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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.