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Twice Saved, AND HOW SHE DID IT! The Old Maid Happy at Last. (CoKCiUDBD. ) BY J. L. J. This she sent by the servant Dr. Jayes oaiae over early, and was delighted with the improvement in his patient “We shall soon have him well,’ be declared, hopefully. “He has a splendid constitution.” Hiss Kenneth made a pretence of taking her breakfast, but she felt ill nnd frightened. One moment she shivered with the cold, and the next her very breath seemed te scorch her trem ulous lips. When the summons came for her, she could scarcely walk. “ He insists upon seeing you alone," said Mrs. Alcott. “Please be careful, and do not ex cite him. Of course he owes his life to you.” With that she looked hard at Eleanor. Was there anything like love between these two peo ple. *‘1 had not thonght of that at all,” Eleanor said, absently. “ Home one else would doubt less have found him.” Then sue entered the room. He was deadly pale, but the old sweet, earnest look was in his face, and as he moved his eyes she discovered something that she had never seen before— something that stirred every pulse, something, too, that be did not mean to have there. “ I am glad you are better,” she began confus edly. “ In the excitement last evening I care lessly opened a letter belonging to you, as it was among mine, and 1 wish to apologize and restore it I was expecting to hear from my brother-in- law upon some business or I should not have been so stupid. He took the letter, and with a great effort opened it. The pallor of his face appeared to grow more marked, and his features sharpened with a struggle like that of death, and at first she thought he would faint. “Oh, what can I do?” she cried, in distress. “Nothing. Do not be so terrified, Miss Ken neth. I think 1 shall have a giant’s strength up to the last moment, and I couldn't give you pain by dying here before your eyes. Though under ordinary circumstances a man ought to be thank ful to a woman who has snatched him from death—still, I am not sure but that death would have been the best thing for me. I am reaping the result of my folly.” “You are in some trouble.” “Yes; but a good and honorable woman like you would be shocked by the story—a common enough one, too; perhaps the most sensible thing for me to do w ould be to tear off thtse bandages quietly, and drift ont of the world. If 1 live, it is ruin, disgrace—worse, mayhap.” She came a step nearer. “Y T ou did not mean to take yonr life yester day ? ” she asked, with a nameless terror in her voice. “Oh.no. Don’t think me so weak. Besides, I was not sure it would be so bad then. I ought not to have gone, hut—it seemed the less of two evils. I did not dare trust myselt here with you, and if I remained I could not stay away from yon. Miss Kenneth, let me confess the sum of my villanies. 1 am engaged to a girl who I have every reason to believe loves me. For her sake I was making habte to be rich. I have used some money confided tc my cure, and lost it. I have met with a woman who could be the ideal of any honest and honorable man’s life and love. She has given no encouragement by word or deed that she could care for me; but through her I have learned how tender and absorbing a pas sion might enter a man’s soul and reviviiy it. So here 1 tell her the truth, that she may despise me, as I deserve. All this you see is the bitter sting in the sweet knowledge that you have saved my life.” He was quite exhausted then, and turned his face over on the pillow. She seemed to be per fectly antGmatic in the first moments following his confession, not taking in the full sense of anything. “Have y ou no friends—” “There is not a man in the world to whom I could confide this horrible business. I might have borrowed the money and replaced it, but when one bus always been considered honor able” He paused, and the scornful intona tion in his weuk voice died away ere he re sumed, “So y ou see it is best for me to make a finish of this little thing we call life. I am not sure bat that 1 could die quite easily.” He looked as if he might. His eyes were growing glassy and sunken, and his lips were as colorless as his brow. “If this money were replaced—” “But it cannot be now. It is my punishment for sin. It looked so plausible then—” His voice sabk away to a whisper. A slight tremor ran over him, and then all was still. Eleanor applied the nearest restorative, and afterwards summoned Mrs. Alcott. “O Eleanor, how could y ou ! I was afraid of this. The doctor said all depended upon his being kept quiet and free from excitement." Eleanor Kenneth answered not a word. She seemed to he in a maze whichever way she tnrned. Standing there so white and still seemed to annoy Mrs. Alcott, so she turned and went out of the room. The fact that Mr. Palmer did or could have loved her bad very little weight with her then. After confessing all these sins and weaknesses he had fallen lar below her ideal. Yet she ex perienced a profound pity for him. She had picked up the fatal letter, and still held it in her hand. Now she read it thorough ly. As far as she conld understand the case, there was urgent and immediate need for three thousand pounds, the money held in trust. Gordon Palmer had used it for private specula tion. After all, what was it to her ? They were the simplest of summer friends. Were they ? She looked closely into her own heart. If she were a man she would not hesitate tosav- him. For ever afterwards they would be friends. She had begun to experience the narrowness and loneliness of her own life, and was longing to do something that wonld take her beyond the every-day round, give her a warm and vital interest in her fellow-creatures. Bu£ this would yield no such fruits. His al legiance was to another woman. If he wavered here for her sake, might be not some time waver elsewhere for another’s sake ? Tet it would be so very easy to save him. The knowledge and desire grew upon her, as well as the peculiar craving for something strange and new. If she resened this sonl now, it might never yield to temptation in the years to oome. Bnt it wonld be for another woman’s pleasure and happiness—to see other lips quaffing the delicious draught and basking in the sunshine of proeperity ! Then she thrnst sside the joil- pain. If there was any grace or virtue or nobleness in the deed, why-should she let« pet ty resentment stand in the way ? By noon she had decided. That he might die and she be greatly the loser thereby, never once entered her mind. In foot, she only thought of the ruin and disgraoe that would meet him on the threshold of returning health. Mrs. Aloott made no demur and asked no questions. She thought it quite as well that Eleanor should be out of the way for a day or two. Eleanor was glad to find her brother-in-law, Mr. Gale, absent from town. She drew on him for three thousand pounds, and deposited it in a bank subject to Gordon Palmer’s order. It was, after all, such an easy thing to do. For the next ten days Palmer hovered be tween life and death. He was delirious most of the time, but so incoherent it mattered little what he said. When Mrs. Allcott was wearied out, Eleanor took her place and won golden encomiums. She was cool and calm and steady enough now. Rosamond Archer was sent for through Dick Bassett’s intervention. He was surprised to find that Eleanor knew of his friend's engage ment Mr. Basset came to her with an anxious face one morning. There was some trouble in Palmer’s money affairs. “It’s a mistake, I know, for I’d stake my very soul on Palmer’s honesty. He couldn’t do a mean or questionable thing. Only there ought to be a large sum of money—bang it! if I bad three thousand pounds of my own, there should not he another word said. No one wonld dare hint it now if he was not lying on his back with not as much sense as a kitten.” She had much ado to keep the scarlet ont of her face and the sudden tremor from her voice. “Have you looked through all his papers ?” she asked. “All the important ones, I think.” “I laid a little pareel in that small drawer. Mrs. Alcott has the key. It was a day or two after the accident. Mrs. Alcoit had mislaid the key, and there was great search for one that wonld fit. There were some of Miss Archer's letters, busi ness memoranda, and the receipt book of the deposit. “Good ! I knew he had everything all right,” said the delighted fellow. “I shall take it upon myself to go straight to London and stop this abominable suspicion. The party can have their money at a moment's notice.” Eleanor made no reply. Basset was off on the next train. Rosamond Archer came that day, a lovely, pe tite, graceful girl, with curls like floss silk and a voice as sweet ss a bird. Eleanor did not wonder that Palmer had been enchanted. These were the women that always carried men captive. Then there was a great difference between eighteen and thirty, she admitted with a sigh. The message had followed Miss Archer from place to place, the delay nearly driving her frantic. Her despair and sorrow, that refused comfort, roused every one’s sympathy. Her whole soul seemed to be centered in Gordon Palmer’s life. Everybody was interested in her immediately. Flowers, luxuries and delicacies of all kinds were showered upon these two, who gave the hotel such an air of romance. Eleanor Kenneth did not take cordially to her rival. Perhaps that was not in woman's nature. Her presence was necessary in the sick room, lor though Rosamond conld arrange flowers to per fection, and bend over her lover in speechless grief, she had no taste for the small, tiresome details. She fanned him ten minutes, Eleanor by the hour; she grew tired of the enforced quiet and solitude, ,tind accepted invitatiocs to ride or walk, for her aunt was very solicitons about her health. Eleanor grew a little paler and thinner, but no one remarked it; in fact, all the rest were half infatuated about Miss Archer. One day Basset had taken her ont on a drive, and Palmer and Miss Kenneth were alone. He was beginning to sit up, and had been reading some letters from London. What between these and his friend’s confused accounts, he was be ginning to suspect the truth. He had been mi raculously saved. He watched her now, and noted what the world had failed to see. She was looking tired and sad. “Miss Kenneth,” he began, in a weak, quiver ing voice, “I do not know how to thank you for yonr friendship. Such things look possible in books, but one rarely finds them outside of romance.” “If you are satisfied to live and make the best of life, it will be a sufficient reward to me.” “I have thought of it a good deal lying here. I mean, heaven helping me, to go back to my faith of five years ago, even if I take with it poverty. For then 1 was an honorable man, MissKenneth. If I conld have met you then!” “Perhaps it is better now. You may need a friend.” “Such a one as yon have been. Say an angel, rather. I am not worthy to worship you in silence. 1 can guess that you have been my benefactor. I felt at first that I conld not ac cept salvation and a fair name throngh a woman who must always despise me.” “Hush do not speak of it. You would take it from any other friend.” “It is done, and I cannot help myself. There were three thousand pounds to my acconnt at the bank. I want to give you a note for it now. Principal and interest shall be paid, if my life he spared, before I indulge myself in one wish or desire.” “Do not make it too much of a burden,” she said, smiling. “In my desk there you will find some paper. I cannot rest until the matter is properly ar ranged. For the rest nothing on earth could re pay you.” When she Baw how earnest he was she brought him the pen and paper. “The kindness comes down to a very com mon-place basis,” she said, quietly. “ It is merely an exchange of securities—so much money for so many years at so much interest.” “Bat I remember when and how you did it. I might have died.” “1 felt sure that you would not. I did not suppose I was running any risk. Yon see I am a sharp business woman alter all.” He wonld not smile. Presently he tnrned away his head that she might not see the slow-dropping tears; but, wo man-like, Bhe knew they were there. Indeed, shefelt like crying herself. She wonld have liked to bury her face on the pillow beside his, for she felt weak and foolish as the veriest girl. “I think you will never regret yonr good work,” he said at length. And then there was a long silence. A week later there was a general dispersion at Tower Point Vacations were over, and sum mer was drawing to a close. The men returned to business, the women to put their houses in order. Palmer went to London, thongh he was hardly able, while Rosamond and her annt started afresh on their French tonr. Eleanor rejoined her sister in Ootober. She had been there hardly a week when Gordon Palmer called on her. “I have been settling np my business,” he ex- f lained, “and find myself really better off than expected. So 1 have brought yon a check for five hundred. I am going on a business jour ney and shall not be back before March.” “But your marriage?” she said ia astonish ment “It has been put off for a year. I must get out of debt first, so it may be longer. But Rosa mond was sweet as an angel, and willing to wait” Both saw the gulf between them. There was no bridging it over. “I can only wish you success,” she said. “Courage and truth and manliness may achievd it We pride ourselves upon our strength, but it is not as all-powerful as we im agine. I mean that you shall never be ashamed of having saved me.” Eleanor confessed honestly enongh to herself, that night, that Bhe cared more for this man than any one she had ever met. Looking over the events now, it seemed so strange that she shonld go to Tower Point to find this nnusual episode, and come so near falling in love with a man whose allegiance had been given elsewhere. She fought bravely against the inclination, and tried to feel interested in her sister's gaieties. Miss Aroher came back at midwinter and made a little dazzle in society, attaching herself oddly enough to Eleanor. She loved to talk to Gordon Palmer. Her aunt thought it queer and crochety of him to give np his business and start off in snch a sudden fashion, bat Rosamond had all faith in him. Why had fate brought these two together? They were alike in so many respects, and where Palmer was weakest Rosamond wonld never have any strength to give him. Indeed, she conld not see that he needed any. Not that he was likely ever to go astray again. He was not that kind of a man to need two lessons. Sometimes Eleanor wondered what Rosamond would have done under similar cironmstances. She was quite a rich woman, and would be her aunt's heir, as that lady freely admitted. She found out one day. A gentleman, whose char acter had hitherto been irreproachable, had yielded to the momentary madness of tempta tion. “It is the one thing that I conld not forgive,” Rosamond declared with energy. “To think of a person for whom yon have cared being a— thief! for it is that. If I were Mrs. Lambert I conld never love him again, never?” “I think she was very noble to give up her private fortune in order to settle the claim as far as she could,” Eleanor replied, softly. “I think it very foolish. I shonld have kept my money for myself and my children. If he was weak enough to sin he shonld pay the pen alty.” The pretty face settled into hard lines. No; Gordon Palmer wonld not have had a merciful judge in her. Palmer returned in the spring. He had been very successful, and added another five hundred towards the payment uf his debt, real izing, with a pain at his heart, how slow the work must be. There was a little talk of marriage, and he told Rjsamond as much of the truth as it was necessary for her to know, and offered her her lreedom, since it must be some time before he would be able to marry. “It is very sensible in him,” said Mrs. Willis, when she heard it. “And Rosamond, I shonld take him at his word. He certainly has grown queer about some things. Mr. Gnmmings said there was no need of his giving np his business, as he did a year ago, and taking a position no higher than a clerkship. You can do mnch bet ter. ” Rosamond had loved him very much, she thought. Bnt if he was going to give np his ambition, and his prospects of being rioh, for the sake of a few whims, perhaps it would be as well for her to mercise a little judgment. And when, a-jwtth later, she had a very ad vantageous offer, she sent back her diamond engagement ring. “The end of a woman's love,” Palmer said to himself, with a little sigh. For her sake he had been mad enongh to sin, to risk the reputation of years. She would never know it, to be sure—the knowledge might have made her more tender—but he had no mind to run the risk. He knew of only one woman grand enough to forgive it. Eleanor heard of the rupture, and Rosamond’s speedy marriage. She was disappointed in that Palmer neither wrote nor came. Daily she asked herself what she was hoping for. Already she had refused a wealthy suitor, to her sister’s cha grin. It was not then that she cared particular ly about marriage, bnt she was becoming qnite a favorite with society, growing younger and prettier every day. An unlooked-for accident recalled Palmer. An nncle died and left him a thousand pounds. He heard that Miss Kenneth had gone to Tower Point, and followed her thither. It was a cool evening, late ia August. Afire of logs was blazing on the hearth of the music-room, aad diffused a subtle fragrance as well as warm'th. Nearly every one had left the house, as the season had come to a sadden and chilly ending. The summer had been rather gay, and she wanted to finish it with a week or two of quiet. Palmer arrived quite late. He Bnatched a hurried supper. “How surprised Miss Kenneth will be to see you,” Mrs. Alcott said. “We were talking of you this afternoon, and the accident, when you were here before.” So she did not forget him, then. “It seems only yesterday,” he returned, “and yet a great deal has happened since then. Has she gone to her room?” he asked, as he rose from the table. “I think not. I heard the piano a few mo ments ago.” He passed through the hall, and tapped light ly at the door, then entered. Eleanor was standing in front of the fire, tall, stately, yet gracious, looking so simply sweet, that he re alized how incomplete his life was without her. But he had no right to sentiment then, or ever. In her heart, no doubt she despised him. She broke the awkward spell with a little commonplace, talk and presently he told his erran . “I might have guessed,” she said, rather sadly, he thought. Then with a sudden vehemence, she added: “I wish this business between ns was at an end.” “Heaven knows I wish so, tool Are yon re penting yonr good deed 7” Her faoe was scarlet. “I did not mean that,” she returned, slowly. “Only it seems as if there ought to be some thing better in the world, in one’s thoughts, than money.” He smiled rather bitterly. “Let ns get over the unpleasantness, as soon as possible,” she said, in a fashion quite now to her, for she was usually se calm. With that, she brought her portfolio. He be gan to tell her of his good fortnne, wrote a lit tle, glancing up between the worda. If she conld have cared for him—if he oonld have gone back to the old Summer, bnt then he was bound. Every thing went awry in this world, he believed. She took the old note and the new one, twirl ed them nervously in her fingers, tore them up presently, and threw them in the blase. He was watching her, aa the oolor came nnd went in her faoe. “Oh, what have yon done ?’* She knew then, and gave an embarrassed laugh. It was foolish and useless, bat she felt that she loved this man, and with it came the consciousness that he loved her. “I oan soon remedy it,” and he reached for the pen. “Oh," she declared vehemently, “it is like wringing your heart’s blood ont, drop by drop! It is taking the best years of yonr life. When it is ended yon will hate me for laying snch a harden epoa von, if yoa do not before.” “Hate yon, Miss Kenneth t If I dared I shonld go down on my knees in this very place and worship yon as an angel ? If I were a free man, and if yon conld forget—” To come so near happiness, and then find this hatefal bar between. She tnrned impatiently, her faoe scarlet, her lips quivering. “ I don’t want to ask for the hope. If yon never smile upon me again, if you forbade me yonr presence. Heaven knows that I shonld be honest and upright to my latest moment That wonld be yonr reward for having reached ont yonr hand to save one bnman sonl. I must love yon always, forever.” Of course propriety demanded that she must wait and keep silence—the whole world would be shocked at any other proceeding. So she must shut herself out of years of happiness as a reward for that one generous impulse. The fire seemed to flioker before her, the lights grew dim, and she stretched forth her hands. Palmer seized them and covered them with kisses, came nearer and took her in his arms. 1 think neither could have told just what was said, but they felt that they belonged to one another, and that their secret would be one of the tenderest of bonds to bind them together. Mrs. Gale was very much surprised. “But Palmer is a splendid business man,” said her hnfcband, “though with a few queer crotchets in his brain. We will soon have him on the high road to fortnne again.” Bnt to both Palmer and Eleanor there seemed a higher and truer purpose to life than mere money getting. She had saved him in the best sense of the word, and was never to be ashamed of her work. THE GHOST —OF THE — MALMAISON. AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY Translated, from the French for the Scnnt South BY CHABLES GAILMABD. [Most of the characters in this story are not fictitious, bnt real personages who took conspicuous parts in some of the most important events which occurred during the rebellion of the Westof France—called Cluruannerit.] CHAPTER CIV. Gabrielle threw herself into her brother’s arms, but he pushed her back so.tiv. “Tell me all about it,” he said, “1 must know all that has happened. How did yon find out where was that ?” “A woman told me where he lived,” interrup ted Gabrielle, “a woman who was in the house to which he brought me from Tivoli. I went there; she had given me the name of the street and the way to enter. He is concealed in the ” “Don’t tell me anything of it; I cannot, I will not know anything about him. But when was that? It must have been after our conversa tion.” “Yes, brother, I had promised to give you an j answer to-day, and God knows that had I been j sure he was dead, I wonld have been ready to do | what pleases yon, but I wanted to know my ] fate.” i “I (So not ask you what yoa said, only tell me what time it was when you left him ?” “About twelve, I believe.” “That’s it,” muttered the officer. “What do you say ?” asked Gabrielle, anxious- j that. place in the city- I had promised yon the truth, I have told it to yon. I deplore the fatal circum stances that put you in contact with a conspir ator, but I have not the courage to address yon any reproach, and I will not speak to yon about your marriage with Perlier, until yon shall have mastered this unfortunate passion and be dis posed to listen to reason.” “Bnt what will beoome of him?” insisted Gabrielle. ‘His fate will be that whioh is awaiting those who fight against their country, and to that fate —terrible as it is—he will Bobmit with courage, for he is brave. What a misfortune that he did not follow a better cause f I tried to bring him to it. and if I oonld have saved him I would have done so.' “It is not too late yet,’ qnickly said the young girl. Robert did not answer, but shook his head. ‘And it is in yonr power to save him from the scaffold,' added Gabrielle. ‘Listen to me to the end, and you will see that I am right. He is ready to die for his king, and yon know that he will not betray his cause;but be understands that this cause is now lost. He can now qnit fight ing, since the war is virtually ended. He prom ised me that he wonld not take arms any mora against onr country, and would consent to live peaceably in a foreign land.’ ‘This wonld be very well if he were ont of France,’ sadly said the Mwjor, ‘bat how conld he leave. ’ ‘Yon can help him in that,’ risked Gabrielle. Francois Robert colored, rose from his seat and said sternly: ‘Yon certainly do not mean to ask me to forget my duty and betray my oath as a soldier ! Passion blinds you; I forgive you, but know that—should I be disposed to do such a thing, it is not in my power. Cadoudal’s case is now in the hands of justice, and nothing can stop it.’ ‘I know it; I know too that the condemnation of him I love is certain; bnt it is his life that I want to save, and for that he only needs a pass port to go ont of Paris. ’ ‘And do yon dare to aek me for snch a pass port ?’ ‘Yes, brother, I ask it from you who are so good, and who will not bring me to despair.’ ‘I have no authority to deliver passports, and shonld I have it, I would not use it in favor of that man.' ‘Maybe a simple permission to cross the gates would do ?’ ‘Neither passport nor authority. Nobody can go out of Paris now, and you must not imagine that my simple name would open the way for him.’ ‘But, still your soldiers pass every day.’ ‘Yes, when their service calls them out, but for this they must be in uniform, and besides, have a card with their name and number upon it. Yesterday my own Adjutant was obliged to show his twice to go to Maimaison, where I had sent him.’ ‘Then he has one of those cards?’ ‘Of course; I have one too, so has each of the officers. ‘Then I was right! Charles can be saved !’ ex claimed Gabrielle. ‘Is it seriously that my sister proposes to me such a treachery ?’ ‘Yes, and I do not blush for it; no more need you my brother blush if you shonld accord what I ask. It is the life of a brave, true man, that we save.’ •Well, dear Gabrielle, if I should listen to your prayer, I would be tried by a court mar tial and be expelled from the army, besides hav ing five years of bard labor in the penitentiary? Do you insist yet? Do you prefer this chouans life to yonr brother’s honor ?’ Gabrielle bent her head, and kept silent, but tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Speak, I make you the judge of this,’ said her brother; ‘ have I done enough for the man j who saved my life, or must I still give up for ! him my name and reputation as a French offi- | oer?’ No, no !’ answered Gabrielle, * I do not ask But the success of the substitution is cer- concealed ?’ ‘Is it a crime to help an obscure soldier to re tire from the battle-field where he is sure to die! Charles Valreas is ready to put down his arms; you can spare an enemy who surrenders and—’ ‘ What is that you say ? an obscure soldier! I will tell yon the true name of the man you wane me to save. He is no less than Coster de Saint Victor, the chief lieutenant of Georges Cadoudal, and, after his chief, the most dan gerous of all the chouans.’ ‘ Saint Victor ! you say his name is Saint Vic tor?’ exclaimed Gabrielle, startled by that ter rible revelation. ‘It is impossible! Then Charles has deceived me! .Who told you his name was Saint Victor?’ 1 Himself. I even think that he boasted of it.’ 4 Ah !’ muttered the young girl, ‘ I read that name ut the top of the list of proscriptions, with out knowing it was his. Then he is lost?’ ‘ I have already told you so.’ ‘ And, if captured, there is no mercy for him!' ‘No more than for his General; Bonaparte himself could not save him. Anyhow, this Saint Victor is too proud to accept a pardon from him whom he calls the usurper.’ •You see there, that you—only you—can save him, by giving him the card of your adjutant.’ ‘That is to say by disgracing myself. Never!’ •You refuse to listen to my prayers?’ ‘Altogether, and positively.’ •Then I have only to to die!’ ^murmured brielle. Ga- jy_ i tain, and no one wonld ever know that you had “I say that you were watched, and that by | a hand in it. following you, a man of Fouche’s police ha.s * I® if m y father s daughter who advises me to found out the hiding place of that chouan," ex- commit a crime, because that crime will remain claimed Fraacoise Robert “You think this?” “Yes; two hours—one hour—after you left him he came in here. He was running before a detective who was after him, and he tried to escape by jumping again into the river Seine. ” “Oh, how nnfortnnate I am !” cried Gabrielle, “I have killed him.” “No. This time as before be was not drowned, but be is lost, nevertheless,” said the Major. “Lost,” repeated Gabrielle. “Yes, lost,” emphatically said the Major. “Lis ten to me, Gabrielle, I assure you I say nothing but the truth. It was on the quay d’Orsay; that man saw me sitting by my window, and he came to ask me to conceal him, and ” “And yon refused ?” interrupted the young girl, “you rejected his prayer?” “Whom do you take me for, Gabrielle? I could have had him arrested, but did not doit.” “Ah !I knew yon were always the noblest and most generous of men.” “Those are big words for a simple act, said Robert, I was under obligations to him, re member. Occasion presented itself to pay my debt of gratitude; I paid it, and now we are square.” “But what has transpired between you? what did he tell you ?” “Nothing concerning yon, and very little con cerning himself. He entered my room like a bnmb shell, and I was so bewilldered to hear him ask my protection that I did not even en quire whence he had oome nor whither he was going.” “But you recieved him, you concealed him ?” “I had a great mind to pnthim out, but while we were talking the detective who had tracked him knocked to the door and claimed his chouan. He had seen him enter and knew he was there. The detective is the same who was with us on the road to Maimaison.” “Then he must have recognized him and he will pursue him until he captures him. ” “All I can tell you is that he did not take him in my room. I treated him as he deserves, and he did not stay there long.” “But what became of—Aim?” * “The chouan, yon mean ? I led him to a cellar with a door opening on me de Lille, I gave him the key. He remained there for the rest of the day, and when night came he went off. ” _ “ Thank you, Francois, thank you for him—for me!’ “Do not thank me; I have done what honor commanded. Bnt I think I put myself in a delicate position towards Foncbe. Half an hoar later the same detective with a force of police came baok and they wanted to search the whole garrison. I opposed it and threw them all in the Btreet Then I went to see Fonche. Wer had a stormy conversation, and he will certainly denounce me to Bonaparte; but the General knows my devotion to him, and I believe I am safe. Only I suppose I will never be employed any more against the chouans." “God be praised for it!’’exclaimed Gabrielle. “As an evidenee of what I said. I oan tell yon that last night a body of troops, taken from my own regiment, were Bent to snrronnd Georges Cadoudal’s house, and a Captain was the Commander. As for me I do not know yet exaotly what has transpired there. Yon see that in spite of all I have done for him, he ban- net fail to be oaptnred, for bis lodging plaoe is oertainly known to the deteotive who pursued him, and he must be wandering from plaoe to CHAPTER CV. These words were spoken by Gabrielle, so simply her eyes reflected such an irrevocable determination, that the Major conld not help sighing- He had an almost paternal affection for his sister, and a father cannot hear, unmov ed, his child speak of dying. The paleness and submission of Gabrielle, had more effect upon him, than her tears. Still, he did not want to yield, and he nndertook to persnade her, that even if he should consent to her re quest, it would not save St. Victor. ‘Gabrielle,’ said he, ‘you are pitiless. I nev er expected that yon would place me in the painful alternative, either to disgrace myself or abandon you to the blind infatuation, that has taken hold of yonr heart. How can yon be so cruel, as to threaten me with your death, if ‘I shall not kill myself,’interrupted Gabrielle. ‘God forbid. It is not suicide, bnt sorrow, that will kill me.’ 4 What matters it? if yon are lost for me; for me who have no other in thiB world. I love you so mnch, Gabrielle, that I doubt if I could have the courage to refuse you. To foroe you to live I might have committed an act for which I wonld have despised myself. But supposing that I wonld consent to let a chouan have the card of a brave soldier, how oonld I give it to him ? Yon know that he cannot go baok to his plaoe of con cealment’ * I know it’ 4 Then where to find him ? How to give him the card ?’ 4 Ah ! I find again yonr good heart {’exclaimed Gabrielle, 4 1 knew well that, except in a case of absolute impossibility—’ ‘ It is trne, I conld not resist yon,’ said Robert who thonght he was getting ont of the difficulty! * if I oonld know where he is—’ •Thank yon, thank you,’said Gabrielle, weep ing for joy, • I shall not abuse your kindness by asking you another oonsent; I only want to(