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Sundown. BY SHALER G. HILLYER, Jb. Author of the Prize Story, 'Alarable Family,” the Savannah News. [Copyright Reserved.] CHAPTER XiV. MAN, OB HORSE. I slept about three hours, when I was awakened by tl.e sound of horses galloping, through the lane towards ‘he house. The riders proved to be GJorge Goldie and Hr. WatsoD. They brought tidings of Swetwell, and so were conducted at once to my room. Mr. Goldie and K ite came in with them* Mr. Watson, distrusting perhaps his powers of narration, yeiiued to George the position of narrator, which position he accepted with evi dent satisfaction. ‘Turning off to the left beyond the bridge,’ he said, ‘we found ourselves iu a rough road, over which ws could not go very fast. We were anxious to reach Mr. Swetwell’s before day break, as we would then, more likely, take him by “urpcise. We therefore hurried, as well as we could, along the rough, dark road made darker by the thick woods on eaeh side of it. Just as any was dawning we came in sight of the house,'when, putting spurs to our horses, we galloped up to it. Tae front gate being open we rode, without ceremony into the ya;d; two parsing to the rear of the house, while two re mained in front The sheriff dism.-unted, and knocked loudly on the door: no answer was re turned. He knocked louder, loud enough to have been heard half mile away : still no answer. He tried the bolt, but found the door locked. An old negro, gray and stooping with age, came from a cabin in the yard. •Wti'.re is Stephen Swetwell ?’ demanded the sheriff of the old xnan. ‘H- done gone, sab.’ ‘How do you know he has?’ ‘1 hearn him, sab, when he lef.’ •How did he go?’ •On Loss-back.’ ‘Waich road did he take?’ ‘I'm not sure, s»h, which one, but I think he took de Lumpkin road.’ ‘That's a lie; you do kuow which road he took, for you were standing in the yard when he rode away,’ said a shrill voice which came from a tail mulatto woman, who had just come out of another cabin. The old negro tried to stop her by telling her to mind her own busi ness. swe: GO , _ See them take Stephen S.vetwell and drag blur to i risou. When 1 te.ird last night that Mr. Lock- wood had been k.l.od at the bridge, I straight way susoecu-d who did it, I suspected that man who I knew hated Air. Lockwood, and that man who I knew was wicked enough to do such & deed. And then when Mr. Swetwell came home between two aad three o’clock this morning I knew he had a hand in it. Oh ! this isn't the first murder that blac.tens his soul. 1 say sir,’ she continued, turning towards the old negro, and speaking in a sharp, angiy tore, ‘can ycu tell me where Nan is? Have you forgotten how he abused inr? And have you forgotten how, when she was taken down, and there was none „,.n! 5 ).-tn her bnyim doctor ha wan'd, lot no doctor be'senl for'r On, sirs ! turning towards us, *ev< r since the day my gal died her cries have be n ringing in my ears,—But I am keep ing you. The road forks just out there us you kuov ; the riguthand goes to Lumpkin, the lett to Links ferr . He took the lef'. hand: I Know it because I watched him. He must have bten hurt Iasi n;ght, for he carries his left arm in a ‘We were so assured of the truth of the woman’s words that we at once, without stopping to search the house, rode out ot the yard, and took the Link’s ferry road at a urisk canter.’ •Alter going about three miles we met two men on horse-back, who had been out tox hunting. In answer to our enquiries, they s ated, that thev had seen a man mounted on a black horse, pa.-s by about a half hour before. They were in a held at the time, and some disiar.ee from the road, so Could not tell who ue was, hut re calling his general appearance, as well as that of < is horse, they were now satisfied that it was Stephen Swetwell. On learning why we were la pursuit of him they lamed their horses about and joined us. , , ' , ‘Mr. Yocum rode a small, rough looking norse, which found it difficult to keep up; the more so because he was unaccustomed to tne gait we were going. , , , ‘Mr. Yocum, I said, as we cantered along, art you not afraid you will a jure your horse ? •Yts. lam,’ he answered, b .i I can’t help it. We must catch B:other—M & web.’ •We will mi-- good brother nr the Sunday school *tv we. «I‘ ii not c f >r his abscenee if T know he s in the penitentiary • l)b. ttel •Wo pass a man i work in -, li hd near the road. Me reports Sw6tweli about fifteen min utes ahead o: us. iff was going, with one atm in a slit-g at a quick canter. Bat we were gain ing on him; he was oniy fifteen minutes afiead ot us ! ‘About a mile further on my horse b j gan to flag s rnucu that I'was sure he couid roc keep up much loti er. I no i-ied in- Mr. Yocum s was in the same condition, dust men, as w - gained the top o a high hill, which commanded a view of the roao a *ong streccn in front * s, we saw, aben th :ee fourc s o.'amleaway, the man we we e pursuing. Wesaw him presently turn his Lead, and tne next instant we saw his horse spring lorwavd, as if goaded afresh >:y tne spur. He was theD ascending the Ltiii on me top o which Air. Watson lives. Whan we knew that he had seen us w< rased a wnoop, and spurred on our jaded hoists. 1L the lime we reached the foot of the,long Liil^he hau gu.ned its top, and so we lost sight ci'hnn. ‘While urging our tired horses up this hill, raised a shout, and dashed forward in the lead, though Watson and myself kept close behind him. ‘ The flying man must have heard the shout, for he turns and looks back, and then we s“e him urging his horse to still greater efforts. We press on, bending forward in our eagerness, while not a word is spoken, save to the straining beasts that bore us. ‘Another mile is passed : we have gained on him, for dow there is only about four hundred yards between us. The river is now just a mile off—can we overtale him before he reades it? Not unless his horse flags mose than he iia3 cone; we can only hope for this while we keep our spurs pressed to the flan’s of our own. The last half mite is reached, and he is still three hundred yards ahe<-d of us. If the ferry boat is cn this side the river, I thought, he will have time to euter it, and pull entirely away from the bank before we reach it. If the boat, however, is on the other side, he may have some trouble in making his horse take the river, in which case we will huve.a chance to capture him. In which case, too, it occurred to mo. he may show fight, beiDg well-armed and desper ate. At length we Bee him mount a little knoll right on the river’s bank, beyond which Me quickly disappears. In a minute more we have reached the top of the same knoll, and the river is before us. The ferry boat is on the further side, and Air. Swetwell is already io the current, tryiDg to keep his seat on his swimming horse. ‘We’ll follow him across !’ cried Mr. Yocum, as we dashed down the bank to the water s edge. ‘But just as he was about to ride ip to the water, I caught him by the arm, and told him to stop, poiatiug to the mau and horse in the river. The'latter, rxhausted by his long face, had re fused to swim with his rider any farther. Or, it may have been because Air. Swetwell, not being able to s vim—1 have heard him say that he could not—pressed too heavily on his shoulders, and so frightened him. Whether he was ex hausted, or frightened, or both, the fact was that he refused to carry hi3 master any farther. 1 saw him raise his black form as far out ot the watrr as he was able, and try to shake him self free from his rider. In tfiisjjhe so tar suc ceeded that the man, thinking himselt lost, yet still keeping his hold upon the reins, made a wild plunge at the horse s head. As the body ot the animal sank for a moment out of sight be- Deatu the momentum and weight ot the man s body, the latter turned toward us a ghastly face. ‘Help me !’ he shouted, in a voice b okea aod hopele.-s. He uttered the cry but once. lne horse arose the next insrant, blowing the water from his nostrils, and with a wild gleam in his dilated eyes. He w, s} ow -.horough y f ighlened, or enraged. He began to strike at the man, tvno 3tiil held the lines, with his forefeet. ‘Again we heurd a despairing cry from Swet- wali.'es he makes a frantic effort to once more reach the head of the horse. He fails : he falls helpless in front of the infuriated beast. An ironed hoof strikes him on the breast, again on the h ad, and he sinks out of sight. The black victor swims slowly down the stream towards a sandy beach, against which toe current sweeps, and then turns i ff to the right. He seems to be borne along by the force ot the current rather than by any < xertion of his own. We watch him as he drifts on towards the beach, and then. when near the bank, we see him drag himself, with great diffi uky, through the shallow water, and on to the dry sand. A-, he staggers forward and fails to the ground there follows him out of the water a human form. One ot its arms is he.d tightly by the ruins of the bridle, and so it ha< been brought to land. The body of the mau lies bositle that of the horse, mating even from where iW-Artid. a ghastly special-.-. "* "T“\ r •Q iickiy we made our way to the beach. Horse and rider were both dead. T ie former from ex haustion, the latter from the blows received from the other’s hoofs. There was an ugly gash in his breast, and another iu his head, either of which would have killed him. ‘The sheriff, the rest of us looking on, searched t?ie dead body, and iound on it, first, the mem- crandam lost by Mr- Lockwood, aad then, be sides other money, a ro:l of bills to then.setves, whose numbers corresponded with tin so in the memorandam. The sherifl took charge of these things, and carried them lo Lumpkin, after mak ing arrangements for the body of the dead man to follow him there.’ Mr. Watson proposed that the party get a relay from his father's siables" Air. Yocum and my self accepted his ofi'-r, but tne ethers concluded to keep on without stopping. A road crosses the ferry road j ust beyond Air. Watson s house. Mr. Swetwell therefore could go ettuer up or down the river, or straight forward to Link’s ferry. We believed it to be ms intention to go to tne ferry, as by that route ne would Lope to interpose the Chattahoochee river b tween nim- self and his pursuers. Arriving at Mr. Wa:son’s our expectation was confirmed: a man at work in the yard, attracted by Swetw-iis rapid rid ing, had watched him nnh he oisappeared down the ferry roati. Mr. Yocum. Air. Watson and myself stopped to obtain fresh horses, while the others staned again in pursuit. The stables being close at hanu the change was qhickly ef fected so, freshly mounted, we weia soon fol lowing rapidly after our companions. As the road to the terry was now a continuous lane, we knew that we could only come up with our mau by using greater speed than he did. Wnile tne animal he rode was strong and fleet, he had been carrying a heavy weigut now for a great distance, and must be nearly exhausted. This thought made us hopeful, as, with spurs pressed to the flanks of our coursers, we pressed on att- r nnr comranions. When, at length, we overtook tne yard, near tne summer uouoo, * wuum these we could see Mr. h wet well ahou.a haifj 80m e late roses, and a few box geraniums still m“ ahead of us. At s:ght of him Mr. Yocum CHAPTER XV. LAST RAYS. The estate of Mrs. Goldie was redeemed. The evidences of Stephen S-vetwell’s fraud were rendered so clear by the occurrences just narrated, that in a mw trial the court reduced 'he indebtedness ol Mrs Goldie to the estate of Stephen Swetwell deceased, to one thousand dollars, which was at once cancelled by the tones I had provided for that purpose. Among the papers left by Swet'.veii was the note given by Mrs Goldie to Mr. Greenl'.af, and whiea had been stolen fiorn mo the night of my first visit to Sundown. Fiapp had t.ai sferred it to S vet- weli, but the latter tailed to produce it, only 1 ecar.se no doubt, he could not satisfactorily ex plain how he obtained it. As it had been paid ong ago to Mr. Greenieaf—a fact oa&.ry (staL- lished, —the estate of Mis Goldie was new free from debt, save the one due to myself. Kite thought she could cancel the greater part of this with that yea’s crop of cotton, and still- have sufficient left to pay the current expenses of another year. She was sure that, with pro- i itious seasons, another harvest would free her entirely from debt. For several day3 after the events detailed in the two last chapters, I lay very quietly on my bad, unable to move, and, much of the time, hardly able to tb nk. There was a dark shadow noon me. In those moments when I couid re flect upon my condition, an unutterable fear of b. in<? forever helpless would se,ze and torture me,,"until I would again relapse into a state of insensibility. I lay in a neutral land—between life aa d de%th. The doctor watched me closely, ad I had every attention gentle and thoughtful Lands could render. On the sixth a change for the better came. Fall conscijusness returned and with it the power to move my hands. This evidence, that my paralysis was not complete, gave me new courage in the struggle for life and breath. From that time I steadily, yet s'ewly, very slowly it seemed to me, recovered strength, and the control of my muscles. It was four long weeks before I could sit up, and then only for a few minutes at a time. . Mrs Goldie would come in every day to chat with me a little while, and to see that I was comfortable. George likewise often took a seat beside my couch, and interested me no little, whether he detailed the operations of the farm or the occurrences of the neighborhood. Kate never came, but every morning a little bunch of fresh flowers found their way into my room; and there, on the wall, was the child Kate, into whose candid ey< s I never grew weary ot look ing. And tnen, alter I had grown stronger, she sent to ask me one even.ng, if she shonid play for me. It was j ust what I had been wishing fur, so, every evening after that, the doors of the parlor and my room being left open, Kate played and sang for me. These days, the days of my convalesoence, were very quiet ones. As I sat in my open window and looked out, there was an autumn sunshine on the yard and grov6, softened by the brown foliage overt: sad through which it made its way. In the grove were heaps of brown leaves blown together by the wind. In the yard, near the Bummer house, I could see in bloom. There is the memory too of sounds which did not break the sileme of the pla e: such was the lazy chirp of a bird that came from the mulberry beyond the green-house, the monotonous clacking of a hen with a brood of young chickens, p.nd further oft, <• i hear the phasant's muffled drumming, The turtle’s murmur from a distant dell, A drowsy bee iu mazy tangles humming, The fair, laint, tinkling tenor of a bell. And now,from yonder beech-trunk,sheer and sterile The rat—tat of the yellow-hammer’s bill, The sharp staccato barking of the squirrel, A dropping nut, and all again is still.” It was only a human vo ce, or the sound of the dinner horn, which could break the weird and pleasing silence of the pt&C9 during those autumn da;s. And yet, I loved to see the shadows lengthening in the strove, and listen to the 1 wing cows as they slowiy made theii wav homeward. One day, after I had grown strong enough to walk about a little, young Watson same-this time without his sister. Ills thee wore*aserious expression, which I had seen i® it before, but not so marked as now. ‘ The Ntopo itan prince, I said to myseit, “nas come, at last, to try his fortune with the caskets. He must know his fate; he can bear the agony of doubt.no longer,” He oid not iearn it, however, that evening, be cause, perhaps, when the time and opportunity cauie his courage failed. A'- ^ny rata, he had a short interview with Kate, ihe-ntxt morn-Dg, in the parlor, and when I saw him go away, I uoticcd that his taee was pale, and that his lip quivered. I met Kate as she came from tae parlor. ‘-The Neapolitan prince” 1 said, “has declared his choice. I saw him pass out, and his down cast eyes and quivering up resiled that he has lost. ” “It may turn out fcba’r tie has won by having lost,” she answered, with a sad smile.—“Are you getting strong fast ? ’ sli9 asked. “Yes: 1 r'j >ico in the strength that daily c mes to me. The fresh blood in my v ins often urges me t * active exs c:sa iu the woods and fields.' And yet—and yet—when my strength returns I must go vivvuy.” Sue did not answer me, but her eyes sought mine, for an instant, with a searching look, and then she turned away, with a heightened color, I thought in her cheeks. Sue went cut to where her horse stood waiting for her, and, mounting him, rode away. Two more days have passed. I am sitting alone in the portico watching ihe shadows in the grove lengthen, and list mins to tue distant tinkiing bells of tue returniog_cu ws. AIv quiet reverie is somewhat unplc-Kirioily' interrupted by the arrival of a swiftly moving buggy. Its occupant is Mr. Alonzo Harper, my Lord L Son. He comes in, and soon proves himself as vivacious and self confident as ever. It he bus come to determine his fortune with the caskets he has not suffered himself to contemplate fail ure. His good fortune, as it Lai always done, will s i i win for him. Liae him of Naples, he left at an early hour the next morning. I saw him depart. His step was not so elastic as it was the .voning before, and the smile oi complacency his ikes wore then was absent. As ho was driving away, I again met Kate at the door of the purior. “My lord Le Bon has also made his choice,” I said. ‘My lord knows his fate: the knowledge will rot trouble him long,’ she answered.—Are yen s.di b-Owter this morning? Are you quite suro that you are growiug stronger fast?’ ‘Fast? yes, very ia.it. I au>. even now qu.t- 41VOJI g,. b? a iiy Wj^T^rU^ij^-^USljvO awtv •So soon? Bat you must not think of going to-morrow,’ she said, ‘you are mistaken, Air Lockwood, in supposing yoursedf strong enough to travel’’ Sae spoke this with animation, an I the rose tints, .1 they had indeed lett them, uau come back to her caeeks. She w„s standing before me with her riding habit on, bat holding her hat in her hand* ‘Strong enough, strong enongh to travel ?’ 1 said; repeating the words siowiy, hardly con scious oi what 1 was saying. *Ii may be so, but we know not what we can do until we try.’ ‘At least put off your ue^arture lor a few day s. •Nor will we know what we may know untii we bravely face the sibyl, or tae siren, t.s the case may be,’ I continued, pursuing my own r^- flections. ‘And there is our knowledge which we will have, though its possession may weaken rather than slrengmen us, tor ail knowledge is noc power.’ •What are you talking about, Mr. Lockwooe ? asked Kate, looking at me with a puzz.ed ex pression in her lace. ■Now there was Air. FJconbridge, the Eng lish baronet, ‘I wen. on, ‘who came in the first da„ s of my convalescence, bent on knowing what the Fates had in reserve for so distin guished a personage as himself. He c»me ana tried the caskets but the fair Por.ia was not for him. After him came our young friend the Neapolitan prince, likewise cent on obtaining knowledge. He went away a little wiser and much weaker on account 01 its possession. And then, two da^s days atterwarus, there came oar tiicnd, my lord Le Bion. He, like the othe:s. couid not rest untii he anew whether tne lovely Heiress of Beimcat was to be his. He kno,vs n now, but it the knowledge has Orougnt him test he knows it has been deadly bought. AIissKate. you ask me to protract my stay, but the next that come may be B<.ssanio ?’ •Suppose I teii you that Ba.sanio has already come V ‘Wuv, then, I cannot leave too quickly.’ ‘No,'no— I‘11 tell you rather tuat Bussanio will never come ? •That there is to be no Bassanio! If that be true, i surely must be gone 10-morrow.’ ‘You are hard to pleas-,’ she respoi d d, I know not wnat to answer you. At aaotner time 1 wili try again.' idhe said this as she was pass ing out. ‘At another time so will I try—my fortune,’ I said to myself, for she was already passing down the walk towards the gate. The next morning, aoout nine o'clock, I again met Kate in the hall. I was, surprised at the meeting, tor I supposed that she had left the house some time before to attend to her duties iu the plantation. I noticed too, which increased my surprise somewhat, that she had bestowed mure tnan her usual attention upon her toilet: This was so evident that I would have con cluded at once that she was expecting company had she not held her hat, nevertheless I asked— ‘Are you expecting friends to-day ?’ *1 thought that perhaps Bussanio might come,' she answered, with an arch smile. •Indeed!'—I tried to speak it indifferently, and succeeded only because it was one word. ‘Will yon go with ms to meet him? she asked, with a c. quettish glance in her bright eyes.' ‘Nj; I must decline to share tuat pleasure with you,’ I answered, with as muofi calmness as I could command. Under different circum stances and conditions I would not have under stood her words as I did then. But the possi bility which, those words implied was one which, in my then weak ccaditon, I was una ble to face. That I might conceal from my com panion this temporary weakness, I turned aside, as if to enter the parlor, bat she intercepted me. ‘Mr. Lockwood,’ she said, 'yon belong to me to-day. Yoa need more recreation than you can find at home, so I have determined to give yoa a baggy ride. Dont say a word I will help you intb9 buggy, and help you out, and open ail the gates. Just remember, will you, that I am the stronger and ycu the weaker party.’ A o' ange came to me with her first words, They broke the spell that was upon me,enabling me to perceive clearly what I had before seen darkly. I could now smile at the raillery which, a moment before, caused me acute pain. It was fir me then ti a: she had be n so soli itous 10 go to ‘meet Bts^aaio.’ Either it was a mere pre'- tw way of putting a friendly invi atiou to take the air in Her company, or that illusion to Bassanu * as meant as a delicate encouragement to my hopes. Aly heart beat quickly as the hit- tor thought presented itself. Kate brought me my hat, and then taking me by tue arm, a sistel me down tile steps. With out the gate we found a buggy awaiting us. By K ites help and the aid cf a chair brougut trom the house, I succeeded in taking my place m the vehicle. My companion mounted quick ly to her pi C9 beci le me, and taking the reins, drove off. We wentslowly because 1 coul 1 not jet endure rapid motion. As we were approach ing a large gate opening into the plantation, Kate asked: ‘ Where do you wish to go ?’ ‘To lie spring.’ ‘So . o I; but 1 supposed you would be indiff erent us ti where wo went.’ •if you uuew how I have cherished the mem ory ci'the day we spent there you would hard ly be surprised at my wish to revisit it.’ On arriving in front of Che gate. Kite left the buggy to open it while I drove through into the field. ‘1 am gla.i we have lef: the road,’ I said, when she uad resumed her seat. ‘Whj ?’ ‘Because we will hardly now meet Bassanio.’ ‘I am afraid nit— yes ha may follow us,’ sue said arciily. ‘Js tue _pring then a favorite tryst ng place?' ‘What an idea ! Air. L ckwood you forget that you are talking to farmer Kate. Do you suppose tuat she can find time for such trysts ? But iet us talk of other things.’ I yielded the subjest, and also the principal part of the talking, to my companion. It was an Indian summer day. The sun shone with a mild radiance, the air was soit and filled with tue delightful odor of new-cut hay, wmlea mer ry mocking bird made sweet music in a neigh boring hedge. Presently wa entered the wood, and then, a few minutes later, we stopped close to the bubbling fountain. After Kite U.id helped me to the ground she took the two cusmons from the buggy and ar ranging them on •?. stone near the spring, bade me be seated. iStie then produced a lunch-bas ket, from wh.eh sue toos a bottle of wine and a silver cup. ‘I knew you would be tir9d and need a little wine,’ she said, as sue poured some of it into the cup. ‘You have been very thoughtful,’I answered, as 1 gave h^r buck the empty cap. ‘Ho w I envy Choc Bassanio!’ But tubs last remark she did not hear, for 1 spoke it rather to mjs .if than to her, and be sides, she was-engaged in steering the bottle ol vine Among the rocks m the rivulet, that it might ke p cool in case it should be again needed. This dons, she gathered a little bunch cl wild violets that bloomed on the edge cf the stream, and com.ng to u:e, pinned them on the iappai of my coat. She was talking ali the time, and in her gayety seemed to vie with the stream that v/eiit sparkling aad laughing away. I watched her in sdt-nce as she moved before me, the impersonation of youtn and beauty. I listened in silence to the sweet tones of her vcKvs-ftEd -he Ewpio of her The hoar had (Jo me, 1 knew, when I mu -a t.y my fortune. 1 couid notkflbrd to put it off any longer; I mast lace the c skets even then ana there. And yet, how could 1 afford to startle the happy girl cep r.: ma‘ as I knew my declaration would do? And if, as i feared, 1 should men learn that tne flame which burned in my heart for her had uever yet warmed hers towards me, that the areal love I had given her was unrequited, that she very highly esteemed aie but etc* etc, how sadly i: would change the relation between us! Constraint would at olcj take the place of freedom. The buniight would depart from ner eyes, and the ripple of laughter from her voice. The cloud, heavy and chill that would tall cn me would envelope h6r in the shadow. We would 00 back heme, sii.-ntiy and wearily, and bearing with us the cloud. And then on the morrow i would go away—banish my dreams, bury my hope , and go away forever. •Mr Lockwood, what is che matter? Why do you iook at me in that sad way, and never un- s , ; er me a w ord? I thought we came here to en- j ij ourselves?’ She was standing before me, with a siighuy puzzled expression on her Juv.-ly face. I asked her to take a seat beside me at the sametime making room for her on the stone bench. I will tell you.’ I said, when she wad seated— ‘I was thinking of my going away to-morrow.’ •But you are not going away to-morrow,’ she answered. ‘You are not strong enough to Sake a ride of twenty mites, or even five mites; so don’t think of it any more. Remember, you are subject to me to-day, and my command no w is that you find something else to think about.’ There wvssilence for a tew moments. •Miss Ka e Goldie,’—there was something in my voice which made her ej'es s ek mine with a half timid look, it is because the parting is from yon that I cannot cease to think of it—you whom I baye loved through more than two long v rara .’ Her ej es fell before mine, while a richer crimson crept into her cheeks. ‘From the memorable night I first spent at Sundown, chiefly memorable to me for the love that was boru in my heart, I have leved you.’ ‘Yon loved me then, an idle girl who had nev er been cd‘any use to hersMf or anyone else?’ She spoke this in a low and questioning tone, as if it were hard to believe. •Just as you were tnen, Kate,’I answered, tak ing one of her hands in mine,’ you stirred my heart as it never had been stirred before. Aly heart did not ask if you were idle or industrious it received you as you were; you were henceforth its lodestone. And now the hour has come when Alanrice Lockwood must know his fortune. The caskets are not before me but your heart is; that is the casket I would choose. Whose picture does it hold ?’ ‘Yours.’ As her answer fell upon my eager ears I stood upright, I was no longer an invalid, for the hot blood of youth was bounding through my veins. Kate had risen also and was standing before me, her hand still in mine. There was a wild tumult in mind and heart as I stood there, and a passionate joy in my triumph that could not find expression in words. It was enough to know that my fond hopes were realized—that Kite Goldie was indeed mine. Kate’s voioe recalled me. You will not, then, go away to-morrow ? ‘No’ I can stay now until I am able to travel. But tell me, Kate, how long has that pioture been on your heart ? ... _ . , •From the day you came into my life. Bat— ‘But what?’ . .. . •I did not know the meaning of it until after you came back after your long absence.’ ‘Did yon think it very long, Kate? ‘Oh Mr. Lockwood! no one can ever know how I watched for your return. On rising in the morning I would ask myself, ‘WiU ff e come to-day ?’ and at noon I would ask, ‘Will he retnrn this evening ? Othere came—oame often, and with praises on their lips, but it was you that I still looked for and your praises thatl coveted.’ ‘And when I did raturn ?’ But there is some one looking over my shoul der as I write, who whispers me to stop. 1 lay down my pen aad look around upon the whis perer. ‘Will it not do quite as well to leave out that scene at the spring?' she asks. I only smile and tell her thatl will leave it as as it is. There is not much more to tell. Not many months alter the ‘scene at the spring’ Kate and I were married. Mrs. Goldie gave a supper on ihe occasion, her invitations to which were sent near and far. Among the guests I noticed the Neapolitan prince and my lord Le Bjt, both of whom seemed to hava recovered fully from their discomfiture before the eafleets. In'fact I am not sure but Le Bon outdid anyone there in offering his congratulations. And there, too, was the cheery face of Mr. Yocum. There he was with his hour-spun ways and a neat new suit of homespun clothes. He was too proud, ho said, to wear broadcloth at somebody else’s t xpense. He wanted the satisfaction of know ing tuat what he had on his back was paid for. •Ah ! Miss Kate,’ he said, in the course of the evening, ‘you have been doing as you pleased the last two years, following your own mind; you will now hive to do as another pleases.’ ‘You forget, Air. Yocum,’ she answered, ‘that all through these two years I have been follow ing the directions of that ‘other’ that you.spesk- oi'. I am still content to follow them.’ ‘No doubt, no doubt o’ that,’ he said. Ye’ll turn tha farm over to Mr. Lockwood now, I reckon. Well, if he doss as well with it as vnu have done, Miss Kite, ha will beat any of his neighbors, Tint's what Archie Yocum has to say about your firming.’ With these words of the honest old man I thought to end iny story, and so, leaving my manuscript upou the table, I move across the room to where Kate is, busily’engaged in sewing. As I sit down besi ie her, George comes in and scops beside the table. H3 knows what I have been waiting and knows that he i3 at perfect lib erty to read it. He picks up a page at random and begins to read aloud: ‘ ‘ The hour had come, I knew, when I must try my fortune. I could not afford to put it off longer; I must face the caskets’—what were they I wonder ?—‘even then and there. And yet, how could I afford to startla th.s happy girl be fore me, as I knew my declaration would do;’— 3tartie her indeed ! as if that were not the very thing the happy girl ’ An exclamation from Kite ends his, to her, outrageous comments. ‘(Jo, George, you shall not read it!’ she cries, rising quickly, and with well counterfeited in dignation running toward him. But ho darts out of tae room with a merry shout, and I lean back in my chair and laugh a silent but hearty laugh at Kate’s disiomfiiure. ‘Well, Kite,’ I said, by way of con oling her, when he had resumed ner seat, ‘you have the satisfaction of knowing that your arts were em inently successful.’ ‘What arts, Air. Lockwood ?’ ‘So innocent! Sfiali I call George back to an swer you ?’ ‘No, indeed ! I will admit any amouut of wiles rather than that.’ ‘I will spare you, Kite. But know thatl will never find iauit with the graceful arts, or wiles, that won me.’ She laid aside her sewing, for the sun was set ting, and came and knelt on an ottoman in front of me, with her hands resting on my knees. Tae rays of the departing sun crowned Ler for a moment with a halo of light, then slowly t4ia»-i»»grfho wall they lingered foy a second on face <\f the child hanging there, as if to kiss it good-night, and then were gone. Bat not so was the light of the dark eyes that looked into mine. Yonder sun may shine with inconstant rays, but the light of a woman’s love can know no darkening. (THE END.) A Woman’s I.ou’i*'-—“’M i s useless to take medi cine. Isa ill feel natter to-m>rrow. Besides, I need 1 tie money to get that lovely new hat. -My old one is such a flight, ucd people will look more at my bonnet than they will at my lace. I will wait till I feel worse be fore I spend any money for medicine.” The new bonnet is purchased and fifty other feminine neexsaries, in the form of ribbons, laces, brooches, etc. Meanwhile the lady's face becomes a very day paler and thinner, and her body weaker, until disease has gained so iiria a foothold in her sysum. that the most thorough, and oft-times a long and tedions. course of treatment ia necessary to re store Uer to health. Ladies, attend to your health before you even thiuk of apparel. Afresh, blooming face iu a plain bonnet ,s m ica handsomer and far more attractive to your gentlemen friends, titan a pain-worn, diseased face i, the most elaborate and elegant hat your milliner coul J devi.-e. lir. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip.ion is every wnere acknowledged to be the standard remedy for female o-mplaints and weaknesses. It is sold by drug gists. Suffering for a Life Time.—Persons afflicted with rheumatism often suffer for a life time, their tortures being almost without remi -sjou. The joints and mus- utial.es are i 1 most cases shockingly v: on ot shape To afford them, eveu he ordinary remedies often prove ut- -te: Stomach Bitters, on the other tv who have used it, to boa . eps 11c blood,cool by pro- •: ■ • a id removes from it im- •1 i 'c rall rational pathologists z tu 1 uiut and its ki ilrod mala- . - i.a s. 1 he Bitters remedy disor- tve and nerves prevent and eradi- l-enuweut fevers, promote appetite and deep, and is highly recommended by physicians aj a desireable meU.ciaat siiiuulent a„d tonic. cies of such iinfii contorted and Ir temporal' red-' 1 tcriy usele—. hand, is avo . , o' genuine sou: cm ' rooU regn , > pnritiesw, originate dy, the -ou . ti rs of t..e stomacu. ca e : .H ermit eut an. 'he celebrated instruments of Danie' F. Beatty the greatplauoand organ mannfactu :rof Washington, N. , ■ if t me, • • m. and exueUen- tivalii cy oi a man, uor, t tie a: m 1'ing best, and has r > 1 hoi i woi Cana las, Eng! ■■ of Sir Bi it oi year: of indefatigable la- .. to make oniy the very ■ !■ 1 '.(It. This course 1 0.501-ming a bouse- of 1 lie Union and ■ t he residents of . y. file special offers : ! 1 .in,.s to-day. mean jnst wna tusi: um urs are all and more than is 1 aimed lor them, while me prices are barely manni cturer’s cost, for Mr. Bea . is determined to place his nucxei'.ted iustrum us the homos of the entire mnsic-loviug population. No one contemplating the pureh s ot.:" 1 01 a 11. should fail r,, take advan ce ■ i off to io so will be a matter of reg K mem tas 1 are only good during the next th da - le i nstr 1 d catalogue of Mr Beat ty is do ... • ind 1 fi tforma o . i teresting to every oue. L will be in . free on app ication. Send fora copy to Darnel if, B:auy, Washington, New Jersey. Worth Twice the Sum.—We are just in re ceipt of The Chicago Lelgeb, the leading Family Paper oi' tae West, whicu is now enter ing upon i s seventa volume. The Ledger is a large forty-eight coin inn weekly paper, printed upon bold, plain type, which can be read with ease, by either the old or young, and is fitted with choice stories and matter of particular in terest to every household. This excsilent journal is supplied to subscribers, postage paid, for the extremely low price of one dollar and fifty cents .per year. In order to more rapidly in crease its present large list of readers, tho publishers of this paper have just made a new contract for the manufacture of sevral thousand fine Nickle-plated English 8tee!-Barrel-and-Cyl- inder Seven Shot Revolvers— 22 caliber—which they propose to distribute among their sub scribers at cost. aDd therefore offer one of these elegant weapons of defense and The Ledger one year for three Dollars. The revolver will be sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of the price. They have already distributed 3,000 revolvers and are mailing hundreds daily. Now iB your time to get a first-class revolver and the best paper in the country for less than half the actual worth of either. Three sample oopies of The Ledger will be sent to any’ address for ten cents. Address The Ledges, Chicago, IU.