will you not tell us your name?” “Queenie,” the girl said half timidly, half hesitatingly, and then raised the pitcher as if to start. “Allow me,” and with his usual gallantry, Harry assisted her to the other side of the stile. “ Queenie,” he repeated to himself as he re gained his horse, and we were again on our way; “ Queenie ! what an odd, sweet name.” “Really 7 , Mr. Alton,” said Miss Hayes, with a scornful intonation in her voice, and addressing herself to Harry, “one would think you were of quite a sentimental turn ! Your gallantry was all lost, however, upon that little rustic, for I do not think she was capable of appreciating it!” The scorn in her voice, more than anything else, roused Harry 7 from the reverie into which he was about to plunge. He was too deeply in fatuated with her to bear the thought of falling from her good graces, and so, with some care less remark in regard to what had just happened, he was soon at her side, and was her devoted cavalier for the remainder of the journey 7 . Just as we rode away from the stile, I hap pened to glance at Delorme. The unusual pal lor of his face and the rigid lines about his mouth frightened me. “Mr. Delorme,” I cried; “are yon ill?” “No, no,” he said, in a low tone, at the same time making a motion to me not to attract the attention of the others; “it is only a passing faintness, which will soon wear away.” “Will you not tell me what is the matter?” I said again, persisting at the rate of being thought ill-bred. He turned for one moment and looked straight into my ey 7 es, perhaps to read there if idle cu riosity alone had prompted the question. In his own eyes there was a strange, haunting look. At length, he spoke—rather abruptly I thought: “Miss Alton, in the features of that young girl yonder I thought I detected a resemblance to one whom 1 loved and lost years ago. ” I did not question him further. I would have been excessively impolite to have done so. From what I knew of his history 7 , I did not doubt but what it was his wife to whom he had reference. We fell into comparative silence for a while af ter that. He seemed busy with sad, soul-haunt ing memories, and I did not wish to disturb him. Indeed, I had enough to do that afternoon in watching Harry. His strange and unusal conduct perplexed and worried me greatly. At one moment he would be in the gayest and lightest of spirits, full of jest and repartee, then again silent and brooding, as if plunged into the deepest reverie; and at times so nervous, so excited, that he scarcely seemed like himself. He hovered constantly about Miriam IIay 7 es, and others, beside myself, could see how she was leading him on, and how madly intoxicated he was with her dangerous beauty. Evidently 7 , a crisis was near at hand. It came sooner than I expected. We were coming back late that afternoon. We had made a longer stay at the Lion’s Head than at first.intended. We were returning at a brisk rate, but somehow Harry and Miss Hayes had fallen behind the rest. A sudden turn in the road, and they were lost entirely to view. I j kept looking backward to see them come in sight, but they did not. Just then, our party ; struck into a lively canter, and Mr. Delorme and I followed with the rest. A moment later, the quick, singing tread of a flying horse sounded out clear and distinct on the road behind us, and I turned just in time to see the gray ridden by 7 Harry dash past us with Harry 7 upon his back. I caught but a momentary glimpse of my brother’s face as the horse swept onward, urged by his rider into a mad, fierce gallop, but that | is enough to go with me down to my grave—the white, set face, deadly in its pallor; the hard, drawn lines about the mouth; the rigid, set teeth holding in their fierce grasp the lip, from which the blood was slowly 7 trickling; the eyes dark and desperate, with an expression of min gled agony, despair and wounded pride—all these, as I saw them then in that moment of time, are stamped indelibly 7 upon my memory. “ My God!” cried Delorme, who thought the horse was running away; “is the boy mad? Why does he not rein the gray in ?” and striking his boot-heels deep into the flanks of the sorrel he rode, he sped on to overtake Harry 7 . The rest of the party started in pursuit also, my horse following with the rest. I knew as well as if I had witnessed the whole scene just what had happened to my brother. He had propssed to, and been scornfully 7 rejected by the woman, who had led him on to desperation, and then played with his heart as a child plays with a toy, throw ing it from her when she has grown tired of the sport. A few paces farther, we reached the brow of a hill, from whence, as we swept onward, we had a full view of the road for a half-mile or more. The sorrel ridden by Delorme had almost over taken the gray—the Englishman was a superb rider, and the horse was one of the fastest in the country. Delorme was calling after Harry to stop, but his words fell upon heedless ears. Suddenly, Harry grasped the bridle-reins, and just as a stretch of the sea became visible through an opening among the trees, he turned his horse’s head and dashed onward toward the water. With a thrill of horror, I recognized his intent. Maddened by the scornful rejection, his proud spirit wounded and mortified to the core, in the passion and shame of the moment, Harry intended to droren himself! But suddenly, as the gray heard the quick, bounding tread of the sorrel behind her, she turned round sharply, reared high into the air, and then dashed to ward a tree which stood just across the path. A limb became entangled in Harry’s clothing, and I as the gray plunged onward, he was jerked from They raised Harry tenderly and bore him to ward the cottage. As we neared the road, Miss Hayes, as cool, as haughtily self-possesed as ever, rode up. “ What has happened ? ” she asked, as careless, as unconcerned, as if perhaps another murder ease, and often I had seen him gaze at her with did not lie at her door. - — 1 —-- '‘ 7 ’ 7 In the fierce agony that possessed me, I could have sprung at her white throat with murderous clutch, or plunged the sharp knife into her false heart, watching the life-blood trickle out drop by drop, with fiendish satisfaction. “ Woman ! fiend ! base, heathen coquette ! ” I cried in my passion, “look at your work—yea, gloat over it as you will—but, if he dies, his death is at your door ! ” “Quite tragique!" she said, in her soft, silky tones. “You missed your calling, Miss Alton, when you did not take to the stage ! Really, your acting does credit to a professional! ” Then, turning to Fitz James, she said, “ I have lost my escort, it seems, Mr. Fitz James; will you not see me back to the hotel ? ” Then with a sweep ing, mocking bow she turned and left us. a deep, searching look, as if he was trying to stamp each one of her features upon his memory. He too had put eager questions in regard to her history, te get in return but vague, unsatisfactory answers from the Captain. I too, like Queenie, had learned my heart’s lesson in those days; but unlike her, I had the happiness of a love returned for the love that was given. My heart was too deep, too full for utter ance, as I stood beneath the trailing vines, that golden summer afternoon, listening to the low, passionate tones of the usually grave and silent man, who was pleading with me for the love which, all unknown to him. I had given him long ago. From the beautiful sky beyond, with its mingled shades of azure, pink and “apple- green, ” the golden glow of the setting sun fell like a bright halo over land and sea, but not A physician soon arrived. He pronounced brighter the sunlight which had fallen upon my Harry in no immediate danger. There were but slight internal injuries, but the severe concussion he had received upon the temple might result in brain fever. He must be kept very quiet and have the best of attention. Mother was sent for and came; but neither then, nor afterwards, did I tell her what had came so near causing Harry’s death. She merely thought his horse had ran away with him. We found the occupants of the cottage three in number —Captain Revel, his wife, and the young girl before mentioned. Captain Revel was a bluff, kind-hearted, exceedingly hospitable old gentleman, a fair type of the average sea-captain. He had followed the nautical profession for heart, as I stood there in the falling light, beneath the trailing vines, and spoke the words which made me Burton Delorme’s promised wife. That had been a week before. On the morrow we were to leave for home, Harry mother and I. Delorme was to accompany us as far as C , from whence he was to embark for England, there to arrange his business, so as to return at the end of six months and claim his bride. We had been talking of our plans that after noon as we wandered down beside the sea. It was a sultry 7 day of earl} 7 September—an unu sually sultry 7 one for that season of the year; the air was laden with a dull, oppressive heat; the sky 7 of a faint copper color. We were glad enough upward of forty y 7 ears; but now getting well ad- j to seek the inviting shade of a huge beech, which vanced on life’s shady decline, and being at times j stood not far from the waters edge. The sea almost a cripple, from that dread attack, rheu matism, he had settled down at this quiet sea-side town to enjoy the comfortable means he had acquired. His wife, a mild-spoken, meek-faced woman, seemed to dote upon the rough and bois terous old Captain. But the object of universal interest and love in the household, the being whom both the Captain and his wife seemed to regard with an almost idolatrous affection—was Queenie. Queenie I have described before — the beautiful maiden we had seen at the stile. She was not their own child. This much the Captain admitted; but as regarded her history he was silent and taciturn, seeming to resent all inquiries in this direction. “She was their own sweet lass, ” he said, “ sent to them by Heaven, ” and the love and solicitude he lavished upon her was touching in the extreme. The girl her self was worthy 7 of all this affection — tender, sweet, modest and pure—yet shy to strangers. But we had not been at the cottage long before I broke through her shell of reserve, and then I found the sweet and loving heart, which lay beneath it. She was well educated too. The Captain had taken good care that she should be, and a sweeter or more delicate little wild-flower never sprang up amid the thorns and weeds of some out-of-the-way garden, than did this beau tiful young girl grow up to womanhood in this sleepy, obscure little hamlet, amid the rough and awkward fishermen which chiefly inhabited it. For spite of her modest ways, her shy, sweet re serve, the girl was brave and daring. It delighted the old Captain more than anything else to tell of some of her exploits; how she could row a boat and manage the oars as well as the best of them; to swim—he had taught her that art himself, and there was not a fisherman on the coast who could excel her. And then he would end by telling how she had saved the life of a little girl the summer before, the child of one of the visitors at the hotel, who had fallen into the i water, and would have been drowned but for Queenie’s timely rescue. Looking at the girl’s 1 refined and delicate features, her small white hands, I was led to doubt some points of the Captain’s story—to think them rather overdrawn. But I had good cause to remember them not long after. Harry recovered very 7 slowly. His injuries proved of a more serious nature than we had at i first supposed. The brain fever the doctor had ’ feared set in; but through it all he had the best of care, the tenderest of nurses, for Queenie and I were untiring in our devotion to him, and soon the danger was past. I trembled for Queenie in those days, during my brother’s convalescence. Young, lovely, ignorant in the ways of the world, is it a wonder that, thrown constantly in the society of so facinating and handsome a man as Harry, she should begin to learn her first heart lesson ? I found it all out in those days when I saw them together—read her heart from the sweet, ingenious countenance as one reads the pages of an open book. In this short space of time the girl had become a woman, with all a woman’s power of love and endurance. Into her heart there had crept a love deep and pure, that j would last as long as life itself—that would cling to the object of its passion through good and j evil—through joy and sorrow, health or sick ness, with that pure idolatry 7 , that deathless, self- ] sacrificing devotion, which only a woman with a j woman’s heart can know. And Harry—was he aware of this ? "Watching him closely I was sure he was not. He seemed totally unconscious that she was anything but a child—a beautiful, inno cent child, to whom he owed a debt of lasting gratitude for her untiring care during his illness; ! and the numerous little attentions he showed her, the smiles with which he ever welcomed her presence, were but the expressions of her grati shone like molten brass; a troop of noisy gulls flapped their wings w 7 ith a dull murmur above our heads, and flew screaming off to where the horizon shone like a pale, leaden-hued line in the | distance. A half dozen or more of heavy cobble- I boats were creeping sleepily towards the shore. “ The long attense of their oars In lazy rise and fall.” We were so busy with our thoughts that we j did not note a footstep behind us. We were not | aware that any 7 one w 7 as near till a hand was laid j upon my shoulder and a mischievous voice said: “Dreaming—eh, sis?” i “ Oh, Harry !” I cried, “how you startled me !” “Excuse the intrusion,” he said. “I knew | you were too pleasantly situated to be interrupt ed,” a sly twinkle in his eye; “but, Delorme, our ! host has sent me in search of you. There is a ! stranger at the hotel who wishes to see you on ; pressing business.” ; Delorme picked up his hat. “Will you return with me?” he asked; “or will you remain here with your brother until I can rejoin you, when we will go in search of i the pretty shells I spoke of?” j Before I could reply, Harry spoke: j “We will remain here, provided you do not j stay too long.” “I will return as soon as possible;’’ and rais ing his hat gracefully, he turned and walked rapidly in the direction of the hotel. , An hour or more wore on. Delorme was still absent. A dark, suspicious-looking cloud had gathered about the horizon. “Harry," I said, rising suddenly, “I think we had better return to the hotel. That cloud looks like the forerunner of a storm.” “Nonsense!” he said; “you are too easily frightened. We must not go yet—not until we have gathered some pretty shells to carry home with us. See that little island not more than a mile out yonder? I am sure we can find some there. Come;” and he started towards a boat moored close by. “But, Harry, I do not want to go,” I said. A look of disappointment came into his face. “Well,” he began, then stopped short, while a sudden smile of recognition shone in his face. “Ah! by all that is fortunate, yonder are Cap tain Revel and Queenie! Captain !” he called. “Now,” he said, turning to me, “you can re main with them while I row out alone for the shells. Ah ! Captain,” he cried, hastening for ward, “I am so glad to see you and Queenie;” and as he spoke he held out a hand to both. The Captain grasped it warmly, but as the strong, slender fingers of my brother closed over the delicate, white ones of the girl, I saw her face pale slightly. This was their first meeting since Harry had left the cottage. We had called twice since then upon our kind friends, but both times, as fate willed it, Queenie was absent. My heart ached for the girl as I saw how bitter sweet, how intensely painful this meeting was to her. “Captain,” said Harry, “I want to leave Ruthie with you a short while, until I row out to that nearest island yonder in search of some shells.” “Better not go,” said the Captain, in his short, gruff tones, at the same time pointing warningly at the dark-gray clouds. “There’s foul weather there; I wouldn’t risk it.” “Pshaw!” said Harry; “are you, too, afraid cf that little speck ? I thought you were a brave old sea-dog, Captain.” “Brave or not,” growled the Captain, “I tell you there’s mischief in that ‘speck,’ as you call it. Look at that water-there’s another suspi cious sign;” and as he spoke, the Captain, who had almost lost the use of his limbs here lately from the severe attacks of his old enemy, hob- tude—but, alas! to her they meant too much! j bled to the water’s edge and pointed out over I would have saved her from this pain if possible. I would have had Harry 7 removed long before he was really able to go—the very 7 day I made this painful discovery, but the Captain and his wife would not hear to it. In their simple, unsuspi cious natures, they never guessed the truth— their eyes were blind to Queenie’s danger. At last the time came for Harry’s departure. Further delay in the matter was unnecessary, as he had fully 7 recovered from his injuries. I shall never forget the expression that settled down upon Queenie’s face the morning I announced our intention of leaving. We were at the break fast table. The words had scarcely died upon my lips when into her face there crept a dull, the sea to where the water lay dull, without a ripple, gleaming like molten copper. “Oh, Harry, don’t go!” I plead. “Let’s re turn to the hotel.” But stubborn Harry had already started to ward the spot # where the boat lay at anchor, and as I spoke, sprang into it, and waving his hat gracefully to us, was soon speeding far out upon the water. “Be sure you watch the tide,” the Captain called out after him, “or it will take you una wares. ” With a bow he acknowledged the caution as the boat sped swiftly on her course. We watched him with a strange fascination-