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Speak Gently. Speak not harshly— Mach of care Every human Heart must bear; Enough of shadows Sadly play Around the very , Sunniest way— Enough of sorrows Darkly lie Veiled within The merriest eye. By thy childhood’s Gushing tears— By thy griefs /Of after yens— By the angnlsh Thou dost know, Add not to Another's woe. Speak not harshly Much of sin i Dwelleth every Heart within; In its closely Covered cells Many a wayward Passion dwells. By the many , Hours misspent— By the gifts To error lent— By the wrong Thou didst not shnn- By the good Tho ‘ Thou hast not done, With a lenient Spirit scan The weakness of Thy brother man. The Reproof. Whisper it softly, When nobody’s near; Let not those accents Fall harsh on the ear. She i, a blossom 1 Too tender and frail For the keen blast— The pitiless gale. 4§ * Whisper it gently, ’T will cost thee no pain; *r\*Ge •atle words rarely Are spoken in vain; Threats and rcpaoaches fc The stubhoru may move jpoble tt e conquest ided by love. , w'mspei’ It kindly?* •Twilit pay thee to know Penitent tear dropB Down her cheeks flow, Has she from virtue Wandered aBtrayf Guide her feet gently, Kough Is the way. She has no parent. None of her kin; Lead her from error, • Keep her from sin. Does she lean on thee? Cherish the trust; God to the merciful Ever is just, would honld his ears whin a lady’s swate voice is a talk in’ fominst him. “Well, my boy, I want you to follow her—at a safe dis tance, you know— and tell me where she goes and what ever happens. Do you understand ? ” “ Sure, and ye may turn me into a ghostiss if I don’t Xow, sir? ” “Now,” answered the Professor; and Dennis needed no second bidding. As Kathleen man aged to elude the observation of the few who were vis ible at that hour on the grounds, and finally to esca pe altogether, and, once out in the open country road, to breathe freely again a tall figure, in a scarlet and black livery, moved slow ly in her direction, occasionally whist ling softly some old Irish air. At that moment,' from the shadow of a large tree, glided, the slender form o the woman in blac’ J With a 8uspici" ia _ glance towards t.; Q Irishman, she mov-. ed hastily forward and followed Kath leen more closely. W h a t d i d it all mean ? Unaware Of tbestf- 1 strange proceed ings, Kathleen mov ed slowly along^her head bent, h$y mi*id gijreh up 3 -ho-u g h t s A Scene that explains itself. [For The Sunny South..] THE MUIRSDALE ROMANCE; -OR,- A WOMAN’S HATE BY MRS. E. BURK COLLINS. CHAPTER X. THE VIPEB S STINQ. For a woman's malice is deeper and darker than Tar tarean darkness. There is nothing too cruel, no shaft loo barbed, for her hand to speed. In secret—and unsuspect ed—she will sting like a viper. Kathleen Trevalyn sat alone in her chamber, in a white Watteau wrapper, with her long brown hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her head rested on her hand, and her face, pale and sad, was turned towards the blue sky and the snowy clouds which floated past her window. She had not seen Roy Wardleigh since that night, and Cora Vavasour had not yet made her appearance; she was quite ill, Mrs. Dorsey had explained. The gossip and surprise which had filled the hotel the day after the strange appari tion in Professor Midnight's room, had begun to die away, and gradually disappear. All re membered that, during the day, Mrs. Vavasour had complained of a severe headache, and so no one wondered at the shock which her nerves had received, at sight of the strange and won derful picture. And to-day, sitting there alone, Kathleen TrC- valyn’s thoughts were of that strange and start ling manifestation. Something in that weird, supernatural picture affected her strangely; a terrible memory seemed to touch her and follow her and haunt her. She could not put it away; neither could she explain or understand it. There was a feeling of kinship with that picture; a mysterious affinity, a wild impression that it was somehow connected with her own life. She bowed her bead upon her clasped bands and gave way to the strange fancies that surged tu multuously through her brain. A hand touched her shoulder. She glanced np; her annt stood before her. “Come, Kate,” she cried, adjusting her lace breakfast cap, in the long mirror as she spoke; “all that is well enough for a sentimental school girl, but, remember you have your fortune to make. Your destiny is in your own hands now; what do you think ? Le Grande has spoken to me this morning; he—well, in short, Kathleen,” with a laugh intended to be facetious, “ he’s your future husband !” “What ?” Kathleen Trevalyn sprang to her feet, fully aroused now. “ What did you say, aunt Marie?” “I said, that I’ve as good as accepted Le Grande for you !” “ You cannot mean it!” Kathleen's voice was low, but terribly in earnest. “You surely can not have sold me in that heartless way, aunt “ Sold ! Ha ! ha ! That’s pretty good, now." She paused a moment, and her face wore an ominous look. Then she walked straight np to her niece and laying one hand firmly on her shoulder looked into her white face,with eyes of fiendish malice. “Kathleen Trevalyn,” said she at last, in a voice that cut like a knife, “ you proud, friend less beggar, you are going to do just as I tell you, you shall not resist; I will kill you first!” The girl drew her slender form up, proudly. “You forget yourself, aunt Marie. Friendless and a beggar, I may be; but my own mistress still. Let me tell you now, decidedly, I shall never marry Mr. Le Grande.” “And I swear that you shall, girl; do you mean to drive me mad?” She paced angrily up and down the room; her mauve morning robe trailing after her; her white hands clenched together, until the diamonds on her fingers cut into the delicate flesh—a very unlovely picture of rage and fury. She paused again before her niece. There was a triumphant gleam in her steely eyes, now, and a look abort her face that indicated her steady resolve, her unchangeable firmness, her conviction that the battle was half won. “ Kathleen,” she said, fixing her treacherous gray eyes full upon the face of the girl, watching aer shrink, with the keenest agony of soul, from the tortures which she was about to inflict. “You are not your own mistress; until you are twenty-one, the law gives you to me, your legal guardian. Your father married some penniless adventuress abroad, willed her his property and then died. He was a fool, and it was time for him to die; and there are too many like him in the world. Now, do you imagine that I am going to stand quietly by and see you follow your family propensity, and make a Don Quix ote of yourself? If you do, you are mistaken. Be sensible, Kathleen; accept Le Grande; he is very wealthy and loves you devotedly.” The girl’s red lip curled scornfully. “ To be sure,” continued her tormentor, “he may not be the most intellectual man in the country, but nonsense ! What do you desire, except the means to live luxuriously and inde pendently? All this can be gained by this marriage.” Why should I marry at all, annt Marie?” broke in Kath’.een, impetuously; “let me go away into the country somewhere, and teach school, and ” “ Stop, Kathleen. Once for all, will you marry Le Grande ?” “ Once for all, I answer you, aunt Marie, I will not!” “Very well; sit here, then, in your room; shun all other society—as you have done lately— and let the world at large into the secret that you are moping and pining for Roy Wardleigh, a man who does not deign to notice you.” “ Great heavens!” The girl sprang to her feet like an outraged empress and moved fiercely towards her aston ished relative. There was a wild look in her brown eyes; her face was absolutely pallid; her breath came in quick, fierce gasps; she panted, like some hunted creature at bay. “Aunt Marie !’’ The voice, with its strange, drawn, unnatural tension, was dreadful to hear. You felt that there was bnt a step between her and madness. “Aunt Marie! What do you mean?” “Just what I say,” replied her annt, when she had recovered her composure. “ The fact has been plain to me, for some time, and people already have began to remark it.” She knew just what weapons to use, and she used them, unsparingly. She knew that, to a sensitive woman, there is nothing in the world so appalling as the conviction that she has be come a target for the invidious insinuations of malicious gossips. With unerring aim she drove the shaft home. It is this slow torture that kills so many of us women. How much more merciful would be one sharp, sure stroke of the shining blade that cuts off life, forever. Oh ! these pin-pricks, that stab us through and through, and leave no outward sign ! With smiling faces we cover up the wounds; only our ears hear ever the drip, drip of the lifeblood; and alone, in the solitude of our chambers, we ean view the ruin made by a cruel world. Talk of the Spartan boy and his immortal heroism. His gnawed vitals are but types of the endurance of many and many a woman, who moves about with a face wreathed with smiles, and the worm of despair at her heart. Kathleen stood for a moment, gazing into those pitiless eyes. Some power seemed to urge her on, to the step she was about to take. Some thing clutched at her heart, like the last throes of the death struggle, and she was firm and proud once more. She laid her hand upon her aunt’s. “ I will tell Mr. Le Grande,” she said, with a voice that was low and steady, and eyes that saw afar off, her own happiness forever dead and buried—and yet contrived to raise themselves, unflinchingly! to the face before her—“tell him that ” There was a slight pause; some thing swelled and choked in her throat; but she thought of Roy Warleigh, crushed back her emo tion and continued: “ I accept his offer of marriage.” There! it was done now; the clods had fallen; the grave was closed—there was no looking back. “ That is right. I knew you would act sen sibly. ” Her aunt stooped and kissed the girl’s white forehead. She shrank from the caress. Then, the kind and tender relative—her work being done—trailed her long robes out of the pretty room, and as the door closed behind her Kathleen fell to the floor, in a death-like swoon. She had staked her all, her happiness here and hereafter on one cast of the die—at d had lost. CHAPTER XI. no. 593. Bat these figures—yet, an open sesame to a world of misery. The afternoon sun streamed in at the open window, where Kathleen was lying; its warm rays touched her white face and aroused her at • last. Slowly she arose to her feet and pressed her hands to her forehead. What had hap pened ? For a moment, she could not recall it all; then the dreary truth crept and crawled into her remembrance, and she shuddered vio lently. She belonged to herself no longer. The future, which looked to her like a vast dry and arid desert, cut off all connection with the past. She was Le Grande’s property now—bought with a price. Approaching the mirror, she glanced in at her own image. “I am very young,” shemoaned at last, “and it may be years before I die. Oh, my God ! How can I bear the burden all that weary time!” She gazed upon the pale face reflected there, and as she gazed, the pride of her nature—that pride which is a woman’s bulwark—the “strong tower into which she may continually resort”— filled her heart. “ I shall never betray myself,” she whispered bravely. She closed her eyes, and a long silence filled the room. At last she raised her head wearily. “I will go out for a walk,” she said aloud; “if I can steal away unnoticed. That may re fresh me and bring back the color to my cheeks.” She turned away to prepare for her walk- turned too soon to perceive beneath her win dow, upon the balcony which ran along one side of the hotel, a slender figure which crouched there, robed in black—a white, wicked face, greenish gray eyes, and a smiling, sensual mouth. The head was raised like that of a ser pent preparing to spring, and the green eyes peered into the room. There was a gleam of triumph in the wicked face, and then the figure glided away softly and unperceived. An hour later, Kathleen, in a white walking dress and a thick vail, stole quietly out of her room. As she passed Professor Midnight’s apartments, she met the old man face to face. “Why, my child ! ” said he kindly, recogniz ing her in spite of her vail, “have you been ill? We have not seen you before to-day.” His words were kind, and his eyes, bent upon her behind his glasses with a close scrutiny, were not unpleasantly curious. Kathleen acknowledged her indisposition, said she was about to take a short walk, and moved hastily on, glad to escape. The Professor stood for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her retreating figure. “Needs watching,” he observed, senten- tiously. “Dennis! ” “Prisint, sir,” cried that individual, and the coachman appeared in the doorway of the Pro fessor’s room. “Any orders for me, yer Honor? Sure, since I got back from the city yisterday, I feel clane gone intirely for somethin’ to do, and not be afther shuttin’ mesilf np in your rooms all the time.” “Well, Dennis, I wish you to remember your promise to me, and keep yourself safe from prying eyes. Did you hear a lady speaking with me just now ? ” “ Faith, I did. It is not Dennis McCarthy ■ sejreary futur. As She- ‘strolled along the beach, the water, bo shining, so entic ing, fascinated her. Something seemed to whisper in her ear, “ Why not end it all now? One plunge, and all would be over.” Bnt, as in a vision, there appeared before her eyes the haughty face of Roy Wardleigh—cold, sneering. She turnedjaway. What! die, and leave the world a right to say, with the covert smiles and Bhrugs of the shoulders which society, in its own cons cious innocence, so well knows how to bestow, that she had died for his sake ! Never ! Better a thousand agonies, the tor- tues of the rack—aye, even this marriage, this hateful, hideous marriage, which her very soul abhorred—than the pity and contempt of the bitter world of society. No ! She would cling fast to her promise—her marriage with this pretty little fashion plate, with no soul above the last new scandal or the tie of his cravat. She was not the first woman who had sacrificed herself on the altar of her pride and fear of the world’s stings. She knew it was but a rope of sand to which she clung though; and when it had vanished from her grasp, she must go down, down. Something pulling at her dress aroused her from her bitter musings. A ragged boy stood at her side holding a letter in one dirty little hand. With some surprise, she took it, and, turning to ask him whence he came, found that he had vanished. She scanned the superscrip tion; it was addressed to her. She tore it quick ly open; a card dropped out and lay, white and innocent, as though it did not hold a life in its keeping, upon the sand at her feet. She glanced over the letter. A terrible look came into her eyes; they dilated wildly, her lips trembled as with a cry of agony, and she shut her teeth upon it until the blood run through; she reeled, and would have fallen. Ah! God! it was horrible! She thought that she had endured the sharpest pangs that Fate could inflict, but this—this was unutterably terrible. The letter was written in a wonan’s hand— trembling, as through weakness—and it said: Miss Tbevalyn,—I write you these lines from my death bed. I know of you, and also— ask me not how—that you respect Roy Wardleigh above all other men. I 3ant you to know <*fie truth—the solemn, awful truth. I am 1> 48 : c- tim, and, dying here in the hospital, I r “P®- a child—his child—to the tender mercies less oie . world. 'e 8L Kathleen Trevalyn, will you take charge of this child? I appeal to you as one woman should to another. I do not ask yon to adopt it, for the world (dear, kind, tender world!) ■ would cavil at it, even were you willing to ac cept the responsibility. I only ask you to as sume its guardianship; to visit it occasionally at the Foundling Hospital, where it will be placed when I am gone; and see that it has proper care for the next year or two, when, if it lives (and I hope it will not), it will find a home with some charitable people. Trusting to your goodness (strange that I should trust any living creature!), I enclose to I you the card which will secure you admission i to the child at the Foundling Hospital. >'« _ He is known only as No. 523, but his name is Roy— Roy Wardleigh. For God’s sake, heed my ap peal ! Do the act of charity which I entreat you to do, and keep my secret safe, if you would ' have the blessing of an ontcast, miserable wo-(