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THE STORIES.
BT SAUCE BOX.
Mv little trir! stood in the corner,
With her finiier in her month,
Looking wistfully at the whirling leaves,
That the winds hlew from the sonth.
If Gertie is bad. my daughter,
She must in the corner stay,
When little girls are naughty,
To punish them is the way.
Are you sorry yon told a story,
And hurt your mama to-day f
Von must surely ask God s foigivness
When you kneel to night to pray.
The dear little angels are weeping—
The tin gels, who watch up above., >
They’re sorry, after our father s care
That thus you repay his love.
She opened her blue eyes widely,
And tossed back her golden hair
And though her little ftp trembled,
She told me, she did'nt cure.
Night came, the birds were sleeping,
Ere mv little one went to rest,—
She came to me and said.
Laying her head on my breast.—
‘•Mama. I told you two stories,
When I said I did’nt care.
To-day, 1 saw the angel’s tears.
Floating right down in the air.
I felt so bad about it,
That I couldn’t sing all to-day,
And then I kept on thinking,
I wish I could hurry an’ pray.”
“And hav’nt they stopped crying
Because this little girl is bad ?”
“O me 1 how sorry I am
That I’ve made the angels sad.”
yet,
[Copyright Secured.]
WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY 1IAKY E. BRYAN.
[It is not claimed that all the minor incidents
of this stoiy are true, or that events occurred
exactly in the order of time they are here given,
but that the narrative outlines the actual his
tory of a noted career, and that the secret of the
culminating catastrophe (a political tragedy) is
true as here given.]
CHAPTER XI.
At length the iast hill was passed. She de
scended into the Lake Swamp, the undergrowth
vanished. Great tree boles rose like the masts
of a giant vessel; huge vines swung from them
like the ropes of the ship. The light of moon
and stars only here and there flickered through
the umbrageous gloom. For the first time the
chill of the night struck through her veins, and
she shivered with cold and fear.
‘Nero,’ she called to break the silence that
frightened her. The dog answered by a reas
suring bark. At last she came upon cleared
fields, and caught a gleam of the Lake lying un
der the moon. She looked to the right. There
should be a path here leadiug to captain Witch-
ell’s house. Ah! here it was, and yonder the
glimmer of a lamp at an upper window of the
house. Now, the outline of the building was
seen—dark against ihe sky. Two minutes more,
and with wildly-beating heart, she drew rein
before the gate of the low fence that enclosed
tuc jald Light Jti tillicl th/i'Ugh a haif-optiisd
window; she saw a man standing by the fire
place; she heard a voice speak, and another one
reply. At the same instant her ear caught the
tramp of an approaching horse. She must lose
no time. Summoning all her courage, she called
out hoarsely, ‘Halloo !’
A man came to the window, the spare straight
figure was Captain WitebeH’s, and it was his
voice that demanded.
‘What do you want ?’
‘To see you a moment.’
‘Won’t you come in?’
‘No; I must go back.’
‘Very well, I’ll come out.’
not let her ride back alone and unprotected. He
would follow her, and, without betraying that
be knew her, find Nome pretext to ride with
her, or at least so near her as to be at hand if
any danger befell her.
She had already left behind her the road through
the moon-lighted, cleared space, and had en
tered into the shadowy swamp. Fears began to
assail her. lest sue snould meet some of the
wild clan who might be coming to reconnoitre
the spot wh-re they meant, later, to do a lawless
and terrible deed. What had become of the
horseman she had heard following her, when
| she was on her way to carry the warning?
i Her horse was beginning to show signs of
| fatigue. .She patted him encouragingly. The
i swamp road was not so gloomy as it had been
j when she rode there half an hour before. The
moon had risen higher—gleams of light pen
etrated the frost-thinned boughs of ash and
hackberry.
Nero, running ahead, began to snuff the air
strangely. Suddenly he uttered the sharp
bark that betrays a near presence. Adelle’s
horse stopped and threw his head around. A
man on horseback emerged from the woods,
where he had been waiting, and rode straight to
her. Her first impulse was to turn and gallop
back to Witchell’s house, or at least to the open
meadow beyond these dark woods. She wheeled
her horse around, but the man was already
alongside. His hand grasped her bridle rein.
‘Off with your visor, Sir Knight,’ crUd La
nier’s mocking voice, as he struck off her cap
and sent her long hair tumbling about her
shoulders.
He laughed hoarsely.
‘Let’s have a better view.’
Quick as thought, he struck a match across
his saddle bow and held the blaze close to her.
It showed him a face pale as death; the lips
firm, but the dark eyes dilated like a startled
deer’s. A wilder fear leaped into them when
she saw his look. A sinister gleam gloated in
his blood-shot eyes, a cruel scorn writhed his
thin lips. Rage and revenge, fevered into de
lirium by liquor, glared close to her in that
bluish light. She saw with a shudder, that she
had to deal with a man beside himself.
‘Brave knight,’he began tauntingly, but his
voice dropped to a hissing whisper, as he leaned
close to her ear, T saw you, I knew you and
followed you. I would have caught up with
yon and spoiled your fine purpose, if this cursed
beast had held out as he ought. So you’ve
warned your precious lover. He’s ready for us
yonder, is he, with his guns and his nigger
guard? You’ve spoiled our game. Do you
think you shall not pay for it ? You shall. You
shall pay dearly for this, and for having played
your tricks upon me -fooled me and cast me off
for this radical hound. He shall never have
j von; no one shall ever have you, nor care to.
You shall be a mark of scorn for Aha ! that’s
your game, is it ?'
He caught the pistol he had detected her in
drawing from beneath her cloak. He tried to
wrench it from her hand, but her slim fingers
seemed all at once to be steel. Suddenly, she
let go the weapon. He had released his hold
upon her bridle in the struggle, and a word and
a quick blow made her horse bound forward in <
he direction in which she had wheeled him in
her first fright —the direction of the lake and
of Witchell’s house.
Before Lanier had recovered from his sur
prise at this sudden movement and had turned
his horse to follow her, she was some distance
ahead. He dashed the bloody spurs into his
horse’s Hanks, and started in pursuit. She was
going to Witchell to seek protection from him.
He would follow her, he would kill them both.
Rage and jealousy and revenge maddened him.
He was not a brave man. Cool resistance could
back him down in a little while: but. he had a
species of impetuous frenzy when passion or
strong drink, or both combined heated his
blood.
help, no defence. That was one of them yon
saw following me jn.st now. Where is he ? He
is only waiting for the others to come up to at
tack you. Captain Witchell go at once. Ride
to a place of safety, or get irtff your house and
arm your friends. Go.’
•I will not leave you, Miss Holman. Let me
help you to mount your horse. How cold your
hands are; and how you tremble ! Do not be
afraid any more. I will not leave you; I will
ride with yon to yonr home.’
He felt that he had the destiny of this girl
wholly in his hands. She was his to the heart 's
core, to make happy or miserable, as he chose.
Presently he said: ‘! will go for yon tomor
row, will you be ready,to come with me? 1
‘Yes, but—’
‘What is it?’
‘IfI could be married in my father’s house.’
‘That rests with them; we will see. Let me
put you upon your horse now. I hear your
brother coming. Wrap your cloak well around
‘But you it is who is in danger. I tell yon you; it is growing cold.’
they will be upon you in a few moments. There!
do you not see them yonder? They are coming
this way. Oh, Heaven ! that is Derrick.’
As her brother leaped from his horse, she
sprung to meet him. She saw that he held a
pistol in his hand, and that his face was white
and rigid with determination.
‘Oh ! Derrick, listen to me.’
He pushed her aside, and pressed on to where
j Witchell stood.
‘Villain, your time has come,’ he cried, rais
ing the weapon. Before he could take aim,
Adelle threw herself in his arms and clung to
him.
•You shall not; you shall not kill him,’ she
cried. ‘Oh ! Derrick, he saved your life. He
cared for you while you were so ill with the
fever. He watched you by day and by night
when you were delirious. He got the doctor to
come to you—the negroes tc wait upon you.
You would not kill a dog thn4 nad saved your
life, Derrick.’ >
‘No thanks to him for my life. Better be
dead than dishonored. A villain that has ruined
my country and now has taken uway the good
name of my family. Curse liim ! Nothing can
keep me from having it out w ith him now. Get
away from me, girl.'
‘Derrick, for my sake—’
‘Your sake ! Y'ours ! What are you to me now?
A wretch that has disgraced me. What are you
to me any more after this night’s work ? Get
away with j t ou—outcast.’
The cruel words staggered her worse than
blows would have done. She loosed her hold
of him, and tottered back. Witchell stepped
quickly to her side; he put his arm around
her; facing her brother, he said:
‘You shall not speuk to her in this way. You
may abuse me as much as you please, but you
shall not say such words to my wife.’
‘Wife !’ echoed Derrick. Tne pistol he had
half raised dropping to his side in his astonish
ment.
‘My wife that shall be to-morrow. She had a
right to do what she has done to-night for my
safety. Derrick Holman, lis.-n one moment to
common sense. You need he in no hurry to
shoot. I am unarmed and have no one in call.
Hear me a moment first. In your mad passion,
you would only burn your t wn house. You
would kill me and fix a stigr,*' 1 on your sister.
That is not necessary. You sa^.that after to
night she shall be an outcast from your home;
she shall be received in mine as a>y honored
wife. Is not this better for her—for you and
your parents—than if you killed me and left her
no refuge ? If her brave devotion to-night is to
draw reproach upon her, let me forestall it by a
marriage.’
‘A marriage with a radical carpet-bagger! That
would be a fine amendment,’ Derrick said, with
an acrid sneer.
Captain Witchell bit his lip hard. He was
controlling himself by an eff'ori for the sake of
the giri by his side. He answered calmly:
‘It might hurt your pride, it would not hurt
yonr honor. I am considering her first. You
may disclaim her, but would you not prefer to
know that she was happy? Have you not so
much natural affection for one of your _owe
blood ?'
The anneal had its efleet ;;U - ',-rrieV .
llis real iove lor his sister, his pride in her
good name and in the good name of his family,
the knowledge of Captain Witchell’s past kind
reotly he heard her utter a cry of joyful sur
prise; he saw a man riding towards her, meet
ing her, he heard her excited exclamation, ‘Cap
tain Witchell ! Thank God !’
On hearing that name Lanier experienced an
involuntary check. A portion of his mad im
petuosity died out. Whenever an animal, wheth
er brute or man, has once been whipped he af
terwards in the presence of the superior power,
‘Better not Captain, said Devene s voice. ‘Be 1 i ns t 1Ilc tively recognizes his master. Lanier felt a
on your guard. This might be a stratagem to ‘
get yon out for no good.’
He gnashed out a curse when he saw her ap- ' ness, the sense of his generosity and fearless-
proaehing the dealing. j ness on the present occasion, all operated to in-
‘Stop, or I’ll shoot,’ he called out to her. Di- | fluence his action. lie stood looking at the two,
‘There’s only one man; I’m a match for one
man, I think. I’ll risk it,’ said Witchell care
lessly as he came out, and walked directly to
the paling where Adelle sat trembling on the
horse, the velvet cap pulled over her face, the
note in her hand. She held it out to him the
moment he came within reach, and fearful of
being recognized, was wheeling her horse to
ride away, when Captain Witchell asked.
‘Will there be an answer needed?’
‘No.’
She could not keep her voice from trembling; expected to have gone back before this,
she felt that his keen eye was upon her. She i are others ?’
did not know that in trying to Bide her face
with the cap, she had drawn it too far from be-
. burning rage against his rival, but his nerves also
gave token that they remembered that good blow,
Witchell had dealt them once. While he hesita
ted, as to whether he should proceed, he heard
a horse approaching from behind. He turned,
and gave a low, peculiar whistle; it was answer
ed in kind, and a moment after. Derrick rode
up beside him.
‘Lanier,’ he demanded, ‘what the deuce did
you mean by slipping off in this way, letting
nobody know when you left?'
‘I had reason to think that news was being
l carried to Witchell. I came to reconnoitre. I
Where
hind, and that a tress of her long hair had es- j f oua ^ out?’
caped. He saw it in the ray of light that slant
ed from the open window.
‘Do you come from Malta,’ he asked, with a
view to hearing her speak again,
‘No. Good-night.’
‘Coming on behind. You took that notion to
reconnoitre very suddenly. What have you
‘That it’s all up as to our plan to surprise
them. Witchell got hold of it.’
‘How ihe devil could that be? Who knew of
it but ourselves?’
‘One other found it oat. Love’s eyes and ears
A\ hile she spoke, a horseman had ridden up. i are It was your sister that give warning
He conid not be tbe one sbe bad heard behind j to Witchell. She rode here by herself, dressed
her. This one came trom another direction. as a boy, and went to his house.’
egro, riding Captain Witchell’s noted ‘Adelle ! my sister ! to Witchell’
He was a negro,
horse.
‘The doctor wasn’t home Mars Witchell,’ he
my sister! to Witchell’s house ! Take
that back, or you shall repent it.’
‘It's true, you can see for yourself. Y’onder
said. ’Be home by day break, I lef word lor they are, she was coming back, he riding with
him to come right on. Is Sampson any worser? ber. They have dismounted I see for some
‘No, I’ve just been down to tbe cabin to see j cause.’
him. Go there, and make sure his wife gives ; Derrick looked and saw two horses and two
him the medicine I left. It is time now lor him figures standing in the moonlight just beyond
to take it. Fasten Ozark where be is and leave j the edge ol the swamp. His comrades, Verne
him for the present. 1 a nd Wylde, were just riding up.
Adelle had lingered, until she caught the them, ‘Yonder’s my man,’ he s
meaning of this nocturnal messenger; now she
rode off, and, with one look at her retreating
figure, Witchell hurried up to his room and
read the note. One instant his brow contracted
in thought, then he rose with an air of decision,
glanced trom the window, and saw in the dim
moonlight, the disguised horseman nearing the
end of the path that led through the cleared
meadow, and about to enter the woods.
He threw the note over to Devene. ‘We are
to be attacked to-night, you see. Get the guns
and pistols from the armoire yonder; load them
up. Call up Ben and Joe Harris from the
quarter; make them fasten up doors and win
dows and watch in the hall. I’ll be back in
time for the reception. I’m going to follow that
messenger and find out something more.’
•For God’s sake, Witchell, don’t go out by
yourselt in that way. You may meet them any
moment. It’s madness to expose yourself so.’
‘I’m not afraid. I’ll be back directly.’
‘You are not going unarmed ? Here, take my
pistol, at least.’
‘I have my stick; I’m all right. Don’t be ex
ercised about me. Go back and do as I told
you-’i
Mounting the horse that stood at the gate
where he had directed the negro to leave him,
he was soon clattering at full speed down the
road, determined to overtake Adelle, whom he
had recognized from that trnant tress, as well as
from the voice she had vainly tried to disguise,
and from tbe glimpses he had of oval cheek and
, delicate chin under the slouched cap. He felt
how much she had risked for hiB sake; he coaid
He turned to
said, ‘I have an
account to settle with him. Don’t interfere with
me. 1 want neither help nor hindrance.’
He spurred his horse in the direction in which
the two were standing, Adelle leaning against a
tree to support herself, Witchell standing by
holding her hand, and looking at her with deep
concern. At the instant, when, as she was fly
ing from Lanier, she had met Captain Witchell
and stretched out her hands to him with that
cry of joj T , she felt her brain whirling and her
strength failing her. The fatigue and anxiety
she had undergone, the terror, the feeling of re
lief succeeded by tbe sudden sense of shame
were too much for her. She reeled in the sad
dle, and Captain Witchell reached her side
barely in time to prevent her falling. But she
did not faint. A dash of dew from a broken
bough in the hands of Captain Witchell revived
her. She gently pushed him from her, and
leaned against a tree for support; she hid her
face in the dark mass of her hair, and sobbed
in shame and distress. He looked at her, and
seemed to hesitate a moment. Then he ventur
ed to lay his hand upon her arm;
‘Miss Holman.’
She dropped her hands from her face and
wrung them passionately.
‘Oh Captain Witchell what must you think of
me?’
‘That you are a brave and true woman, Miss
Holman. That in all probability 1 shall owe
my life to you.’
‘Your life!’ she cried suddenly; brought to a
recollection of his danger. ‘Oh, Captain Witoh-
ell, they may take your life here at any moment.
They will fail upon you here, and you have no
for an undecided moment, then he thrust his
pistol back in its place, and without a word was
turning to remount his horse, when Adelle
caught his hand and looked beseechingly in his
face.
‘Oh ! Derrick, put all this enmity out of your
heart,’ she pleaded. ‘Be friends with Captain
Witchell.’
‘Friends ! Have you lost your senses, girl ?
I trust to God I may never see his face again.
Marry him, go with him, but remember that
afterwards you have no brother, no father, no
mother—you have only him. Remember that—
and be happy—if you can.’
He mounted his horse, then, turning as if a
thought struck him. h9 said to Adelle:
‘Get into your saddle. I (ran not leave you
here. I am going now to send those others on.
I shall be back for you directly.’
He rode off and rejoined Lanier and the oth
ers, who had waited where he left them, won
dering greatly at hearing no report of a pistol,
or other sign of combat.
‘There is nothing to be done,* he said gloom
ily. ‘I can not kill my sister's husband. Ride
back. I will follow you in a little while. La
nier, let me speak a word in your ear.*
Between the two he had left, there was silence
for a moment. Adelle’s bosom swelled with con
flicting feelings. At last she turned to Capt.
Witchell:
‘Why did you say that?’ she said, ‘I will not
have it so. There can be no marriage.’
He answered gravely: ‘I hoped otherwise. I
know it was presumptious to infer your consent,
but 1 thought it for the best. The circumstan
ces were such—I thought—’
‘You thought I would shelter myself from
blame by marrying a man, who—’
‘Whom your family hate, whom your friends
vilify, whose motives are misunderstood and
maligned. It was too much td expect.’
She had sat down upon the trunk of a fallen
tree;her face was turned from him.
‘No, it is not that,' she said( low. ‘That was
not what I meant to say; I meyi that I will nev
er consent to what was offeredfin generous pity.
I will bear the consequences of my own act. I
came here tonight through a good motive. I
dressed this way because I thought it would
protect me from insult. If I lose friends and
home because of it, let them go. The world is
wide and I can find—’
Her voice broke and a sob came. He sat
down by her. He put his arm tenderly around
her.
‘So the world is wide, and you can find a nes
some where—little dove ? Why not in my arms ?
Why do you refuse to come to me?’
‘Do you think I do not know you said that
to my brother only to shield me? I will not
make it true; I will not accept such a sacrifice.’
‘You will not marry me ?’
‘No.’
‘Not if it is no sacrifice? Not if I love you?
‘But you do not love me.’
He drew her to him. ‘Not love you ? How
could I help loving you; brave, kind little
heart, tender eyes, sweet, true mouth ?’
He put back the hair from her face, and kiss
ed her wet lashes, her cheeks, that lost their
paleness under the rush of burning blushes.
‘Will you marry me now ?'
There was no answer, but she did not draw
away from him. ,
‘Do you not love me, Adelle ?’
•Yes. ’
‘But not well enough to see parents and
friends, and the little world around you turn
their backs on yon for my sake ?’
‘Yon are all the world to me,’ ehe whispered,
hiding her face against his Bhonlder.
He was silent, gently caressing her soft hair.
He lilted her to a seat in the saddle and stood
by her until Derrick rode up.
‘I have a word to speak to you, Mr. Holman,’
he said, going up to the young man as he sat
in the saddle. Derrick nodded haughtily.
‘I wish to marry your sister, tomorrow. She
prefers that it should be at her own home. It
is best for other reasons.*
‘Under my father’s roof, sir?—Never. ‘
‘He is also her father. She has been a beloved
daughter, a dutiful one, except in one instance,
where she obeyed the promptings of her heart.
She lias certainly a right to as much considera
tion for her feelings as a marriage under her
father’s roof would imply. But it matters little.
A marriage any where else will be as well. ‘
‘Stay, sir! Come to my father's house prepared
to make Adelle Holman your wife. Bring your
witnesses; you will find none there who will
witness this marriage.’
‘Very well.’ He turned to Adelle.
‘Does this please you ?‘
She gave him her hand in siience.
‘Come,* called her brother, sharply.
They rode away, leaving Witchell standing
there in the moonlight, looking after them, feel
ing almost as if all a dream. Could it be that
in a few moments, so great a change had taken
place in the future he had mapped out for him
self? To be married in a few hours—married
to the daughter ot his bitter enemy—a girl of
whose nature he had only glimpses, of whose
more hidden and subtle traits of character he
knew nothing. Could he make her happy ?
All that mouey or kindness could do should be
done to supply the place of what she must lose
through him. As for love—’
But how sweet her face had looked in the
moonlight when he had lifted it to kiss her: The
eyes that shone through tears, the red lips that
quivered so, the little delicately moulded chin,
the white neck under its veil of hair? How her
heart had throbbed against his ! And that little,
earnest, thrilling, yet timid, whisper.
‘ You are all the world to me. ’ Its remember
ed pathes touched his heart.
‘I will try to be all to her. She shall not
miss the love of father and mother, and the
society of friends,’ he said, as he stepped upon
the piazza of his house. He had almost forgot
ten the plotted attack. The bolted door and
barricaded windows reminded him of it. He
knocked on the door, oalling out:
‘It is I; open.’
Within, a dim light was burning. Three ne
gro men with guns in their hands stood there,
looking at him inquiringly.
‘ Go home, and to bed,’ he said. ‘ There is to
be no attack; I have settled it.’
They asked no questions. They were accus
tomed to think Capt. Witchell could do what
ever he wished. They believed he bore a
charmed life. He had been in danger so often
—shot at, threatened by mobs, without harm
coming to him.
Devene was not so easily satisfied. * What
did you do? How did you settle it?’ he asked,
when they r were alone in their room.
‘ 1 saw the ring-leader, and induced him to
forego his fun for to-night. Instead of being
hanged, I am only to be ’
‘ What ? asked Devene, in suspense.
‘Xif <lr>wri Tnk? ij.ojfmr, and hand me one.
What, only one o’clock! How many events can
crowd into a little hour !’
He stirred the rich bed of wood coals and
threw on a fresh pine-knot. Then looking
across at his companion through a cloud of to
bacco smoke, and smiling in bis peculiar way,
he said:
‘ Devene, you must put off your trip toN ,
I want you to go to Col. Holman's with me to
day. I am to be married.’
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
THE SHOE HIRE,
— OR —
OUT OF TROUBLE.
With the money in her hand, she walked rap
idly towards the oheaper shops to make provis
ion for lire and supper.
Esther walaed along, shy of making her pov
erty-stricken little purchase of a bundle of wood
and a loaf of broad. She was growing tired,
though, with her walk, and stopped finally
before a small grocery. The man served her.and
with the bundle in her arms, she drew out the
money from which to pay him. As she held it,
two or three rough-looking boys jostled against
her. She staggered in the crowd, clutched her
parcels and the money was gone.
Esther gave a shriek of despair, and started
frantically toward the street, which the boys had
already gained.
‘Stop, thief!’ cried the man. ‘It’s a got up
game between you, I suppose,’ and he laid his
hand on her arm.
‘I must have it—it was all I had,’she moaned,
struggling to release herself.
He fastened his grasp tighter. The crowd be
gan to prsss towards the center of the excite
ment. Esther swooned.
A police officer had come np. The grocer had
got back his bundles.
There happened to be a chemist’s shop at the
next corner, and to that Esther was conveyed.
The shop had a solitary occupant, a gentle
man, who was waiting for some preparation
which the apothecary had retired to procure.
He turned naturally at the opening of the door,
and gave a great start.
‘ YVhat does this mean ?’
The voice penetrated Esther’s unconscious
ness. She unclosed her eyes, and saw Dr.
Mayne bending above her.
‘Esther, have you been kind or wise?’
‘I meant to be.’
‘You were not fit to decide. Now, for to-night,
you must submit to Heaven—and me.’
He dispersed the crowd, finished his business
and lifted her more dead than alive, to his car
riage.
‘After all,’ he remarked, briefly, to Mrs.
Mayne, who came to the door to meet him.
She took the hand of the girl gently, and
bent and kissed her face without a word.
‘I shall carry out my plan yet,’ she said to the
doctor when she had placed her guest in a warm,
bright little chamber, and ordered a light sap
per to be sent up.
‘I am glad, Mary, that you are not going to be
thwarted.’
Mrs. Mayne made no reply. She looked very
thoughtful.
•Well?’ he inquired, presently.
She smiled.
‘The world is discreet, John. But you are not
of it. You are only brave and earnest and true.
I pray Heaven that yon may be always happy.’
When Esther woke in the morning from a
delicious sleep, Mrs. Mayne was just entering
the room. Over her arm hung a merino dress
and a heavy shawl. The clothes which Esther
had worn the preceding day had disappeared.
‘You are in captivity,’ said her hostess, smil
ing. ‘Your only safety is in submission. But,
my child, where is your hair ?’
Between laughing and crying Esther told the
whole story. Mrs. Mayne’s eyes were bright
with tears when she had done.
Meantime she had been dressing.
‘Fortunatel}’, the loss is rather becoming,’ said
Mrs. Mavne, and opening a drawer, she found
a length of ribbon, with which she fastened the
shorn locks, which rippled and waved at the
touch of a wet brush, and hastily leaving the
room, she ran down stairs to acquaint the doctor
with this new episode of his Idyl.
There was no explanation given to Esther,
but after breakfast a cab was brought to the
door, and after being wrapped in hoods and
shawls, for the day was very cold, she and Mrs.
Mayne took their seats, and were driven to a
railway station.
‘Where am I going, Mrs. Mayne?’ faltered
Esther, as they took their seats in the train.
‘My dear, June expects yon for dinner. How
near you came to disappointing her.’
‘June! Mrs. Mayne, what do you mean?’
‘I had no right to tell you a word. But you
turned so white that I was afraid not to gratify
your curiosity just a little. But you must not
ask me any more.’
Esther refrained from asking. She saw her
fellow-passengers and the bare, brown fields
and flying fences and leaden sky as it were in a
dream. To-day was so unlike yesterday. She
was lifted so suddenly out of trouble that she
could hardly credit her own senses.
A carriage awaited them when they left the
train at the familiar little station. Should she
indeed see June? Ah ! bow could she have ever
felt that she had no cause for gratitude.
‘Now, Esther, my little drama is coming to a
climax,’ Mrs. Mayne said, as the carriage start
ed, and I want to blindfold you.’
She held her thick veil, and Esther stooped
te have it tied over her eyes. Her heart was too
glad to cavil at a few moments' suspense.
They stopped at their destination. Mrs.
Mayne drew her arm within her own, and led
her past the gate, up the walk. Blindness itself
could not have deceived Esther as to where she
was now. Without a word the door was opened,
and then, with one glad scream, June leaped to
her sister’s arms and tore the bandage from her
eyes.
She stood in the kitchen of her old home, tidy
and snug and glowing for her reception. June's
new carpet covered the floor; fresh white cur
tains hung at the windows; a polished stove dif
fused most comfortable warmth, while various
savory odors escaped from the pots and pans it
held. June, in a pretty plaid dress, appeared
to be alone in command.
After the first burst of excitement, Esther
turned appealingly to Mrs. Mayne.
‘Yes, you must know all about it now,’ she
said. ‘It is not a very long story. After our
interest was aroused by your accident, Mr.
Mayne made a singular discovery, which was
that he held the mortgage upon this very house,
which yon had worked so hard to pay off. It
seems also that he knew your father, and was
once, in a business way, laid under obligations
to him, which it never came in his power to
cancel. He is away, you know, or he would be
here to dine with us to-day. As it is, we are
going to burn the mortgage to assist in cooking
our dinner. At first, when these discoveries
were made, I thought of telling you. Then I
fancied to give you a little surprise, never
dreaming, Esther, that you would so nearly
thwart me. I came here and saw June. Toge
ther we opened the house and made every ar
rangement. After we lost you, I had not the
heart to countermand them. Esther, why did
you run away?’
‘Your kindness was spoiling me,’ faltered
Esther, walking towards the window.
Mrs. Mayne looked at her keenly. June was
drawing the table out with a qraat racket. \t
the moment the f gate-latch clicked again, and
Esther’s wet eyes were not lost upon Dr. Mayne,
who looked in at the window as he came up the
walk.
I took the next train,’ he said, gaily, warming
his hands, ‘but I suppose, Mary, you have left
none of the surprises—unless I can invent one
of my own.’
‘I haven’t trespassed on your province,’ said
Mrs. Mayne. ‘Go, Esther; the doctor has some
thing to show you.’
He took her hand, and led her into the little
sitting-room beyond the kitchen, closing the
door after her as she followed him.
‘This is my present, Esther,’ smiling at her
half-scared face. I wanted to make this room
pleasant for you.’
It was very pleasant, with a neat carpet, com
fortable couch and chairs, a small book-case, a
work-table, a stand of plants, an air-tight stove,
Esther passed her hand across her head.
•I hardly know if I am alive and sane.’
‘I will testify to both. I wish I was as sure
that you were happy.’
‘Happy ! why, everything I have dreamed of
has come true.’
•Has it, child? Is nothing wanting?’
‘What could be wanting ?’
He was looking down upon her with his wist
ful, pleading eyes, his hands outstretched.
‘Esther, I am an awkward wooer. I almost
hoped that my brother’s wife would have opened
and smoothed the way for my disclosure. She
knows that I hoped something might be want
ing to complete your happiness, as it is to make
mine. Darling, I mean your love.’
Esther stood still.
‘Your brother's wife! she said, with a face of
stone and white lips.
‘She hinted nothing?’
‘No.’
‘And it comes suddenly, with all the rest of
the excitement to you. I half thought you
guessed sometimes, Esther, that I was learning
to love you.’
It was indeed too sudden and ovf “whelming
—this last proffer of happiness. Esther sank
at Doctor Mayne’s feet from weakness and gra
titude and joy.
‘ How could I dare guess there was such a boon
for me ?’■ she whispered,
It was the answer he required. He lifted her
and held her in his arms. The color came to
her face again, brilliantly—so brilliant that little
June thought, a half-hour later, that Sister Es
sie looked as if she had been cooking the dinner
whereas she had not helped the least bit.
‘Esther is our company for to-day,’ said Mrs.
Mayne. ‘After this she will be at home.’
‘ Do you think you could keep house alone as
well as you have done to-day, if I should take
Sister Essie off' to my home one of these days?’
inquired the doctor of June, aside.
She ran to her side.
‘ Essie, you don’t mean to leave me again, do
yon ?’
‘No dearie, never.’
‘ Then I had just as soon the doctor should
take us as r •*..
‘ See there, June; I thought you were going to
attend to arranging the dessert. And you are
leaving it all to Mrs. Mayne.’
June was easily diverted. She had a keen
appreciation of heaping clusters of white grapes
and golden oranges and layers of purple raisins
and gold-brown nuts.
How dark it had seemed. How light it had
grown. She had struggled though a sea of trou
ble. She could never forget how others were be
set
When Doctor Mayne folded her to his heart
at parting that night, he asked as his sister-in-
law had:
‘ Esther, why did you run away ?’
* Because—because I loved you. Now never
ask me any more. ’
And he never did.
THE END.