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V ■T THE GHOST —QfF THE— MALM AISON AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY BT CHAULES OAILMARD. “ You have decievcd me!” “I?” “Yes, you have deceived sue when you told me that you were only an unfortunate emigre and that you were waiting only for your pardon in order to love me openly.’" “ I swear it, Gabrielle,, and moreover, I swear that even before my name shall be taken off the fatal list, I shall be free to ask you to be my „ ~ 7", „ _ _ wife, without you having anything to apprehend Translated from the French for the Sunny South : f or onr union.” “ Your wife!” sadly echoed the young girl. “Are you not already my wife before God? Did you not give me your faith as I gave you mine?” - . “ You need not remind me of the promises we have exchanged. God knows that I have not forgotten them; but you—how can you fulfil them ?” “Gabrielle, the time is near when yon will doubt me no more, for I will be free, I will not be obliged to keep any longer a secret I find too heavy; 1 shall be free and perhaps in power; I shall then come to offer you a name that I will have made illustrious in sferving a noble cause !" “You mean'to say that you are conspiring against the government. Is it not so?” , “ Well,-yes ! since you found out that secret, I shall not hide it from you any more. Yes, I am conspiring, or rather I am fighting.for the King, and in a month—in two weeks perhaps— the King shall reign ovtr France—and myself, [Most of the character* in this story are not fictitious, but real personages vSbo took conspicuous parts In some of the most important events which occurred during the rebellion of the Westof France—called C/iouannerie.] CHAPTER LXII. Robert kept silent a moment, and then said, ! slowly: “ But there is one thing of which I am cer- ! tain; and that is that you have never said or, done anything unworthy the daughter of an j honored father.” “.Oh 1 no,” exclaimed the young girl, with a j tone of such earnest sincerity that the Major's heart was set at. ease. “ Well! dear Gabrielle forget this young man. ! I ask this of you, in the name of. the fraternal j love that unites us. An unfortunate circum- followed, for my friend comes to this place without any weapons.” “Oh! that it could be true J” exclaimed the young girl. “Do yon doubt yet, when I swear upon my honor, upon yourself to whom I would not be false, should I die for it ?” “ And you can assure me that you have nothing whatever to do with this strange appar ition which cannot but hide some abominable design?” asked Gabrielle, who began to hope I will never join it.” it passing her mother’s picture, the Lady Belle, every day in the library. She has her complex ion, baby mouth, and hair and round face and her father’s forehead, eyes, brows and imperial grace. Ah, well! I can go to the ruined abbey since the Lord has heard my prayers.” “And you are a professing Christian,” the La dy Star says, “and your brothers and sisters are legion. May the Lord deliver me from such fel lowship and till the Church rids herself of these again. She goes away sick at heart for further confir mation, and knocks lightly at Lord Manley’s his faults. I will write to Lord Uuntley, since you ask it.” He opens the door for her andshe goes away to make immediate preperations to leave the house. She meets herloverand he has no words to express his condemnation for the conduct of their host. Lady Manley is fiittiDg from room to room endeavoring to petsuafffe the guests to remain. Some consent; the greater part sum mon the carriages and drive down to the Station, and the Christmas dinner is a failure and the festivities drag. Days passed slowly. Lord Manley is intoxicated and abusive to high and door. He opens it, smiles grimly, and she glides , low, and the guests have all departed. The ser- To-night is the first time that I hear of such an apparition.” “And yet you are conspiring—conspiring against the First Consul. l*ou just told me so yourself.” ‘Yes, I am conspiring; it is useless to deny it, since you knew it all, but I act, loyally and not by such under-hand ways. M stake in the contest for the return of the King, j reaches him. lour pet did not possess the which Lord Manley occupies, but I do not employ assassins who would come morality you gave her credit for, but where In a splendid room in tire West End, Daisy during the night, and waylay for Bonaparte in would she get it? Her mother was a liar, and sits by the window, the golden curls are banded the woods. When I shall attack him, it will be her father—my precious brother—almosta moral by diamond stars of fabulous value. Her dress idiot. To be just, I don’t think he knew right 1 Have you given the subject much in and takes a chair and observes: “I have just come from Lady Mar. She is homeless and penniless again. I suppose you know that Daisy is with Lord Huntley.” He knocks the ashes from his cigar and laughs. vants huddle about, shrinking from the demon that has taken possession of their master. He has had several attacks of delirium tremens and his death is but a question of time. Lady Mac- ley has taken rooms in a hotel in London, and My life is at : “Gad ! it will be nice news for June, when it the great house is closed, save, the grand rooms of the King, j reaches him. Y'our pet did not possess the ! which Lord Manley occupies. stance has put von under obligations to him—I hope this will make you wiser in the futnre-Be I J V ,D 8 r rance-aua myseii i c iuib in w* j i t —miner humble soldier who will have aided at the peril has rendered you a great serv.ee and I am willing of my hfe to ^ him back hia throne, I shall not be forgotten t*y him. What matters it any how if I remain what I am or if the King gives me a regiment to command? Those terrible to let him alone, but on condition that you will do the same. You will forget him.” “I will try,” murmured Gabrielle. “And you will succeed if you are in earnest. Think of it; a brave fellow like my friend Perlier who won his rank solely owing to his gallant ry, is better than an exile whose life has been spent fighting against France and conspiring against the government of his country. But the time is badly chosen to preach to you; I’d rather leave you to your own reflection, and depend on your reason and heart. My friend Ferlier shall wait. He is used to it.” Gacrielle opened her lips to say that Perlier should wait indefinitely, but her brother did not give her a chance to speak. He kissed her tenderly; rose, bowed to the Boston players, signed them not to wake up M. Desroiers, who was sleeping in his arm-chair, and went off say ing ironiclly: “ Good bye, ladies, don’t dream of the ghost; any later than to-night; my old trooper Castag- nol will settle its account.” Gabrielle was about to follow him outside, but he kissed his hand to her, put a finger on his iips to recomend prudence and discretion— and disappeared. “ What is the matter with you, dear?” asked lime. Desrosiers to Gabrielle, “ you seem to be so troubled. Has the Major scolded you ?” “No, Madame,” stammered Gabrielle “Y'ou have lost the game Madame,” said the Colonel’s widow. “Now ! that is the result of talking with a young girl instead of paying attention to the play.” “Isee that I am in the way, Madame,” said Gabrielle, “so I will retire.” None of the players Tried to retain her and She quietly went to her room without meeting anyone in the long halls of the chateau. When alone, she burst into tears. Her beau tiful dream had vanished! Between her and the man she loved stood an unsurmouDtable obstacle. Saint-Victor was a chouan—fi conspir ator. Gabrielle could not, should not be the wife of an enemy of the First Connsul. But in this crumbling of her hopes, what grieved ber most was to think that Charles Valreas had imposed on her good faith. For a moment she thought she would not see him any more; for she felt that should she go to the rendez vons; should she hear his sweet tender voice, she could not have the courage to tell him to cease coming But at the same time a sentiment of pity woke up in her breast; she thought that the more Charles was unfortunate, the more she was bound to warn him against the danger that sur rounded him. She was determined to tear this ill starred love from her heart if she had to die by the sacrifice—but gratitude obliged her to protect him who had saved her. After all, Gabrielle was a woman, and woman always have thousands of good reasons to excuse and serve those whom they love. As she hesitated still, the stable clock of Mal- maison struck twelve. She threw a mantilla on her shoulders and went off to meet the exile and bid him a last adieu. Going rapidly down the stair-way she enter ed the garden without meeting anyone. When the First Consul and Mme. Bonaparte were in J Paris, the Malmaison was almost deserted, for the official household accompanied them to the Tuileries, and even when they were at Malmai son they never had much entourage. The Gen eral went there to rest and lorget awhile the affairs of the state, and he did not care to have any military exhibition around him, not believ ing in the necessity cf guarding himself. Gabrielle was going towards the bowlingreen. She was neither cowardly nor superstitious, and the strange description of Mme. Desrosiers had made no impression on her mind. She had paid more attention to what her brother had said, but she hardly thought of it now; her heart was too full of anxiety that had not for its cause the fear of meeting a ghost. When she entered the thicket she heard a sound like dry limbs breaking under some one’s feet. She kept still and looked attentively in the direction of the noise. She did not see any thing but the recollection of what she had heard about the apparition passed through her mind. The Major accused the chauans of being the authors of this masquerade, in order to hide their plotting against Bonaparte’s life. For the first time, she thought that Charles Volreas might be implicated in it, and yet even supposing that he would take a part in such a vile conspiracy, she could not believe that he would ever utilize for that object the rendez vous in the park. No ! the man she loved could not be so base as to think of murder while his voice was so sweet; he could not speak of love to her and of their future happiness, while watching his chance to treacherously slay his enemy. She looked agan and lister el, but the t! rcket was dark and the noise had ceased. She passed on. When near the boulingreen; the throbbing of her heart could almost be heard; but this time j joy was not the cause of it, as it had been the night before when she heard the signal for Charles 1 laws of proscription shall be abolished; the gov^ ernment that persecutes me now shall be no more, and no one will have the right to inter fere with my life and to forbid me to love you, Gabrielle. ” “It was true, then!’’ murmured the Major’s sistm:. “What! did you know—?” “I knew before all you have just told me, and I know besides, what you do not dare to tell.” Saint-Victor wished to explain himself, but she rose and said in a firm voioe. “You conspire but it is against the life of the First Consul—of the man who brought peace and prosperity to our unfortunate country, shattered by contending parties—of the benefactor to whom I am indebted for everything I have, for were it not for his protection I would be a poor girl, obliged to work for my living.” “But who told you?”■— “Who? my brother whom Bonaparte has made an officer and whom the conspirators must first kill before they can reach the First Consul, for he will stand as a breastwork between them and Bonaparte !” “Your brother! Major Robert?” repeated Saint-Victor, “hehas come back then; does he know—?” “This evening, about an hour ago, I was ask ing him to intercede for you.” “ Did you give him my name ?” “ Certainly I did, for you had forgotten to forbid me to do it, and you had forgotten also to tell me what Charles Valreas did recently to Major Robert on the road to Dieppe.” Saint-Victor, confused, bent down his head and found no answer. “ Will you still tell me that the time is near where I can openly acknowledge, the love you have inspired me with ?” bitterly asked Gabrielle, “and do you think that I must be very glad to marry a deadly enemy of my brother ?” “ Your brother ! Do you believe that I will ever permit any one to touch a hair of his head ? Do you believe that when we shall-have over thrown the usurper I will not at once extend a fraternal hand to Major Robert and lead him to the King who, on my recommendation will confirm him in his position in the army?” “ Men like Francois Robert do not serve two masters. He, too, would spare you, should you fall into his hands, for he knows that you have saved me; but he would not insult you by pro posing to you to betray your master.” “ Gabrielle!—” Saint-Victor was about to protest energetic ally, but the hooting of the owl rent the air in the silence of the night. “Somebody comes,” he hastened to say, “we must fly.” And he tried to take Gabrielle along with him. While she was trying to free herself, two shots were heard in quick succession. A hoarse shriek followed; then the silence—a silence of death. The voice of the owl was heard no more. Saint-Victor was asking himself if he had not dreamed of all those noises, but Gabrielle, who the moment before wanted to leave him, Gabri elle clasped his arm, and said: “A man fs dead ! The murderer is there.” “Come,”said the chouan. And this time she did not resist as he urged her along the path parallel to the park. in the day time, and when he is surrounded by his soldiers.” “What matters it if you assail him openly or by surprise, since you will find my brother at his side ■?” cried the young girl. - Saint-Victor remained a moment silent, then said sternly: “Whatever may happen, whatever may be the circumstances, time, or place—if I act alone or with my companions—your brother shall be sacred to us—even if I must sacrifice my life to save his—even if I have to expose ourselves to be defeated; no one shall ever hurt him.” - Gabrielle started to extend her hand to him in sign of reconciliation, but her hand fell back to her side. “Now,” said Saint-Victor, “I am waiting for your orders. If you forbid me to see you again —if I cannot hope that you will forgive me for being an exile—if, after the triumph of my cause, you refuse to—” “Listen 1” cried Gabrielle, interrupting. The sound of advancing steps was heard in the distance, f “ The guards are coming,” said Saint-Victor. “I see a light; probably the lantern of the sergeant commanding the patrol. “ Great heavens 1 they come this way,” said Gabrielle, “ go, go, quickly, I pray you 1” “ To leave you alone, exposed to be arrested by those soldiers—never 1” “ I know how to escape—there is another way from wrong, thought? Nine-tenths of the transgressors sin unconsciously, and moral idiocy is quite com mon. You have dangerously-expressive eyes, Star; just drop them, please, and I will give you the plain, unvarnished facts, Mind, I am not trying to justify myself; but strange as it may seem to you, I really value your good opin ion, and beg you to listen patiently, if you can. You know there was but two of us. I was good- natured and commonplace, and the tenants loved me while they hated the handsome, young er brother who was all for self, and cruel and pitiless. At my best, I would never have made any stir in the world. I was simply a man without either great virtues or petty vices, who would make many friends and thoroughly enjoy life. In all the historic instances of friendship, sacrifice is a one-sided thing. One receives* the other loses; one takes, the other gives; mutual sacrifce is not recorded. Well, that was the sort of friendship that existed between us. I gloried in his genius and beauty. I shielded him from disgrace; shouldered his debts and economized so that he might indulge his luxu rious tastes. When it was necessary to fight for him, I fought; when it was necessary to lie for him, I did it without hesitation. I had my al lowance reduced and was severely reprimanded by my father, because I had gone into debt to keep him from expulsion. I bore all this hero to go to the chateau—leave, leave immediately 1” J ically. He repaid me by his caresses and by look- “No,” said Saint-Victor, after a moment of | ing ha CHAPTER LXIII. That path led to the little door, the key of which was in the possession of Saint-Victor, and it was the same path he al <vays took when leav ing Gabrielle, who, on the contrary, used to take the broad avenue leading to the chateau. But this night the poor girl felt that it would be very imprudent to go that way, where a bloody deed had probably been committed, and in which she might be compelled to walk over a corpse. Trembling, she followed Saint-Victor as far as the door. There he himself stopped and made her sit on a settee by the wall. Stand ing before her he listened to the faintest sound, burning with anxiety to know how this advent ure would end. The firing must have been heard from the chateau and the post by the entrance gate. The soldiers and probably the servants would soon come, and the most important thing at present was to prevent any one seeing Gabrielle in the park at that time of night. Although he had as good reasons as herself not to be seen, he determined to offer his escort to the staircase leading to her room when she said to him sadly : “Leave me, sir; we shall not see each other any more.” “I cannot leave, I cannot abandon you when you are perhaps exposed to danger 1” “ I prefer rather to expose myself than to remain any longer with a murderer’s accomp lice.” “What do you mean, Gabrielle?” I know all; that pretended ghost is the man hesitation, “since you despise me, since you wish me to leave you for ever, I prefer to die here. I shall wait tor the soldiers, run on to them dagger in hand—their bayonets shall pierce my heart, and that will be the end 1" ‘ They come—one minute more it will be too late—leave, for the sake of what is most sacred to you—leave for the sake of our love 1” “ Ah 1 you love me yet 1” “ Y'es,” sighed Gabrielle. “And you consent to come once more—only once more to the bowlingreen ?” “In three days—at twelve,” answered Gabri elle, forgetting everything before the immin ence of danger. “Thank you, Gabrielle. in three days at the bowlingreen; but it shall be the last secret meet ing, and I assure you that before a month I will ask your brother to accord me your hand, for everything in France shall be changed by that time. I go.” He raised Gabrielle’s hand to his lips, opened the little door, and closer®t behind him. Gabrielle took a path tljpough a thicket, and ran without eating "foT'NfYe' briers' that tore her dress or the limbs thaf scratchad her face. She did not dare to look behind her and, obliged to pass the bowlingreen, she stopped a moment to take breath. She was about to con tinue towards the chateau when the moon, emerging from behind a cloud, shone over the lawn. Gabriolle looked around and remained terror-stricken: fifty feet ahead of her a corpse was stretched on the sand. She wanted to fly from the dreadful scene, but she could not move her feet, and was obliged to take hold of a tree, or she would have fallen to the ground. She strove to look away from the dreadful sight, but, in spite of her own will, her eyes always turned back to the corpse. ing handsome. Only a simpleton would have been satisfied with pay like this, but I told you I was not strong, and he was a genius and geni us is allied to madness. He rode my favorite horses to death, and I kept all his excesses a se cret. When he graduated, he went to Baden- Baden and became a notorious gambler. He beggared hundreds, among them Lady Mar’s husband, one of the most guileless min you would see in a life time, but fond of play. While j he was absent, our parents died, and it is a sit- isfactiou to me to know that they died beli, viag j him a perfect angel of light. At twenty-three, I met the Lady Belle Clyde. Sue was the beau- : ty of the season, an inane blonde, with an im mense fortune in her own right. I had the hor- i ror that dull men have for bright women, and sbe suited me and I addressed her. She accept ed me from a score of lovers and within turee days of our marriage, June returned, without a dollar, in a fit of penitence. I introduced him to Belle and was proud of him. She pretended she did not admire him, and the day before the wedding, she eloped with him. 4 I knew, that had she been poor, he would not have looked at her; that her money was the sole attraction, and I followed them. I caught up with them, but they were married. I struck him and we fought. I tried to kill him and did not hurt him, but he made me a cripple for life. I returned home and lay ill for weeks, and revenge become the leading idea of my life. I made friends with him and his wife came here to be confined in the ancestral castle. When she was taken sick he was absent; it was premature by several weeks. Jane was ill at the same time; with the aid of a woman whose husband was in my pow er to denounce as a criminal, I changed the children; Jane's child died that day. Belle was quite low and there was much confusion, and but one person noticed the metamorphesis that The man had fallen there, killed by the pre- | had takm place in the infants, Mrs. Harris, and tended ghost, and Gabrielle was thinking with terror that she was perhaps the cause of his death.” “ If he was only wounded 1” she thought, and the brave girl, summoning all her courage, ran towards him. When she was only a few steps from the dead man, she saw the silver buttons, and recognized the uniform of the gendarmerie d’elite. Thinking of her brother she had left one hour ago in uniform, she forgot his departure from she observed it to me and I silenced her curtly and she never refered to it again. I knew how Jane and Bill would raise her. I foresaw that she would bs beautifu 1 , and thus possessing it; disgrace might be surely prophesied. When this was consummated, I intended to introduce her to her parents. Yerily the gods have favor ed me and I will write to June to-day. The wo man I confided in went into Lady Mar’s service and betrayed me. My Lady is a royal extortion er, I have paid her large sums not to disclose the Paris, she forgot what he had said of Sergeant [ secret till I gave the word,—that accounts for Castagnol, and taking the corpse for that of ! my friendship with her—you don’t suppose I Major Robert, she swooned away and fell to the ground. (TO BE CONTINUED.) OUT OF THE MIRE. A PEARL. BY MRS. AMELIA V. PURDY, Author of “First Fruit.” Yalreas always came first, and to make his pres-j you post every night in the park, and who, ence known, he used to hum a song composed by under pretense of watching over us, is only the King Hnri the IY. “ Charmnante Gabrielle, Perce de mille dards. Quand la t loire m’appelle Dans les travaux de Mars.” She never let him finish the candid words of the song. He was commencing the third verse when the young girl entered the bowlingreen and fell rather than seated herself on a pelouse, instead of giving him her hand as usual. “ For heavens’sske, what is the matter with you, Gabrielle?” asked Saint-Victor. she murmured through her could find anything to admire in that old Zan- tippe. Of all the actors in this tragedy, one on ly has my sympathies, Paul Duprtz. The man is so exceptionally good, that I have hesitated often and once, came very near stopping short for his sake; then I discovered that the girl did not love him. Not love him. Oh 1 the fools wo men are. Goodness is what they should worship and there are good men in every town whom women do not try to win. I never looked at the girl, that the seductive sweetness of June’s na ture did not look out from her eyes. I never looked at her, that I did not see the soft-silken, golden curls of her mother, whom I loved better than my soul. For the rest, June has avoided me carefully the last seventeen years and he has tired to death of her long ago and leads quite an innocent life with his books and flowers.” His auditor sitr with bowed head. The mis erable story is ended, there is no more to relate. She looks up drearily. “And the finale of all this will be fratricide when you meet.” “A fitting finale to the story.” he says with a grim smile. “When we meet, one or the other dies, Junius will hardly be able to stand this with Christian meekness.” “If I had any influence with you, I would try to persuade you to write all the facts of the case to Lord Huntley. Spite of your animosity, Daisey is your niece and you should urge an immediate marriage. Guy, I never asked a favor of you in my life. I ask it now, and I pity you sincerely while I condemn the sin, I feel for the sinner. Your provocation was great, but not great enough for you to step down from the white heights of manhood to be peer with him. Who revenges himselfi degrades himself, unless, he takes the revenge that Christ commands, and the revenge that defiles gives neither rest nor pleasure. Will you write to Lord Huntley ? ’ He stares at her moodily. “You are right. Let man do to you what he may, if you retaliate in kind, sleep, and rest and self-satisfaction flies forever. Of all miser able existences, the worst is to be dissatisfied with self and to be tortured by an accusing conscience through sleepless nights and lustre less days. It drove me to drink. I am wretch ed till liquor induces forgetfulness. Christin- might have raised me had she been a wise wo man. I thought that after marriage she would genius. Ihrougb ber fattier, x nave been com- grow dear to me by degrees. She discovered pelled to live afar from the capitol, in retirement my infatuation for Belle and her love died in- and dependence and to see my son compelled stantaneously, perhapa she was not to blame, to live abroad because what the villian left him It would have frozen the love of any ordinary Ah 1 I am glad, so woman and reorimination and sarcasm succeed- mean when you speak of’a ghost, and that I did I glad. I’d like to see your face, Junius Manley, ed. A man has made a mistake in his choice of not give any order to assail Bonaparte in this ! when you learn that the sole daughter of your a life companion, who cannot go to her with all place, in his own residence, and I canDot ex- | home and house, is Lord Huntley’s mistress, his sins and blunders, knowing that Bbe will plain the reports of pistols and the scream that j What feols you were that you did not discover t hear him patiently and tenderly and condone watching for an opportunity to get near the First Consul and kill him." “A pretended ghost!’ echoed Saint-Yictor, stupefied. “ Don’t feign to be astonished. Who—if not you—could have invented that criminal mas querade ? Ah 1 my brother was right while speaking to me of the audacity and villainy of the chouans." “ Gabrielle,” said Georges’ Lieutenant, with an unmistakable accent of sincerity, “I pledge you my word as a soldier, my word as a gentle- man, that I am entirely ignorant of what has She did not answer, and in.the darkness, he taken place here to-night. You know that I could not see that she was shedding tears. But I have a comrade, devoted to me, who accepted a magnetic current is soon establishtd between j the task of watching over us. A while ago, I lovers, and when one feels a sensation, a mys- > heard him give the signal that somebody, maybe terious fluid transmits it to the other. Saint- a patrol, was approaching; but I swear upon our Victor divined that she was crying, and he knelt j lore that I am absolutely ignorant of what^you ; would not support him here. at her feet. ’ . “Leave me tears What have I done ?” he asked softly. CHAPTER X, The Lady Star has sought her unweariedly through the house and over the gardens; a blue scarf tied under her chin and regardless of the snow, she had enquired of Jane and had been brutally repulsed. Upstairs, Stratton sat with the boy on her lap and her tears were fast oblit erating all the pink and white of the Venus face, j Lady Manley lay on the sofa weeping bitterly, i and no preperations were being made for the morning’s festivities. The occurrence of the morning had destroyed even the pleasure of prospective oonquests, and the young ladies kept in their rooms, while the gentlemen congregated in the billiard room; bitter in their denuncia tions of the malice that had instigated the work and that their host showed no disposition to im- . mediately investigate the matter. Phrasie came out of Lady Mar’s room, wring- ; ing her hands and shrieking: “She ville nevare pay me now. She is ruined. She is turned out of doors. She owes me one i years wages. Mon Dieu 1 She is mad not to have foreseen all dis. Daisey is with Lord Hunt- ley and he has joost written her that he stops her allowance from to-day. My money. My money 1” Lady Star orders her to be quiet and opens Lady Mar’s door. The latter confronts her with dishevelled hair and scarlet face. “Yon are horrified,” she cries, “but it is true. She has gone with him. Your protege did not possess the moral strength you thought and I am glad, and truly I have not where to lay my head. Her father beggared my husband at Ba den-Baden I have known always what this girl was, with her royal beauty and transcendent Through her father, I have been com- is wine velvet and her soul is crimson as her dress. The roses have fled from her rounded cheeks forever, but she is lovelier fn her spiritu- t lie grace. Pride and hope have fled with the roses and the exquisite face reflects deep seated melancholy. In the dark depths of her eyes, a little child might read fallen. The eyes are ever pitiless in their revelation of sonl stain; with down cast eyes the sinful woman, walks pore with the pure, she lifts her eyes and we step aside, the character of her degredation is there. She has touched pitch, she is defiled; we, the white souled, waive her afar. We forget that it is not contagious. That the giddy, weak, shal low, wrongly educated girls are the only vic tims, and while pouring out the vials of our wrath and disgust, with a triple virulence of an unutterable loathing and ostracism should we regard him who has made the ireak his prey. If you ostracise one, ostracise the other. If you shut your doors to her, shut them also upon the seducer and let no girl let any opportunity slip to avenge the wrong done to her feeble sister. It is just as important for a man to be pure as it is for his sister to be pure. All tnen have more or less power and use it. That country will certainly become bankrupt and perish ig- nominiously where evil men make the laws and godloss ones enforce them. We have no in stinctive knowledge of right or wrong, consci ence is education, and the man who is blessed with so sensative a conscience, that it is his guardian angel through all life’s vicissitudes, is the man whose infantile education has been superintended by a painstaking Christian zeal. With her hands folded behind her, she paces up and down the grand room. Remorse with its tooth of fire is at her heart, driving sleep and rest afar. The revenge she bartered her spotless fame for, has brought no balm. Phra sie has escaped her and Lady Mar is in the ruin ed abbey that scarcely yields her support and with the miserable consciousness that she has sold her birth-right for a mess of pottage, the slow hours drag their length. Her pen yields her no solace. She shrinks from the purity of music and books havO lost their charm. The superb dresses, Lord Huntley ordered from Par is, have given no pleasure beyond a passing glance. Lord Huntley is a skeptic, and the re fined deism he is holding to her lips is the draught most acceptable in a time like this. She quaffs it eagerly and longs to believe, as has many a sinner over this green old earth, that Christianity is but priest-craft and immortality a myth. In her present condition, immortality would be the reverse of a blessing and annihila tion the last thing to be desired. Lord Huntley comes in with none of his ac customed gayety and greets her in a constrained manner. She watches him wonderingly, her first thought that he is tiring and then of the river only a little ways off. She meets his eyes and colors hotly. He draws near and takes her hand. “Our marriage must be consummated to night. In the course of a few hours, the rector of St. Mary’s, will be here to perform the ceremony.” He seems nervous and is quite ghastly and my Lord has been noted for his composure for years. She looks up wildly and the great eyes d lite with apprehension, what has he learned? Her heart almost stands still. “Lord Manley has written me that you are his niece, his brother’s child, and that in the course of a month your father will be here to claim you.” She sprang from him with a low moan and fell insensible at his feet. When she revived, he read the half jocose, half remorseful letter to her. It ran thus: “You will perceive the necessity of an im mediate marriage. Junius Manley is somewhere in the Levant, and has been apprised of the fate of his unfortunate daughter. An early mar riage will in part condone for your share in the destruction of his child.” She lies back corpse-like in her pallor with closed eyes. After a pause he speaks. “ I would give worlds to undo the mischief of the past weeks. I have been a bad man, and have felt few compunctions of conscience, but it is bitter trouble that I have so terribly injured you. I took a mean advantage of your mood that day, and upon my head lies the sin. How can I face your father ?” She made no reply, there could be none, for when the heart is touched to the quick, when the desolate probed are touched, it is the era of dumb agony; there was suffiocation about the heart, and giant fingers in seeming pressed heavily upon her brain. The haggared face lifted at last and she said with an effort. “ We shall not marry my Lord. I am accurs ed. There are many who make misfortune only a success; who never prosper at any thing. In some lives rain falls eternally till it ends. I am one of those. I was born under malign influ ences, tobe a target for adverse fate. We shall never marry something will prevent it.” He is not superstitious, but her words im press him strangly. He is not well, has been having premonitory symtoms of apoplexy—the bane of his race, and the meeting with Paul Dufres who brought the letter, had been bitter ly humiliating and agitating. In this interview the grandeur of Paul’s character had moved the seducer. The blow had fallen upon him and crushed the man and, the saint had risen The war against the demon who counselled murder had been as bitter as Watleroo and pro longed for days and sleepless nights, under which the physical system sank, the good angel conquered. (TO BE CONTINUED.) The Workingmen’s Party. Nomination for Mayor of Baltimore. [New York Times.] Baltimore, Sept. 6.—The Workingmen,s Party, having rejected all proffers of political alliances, to night nominated for Mayor Joseph Thompson. The canidate is a working blacksmith, and has never had any experience in public life, but has intelli gence above his class. In his speech of acceptance he indorsed the most advanced doetrine3 of the platform, and was very bitter on capitals and eor- poratios. The general tone of the speaking in the convention was more communistic than at any pre vious gathering, and the large audience was fre quently worked into a frenzy of excitement by such phrases as hell-born and hell-bound moneyed ari stocracy.” The Workingmen’s party continues to grow, and politicans no longer pretend to conceal their apprehensions of its great strength. INSTINCT PRINT