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OLIVER MARLOWE; OB, GRAPES FilOM THORNS, -0- BY RICHARD SAVAGE LLOYD. CHAPTER LXXIII. The day after they had reached London Oliver went out, alone, in the morning, with no conscious pur- pose in his mind. But he went on unhesitatingly till he reached the familiar river bank. The golden summer lay upon the land, framing it with the same beauty that it wore when first he had met Margaret by the river side. Full of the passionate longing for a home—a haven-which had taken possession of his soul, this familiar landscape thick with memories of those past days, soothed him. Along the towing path by the river he wandered on,for the moment content, yet watching and waiting for that something in his life-that great event, which he seemed to expect. He looked and longed-he yearned to pass out of the dim and doubtful life which was all he appeared now to be capable of leading. A new confi- dence had grown up within him-a desire to hazard the chances of passing out of the present into the future. The beds of water-lilies were in full flower, and smiled thoughts of Margaret to him. How she had loved water-lilies !—He found the very place where he remembered gathering some for her once, in those happy days of long ago. He gazed on the spot as though it were filled with a magic that fascinated him. The lilies still lived and bloomed. He wondered at that. Was not their purpose in life over when the flowers had been gathered for Margaret ? And then he thought how she would have shrunk from the thought that they had not a life and a happiness all their own. There was the curve in the river, so familiar to him, where the trees bent over the water a favourite spot of Margaret's. Ah, but only a little way round that curve stood the old house Lewis Assheton was master there now. He would not pass that curve. Yet he lingered and looked longingly on. No; he would not palil it. He turned back and wandered again, past the dear familiar spots, in the pleasant sunshine. All nature was so gay and beautiful that loneliness or sorrow seemed impossible. Would not Margaret meet him round that bend in the river—step naturally to his side as though she had been there all the while, and walk on with him ? "Pearl—little Pearl—where are you? Have you> too, left me solitary ? Have I terrified your pure soul from my side because I wondered why I loved you ?— Surely, Pearl, sweet child, you can forgive such love as mine I Are you not the image to me of my Margaret ? Could you not stay by me a little while and speak to me of her ? Oh, Heavens, is it always to be my fault that I love too passionately? Must I always scoroh the fair flowers that try to live upon my breast, Did I not even strive to hide my love from little Pearl that I might not terrify her from me ? Yet here am I again—wandering alone—looking amid all the beau- ties of the world for one jewel which I can make mine own 1" He cried aloud, but the trees answered not, and the ilies had no word for him. 1 he brilliant sunshine made the fields all glorious, and ohanged not for his cry. The river laughed, and the gay ripples dimpled on the broad current swept past him in the same un- altered dignity' as of old. The trees still drooped over the water, and made sweet shadows with their outstretched hands; their beauty had only increased by the passage of time. Nothing had been taken from them; content In their growth they smiled, and listened not to the cry of the frail, ephemeral mortal. Yet was he unheard ? Did not the upreaohing of the immortal spirit transcend in a single aspiration the silent growth of ages ? He grew weary of ilia golden sunlight, and of liia aimless wanderings at last; and found a haven of rest in a belt of beautiful woodland that fringed the bank for a little distance. It stretched on towards tlia old house; and clothed that curve in the river which he had half longed to pass. He might rest here in safety, at least. He would be easily concealed if any unwelcome intruders came that way. So thinking, he passed into the shadow and walked on until he came to a spot from which he could see the dim water that lay beneath the over- shadowing trees, and the bed of water-lilies that stretched out beyond into the sunshine. It was a heavenly spot. With a sigh of relief he threw down his hat, and laid himself upon the grass. An exquisite repose stole over him, and the mo- ments passed with vVinged feet. He" forgot the world himself-his troûbles-all but the over-brooding wings of the spirit of love, which appeared to soothe and silence him by their presence, as he lay there beneath that sky-dappled canopy of foliage. So still he lay that the birds came near and sang and twittered fear- lessly; and presently a squirrel, with its beautiful tail, came down the tree close beside which he I¡,y" He watched the sights around him with half closed eyes, and listened to the sounds with dimly hearing ears. Yet he saw and heard with a new delight. Nature seemed ti have taken him by the hand and to be shewing him some of her hidden thoughtf. He had been silent and motionless among the grasses for such a long time that he half began to wonder whether he were asleep or awake, in a dream or not, when suddenly a slight, slight sound caught his ear, and instantly roused every sense, and quick- ened every nerve. It was a tiny sound but it was different from all the others he had been listening to. He knew what it was it was a footstep. Slowly—quite silently—with scarcely the crack of a twig Underneath him, he raised himself up a little and looked. A figure was passing through the trees, quite close to him. A slender figure, dressed in simple white; fair hair fell over the shoulders; the ribbon that should have bound it had come untoosed. A white hat lay on the grass, and the fair girlish head was uncovered. "Pearl!" his lips formed the word; but they uttered no sound. He scarcely breathed as he watched her. She held a great bunch of wild flowers in her hand, and was gathering fern and ivy leaves from beneath the trees. Her delicate face was slightly flushed with exercise, and, perhaps, pleasure, for her eyes shone with delight. As she passed across between the trees, she paused enee, and looked around. The loving, beautiful face seemed so full of Margaret's spirit that he trembled all over as he gazed on the wonder before him. Presently she caught sight of the water-lilies. She did not speak, for she imagined herself to be alone but an intense look of delight crossed her face, and for a while she stood still to look. Then she moved away, and began to go down the hill towards the water. He started up to watch her. Did she want sOnie lilies ? He would get her a thousand only lie did so enjoy observing her unconsciousness that he de- layed revealing his presence. He lost sight of her for a moment, where the uti. dergrowth was thick. Then he saw her white raiment gleam very near the water's edge. Ah, she did want some. She could not easily reach them, he thought; they looked deceptively near the shore. He immediately began to go down the hill: yet •• -r o ;?r :.( almost ere he moved he heard a ramt cry. xne tone or it startled and terrified him; he rushed down wildly, dashing through the undergrowth. He could not see her. "Pearl, Pearl, Pearl!" he cried, in agony but sud- denly he saw a gleam of white within the water; and then a form rose to the surface for an instant. He caught sight of a glimmering face-but she saw him and smiled, and seemed to stretch her arms to him even as she vanished. He plunged instantly into the water, and struck out for the spot where he had seen her, close by the lilies He swam there, and looked around, but saw nothing but the flowers they hid the water and he knew not where to look. He got among them, they tangled round his face and hands he grew bewildered. He made a great effort and succeeded in getting into open water—then he looked around. His mind teemed on the point of losing its balance was she indeed in the water-indeed drowning—and had he lost her! could he not save her, or had he dreamed it aU! Even then he 'saw a vision of beauty-he saw the long trailing treasen-tha fair face and angelic smile, and the arms outstretched and floating, seemed to call him to their embraoe. With a wild cry of joy he plunged towards the vision. The river swept on, stately and beautiful, beneath the noontide sun. The ciroles which his movement oaosed aoon vanished and only smiling ripples crossed the spot. The majestic waters hid aua heia the secret which had been given them. CHAPTER LXXIV. Muriel came down to breakfast, and summoned Lewis from his studio, where he had already been painting. I am coming," he called to her, but he did not come So she went through the breakfast-room and out through the open window on to the lawn. She is not so frail-looking as she used to he. She is plumper, and has a more mirthful look. She is hand- some too; and indeed Lewis tells her that she im- proves in appearance every day. She does not believe this, yet she knows herself that she is happier every day and are not the sweet and happy natures those whose faces charm us most? She would be more easily taken for Margaret's sister now, had they stood side by side. The morbidness had greatly passed away from her character, and had given place to a cheerful and happy content.Not always; sometimes she was attacked with one of her old fits of depression but now she had someone to go to whose words were always comfort, ing, whose arguments were always unansweiable -to her. But on this morning she did not need a comforter. All was real sunshine to her from that sweet natural sunshine which fell full upon her face to the sunshine which is of the heart. She stepped out into the grass feeling herself in some happy union with the beauti- ful Influences that breathed around her. She fed her pigeons (descendants of those which Margaret used to feed), and then. when she had watched them all flutter down and round her and commence their breakfast, crossed to where, over a paling, her pet pony was looking for her. She gave him some bread and stroked his nose and kissed him and asked him whether he enjoyed the glorious morning sunshine as much as she did. Getting no reply except another rub of his nose in search of more bread,she left him and went ever the lawn just to look, at the river on her way back to the house. Meanwhile Lewis had finished his operations in his studio, and bad come in search of breakfast. Breakfast was ready, and looked tempting to a man who had been painting betimes but there was no pre. siding genius; and Lewis was lost, now, without Muriel. So he went to the window when he saw how the sunshine streamed through it, for he suspected that it bad tempted her awxy. He stepped just out side and looked around for her. He did not see her at first, but after a moment caught sight of her, stand ing by the river, at some little distance, with one bund against a tree that grew near the water's eflge. "Muriel, come to breakfast," he called who is keeping breakfast waiting now?" he further in- quired, maliciously. But his taunt did not produce the customary reply. She stood quite still and motionless. "Muriel," he called again, "are you dreaming or asleep?" He began to be alarmed when he received no imme diate answer but just as he prepared to go to her he saw her slowly turn towards him. She beckoned, and her face looked white. In au instant he was by her side. "Look," she said, and pointed down into the water with extended finger. His eyes followed the line she shewed him until they rested on the dim outline of a face beneath the water. It seemed to be swept away again, or his eyes grew dim,for he sould not see it after the first moment. "It is Oliver Marlowe," she said "he is drowned he is dead, there." Nonsense, child," said Lewis, the sight has terri fied you; you could not see who it was—besides, how should he be here?" It is he," she said, faintly. Lewis took her in, and left her white and trembling In the breakfast-room, while he went for a boat and assistance. "Dear child," he said, coming In presently, "you were right. What can It mean? 1 had no idea othis being in England." Where is Lettice ?" was all Muriel's answer. I will telegraph to her," said Lewis, preparing to go and do so. "Oh, but don't tell her this in a telegram," cried Muriel, and then she asked, How do you suppose it happened. Do yoa-do you," she half- whispered, "do you suppose he drowned himautf?" "Wehaveiio grounds for supposing it," sai.1 Lewis, hastily it may have been accident, or-well, it is difficult to surmise what. There are some water lilies entangled about him- he may possibly have lost his balance in attempting to gather them, and all he has all his clothes on, if hegotinto the current it would be hard work even for a strong swimmer, as I know be was, to regain the shore." Lewis went out hastily to telegraph. He came back to find Muriel quite ill with the fright and horror. His hands were full; and he did not get anxious about the absence of answer to his telegram until consider ably more than the piobable time had ■ What was he to do? He was standing in his studio, trying to think and decide, when a servant came to tell him that "Mrs. Marlowe "was in the drawing room, wishing to see him. Could it be ? Yes. It was Lettice. Ob, Lewis!" she began, before he had time to speak, "I could not help ooming this morning; tilt. anxiety becomes unbearable alone in an hotel I lunged so for s »ine one to speak to OIiYIH went out yesteidiiy morning and has not returned, and 1am IIOUllleilSIJII ably anxious She went on to explain how they were in England. He let her talk while heendeavomed to shape words in which to tell her the truth. Lettice remained with them deeply thankful for the refuge she had found. The shock and surprise were gieat, yet she could not grieve as a wife grieves. She had lost a friaml whom she had learnt to respect j something had gone out of her life. leaving an empty space. But for him the rejoiced she was thaukful that he was released 'J Q'" from the life that had become painful; she, a trust- ing, instinctive nature, did not doubt that all his body was laid to rest by Margaret's, so his spirit had passed into life beside her spirit. No clue to the cause of his death was found The river kept its secret safely. On inquiry into his affairs it appeared that he had been for seme time adding money to Lettice's little fortune thus she was not left unprovided for. A will was found, making her the heir to anything he might possess at his death and specifying his house but on inquiry for the title deeds of the house which he owned in England, they were shewn to be in Margaret's name. By this means he had kept that sate through all his troubles. Consequently, it now passed to Muriel, as Margaret's heir. CHAPTER LXXV. It Is spring time. The gaiden of the house which was once Oliver's Is beginning to assume a civilised appearance once more. The wild birds, who have made therein a happy home, look doubtfully down upon the gardeners who have In vaded their territory. The lawn is smooth shaven the shrubs checked in their regardless growth. The spring Bowers are nearly over and the gardeners are busy making preparations for summer. Even the greenhouses, though not full, are partially peopled. The doors stand epeo on this soft, mild day, as do the windows of the bouse. Looking in through them we can see that the house ts furnished and in- habited once more. Up the garden,and up the steps to the house, comes, with quick step, a lady dressed In a itding habit. She is followed at a more leisurely pace by an in dividual whom we easily recognise as Lewis Assheton. He generally follows his wife's quick movements at a little distance, with a sort of balf-apologetlc, half admiring smile. On the terrace, from one of the greenhouses, comes another familiar figure dressed in black because the world will have it so, but not wearing mourning in her face. "Your ride has done you good, Muriel." Of course. on such a day as this I Come, Lettice, with me, and let us see how the men are putting In those plants. I am sure they must stand in need of our superior Intellects by this time." Lewis, lounging on the terrace, was presently joined by Jack Mannering, who, smoking a pipe, emerged from a side walk. Old fellow." he exclaimed, as he came near, I think I have made a discovery." Nonsense," replied Lewis, there Is nothing new now-a-daya. Some other fellow Is certain to have found it out long ago." u Just come with me," was all Jack's reply. He took hold of Lewis's arm and took him away through tha shrubbery. Meantime let the historian explain the position, let as to make matters as clear as possible. Lewis and his wife have let the old house, and have for a time taken up their abode in this pleasant villa. Lettice is staying with them until the day (not far off now) when she shall robe herself in dove-colour, and leave behind her the unwillingly worn name of Marlowe. Jack is spending the day there. He generally is. By-and-bye the two discoverers return through the shrubbery and go into the house. I'll send for a man to break through the wall at once," said Lewis, in a manner quite excited for him. Let me try first," said Jack, pausing to kneek the ashes out of his pipe before he went in "just got a hammer quietly." Lewis fetched it; and together they went through the hall and into a side corridor. It must be here said Jack, relfectively, 1" that I am certain of." He took the hammer and sounded the wall. Half way down the passage came a different sound. Then Jack laid aside the hammer, and proceeded to inspect and feel. He kne N. a little of such things; and 'chance favoured him. Presently came a sharp click, and a panel yielded to his hand. Now!" he cried, fetch the ladies. We must not have all the fun to ourselves." Lewis went and fetched them from the garden. They came; Muriel first, all excitement, her habit flying. Jack pushed open the door and Muriel stepped through, followed by the others. They stood bewildered and astonished. The spring sun streamed in upon Margaret's room: Suddenly Lewis, wi h an unintelligible exclama- tion, sprang fiom the rear of the group and across the room. He drew back a curtain, and there smiled Margaret there was his long lost, his stolen picture. The others exclaimed and then looked silently at each other. Lewis turned away, biting his lips. He is dead," he said, I will say nothing." Presently Lettice said, Is not the other there— the portrait of Muriel?" They went to look. The curtain was fastened so as to draw back no further; but the picture was there, under the curtain. Muriel turned to the writing-table and sitting down in the chair to wonder,began presently to turn over the leaves of a book that lay there. The others looked around the room opened the window and looked out upon the little wilderness of a garden. They stepped out aud wandered threugh it. Coming back, they found Muriel reading and the tear" falling from her eyes upon the book as she read. Why, Muriel mine, what is the matter ?" cried Lewis. Read," she said, pushing the book towards him. Oh,I can forgive him everything when I think of such devoted love as his Silently they read the few sentences which briefly revealed the inner life of the dead man. How fiercely lie rebelled and struggled," remarked Jack, presently. God grant he has reachod the light now." Oh yes," cried Lettioe, and they are together now; she will help him. Why, how is it possible but that such love as theirs should draw them together from the farthest points of the universe ? I only wonder that he has not gone to her before, or she come back to him. I don't see how barriers can exist between such hearts as theirs!" I begin to believe," said Lewis, that life in this world only benefits those whom it teaches. Pei haps those are not to be pitied who endure sharp end tenible experiences." I am inclined to agree with you," said Jack: "at all events, I am prepared to be grateful to Oliver Marlowe even for his evil deeds. He took from me a h. autiful aud innocent girl, whom I loved; but he has left me a noblewoman whom I am half disposed to worship." Hush," said Lettice, half laughing, don't let us talk of ourselves in this room. To me this place is a chapel." II We will keep it as such," said Lewis we will come here when we want to think of those who are purified through pain." The four passed into the garden again and talked wonderihgly, in whispers, of what they had seen, in the sweet sunshine. And surely there is sunshine for those oth ;r lovers who have passed out of sight. Surely there is sunshine for all who are capable of love. y ¿ Tun ANID,

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