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THE SUNNY SOUTH. jT Translated from the French of Henri Ureville. BY ANNIE MURRAY. CHAPTER XV. Boris had Iteen fifteen days at Grebova. Ever}' day he grew more sad; twice he lmd been to the post-office himself with mysterious letters, and no news had yet reached him to tell him if Lydia had l>een discovered, or if she had suffered on account of her interview with him. He was devoured with anxiety; twenty times he had thought to leave, to commence again that journey to see her, if he could not speak to her. Bur, the most powerful motive restrained him; he possessed not another halfpenny. At last one day he returned from the post- office quite gay. Since his return, his mother had not seen him so joyous. He went two or three times to the end of the garden, to read again and again the little note that he had received that morning, 'lhis note was very short; an impart al judge would have found it very commonplace in answer to the passion ate effusions of the lianished lover; but it was the writing of Lydia, it was his first love-let ter. Had it contained but her signature, Boris would have been satisfied. “Dear Boris,” wrote she, “I have receiv ed your two letters. 1 In seech you not to write so often, for Dounia has declared to me that she will not go to the post-office more than once every fortnight: she says it is too far, and in fact it is very far. 1 am afraid that by mistake they may bring your letter to the house, and von know what would hap pen. Mamma ls si ill very angry; the prince lias not l>een here since til" day you left, when he passed the evening with us, and he was then very cross. 1 am very well, and 1 hope you have good health. 1 have found the little ‘Jocelyn’ with my name. 1 am obliged to you. When will we see each other again ? How sad it. is not to nn et, and it is a long time yet to the autumn. 1 embrace you. Your Lydia.” Boris was at first happy. At the end of a few hours he felt his happiness diminish little by lit I le; Mat letter did notcomple! eiy satisfy him: lie would like to have known what Lydia felt, whether she had suffered. She said nothing about it. and Ids soul was burst ing wit!t tenderness at the bare thought that the hand of the young girl had touched the paper which he pn-s-ed to ids lips. Xevertheles-. he drove away his melancholy thoughts, to give himself to Ids joy. That letter was the first link in their future life; she had signed "Your Lydia.” so she was really his. That signature was equal to an engagement.” H" fell asleep, holding the precious letter in his baud under his pillow. Tiic next morning, on taking him his cup of milk, Sonia said to'him, suddenly: “You iia vc received a let ter from Miss .” “Who told you that said Boris astonish ed, and pulling on an air of severity. “No ojie; i saw tin envelope on the table, and I thought that it was from Miss , as you seemed so happy.” “Be kiin 1 Enough not to recount your thoughts to any one,” said Boris, little satis fied with the perspicacity of this iit! le page in rags. “Jf foolish thoughts come into your head, at least tell them only to me, who w ill forget them, whereas others would remember them.” “1 hear you, my master,” said Sonia, bow ing her head and raising ir, with a gitiitv air; “and Miss , how is she “Go away', simpleton,” said Boris, in a bad humor. lie would have boldly declared that the let ter was not from l.ydia; tlas little child’s eyes tie was annoyed w ith; 111 ilLgnice for tAo days.) The evening of ihe third day, ns be retired to rAst at a late hour, he saw a small heap at the toot-of Ills bed. “Who is there f’ asked he, a lit'le surpris ed. “Jt is me. master,” said Sonia, half raising herself. She was crouched, kneeling by the side of 1 he bed. “I waited lor you,” contin ued she, “to a-k your paidon.” “For what ?’’ said Boris, slightly put out. “For having been so ioolisti ilie other day. It was none of my bus noss, Boris 1 vanovitch, and I have been headstrong. 1 have vexed you; v on do not speak to me any more!” She approached h in, sliil on hi r knees, and prostrated herself before him with a supplicat ing air. “Forgive me; never, oh, never shall it oc cur again, believe me!” “Well, well,” said Boris, at the same time touched ami impatient, “I forgive you. Go and sleep.” “You forgive me ?” and Sonia sprang to her feet. “Yes.” “And you w ill speak to me again ! and will scold me when I do wrong 1 Yesterday 1 brought no wafer to your room, on purpose, for 1 thought \ou would scold me. You only went and fetched some yourself, without saving a word. 1 I ke far better to be scolded than not to hear you speak, Boris lvano- vitch!” The young man could not refrain from laughing, and placing his hand on the head of the \oimg gi'd, said: “Go to sleep, little savage. I promise to scold you on i he fii st occasion.” Her eyes spat Uii'g with joy. Sonia seized the hand of Boi is, covered it with kissts, and fled like a mouse. The man’s holidays were passing away. September had romni'-iiced, and the liniversit cs renp-ecd their doors. One fine an ii in it miiri’iiig. he lei' Grebova. and his mother, ai d all 11n- r quiet and familiar lolks, and Sonia, who f lung to mill, and would not able to get her to dress a little more decently.” Boris laughed heartily at these maternal woes; the idea of ordering Sonia, by writing, to wear shoes, seemed to liim so amusing that . siver. I shall do exactly as you wish. If you he immediately put it into execution; and a desire me to remain. I shall remain.” . “Very well; what—what have you decided to do 1” “I iiave decided nothing; I waited your an- bad ofi'epded rllpr, pinrBonia, “"iiie eveni ■^st at a allow lout to I'-;. “Take me v. 11 N “1!,” sn : «! site: “I will serve you. You hum, II.iM' h 'tin- one 1o ch :m your boots and pi i-pie t* \oiir U>: Take me, and you will in■ \ * r 1 it I,” in’d ;it ice village Vain pray ers. Sin- ft in:: with Mn-mini- Gi V. ho w l i i^hu ned at this p: (-iiale ili< 1 k'iy;'” * n. 1 ere; at lhe same time tin- b jm! al rich! lent ot tl.e child for lier m-ii :i"" * ••»!' Ic-r |.i v am! \ mjiailiy. Little by 1 , ■ lho« h hi i; i \ «• 1 > i in* mot h« r of her lira ; er i la «... M«,\v .!’ <!< voi i. n \\ liich the ilepn - ; ere of li l .s il.J.l (-C: w ii kontaii oh- jeot. itiM.-adi-r i miti ri” a\ i.iy al 1 le* slijihl- e-t qiu - ii li. sin: now a t ow « ;i herself to he < 1 in; ii med, to in -wer ami i t I *:«*. hut to the old lady only . 11. .*«i;11 k ].;»!• of her l.fe w liich she niil not, \\ i h to icim mi » r. Willi her liaii-1 s i; in.\ ( ..-j cl, her teeth set, lier ey cs sp. u i». r iii»sl riis dilated 1 kc an III itate'i gTi'iim, wl:e i eta’cl 1 h;:t Y\ lli'-h she hall el CUM .i in s !ci:»*e, her sinhlen passion--, lie- ting . ,\ ( i iwiLle 1 lie 1 hoii^ht •I in; ! tile :m '.ill ll lie liti me G • ll I II-i . AI chi ll, MU lir-t <1 lei -lie .!■ i mg the house 1 <> with In re elf, then In .•line eft lie good- neial Gun I i.e, a< d i of Bin is. who had iiie. uni 1 then < old e Hi le. do all (here things once lightened by ild iml believe that W as 1 I lie. fortnight after, he had the satisfaction of knowing that his orders had been obeyed. He laughed still more, and this momentary gay- ety did him a great d-al of good, for since the autumn his life had become duller and duller. Lydia had returned to Moscow with her parents, and Boris managed to meet her when she was out alone with her maid Dounia, whom they were obliged to take into their confidence; but these meetings, rare and short, were dearly paid for to the obsequious Dounia. Boris deprived himself of many lit tle tilings in order to lie able to slide some gold into the hand of 1 lie willing maid. Besides, Lydia had commenced to enter in to society; she rose at a late hour, and did not like to go out in the morning. In the af ternoon they run the risk of lieing seen by some acquaintance; in the evening Lydia went to tlie theatre, to balls, or her parents received at home. In short, Boris scarcely ever saw her. Besides, what could lie say to her? The lessons lie gave were not numerous, and only just sufficient to procui e him the expensive books which he required. Saddened, almost discouraged, he worked very hard,-only go ing out when his business obliged him to do so, and gave himself up completely to the preparation of his studies. Nothing distract ed him from this assiduous work. Every week he received a letter from his mother, to answer which was to him neither pleasant nor easy; for be desired to carefully h de from this excellent woman the sadness of his life, and a lie was repugnant to his thorough ly upright nature. * In the commencement of Octolier he had lieen visited by Prince Armianoff, who was returning to St. Petersburg. The young man’s cordiality had made a deep impression on his saddened heart: he had ex[(erienoed a moment of joy in pressing the hand of this visitor, whose presence recalled to linn the happy days of his love. Then the prince left, and the dark, sad veil which separated Boris from the outside world weighed heavier and heavier on his soul. One evening, when he was working bv liim- seif, pursuing his task w ith a sort of bitter aidor under liis smoking lamp, a letter was brmiglitto him. Beading it, Boris imagined he was in a dream anil lie recommenced it several times before concluding it. This is what Armianoff w rote him: “A learned grammarian, M. N., a friend of mt' father, seeks a young man especially de voted to philology, to assi.-t i ini in his studios. Rich ami without family, generos ity is easy for liim, and, although lie has not fixed the annual secretary, 1 think 1 may safely say that it would inn lie loss than two thousand roubles. The only condition which he demands is the positive morality of the candidate, for he w ill place in liis hands works not yet edited, the result of long ri'search‘ s. This savant will pass the w inter at St. Peters burg, to complete the examination of some manuscripts in the imperial library: then, in the beginning of the spring, he will travel with his sec: etarv. and will pass two years in visiting the libraries of Europe. This work completed, the secretary may count on a re ward equal to bis services. Not knowing if these proposals would please you, or if you were w illing to leave Moscow, 1 have not yet mentioned your name. Perhaps you prefer to keep your liberty. However, every sin cere friend would council you, 1 believe, to accept this offer. I expect from you a form al ‘yes,’ and from that moment, you may consider the affair settled. If you accept, you need not trouble yourself about any ma terial difficulties; all sliali lie settled in the most desirable manner. Besides, on arriving at fSt. Petersburg, you will come straight to my house, and we will together arrange ev erything.” l ;, l f that of joy. ciinti,his studies under Mch circumstances was hafriness! j. The second thought was one of desphtr. Separate himself from Lydia ! Impossible! And yet how hard to give up this good for tune at the commencement of fame gained so honorably and so pleasantly. Then came his gratitude to Armianoff. “Rely on me as an old friend,” the prince had said. What friend could have done more and with such delicacy ? All these thoughts troubled Bir- is’s head so much that he could not sleep that night. The morning found him feverish, at one time decided to immediately refuse for fear of being tempted, at another time ready to run all risk and accept at once. At last lie considered he had not the right to decide alone so important a step, and he ought to consult Lydia. The next day was Sunday. He had a slight chance of seeing her in church, and he decided to await her there, but the fever which was devouring him increased every hour. The night passed at length. At four o’clock he heard the liell for matins, then there was life and bustle—rather slight, in the eccentric quarter inhabited by the tu'.or— then came the hour to start. While dressing, Boris glanced in the glass; he was startled at his pallor, and at liis weary look. His features were drawn, and seemed thinner: any one would have thought he had just recovered from a long illness. It was in t alone the uncertainties of the last few days that had so changed him. Theslow suf ferings of the last three months bad deeply shaken his being. “All this must end,” said he, resolutely; “if Lydia wishes me to remain,I will think no more of this dream.” Before ten o'clock, he was on the square of the Eglise tin Bienheureux-varsili, watching tlic arrival of his beloved. The many colored roofs of innumerable domes, the fanciful form of this singular church, alone in the world for oddity and originality of its archi tecture, annoyed him. Migiit not Lydia enter one of those numerous chapels without his perceiving her i He passed three-quarters I of an hour in this agony, alone understood by I those who have waited as he did. At length Lydia, accompanied by her maid, appeared i at the end of the square. ! Ii was a beautiful morning in December; a bright sunshine caused the golden domes of j the churchesiif Kremlin to sparkle above him; I the snow which had fallen heavily during the I night, covered the smooth pavement with its Clear whiteness; the sky was of the purest I bine. . , Lydia, her body well enwrapped m her mantle of black velvet, a little pink hat encir cling her fresh face, her hands hid in her muff, ] advanced slowly, with a slight swing, which | was not altogether without grace; herser- • vant, clumsy and red, made the most perfect j contrast with her elegant palette Boris watched them without ' preach: tit last they were with of him. Lydia, who had seen hi! a slight sign with her head, ~ J her into tiie church. . They passed through obscure galleries, where the light of the candles, burning before the images of the saints, dressed in gold and prt cious stones, threw a strange reflection on certain angles, while the test were plunged in a floating and mysterious shade. As tlie voices of the choir chanted the she had I destroy i bee rein" ness -sh all al on brought and ii.i: I: Mailan with cliai v wliat tl “ll s not pe- Then wli le I willi all In r i".”if f“r th turns who ili-ic: •inlid llais tne la- Two nii.nl i''sailer Ihe di pnrinre y'i"'■ ; , J. a\aIns In n me lame with you,” saidhe, drawing near to her, that then mi.- ,'v', v a i li i im-i Ti she s< als hnsi lf at my j whispering might not be heard. na.il her 1“ knit. She | its as many nei d e> as 1here aie ^l.iy- “AYithout regret ?” said Lydia, touched. “Without a pang, since you desire it. You know well that I five but for you.” Lydia pressed the hand which held hers. Tlie invisible choir sent, at intervals, the reg ular answers; Boris, with bowed head,waited the word which would decide bis future. “Why should you remain ? she said, at last, w ith a strange mixture of shame and sadness. “Here you can do nothing. Go then !” “This is your advice ?” murmured Boris, with a sinking heart. He had hoped that she would tell him to re main. “Yes, it is much better.” “Are you sure of it J” He gazed at her, as if to read in that lovely- face, whieh the flickering fight of the lamps threw alternately into light and shade, but could catch no definite expression. “You will remain alone, without me ? Can you live without me!” Lydia’s hand trembled in his. “Lord have mercy,” sang the choir, in a minor key. Tin- prayer was repeated behind the columns, and in the aisles of the chapels; it seemed as'lfan angel’s heart was breaking with grief among the stars. Boris repeated: “You wish me to go away 5” “Yes.” said she, w ith an irrepressible move ment of impatience. “Lydia, have you well reflected about what i you say ! Two years, perhaps three years, without seeing each other!” lie-hoped she would object to tliis separation. “It will be besi,” said she, a second time. He fell on his knees beside her, as if in prayer, and pressed her hand to his lips, on which fell, one by one, his buruiyir tears. She wept also under her veil. What woman could have resisled such an gush! After an instant she leant towards him. — “Arise,” said she; “we shall he remarked.” He obeyed, and his face asstfrned a sort of marble rigidity. “You wish it, Lydia? Be it so! I thank you. you are more courageous than I am. I could never ha\e done so, but it is for both our good. In two years anil a half l will return; then I shall be rich ami famous. You will be mine ? Lydia bowed her head in sign of assent. “Say that you will lie mine,” repeated h", wiih n feverish persistence. “Yes,” she family murmured. A strange thought passed through liis mind. At ll at moment he wanted a solemn pledge, an irrevocable ('nil), to give him confidence. “Before that image,” said lie, pointing to that of our Saviour, w hich looked down on them calmly, the ice handholdingthe world, ihe other raised Inwards ihe heavens in sign of command, “before our Saviour swear to be mine.” “I canii'-t swear,” said Lydia, frightened; “it is a sin. I lia\o promised you, is that not enough!” “Then pray with me; we must be together,” replied h'-: and he dragged her before the image scarcely visible by the trembling fight of a lamp and of two or three candles. He held her hand tightly, and Lydia was forced to yield; they ti-il on their knees side by side. Boris could not pray: in thought he volunta rily united himself with this young girl kneel ing beside liim, and for whom he asked the blessing of Go 1. She could not pray either; she was terrified; it seemed to her they* com mitted a sacrilege, and she asked herself with fear if God w ould not punish her for what she was doing. An old woman, who brought a small candle to the image, asked them in a supplicating tone: “Give me alms for the love of Christ, that he may bless your marriage.” Lydia arose quickly; Boris’took from his pocket a little money and gave it to the old woman, who retired overw helming I lien with blessings. lv. I cannot say- farewell thus.” ‘ “Where ?” “Come to my house,” said he, in a tone of authority. “Come with Dounia, if you art afraid; she shall remain with you all the time. No one will know any thing. Come, I must speak to you freely.” “You w ould not s]teak so freely if Dounia heard us,” replied Lydia, with a slight air of superiority; “if she accompanies meshe would have too much power over me; I should be altogether in her hands.” The impassible follower, at two paces dis tant, feigned to haveseen no'lung. Boris saw that, in a practical point of view, Lydia was right; but this reason seemed to liim very- cold. “Be it so,” said he, after a second’s reflec tion, “but I must see you; find a place.” “When do you leave ?” “Probably this day week.” “Very well; Saturday, at el-veil o’clock, here, during the mass; on week lays there is hardly any one.” “Very well.” A crowd of people separated Cbm; he could not say another word to her. H- hastened to get out, and perc. ived, a few p ens ahead of him, the young girl, who was retiming to her home. Her manner was not, ciaiigeil, noth ing betrayed a new emotion ia her. lie watched them as long as lie wild see them, and then he ieturned home, miller feverish or perplexed, but w ith a heart full of indes cribable sadness. He asked ikiiseU' what strange impulse had induced lnl to take the image as witness to his oaili. nil could not conceive the motive that indiii.il him to do it. Was is not that in times of real emotion you may mechanically retunno the habits of former years i While Lydia continued on hekvay towards home, Dounia said to her: “Is M. Boris going away?’ “Yes.” “Altogether ?” “For two or three years.” i “Ho much the better, miss; »\v, nothing will prevent your finding a d>d husband, noble and rich, as you ought t*ave.” Lydia, pretending not tnear, • made no answer. calm and indulgent, like an incarnation of goodness on the earth, would beautify a ripe old age. “Mother, I will return.” murmured he, his heart bursting with sorrow; “if you feel ill, write me at once, and l will come to y-ou di rectly-. I swear it to you.” “Don’t swear,” said the pious mother, plac ing her hand gently on his mouth. “Swear ing is a sin; the Lord will punish us for it. You will try to return, will you not ?” “Yes, mother, 1 promise you,” said he v in a low- voice. “Do y-ou wish me to remain ?” “No; go. After so many troubles, I shall be very- happy to see my son return rich and happy!” She smiled, her eyes filled with tears, and Boris smi'ed in return, without letting go her hands, which he raised to bis lips. “Then you leave to-morrow ?” said the mother, after a moment’s silence. “The day- after tomorrow.” “To-morrow we will have prayers said for your journey. When do you leave Moscow ?” “Saturday or Sunday.” “You will write to me ?” “Before leaving, and as soon as I arrive.” “Very well; while you remain there y-ou will write every week. Have you shirts enough ?” “I do not know, mother: I suppose so.” “I have two or three fine pieces of linen; I was keeping them for your marriage.” Boris could not help making a slight tnove- mi-nt; she glanced at him, then turned her ey-es away, sighing. “I will set ail my women to work, and be fore you leave, y oil will have at least half a dozen new ones. Wait for me.” She took her keys from the little basket that was always with her, and went away with rather a languid step, as she said, to hunt in her wardrobes. Boris, motionless in the place she had left him, followed her with his eyes, and saw her disappear in her room, the liiHir of which she closed carefully-. He remained alone for some time, dream ing of It s future and of his past life; the win dow, shut in a double frame, permitted him to see but the snowy horizon, surmounted by a (lull and snowy sky. -But how sweet and dear to him was this humble dwelling, and this modest horizon! His heart filled at the same time with hope and sadness, and above all wilh an inexpressible love for that mother so devoted, and whom he was about to leave in solitude, with oil age advancing. He hid bis ey-es with his hand, and felt as sad as ever he did in his most wretched days. A slight noise aroused him from his sad thoughts: he trembled, fearing he might have been surprised by his mother. It was not her; it was Sonia, who, standing on the threshold, gazed on him with her eyes full of tears. Boris had scarcely seen her, and had spoken but a word to her in passing. For the last two hours, crouched against the door.-he waited for some sign of recognition from her master. Hearing no more noise, she ventured to enter. But she dared not go further. “Master, you are sad,” said she, in a low voice. “It is nothing,” said the young man, gazing at her kindly. “How you have grown, girl ?” She had not grown, but h-r long dress fell modestly as far as her ankles, w hich were ci.vi-red with gray woollen stockings, and her little feet with leather shoes. She followed the glance of her master, w ho smiled at the thought of her energetic refusal to wear shoes. “You ordered me to wear shoes, and I have put them on,” said she; “they cost a silver rouble, and the stockings I made myself.” “Yourself!” said Boris, “you have then learned ?” “Yes, I have learned several things. I have also knitted some stockings for you, my master.” She removed from beneath her apron an enormous pair of gray stockings and carried them to Boris, her face covered with blushes, and with a smile of modest triumph at ihe comers of her month and under her lowered eyeliiU. , “ Vhj'y are very dicelv done,” said Boris, Iviinffnneh “ ’■» >v. “It* is I who will kiLp your rooni/n order, h pr . - - - - “Why do you not get angry ?” asked the ^“TSaster forbade me,” repli^So^a-j. From that day, she received the a ^ thafc cious teasings with silence. Bej> ,a >, n q peaceful house, no one was really : _ soon perfect tranquillity surrouiide- „ e _ signed and patient sadness of Madai bof. . On reaching Moscow, Friday evening, And a number of other tilings that I have j ris found tlie prince’s answer, they on her slender form and little hands. A long silence followed. Boris, much amused, watch ed her from the corners of liis eyes. “And w hen I shall be big and strong you will take me ?” “Certainly-,” said the young man, very seri ously; “but you must know-how to wash, iron, cook,, and mend clothes ” “I know how to do all that,” interrupted she, raising her head proudly. «ep your roomy replied she, eagerly. Do master, is it not you remain lon_ “Until the day after to morrow.” “Only 1 Oh, master, now that I can sew- and knit, and do many other things, y-ou will take me with you to Moscow, to w-aitonyou, will you not ?” "Not yet,” said the young man, laughing and sighing at the same time. The door of Madame Grebof’s room opened slowly. Sonia fled like a frightened swal low, and the old lady entered with two or three pieces of linen in lier arms. You could see she had been weeping, though her face was now calm. Boris ran to relieve her of her load, and covered with kisses the hand and cheek of this dear creature. She pressed him with emotion in her arms. She repressed the sigh w hich swelled her motherly heart, then she quietly pushed him away- w ith firm resignation. “It is the will of God,” said she, wiping her eyes with the corner of the piece of linen. “To work! we have no time to lose. Tell me exactly what you have and what you have not; I have saved one or two hundred rou bles, and I do not wish that my son should go to the capital like an orphan deprived of ev- rytiling. Sit down there and let us make out u fist.” CHAPTER XVII. In the evening, on entering the little room, which he was about to leave for so long, Bo ris found Sonia who w aited for him by the door. “I am come to take away your clothes to 1 irush them,’ said she, by- w*av of explana tion. Mechanically Boris took off his coat and gave it to her, then sat down at the table where, w hen a hoy, lie had cut all sorts of figures with his penknife. she; p sail I ale God would ' solemn prayers of the advent season, Lydia t i . a. « n milimin ill fill UllLMO OL tllO full ' '(- uiiliapi and i wall, made two or three times the sign ot the piayed I cross mechanically, then turned towards i riea- Boris. „„ , if (b d. “You do notlook well, said she of Boris ought not to have come out. .. : I "1 had something very important, to tell ‘and you greeable?” ask- i ren- hich she What now? something diss ed she, in an annoyed tone. “No, my angel, not exactly. And while anneal ing absorbed m his medi- tat ions, he related, in clear and brief terms, the contents of the letter he had received; the only thing he did not tell her—why he could not tell—was the name of his correspondent. breaks as many in the 1.10, II,: bill she is ' <’> y " din g. however, sonulin.es she is so hea.lsliong that 1 quite despair: she has lake,, a giea disuke to the lamidi ess. and nothing can n.luce her 1 dei h. r one of 1hosc lillfe sevvn lavishes ,,, Dacha and my^^”8 ITany ratrLydte did not ask it of him; she aVslY iJihc miickest in the house, she waits listened in si lance, not without emotion, but nift n e-ii the t-ible- but »e have not been ! of what nature that emotion was, she could able to fndUcU’emto w ear shoes. You ought ! not tell, and when he finished she remained tertowearsboesand*tacSngl lia I will re’jfl j "ell?” said Boris, astonished at hersi- her that sentence, and perhaps we shall be j fence. CHAPTER YI. The same evening Greff w-iote to the prince, and while awaitil his answer, he went to say farewell to himotlnr. At this unexpected arrival the d lady imagined that something unusual id iuppened. It w as useless for her son to e the most subtle circumlocutions. “I-see what it is,” said ?* to him; “y-ou are going away from me for sditime. Had it not been so you would not hacome when Christmas is so near. Tell me, least, are you sure you are doing well ?” This calm and resignation relic! the heart of Boris of a great weight, wid en found courage to relate to her the unled-for turn in his prospects in fife. As he lained the future whieh opened 1 tefore hiae was as tonished to find himself gayer I gayer: a heavy load, carried unconsciotl till then, seemed to tie lifted from his lldeis; the fife w hich was presented to liirts still that of work, but a loved work, inigent, and no longer that fierce Kittling wjhfiicultics. Madame Grtbof listened to 1 watching him with her motherly eyes, atfllowed his discourse with all the concentrfi of which she was capable. Astonished at.being in terrupted, Boris stopped in thiddle of a gay- phrase. j “You say nothing, mother ?’ < returned to him. Everything in the house seemed to speak to him' with a penetrating and familiar voice, and to remind him he had grown older. Sonia gently pulled his sleeve; he awoke from his reverie. “What do you want ?” said he. Tlie eyes of the little one were opened wide ly-, as in the darkest day's of her dependence; a wild anguish distorted her face. “They say that you are going away- on a long journey, Boris Ivanovitch, is it true ?” : is true,” replied Boris, astonished at forgotten,” said Boris, at the end of his cata logue. “When I shall know all, will you take me ?” “You must also learn to live at peace with the other servants,” added the young man, more severely; •‘they say that you areal- ways quarreling with some one; it is not enough to oliey your masters; you must also live in peace with your companions.” Sonia said nothing more; with her head hung, she stood rolling the comer of her apron in her fingers, while bitter tears ran down her cheeks. Without knowing it. Boris had just touched a vunerable point; the servant wo men never ceased to tell her that she could never serve a master till she accustomed her self to suffer the caprices of her equals. “I will try and ilo as you say,” murmured she, after a short silence; “and when I am vorv gentle will you take me ?” “Yes,” answered Boris: “but 1 am tired, it is late: go and sleep.” “(fooil-night, master.” She shut the door, weeping silently; but Boris absorbed in his thoughts, did not hear the sound of her new shoes in the’corridor. \\ ii limit | laving much attention, he was re tiring to bed, when he heard a smothered sigh outside his door. He listened, the noise was heard at regular intervals. He got up quietly, and opened the door. Stretched on the floor, Sonia was weeping with her whole heart. “Will you go to bed ?” said he, raising her up. Her strength all gone, she laid helplessly against him. “Oh, my master! I love you so much,” murmured she, between her sobs, “and I shall lie so long without seeing you!” “L will return," said Boris, touched by this deep devotion: “I will return and you will see me as much as you please.” “If you will let me serve you one day.” “You shall wait on me if you will lie a good'obedient little girl.” “I will do all that you tell me.” “Very well; go to bed now at once. Sleep well, and to-morrow morning.at seven o’clock come and bring me a cup of warm milk, as you used to. You remember “Yes, my- master,” said the child, partly consoled, anil she disappeared in the darkness of the corridor. The next day passed by turns both quick ly and slowly. The morning of the third (lay, Boris, on awaking, could hardly remem ber if a year or a day had passed since his re turn from the counti-y. lie quicklv remem bered that he must 1 -ave for Moscow, and he hastened to dress himself. In a few minutes liis mother appeared, se rious but resigned, and at times almost smil ing. Her vigilant activity had thought of everything, .mil many times later during his stay, Boris had occasion to bless the hand that had provided for his slightest wants. The well-filled tranks were at length fast ened, the village pastor came to partake of the farewell meal, an 1 repeat the prayer for the travelers. A few minutes more, and the sledge, with its ringing harness, stopped at tiie door. The moment had arrived. Madame Grebof took her son in her arms, the tears whieh she could no longer restrain accompanied her blessing; her voice failed her. Boris could only catch a few broken syllables; but never were words better under stood. “Remember your mother,” said those re signed tears, “remember that for twenty-two years you have been her only care, aiid her whole joy, that she lived but for one thought, to make you an honest and intelligent man; l-ememliu- thatvshe would give her life to as- dishonest man|” ' f Boris understood all this, and if he said nothing, Ins answiT was well understood by the heart which beat sadly against his own. A word of farewell to the old and faithful servants—and Sonia—thev sought her every where in vain. Time had passed. Boris charged his mother with an affectionate fare well for the orphan. and well wrapped in furs all, master, servants, went out on the door step. The snow was falling in large flakes, soft as the swans down, on the ground already cov ered deeply from the preceding storms;'there was not a breath of air, the sky was low, and the horizon seemed quite close; silence was everywhere. The villagers had al] assembled in tlie yard to take leave of the young master. Boris glanced among the crowd; Sonia was not thereeither. A little uneasy, he again recom mended the little stranger to the care of the servants who loved him, and embracin'’ his mother for the last time, seated himself in the low sledge with slightly elevated sides and uncovered his head to bid farewell to the folks lie loved. His mother gave him a blessim- the sledge started, passing slowly by tlie door, and lire over the soft snow of fleecy whiteness. The church disappeared behind him. then one after another all the houses of the villa elfildren. larSU ^ h ° ld opeu for him 1 • Y the Boris sighed and again turned to see liis home once more: the snowy curtain hid it fiom his view; lie could only perceive a gray mass. winch faded away in another moment But at the turn of tlie road, near a grove of hrs. appeared a small figure almost transform ed into a statue from the white flakes of snow It was Soma who, standing in the middle of die road, made signs to the driver to stop. A little handkerchief was on her head, ris round the prince s an*»w n. * j .. * .1 e<l him; lie could leave as soon as pussib e,tne mid-day if he wished. “This letter co an order for a large amount to cover n penses,” said Armianoff. •_!,* After having passed a portion of the nignt in arranging his pajiers and books, tovart the morning Boris took a little rest, at L . o’clock he went out, Knight two betrotnai rings at a jeweler’s, and went to the Lniu du Bienheureux Vassili, where Lydia baa promised to meet him that day. His heart beat fast when he entered the door. , , “Did that moment really forebode a sep- a rati on ho said to himself, with incredu lity; it is not possible, for the mind at tunes refuses to admit of certain things, even be fore full evidence, and seems to retreat from pain. . _ . . , O11 the other hand, the ring which he was about to plac e on Lydia’s finger would be a tie between them, which would always be present before her, and would not that ring si eak to her of her betrothal i (To bp, continued.) MRS. PRATT; — OR, — The Woman that was Always Ailing. By A. E. There are some people who are always ailing. One of this class was Mrs. Sophronia l’ratr. According to her own account she was, with out a (loubt, one of tin- most unfortunate fe males that ever liv- *d. She was never known to call herself well. When she didn’t have the headache, she had the backache, or some other kind of ache, and, as she remarked to a neighbor, sho hadn’t seal the time tor seven teen years that .-he hadn't been troubled with tome ache or other. She used to be taken down very suddenly, and <>n the most unex pected occasions. Whcneve- her husband refused her request for money, or in any other way interfered with her wishes, she was sure to be in a critical condition before twenty-four hours had elapsed. At -ueh times she would send for her hu-bai.d, and inform him in the most solemn manni r that she was about to leave the world, and en joined upon him, if he had a second wife, to treat her with more kindness and considera tion ; end, uK>ve all, never to scold her for complaining when siie was really sick. Her hu-band finally got used to her com plaints, and refused to lake any notice of them. It rarely happened that a day passed without Mr. Pratt’s being informed how deli cate his wife’s health was. And on one occa sion, when he told her that more than half her ailments were imaginary, she assured him that he would think differently some time, for she could not live long, as she had done. She told i ini she could bear it a little better ii’ he had any sympathy for her, “ but tuat," said she, “I never exjiect from you.” One day, early in September, Mr. Pratt was engaged in digging potatoes in afield about a quarter of a mile distant from the bouse, when he. was startled by.the sudden arrival of his oldest boy, panting and breath less. “ What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Pratt, in a voice of mingled surprise and apprehension. “Mother!”—ejaculuted the boy, but being out of breath, that was all he could say for t le Y.ime being. ting what was coming, Mr. Pratt, wv**‘ Sfcbeved from liis anxiety,^ wen*, v-ulposedly with m- , She says she’s goin’ thl- hoy, in a fresh hurst, come home and receivehei “Let me see,” said Mr. P.,j pear so much overcome by ■ as might have been expected,! third time within a month tlf has lieen dying. She’s i guess she’ll get over it.’ fja:.^aw; vv wants you to words* 10 did not ap- intelligence ibis is tins the it your mother ^knnlof hysterieky. In due time Mr. Pratt reaped the bedside ot Ins wite. “I'm glad you’ve come, Mr. Pratt’’said she, m a feeble voice; “I don’t expwt I’ve got more nan hour to live. You haven’t treated me so well as you might. Pratt, hut I ,n . l .' t , 1 t ' )r o m ' - " u * as a Christian should.” *‘Uh, I ^cuess you ain’t so Kk»<1 as all Sophnini i,’’ sain her lmsKmd! “Yo^Wot Y'Ht’fi.b® u pa s bright Fjatt,” said his “It is true,” replied Boris, her quick, sharp voic "You take away the young lady with you ?” “What an idea! Whv no! Where did you learn that ?” “Then do you not love her any longer ?” “That lias nothing to do with you.” “And is it true that you will lie two years without returning V “Yes.” “You will not take me with you?” “I cannot, my poor child,” replied Boris, shrugging his shoulders. “I do not know my self where I am going. 1 shall no longer bb at liK'rty Sonia,’’ added ho. in remarking the frightened expression of the child’s counte nance. "I shall go w here another man wish es me to go—a very good man—hut i can no longer go where I would wish." “It is your own free will j” "" By, yes, it is in order that I can work as much as 1 wish.” Sonia bowed her head and reflected an in, stant, but it was too difficult l'or her to under? stand. She could not comprehend it and re turned to her first idea. “Take me with you, master,” said she. “Y oil promised not 10 abandon.me.” I do not abandon you,” said Boris slightly A hundred recollections of his childhood ckmk iw taH&ly "a paneV’LTin ^nlker! ch,et 0,1 h ‘- r “rm. She had waited there nearly an hour. “Sonia!” cried Boris, pleased but startled to see her there. “I looked for von every- where.” - “Master take me with you, I beseech you,” sun the little one, with suppliant voice- “I will be very obedient. She fixed her lar-e eyes her master, trying to persuade him by tue ie-vor ot her prayer. "! will do dl Hint vott tell me. I will ’ quarrel with You see I am all ready to go take you!” I cannot, my-child, you know very well is very cold l etUni , l uk ' ki y to tlie house, it “Farewell, master.” said voice. “I will do all that you ha to do.” “Anil then I will take you with me,” said Boris, gaily. ’ 11 “Are you in earnest'?” ‘Jfl, truI Y■ if J'OH should still wish it” added the young man, who expected to see this fancy pass away in time. The stiff and frozen lingers of the child stretched out to seize the hand of Boris, b it he leant forward ami kissed heron I er bah which was covered with fine snow back to let the sledge pass on. “Au revoir!” cried Boris, tonkin “God keep you,” replied she. The sledge ,resumciI its course* bet as the next Uirn. Boris, w ho looked hack frmn time to time? could see through the snow rul ing heavily# the dark form of the orphan >re he had left her. Whife he hi- w ay to Moscow, Sonia re- thi* blues, that’s all, as ever to-morrow moniin “ You're very unfeelin, wife, “ to address such rt _ with one foot in the grave, an,ltoother'fert slipping over the edge. However, I forgive vou i-s 1 sanl oefore. Ami I want to have a little serious eonvei satn>n with you concern ing nur children, who will so soon be left motherless. I want them to stay with von lor tl." present. When they become older it "ill be soon enough for them to so from home. But now they- need a mother’s cure and it is chiefly on their account that I am sorry to leave you. Of couise, after a sue , hie time has elapsed, you will marry again" nnil i cannot die happy without knowing who ts to have the cure of my chili Ken in future u con i oophronia, you’re making years*vet." 1 ^- vou ' n “Ah. Pratt, you’ve toll me so before y-ou will soon feci very differently aboutV l have thought of all my female acmaim anct’s. but there is only one that | tt:'! would suit you, aud that is Helen Parker the Plan, seei i -tr, i no one. me with in a doleful have told me “I listen to you,” she answerkind I call annoyed, “since 1 leave yen with my mother, down upon you tlie Saviour’s ling.” | and I do not think she will make you unliap- “Y*ou give your consent tf -aid he, py.” seizing with ardor his moth*vhite and “Oh, no, she is like you.” dimpled hand, to carry it to h?s. Boris laughed, “Since your happiness is *, go, my- son,” replied she. “God Yvill kps permit me to live long enough to see tetum once more.’ Boris fell on his knees 16 her; the thought of losing his mother, p-Uy loved, had never as yet entered his 1 be had al ways had a vague impressionthey would descend together the path of J n d that in old age he would have at his »© the silver locks of his mother by the si’pf his own whitening hairs, and that siiB always She drew ; back, as far Major's iiie! “V\ ell,’••said Mr. Pratt.’changing hj g “Helen is a fine girl, and I think v? of her. Besidi that you would not lie withus long jq t ; to Hrimi aK,,it taking yottrpla^ro^ “Anil what did she say!” ask Il rs . p , n to have regained Mime of h er ' 10 ti:, as she raised herself hi be,j_ 11 “Oh, she said she would he Very h an _„ , no so, if there was an opportiniitv,’’ S ai/u\r'° I .. turning away with a smill ’•■r) m v ® r - think 1 anFfortunate. Soph; ifci-y’i c * You “Fortanatel” exclaimed Ji.-i P ... f fa! of her sickness, slm jum^o get 7 the room; “ S o tins trollop is anii, )IK , P a ccd ueath. is she! She can unit l on L.."‘.."'Y she expect::. I’ll live to spite ter-Gl-,,,t, llan Tim next morning Mrs. P.. gu „ p pared breakiiist, as u-md. T 1stw,an *- >re " tiuie her husband was called toiler J , ias t Judging from present indicai oas q ,'“ed. " ill live to see Miss Helen a coimY’ "Mi maid. ““fined old l£ii»L si53<5.is of’I.oCt:>.—-Lntt, tress. ho h.is been charge i by a ,, longshoreman -with being tlft'amn, 8 "*' ' X. ot aer of his "edile.l ■osi^ui'H-iii.m *• ill? iiie iw] three children and his own lasirfQjj wife, kicks up lr-r lieeis and i-ays d, 3 the form minion aceu-ation. W lie larly impecunious father of fails to provide tor himself a ij in any other wav. lie sets But it is not the sains ( tiling,” continued Soma, obstinately. “I love Varvssra-PeU-ov- na very much, but it is Yvith you that I wish to go.” “I cannot take you,” said Boris, severely- and quite despairing of being able to make the little savage understand, he added; “See how thin and small you are. How eouidyrto- wash the linen and carry the water and woo<f up to the fourth story ? You see that you could not serve me.” Sonia, discouraged, threw a mournful glance .e hi inse. b you come from ?” asked Dacha tie looked ft r you everv- ,the master has left without yom- God speed. i the master n-;ti we him , ■, farewe 11 to each other ” replied the little on!? Where was that ?” t - “On the road.” DOttake leav e ofl.imherelikea Sonia made no reply, lowered her head and took up her work. One after the other al the servant wojneii reproached her in the same way, but she remained calm . Soma was silent; all were watching her. i ] _ Particu- 1 family upl iii i S fafaprmg the husband of Lotta, ami as to her to remit. This discln£re ? Y W| ites cinat’ng little actress opens up to ffijS and extensive field of indu-try, . u : s “ new- some light upon what has liiiht-i-to lb*, throws plexing my story to most of Us. t? 11 a per- for the felioYvs that one sees-h^o- acK ounts the stage doors and box oflii® of t£„ ? a K>ut who are not act ora and ot t-tuinly- “theatres, ers. They are the husbands jbfr- 0 * report- York Star. ^ ’ 0tl a—Aeu- Wlu-ii l!c isliacmtfk, is as bad a hunter as he is a this does not prevent him. i hunting season comes round,] fortnight in the field with doj “And that’s tlie only pea when he doesn’t kill anythin his colleagues, kindly. i%2r torx as tiie afts"*** >" s^ v tlle yees one ot The Waver Steam Fire It Company of New Orleans wftl a nd Hose supper on them approachi "g *titiiy anil