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DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. 8 ft sailing yacht, and some gnests having disap pointed nun at the last minute, he gave his son carte blanche as to who he should bring to fill the vacant berths. So we three traveled down to Southampton to gether, one hot summer day, and were rowed out to the “ Aurora,” an uncommonly neat little schooner which lay in that overrated and fre quently odoriferous roadstead, Southampton Water. However, I admit that on than evening —the tido being high—the place looked remark ably pretty; the level rays of the setting sun turned the water to gold, a soft luminous haze hung over tho town and the shipping, and by a stretch of the imagination one might have thought tho view almost Venetian. Derrick’s r srfect content was only marred by his shynoss. knew that ho dreaded reaching the “ Aurora and suro enough as we stepped on to the exquis itely white deck and caught sight of tho fittlo group of guests, 1 saw him retreat into his crab- shell of silent reserve. Sir John, who made a very pleasant host, introduced us to the other visitors—Lord Probvn and his wife, and their niece. Miss Freda Morrifiold. Lady Probyn was Sir John's sister, and also the sister of Miss Merrifield’s mother; so that it .was almost a family party and by no moans a formidable gath ering. Lady Probyn played the part of hostess, and chaperoned hor pretty niece; but sho was not in the least like tuo aunt of fiction—on the contrary, sho was comparatively young in years and almost comically young in mind; hor nieco was devoted to hor, and tho moment that I saw her I know that our voyage could not possibly be dull. As to Miss Freda, when we first caught sight of hor she was standing near tho companion, dressed in a daintily made yachting costume of blue serge and whito braid, and round horwhito sailor hat sho boro the name of the yacht stamp id on white ribbon ; in her waistband she had fastened two deep crimson roses, and she looked at us with frank, girlish curiosity, no doubt wpndoring whether wo should ad.l to or detract from tho enjoyment *f tho expedition. She was rather tall, and there was an air of strength and energy about her which was most refreshing. Hor skin was singularly whito, but there was a healthy glow of color in her cheeks ; while hor large, gray eyes, shaded by long lash es, were full of life and brightness. As to her features, they were perhaps a trido irregular, and her elder sisters were supposed to eclipse her altogether; but to my mind she was far the most taking of the three. I was notin the loast surprised that Derrick should fall head over ears in love with hor; she was exactly the sort of girl that would infallibly attract him. Her absence of shyness; her straightforward, easy way of talking; her gen uine good-heartedness; her devotion to animals —one of his own pet hobbies—and finally her exquisite playing made the result a foregono conclusion. And then, moreover, they were perpetually together. He would hang over the S iano in tho saloon for hours while she played, le rest of us lazily enjoying the easy-chairs and the fresh air on deck; and whenever we landed these two were sure in the end to be just a little apart from the rest of us. It was an eminently successful cruise. We all liked each other; the sea was calm, the sun- shine constant, the wind as h rule favorable, and I think I never in a single fortnight heard so many good stories, or had such a good time. We seemed to get right out of the world and its narrow restrictions, away from all that was hol low and base and depressing, only landing now and then at quaint little quiet places for some merry excursions on shore. Freda was in the highest spirits; and as to Derrick, he was a different creature. She seemed to have the power of drawing him out in a marvelous de gree, and she took the greatest interest in his work—a sure way to every author’s heart. But it was not till one day, when we landed at Tresco, that I felt certain that she genuinely loved him—there in one glance the truth flashed upon me. I was walking with one of the gard eners down one of the long shady paths of that lonely little island, with its curiously foreign look, when we suddenly came face to face with Derrick and Freda. They were talking earn estly, and I could oee her great gray eyes as they were lifted to his—perhaps they were more expressive than She knew—I cannot say. They both Started a little as we confronted them, and the color deepened in Freda’s face. The gard- ener. mth what photographers usually ask for- “ just the faint beginning of a smile turned and gathered a bit of white heather growing “ They say it brings good luck, miss,” he re marked. handing it to Freda. “ Thank you,” she said, laughing, “ I hope it will bring it to me. At any rate it will remind me of this beautiful island. Isn’t it just like Paradise, Mr. Whamcliffe ?” “ For me it is like Paradise before Eve was created,” I replied rather wickedly. “ By the bye are you going to keen all the good luck to yourself?” “ I don’t know,” she said, laughing. “ Per haps I shall; but you have only to ask the gardener, he will gather you another piece di rectly.” I took good care to drop behind, having no taste for the third fiddle business; hut I noticed when we were in tho gig once more, rowing back to the yacht, that the white heather had been equally divided—one half was in tho waist band of the blue serge dress, the other half in the button-hole of Derrick’s blazer. So the fortnight slipped by, and at length one afternoon wo found ours os onco more in Southampton Water; then came the bustle of tho packing and tho hurry of departure, and the merry party dispersed. Derrick and I saw them all off at the station, for, as his father’s ship did not arrive till the .following day, I made up my mind to stay on with him at Southampton. “Youwill como and see us in town,” said Lady Probyn, kindly. And Lord Probyn invited us both for tho shooting at Blnchington in Sep tember. “ We will have the same party on shoro and see if we can’t enjoy ourselves almost as woll,” ho said in his hearty way; “ the novel will go all the hotter for it, eh, Vaughan?” Derrick brightened visibly at tho suggestion. I heard him talking to Freda all the tune that Sir John stood laughing and joking as to tho comparative pleasures of yacuting and shoot- ing. “ You will bo thero too ?” Derrick asked. “ I can’t toll,” said Freda, and there was a shade of sadness in her tone. Her voice was deeper than most women’s voices—a rich contralto with something striking and individ ual about it. I could hear her quite plainly; but Derrick spoke less distinctly—ho always had a bad trick of mumbling. “ You see I am the youngest,” she said, “ and I am not really ‘ out.’ Perhaps my mother will wish one of tho elder onos to go; but I half think they are already engaged for September, so after all I may have a chance.” Inaudible remark from my friend. Yes, I came here because my sisters did not care to leave London till the end of the season,” replied the clear contralto. “ It has been a per fect cruise. I shall remember it all my life." . After that, nothing more was audible; but I imagine Derrick must have hazarded a more per- sonal question, and that Freda had admitted that it was not only the actual sailing she should remember. At any rate her face when I caught sight of it again made me think of the girl de scribed in the “ Biglow Papers ”: “rrwas kin’ o’ kingdom come to look On sech a blessed creatur, A dogrose blusliln* to a brook Ain’t modester nor sweeter.” i«^°* th -5t trai ^ T?2* off > and Derrick and I was ieft^o idle about Southampton, and kill time as best we might Derrick seemed to walk the 01 k °a d ^2 a J I ?» , be was perfectly well he had met his fate, and at that time b*° f dl ® cult . iea “ the way had arisen either m his mind or in my own. We were both of us voung and inexperienced; we were both of and We had tho usual lover’s notion that evenrthing in heaven and earth is pre pared to favor the course of his particular pas- I remember that we soon found the town in- Netkv Abtev fe ^7’ ^ked over to the ofd down id V ™ 0,6 shade of walls. Not a breath of wind stirred I 1 iv 7 which were wreathed *“?*** Uie ruined church, and the place looked wt3I e *7. m i^ a that we felt disposed to judge the dissolute monks very lenientlv for monaft^h^n 80 ^ «!f®rc&and Kid®. StoS&dJLSM* ing month at Mondisfiold. and pictured violet eyes while ho talked of gray, it was not from »ay lack of sympathy with my friend. Derrick not of a self-tormenting nature, and though I know he was amazed at tho thought that suck i girl as Freda could possibly care for him. yet he believed most implicitly that this wonderful thing had como to’pass ; and remembering h r face as we had last seen it. and the look in her eyes at Tresco, I, too, had not a shadow of a doubt that sho really loved him. S’n" was art the least bit of a flirt, and society had not had a chance yet of molding her into tin; ordinary gin of tho nineteenth century. Perhaps it was the sudden and nuexp-’cted change of tho next day that makes me remem ber Derrick’s face so distinctly as h" lay tat* on the smooth turf that afternoon in Xetlev Ab bey. As it looked then full of youth am! hope, full of that dream of cloudless love, I never aa* it again. CHAPTER III. Religion In him never died, tint became a haM - - a habit of enduring hardness, and cleaving j 11 steadfast performance of duty in face of ttie su«u.- est allurements to the pleasanter and easier iw*- " Life of Charles Lam') by A. Ainyer.” Derrick was in good spirits the n<ut day. He talked much of Major Vaughan, womi* whether the voyage home had r 1 health, discussed the probable len leave, and speculated as to the natv.r ness; tho telegram had of course giv tails. . .i,,, There hasn’t boon oven a photograph n lasttivo years,” ho remarked, as we * • down to the quay together. •'I'd I thin* should know him anywhere, if it i J only t> height. Ho used to look so well m ^ I remember as a child seeing him m 1 s fight charging upon Cassar's Camp.’ “ How old wore you when he w> nt oiit. ^ “Oh, quite a small boy," replied i,vim ■ “It was just before I first staved '™' ; i f [- Howover, lie has had a regular SMl, . photographs sont out to him, and will kuu easily enough.” , ,,-n Poor Derrick! I can’t thmit of thatd->. b -, now without a kind of mental sure r- watched tho great steamer as it glided it[ ‘ quay, and Derrick scanned the crowd' 1 to h of to i no ile- was raised to the side’of the steamer, kept his position so that he could instaa>'.- sight of his father as ho passed d"wn- , ' ra- close behind him. and watched the iu< ■ j p,., cession of passengers; most ot t><‘i , s i. dull, colorless Bkin which bespeaks 1 * jui dencein India, and a particularly • • * lou jiy peevish-looking old man was griunim - ^ as he slowly made his way down the f ; “lho most disgraceful scene. lie ' The fellow was as drunk as ho could . -• “ Who was it?” asked his companion- , f “ Why, Major Vaughan, to bo sure- j ei ti wonder is that he hasn’t drunk him " by this time—been at it yonrs eno'igi- Derrick turned as though to shod r ^ from th“ curious eyes ot tho trs 1 9ee!ae J everywhere tho quay was crowded- yu. to mo not unlike the life that la' ()|> yd; with this new shamo. which , co , U . , uervmto and I shall never forget tho look ot u face. .. .. „r that spiW* ‘1 Most likely a groat exaggeration • w joy ful old fogey’s,” I said. No'I . nil thing that you hear,’is a sound • you not better try to get on board . itb ot >. “Yes; and for Heaven’s sake tom- , [t Wharncliffe 1” he said. “ It can * , , tUon* ‘J is, as you say, that man’s spite- or - piut nto 1 some one else of tho name on tear - be it—some one else of tho name. dei-ei^ I don’t know whether ho manag > , aIll I bo himself. We made our wav mot-'^ spoke to ouo of tho stewards, wn 01 to the saloon. I know from tho bld over- the man’s free that tho words that« gUncJ heard were but too fame; «» that he gave us, yot if ho had uk belong to that old drunkard! ’ { [,jve ^ I’m n it in their shoes 1 . 1 £S?li\ind- ter understood what was in his | S 10 ' id There were three persons onl) *-—5 face, ap^mnttyto"ship’ 9 doctor ; - - ^.inwhomf^ouce^^