Continued from 3d page.
••If the letter yon brought there is intended
for Mademoiselle Robert, it has oome too late;
for she left half an honr ago for the convent of
8aint-Vincent de Paul, where she is going to be
In the forest of Hallet, two men are convers
ing in a poor hut, before a table where can be
seen the remains of a frugal repast
At the door a fine dog is lying, raising his
head occasionally to catch the least sound com
ing to his ears.
One of these men is Touguy the owner of the
hut an old chman like his friend, who is no oth
er than Liardot dressed as a peddler.
‘It is time for me to leave,’ said the latter.
‘Wait a little longer, Fleur de Rose; in less
than.nn tour it will be dark, and consequently
"^Yes, but I want to be at the anse de Biville
before dark, for fear 1 shall get lost ’
‘No danger. And should you not remember
the way, Maneheu’s dog would find it,’
‘Speaking of Maneheu, has he been seen agaid
around here ?'
‘No; but it is not to be regretted, for I tell
you he was a bad man—’
‘Are you sure,’ interrupted Liardot, ‘that I
shall find the bark at Biville?’
‘Yes, my little boy is on board, and he will
tell the captain who you are; otherwise he would
not take you in.'
•Would it not be shorter for me to go by the
farm of Roie-Guillaume than through the waste
—‘Y-g, but I do not advise you to pass by the
farm—because,’ lowering the voice, ‘the house
is haunted, and I believe it is the soul of poor
Louise Maneheu, who comes back to its old
place, for strange noises are heard there at
‘‘Hie dead don’t come back to this world,
friend Tanguy. But never mind; it is time to
leave,’ and whistling for Jacobin, the old chou-
an took his stick and shaking hands with Tau-
*Good*bye,’ said he, ‘I believe we shall not see
4wh other again. I don’t want you to die in
this poor hut Take this hundred louis and
buy a house at Treport and live there.’
‘Hundred gold pieces!’ exclaimed the poor old
maw ‘what shall I ever do with so much mon
‘You will leave it to your boy, if you don’t
spend it all. Take it and let me go. ’
Liardot had traveled for five hours with Ja
cobin, when he perceived the farm of Bois-Guil-
laune. What old Tanguy had told him,
passed through his mind, while looking at the
ruins of the old house he had seen on fire,
when Cadoudal landed.
He had stopped only a moment there, when
Jaeobin begun growling. He listened and
heard a noise like the sound of a hammer or a
pick, striking some sort of metal. He tried to
climb a pile of rocks near by, to ascertain what
the noise was, but a man jumped from about
ten yards further, and ran towards the sea. Ja
cobin ran after him, and Liardot was about to
fellow the dog, when his feet became entangled
among some roots and he fell on a brier hedge.
At the same time Jacobin ran back to him bark
ing painfully and bleeding abundantly.
Liardot mad with anger, took a pistol to
run after the man, but unable to see his way
through, he concluded to go where the man had
come from. Going towards the house, he saw a
light at the foot of the steps leading to the cel
lar. By the light was a large iron safe that had
been broken open. It was evident that Liardot
had arrived at the moment the man had finish
ed his work. But who was i that man? .Goulds
he be Maneheu? And who but he coulo know
that there was money there?
Leaving the house, he started towards the
cliff, where he expected to meet the bark. There
he looked down the chasm, but could not see
anything on account of the darkness of the
night. Meanwhile, Jacobin seemed uneasy and
Liardot had some difficulty in making him lie
The sea was as calm as a lake, and a light mist
rising on the horizon, enabled Liardot to see the
bark at a short distance. His attention being
attracted in that direction, he did not see what
transpired at bis feet in less time than it takes
to write it. A man emerging from the cliff,
pointed a pistol towards Liardot’6 breast, and
fired, almost touching him with his weapon.
‘This time I did notmiss him,' said Maneheu,
for it was he.
Liardot had been killed instantly.
But Maneheu, twice a murderer, had not
thought of the dog. Jacobin sprang upon him,
caught him by the throat and rolled down with
him to the bottom of the chasm !
The last of the Earomesnils was avenged.
The Bailors of the bark found on the rocks in
the morning the corpse of a man who had on
him a considerable sum in gold. The dog was
dead, but was holding yet to the throat ef the
TAKE CARE WHOM
BY COMPTON READE.
Liardot was not recognized by anybody.
Francois Robert was billed at Waterloo, and
Sister Marcelle (Gabrielle) died of yellow fever
at Barcelone, where she had gone to nurse the
victims of the terrible epidemic of 1822. But
the detective Caillotte survived them all. We
may hear of him again.
The kingdom of the juBt is not of this world
The Gold-Shod Mare Again—A Romantic
Appropos of the mare that was recently shod
with gold at Edinburgh:—That mare has a his
tory. Her owner, Miss Thomson, is an Ameri
can heiress worth about half a million of dol
lars. She has naturally been, ever since she
reached a marriageable age, the object of per
sistent attentions on the part of a crowd of
needy fortune-hunters, and her life has in con
sequence been rendered a burden to her. They
drove her nearly wild, and she had a very nar
row escape of being hunted down. It was in
this wise. One of her admirers was a dashing
and handsome fellow, but a terrible scapegrace,
and she did not care for him; but he amused
her, and she found it at last very difficult to get
rid of him. She had just purchased this mare,
and in one of her mad freaks, she told this gal
lant suitor that he might have her hand if he
could beat her mare in a half-mile gallop, she
riding the mare horself. He accepted the chal
lenge, and a moment later she repented of it.
However, there was no help for it, and the race
for a wife had to come off. It was a neck-and-
neck affair, for the Btakes were heavy, but the
mare drew away at the finish, and won by a
length. It was in gratitude for the victory
which saved her from a husband that Miss
Thomson recently had that mare shod with gold.
All women play cards alike. Watch a woman
at a game of whist, and you’ll get a pretty correct
idea of how all women play whist: “Lame,
Henry, is it my play? Let me see—second hand
low—that’s the first time around of that suit,
ain’t it? Well, I’ll play—no, I hardly think I
will—now you stop looking at my hand—did
; ou see anything—of course I’m going to play,
ut I must have time to think—what's trumps—
spades—I thought 'twas clubs—well, I’ll—no—
J es—well, there!’’ Then she will clap an ace oh
er partner's king and insist upon keeping the
trick for tear she will be cheated out of it in the’
I final count.
Miss Smith—or, as we know her better—
Lady Montresor’s Poodle, played her game of
deceit with muoh pluck, and some little skill.
Like every woman under the sun she believed
in the infallibility of the medical profession.
Sir Joseph Toadie bad advised her privately
that Lady Montresor’s chances of life were ex
ceedingly small. This dictum of the learned
physician formed the major premiss of Miss
Poodle’s line of action. She speculated on
being her mistress’ heiress in default of anyone
with a superior claim. Should that lady hap
pen to survive her husband the amount she
Wflid have it in her power to bequeath would
be almost of fabulous quantity. In any case,
however, valuable pictures, jewelry, etc., etc.,
represented a sum well wortn scheming after.
Perhaps, even such a gay Lothario as her friend
Mr. Barwyn might cast a more favorable eye on
one who became seized of mnch personal prop
erty. Besides, she could devote a portion to
the well-being of Mr. Barwyn’s numerous prog
eny, in whom, strange to say, she took a warm
Day after day—twice or three times, indeed,
per diem—did poor Ralph call. The answer
was the same. ‘ Lady Montresor very ill, could
see no one.’ Then Miss Smith herself inter
viewed the ardent lover, and proved well equal
to the occasion. ‘ Did Mr. Ralph wish to kill
Lady Montresor?' No? Then he must forego
the pleasure of seeing her just yet.’ To
which mandate he could but be obedient; so he
relieved his mind by writing to her reams of
love which were duly read, laughed at, and
burnt by Miss Smith and Mr. Barwyn. As for
the poor lady herself, when she was informed
that her lover had neither called nor written,
she suffered a relapse, and in her turn wrote in
the language of love, sending many missives
and messages, which were never allowed to
reach their destination; until at last her aston
ishment, anger, and donbt, reached a climax,
and she vowed that should it cause her instant
death, she would see him, and demand an ex
Here was an unexpected difficulty. My lady
was self-willed enough to disobey Sir Joseph
Toadie. or any other doctor. That Poodle knew
by experience. In haste she consulted her con
Barwyn was a man not readily foiled. Within
a few hours he had packed off Ralph to Man
chester to supply the place of a tenor in an
oratorio; said tenor having telegraphed that he
was voiceless from cold. Then Lady Montre
sor, at once, was driven to Ralph’s lodgings in
Westbenrne Park Terrace.
‘ Mr. Ralph,’ said the landlady, ‘ was gone out
of town that very day. She didn’t know when
he meant to return. It might be a week or so.
It might be more or less. Mr. Ralph had not
left word. She believed he had gone to Man
Feminine curiosity was not satisfied. Lady
Montresor, as an excuse for a reconnoitre, de
clared she must lie down. The jolting of the
brongham had brought on palpitations. So, by
permission of the landlady, she was taken in
doors, and deposited on Ralph's sofa. Eagerly
did her eyes scan the room to see if there were
any traces of her own hand-writing. But no!
Thtie **b but one letter lying about, and that
unopened. At her request Poodle placed it in
her hands. It was from Adine, who had begun
to regret that words, spoken with the best in
tention, had been productive of a rupture.
She really liked Ralph, and he was their one
friend in London; so that she hoped a soft let
ter might torn away his wrath, more especially
if 6he ceded a small point of morality.
The moment Lady Montresor caught sight of
the monogram A.L., she, I am ashamed to say,
tore open the letter, which ran as follows:
‘ Dearest Mr. Ralph,—I don’t think old and
true friends ought to quarrel for the sake of a
total stranger. Let us agree to differ about
Lady Montresor; and as I shall be all alone to
morrow evening, Mr. Lovett having to go down
after office hours with a City gentleman to Cold-
hole, I hope you will come to a tete-a-tete supper
‘ Yonrs most sinoerely,
‘Poodle,’ faltered poor Lady Montresor, as
she hastily crumpled up the letter and thrust it
into her pooket, * I’m ill, dear—very ill. Take
me home—and—let me die. I thought as muoh.
A fresh-faced country girl—married, too. Oh !
my heart, my heart.’
The suffering on that beautiful face would
have melted the soul of a stone. For a second,
Poodle thought how she would feel had she lost
her own lover; and this thought evoked just
enough pity to cause a few tears to flow, which
of course Lady Montresor misinterpreted as
being shed for her.
‘Poodle, dearey,’ she gasped, ‘no one in the
whole world cares for me but you. Bless you
for it, my friend—my dear, kind friend.’
Whereupon Poodle’s tears flowed all the faster.
On the morning following, Lady Montresor,
bag and baggage, accompanied by faithful Miss
Smith, started for Spa, leaving behind her the
following note for Ralph, which, strange to say,
did not reach its destination:
‘ Dear Mr. Ralph,—The insufferable heat of
the last few days has forced me to take refuge
in flight to an airier locality than this Meso
potamian region; nor do I contemplate a speedy
return, believing that an entire change of hab
its and scene will do much towards erasing
memories which had better perhaps never have
been occasioned. With every best wish,
‘I am, yours truly,
‘Ha, ha!’ sneered Barwyn, on the Sunday
following. ‘ So, Mr. Ralph, my lady has given
you the slip.’
* I’ve heard that’s Bhe’s gone abroad,’ faltered
Ralph, very crestfallen.
‘ And dropt you like a red hot poker. Eh ?’
• Who told you so ?’
‘ A little bird. Cheer up, my boy, it’s her
way. She has always got a new pet animal
about her. After a time, she get’s tired of him,
and, presto, another reigns in his stead. Poodle
& the only permanence in that establishment,
and even her tenure of office is at times inse
cure.’ i~> <
Ralph was in no fighting humor, so he sighed
and tamed away from his victorions opponent.
He seemed to have lost heart. His life ap
peared corroded-' Everything had changed
from gold to grey. Foi^ her sake he had in
jured his conscience, broken with his oldest
and truest friends, perhaps lost something of
repute among his own circle. And for what ?
To be toyed with, fooled, deserted, perhaps
ridiculed. His thoughts were indeed bitter;
nor must we cast too heavy a stone at his yonng
head for the sins which a great grief prompted
him to commit. For the nonoe, however, we
most leave him; an altered being; no longer
the art-student sans reprocke, but a wild soul,
not‘perhaps so much demoralized, as 'reckless
of a-life which had lost to him its one mighty
The next two months were employed by Theo
dore Lovett in an endeavor, more vain than
that of Sisyphus. Mr. Priest settled terms for
him with the Peculiar Advance Co., at a suffici
ently exorbitant rate of interest, . and for the
nonce Coldhold advowson was his, to sell with
immediate possession. But neither Mr. Priest
nor Mr. Lovett knew till long afterwards, that,
simultaneously with this arrangement, Mr,
Plnmley had sent round to every clerical agent
in London, to warn them that there were ‘diffi
culties’ in respect of the transfer of Coldhole ad
vowson. The result of this manoenver was, that
man after man went to see Coldhole, liked the
place, thought the price equitable, and then
consulted an agent, who choked him off. Time
rolled on, despair advanced.
To raise monev they had pawned their furni
ture. Soon, even the cheap lodgings in Port- "*y_ T pr< ^
obello Park appeared to be too dear for them, ne ...
for Sunday duty is not easily obtainable in Lon
don, and the whole week was employed by the
unfortunate clergyman in dodging from agent
to agent, from office to office, and attending the
beck and call of purchasers, who never purcha
* We will ask Mr- Chowner to take in nurse
and baby,’ said Adine, with a rueful face at the
idea of parting from her little one. ‘ The coun
try air will do him good, and Mrs. Chowner is
always kind. Besides, now that her poor hus
band is so completely hors da combat, it may in
terest her to have a child in the house. Oh,
Dore! if only Aunt Effler were sane, I would
fall down on my knees, and pray her lor God’s
sake to help us.’
‘ And I would become the slave of any good
Samaritan who would give me hilf such a pit
tance as I enjoyed at dear old Mudflat,’ echoed
Three days afterwards away went baby, the
light of his mother’s eyes, and then the mother
began to fret—not in words; she was as brave as
good; but inwardly—during the long hours when
her husband was tramping all over London in
bis fruitless but determined efforts to save him
self. On the same evil day that they lost their
child, a writ was served by Mr. Bulps for the
lien of six hundred pounds still due on St.
Mary’s Chapel. Mr. Priest advised his client to
accept judgment; then, unless be could obtain
a written promise from his suicor not to act
upon it, and he was of opinion that such a
promise could not be obtained, to hide.
Mr. Priest’s judgement proved to be sound.
Mr. Bulps, furious at the loss of his money, re
fused to answer letters, referring Mr. Lovett to
his solicitor, Mr Petifer. Nothing, therefore,
remained but to go into obsenrity, and with
this view they slipped away one dark night, un
observed, to a quiet lodging in Kensington.
Adine’s jewelry already had begun to be pnt in
request to provide food; the wolf was at their
door, and the sadden alteration in their circum
stances was beginning to tell on both.
At length the precipus three months drew to
an end. The morrow being positively the last
day, Mr. Lovett called on Mr. Plnmley to sug
gest that he should be appointed to Coldhole
himself, until a purchaser could be found,
when he would vacate.
‘The nomination,’ observed that gentleman,
‘for this turn to Coldhole is in the hands of Mr.
Blackley senior, who certainly will not act in
so hostile a spirit towards us. ’
•Towards you ?’
‘Certainly, sir If you should be instituted,
you might remain incumbent for yonr life. No
one could eject you.’
•But I would bind myself under a penalty.’
‘Illegal, such penalty would be waste paper.’
‘Is there no hope ?’
Mr. Plnmley could not reply to this; nor
could he give Mr. Lc-ett more of his time. So
with tho ooiuunt r/yjA- Ire- bowed his victim
Scarce had he reached the end of Bedford
Row when Mr. Plumley’s clerk served him with
a writ at the suit of the Rev. Horace Blackley.
The utter villainy of this proceeding so total
ly absorbed all other considerations as to raise
the lion in this meek-spirited man. He resolved
to act, and act with determination. Marching
to the nearest pawn-broker’s, he pledged his
watch, and sending Adine a telegram to tell her
that he was gone down to Mudflat, took the next
third-class train, arriving at his journey’s end
With what terrible emotions did the poor soul
view bis old home. There it stood out in the
grey among the trees. The lights were burning
cheerfully tnrough the crimson curtains. Men
returning from ther work touched their hats,
and tried to engage him in conversation; but
Mr. Lovett had no words. He dashed up to the
door, and administered a knock pregnant with
* Is Mr. Blackley at home ?’
‘Yes, sir-but—but there’s a dinner party
‘Never mind. Show me into the study. I
must see him.’
There was evidently a flutter in the dining
room as this message was delivered. Instead of
the Rev. Horace, Mrs. Blackley stalked into the
study, attired majestically.
‘ Could you not see Mr. Blackley to-morrow ?’
said she, very pale. ‘ I hope nothing is the mat
ter. Won’t you come in and join hs ? Only the
Rural Dean and his wife, and one or two neigh
‘Thank you,’ responded he. ‘I cannot eat,
Mrs. Blackley, least of all yonr husband’s food.
I am in too great distress. Still I have no de
sire to disturb your party.’ He could not make
np his mind to be rude to a lady. * Perhaps Mr.
Blackley could be spared an hour’s time V
* Yes; I think so,’ faltered she. ‘ Will yon wait
here ? Shall I send you some refreshment?’ To
Bpeak the troth, Mrs. Blackley was woman
enongh to feel for bis obvious unhappiness. Of
the cause she was profoundly ignorant; she did
not know of undefined differences, and had been
lectured into a belief that Mr. Lovett had be
haved very badly.
Mr. Lovett coaid not wait He strode into the
village, and eagerly wended his way towards the
abode of Farmer Roper.
The door was opened by a gruff-looking man,
rather drunk than not. ‘ Farmer Roper ? Hey ?
He’s gone this month. Don’t know where to.
Don’t care. Last parson sold the living to mas
1 Who is your master ?’ cried Mr. Lovett.
‘Parson Blackley. I came along with him
out of Essex.’
‘ Did you ? Then don’t propagate such a false
hood as the one yon have just uttered. I am the
last parson, and I did not sell the living.'
•I do not know who yon are,’ granted the
man. ‘Master said as he had bonght the liv
ing, and he told me to tell the people so, and
they all says as it was a great sin of you to ruin
poor Farmer Roper.’
* I ruin Roper! What do you mean ?
‘ Well, you got him to spend all his money on
the land, on the understanding that you were
going to stop here, and then you go and sell the
living over his head.’ With which the man, Mr.
Blackley’s bailiff, shut the door in his face.
More angered than ever, Mr. Lovett walked
back to the vicarage. Mr. Blackley met him,
slightly flushed with wine, a very evil look on
his face, as of triumph hardly suppressed.
‘ Look, you 'villain!’ cried Mr. Lovett, bran
dishing the writ in the face of the sender.
* Tee, Mr. Lovett. I perceive that Mr. Plum-
ley has already acted on your instructions. You
surely don’t imagine that I am going to abandon
my 'claim ?’
‘ Sir,’ oried Mr. Lovett, tremulous with pas-
lion, ‘it is in vain to appeal to Christianity, or
indeed humanity, with such a rogue as you.
Had you one spark of honor, you would try to
rescue me from the hideous ruin in which I am
involved through you, and you alone.’
‘ I have a letter in yonr own hondwriting to
assert that I have acted by you honorably.’
‘ A letter forced from me—a letter I now re
* Mr. Lovett, I beg you will not shout in my
honse. You forget that you have selected as an
occasion to intrude upon me an evening when
we entertain oar friends.’
‘ Blackley, this is no time for idle punctilio.
I have oome here to tell you that I am desper
ate. I verily believe that you intend to consign
me to prison.’
‘ If you dare to make this unseemly noise, I—
I shall leave the room.’
‘ What matter ? I will tell my story to yonr
guests—I will proclaim your infamy to the
‘Stop—an end, if you please, to this. I con
clude you have come here to induce me to stay
‘That is part of my errand—only part.’
‘ Ah ! I can guess the rest. You think to bully
me out of hush-money. Mr. Lovett, a few words
in reply; and then, by your permission, I will
close this painfal interview. You are aware that,
from my point of view,’—shrugging his shoul
ders iu insolent contempt—‘you have not meted
me good measure from first to last. You have,
in short, not only returned evil for my good, but
have also aspersed recklessly my fair fame. It
cannot be, therefore, that xfoa deserve my mercy.
To this, I have to add an old score, of which I
presume you are ignorant, for wives do not, as
a rnle, make confidants of their husbands.’
Mr. Lovett paled. His tormentor smiled hor
ribly, as he proceeded, with provoking slowthof
‘ I was curate of St, ’s, at Brighton, and
there first made the acquaintance of Miss Adine
Sinclair. She was then a school-girl—young,
impetuous, very lovely. We—ah !—had a sort of
love affair, which began with a flirtation, and
• What can you mean ?’
Mr. Lovett’s face expressed some little sur
prise, mingled with obvious incredulity.
‘Just this much—that the same Adine Sin
clair played me fnlse. Ah ! you smile. Yon im
agine, in your innocence of heart, that I pro
posed, and was refused, in the ordinary society
style. Nothing of the sort. Had such been the
case I should not regard your wife as my debtor.
No—the fair young lady acted differently. She
accepted me as her lover. She did more, too,
than give me her heart—she Why, what is
the matter? Are you going to faint ?’
Well might he ask that question, for the lips
of his auditor blanched in a trice, whilst the
clenched teeth scarcely repressed a terrible emo
tion, as Mr. Blackley proceeded, in a lower tone:
‘ She eloped icith me !’
• ’Tis a paltry lie!’ shrieked the agonised man
—a righteous indignation fairly conquering his
‘You can interrogate Mrs. Lovett at your leis
ure,’ was the retort.
‘ Certainly not. I am not the man to hear my
wife slandered calmly, without ’
‘ Some kind of bravado, no donbt. A breach
of peace, committed by late Yicar on present
Vicar, would be a pretty bit of clerical scandal.
However, seriously, Mr. Lovett, l am not invent
ing; ergo, all things considered, you need not !
expect me to forego one item of advantage which
the law allows.’
If you were able to watch [narrowly the fea
tures of these two men, as they fronted each
other, you would perceive that the one who was
pale and trembling was not the coward; for the
other, whose words were so brave, was quailing
before the eye of honesty, whilst his legs show
ed symptoms ,of edging towards the door.
Mr. Lovett perceived the movement.
‘ Stop !' he cried; ‘you have said too much or
too little. I demand proof of these unmanly
insinuations of yours.’
Thus brought to bay, Mr. Blackley advanced
to bis desk, unlocked it, with well-affected com
posure, and tossed across to Mr. Lovett his
wife’s letter, imploring him, by their old friend
ship, to advance money. Then he watched him
read and flush crimson, and bite his lip for sor
row at Adine s foolish deceit. Then he remark
‘ Am I to suppose that Mrs. Lovett yrrote thus
with your knowledge and approval ?’
• No—it was unwise of my dear wife. Never
theless, I read here of nothing but friendship.
You, Blaekley, have given the matter a very
different colouring. This letter does not justi
fy you.’ ,
And Mr. Lovett looked very much as if he
‘ You had better ask your wife. ’
‘ No, I prefer to compel you to substantiate
‘ Suppose I were to decline ?’
• Then I shall administer to you the chastise
ment you so richly deserve.’
Horace Blackley paled. There was something
in his opponent’s manner which warned him
that he was capable of executing this threat,
irrespective of all consequences. He reflected
fora moment—then an idea flashed across his
‘I have stated,’he said, ‘that Miss Sinclair
eloped with me, from Brighton. The affair was
hushed up; and, evidently, care was taken to
prevent its eoming to your knowledge—perhaps
otherwise you might have been less eager in
your suit. Now, am I to understand that you
demand proof of this fact ? Yes ? Weil, you
are somewhat unreasonable; however, it does so
happen that, by a strange accident, I have a
witness close at band—in fact, in the village.
We pnt up at “The Langham;" and one of the
chambermaids of that hotel was a Mudflat girl.
Follow me, and you shall hear from the daugh
ter of Poacher Nevis ’
‘ A tissue of falsehoods. Do you suppose that
I should credit such a witness ?’
Mr. Blaekley shrugged his shoulders, impa
• At all evente,’he said, ‘yon can hardly be
lieve that I am in collusion with such a person,
more especially as yonr visit here is most un
expected. Go yourself, and ask the woman
Nevis whether I have spoken the truth.’
‘ No,’ replied Mr. Lovett, ‘I shall not. My
confidence in one who has been so true to me
from the first shall not be thus shaken. Yon
have Bpokeh of my debt to you, and of my
wife’s debt to you. Believe me, Horace Blackley,
there is a heavy debt you owe us both; and the
day will oome when that debt Bhall be paid in
full. As a Christian, I can forgive personal in
juries, however great; but, as a gentleman I can
not pass over an amputation on my dear wife’s
honour. For that you will have to answer.’
Baffled of the revenge he would have satiated
on the spot, Mr. Lovett tamed on his heel, to
the intense relief of Horace Blackley, who, as
soon as he heard the hall-door slam, gave stict
oruers that that person was on no account to be
re-admitted. Then he rejoined the Rural Dean,
and his clerical guests, and openly lamented
that his old friend Lovett was such a bad man
of business. He averred that he was a heavy
loser by his unjustifiable improvidence, and
thereby contrived to secure the condolence of
Mr. Lovett, angry-headed, but heavy-hearted,
stalked forth into darkness, resolved to push for
the nearest railway-station, and to return to
London by the night mail. He bad already got
as far as the end of the* little village, when, as
Ul l'uoh would have it, he espied a light in the
cottage of Poalher Nevis.
Thought he: ‘I am so eonvineed that I have
heard a lie, that I have a great mind to refute!it
by this woman’s witness. Let me only cross-
question her, and I shall arrive at the truth.
Then I will return to the Vicarage, and beard
this slanderer before his gnests.’
Perhaps, if he had not been over excited, he
would have reflected that such a course was hard
ly fair to Adine. Make, however, what allow
ances you can for a brain over-wrought—for a
soul ground down by adverse circumstance.
He had passed the cottage, but he turned
back, and, with a load rap, demanded admit-'
tance. The door was secured fast, for Mr. Nevis
was engaged in the manufacture of certain
snares, which would eventually yield a profit in
the shape of so many hares, or in a loss of lib
erty— owing to the lawB regarding game, which
are still in force, and interfere uncomfortably
with the romantic profession of a poacher.
‘Be that you, Bill?’ growled the old man,
from the inside.
‘It is Mr. Lovett,’ responded that gentleman.
‘ Muster ’oo ?’
Whereafter followed a considerable amount of
whispering between father and daughter, who
were clearly disagreed as to what course to
‘ Is it Mr. Lovick ?’ cried the woman, whose
ears were sharper than her father’s.
‘ Yes. I wish for a few words with yon.’
In an instant the door was opened, and the
bold-faced, bad woman faced him, smiling. She
conld not guess the purport of his visit; but it
did so happen that she had often discussed with
her father the propriety of extracting money out
of Mrs. Lovett by a threat of making mischief.
They had had, however, no means of ascertain
ing Qer address. This important item might
now be obtained from her htisband.
‘Hope you’re well, sir, and the young missus:
and where be you a-preaching of a Sunday now-
a-days ?’ she exclaimed, m a breath, as she offer
ed him a seat, which he declined. The old
poacher shuffled his wires into a canvas bag,
keeping an uneasy eye on the clergyman, lest
he should detect them.
‘Thank you! thank you!’ exclaimed Mr. Lov
ett, in a hurried, strange manner, which, with
his flushed face, did rot escape the keen eye of
the woman Nevis. ‘I believe you were former
ly one of the chambermaids at the Langham
Hotel, in London?’
‘That I were, for three'ears,’ answered she,
4 Mr. Blackley has just made a very strange
and incredible assertion concerning my wife,
‘ Oh!’ cried the woman, jumping hastily to a
conclusion that money might be made by tra
ducing Adine; ‘so you’ve found ’er hout, and
wants to know all about it?'
Mr. Lovett stared hard at the speaker, turned
to the door, for support, and, with one deep
groan, fell prone at her feet. She had dealt a
blow heavier than her imagination conld have
conceived, for he lay like one dead, whilst the
woman, stooping over him, rifled his pockets
to her heart’s content.
‘ Run to the vicarage, father!’ she cried. ‘Ax
for the parson, but don’t go for to tell no one of
(TO BB CONTINUED.)
New Fashions in Jewelry.
Etruscan gold jewelry is the popular wear
Most of the new patterns are copied from anti
ques, and please the most artistic taste. The
jewelry found in Cyprus has been taken for
models, and authentic copies have been made
of necklaces, brooches, pendants, earrings, etc.
The pale yellow gold is most used for these,
and the quaint pieces are necklaces of coins,
of pendant beads, lotos leaves, slender Roman
vases, the square cnmpanetla or.little bell, link
ed crescents, keys, etc.
Eab-ringh and Bbacelkts.—Handsome ear
rings of half-hoops, with tassels, have soft gold
rims that bend to pass through the ear in a
primitive and safe way.
Ear-rings are of the most varied designs—
round, long, short, or slender, to suit different
Slender bracelets are preferred to wide bands.
They are very narrow bands, with a sort of brooch
in the back, showing a flower in pearls, turquo
ises or other stones, or else a pendent locket;
or the back represents buckles, or a key or some
peculiar device. There are also bangle brace
lets, representing five bands clasped together.
The newest bangles consist of a chain, with pen
cil attached for making memoranda; they are
called shopping bracelets. The charity bangle
has a little case attached for receiving coins
Enamelled bracelets are also very fashionable,
and there are bracelets of squares of inlaid sil,
ver in Japanese styles. A large solitaire dia
mond on the baok of a narrow gold bracelet is
preferred to the clusters of smaller diamonds.
Necklaces and Rings.—Gold necklaces fit
closely, like dog collars, and are in designs of
lotos leaves or beads, or else they are Indian
patterns, made of gold beads all clustered to
gether, irregularly, or heavy gold fringes with
each strand forming a ball or a tassel, while
more expensive ones have Delhi paintings and
represents Hindoo gods- A novelty is the ban
gle necklace, which passes over the head as ban
gles do over the hand. This is a single stiff band,
with pendent ornaments—coins, CampaneUa
charms, and crescents.
Finger-rings have long marquise medallions,
or else they are separated like tiny bangles and
banded together. Diamonds are set to show no
gold, but merely to display the finely cut gem.
Turquoises and pearls take floral designes.
Large amethysts and large carbuncles are again
in favor, set in pale yellow gold. A great deal
of pieced work, in platinum and red gold is us
ed for mounting rich stones.
Newest Sensation in Bbacklets—the ehttke.
—The fashionable bracelet in Paris is called
Vesclavage. It is a fetter of gold, worn on the
arm above the elbow, and is riveted and solder
ed by the jeweller in the presence of the giver,
to be worn till death, or divorce, or separation.
The jeweller, when the operation is over, bids
the lady call next day to see that the rivet holds
firmly. She comes, and the treacherous gold
smith confides to her the secret of a concealed
spring, by means of which she conld remove
the fetter at will.
—“Johnny,” said a Fourth street mother to
her hopeful, “run down to Mr. Lee’s and get
me a pound of sugar, and stop in at Mrs. Par
ker’s and see if my polonaise is done, and tell
her I must have it as I’m going to a party to
night, and tell her to be sure and put in 19
brass buttons down the front, and, Johnny go
to yonr uncle’s and ask him to come down to
morrow, and stop on the way and get the um
brella we left last summer to be mended ■ it’s
got my name painted on it in big letters,’and
inquire if there is any letters in the post-office
and you might as well—Johnny, come back
here and listen to me—get some shavings as
you come back—and ask Mrs. Mudge for her
flat-iron, and get—but remember, Johnny, that
procrastination is the root of all evil ” Kni
Johnny went right off to hunt up Jim Ba~n«s.
ana go fishing, and asked him what procrasti
a student, an austere and grave sci
entific dignitary, an old man, may b* excused
if they use no perfume; but a womah, young
and beautiful, imaginative, gay, and happy,
cannot forego the luxury, the elegance, the pol
etry of perfume. °