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14 DR. WINSCOMBE’S SACRIFICE. his seat, and drive to my brothev’s house, as fast as the ponies can lav legs to the gronnd. It isn’t over a mile, I should say, and ho is at home until noon to-day, looking after—will you do that?” "Yes, if you please,” replied Millicent. “I couldn’t drive, just now; and, besides, mamma can’t spare me.’’ Off went the ponies, at a rigidly correct puce, though Mrs. Batolphe shrieked and moanea afresh at every motion, and Millicentpatiently and sweetly soothed her. “ What a trump of a girl 1 And ain’t she pretty ?'* said Harry Winscombe to himself, as he watched tlieso proceedings, and blessed the chance that had brought 'him to that especial field at that especial moment. In fifteen min utes, the ponies were at the doctor’s gate. Hardly had they stopped, before the doctor himself was at the side of tho carriage. “What is it? Au accident?” ho asked, anxiously. A few clear words, from his brother, explained all that needed to bo told; aud Hilly added, eagerly: “ Do take her in, and give her something, doctor. I can’t drive through the town with her, poor soul, in this way. She’ll soon re cover.” A Btrango shadow of hesitation passed over the doctor’s face, and it was a moment before he replied, aud then very coldly: “ Certainly. Shall I carry her in ?” “ Yes, please,” replied Milly, with a wistful glance at the stem, set face, that would not turn toward her. Tho doctor lifted the sobbiug sufferer, as if she had been a child, and fcnro her into the house, laving her upon a sofa in the parlor. “I will call my sister,” said the doctor, abruptly, as he turned from Mrs. Batolphe, aud strode out of the room, still nover glancing at Millicent. * Harry entered now, and by bis sympathy, be made both women feel-tliat bo was a friend, not only willing, but anxious to take any trouble, or make any sacrifice of time, or labor, to help them out of their worries. Moreover, Millicent, at least, could not but see that Harry Winscombe was one of tho handsomest men she had ever met; very liko his elder brother, but more regular in'feature, with bright brown hair, and dear, light hazel eyes. Steps were now beard noon tho floor over head ; then a murmur of voices; and finally the doctor’s firm tread, descending the stairs. But juBt as lie reached the foot, a shriek, a succes sion of shrieks, from tho upper room, pursued him, as it were ; and turning, he sprang np three steps at a time, and re-entered the room. “Oh, my goodness, what’s that? Millicent, what has happened ? Do go and see t They are killing somebody—dear — dear—dear!’ And poor Mrs. Batolphe’s sobs aud cries returned with redoubled force, and for some moments mingled, in maddening confusion, with those from the upper room. “What is the matter, Mr. Winscombe?” de manded Milly, almost at her wits’ end, aud glancing over her shoulder, as she knelt beside her mother. Harry Winscombe’s face had sud denly changed. It wore a curious guilty look, and had crimsoned liko a girl's. “I—I—it’s a poor creature come here, to ho under my brother’s care,” he stammered, turn ing away from that bright, inquisitive glance. “ I’m afraid she’s a little out of her head, to-day, and very likely didn’t want Bobert to leave her.” “ Well, I must get my mother away, at once, If Dr. Wiuseombe had explained that this was a private madhouse, wo certainly would not have intruded.” “ I’m sorry y< i’ro angry,” replied Harry, so limple and honestly that Milly blushed with •hame at her own ill-temper, and penitently •aid; “ Oh, excuse me, but I am coming to the end >f my endurance, and am hardly responsible for •rhat I say. But we must get away, really; that poor woman’s cries will kill mamma. The ponies won’t answer. Will yon go down to a livery •table, and get a close carriage, as quickly as you can ? And you can tell them to seud up a laan to drive the pomes home; if you please.” He darted from the room at her words, and aoon returned with a carriage, having been for tunate enough to find one ready harnessed. Just before he arrived, ?>r. Winscombe once more descended the stajr% and this time entered the *->r, looking flushed, annoyed, and anxious. m so sorry to have been detained; I sent ' rtake it?” he i now it was his look that sought Milliceut’s and hers that refnsed to be met. “ It was not brought,” said she, very coldly. “ And I do not think mamma will be any better here. Mr. Winscombe has gone for a carriage to take her home.” The dark brows met over Bobert Winscombe’s eyes, and his teeth set themselves, as in strong pain. Mrs. Batolpho unclosed her eyes. “ Who is that madwoman ? Why do .von have her here? She has frightened me almost to death,” she said. “ I am very sorry. I would have helped it, if could. She’s a patient, whom I have taken into the house—for a time.” The desolate, hopeless tone of his voice smote upon Millicent’s heart; but she would not look at him, or try to put down the unreasoning anger burning in her heart against him, nor dul he ouce Iqok at or speak to her, until after tlic carriage had arrived, and Harry and he had placed Mrs. Baiolplie within. That evening, Dr. Winscombe came, as in duty hound, to call upon his patient; but Millicent did not appear. The next morning, the brothers came together for a visit, and Harry Winscombe proved him self <>no oi tho best bred, sunniest, most sympa thetic of young fellows. From liis conversation, it appeared that he had just graduated from Harvard, aud inclining to liia hro hcr’s profession, was to spend some months with him in preparatory studies. Then, if he still remained of the same mind, lie-was to go to a great medical school, at the beginning of tho next year. “ And during my sojourn here. Miss Batolphe, shall throw mj’self upon your mercy for society, and tho humanizing influence of ‘fair woman,’” said he, gayly. Millicent smiled, hut not quite so frankly, while she replied : “Yes, indeed, you must come to us a great deal. But you are not so destitute as you wish to represent. You havo your Bister, there, at home.” “ Sophia I Yes, she is with ns—” • began Harry, with rather a twist of tho merry mouth. But just at that instant, Millicent caught a swift warning look shot from Bohert’s eyes to his brother’s, aud tho latter stopped abruptly. Vexed, yet without knowing why, and impelled by that strange perversity that so often makes augry lovers long to wound tho beloved object, Millv turned toward the doctor, saying; “I suppose, however, Miss Winscombe is & good deal engaged, at present, in attending your resident patient. Isn’t it rather dangerous to leave her alono with such a violent maniac?” She meant to annoy him, but she was not pre pared for tho livid pallor that suddenly over spread his face; the bitter anger that shook his voice, aud sparkled in his eyes ; or tho haughty coldness with which he replied: •‘You aro very good to trouble about my Bister, or my patient; but I hope your anxiety is groundless. I will, however, return to my homo duties at once. Harry, are you ready ?” When they were gone, Milly rushed to her own room, threw herself down before her picture, and cried until she could not see. A day or two after this, Dr. Winscombe called, alone, one day, and found both ladies in their pretty little library. “ Mrs. Batolphe,” he said, “ I want advice. But, first, I must tell you a secret, that is a secret until now—don’t go, if you please, Miss Hilli- cent; I shall he glad to have your opinion as well as vour mother’s in this affair.” Mrs. Batolphe, liko most women of small ex perience and limited mental capacity, was always pleased to have her advice asked, and was always very ready to give it. “ I’m sure, I shall be doctor,” she said. Milly, without looking up, selected some crewel from her basket, and began her conven tional rose-bush, in the middlo of her conven tional pond. Bobert Winscombe did not look at her. In fact, he gave his chair an impatient hitch, bringing it nearly with its back to the embroidery frame. “ Eight years ago.” lie began, abrnptly, “ when I was just out of college, a green, romantic boy of two-and-twenty, they sent me to the Wes't Indies for a winter, on account of my health. They’d better have tied a stone round my neck, and pitohed me into the Atlautic, before I was out of sight of land; for though my lungs got sound, the end of it was, that, in a moment of boyish passion—God knows, I soon found it was not love—I married a Spanish girl, beautiful, indeed, but with nothing else to recommend her. In short, I ruined my life. That is to say, ruined its domestic and social hopes, ruined whatever i most happy to help yon, a iness men draw from family ties. I took nme to the West, and I think it broke my mother s heart. At auy rate, she died in a year or two, and my father said I had killed her. I went abroad to study my profession, and when I came home, my wife was in an insane asylum,, and my father dead ; nofone left to me but my brother Harry, and my half-sister, who never forgave me lor her mother’s suffering and death, aud what she called the disgrace I had brought upon the family. Still, sho is a good woman, and a devoted one, in her grim fashion. Sho had beensonco a month to visit my wife ever siuce she was shut up, and frankly offered to come and make a home forme, whereverlmight setile, if I wished it. » “I did, and wo came here. Dr. Wctlierbee asked nothing about my domestic concerns, and I did not voluuteer any information. My sister never opens her lips, if sho can help it, least or all in tho way of gossip; and so it came about,, with no premeditated deceit on my part, that everybody has taken me for a single man. “ Some weeks ago, I received a message, from the physician in charge of the asylum, saying that my wife had partially recovered her mind, although liable still, if excited, to paroxysms of furious mania. But tho doctor added that she was dying ot an internal disease, in fact could not live the ®;ar out, by any possibility. I went to see her. You remember I was absent for several days, and although neither her suffer ings, nor her approaching death, could revive a tenderness that never existed, or pity long since worn out, I decided, as au act of duty toward the woman who bore my name, to bring her home, and devote myself to the care and' attention still possible to offer her; to let her die at least in the home that, in health, she never should have entered. Was I right ? Tell me, Millicent, was it not my duty to do this ?” His voice had a piteous pleading in it, strangely at variance with its usual robust tones ; bub Milliceut’s was Meat* and ctfld as the north wind, while she made answer: “ I do not know why yon ask the question. Dr. Winscombe, or why you even made a mystery of' your marriage. It is not dishonorable to be the husband of an afflicted ^voman, hut it Is most dishonorable to assume tho character—any char acter which does not beloDg to you.” Millicent.. as she spoke, got up and left the room. The doctor sighed, hut went on: “ There isn’t much more to say. My brother was traveling in the West just then; and I asked him to bring my wife here under his escort. She arrived when Millicent was at my house, and I could not explain then; afterward, when, you were there, she heard women’s voices, and it brought on a paroxysm of jealous fury in which I thought she would die. I waited to see how it would end, and since—well, Mrs. Ba tolphe, I have been a coward in the whole mat ter—but I think you will forgive me, won’t you ?” “ That I will, my dear doctor, fully and freely:, and after all I cannot blame you. It would have Jaeen so disagreeable,” said the gentle matron, fervently. “But what are you going, to do?” ‘ ° “ This is the advice I told you I wanted. Shall I tell everybody ? Will you tell two or three people for me ? The poor creature cannot live many weeks, not over two or three months at most; but she has a right to my name, although I might have beeD released by law long ago.” Why did he wish so earnestly to insist to Mil- liceut’s mother that by man’s law he might have been free already, and that by God’s law of death he must be tree before many weeks were past? AU 1 why? So it was settled that the news was to be told- and Bobert Winscombe, as he rode away, said to himself: And when Milly knows all, she will, she must forgive me; and she cannot but realize that in a little while, a very little while, I shall have the right to say, in so many words, I love- you.” His dark eyes lightened, as he said thi^ with, a tender joy, as if already his probation were over, add he could clasp the reward of so many bitter years ot suffering and shame. “He says she can’t, anyhow, live ever two or three months, poor thing,” repeated Mrs. Ba tolphe to her daughter. “ And I, for one, shan’t blame him if he does not always remain s widower. Shall you, Milly?” “ Dear little mamma, my fancy is not so vivid, as vours, and I can’t possibly tell how I shill feel when Mrs. Winscombe 'is dead and buried., and Dr. Winscombe, after a decent mourning.' marries again. I may be dead or married my-