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THE CHOST — OF THE — MALMAISON AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY JjJ! epeak low “ Let us see what Mrs. Maneheu says."’ ‘ It is a place where the road crosses the Epte thought of lofty mountains with the winds echo- bright ? Was ever a garden so gay and sweet as “Yes, and let us be quick, for if the blue- ! river, about six miles above Gourney.” ing eternally through the fastnesses, where trav- | the one she was entering? coat comes to his room, he might hear part of j “ Of what use can that river be to us ?” j elers lose their way and pause and hearken to j She heard Bennie’s voice piping from the I our conversation, and he is very apt to look! “ It will help ns to save the woman and drown the weird sound: of gloomy, moaning caverns ! summer-house—calling her name—and, glad to I through some crack and spy what we are ! the blue-coats besides, if you let me have my and their dark pools; of storms at sea when j impart her tidings to him, she turned from the doing.” | way about it.” proud ships go down and tell no tales. She broad, main walk to a by-path leading to the “He will not see anything wrong, and we | “And how will you do it?” ; thought of these and closed her book; and as ! apex of the triangular ground, and stood smiling Listen to what our friend ! “That’s my business,” laconically answered ! she did so, a rap loud and resonant sounded 1 under the honeysuckle door. the champion of the ckouans. against the hall door above the rushing wind ' Before her sat Bennie, leaning his head against “ To free Louise is very tempting, but ” TranaUUed from the French for the Sunny Sooth ! and as I have seen you again in this hotel, I _„ _ _ . I suppose that you follow me in order to rescue ! tractive prospect yet,” put in BY CHARLES oailmakd. j “Assuredly,” said Saint-Yu “I recognized you this morning at Dieppe. ‘And to drown the blue-coats is a more at- Tamerlan. actor. “Only if we . f <*•! thank you from the bottom of my heart ; i fail this time, we are gone past redemption.” but ?Li took compUuH pa“n but do not pe'rseverein your generous intention | "Don’t be uneasy. I take it all on myself, »ome of the most important events which occurred during , if it can endanger the interests of our party. and guarantee a success, affirmed Malabry. the rebellion of the west.of France- called Chouannrrie.j “ ‘ They carry me to Paris, and heareafter—j ! commencing to-morrow—I will be confined eve- CHAl’TER XXXIV. i ry night at the gendarmerie's quarters. All at- The courageous woman did not answer. She ! W0Q,d P r ove u«elo«» It is took a seat as far as possible from the gendarme, better then, for the good oi all, to abandon »* and Jacobin came and lay at her feet, showing without. | his father's broad shoulder, and as she paused, Mabel started, hesitated a moment, then went i mute, upon the threshold, Mr. Clare looked up and turned the lock. at the fair. girlish vision with quiet, penetrating Standing on thethresnold was a tall, muscular eyes; then rising, held out both hands. woman with a child asleep in her arms. “ Margaret!” ejaculated Mabel. “ Yes, it is Margaret, Miss Mabel. The mas- Mabel, to you I owe my baby’s life.” He spoke no words of thanks, but the elo quence of his eyes, the tremulously low and Well, adopted, then,” said Saint-Victor, ter sent me with Bennie, and here is a letter for ' tender tones, told tales of measureless gratitude. “But tell us how you intend to act.” j you. The deir, blessed madame is dead—died ! “I came here expecting to stand beside my “ It is useless just now; you would not under- j like a babe going to sleep; and Mr. Clare, poor j boyV grave; instead, I found him within the to mv fate. that he was always readv to defend her. ' , “ ‘‘ If J™ see Pierre, tell him that they do not j erthel. Saint-Victor bowed respectfully, but did not | know “vtnwg and that V shall not say anything speak to her, in order to convince the Major even if they offer me to choose bet ween freedom that he really believed big gjgter-ic-law was a ; and • ' * 1 “ ‘ Ihank you again and adieu! stand it. But when we reach the ford, I will sir, has lost eyery dollar he owned, and has i old gary eiijirch over the way, rosy with health explain it to you in a few words.’’ _ . 1 ’ , : —=- >»•- w-v.i “I know that you are not talkative: but. nev ertheless, I would like to hear of that wonderful maniac. _ > Tamerlan of course abstained frbffl fchMnng ffiny sympathy to her, and they all went silently down stairs, The two ckouans bf ard the kty tfilrbihg in the door lock. One of the gendarmes had locked it inside. The other one was following his officer, CHAPTER XXXV. Saint-Victor had read the letter in a low tone, but Tamerlan had not lost one word of it, ‘ That woman,”said he, “ought to have been That “ Oh, never mind,” said Tamerlan; “the con certed plans did not succeed much with us; we can for one time take advice of the circumstan ces. Anyhow, when the game is lost, it matters little how we play.” “Let us try Malabry’s idea, then.” Malabry did not say a word, but whipped the horses, and they started off at full speed. As Saint-Victor had not slept during the night, he soon feil asleep, and Tamerlan, for a gone to Europe.” Mabel scarcely waited for the closing remarks. She gathered her litile pupil in her arms, and pressed warm kisses on his cheek and eyes un til h§ awoke and gazed at her, startled and amazed. ‘‘Don’t von know n.e, Bennie? Don’t you know me, Miss Mabel ?” she asked him, gazing into his dark eyes lovingly. “Yon, Miss Mabel? Oh ! I am so glad to see yon; it has b<en so lonesome since mamma di j d,” and his grief coming afresh, he began to cry. Mabel took his hand and carried him in to the tire, and leaning her cheek to his, cried softly, who seemed determined to investigate the mat-* born in Rome, two thousand years ago. - i nq <,time recited to himself the forrth chanter . _ • 6 j Pterre whom shementione ss ner husband, is he j pastime, recuea to nimseii me tourta chapter . •, . ter immediately. . . nnf ! of the M&V'd of \trgjl, which he preferred to and whispered her love in tender accents, until The officer prssed through the dining room | uo ^ ; NorruaB who volunteered under 1 all others. his eyes, weary of travel, began to close in going to the kitchen after bis careless corporal. | , ^ , T ^ , \r , I - • But ^Barbot was no more on his seat: he had Mr - ds la Rouaine; he is the one who had charge i - 1 ot the cable at Bmlle, You Lave seen him slipped under the table, and was profoundly i tn ® asleep, probably dreaming of Egypt, obelisks i ,, . and pyramids. Robert gave him a kick and | If that man were with her before a court went into the yard through the same door Mai- , partial, and should show signs of weakness, abry had passed. that heroine would be capable of stabbing Uer- Saint-Victor and Tamerlan did not like to fol- | ^ brst.and men to give him the dagger say- low him, but could not help doing it. The gev- ' £g> ‘ that don t hurt, dear, as did the wife ot nrno f V. Util O T1 rl fl UXt V T1 OW U’pll XvCtHSj yOllkOOW. “ For heaven’s sake, let Pcetn darme was behind them, and they knew well that he had some wav of stopping them, should . _ , , , ... they attempt to turnback. alone, lou become insupp. rtable with your Saint-Victor was not very uneasy, for he had ! erudition. You d better forget the Roman his- confidence in Malabrv’s prudence and sagacity, ° r a ' V i lle , an . d f . Klve . me .- 8°°^ & dvice. and he expected that the investigation would be , do yon think of the situation ? Must we useless give np our enter P rlse » Louise nerselt advises The Major went first to the wall under the I u , 8 > or must we keep on with it? In other words window, where he expected to find some evi- shall we try again to-morrow night? dence of the escalade. But he did not see any- ’’ 1 - vou hear wbat bl ”^° at sald - and thing—not even a box or barrel, on which a man "bat Louise wrote m her letter . luey will slop could stand for reaching the shutters. The every night at the gendarmerie. It is an exception sight was clear, and he looked to the ground to t°‘ rta y that forced mem to stay at me hotel. ± find some tracks, but the ground was too hard j suppose you don t pretend to fight a regiment to bear anv mark. ! °* soldiers. Three ot us cannot resist against “ Strange evert,” said Saint-Victor, seemingly tbe whole population of atown, even as small as searching for traces too. or Vontoise. . “Very strange, indeed,” said the Major, , “ Then your opinion is that we must not tol- shortly low any longer the farmer's wile and your chess- “ Somebody has certainly attempted to enter : player t . vour sister-in-law’s room through the window,” j " d tbmk it is the best we can do. -^ud— added Saint-Victor, “ and still we don't see anv ! between you and I— do you believe tnat it Ca- " | doudal knew what we are doing instead of being j at our post, he would be satisfied?” “I think I could make him understand that The road was cut through a forest, and in i sleep. In her own bed she had him laid, and those times of civil war no cultivated field could j knelt by his side hours afterwards and re-read be seen except near the villages. The travellers 1 Mr. Clare’s letter. He wrote of his wife’s death, its suddenness, and of her last wish in regard to Bennie being under Mabel’s future charge. Of himself he wrote little, but from that little Mabel learned he was financially beggared, and that he had lid not meet anybody during the morning. The carriage was certainly far behind them, and Malabry seemed not to care for it, p.nd never turned his head to see if it was coming. It was early in the day when they reached ... Gourney. Malabry told his friends not to leave ! accepted a position on a London paper tendered and his wife j the vehicle, and gave some oats to the horses | him by a lew warm trans-Atlantic friends. His without unhitching. I only trouble was his boy. Would Mabel take Saint-Victor intended to breakfast there, but j charge of him? Bennie’s property from his as he had given Malabry his own way, he re- ! grandfather was still safely invested in New mained on his seat. As to Tamerlan, beseemed | Orleans, and she could apply to his former tracks of persons coming from outside.” “They may have come from inside.” “ What do you mean ? ” “ I will tell you when I have seen your driver.” “My driver?” “Yes ; the one who ate his supper with BaT- bot, who has made him drunk, and who went out as soon as he saw him powerless.” “ Oh ! my dear sir, if yon mean Barnabe, I can show him to yon in a minute. I know him so well that I would swear he is notv sleeping near the horses, as he always does.” “It may be, but I would like to see him.” “ Come with me then,” said Saint-Victor, go ing towards the stable. Although tbe young conspirator thought a great deal of Malabry's good sense, still he was very uneasy. But everything turned out for the best. The officer entered the stable, and a man lay ing on the straw jumped to his feet; asking: “ Who’s there ?" “It’s I, Barnabe,” answered the pretended Charles Valreas “ Oh ! is that you, master ? Is it time to hitch the horses ?’ “No, no; you've got about five more hours to sleep yet. But have you not heard anything since you have been here?” “ Nothing, boss. That is yes, the bay horse had his foot entangled in his halter, and he kick ed like five hundred." •-1 do not speak of that, I mean did you hear any roise in t l eyard?” “Not any. But I’ll tell you the fact; I and the comrade yonder—the one who has been a soldier in Egypt—well, we have been drinking a few bottles at supper, and, of course, as soon as I stretched mj'seif on the straw I fell pro foundly asleep.” “You hear what he says,” whispered Saint- Victor to Robert. “ Perfectly well, sir, your driver seems to sleep soundly, although he waked up very quick just now.” “ He is used to it. I call him up every morn ing myself, and he knows my voice, even while sleeping.” “ It is all right, sir. It must have been some common thieves, whom the dog scared away. Let us retire, gentlemen, I would be sorry to de tain you any longer.” the whole party is interested in liberating Louise Maneheu; but when I study the matter over, I come myself to tfie conclusion that we’a better give it up. I am sure the brave woman will be as mute as a tomb, and if they put her in prison in Paris, Sourdat—who is no other than our friend Liardot—will find some way, through Fonche, to free her.” “ That’s an idea.” “An excellent idea, my friend, and since we agree together, we shall leave early before them in the morning; Malabry will drive fast, and we ! shall be in Paris long before the Major and his prisoner.’ The officer’s footstep, heard in the distance, stopped their conversation. Without undressing, they both threw them selves on the bed and leigned to be profoundly asleep. Tbe silence was not disturbed any more du ring the night. Tamerlan siept well, hut Saint-Victor was restless, and before day-light he was up and to feed on poetry, and was seldom hungry. (TO BE CONTINUED.) For The Sunuy 8ontb»] MABEL THURSTON. “ fromTT to m.” BY SYLVIA HOPE. j bankers for the income be had set aside for the ! child’s expenses. That he knew she loved little ; Bennie, and loved his mother; for the sake of | those two, would she take charge of his boy ? I If not, to send him i Mabel read no further, but kneeling beside i the sleeping child, prayed until a peace stole j over her soul, and, smiling, she lifted her fair face to the cool night breeze, and watched ' the , o mtless s‘a s : n the heavens, j With the advent of Bennie, came a change ! throughout the sunny-roomed, snnny-gardened I place. With the buoyancy of childhood, as the weeks went by, he grew fond of his new home, and sported with all the carelessness of other days. Mabel had the happy gift of enjoyment, and she loved children. It was pleasant to be with her, and no child could remain mute or unhappy under her watchful care and manage ment. Through tbe next twelve months BeDnie grew, studied and laughed the months away. Mr. Wise petted him, likewise the good madam, to such a degree that Mabel, coming out upon tbe gallery one day, and finding the former tell- PABT THIRD. Fleet as on Mercury’s wings Mabel fled through the woods—on, on, until the lake-shore broke upon her view; then, breathless, she paused and sank upon the glittering sands, un mindful that the sun was dipping beneath the horizon, and the winds had begun to rock the waves in the repose of night. Burying her burning face in her arms, she strove to shut out—ah ! but a moment—the hu miliating truth that had crushed her as ruth lessly as the hail the delicate flower-bud. Alone with her heart she communed, laying bare its : ing marvelous Indian tales to Bennie, who had most sacred spots, over which instinctive mod- | tossed aside his spelling-book, declared her lit- esty had ever kept guard, and letting the broad j tie man was irretrievably spoiled: but her face light of reason flood its shade. Neither mercy j lit with unconscious sunshine as Bennie opened nor excuse she granted; alone she fought the j his bright eyes at the sound of her voice. The internal fight—the lonely sea-beach her Geth- j eyas were indeed bright, and his cheeks flushed seruane, while the yellow' of sunset faded into j to a carmine glow. .gray, and the lighthouses began to flash their j Mabel bent over him, and laid her hand upon I red beacons across <the sullen waters. Alone j his brow. It was hot as fire, j she fought, and came out victorious. j “Bennie has a fever, Mr. Wise,” she cried, How she reached the house Mabel had but a j anxiously, drawing the child to her. i dim perception; nor after she bad been clasped ! “Tut, tut! he has eaten too many grapes; to- i in the aged arms of Mr. and Mrs. Wise could ! morrow he'll be playing in the garden.” I she recall only through a mist her last day at j The morrow came, but Bennie did not play I Chicora; but the parting at the depot stood out j in the garden. A fever, sudden and dangerous, 1 memory with painful prominence—the last grappled^his little form and carried him to death’s look of tare well as the north-bound whistle gave preparing for leaving. ‘Going to the stable, he j its signal of departure and began to move slowly found Malabry and Barbot feeding and currying their horses. The corporal, sober now, was talking friendlj' with Malabry, and the Major, who came down soon alter, seemed to have forgotten what had transpired daring the night. Tiiey shook hands politely but reservedly, as men of recent acquaintance. When the pretended Charles Vaireas declared his intention to leave immedi ately the Major did not attempt to delay him, but on the contrary approved of his leaving so early. It was evident that Robert did Dot want their on its wheels. As one gives her eternal “ vale- vale” to the dead face over which the coffin-lid is descending, so Mabel gave to her friemts that May morning at the New Orleans depot. Late in the afternoon of tne first day’s journey, Mabel opened a package which Mr. Clare had placed in her hand a: parting. BeMdes her sal ary, there was a generous sum for the articles she had contributed to his paper, and folded in a slip of paper, on which was written: “The ring and glove belong to you. * From E. to M.’ tells its hopeful tale. May God grant in your marriage much happiness, Mabel,” were her company, and they conid plainly understand glove and the ring she found in the long ago at that be would be more cautious and watchful ! the entrance of tbe old gray church. She had than ever. So the two friends started after ex- left them in the mill, but bad neither time nor changing with the Major promises to meet again inclination to seek them. when m Paris; promises very fallacious on both j “He thinks it is my engagement ring, ’ she sides. 1 thought, reading the note the second time; and Of course they did not try to see Louise, who a wight saimed lifted from her heart. “It is aud happiness, and worshipping Miss Mabel as { in days of old. I found him aud a ghost oi my past.” Mabel looked up at hiul with quiet wonder in her bright eyes. “I say ghost, for in that little church I mar ried Bennie’s mother twelve years ago. Every incident of that summer evening rose before me as I stood beneath its starred roof—the venera ble bishop with his silvery hair, the organists' glad, tremulous music, the white-robed form of a little girl with wondering eyes as she stood under the gaslight and watched us depart, and the loss of our wedding ring. All rose before me as if it were j-esterday.” “ An An gist evening, twelve years ago?” Ma bel asked, incredulously. "Yes, so long as that,” Mr. Clare answered, with a smile. “ Although so long ago, that evening I re member well, Mr. Clare. I was the little girl who watched you depart. I found your wed ding ring, and have kept it ever since. It is the one you returned to me upon the day of my de parture from Chieora.” Mabel slipped the beveled band from her finger and laid it upon his palm. Mr. Clare looked at it long and earnestly, reading aloud the inscription, “From E. to M.” “ I thought it belonged to yon that day,” he said, looking at her with a bright light in his eyes, that sent a thrill through her. “No, it is \ours,"she answered, in confused voice, turning away to hide the ardent blush sweeping her cheeks. “ Mabel ?” Mr. Clare caught her hand and drew her back. “Take the ring back; let it be yours—ours. From Edgar to Mabel. Yon know I love you; let that love plead !’’ he said, bending down to look into her eyes. “You know I love you,” repeating it softly, and laying a caressing hand upon her brown curls. “Yes, I know it,” answering almost in a whis per. “Mabel, yon will be the wife of a poor man,” Mr. Clare said, after a silence given to caresses. “God willing, we shall begin life anew, my darling. All I ask is— ‘ If tbou ronst love me, let it bo for naught Except for love’s sweet sake.’ ” and unmindful of Bennie’s wondering gaze, he drew Mabel to him and bent his handsome face to hers, while the day stole on, and the silvery sound of the old church bell broke with sweet Jerusalem clamor on the fragrant air. (THE END.) MARRIAGE. was j et locked up in the room with the gendarme und Jacobin. The disk of the sun was hardlj- emerging above the horizin, when they settled with the hotel keeper and left. Barbot, his head a little heavy from his bac- chic excess, was not ready yet to hitch the horses to the carria; well. Like tnose ships at sea, mj* friends and I have met, communed and parted forever. It is well!” repeating the words like some sad refrain we have caught up unconsciously, and turning her eyes toward the monotonous country through which the train was passing. The orphan found but little change in the as pect of her old home. Mr. and Mrs. Wise had ssed the last ' grown a trifle more wrinkled. Tbe former had ly marriage is a serious thing. The young man who kisse* your cheeks so tenderly, whose low words of love are now so grateful to your ears, will not always be thus. That glowing color will fade from his countenance; those manly limbs, now so full of youthful energy, will totter beneath „ _ _ _ the burden of disease; that deep voice will lose its ladder flat on the around bv the stable " ! Saint-Victor questioned .Malabry, for he was bis feeble health; besides, an English relation , side his bed with her hand pressed against his , melody. Will your love be proof agdnst all these “ HeTe is what the rascal’used for climbing to ' anxious to know ail the circumstances of their j had bequeathed him an ample sum per year to heart to ca.eh the last teeble fluttering as he changes? Will it grow stronger in the days of , . j „ . _ j rascat useu tor cnmoing to t - ailure i live upon the rest ol his life; and in the tm- hovered between the eonfines of the two worlds; I trial? Q r ■ • - • J “Then 0 there S mnsthave been two men at least. ” 1 ’’Can von tell me.” he said, "how yon so ' provement of his rambling old house and its ! and the minutes passed, the pale dawn wrapped ' "And what about our game?” asked Tamer lan. “ T give it no to voti ” said tbe nffippT ! As soon as the cllOliaitS e&d .—— ™. —, .. . i . — , , , r ,, - , . ,, . , , Passing throughIhe’yard Robert saw a large 1 bouses of the city, and could speak in safety, given up the position ot organist on account of j where she_had knelt^throughout the night, be- door. Days of unconsciousness came; days when Mabel hung over him, forgetful of every thing but the narrow, snow-white bed and its little occupant, breathing under scorching fever. And tbe day came when the physician said, gravely: “There is no hope; he will not last another day. ” “ What shall I do? What will his father say ?’’ poor Mabel cried, lifting her pale, worn face, and gazing at him helplessly. “Telegraph to his father.” A cold shudder passed through her frame. Her heart went out in acute sympathy at the vision called up by his words. A husband be reft of wife, property, and holding in his hand the news of his only child's death. She could not bear it. Could she be the one to send the cruel tidings ? “ Alay God comfort him !” and with pale face she wrote the words: “Bennie is sick. There is no hope,” and handed the paper to the phy sician. The day faded into night, and the dull light of another morning stole into the chamber; and ; whom we have not one thought in common as yet no perceptible change had taken place. He lay in the same stupor; heavy dews had gathered on his brow; sleep, death's second self, seemed carrying him into the mysterious Beyond. Life was apparently ebbing fast. Wrung with anguish inexpressible, Mabel knelt Marriage is a serious thing. No woman should bind herself for life without thoroughlj’ understand ing her ow u character, and tne character of the man to whom she is about to be united. Shpaho !1 ld 11 ->- derstand the necessities of her heart and of her mind—what measures of affection will satisfy the one, and what inteilectual pursuits are necessary to the other. Having settled these important pre liminaries, let her consider how far the man who is about to lead her to the altar is likely to sympa thize with the wants of her nature. Will his heart and his mind be fit companions for her owu? Will his presence be always as agreeable as in the first flush of youthful affection? Will the years to come make no change in his feelings toward her, or in hers toward him? She should remember that the natural attraction which now brings them together must soon fade into indifference, unless some sym pathy exists between their natures which will sus tain and strengthen love when it can no longer rest on the personal charms of its object. Beauty is but a forest leaf, bright and attractive in the sun ny days of summer, but it must wither and disap pear. I« she sure that her lover prizes not alone her handsome face and elegant figure? That he looks much deeper than these, and finds her pos sessed of qualities more lasting and valuable? And is she certain that something better than his manly graces and tender promisdk make her willing to trust her happiness to his keeping? It is fearful to awake from the brief dream of pas sion to find our idol but a wooden image after all; that the symmetrical figure lacks a corresponding soul; that we are tied down to an effigy with Tru- remarked Tamerlan. “ for there is no man who foolishly tailed f could well handle such a heavy thing.” The Major was probablj’ of the same opinion, for he did not reply. “I expected,” put in Saint-Yictor, “to spend a very pleasant night in your company, but I acknowledge that we must take care of ourselves, in a house where thieves are forcing the win dows. So we will bid you good night and re tire to our room. It is next to yours, arid should yon need ns. just knock at tbe partition. I hope, however, that to-morrow night we will be in a That cursed dog is the cause of it. expect that he would bark.” “Ifyou had been smart enough to pat him yesterdaj’, he would have recognized you and would have not barked.” “ Why did you not tell me so, if you knew it? Brutes do not like me, anyhow.” I should have thought they do,” said Saint- live upon the rest of i you so provement of his rami»iin_ j garden he passed his time happilj'as King Crce- ! itself in rosy hues, and outside, in an elm tree, I did not i sus- To Mabel the garden bore as gay an ap- a mocking-bird sang his matin praise blithely, pearance in its spring dress as in the days she cheerily, as if no little soul was departing from romped along its wains and by-paths; and the \ things seen and temporal. maples of her own cottage were only taller, and 1 The hours passed slowlv. As noon drew nigh, the vine over the piazza more luxuriant since Mabel felt the heart-throbs beating with renewed the afteritoons she sat beneath their shade and sang her dolls to sleep. Tne brief, happy pages of her days at Chieora On the other hand, have you no fears that, when your beauty is but a thing of the past, your strength. Sleep was bringing him back to earth —to her in answer to earnest prayer. She waited breathlessly—she felt convinced; and the super- Victor who bad not a high opinion of his Mabel determined to recall onlj* as one recalls natural strength had kept her up through t being sweet olden times by the smell of dead flow- so many davs and) Mights of wearv watching friend’s intellect. “But I am far from being mad at you. for you have done the best possible better place, for I expect we will travel toge- i under the circumstances. j “I believe so. You don’t find many men who ; “Gentlemen,” answered Robert, “we will conid pull a shutter off its hinges when that J ers, laid away in dusty books seldom opened. Verily, oh! memory, shutter is locked up inside and fastened with two iron bars.’ probably go the same w>y, since we all go to Paris; but I don’t believe I can enjoy your company to-morrow night. A friend of mine, who is captain of gendarmerie at Gisors, expects me to stop with him, where I will not be expos ed to any nocturnal attack.” “ We regret it very much,” said Saint-Victor. They were now down the steps. Politely, but coldly, they bid each other good night, and the chovans went to their room. The officer did not seem to be in a hurry to _ . retire, for he entered the dining-room and took sixty miles to-day. and enter Paris to-morrow, a seat there. ■ v — '—’* fh “ n v “Bad affair,” said Tamerlan, as soon as the friends were alone in their room, “ we are great- d) Mights suddenly spent itself. She felt herself sinking sinking, and clutching blindly at the bed-clothes, she felt and knew no more for many an hour. When she returned to consciousness, Bennie was asking for her, and rising from her bed she dressed and hastened to him. He was mending fast; as rapidly as the fever took hold of him, it husband will cease to love you? That he will [ turn to those whose persons are yet made beauti- i ful by the summer of life? Panse, oh pause! and question yourself thus; ( and, should no misgiving then come to chill your ! heart, go fearlessly to the nuptial altar. United I to a person worthy of your love and respect, j whose heart is connected to your own by the elec- ! trie chord of sympathetic natures, marriage will . j prove a blessing indeed, and heaven will have watening j ^ ou j n j tg jj 0 jy keeping.—Ex. ly suspected by the Major, and we shall fail in anything we try now.” “ Perhaps,” said Saint-Victor, taking from his pocket the paper that Jacobin had carried to him. “ Before we give up our undertaking, let us see what the pretty prisoner saj s. Women give sometimes very good advices.” “ How is that ? Did she write to yon ?” “As you see,” answered Saint-Victor, unfold ing the paper. “Not through the mail, I suppose?” “ Her dog was the mail carrier.” “I understand now why you caressed him so much while in Louise’s room. Indeed such a 'dog is worth his weight in gold.” “ U'e are content To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep \ For aye.” It took only a few days to determine upon I acknowledge that Samson himself wouldn’t her mode of life. She would lease her cottage, have done better.” live with her old friends and pursue her writ- left him. No tidings had come from Mr. Clare. "And besides, I brouoht back the ladder to ings. She wrote to Mrs. Clare a week after her ■ When danger was passed, Mabel sent a second its place, so that the gendarmes could have no arrival that it was utterly impossible to aecom- | dispatch, and now waited to hear by mail, suspicion, and I was already in the stable be- pany her North; and upon the day of departure j Mid-summer days had matured the garden fore they'came.” Mabel received a sorrowful reply, in which Mr-, when Bennie resumed his play under thegrape- “ It is all true; but we have completely failed ; Clare said she still held the orphan as belong-! vines, and Mabel took up her daily writing, anvhow. Now whip vour horses, and don’t ing to Cbicora. She wrote lengthily and affec- ! Six montns previous she had written a serial, mind the carriage behind us. We must travel tionately, and with a sad smile. Mabel iaid the which she hoped to publish in book form. Dnr- ~ " letter away as she bad done the days it breathed ing the spring she had revised and copied with of, and began her new life. ' utmost care, and at the time of Bennie's sick- A few months after her arrival, through the ness only a few chapters remained incomplete, influence of Mr. W tse, she became the organist; ‘ To these she returned with a zest and impatience and besides its compensation, hours of pleasure i she strove not to restrain; and one sunny July it afforded her, as in the long summer after- ' morning she wrote the word "Finis” with a | Yon don’t intend to stop a: Gisors, then "No; it wonid be useless. Tne blue-coat will put up at the gendearmerie s quarters; aud. as you know very well, that is not a place for us.’ “ So vou abandon that woman ? ” _ “Greatlv aaainst our will, I can assure you; noons she made the organ breathe forth the | flourish an 1 a happy little laugh, and, address- income, but we have^ot the least chance to rescue grand old chants until the building vibrated mg a short letter to a leading publishing house h er ” with melody. i in New York, sent her precious package to the "At Gisors. no; but on the road, yes.’ ! She wrote untiringly. Her articles began to express office, and waited for an answer. “How? Bv violence?” attract attention, and some laurels were laid She waited patiently. It came in two weeks, “No. They are four, and we are but three.” upon her brow. Many were eager to learn of ’ and with trembling hands she tore the yellow “And as the officer suspects ns, thev will tire 1 the private life of “ Gladys.” I envelope open as she turned homeward from the on us at the first siau of stopping* the car- One evening in early September, Mr. V'ise office—reading that which seemed the acme of fjjige ” ° with his wife had gone to service, and Mabel -at ■ alt earthly hopes: her MS. was accepted. “The Major suspects ns, it is true; but he • alone before the bright wood tire burning upon j A sweet, delicious realization it was, and Ma- does not suspect the Bouchevillier's ford.” the hearth; and as th<- wind rose, and swept i bel's feet seemed to have borrowed the antelope’s “What is it vou call the Bouchevillier's with au autumnal wail around the house, she ! fleetness as she hastened through the crowded Maxims for Young Men. Never gamble. Never be idle. Make few promises. Always speak the truth. Keep good companj- or none. Live up to your engagements. Drink no intoxicating liquors. Never speak lightly of religion. Be just before you are generous. Good character is above all things else. Never borrow if it is possible to avoid it. Never listen to idle and loose conversation. Keep j’ourself innocent if you would be hap- py- Make no haste to be rich if you would pros per. Ever live (misfortune excepted) within your ford ? Never run in debt unless you see a wav to aet out again. Sa’ e when you are young and spend when yon are old. When you speak to any person look him in the face. Good company and good conversation are the very sinews of virtue. Your character cannot be essentially- injured except by your own acts. When you retire to bed think over what you raised _ier head and listened intently. SLe j streets. Did ever a day appear so goldenly j have done during the dao-