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FORTUNE-TELLING ADVENTURE.
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FORTUNE-TELLING ADVEN- TURE. ONE day Mrs. Lorimer's only daughter, Violette, was nowhere to be found neither was the Spanish gentle- man, Senor Espanol, who taught the guitar. The whole town was alarmed by an account of the mysterious disap- pearance of a beautiful young lady and a hard-working, gentlemanly young foreigner. However, when some one had discovered that the last gave lessons to the first, an inference was drawn by some cool looker-on. "May they not have gone together ?" The mother at once drove the slanderer from her presence, preferring the idea that her Violette was mur- dered. However, before long a penitent letter, all blotted with tears, reached the poor old lady, all alone in her great house'in a stately street. Violette was married to Senor Espanol. The more one loves a person the mor" furious does any deception on her part make one. A less loving mother might have forgiven. Stung to madness, this one wrote a terrible letter to the foolish girl who had so hurt her. The husband, a hot Spaniard, read it. It insulted him, and lie forbade his wife ever to see her parent again. To do him justice, love, and no mercenary mo- tive, had led him on to elope with his pretty heiress. So the gulf was fixed between the only two of the Bame blood who lived on ea.-th, and Senor EspaDol began to give lessons on the guitar for two instead of one. Then for three, then for four. If he had lived longer it might have been for more. But the day the fourth child was born a countryman, who mistook him for a rival, stabbed him in the back. He apologised at length the next minute, but the poor victim did not live to hear him through, but died trying to express the fact that the gentleman was perfectly excusable. And so Violette, who would have been very happy with her music-master had he been less jealous, was left a widow with four babies, no money, and no ac- complishment that had been sufficiently cultivated to earn a living by. Of course she took in sewing, and of courr-e a day came when there was very small prospect of supper, and not even a dream of breakfast. Not a penny in the house, not a loaf of bread in the closet, not a pennyworth of work to be got anywhere, what was she to do ? The poor little woman walked up and down, and cried. That did not help her. She looked over the relics of the past. They were pretty pieces of jewellery, worth nothing. Valuable things had all been sold long ago. She glanced out of the window. A woman, with a very large bran-new basket and no shoes, went begging from door to door. This singular circumstance preyed upon her mind. She began to take an interest in the ways and manners of beggars, as the awfal expectation of becoming one began to haunt her. "I could drown myself," she said, "but I could not very well drown four children, like a litter of puppies." Then leaning her chin on her hands, she watched from her lofty window another woman with a handker- chief over her head, going from door to door. Was she begging ? It seemed not. Once or twice she entered and stayed some time. At last she saw her coming to her own door. There was a knock. She opened the door, and the dark hair under the yellow silk handkerchief, the big black eyes, the rich com- plexion, were there. "Well?" she asked, inquiringly. Let me tell your fortune, lady. I only charge one shilling," said the woman. My fortune is told, since I have not one shilling in the world to spare," said Violette. The woman turned away. "Stop a moment," said Violette. "Tell me one thing in this age do people pay you to tell their for- tunes ? "No age is too old," said the woman, to whom the World presented but one idea. "I just told an old lady's fortune below. It was in the cards that she was to have a husband, too-her fourth. She gave me half-a-crown. Look She opened her palm. I make money, I do," said she. I'm a gipsy, I'm a seventh child. I see the future. I'll take any little bit of jewellery if you haven't any money. Have your fortune told ?" But Violette shook her head and closed the door. I cannot steal, and to beg I am ashamed," said she to herself. "After it is dark to-night I'll go out and tell fortunes." Then she took two fiat-irons to the pawn shop, bought a loaf of bread and a pint of milk, and fed her four children—she for whom nothing had once been dainty enough, and who had ridden in her own carriage. She put the children to bed, and left the key with a neighbour in case of fire, and then, disguised in veil and hood and shawl, went forth on her errand. It was a crazy dream. She had not courage to attempt fortune-telling. It was worse than begging. She wandered along the streets, leaving the ill-smelling ones behind her, and coming at last to the pure, sweet homes of luxury. In the end she stood before her toother's windows. There was a light in the base- ment, and through the lace curtains she saw a table spread, and the shadow of a figure she knew to be her toother's on the curtain, and there, drawing down the shade, was Martha, who had nursed her when a child. Tears filled her eyes. It was a Paradise which she never hoped to regain. Had not her mother written A curse on you. Never darken my doors more, un- less you wish to hear me utter it." But here at least she had not the terror of strangers Upon her; she could beg or tell fortunes. She would tell fortunes. Martha was superstitious, and always had dreams of matrimony, and of the coming back of a lover who had gone to sea when she was in her teens, and had never been heard of since. She crept up to the window, and tapped en the panes. In a moment Martha opened the door. The hooded figure drew near her. "Let me tell your fortune? she said. Bother," said Martha,. I'm past fortunes." "What?" said Violette. "With a lover gone to sea?" "Lord save us cried Martha. "And in one place twenty years," said Violette. You know more than is good," said Martha; Stop a bit. Are you one of them clairvoyants ?" Yes," said Violette. "Could you see where people are, what's come of them, and that ?" asked .Martha. For instance, a gal that's been gone eight years, could you look for her in a dream like, as I've heard they can, and find her?" Yes, I think I cculd," said Violette. "Sit here, then," Martha said, pointing to a chair in the hall, and hurried into the dining-room. She came back in a moment. Come and speak to missus," she said. And Violette, trembling so she could scarcely stand, Entered her mother's presence. No love is like a mother's. Violette had known that since she cast it off. She knew it now, looking on the pale face where wrinkles had come so thickly—on the hair, all turned grey now—on the sad eyes, that were so bright when she last saw them. She longed to kneel at her mother's feet and beg for- giveness, but she dared not yet—had not she sinned too deeply to hope for pardon ? She stood silent with her head bowed down. They tell me you are a clairvoyant," said Mrs. Lorimer. I have not much faith in such things, and If the power prospers its possessors so little it cannot be worth much; but still I ha.ve something I should like to ask you. You search for persons whe are far away, do you not—and for lost things Violette bowed. "If you can find something I have lost I will repay you well, said Mrs. Lorimer. "Here, sit down. Perhaps, if you have this knowledge, you can tell me what I have lost." Violette sat down. < "It should be darker," she said, "will you lower the light?" J Martha turned the gas down and stood behind her lady's chair-and there was silence. Violette had cast back her veil, but the fire-light was not bright enough to show her features. "Lady," she said, in a low voice, "it is not gold or silver that I see it is nothing that can be bought for money. What I see is a girl." Good heavens cried the old lady. A girl of sixteen, with fair hair and blue eyes," said Violette. That was what she was when you saw her last. Am I right ?" "Yes," said Mrs. Lorimer. r> *?ve4 her>" said Violette j "she loved you. But she deceived you! she was wicked—wicked— wicked but there was an excuse for her. She fell in love she was mad for a while. You have cast her off. She has gone. You will never see her more." Hush! hush!" cried Mrs. Lorimer. "She was not bad. I was wicked I knew what it was to love, yet I forsook her because she Imew it too. Look again. How does life use her? She is a widow, and very poor," said Violette—" so wretchedly poor that she docs not know where to get bread but she will not come to you. You would curse her. You could not forgive her. You will never see her again." The old lady started from her chair. "What are you? How do you know the secrets of my life, the words I most repent uttering? Look again Look! Tell me I shall see her once more. Tell me where to find the only babe I ever held against my breast! My little one—my Violette—where is she?" And then the woman she addressed fell upon her knees and clasped her hand. "She is here she cried, "Mother, she is here I" and the two wept together in each other's arms; and all was forgiven. The good mansion is no longer desolate. There are little children's voices there, and mother and daughter are together once more. And in that other world, where we cannot believe that wrath endures, doubtless the lover of her youth rejoices that Violette's fortune has been told so well.
IN BONDS FOR LIFE; OR, WHY…
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IN BONDS FOR LIFE; OR, WHY DID HE MARRY HER P CHAPTER XVIII.—(continued.) On, as to an understandinrj, that is not wanted on my part, dull as you may think me. I comprehend very well that I am nobody and nothing among such superfine people as my unlucky fate has thrown 'me with. My husband hates me, and both you and your father despise me." Mrs. Harper, thus rudely attacked, sat down, trem- bling violently. She made a strong effort to control herself, and then said— "I trust, Amelia, that your assertion regarding the feelings of your husband toward you, has no more foundation than that which followed it, for I assure you.that neither my father nor myself would permit ourselves to cherish hostile feelings toward Ernest's wife, let her act as she will." Your brother's wife! Ay, there it is Only as a precious piece of property belonging to him have I any consideration. I wish I could go back to what I was be- fore I ever saw him. Better freedom even with-" Linden arose with sudden strength, and regarded her with an expression that made her pause. He spoke in the concentrated tone of a person wrought up to the highest point of endurance. Amelia, these contentions are destroying me, and I am fully aware that you are following out a purpose in acting as you. do. I cannot bear them any longer. Go, if you wish it. If your life is intolerable here, you can have amply means to seek a more congenial home elsewhere. My father will be prodigal of his wealth to rescue the few days 'left to me from these in- tolerable jarrings. I cannot—I will not endure them." It must be a high bid that will induce me to leave you, and a still higher one that will prevent my un- ruly member' from prating of you know what," was the scornful reply. Linden sank back, evidently cowering before this threat, and alarmed at his increasing pallor, Mrs. Harper took up a bottle of cologne and attempted to bathe his temples. Mrs. Linden snatched it from her hand, and said— "No one shall come between me and my husband, not even a sister. He is mine, body and soul; mine, I tell you, bought with a price, held in a bond that death alone may break. I assert my power and defend my right, and he dare not repudiate it." Mrs. Harper drew back and looked upon the two with an expression of bewildered fright. She asked her brother- What does she mean, Ernest ? "Nothing, nothing, Cornelia. My wife was only in- tended by nature for an actress, and her destiny was marred by marrying me. This ranting might tell on the boards of a provincial theatre, but in every-day life it is too melo-dramatic. to be agreeable. The poor girl loves me, I believe, though at times she does torment me sadly. Leave us, now, if you please, Cornelia, and when I feel stronger, I will come down to the library to sit anhour or two with my father. Thanks for your jelly I will eat a portion of it by-and-by." Thus dismissed, Mrs. Harper left the room with her heart oppressed with undefinable fears and suspicions, to which she dared not give a tangible shape in her own mind. As the door closed upon her retiring form, Linden dashed away the hand of his wife, which was bathing his brow, and sat up, pale, rigid, and stern as Brutus himself, as he sat in judgment on his sons. Amelia, I warn you it is the last time I will bear an allusion to the dire secret that bound our miserable fates together. As well avow the truth at once, as have vague insinuations of something terrible constantly thrown out. To save my family from the disgrace I would have brought upon them, from the anguish the knowledge of my act would have caused them, I sacrificed myself to you. I swear to you that if such another scene occurs-if you utter another threat to me, I will reveal the whole, cost what it may. Then I will send you adrift in the world with enough to keep you above want-nothing more. The wealth of my family shall never go to pamper the luxury of one who has tortured me as you have." "No-it will take it all to purchase immunity for yourself. You seem to ignore personal conse- quences." I shall never live to suffer the penalty of my crime," he gloomily replied. "Besides, nothing can now be proved against me your evidence against your husband would not be received, even if you could carry your malignity so far as to give it." Is that really the law in this country ? "Of course and in every other in which justice is regarded." Mrs. Linden sat down and rested her head upon her hands, apparently absorbed in deep thought. He closed his eyes with an expression of weariness, as if exhausted by the disagreeable excitement of the last hour. Sud- denly she arose, and went toward him, with an expres- sion of contrition; she knelt beside the couch, with tears streaming over her face, as she humbly took his hand, and pressed it to her lips and heart. "Ernest-my Ernest—adored of my heart! you know that I would die sooner than injure a hair of your beloved head My nature is wayward, and I cannot be to you what I could wish. I taunt you, I torment you, and then my heart weeps tears of blood over the suffering I have inflicted. Oh I will try-I will try to be more rational, more thoughtful for the future, for I know I am a sad trial to you." Linden wearily lifted his heavy eye-lids, and spoke scarcely above a whisper— "It is only the same old story, Amelia: a blaze of passion extinguished in a flood of tears. Your promises are only made to be broken. Your avowals of affec- tion I can have no faith in, for we do not torture what we love. No—an avenging faith has sent you to tt punish me for acts committed in the selfishness of youth and passion, and I accept the atonement, fearful as it is." Again that flitting expression of wistful tenderness swept over her face, and she humbly said— Oh if you would only love me a little a very little, I might be encouraged to make an effort to do better; but you have always shown me such bitter contempt—such a scornful endurance of the creature you cannot shake off—that my whole nature is em- | bittered by it. Think, Ernest, how wildly I must j have loved you, to grasp your reluctant hand, and- make myself a burden to you, in the forlorn hope that I in time you might learn to endure me near you.' I That lesson has been learned—is daily practised, Amelia and if it were your will, we could at least live tranquilly together. I will not act a part that is odious to me, but I am willing to treat you with I the consideration that is due to the position you I hold as my wife. You will not accept those terms- you render my life a constant irritation, and then, in a moment of aroused feeling, avow affection,, which, if genuine, would lead you to consider at least my daily comfort a little. You have come into my father's house to be not only my evil genius, but that of every one in it." Oh, you are cruel, cruel—inflexible towards me she moaned. Linden did not look at her—he seemed scarcely to have heard her, and the hard mockery of her real nature again gleamed upon her features. She sat watching him in silence, revolving schemes in her busy brain that would most effectually have aroused him if he could only hale fathomed them. CHAPTER XIX. THE RESUSCITATION. A SERVANT came to the door, and handed in a letter, addressed to herself. She examined the superscription, for there was no postmark. The writing was not new to her, and a cold shiver ran through her frame, as she muttered— "If the dead can come back I should think this his writing. Psha.w why am I so nervous ?" With trembling fingers she broke the seal, and scanned the few lines scrawled within with pale lips and dilating eyes. She went out, and inquired who had brought the letter. A boy had left it at the door there was no message, no clue to the bearer. Again Mrs. Linden sat down, and carefully scanned the few words the note contained— "AMELIA :—I am still alive. I have come hither on business that will need assistance. Mrs. Linden is in a position to afford it, and it Must be granted. Call at No. —, in Eighth Avenue, at two o'clock to-day, and a person will meet you who will conduct you to your old friend, # "A. G." She glanced at her husband, and a. bitter smile curled her lips, as she muttered— "It will soon be wartotheknifebetweenusnow. When he knows all, he will never submit to keep me near him; but I will die before I will consent to give him up. That fatal hold is slipping away from me, and a new one must be forged or found. Well, at the worst, money-money will be mine. That I must and will have. Oh, subtle brain and scheming mind, help mo now, at my utmost need She glanced at the time-piece on the mantel; it was nearly one. An expression of irresolution crossed her face but she finally commenced preparing to go out. As she stood before the fire, in her bonnet and furs, Linden unclosed his eyes, and regarded her with sur- prise. It was something so unusual for her to go out alone, that he asked— Where are you going, Amelia? and just at lunch time, too." That is my own affair," she coolly said. "I do not want any lunch. I have business that may detain me several hours. Good morning!" Too indifferent to her movements to inquire further, and feeling her absence a release, Linden heard the door close with pleasure. He arose at once, to employ the interval of quiet her absence afforded him in writing letters, for she hovered so constantly near him that he could do nothing without her surveillance. From the first day of their union this watchfulness" had annoyed him, but ef late it had become almost un- endurable. Mrs. Linden did not ask for the carriage, she went out without speaking to any one, and, after walking a few squares, she found a hackney coach, which she en- gaged to take her to the place designated in the letter. Telling the driver to await her re-appearance, she entered a small fancy store, in which a young girl stood behind the counter. "A person is waiting here to see me," she said to the shop-woman.. "I have but a few moments to spare, and shall be glad to have the interview imme- diately." "Walk up-stairs, madam. A lady is there expecting you." The girl opened a small door, which disclosed a flight of narrow steps leading to the upper storey. At the top of these another door opened, and admitted her into a room the size of the one below. A woman in deep mourning came forward to meet her the dim light afforded an imperfect view of a face entirely destitute of colour, with a serene but very sad expression. She said— You received the note, madam. I thank you for your prompt attention to the wish of the writer." "When the summons came from one I have long thought numbered among the dead, I could not do otherwise than obey it at once. If the writer of that note lives, where shall I find him ? How can I aid him in any way ?" He will answer that question himself, madam. To place your friend beyond the reach of his most unscru- pulous enemy, I have removed him from the city. We must go out on the railroapAo and visit a cottage I have hired for a season but you must pledge your- self, Mrs. Linden, not to reveal his place of concealment to any one." How long will we be in getting there ?" asked Mrs. Linden, with a look of extreme annoyance. At three the train leaves in half an hour we will reach our destination." And how am I to get back again?" A down train passes at five. You can return on that." She shook her head. That will n ot do at all. I could not remain away from home so long a time without remarks and inquiries being made, which I could not evade. Besides, the train might be delayed, and then I could never give a satisfactory account of my detention. You are the best judge of what you can do, Mrs. Linden and you must be aware of the importance of the interests at stake. The person who desires to see you is in a very feeble condition; he is impatient to meet you, and obtain your aid in a matter of vital im- portance to himself." "My aid? How can I possibly help him, when I am entirely dependent on others myself ? Can you tell me the nature of the assistance your friend expects from me ?" That, as I before told you, he will reveal to you himself." The speaker turned slightly, and a ray of light fell upon her features. Mrs. Linden said— I cannot be mistaken in your face, madam. Ihave seen you before at your own house. You are Madame Latude, the clairvoyant." You are right, madam. I also perfectly remember you, and the errand on which you came to me." Mrs. Linden seemed annoyed. She took from her pocket the letter which had brought her there, and care- fully examined the writing. She suspiciously asked— "Is this writing genuine, and was it fairly ob- tained ?" A faint smile flitted over the calm face into which she looked. It was written by the hand of Albert Gayoso him- self. His name will assure you of the genuineness of my mission. You will soon learn from his own lips that it is an assumed one. Your assistance guaranteed to him, he will speedily resume his true one, and claim a large inheritance now withheld from him by another." And the price of my aid ?" she eagerly asked. "Will be whatever you may consider it worth. But we lose time, madam. Will you accompany me to my cottage ?" I believe I must risk something to see Gayoso. Let us go at once." The carriage still stood at the door, and the two were rapidly whirled towards the railway depot. They were just in time for the train, and after engaging the hack- man to be in waiting for her on her return, Mrs. Linden went on her mysterious errand. They stopped at the first station, and a pony phaeton driven by a young lad, awaited them. After a short drive they drew up in front of a brick cottage densely embowered in trees, which now stood as tall, bare sen- tinels around it. The fdoor opened noiselessly to receive them, and without further delay the visitor was ushered into a comfortably furnished room, in which a cheerful fire burned. In front of this a. large arm-chair was placed, in which was propped up a tall, gaunt figure, who seemed wasted away to a mere skeleton. His hair and beard were nearly white, and his thin features wore an eager, half-frightened expression as his eyes fell upon his visitor. He nodded his head, and grimly said- "So you came at my bidding. That was well." Mrs. Linden had grown very pale as her eyes fell upon Mm, and she evidently recognised him, changed as he must have been since they last met. She sunk { into a chair that was placed for her, and faintly said— How is it, Alberto, that I find you living, and here ? For years'I have believed you dead." f "And rejoiced in the thought that I was safe under the sod, no doubt; but I am not so easily got rid of. Do not fear that I came hither to disturb the you doubtless enjoy with your prosperous husband All I demand is, that you do not turn the cold shoulder to one who has some claims upon your gratitude, at least. Speak—tell me what you expect, what you demand -for I know that it amounts to that. I am impatient to learn what has brought you hither." The lever that moves the world brought me here— money money With the aid of a powerful friend, I can claim wealth that should have been mine long since. I know of old that you have an insatiate pas- sion for gold. Help me to recover my own fortune, and I will make you rich. You shall become indepen- dent of those people among whom you must live as an inferior." The listener's eyes flashed, and she drew nearer to him. "Tell me how I can aid you, and I will not fail you." "Ah, you're a girl after my own heart; you're a trump, and no mistake. There's no nonsense about you, Amelia, and never was. Now listen with all your acuteness, and follow me carefully while I explain my position." He went on to reveal to her his story, to which she hearkened with the keenest interest. When he spoke of Mrs. Euston and her daughter, she repressed an ex- clamation of surprise, and listened even more intently than before. When he had finished, she said Youhave placed in my hands a power which I have eagerly coveted the power to circumvent and injure a woman I hate. I will exert myself to serve you for that reason, if for no other but I must do so with ex- treme caution, for my husband is a near connection of the girl who has your estate in her possession. Clara Euston is his cousin." He uttered a fierce oath. And what are your feelings towards her?" "I hate her, as I do all her blood. But what will you do with reference to your own cousin, and his claim to be the true heir? "I shall remain quietly here until Alfred has gained the suit. Then I will force him to disgorge his prize, for I have means of proving my identity of which he is not aware." What, then, am I to do? I can see no means of serving you, if such is the policy you intend to pursue." Your part is to watch the progress of the suit, and report every particular that can be of importance to me." "And what is to be the result of your re-appearance to myself ? A meeting between you and Linden would be fatal to me." We need never meet. My claims once established I shall return to France, and spend the remainder of my life there. I am so changed in appearance that my nearest friend would scarcely recognise me, and if your husband should meet me face to face, I scarcely think he would find a trace of the reckless Don Alberto in the broken down man before you." Perhaps not, but you had better keep out of his way altogether. Consider me your fast friend in this crisis of your affairs, and be assured that I shall give you due notice when an important movement is made by your antagonists." He expressed his thanks, and with a thousand con- flicting thoughts in her busy brain, Mrs. Linden bade him adieu. She reached the train in time, and folding her thick veil closely over her features, she sat absorbed in deep thought. That which had threatened to ruin her might be made the means of advancing her interests. She had heard enough of the claim brought forward by Lumley to comprehend the importance of the revelations just made to herself. Whose interests should she espouse ? those of the true or the false heir? Either one could impoverish Clara Euston; which could must materially advance her own fortune ? for that, after all, was the question that most deeply concerned her. Gayoso, as she called him, was an object of terror and aversion to her he had her in his power he could ruin her with her Jms- band, and free him from the mysterious hold she held over him by the utterance of a single word, and she had not confidence. to believe that the word would be with- held should the two ever meet. On the other hand she' could use her information in such a manner as to force the pseudo heir to pay her more liberally for her silence than the true one would be willing to do. Besides—and the meditated treachery blanched her clIeek-was not the life of this worn and feeble man completely at her mercy. Let his antagonist know where he was to be found, and would not the story of his wasted, miserable life soon be ended? Thus could she rid herself of him for ever, and her fatal secret be buried in his unknown grave. Would not this be safer ? She would think of it, and the ruthless heart scarcely beat faster as the dire thought intruded. It was quite dark when she entered her home. The servant looked surprised when he saw who it was that rang, and she hurried up-stairs to get ready for dinner. Linden was not in their apartment, and after a few trifling alterations in her dress, she descended to the library, where the family usually assembled. Mrs. Euston and Clara were with them. The former sat on a sofa conversing with Linden, and a baleful glance was darted from the flashing eyes that fell upon them. Mrs. Harper rose and offered her sister-in- law a large fauteuil, which she knew to be her favourite seat. Mrs. Linden declined it with a smile and courteous gesture, and placed herself beside Clara. Her husband nodded toward her, and said- Your visit detained you longer than I expected, Amelia." "Yes," she replied, with composure, "lam so little accustomed to going out alone, that I lost myself, and was compelled to hire a carriage to bring me home ftgain." At that moment dinner was announced and nothing further was said upon the subject. It was impossible I to be more charming than Mrs. Linden rendered I herself at this meal. It was the first time she had at- tempted to play the agreeable to Mrs. Euston and her i daughter, and she was certainly eminently successful. They began to comprehend the fascination which must I have attracted Linden, and to think his wife less plain than she had hitherto appeared. The old gentleman seemed delighted with her I vivacity, and on their return to the library, she sat upon a cushion at his feet, and prattled to him so grace- fully that he half forgot the vulgar rudeness of which I she was so often guilty. At length Mrs. Linden started up and proposed a tableau, in which she and Clara could appear together. With a quick eye for effect, a few folds of drapery were arranged by her nimble fingers, and they were ready for the personification of Beauty and the Beast, Clara would have remonstrated against the subject chosen, but Mrs. Linden would net listen to her. She would act in this tableau and no other. She sent for her furs, and that "horrid English poke," of which Mrs. Smoot had so disrespectfully spoken, and by some art known to herself, she wore them in such a manner as so perfectly to look the character she assumed, that the fair young girl who acted with her j felt half afraid to permit her hand to rest upon her j shoulder. On this evening Mrs. Linden seemed inspired. The tableau ended, she threw aside her ursing garb, and gave imitations of the most celebrated actresses of the day. Mrs. Kean's mellifluous accents in Ion came like sweet music to the ears of the listeners—Miss Heron as Medea succeeded her, and then Rachel in her pas- sionate power stood before them, the incarnation of tragic despair. The audience was appreciative, for they were charmed by this versatility of talent, hitherto unsus- pected by all save her husband. Linden was aware of his wife's abilities, but their exhibition did not seem to afford him_ much satisfaction. He looked on silently and dreamily, wondering why so consummate an actress did not choose to play a part every day that would at least insure her the respect of those among whom her lot seemed to be cast for life. When Mrs. Euston finally rose to depart, she cor- dially insisted that Mrs. Linden should visit her with- out ceremony, and the warm-hearted Clara kissed I her and thanked her for the pleasure she had afforded them. When they were gone, Mrs. Linden again threw her- j self upon the cushion at her father-in-law's feet, and seemed absorbed in thought. He at length asked— What are you thinking of, my child ?" She started—smiled with a peculiar expression, and asked— j What is the punishment for bigamy in this country, mon pere 7" [ "Imprisonment in the penitentiary," replied Mr. Linden, with surprise. If But why do you ask, my dear?" Oh, nothing in particular; I only wished to know. Are you ill, Ernest ? Heavens have I said anything that could affect him? What is it? What ails you, Ernest, love?" | "Nothing, madam," replied Linden in a loud tone. I am only worn out with the excitement of the even- ing. Come—let us retire." —— <sr J*. ■ i CHAPTER XX. THE DECLARATION. I, ■ WHEN Mrs. Euston reached her own house, the servant who opened the door informed her that there j was company in the parlour awaiting her return. On | entering she found Mr. Spring seated under the gas- I light examining papers, while his more youthful I coadjutor paced up and down the room, too deeply I excited to remain still. I The elder gGiilleixiiin arose, and with stately I courtesy greeted the lady of the mansion and her f daughter; he said— I It is rather an unusual hour for a consulta- | tion on business with ladies, but as nay young friend Ashton is on the eve of a long journey, and was anxious to see our fair client before leaving I concluded to come up with him. My time is really so co- occupied, that I can only snatch an odd hour occasion- ally to call on my fiienris." Mrs. Euston cordially assured him that he was always welcome in her house, and, after greeting Ashton with a nod and smile, she sat down beside the lawyer, to become immersed in the legal possibili- ties and"'desirabilities he came to lay before her. Clara received a warm pressure of the hand from her old friend as he whispered— "Charley has something particular to say to you, Miss Slyboots. He is wearing himself out in your service, trying to prove this pretender to your fortune a man of straw. I can only say that if you do keep the inheritance, he riuhly deserves to share it with you." She blushed, extricated her hand, and saucily said— Why do you not put in your own claim to be made its joint possessor, Mr. Spring ? I am sure you will do more toward enabling me to retain my god-father's gift than J\1r. Ashton can." "Don't tempt me too far. Rosebud, or I may play traitor to common sense, and become the latest illus- tration of an old dunce chasing a brilliant meteor, which would be sure to lead me neck deep into a quagmire, and possibly leave me there too." "1)0 not be so severe, dear sir. If I were the meteor, I should take care to steady down into a quiet .household light, after I had pulled you out of the bog my folly had led you into." Perhaps so—I am not disposed to trust you, at all events so, Miss Clara Euston, you may consider the offer of your heart and hand as refused, or rather trans- ferred to one more willing to accept the boon." "As if the affections of the heart are transferable. Oh f dear, I must look for some one to console me for your cruelty." "Do, my dear; and you'll not have far to seek either, I think." Again the crimson flashed over the lovely cheek, and Clara turned away and joined Ashton. He was pale, and evidently deeply excited, and after a struggle to conquer his feelings, he said I remained till this late hour, Miss Clara, because it is the last opportunity I shall have of seeing you for some time. I leave the city at dawn to-morrow." "To go whither ? she risked. He regarded her with searching eyes, but he saw no expression of regret in her face, and he impetuously said "I do not suppose you care whither I go, Miss Euston, though it is for you and your interests that I have consented to make this journey. "I do not quite understand you, Mr. Ashton." Why should you speak thus to me ? I am sure wo have been too long friends, for you to get up a scene now on the score of my indifference." He proudly replied— "Excuse me, Miss Euston. I have no right to re- proach you I ain fully aware of the wide gulf between a man battling for position and wealth, and the fl&ttered heiress of a great fortune." '1 Especially as that fortune is totteringin thebalance, and but for your efforts to save it, will probably be lost to me. Really, Mr. Ashton, you do well to taunt me on the subject of this disputed inheritance, which, in all probability, I shall never enjoy. I really thought you more generous." "Clara, you may think me mean, ungenerous, or what you will, but I shall not drop a tear if every cent of this money is lost to you, though I intend to do all I can to save it for you." She looked reproachfully at him, and began a sen- tence which died away beneath the glance he bent upon her— Do you think that I She looked up at him, their eyes met, and as she paused, he exclaimed— Oh, Clara I think, I feel but one thing; and that j.- is that I love you with all my heart; and fortune has lifted you so far above me, that it is madness in me to dream of offering my poor future to your acceptance. Let me say to you now, that if your cause fails, if you lose the wealth so long considered yours, and you would come to my heart only in your own sweetness and beauty, I should consider myself the happiest and most fortunate of mel)." Let us not speak of this now, Mr. Ashton. We have played at lovers in our infancy, but I think it rather early in our real life to begiu to re-enact, the mimio scenes of childhood. Of late, I have had so much in- cense of this kind offered me, that it begins to pall." "I trust that my tribute is not classed with that of the multitude," said Ashton, in a tone of deep mortification. "Certainly not," she carelessly replied. "Now I think of it, yours is the first declaration I have received since the chance of my loss of fortune has become known. I give you due credit for disinterestedness, Mr. Ashton, but I believe I ha.d rather remain a. free agent yet awhile. I am afraid you would prove the most exacting of adorers, and I have only begun to taste the pleasures of society." He looked in her face and gravely said— Clart, this is mere trifling. I offer you the love of a true man has it any value, to you, or has it not ?" "Value—of course it has: it is a loyal, sterling heart I know of old, and I would not wound it for the world." "What is your idea of true love ?" asked Ashton, with a faint smile. "Something very different from yonrs; I dare Bay, but I do not care to define it at present," she petulantly replied. Ashton regarded her reproachfully, and slowly re- peated Wordsworth's beautiful Jines- 'There is a comfort in the strength of love, 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart." That is my ideal of love, Clara, and the time may come when you will clasp this comfort to your heart as your only hope. Triply guarded as you are by love, care and fortune, I cannot imagine you in need of assistance from me but should such a crisis in your fate arise- no knight-errant ever rushed more promptly to the rescue of his lady-love, than would plain Charlie Ashton hasten to your assistance." Your pen, your dagger, and your bundle of parch- ment, ycur revolver, eh?" said Clara, laughing. Thanks for your promise, and I shall be sure to re- member it. I can recall some very tangible^ dangers from which you have rescued me in my childish'days, and I am sure that I could rely on no more valorous arm than yours. But I have no fancy for_ claiming it as my especial property just yet and I am quite sure that Mamma Nelly would not approve of any deiiDlte pro- mise on my part, much as she likes you.' I must be satisfied with what you are willing to grant, Clara,. but I half fear the influence of the world upon your confiding nature. You are passingfair, and keen of wit, and it is this last quality so necessary to per- fect success in society, which makes me fear for you. I could not bear to see you become airier, woman of the world, your finer nature buried under the brilliant varnish which is made to supply all deficiencies of heart and nature:" # "See how necessary is your probation, replied Clara with an air of pique. "Already you are anticipating a time when I shall be less charming to you than now. The ordeal is oae I must pass through, and I thank Heaven that I have wit enough to play my part with credit to myself. I assure you I have no fancy for being a little nobody, put by in a corner, even to be worshipped by the grand Mogul him- self. I respect my own individuality, and I intend to assert it, too. If you think I shall ever become what Miss Bremer calls a good sheep,' you make a great mis- take, and you had better look for your ideal woman in some other quarter." (To be continued).
WHAT I LITE FOR.
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WHAT I LITE FOR. I live to hold oommunion With all that is divine; To feel there is a union 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine, To profit by affliction, Reap truth from fields of fiotion, GroW" wiser by conviction, And fulfil each giand design. I live to hail that season By gifted men foretold, When men shall live by reason, And not alone by gold When, man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted, As Eden was of old. I live for those who love me, For those I know are true, For tie heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit too; For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance, For the Future in the distance, And the good that I can do. -G. L. Bmiks.