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“With Eyes That See Wot •Oh, that mint mammy mould makm a book/ Conducted By R W Me Ad am Under the Lamp With Ute BooKs Anthony Overman. PRIAM araOHEUSON'S novel "Anthony O v e r m a n," ■which has Just Ibeen brought out t>y Doubleday, Page & Co.. Is the most se rious and artistic work so ■far of this brilliant young California author. Love, Journalism, religion and union labor figure In this very absorbing story. The hero, whose name gives the book its title, is a dreamer who lives In a mountain retreat, where lie has estaib- lishreil an altruistic community. A clever San Francisco newspaper woman writes a sensantional article albouit him. She persuades him to come to San Francisco and go into t<ho newspaper work, for she had already fallen .promptly in love with him. The rest of the story deals with Overman's experiences In San Francisco where he takes u.p the cause of unionism. Since San Francisco is the moat strongly ■unionized' city In the United States, hav ing a union labor mayor, the significance of Overman’s work is apparent. The story Is a. succession of dramatic inci dents, which provo the faith and worth of the Idealist. In “Anthony Overman ’ .Miss Miohelson gives a view of Bohe mian newspaper life in the most Bohe mian of American cities, and attached to this hook is the peculiar and unde niable interest that the scenes than are described have Been forever removed. The San Francisco that Robert Louis Stevenson and his comrades of the Bo hemian Club knew and loved is given a permanent setting In this story. In Search of Life. For the .past ten years Goldwln Smith has from time to time eontribuieu to The New York Sun letters, short articles and answers to questions put to him co respondents In that paper, the object of them all being a seeking for light on the religious question. These papers, long and short, have been gathered up into a small volume, "In Search of Light,” no change whatever having been made in their tendency or form In the transfer from newspaper to volume. It Is hardly necessary to say that the volume is one of deep Interest, chal lenging the attention of thoughtful read ers, whatever tbelr attitude may be to the subjects discussed. Goldwln Smith Is a deep thinker, an earnest seeker after tTiith in all matters, religious and secu lar, with a broad tplnd. free from dog matism. That the subject of the volume Is of strong Interest and of practical importance at the present time Is sug gested by the fact that a secular Jour nal In England within three months re ceived 8,000 communications seeking fo.- ligbt on the religious question.—The Mac millan Co.. New York; The Burrows ■Brothers Co. The Secret Life. "The Secret Life,’ 1 evidently written by a woman, is further declared on the title page to be "The Book of a Heretic. From Its very nature It would be too much to expect that the author of such a book would be daring enough to place her name on the title page, and yet there Is no really good reason why she should. In her early years It seems she discovered that she was the Tiresome Child, who asked questions Instead of accepting statements as they were made and whose fate was to be frequently slapped and put to bed for expressing opinions not conformed to the conven tional or that should have been uttered at some other time, or not at all. De siring a quiet life she resolved to mane a confidant only of a secret diary, to the pages of which she confided such com ments on many things as she did not car® to free her mind about to the cou- ,pan“ present lest she should be meta phorically "spanked and put to bed.” The result Is a book in diary form which thinking people will appreciate.—John Lane Co., New York. Study of European History. In the study of modern Europe, it* political organizations and Its economic problems, the student will find invaluable information and guidance in "Notes on the History and Political Institutions of the Old World,” by Edward Preissig, and (published by G. P. Putnam's Sons. Now that the eyes of the world are centered on Russia, this book gives one a sure sense of proportion in viewing the Euro pean situation, and defines values which might otherwise be overlooked. The peculiar merit of this book lies In the fact that it offers to students in a single volume an epitome of the two sub jects named in the title, and makes this Information accessible in a convenient and inexpensive form. The course of the histories of the various old world coun tries and the development of their po litical Institutions are placed side by side and followed from ancient times to the end of the nineteenth century. Ibsen’s Letters. With the death of Henrik Ibeen eoore* of appreciations harve been published In all parts of the world, for this titanic Norwegian was a world man In the breadth end altitude of his thought. As a social prophet he ds essentially of this age. when we find that the old forms have served their purpose and thus having fulfilled their purpose are of the value of outworn garments or use less lumber which we doom ourselves to carry. Ibsen probably more than any other great man suffered from en thusiastic misinterpretation; but there is the calm, sure personal note In the recent expressions of William Archer, to whom and his brother we owe gratitude for a splendid translation of thirteen of the master’s prose drama*; Edmund Cosse, his personal friend, and that veritable scientist and Hteratueur, Have lock Ellis. With all the varied expressions re garding Ibsen, the best metod of secur ing an estimate of the man and his pur pose Is through a reading of his letters. They have been collected In a most in viting volume and are published by Duf- field & Co., New York. The translation is by John Nllsen Laurvlk. The collec tion is brought together 'by Ibsen'a son, who, few Americans know, was at one time In his country’s diplomatic service at Washington. They have been brilliantly rendered into English and annotated by a versa tile young Norwegian. Written during the period of Ibsen'a greatest literary activity, and comment ing (freely on his own work, they are an illumination of Ibsen himself, his mental habits and his methods, that renders his writings much more intelligible than his readers have ever dared to hope. There are, besides. In the letters much wit, hu mor and charaeterlsttc comment on well- known men and events. Cotton. The book entitled "Cotton” by Charles W. Burkett and Clarence H. J’oe, which Doubleday, Page & Co., have Just brought out. Is the most important and compre hensive work on. tills subject yet pro duced. It is not only a practical specific guide to the whole large subject, but it is an assemblage of all possible facts with their (world-wide significance. The relation of cotton, not only to the whole economic and social life of the south, but to the whole country is explained; every process of its development Is intepreted. In short, tills book takes cotton from the seed until It goes out to clothe and succor Hie world. The illustrations are one of flic striking features of this book, for they tell the whole interesting story of the plan that is the basis of the denii- r.amt Industry of the globe. The authors are well-known men; Mr. Burkett is pro fessor of agriculture in the North Caro lina college of agriculture and mechan ic arts; Mr. Poe is the editor of "The Piogressive Farmer,” of Raleigh, N. C., anil has been a frequent contributor To the World's Work and other leading mag azines. ’‘Coetoil” is one of the volumes of the interesting Farm Library which will Include books on "Soil,” “Farm Ani mals, ” "Farm Equip •lents,” "Fruits and Vegetables,” and "Fanning as a Busi ness.” The Voice in the Street. One cannot read "The Voice in the Street" without hearing the jangle and the roar, the clatter and the clash of New York’s streets. The author, Ernest Poole, has caught the effect and he makes the reader catcli it. too. But the noises of the metropolis are not what the author means by his title. The voice he writes of is that of a street urhin. “Lucky Jim.” under 12. and a gambler. It is discovered that he has a voice, that lie can sing. He becomes the boy soprano in a. popular restau rant. and the proprietor, caring nothing for the future of the boy, but only for bis own pecuniary gain, makes the hoy overstrain Ills voice, and drugs him, when his strength seems to fall, in or der to keep him to his task. An old fiddler In the orchestra conies to the boy’s rescue. After a while the old fiddler's daughter, in order to provide means to help the boy cultivate his voice, steals (from the homes of the rich in which -fbe sews, and Dago Joe, a street chum of Jim’s, sells the ‘Toot. ’ The results are almost tragic. A. 13. Barnes & Co., New York. Weiss' Commentary. An English translation of Professor Bernhard Weiss' commentary on the New Testament has been issued in four vol umes by Funk & Wagnalls. The trans lation is tile work of Professor George H. Schodde and Professor Epipdianius Wilson. Professor Weiss, of Berlin, is numbered among the iforemost living New Testament scholars. This work may he said to be the crowning effort of Ids long and crowning effort of his losg and crowded life- While the work is not encumbered with an abundance of arche ological and similar outside matter, that tnay or may not add to the.clearness of the interpretation, its results are based on the best scholarship of the day in every paJticular. in fact. Professor See- berg, of Berlin, says; “The terseness of the master no less than the sedateness of the erudite scholar, and the unfailing tact of the man who (for more than a generation has followed the calling of teacher, give his work an almost unique value.” It is thoroughly evangelical and is not a work about the Bible, but is one that directly introduces us into the Bible. —Funk & Wagnalls, New York. Publication Notes. Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London, announce that in Oc tober next they will begin the publica tion of Putnam’s Monthly, which will constitute a reissue of the magazine firs* published by the late George P. Putnam In 1853. With the new Putnam's will be incorporated the Orltic Mligazlnev which has been Issued by Messrs. Put nam's Sons since 1898. "Twilight Fairy Tales” and "The En chanted I^and” are two volumes of chil dren’s stories, respectively by Mrs. Bal- lington Bootn and Louey Chisholm, which the Putnams plans «> bring out early in the autumn. The first named book evinces the same knowledge of chil dren’s tastes and feelings and the same graciousness and delicacy of sentiment which made Mrs. Ballington Booth's earlier books of fairy stories popular. The author of "The Enchanted Land” is following up, with this volume, a previ ous series of stories which scored a suc cess with little people some time since. The leading holiday book announced by The Baker & Taylor Company for this autumn Is "Katrina,” by Roy Rolfe Gil son, which Is scheduled for October I. The charm and subtlety of Mr. Gilson's earlier stories reach their highest point here in the tale of a newspaper man who lives over again the love of his youth In the little daughter of the wom an he lost. There are six illustrations in color by Alice Barber Stephens which are executed with extraordinary sympa thy. Mrs. Stephens illustrated Mr. Gil son's "In ®ie Morning ulow,” which en joyed so great a popularity, and still 13 in great demand. Of the younger literary men, few have shown greater promise or have been recognised by critics of style and greater skill in plot building than Owen Johnson. His "Arrows of the Almighty” attracted an extraordinary amount of attention for a first book, and “In the Name of Liber ty” was a picture of tne French revolu tion in the guise of fiction which has scarcely been surpassed. The Baker & Taylor Company now announce for Sep tember 16 “Max Fargus,” which is a. tale of a strong man’s revenge. The story combines a splendid mystery with some wonderful character sketches, yet it Is as far from the typical New York novel of Wall street and Sifth avenue On September I The Baker & Taylor Company will Issue the first of Its fall fiction, "Power Lot," by carah P. Mc Lean Greene, the author of "Vesty of the Basins,” “Cape Cod Folks” and “Deacon Lysander." In this book Mrs. Greene goes back to the strong, quaint folks of the north Atlantic coast—Nova Scotia this time—where she tells of the develop ment of a dissolute city lad, practically exiled into this rugged community. The strong, humorous characters with whom he has to deal give a splendid chance for 'Mrs. Greene's quaint stories, while at the same time there is much strength In the tale of Robert Hilton's growth and struggle. President Eliot, of Harvard, dpes not view the amassing of wealth by the “fa vored few” with alarm. He sees counter balancing forces at work, which will operate ag successfully in the future as they have done In the past. In this day of shrieking and denunciation, his calm appraisal of the situation Is of value. His hook on "Great Riches,” soon to be pub lished by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., wiH attract attention. There Is no writer so well qualified by education and mentally equipped, as Gen eral Charles King to tell In story of the life and environments of an American soldier. lie was graduated at West Point, spent many years in the service, and commander a brigade in the Philip pines during the earlier months of the In surrections there in 1899, and so his new story, "Lieutenant Sandy Rav,”- will deal with army life there in the Philippines. The admirers of Oscar Wilde's plays will be pleased to know that F. M. Buckles & Co. have in press “The Duchess of Padua,” which will be pub lished in the same style as their edition of his poems. One of the important autumn novels will be “The Dragon Painter,” the new Japanese romance by Sidney McCall, au thor of "Truth Dexter” and "The Breath of the Gods." A story of unusual power by one of the few authors capable of interpreting the inner life of the people of Japan “The Dragon Painter” is said to possess more popular qualities than did "The Breath of the Gods.” Sidney McCall's new novel, which will be hand somely illustrated, will be published by Little, Brown & Co. General A. W. Greely, Arctic explorer, for many years chief signal officer of the United States army and at present in charge of the Pacific division, with headquarters at San Francisco, has pre pared a "Handbook of Polar Discov eries,” which Little. Brown & Co., Bos ton, will issue this fall. This 'book will contain an authoritative resume of Polar explorations from the earliest voyages to the present time, it being based on his earlier "Handbook of Arctic Dis coveries.” The material has been brought up-to-date, and a summary has been added of the brilliant achievements of adventurers in the frozen north with in the ten years that have elapsed since it was published. Laura E. Richards, the author of "Cap tain January,” "The Golden Windows,” etc., has completed a second book of fables for old and young, which will be published in the fall under the title "The Silver Crown,” by Little, Brown & Co. It will be a companion volume to 'Tne Uolden Windows," and will be handsome ly illustrated. A young lady entered a Toronto re tail book store a short time since and inquired from the gentlenlanly clek (a married man, by the way) If they had a book suitable for an old gentleman who has been married fifty years. Without a moment's hesitation, the clerk reached for a copy of Parkman s "A Half Cen tury of Conflict.” By special arrangement with The Jlew York Herald Company, Duffield & Co. are to issue "Little Nemo in Slumber- land” in book form. The artist-author of this attractive series, Winsor McCay, is already known as a draughtsman of much skill and imagination, among his creations being "Sammy Sneeze” and "Dreams of the Welsh 'Rabbit Fiend.” The most important article on the scien tific aspect of the California earthquake hi s rto published, or likely to be pub- lisned, appears in the current issue of The Popular Science Monthly. Its au thor, G. K. Gilbert, of the United States geological survey, is the foremost geolo gist of the country, and perhaps of the world. He was at Berkeley at the time of the earthquake, and made a special study of ail the geological conditions as a member of a commission appointed by the governor of the state. LTnlike some scientific men. Mr. Gilbert writes clearly and well, and his article is interesting as well as authoritative. IN THE PRESIDENT’S ANTEROOM (Joe Mitchell Chappie in National Maga zine..) In the anteroom adjoining the presi dent's office the walls ure severely plain covered with green burlap. About the only decoration Is a lonesome whisk broow, hanging near the window, which gives the suggestion that It may be well to have a "brush up.” physical and men tal, before "meeting the president.” It was one day In early summer that I was there, and I sat looking about me at the hats strewn here and there, and the bouquets of flowers adorning the room. As the gentlemen returned, the silk hats left behind them were easily selected by personal Intuition—for there are no checks given out. While waiting I was observing, casual ly, that never failing source of Interest— the visitors. There wa s one portly gentleman who could not resist the Impulse to take a nap—he nodded now and then, woke up with a start, and slowly wavered off again. Then there was a lady who was very much concerned with her dress and hair—the combs which kept It in place seemed to require constant rearrange ment. And evidences or masculine vani ty were not lacking either, for two young men close to me were constantly adjusting their trousers, firs tone leg and then the other—drawing them up, patting out creases, then adjusting their cuffs, their collars ana neckties, then another yank to the trousers, until I could, see the hosiery, which was of all the colors of the rain-bow, decorated with the widest wall paper style and initials embroidered on either side. Near by was a young man who dusted his boots every few minutes with his handkerchief. Inspecting them meantime for microscopic atoms of dust. It is curi ous how we each betrayed our peculiari ties In these moments of waiting and re laxation. What did I do? Well, perhaps I was just as funny, too,. trying to keep a balky collar under the coat lapel. By C. RANDOLPH RICHFIELD. HE man crouched over little cooking etova, covetous of every wave of warmth that escaped him and spent Itself on the cold, damp air of the cabin. The hand that held ■the letter he was read ing shook under the grip of the Inexorable malaria; with the other hand he con stantly brushed his lank, black hair from his forehead, wearily. He wbs only a young man— scarcely more than 30, but hard living and hard working, and, perhaps, hard thinking, had left their marks uipon hie handsome face. "Mv Own Precious Boy—I hope you are quite well. Call me selfish if you will, darling, but It is my hope as I dic tate this that you are not prospering, but are so wearied by ycur long exile as to be willing to return home. My own proclous boy. darkness has fallen upon me; the old eyes that have done so much weeping—for husband, for chil dren, for friends—have almost suddenly shut me from ’the visible world. 1 am blind, Jimmy, and my loneliness has be come more intolerable than ever. I shall never see you again, Jimmy. You can not conceive what that means to me. For the last four years—ever since you left home, indeed—I have been longing to see my deur big boy ago in; and now 1 may hear you, feel your strong arms about me, kiss you, in my old age receive strength from your youth—but I shah never see you. * • • “You are all that Is left and I ask you to come home to me, Jimmy boy. I lay no great stress on the request, dear, because I know you will come if it is a reasonable request; you have al ways been a true son, and I know you would never have left me If It had not been for that cruel girl. But she and her husband no longer live in tills coun try to make it distasteful to you, and I have moved to this little town to be nearer 'the sea, across whose bosom you must come if you are ever to return to me. So that you could come back and settle down with me, and lead me in my blindness, without anything to remind you of the old sorrow that drove you from under your mother's wing. There is no one here who knows you br your sorrow, my darling, and since 1 inher ited your Aunt Jane's fortune, I have been In most satisfactory circumstances, as I think I told you when I sent you a remittance last. "I won't say more. Jest I should In duce you to return against your own inclinations; I will simply close my eyes to the dim suggestion of light which clone is visible to me and fancy I can see you here, Jimmy. I am dictating this to Miss Weston, my lady compun ion, just ns I should write It If I hai eyes to see. And I enclose you a re mittance. Your fondly loving mother, "RACHEL MARGIN.” His strong face twitching, the man lowered the letter and stared into the open trap of the little stove with swim ming eyes. “Poor old soul!” he murmured, soft ly. Then he hid his face In his hands and tried to think coherently. The irony of the affair stimulated his imagination, and the pathos of it stirred the sym pathy of his nature so that he felt a sense of personal sorrow, as he mlgnt have done If she had been his own mother. He pictured her sitting by her fireside with her blind eyes turned to the glare, and her knitting or books, or whatever she had used to while away her em.'ty hours, pushed aside for ever. He fan cied she was wondering what her Jim my's answer to her letter would he; he guessed she would speculate whether h; or a letter from him would arrive first— by the earliest mallboat. And the man raised his head suddenly and glanced at the form of the dead man In the corner. And he groaned. "I won’t write and tell her!” he crie- fiercely. "That I will not do!” He sprang up and began walking about the cabin with feeble steps. "But she must have a letter by the next mall, poor soul. Oh. if I—” He stopped suddenly, and, Paning against the ajmb of the dooi. tried to conquer the tears that his emo tion. playing on Ills physical weakness, forced into his eyes. He sat down again at the stove an I rrperused the letter. Presently he rose and got paper, pen and ink from a locker, and began to write. “My own darling mother," he wrote: then paused, reflectively. "I am dictat ing this to my pal, John Wilson, as I'm ' —again he paused—"just now suffering .with a touch of malanla. Don't oe alarmed, dear mother; It isn't serlo is, but It makes one's hand shake so that I can't write myself. I shall be all right again In a few days, and then—” . "And. then—what?” he muttered. “If there's nothing serious the matter, wliat should prevent him writing or keep him away from her? I could keep it up for a few weeks, ,hen her common sense would tell her he'd be well enough to write or dangerously bad; and the poor soul—I don't know!” he said, wearily, tossing the scarcely-begun let ter Into the stove, and glancing over Mrs. Margin's again. **• • • I may hear you, feel your strong arms about me. kiss you, In my old age receive strength from your youth—but I shall never see you. - • • There Is no one here who knows you or your sorrow, my darling, and since I Inherited your Aunt Jane’s fortune I have been In most satisfactory circum stances. * • • I will simply close my eyes • • • and fancy I can see you here, Jimmy. • • •” He dropped the letter and laid his hot face in his hands. "John, John,” he muttered, sternly, presently, "It's only your vile selfishness that has put the Idea Into your head. Don't think it! Don’t Imagine you’re disposed to attempt such a risky thing to brighten the last few years of a lov- Jng old 'woman’s lonely life; you are thinking of yourself. If you were rich, with dear family ties and all you wanted. It might he generous and noble, although ridiculously Improbable; but circum stanced as you are. without a soul to call you by name, at the end of your tether. It ought to be obvious to you that you are thinking of yourself and trying to Imagine it would be In the old lady’s Interests.” He was silent for a long time, and al most motionless. When he did move his mind was settled; and, picking up a spade, he .went out of the cabin to dig a grave. • * • • • "Jimmy, Jimmy—you have come?” pay'much attention.slie looked so ddread and, turning towards the door, groped for him. He looked at her and hesitated, an expression of fear entering his face as he realized suddenly that the cue was cast; that he had bartered his Identity with the dead, and must In future live by subterfuge., Then he stepped up to her and took her outstretched hands. “Yes, I have come,” he whispered, brokenly. "Have I taken you too much by surprise?” “No—oh, no,” she answered, turning her face up to Ills as if she were strug gling against her (blindness to see him. “No; I felt you would come, my dar ling; I felt in my heart you would come.” "And you are happy—you will not feel lonely now?” he asked, eently, as he led her to the sofa in the wide window of the handsome room. “You are not blind now. for I am your eyes.” She gave a little gasp o>f happiness, anil leant sideways upon his shoulder, fondling one oif his hands excite dy. And he looked down at her s lv ry head, and, bonding, kissed he. It was an honest kiss; it was the token of his dedication of his life to her so long as she should live; the waster of a lonely life had found a service he could render to another by fraud. And the fraud (proved less difficult to maintain than he had expected. He and James Margin, although not hound by any ties of real friendship, had been such inscpernble companions In misfor tune that their adventures and ex periences had been almost Identical; so few lies were told. Once or twice he detected an inclina tion on his "mother's'’ part to broach the subject of the girl whose cruel con duct had driven her son from her into exile, but he had forestalled her by hinting that the subject was distasteful to him; a hint she had readily accepted. And because she felt that memory must not be revived by any reference what ever to the past she allowed it to bury its dead, with her own hopes for hi* future secreted In her heart. Nor were there technical difficulties. There was no one who had know Jimmy Margin to confront him, but the mother herself, and by the tender devo tion which seemed to come quite natural to him, he stifled any instinc tive suspicion that may have arisen Im perceptibly in her mind. In a word, ■the swindle was entirely lacking of dramatic episodes; only his own heart rose against him, only his own con science condemned him as an Impostor. It was. perhaps, In conceding a point to his conscience that he arrived most approximately to discovery. He had often turned over in his mind the mat ter of Jimmy's Inheritance. There was no doubt that Mrs. Margin would be queath the whole of her (fortune, except for a grateful bequest to Miss Weston, to him, and lie did not wish It so; he had. Indeed, determined that it would be absolutely Impossible to accept It, especially as there would be no excuse whatever for containing to pose as James Margin after the old lady's deatu. But the difficulty was that, if the for tune were left to him by will, by re fusing it he would throw It, If not into chancery, then certainly to some distant and unknown relative of Mrs. Margin s, whom she should not desire should have it. ■It was necessary, therefore, that the fortune Bhould be willed away from him, and there was no question In his mind that Miss Weston should receive it, for there was no one In the world, apart from himself, whom the old lady loved, hut Margaret Weston. Mrs. Margin and John Wilson were sit ting on the sands one glorious summer day—she in a deckchair and he on a rug beside her. He had been reading to her somewhat spasmodically, because he broke off occasionally to "see for her,” as he called it—to tell her of things pass ing under her blind eyes. Just now his eyes were turned from his book towards the tall, graceful figure of Margaret IV'eston, who had strolled down to the edge of the receding sea, and was standing watching a little launch making round an outputting cliff, where the currents were notoriously strong and dangerous. "Mother,” he said, softly, ”1 want to speak to you about—about a delicate mat ter—about money—I suppose you have made a will in which the name of James Margin stands somewhat conspicu ously?” "Yes," she answered, smiling. “But why will you persist In referring to yourself In that way—as If you were a third person?” "Do I?” he said, conscious of It for the first time. “Well, 1 won't. But what I want to say is yon must make a new will, or add a condlcll, so that Margaret gets the money. I don't want It. I don't need It; but she, being alone as far as financial resources are con cerned, will need it; and she deserves well of you. A man can do without money and always fall on his feet.” He dropped his words one by one, aware how empty his arguments sounded. "Dear, noble Jimmy,” she murmured, holding a hand out to him and smiling tenderly. "But there is enough for both; I have amply provided for her. And— and—” She checked herself, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "But 1 won't accept anything,” he an swered, a note of rebellion In his voice. "I absolutely refuse It. And f shall do so. even If my act should divert the money to the crown." “Jimmy!” she exclaimed In surprise. “Dear mother," he returned. more gently, "do It to please me. I won't argue the matter with you, and I won't disclose my reasons; but ■” “But, my dear boy—" "Do it to pleas® me," (he repeated, dog gedly. "Give me some reason.” she said, turn ing towards him. "No; I don’t want to convent you to my views—a want you to do it because I ask you.” She leant back In (her chair and re mained silent 'for some moments. Gradu ally a smile stole into her face. “Very well,” she answered, faintly; “It shall be as you wish.” He sighed wl.h relief. He had never ■been so near to betraying himseir, even ■which ihe was prepared to do to carry his point; and he was grateful that It had not been necessary. He wanted to carry the fraud to the end, that she might never know her boy had died In a Cana- d’an cabin, and that he, John, had tricked her Into loving him. Mrs. Margan was far from Interpreting the episode correctly, and from that time forth she gave John and Margaret Wes son greater opportunities for being alone together than ehe had done before, for hitherto she had doubted whether he was sufficiently cured of the old wound to ■have remarked how sweet and pretty a woman Margaret was. But It seemed to. her that her son was slow to seise the opportunities She created, and that Mar garet was wont to treat him as if she were not certain of him. And thus one day, after a foreboding attack of weak ness. she touched upon her dearest wish to both of them severally. Perhaps never before had she so keenly missed the sense Of sight which would have enabled her to read their hearts by their faces, as ehe could not by 'the words and pauses. John divined her meaning very prom John divined her meaning very promptly. "You are suggesting her as a wife for me, mother?” he said. In a hollow tone. "Have you not seen enough of her to understand her sweet disposition?" Mrs. Margin, answered, interrogatively. She would make you an Ideal wife, Jimmy. I love her, and I should be happy, indeed, to know you love each o:her. He was silent for a time, and she won dered at the pause; she could not see the strained look In his eyes, or the pressure of his lips; and so she failed to guess what desperate hope and hopeless despair she had aroused within him. "It is impossible,” he said, at length, speaking abruptly. "Your tope alarms me, darling! You don't moan you have contracted—” "A marriage?” he laughed harshly. ••No-no. But It is not less impossible thun If I had. Don't talk of it, mother." . “The old, old sore," she thought. Still she was not without hope, and later she tactfully approached the subject with Margaret. She told lier the story of Jimmy's broken faith In women. "What are you thinking?" she inquired, when Margaret remained silent after the recital. “I scarcely know,” replied the girl, vaguely. “My child,” said Mrs. Margin, taking her hands. “1 can be frank with you because you love me, and you know 1 would not urge you against your own inclinations; it is my dearest wish that you should marry my boy. 1 believe you couid. If any woman could, make him happy; and he would be worthy of you.” “Such a son a3 he is—so devoted, so thoughtful—could only be a good hus band,” Margaret murmured. “My dearest girl!” exclaimed the old woman. "How happy you make me. L>o you mean you would marry him if lie asked you?” "Oh. don't—don't jump at conclusions like that, dear.” cried the girl, fright ened. “I didn't mean that—I didn't mean even to imply it. I respect him more than any man I have ever known—more. I honor him. And—yes.” she added, drop ping her voice to a whisper. "I love him. dear Mrs. Margin; but you must never tell him so. or hint of it to him. You won't will you; oh, promise me you won't?” Of course not! Do you think I should so abuse your confidence, even to gain my own ends? It is a secret between us. darling. But I hope he will lead you to tell him yourself before I leave you both." “Don’t speak of leaving us. dear: wo are both so fond of you, and you nc» as a link binding us together for a time.” But there was something prophetic* in Mrs. Margin's words, ror only a fort night later she fell ill, and it quickly became apparent that she would never be well again. It was a great blow to John and Mar garet. John had never before quito realized how happy he had been, in spite Of his conscience, or 'how deeply In his heart she had planted the love he had never been able to bestow upon his own mother. And it was not only that he would lose her, but there was Marga ret. There could be no excuse for con tinuing the im'posture after Mrs. Mar gin's death. The end came somewhat suddenly, but not so much so that the dear old lady was unprepared. Margaret was with her, when phe felt her heart give a sud den wrench, and a restful sense of weak ness stole over her. She sent for John—“my Jimmy," she whispered. He hurried into the room, looking whiter than she, with his jaw set firmly. Margaret knelt at the other side of the bed, and it was a little dry sob from her that broke the silence. "Oh, don’t you cry for me,” murmured the old woman, with a smile that had something of the serenity of the future In it; "I am happy, and I have been happy, thanks to you, my dear ones. Only one wish have I to be fulfilled. Take her hand, Jimmy—take It, and let me hear you tell her that you love her.” John started and turned a 'haggard face to^the girl. She kept her eyes averted until she detected by a furtive glance something behind the look of fear in his; then she looked fully at him, expectantly, yet doubtfully. "Tell her. Jimmy. I know it—I have felt sure of It,” murmured the dying woman; "but let me hear you tell her. ' Margaret, ’ he whispered, breathless ly. I love you!” Then the {Mission swept over him; he had told her what he would never have let her know, do let her truly know. "I loye you better than—there are no words to tell you how I love you!” he panted, his dark oyos gleaming. "And I love, Jimmy,” answered the girl. He watched anxiously the dying wom an s lips. Would she speak? Had she heard? He raised himself, and bending oyer her he kissed h«r. As he drew back her lips parted In an exquisite smile, while a breath like a deep sign escaped her. Margaret rose uickly. as If she guessed the meaning of the sigh, and leant ore:' tpe bed, her tears dimming her signt. Then she straightened herself and, riiaw- tng n_r brtath painfully, whispered: "She died happy, John, in the knowl edge that we love each other.” He stared at her blanklv, and swept his fdrehead with his hand. "John?” he repeated, dully. "Yes, my name s John—John Wilson. I'm glad you’ve found It out; I meant- but I don’t understand!” I found, some months ago, your pho:o, 1° a letter written by James Margin, and he had written across it, ‘My pai, John Wilson,' I knew then who you were; till then I had only guessed w.io Sou were not—by your writing.” "You guessed—you know! And yet at her deathbed you could tell her that you loved—a man you knew to be a thief?” he said, hoarsely. "A most honorable thief,” she mur mured, her eyes gleaming proudly at him through her tears. “I often wished that sjie could know you as I did. and love gou as John Wilson as I do. But It was best—” She stole round to his side, while he watched her In boundlee* amuwmtnt at her word*. "You made the little last of her life supremely happy,” she whispered, look ing up at horn. “You are not a thief, for you gave more than you received. Look—at her smile! She must know now; she must have met him. Do you think she loves you less because shs know*?*’ She laid her hands upon his arm and drew closer to him. "I love you, John,” she murmured. He. threw a doubtful, questioning look at the sweet, smiling face of Mrs. Mar gin; then, turning quickly to Margaret, he took her In his arms.