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/i r Vol. VI.-NQ. 52. li. G. GRIGGS, attorney at l aw Douglasvilte, Georgia. w Douglasville, Georgia, Tuesday, Jauury 27, 1B8q. Subscription: r. «« sa w * Per Annum I t i, practice find Dederal. in al the courts, State jani31y. P, S. Verdsry, Physician and Surgeon. \FFIOFqat HUDSON * ETtG^S^nUTO " —gaged. are still uncured. jam* ~ ‘elevatioii*' ltiadQ By THOMAS HARDY. ]>R. J. B. EDGE PHYSICIAN &STRGEON. T Respectfully offer P D h 0 y u t 1 elan and surgeon, to tbe 1®^,, b8 a tten- lasville and vicinity. j u t j ie drug store led promptly. 'Uu » d and at S^Vgf recenty occupied by J. A. i ,umu. _ iTTraT WHITLEY, “ physician ani Surgeon S prh v L atte n t.i on g 1 v en C ironic Female troubles. to Surgery ar Office up stair BRUHKSISB^ (Utr djn a* rarlon* staff** CHAPTER X. It was half past five o'clock, on the morn ing of the 5th of May. A dense white fog hung over the valley of the Swenn, and spread up the hills on either side. But though nothing in the vale could be seen from higher ground, notes of differing kinds rave pretty clear indications that bustling phases of life had existence there. The audible presence and visual absence of an active scene was very peculiar. Ma ture had laid a white hand over the crea? tures ensconced within the vale, as a hand might be laid over a nest of chirping The noises that ascended through the pallid coverlet were perturbed lowings, mingled with human voices in sharps and flats and the bark of a dog. These, fol lowed by the slamming of a gate, explained as well as eyesight could have done, to any inhabitant of the district, that Dairyman Tucker’s under-milker was driving the cows from the meads into the stalls. . When a rougher accent joined in the vociferations of mail and beast, that same inhabitant would have distinguished that Dairyman Tucker himself had come out to meet the cows, pail in hand, and white pinafore on; and when, moreover, some women's voices mined in the chorus, that the cows were stalled, and proceedings about to commence. A comparative hush followed, the atmos phere being so stagnant that the milk could be heard buzzing into the pails, Res'ire for stimulant* , entirely^removed De neaiu wm.i.6 •-—y - Home treatment, Med:«>«»J e b n e t with the words of the milkmaids and wl*Mre.orpwe article of | -whenever they spoke above gossippmg together men without knowledge of p lacing it ia coffee, Lea or any uaranteed. piy p OOll. Cures . - $100 Will ha Paid For any e.M of dr« h and 'flu? particulars sent -ree tones. ,, , ’‘Don’t ye bide about long upon the road, You can he back again by skini- estituo Address SVKF^FIC Cj For A Business Education Attend Sbo purse r 500 In- Of Kentucky University, I.exington s ,Ti B ; y ■■ and sr 4 L'niLUR3\ w MACOBOY SNCJFP. CATTTIOMTO CONS HERS. Ae many inferior imitations h appeared np -n the market in packages so closely re s'.milling ours as to deceive the unwar', we would request the purchaser to see that the f ed lithographed tin eansin which it is packed si way 8 bear , ts-u* JVamr find Tradf-.itS'trK In buying the imitation you pay as much for an Inferior article as the genuine costs BK SURE YOU OBTAIN THE GENUINE. LORILLARD’S CLIMAX RED TIN-TAG PLUG TOBACCO. The Finest Sweet Navy Chewing Tobacco ade. 'm Genuine always bears a Red Tin-Tag with our niuno thereon. jBeware, at Immitatians. DOHT £ ail to call or send your Jug to i. r mm 94 WES T PE TERs S T., ATLANTA, - GEORGIA Who is geneially conceded lo keep ■2? 3E3E .HI 33 33 *55 T* ainl Cheapest. Wines, Brandies, Whiskies, etc. tecs ftctiwt. The Largest and Only Complete ^ © Works IN GEORGIA. JAMES LOCHREI’s , premium cloth Hressi g Silk, Woolen and Cotton DYEING es TABLISHMEN j-, 45 E. Hunter st„ Atlanta, Ga. *0- p,,or Margery. ming time.” . The rough voice described as Dairyman Tucker’s was the vehicle of this remark. Then the barton gate slammed again, and in two or three minutes a something be came visible, rising out of the fog in that quarter. First the shape revealed itself as. that of a woman. Next, the gait, which was the gait of one young and agile. Next, the colors and other details of her dress—a bright pink cotton frock, because winter was over; a small woolen shawl of shep herd’s plaid, because summer was not come; a white handkerchief tied over her head-gear, because it was so foggy, so. damp, and so early: and a straw bonnet and ribbons peeping from under the hand kerchief, because it was likely to be a sunny May day. Her face was of the hereditary type among families down in these parts; sweet in expression, perfect in hue, and some what "irregular in feature. Her eyes were of a liquid brown. On her arm she carried a withy basket, in which lay several but ter-rolls in a nest of wet cabbage leaves. She was, no doubt, the “Margery” of the voice, who had been told not to bide about long upon the road.” She went on her way across the fields, not much perplexed by the fog, except when tbe track was so indefinite that it ceased to be a guide to the next stile. She carefully avoided treading ou the innumer able earth worms that lay in couples across tbe path till, startled even by her light tread, they withdrew suddenly into then- holes. She kept clear of all trees. Why was that? There was no danger of light ning on such a morning as this. But though the roads were dry, the fog had gathered in the boughs, causing them to set up such a dripping as would go clean through the protecting handkerchief like bullets, and spoil the ribbons beneath, i he beech and ash were particularly shunned, for they dripped more maliciously than any. It was ail instance of woman’s keen appreciativeness of nature’s moods and peculiarities; a man crossing those fields might bar. ly have perceived that the trees dripped at all. Iti less than an hour she had traversed a distance of four miles, and arrived at a latticed cottage in a secluded spot. An elderly woman, scarce awake, answered her knocking. Margery delivered up the but ter, and said, “How is Granny this morn ing? I can’t stay to go up to her, but tell her I have returned what we owed her.” Her grandmother was no worse than usu al-and receiving back the empty basket, the girl proceeded to carry out some inten tion which had been included in her orders. Instead of returning to the light labors of skimining-time, slie hastened on, her direp- tion being toward a little ^ neighboring town. Before, however, Margery had pro ceeded far, she met the postman, laden to the neck with letter-bags, of which he had not yet deposited one. “Are the. shops open yet, Samuel?” she said. * . , ; “Oh no,” replied that stooping p«des- trian, not waiting to stand upright. “1 hey t be open yet this hour, except the and iron-monger and little machine-man for the They downs their shut- past six, then the baker’s seven, then the draper's at stone’,' Suit of" TT.—Itanan familiar by the works of Inigo Jones. Ihere was a doorway to the lawn, standing at the head of a flight of steps. The shutters of the house were closed, and the blinds of j the bed-rooms drawn down. Her percep tion of the fact that no crusty care-taker could see her from the windows led her at once to slacken her pace, and stroll through the flower beds eooly. A house unblinded is a possible spy, and must be treated ac cordingly; a house with the shutters closed is an insensate heap of stone and mortar, to be faced with indifference. On the other side of the house the green sward rose to an eminence, whereon stooc. one of those curious summer shelters that are sometimes erected on exposed points of view, called an all-the-year-round. In the present i case it consisted of four wal.s ra diating from a center like the arms of a turnstile, with seats in each angle, so that whencesoever the wind came it was always possible to find a screened corner which to observe the landscape. The milkmaid’s trackless course up the hill and past the -erection, as to being watched and scolded as an in truder, her mind flew to other matters, till at the moment when she was not a yo.i d from the shelter, she heard a foot or feet scraping on the gravel behind it. Some one was in the all-the-year-round appar ently occupying the seat on the other side, as was proved when, on turning, she saw an elbow, a man’s elbow, projecting ovei th Now the young woman did not much like the idea of going down the lull undei (he eyes of this person, whica sue would have to do if she went on, fur as an in truder she' was liablo to be cal ed back and questioned upon her business there. Ac cordingly she crept softly up and sat in the seat behind, intending to remain tliora un til her companion should leave. . This he by no means seemed m a hurry to do. What could possibly have brought what could detain him. .there, .of dense mist be seen or en- But he re- Margery grew ina- diseerned the track: of his feet in the dowv grass, forming a line from the house steps, which announced that he was an inhabitant and not a chance passer by. At last she pdeped round. nnart In ~o pO511X1*11 tO OYiilg T-Il'O t0 wbyro he stood. The man, who recognized and again resumed his jour- from led her At ease him there, at six o’clock on a morning - when there was nothing to joyed, puzzled her not a little, maim:*? quite still, and Margei patient. She him, Aid so, ' The stranger unlocked the-bag and threw ] it on the seat, having taken one ’letter from within. This he read attentively, and his countenance changed. The effect was as if the sun had bur*t through the fog upon that face; it became clear, bright, almost radiant. The quango was almost phautasmagorial; yet it was but a change that may take place in the com monest human being, provided his counte nance be not. too wooden, or his artince have not grown to second nature. He turned to Margery, who was again edging off and seizing her hand, appeared as though he was about to embrace her. Checking his impulse, he said, “My guard ian angel—my good friend—you have saved me!” t . “What from?” she ventured to ask. “That you may never know!” he replied, solemnly. . , . . She guessed that the letter ho > had just received had been the means of effecting this change for the better in his mood, but madiTno observation till he went on to say, “What did you tell mo was. your name, dear girl?” She repeated her name. “Margaret Tucker,” He stopped, and pressed her hand. “Sit down for a mo ment—on e moment,” he said, pointing to the end of the seat, and taking, the ox- tremest further end for himself, not to dis- compose her. She sat down: “It is to ask a question,” ho went on, “and there must bo confidence between ite. You have saved me from indescrmabla folly! What can I do for you?” “Nothing, sir.” “Nothing?” . , ,. “Father is very well off, and we don t want anything.” . - . T “But there must be some service that I can render, some kindness I can bestow, some votive offering winch I can make, and so imprint on your memory as long live that I am not an ungrateful •give me 'iL'o wag;- quiTh easy like, on, yes, ’a’s civil, genteel noble enough, that s “Took the house for fishing, did he?” “Well, that's what they say, and as it can’t be for nothing else, I suppose it’s true. But. in final, his health’s not good, ’a b’lievo; and he s been living too rithe. The London smoke got into his keakhorn, till ’a couldn’t eat. However, I shouldn’t mind having the ruu of his kitchen.” “And what is his name?” i<Ah there you have me! ’Tis a name no man’s tongue can toll, or even woman's, except by pen and ink and good scholar ship. It begins with X. and who, without the machinery of a clock in’s inside, can speak that? But here ’tis-from Ins let ters.” The postman with his walking-stick wrote upon the ground: “BARON VON XANTICN.” CHAPTER III. The day, as she had prognosticated, turned out fine; for weather-wisdom was imbibed along with their milksops by the children of Swenn Vale. The impending meeting moved Margery deeply, ami she performed her daily duties in her father s house with mechanical unconsciousness. Milking, skimming, cheese-making, were done. Her father was asleep in the settle, the milkmen and maids were gone home to their cottages, and the clock showed a auarter to eight. She dressed herself with ca"e went to tho top of the garden, ana looked over the stile. The view was east ward, and a great moon hung before her m a skv which had not a cloud. Nothing was moving except on tho minutest scale and she remained leaning over, the night jar sounding his rattle from the bough of an i-olated tree on the open hill-siue. . Here Marger} 1 " waited till the appointed time had passed by three-quarters of an hour; but no foreign baron came, bhe was full of an idea, and her heart sank with disappointment. And then pacing at last the of a horse became audible ou th you be grateful to me, CHAPTER II. A FINE-FRAMED dark mustaehed gontle- man, in dressing-gown and slippers, was sitting, there in the fog,Without a hat on. With one hand he was tightly grasping is forehead, with the other Ins knee. ihe attitude bespoke with sufficient clearness a certain mental condition-anguish. He quite a different being'from any of men to whom * her eyes were accurn- His hands . and his face were ^ ber view deadly white- and he heeded nothing out ide his own existence. There he remained as motionless as the unwafted bushes around him; indeed, he scarcely seemed to breathe. Having imprudently advanced thus .ar, Margery’s wish was to get back again in the same . unseen manner; but m moving her foot for the purpose it grated slightly on the gravel. He started up with an of bewilderment, and slipped " his dressing gown, iho blankly at each was the tomed. bite—to air somethin; into the pocket of pair then stood looking 0t “Who are you?” he at length asked sternly, and with not altogether an English articulation. “What do you do here? Margery had already begun to be fright ened at her own boldness in invading the lawn and pleasure-seat. The house had a master, and she had not known of it. My name is Margaret Tucker, sir, s ® ’ -meekly. “My father is Dairyman Tucker. We live at Stickleford Dairy-house.” “What were you doing here at this honr of the morning she at pL^'.ml’i'l tVwill guarantee sa’isf cion. 10 23 3m. "N. H. M&LLOEY, ^ Wathmaksr and Jewell OO , , Keeps on hnnd a full and complete tine of CLOCKS, WATCHES, JEWELRY. ETC. Rock Bottom he sc-ls at jlE?M R!n «3- W a* Chet, Clock - , Made a Specialty. ld satisfaction guaranty .n c very latanee. l .l,>w-lry, Etc., and instance, WO saddler tacker-haired farmer folk, ters at half at half past elg “Oh, the draper’s at eight.” It was plain that Margery wanted the draper’s. 1 The postman turned up a side path, and tho young girl, as though deciding within herself that if she could not go shopping at once she might as well get back for the skimming, retraced her steps. The public road home from the point to which she had arrived was easy of access, but devious. By far the nearest way was by getting over a fence adjoining, and crossing the private grounds of a picturesqe old country house, whose chimneys were just visible through the trees. As the house had been shut up for many months, the girl decided to take - the straight cut. She pushed her way through the laurel bushes, sheltering her bonnet with the shawl as an additional : safeguard, scrambled over the wire bound- , ry°went along through more shrubberies, nd stood ready to emerge upon the open a awn. Before doing so she looked around lin the warv manner of a poach.r. It was not the first time that she had broken fence j n fie- life, but somehow, afld all of a sud den she had felt herself too near woman hood to indulge in such practices with free- d-,m However, she moved forth, and toe house fr- ait stared her in the face, unob- seured by tile fog because close at hand.^ It was a building of the medium size and’, .mmeiondfaig-. .tlffl, fesadfl- tom «* . She told him, even to the fact that had climbed over the fence. “And what made you peep round “I saw your elbow, sir; and I wondered what you were doing.” “And what was I doing?” “Nothin^ You had one hand on your forehead and the other on your knee. I do hope you be not id, sir, or in deep trouble? “What difference would it make to you if I were ill or in trouble? You don’t know roe, and can not care for me.” She returned no answer, feeling that she might have taken a liberty in expressing sympathy. But look.ng furtively up at him she discerned to her surprise that lie seemed affected by her humane wish, simply as it ha l been expressed. She had scarcely conceived that such a tall dark man could know what gentle feelings were. “Well; I am much obliged to you carin -how X am,” said he, with a t I smile and an affectionate lightness of man ner, which, even to her, omy rendered more apparent the real gloom beiieath d have not slept this past right. I suffer from sleeplessness. Probab' y you don t. i Margery laughed a little, and he glanced i with interest at the comely P 10t " r . e r S ~tndid I suited- her fresh face, brown han, candid eyes, unpracticed manner, country dresn, pink hands, empty wicker basket, and the handkerchief over her bonnet. i “Well” he said, after his scrutiny, f 1 need hardly have asked such a question of : 0I1 3 who is Nature’s own image. Ah, but- my good little friend,” he a ided, re- currin - to his bitter tone and sitting w a'ilv down, “you don’t know what great rioudfoan hang over some peoples lives Bi'd what cowards some men are m face of To escape themselves they travel, houses, and engage in it is so dreary a# you man.” “Why should sir ” He shook his head. “Some things are best left unspoken. Now think. VVhat would you like to have best in the .world, Margery made a pretense of reflecting then fell to. reflecting seriously ; but the negative was ultimately as undisturbed as ever- she could not,decide on anything sue would like best in the world; it was too difficult, too sudden. “Very wall—don't hurry yourself. Think it over all day. I ride this afternoon. You live—where?” “Stickleford Dairy-house. . “I will ride that way homeward this evening. Do yen consider by eight o’clock what little article, what little treat, you would most like of any. “I will sir," said Margery, now warming up a little to the idea. “And where shall I meet you? Or will you call at the house, Sir?” ... . no. I should not wish tha circuin- stances to be known out of .which our ac quaintance arose. It would be more proper—but no.” . - . , Margery, too, seemed rather anxious that he should not call. “I could come out, sir,” she said. “My father is odd-tempered, and perhaps—” . , , , , c It was ultimately agreed that she should look over a stile at the top of her father s garden, and that he should ride along a bridle-path without, to receive her answer. '•Margery,” said the gentleman mxon- elusion, “now that you have dis overed me under peculiar conditions, are you going to roveal them, and make me an object forth* gossip of the curious!” “No, no, sir,” she replied, earnestly; “why should 1 do that?” “You will never tell?” “Never, never will I tell what has hap pened here this morning.” “Neither to your father, friends, nor to any one.” “To no one at all,” she said a little p« zled. . “It is sufficient,” he answered. Yo.i mean what you say, my dear maiden. NOff you want to leave me. Good-bye,” She descended the hill walking with some awkwardness, for she feit tho stran ger’s eyes were upon her, till the fog had enveloped her from his gaze. She took no notice now of the dripping from the trees; she was lost in thought in other things. How had she saved this handsome, melan- draw- nor to yov.t soft path without, leading up from the water-meads, simultaneously with which she beheld tht, form of the stranger ing near. Ha was riding home. The moonlight so flooded her face as to make her very conspicuous in the garden cap. “Ah, Margery!” ho said, starting. “How came you here? But of course I re member—we were to meet. And l was to be at eight—iu-oA pudor! I have kept you “It "doesn't matter. I’ve thought of something.” “Thought of something? “Yes, sir. You said this morning that I was to think what I would like best in the world, and I havo made up my mind “i did say so-—to be sure I did,' 1 ho re- plied, collecting his thoughts. “I remem ber to have had good reason for gratitude to you.” He placed his hand to his brow, and in a minute alighted, and came up o her with tho bridle in his hand. ‘ I was to give you a treat or a present, ana you could not think of one. Now you have done so. Let me hear what u is, and - U be as good as my wor !.” , “To go to tho Yeomanry Ball that s to be given this month.” “The Yeomanry Ball—Yeomanry LalL- he murmured, as if,.of all requests m the world, this is what ho had at least ex posted. «Where is what you call the Y eo- inanry Ball ?” “ At Casterbridgs.” “Have you ever been to St before? “No, sir.” “Dr to any ball?” “No.” ' “But did I not say a present, “Or a treat.” “Ah, yes; or a treat,” he echoed, with the air’of one who finds himself in a slight fix. “But with whom would you propose “I don’t know. I have not th mghtof tL i tVb yot.” “You have no friend who could take you, even if I got you an invitation?” Margery looked at the moon. No one Who can dance,” she said, adding, with hesitation, “X Was thinking that pernaps— ■ "“But my dear Margery,” he said, stop ping her,' as if he half divined what ner simple dream of a cavalier had. been, i very odd that you can think of nothing utae than going to a Yeomanry Ball. Ti-ink ” — there’s nothing else!” ■lent." •“• sain, wanning up to tho proceed ings. “But you dance too well—you dance all over your person—and that s too taor,- ough a way for the present day. I should say it was exactly how they dancod in the time of the poet Chaucer; but as people don’t dance l|ke it now, we must consider. First I mi>st inquire more, about this wan, and then I must see you again.” “If it is a great trouble to you sir, in “Oh, no, no. I will think it over. So far so good.” . The Baron rnentionod an evening ana an hour when he would be passing that way again; then mounted his horse and rode away. On the next occasion, which was just when the sun was changing places with the moon as an illuminator of Stickle; ora Dairy, she found him at the spot before her and unincumbered by a horso. The melancholy that had so weighed him down at their first interview, and had been per ceptible at their second, had quite disap peared. Repressed her right hand between both his own across the stile. “My dear girl, God bless you!” said he, warmly. “I can not help thinking of that morning. 1 was too much overshadowed at first to tako in the whole force of it You don’t know all, but your presence was a miraculous intervention. Now to more cheerful matters. I have a great aeal to tell that is, if your wish about the ball be still the same!” “Oh, yes, sir-if you don't object,” said the persistent maiden. “Never think of my objecting. What I have found out is something which sim plifies matters amazingly. In addition to your Yeomanry Ball at Casterbridge, there is also to he one in the next county about the same time. This ball is not to be held at the Town-hall of the county town as usual, but at Lord Blakemore’s who is colonel of the regiment, and who, I suppose, wishes to please the yeomen be cause his brother Is going to stand for the county Now I find 1 could take you tnere very well, and the great advantage of that ball over the Yeomanry Ball in this county is that there you would be absolutely inl and I too. But do you prefer known, your own county?” “Oh no, sir. “It’s a ball I long to see— l don’t know what it is like. It does not matter where.” “Then 1 shall be able to make much more of you there, where there is no possibility of recognition. That being settled, the next thing is the dancing. Now reels and such things won’t do. For think of this there is a new dance at Almack s and everywhere else, over which the world has gone crazy.” “How dreadful!” “Ah—but that is a mere expression- gone mad. It is an ancient Scythian dance; but such is the power of fashion Uiat, btiving once been adopted by society, this dance has made the tour of the Couti- ! nent in one season.” “What is its name, sir?’ I “The polka. Young people, who al« ays dance, are ecstatic about it, and old people, S who have not danced for years, have begun ! to dance'again on its account. All share the excitement. It arrived in London only some few months ag6-it is now all °*cr the country. Now this is your opportunity mv good Margery. To learn tins one dan-.o will be enough. They will dance s arce anything else at that ball. While, to crown all it is the easiest dance in the world, and as I know it quite well, I can practice you in the step. Suppose we try? Margery showed some hesitation bef crossing the stile: it was a Rubicon m more ways than one. But the curious reverence which was stealing over her for ad tii this stranger said and did was too muo. for prudence. She crossed Lie stile. Withdrawing with her to- a nuo.f wiv . two hedges met, and where the grass w.,. 1 elastic and dry, he lightly rested h » m m on her waist, and practiced witahutw step of fascination. Instead of 111U1 d numbers, and she, as may be slight aptness in toi- 3 . Thus they move t together, the moon shadows from racing ovir their forms as they for faint choly, sleepless foreign gentleman who had had a trouble on his min i till the letter came? What had ho been going to do? Margery did not know. Strange .is the in cident had been in hersAf, to her it had seemed stranger oven tsaa it was Con trasting colors heighten each other by being juxtaposed; it is the same with con trasting lives.—o „ .. • , Reaching the Opposite side of the paik, there appeared before her for tho tluid time that little old man, the foot-post. As the turnpike road ran, the postman’s bea . was twelve miles a day, six miles out from Anglebury and six miles back at night,. but°what zigzags, devious ways, offsets to country seats,’horseshoe curves to farms, looped courses and isoceles triangles to out lying hamlets, the ground actually covered to ao-ain. You are sure . . , “Quite sure, sir,” she decisively, an swered. At first nobody would have no ticed in that pretty young face any sign of such decision; yet it was discoverable. Tho mouth, though soft, was firm m lino the eyebrows were distinct, and extended near to each other. “I have thought of it all day,” she continued, sadly. ctm, sir, if you are sorry you offered me any thing, I can let you off"’ “Sorryi -- . „ said, rather nettled. “I’ll show you 1 iUb JUU Certainly not, dear Margery, he new he whispe’red supposed, showed no lowing his instructic ns. round the twigs tU Thofinterview lasted about half an hour. Then he somewhat abruptly handed k. over the stile, and stood look.ng at he, from the other side. “Well ” he murmured, “what has con s to pass is strange. My whole business alter this will be to recover my right mind, i Margery (to whose recollections tho writerYs indebted for the details of this in terview) always declared that there seemed to be some power in tho stranger that was i m ore than human, something magical an l ! compulsory, when he seized her and gently 1 trotted her round. But the lap.e of many ■ many years may have led her memory t.> play pranks with the scene, and her viv.d ** J . -A. .ran♦‘LInl mud bo by him was nearer one-and-twenty miles. of the them. take picturesque country sports. But hero and the fog was horrible this moraln “Why, this is only the pnde of orning!" said Margary brightly. By- 'd by it will be a beautiful day. TiJ was aoiug OU h r way forthwith, her—detained her witn morning am She was goiu; but he detained .... . , , words, talking on every little innocen_ sub let he could think of. The feint of this was so transparent that one thing was be yond question:, he had an object m keepm„ her there more serious than his words would imply. It was as if he feared to be le WhfiTthey stood the misty figure of the postman, whom Margery had left a quarter of an hour earlier to follow his sinuous course, crossed the grounds below tfiem on his way to the house. First, signifying to Maraery by a wave of his hand that_ she was to step back out of sight in the hinder angle of the shelter, the gentleman heck • Hence it was that Margery, who had come straight, was still abreast of him, despite her long pause. . The weighty sense that she was mixed up in a tremendous and tragical secret with an unknown, mysterious and handsome stranger prevented her joining very readily, in chat with the postman for some Line But a keen interest in her adventure caused her to respond at once when the bowed man of mails said: “You hit athwart the grounds of Mount Lodge, Miss Margery, or you wouldn’t ha’ met me here VV ell, somebody hev took the old place at last. In acknowledging her route. Margery brought herself to ask who the now gentle man might be. •‘Guide the girl’s heart, what don t she know? And yet how should ye?—lie’s only just a-come. Well, primary, he’s a fish ing gentleman, come for the summer only. Then, more to the subject; ’a s a foreign noble that’s lived in England so long as to be a kind of male as to country; somool his letters call him Baron, some Squire so that ’a must be born to something tnat didn’t come by reason. But to return to the real compass of this matter, whether ’a’s a rich man in my eye anti a poor man in’s own, or a rich man i n his own and mine too. I can’t interpret no more than Pharaoh ’A was out this morning a-watebing the fog. ‘Postman.’. ’a said. that whatever hopes I have raised in your breast I am honorable enough to gratify. Xf "it lies in my power,” he added, with sudden firmness, “you thall go to the Yeomanry Ball, In what building is it to be held?” “Jn the Assembly Rooms. “And would you be likely to be recog nized there? Do you know many people: ’ “Not many, sir. None, 1 may say. know nobody who goes to talis.” “Ah, well; you must go, since you w *h it* and if there is no other way of getting over the difficulty of having nobody to take you, I’ll takeyou myself. Would you like me to do so? I can dance. “Oh, yes, sir; I know How- you might offer to do it. But would you bring me back again!” “Of course I’ll bring you back. But, by tho bye, can you dance?’ Yes—reels, and jigs, and country dances like tho ‘New-rigged Ship,’ and ‘Follow my Lover,’ and ‘Haste to the Wedding,’ and tho ‘College Hornpipe,’ and the ‘Favorite Quickstep,’ and ‘Captain White’s Dance.’ ” “Not a bad list; but unluckily X fear they don’t dance any of these now. But L you have the instinct, we may soon cure your ignorance. Let me sen you dance a moment.” ' sh e glanced around and saw nobody. “You will promise not to tell, sir!” “Can you ask it? Have you not some secret of mine?” She stood out into the garden path, the stile being still between them, and seizing a side of her skirt with each hand, per formed tho movements which are oven yet far from uncommon in tho dances of the viila-zers of merry England. But her mo tions, though graceful, were not precisely those which, appear in the figures of a modern ball-room. “W> 11 . my friend, it is a very pretty imagination at that youthful age I taken into account in believing her. ever, there is no doubt that the stranger, whoever he might be, and whatever powers, taught her the elements of model a dancing at a certain interview by moon light at the too of her fathers gulden, as was proved by her possess,on of Knowledge on the subject.that could have been ac quired in no other way. _ q His was of the first rank of commanding figures; she was one of the most graceiul or milkmaids, and to casual view* wonU have seemed all of a piece with Na.u.e s doings that things should go on thus. Btu there was another side to the ca,e, an... dance.” . * ", th „ stl . an ~ e gentleman were a wild that, and I thought w e c “ - p wa . s questionable if the ‘A was ger. mysterious, tion. had ball dross, ought I olive tree or not, it was que acquaintance would lead to fleeting romance and a p ssiole ca.aim o thus it might have been summed up oj the ^ Margery was in a paradise; and yet she not distinctly in love with the stian- What she feit was something more more of the nature ot venera- As be looked at flier across tue sti„' she spoke timidly, on a subject which apparently occupied her long. “I ought to have a n °“Gertainly. And you shall havo a bail dress.” “No*doubt of '.t. I won't do things by halves for my best friend X imvethougnt of the ball dress and or, otne-r Ui.n- .» aim. “And is my dancing good enough, “Quite—quite,”, He paused, lapsed thought, and looked at ner. - d he said, “do volt trust yourself uuresc, veci ly to LLVSi ' ■ - ■ ■ : ■. . • (f.!0N’T:NU£I>.) into Margery,"