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NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.1
NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 1 A FATAL PAST. BY DORA RUSSELL, Author of '"Footprints in the Snow, "The Bjcken Sea! "TheTrack of the Storir. A Bitter Birthright,' &c., &c. [ALL Rights RESERVED.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Chapteks I. AND II.—Lieut. FriuiL-is Roche, poor and, to a certain extent, dependent, receives a mysterious communication by means of a Mr Twiss, an old lawyer's clerk. The missive is handed to him in Twiss's rooms, and is to the effect that he will in future receive yearly the Mm of £500, that amount being enclosed in bank rotes. As he receives the letter his movements are watched by a lady in an inner apariment. After her departure Mrs Twiss communicates to har husband a story concerning' the lady which she had no right to tell, and Twiss consi ders haw I he can best make use of the story for his own advantage. Lord and Lady Enmamore a few evenings afterwards are in a box I at the theatre, and Roche and friend of his, Mr Arthur Curzon; are introduced to them. When Lord and Lady Ennismore g-) home they tnke a look at their infant boy as he is sleeping in his c^t. God keep him," whispered the mofclwr, little guessing of the suspended word which hung over the child's bright head. Chapters ill. and IV.-Lord and Lady l&rmismore returned to Brackenford, and are visited by Miss Helen Diummcnd and Miss Bingham, «wj gay and sprightly girls, who keep tbenomec-f the Enni*mores lively. During their stay there all are surprised by the appearancs of Curecn ana Roche, but Lady Ennismore is sadly troubled by their advent, though she endeavours to ceneeftl her agitatioL £ T? • • CHAPTER V.—TUB Heib. ? Lady Ennismore was ,i woman of the* world.. She had been trained in a school, which teaches us to hide and suppress the strongest feelings of our nature, but it teok all her training to meet Helen and Kocfie apparently unmoved. But she did meet them thus. She received them with' the smiling- courtesy of manner for which she was remarkable. You have arrived, then?" she said1 to Roche, as she shook hands with him. "Did yon meet Hay madcap girls among the hiHB ? "Helen jumped off her pony a* the words, and slid her arm through Lady linnismore's. "Ycu must sot scold," :>ho said, putting her pretty face ccaxingly up to her friend s. "Judy irasn't a bit to blame—I would go-we went up to the station to see the 'rain come in, and Mr Roche and Mr Curzon got out—and they didn't know the way, so we said they might come with us." And this is the young lady who calls herself Madam Propriety, Mr Roche:" answered Lady Ennismore. "Well, my dear, I shall not scold you this time." And she laid her hands caress- ingly on the young giro's shoulder. Scarcely had Helen thus explained how she ea.me to be with Roche, when Julia and young Curzon joined them. "I knew myoId friend again at once Lady Ennismore, and clarmed her acquaintaIWe," said Curzon, looking smilingly at Julia. And I think," he added, "I tee another old friend here'?" Lady En lismore's second daughter, by whom she was accompanied, and who was rather a peculiar-looking girl of twelve. How are you. Miss Punch ?" he said. I am very v/eljl," answered Miss Punch; but I do not in she least remember who you are." "What a blow to my vanity," said Curzon, laughing. '-Whnt! H»e yoa forgotten all my delicate attentions to you, Miss Punch—all the love I made, long, long ago ?" I remember you now," said Miss Punch. You often walked -with Miss Sinclair—and she said you were a pert, } pretty boy." Oh, Maud," excla imed Lady Ennismore, re- rtto higiy, while Helen Drummond and Roche Mtaghed aloud, for Cur zon absolutely blushed, Mid Ms ycung anc)tigh to fE tel annoyed. -6 And this young gentleman," said Roche the _,pxt moment, patting the cheek of the beautiful boy by Lady Ennisorore's side. "What is your name, -ir Roberi Patrick Bingham, mnrmonly called Pat," said Helen, answering for Ufae child. Isn't that your name, Pat ?" R#bert Patrick Bingham, and I -shall be Lord Ennismore," said thtt boy, looking up with his, innocent, fearless blue eyes in Roche's face. Hush, hush, darling," said Uaciy Ennismore, and she stopped down and kissed her little son'3 bri$-'h> curls. 2S ever talk of being" Lord Ennis- ui »ro—it would be a sad, sa* day for mother whm s'no heard her boy called by his father's W,1 'ci e uarue. Before the child could reply, Helen Drommond bad erm^ht him in her arms, and had mounted him un cne of the dun ponies. C'.ine, Master Pat," she said, lefTix see how well you can ride." l'ac, with the sweet changeableness ef child- kaod, at once forgot all about his father's name. I can ride better than Judy," he said, '"cause sbVs a girl." And you think boys can do anytlring better than gi'.ls, Pa; said" Roche smiling. Ah, yosag man, you have not yet come to the ago of wi;dcm." And he looked with his marry, dark tyM at He!en as he spoke. And y.<:i have come to the age of wisdom, of eour.se ?" »-aid Hekn with some archne?*s. "J have come to the age at least when I .mire girls more than boys," answered Roche, btill smiling. Men in my opinion aire not to be tJC<4D1.td to W001811." "Women act more than men," said Helen. And what do you know about acting child^f' asked Lady Ennismore, with a sod riwg in her voice, a: .d a somewhat sad look in her eyes, as they Ml on Helen's blooming face. What sitjiV book have you been reading, Helen. for of ttf jeal acting- on life's stage, you can know UiithUig". Not yet," said Roche, for Helen, blushed and did not "peak, "but her time will come, Lady ikias-mor. We all play our parts, you know, in tradedies and comedios around us." True," said Lady Eanii-\more, and she gave a quick, low sigh. And this sturdy boy ?" continued Roche, putting his aim around the Httle heir, who wa- still inotmted on tihe pony. Life will be always a pretty iolly kind of comedy for him, eii f "As far as wo ca'A foresee," answered Lady Ennismore. "I should like *,o change plae?s with him," sail Roche, lightly, A'tairi, Lady Enxiismore gave a quick low sigh, and then she looked gently almost pityingly, in the young man's good-looking face. I hope your life will b« happy also," she said. "But look," she added quickly, pointing to a house before them, which a sudden turn of the road had brought in view, "yonder is Bracken- ford. I was born there,' Mr Roche—and—and all the tragedies of my life have happened be- neath that roof." The tragedies of your lite ?" repeated Roche, looking at .Lady Ennismor# in surprise. "I sup- pose you arc joking, Lady Ennismore, your life can have had no tragedies V "How can ycu tell?" answered Lady Ennis- more. "One great tragedy that all the world knew happened there. My young brother, Norman, in the prime of his life, was carried into that house with a fatal gun-shot wound in his thmst, It killed my mother. That was tragedy anongh, was it not ? Yes, Mr Roche, there are phadows over many lives which outwardly seem tM fair and bright. Lwly Ennismore's lips quivered, and her aheefc* flushed as she said these words, and Ttaacis Roche felt convinced from that moment that all had not gone smooth in the career of this apparently most prosperous lady. "W« all have some troubles, I suppose," he eid. Yes," answered Lady Enmsmore absently. so if hf r mind were still dwelling on some painful aubject. But suddenly, with almost an impatient gesture, she loused hergelf. "You will think you are going to a verv melancholy place, I few, Mr Roche," she said, looking at the young man with her ^charming smile, but I assure yon it is not 30. No one can bo nitlanchoiy with Lord Ennismor*. He has the brightest temper, the sweetest temper I ever met. He is like a big child I tell him, and he iKUt carried into middle age all the jpyousness of ex* reme youth." He is a lucky man," answered Roche. He is a happy man, I hope," said Lady Ennis- more. You should see him with the child," and she looked back at her boy as she said tltie, who was a few yards behind them, still on Helen's pony who was leading it. Lord Ennunnore worships that boy," she added in a kwer-tane. "Sometimes I fear he loves him too much-that if anything were to happen to Fat "You must not think of anything happening to Pat,' said Roche, kiqdly. Do you know that I ?han be§i» to think you *ake sad views of lifo, 'rlv "Lnniemore. "1 am older than you ye and that explains it," sWd -ToMy Ennisjpoee, and again she smiled. But hare we are at acme," she continued, fop they hiW now retched a waiJ "which enclosed the riyvo --)unds of Brackeofcrd, at this spot, and in which there was a small locked doorway which Lady Ennismore opened with a key. Inside this wall everything told of wealth. The house at Brackenford was built literally on the hill-side, but the hill-side, was culti- vated and adorned, and art as -well as nature, had contrived to make the. place won- derfully beautiful. There were rustic bridges over a gushing little stream that fell gurgling down artinc-ial cascades and rockwork, and mur- mured through woods and thickets and ferns, cr while above all—towering up grand and grey- were the great mils which no hand had touched. The house was picturesque, though somewhat fanciful. Mr Maiden had been a. rich man, a very rich man, and he had built his house with- out; counting the cost. Then the unfortunate young Norman Maiden, who had died such an untimely death, had added and improved upon his father's plans. And his proud mother had decorated the interior of the place afresh after her husband's death, for some titled brigs, whom it was whispered, she,had urged heronly. son to bring to his home. New, father, mother,. and son alike were gone. The rich furnishing remained, but the proud old dame who had bought it had b&en carried away with a. broken heart from the midst of her splen- dour. Lady Ennismore had inherited everything, all the vast property, the coal mines, the iron works, and Lord Ennismore was a very rich man, and the child heir to a great inheritance. Roche could not help thinking what a lucky little fellow this child was as he walked through the nlace with the beautiful mother. His own childhood had bean a somewhat sad and neg- lected one. He could remember neither his father ncr his mother, and he had been brought up by his uncle, Colcnel Roche, of the Engineers, who was a hot-temnered soldier, -ond of his own way, of wine and good living, and devoted to his profession, and a very ardent admirer of 'the fair sex.. With this narrow-minded, inongh brave and honourable man—for Colonel Rocue was a distin- guished soldier, and had seen hard work, and had taken his placo right gallantly in the front during the last thirty years—Francis Roche had spent his childhood and boyhood. Wherever his unclu went he had taken the-boy. Francis Roche had thns boen a great traveller, and had roughed it in many places, though, to do Colonel Roche justice, he always did what he thought best for his nephew. In this way he was fond of him. But the Colonel was only fifty, a [ handsome, soldier-like man still, and he might marry, and so he had never called Francis Roche Lis heir, nor encouraged any expectations of the kind. He allowed the young man one hundred a. vear, and it was understood between them that when Francis got his captaincy that this-allow- ance should cease, Thus Francis Roche had been peculiarly with- out home ties. He went to stay with his uncle during his long leave each year, wherever Colonel Roche happened to-be stationed, and he wrote to him each month, aad this was all he ever saw of his relations. "Make your own way, my boy, with your sword," the Colonel once told him. "You bear an honourable name, live to make it more honour- able, and when you die let your epitaph be a gallant soldier's." Somehow Francis Roche, knew by that subtle instinct with which we discern the real feelings of those around us, that however early he died the death-of a "gallant soldier," that this event would not break his uncle's heart. Ho was justified, therefore, in saying somewhat sadly to Lady Ennismore, as they walked through the beautiful grounds of Brackenford, and as he thought of the happy fate ot the young heir of all this wealth, and so much love, that he (Francis) always felt himself so lonely in the world. "I have no one who particularly cares for me," he said. "Everyone..else has a. mother or sister, I think but I have 310 one—no one to lov* me nor to think about me, Lady Ennismore. If I were to die to-morrow, there is not a single person who would shed a tear over my grave." These words seemed to touch Lady Ennismore's sympathetic nature very deeply. Her delicate skin flushed, and she bit her lips, and for a moment or two made nc answer to the young man's complaint. Then, when she did speak, her voice was faltering I and broken. I "How can yon-tell," she said, who,cares for you-who thinks of yon—you—may have friends that you never guess of ?" "I fear not," answered Francis Roche with a little laugh, and yet the strangest thing hap- pened only lately, Lady Ennismore." And he proceeded to tell her the whota story of the mysterious five hundred pounds with which he had been presented by Mr Twiss in the lady's wardrobe in Buckingham Palace-rcad. Lady Ennismore listened, and was apparently very much interested in tho tale. "It is a strange thing indeed," shs said. "Well, then, you see, my words .re- true—some- one must love you and care about you-or this never would have happened," "I cannct understand it," answered Roche, "and when I called the next day the old woman wcoild give me no satisfaction. She said the lady sent her love, and would always think cf me or some such folly." And Kccho laugrhed. Then how c^n you say you have no one to care for ycu said Lady Ennismore, speaking mere lightly than she had hitherto done. Ah, Mr Roche, perhaps, too, some pretty young maiden will be caring very deeply for you one of these days "Pretty young maidens do not as a rule care for penniless soldiers, Lady Ennismore," answered Roche, with another laugh, and per- haps a little self-consciousness that he bad not been without pretty young maidens to admire him even as he was. No, I must be content, I suppose, to remain an old bachelor like my uncle." While Roche was still speaking they met a lady on the narrow path on which they were walking, who stopped and addressed Lady Ennismore. Iam glad to see that you have met the young ladies, Lady Ennismore," she said. I confess I was beginning to be a little uneasy about Julia -1 always am a little uneasy when she is alone with MiM Drummond—Miss Drummond has such very high spirits." "They are all right," answered Lady Ennis- mor< smiling. Tney met Mr Curzon, whom I dare say you remember,. Miss Sinclair—and Mr Roche. Roche, as he took off. his hat, looked with some interest in Miss Sinclair'* fece, who was the gsverness of Lady Ennismore's children. An attractive woman was this governess, Caroline Sinclair. Not in her first youth, not exactly handsome either, but with a certain graco both about her face and* her sbm, slight figure whieh made up for absolute beauty. She had a pensive expression, and dark eyelashes and eyebrows, while her hair 'vas light. Her teeth were-strong and white and far apart, from each other, and she had a profound, though veiled, .self-admiration and self-consciousness. Mr Curzon?" she repeated after Lady Ennis- more had spoken, looking aE the while as if she were trying to remember the name^ "Do Ire- collect him ? Let me see—was he a slight, good- looking youth ?" She remembered him perfectly as she said this. She had flirted with Walter Curzon two looking youth ?" She remembered him perfectly as she said this. She had flirted with Walter Curzon two f years ago, but it did not suit- her to admit this now. Lady Ennismore laughed. She knew quite well that her governess remembered Mr Curzon, for Lady Ennismore knew her governess's character better than her governess supposed. Yet she only laughed, for she noticed many of the weakness<r« of those around hor only with a smile. Miss Sinclair thought herself very much cleverer than Lady Ennismore, and Lady Ennis- more was content that she should think so. There was very little vanity about one cf these women, and an immense amount of vanity about the ether, but the vain one was not the clever one. Lady Ennismore's mind was larger, her intellect more acute, her judgment more sound, than her governess's. But in one thing Miss Sinclair had perhaps the advantage. Her heart was colder, and this spared her many a pang which wrung the warm, proud, tender, sympa- thetic Lady Ennismore. "Here is Mr Curzon himself," saiid Lady Ennismore, still smiling, looking round at the greup of young peoplo behind, who had now nearly approached them. "Do you remember him now, Miss Sinclair?" The governess looked at Mr Curzon, and faintly smiled, while the young soldier advanced with outstretched hands to greet her. How are you. Miss Sinclair ? he said. It is a long time since we met—I am glad to see you again." ¡ 11 I—I—was trying to remember you," said Miss Sinclair, "when Lady Ennismore mentioned just now that you were here. Ah-I think I do now— you used to play with the children, did you net, in the schoolroom at Otterley ? "Yes," answered Curzon, turning very red I used to play with the children/' And Miss Sinclair, smiled gently, feeling with jatisfaction that <e'bad snubbed Mr Curzon. CHAPTER vil-iovies YOVJJQ DInIAM. Had anyone asked Francis. Roche what he thought of Brackenford during. the next few 'days, he would probably havqanswered thafc.it was the most delightful pfoce in too whole world. So at least it seemed to him. Lady-Enoismore was the mos$charming woman he had ever met, he had told himself many time?, and Lord Ennisjruye was the jolliest, the kindest, the-very beat fellow he knew. The atmosphere of the whole house was so gorriajl and iultof life, that young people were particularly happy there. And more than once, as the early November day closed in, Francis Roche had met by chance among the dusky fir trees a bright-faced girl, herself the very incarnation of youth, hope, and happiness. This was Helen Drummond. Helen had always walked about the grounds a great deal alone when she stayed at Brackenford, and she saw no reason whv she should not do so now. Somehow Francis Roche had discovered this. They had en- countered each other on a certain evening on one of the narrow paths among the nrs Helen taking her usual exercise before she dressed for dinner, and Roche on his road to the house, having left the sportsmen on too hills somewhat earlier than usual. They were very pleased to meet each other. The cold misty air had brightened Helen's bright cheeks, and Roche could just see the glad look in her eyes, and the glad. smile on her lips, when she recognised him. I never expected to have the good luck to meet you at this hour," said Roche. That is because you do not know my ways." answered Helon smiling. This is my favourite hour, and nearly every afternoon I have a walk in the gloaming—as we -north-country people call it." "And what does MissSinclair say!" asked Roche, also smiling. I am not one of Miss Sinclair's pupils," said Helen. She gives me lessons in music some- times when I am here, and that is all. I don't like Miss Sinclair." She is a graceful looking woman, I think.' Yes, perhaps—but she's not true, not honest —I am certain that she is not." What decided opinions you have!" Helen laughed, a girl's bright, glad laugh. Of course, I have," she said. "I like people immensely, or I dislike them immensely." I hope, then, you don't dislike me im- mensely V Helen laughed amnn. and this time blushed a little, but it was too dark for Roche to see her blush. May I turn with you said Roche, the next minute. I, too, like this hour, and the stillness and the mist, and the ghostly look of the fir trees. But are you not afraid. Miss Drummond, to be out in a lonely place like this without anyone to take care of you ? Are you not afraid of robbers or ghosts ?" "How could robbers get into the grounds?" said Helen, laughing; "and as for ghosts, I'm sure they won't hurt me, for I never did any harm to anyone." "I believe that," said Roche, fervently, and his tone and manner were pleasant to the young girl's heart. This was the first walk that these two young people took beneath the dusky iirs, but it was not the laat. Before they parted on this first occa- sion Roche asked Helen if she would meet him again to-morrow. We've had the jolliest walk," he said, as for a few minutes they stood behind the wall of one of Lady Ennismore's conservatories before part- ing, "the jolliest walk I ever had in my whole life, Miss Drummond—do you think you will come out at this time to-morrow ?" I nearly always have a turn out at this hour," answered Helen, lightly, "but I must go in now —I want some tea before I dress." Roche followed Helen into Lady Ennismore's drawing-room a few minutes after this. Some country visitors were there drinking tea, and Helen was standing with her sealskin nat in her hand, talking in her usual bright animated way to these visitors. They were two maiden sisters of the Rev Peter Prescott, rector of Mortonbury. The Rev Peter was a bachelor, and Miss Prescott and Miss Dorothy Prescott lIved at the rrctory-house, which was half a mile out of the little town. They were two elderly, faded ladies these, full of good works, but jealous withal of their reverend brother. Mortonbury was a good living, and Peter was simple about women his sisters said, so neither widow nor maid was very welcome at the rectory. They guarded Peter as jealously as the eat does her kittens. Peter was on the wrong side of forty certainly, but the Misses Prescott knew (perhaps from experience) the determination of designing females in want of husbands. They, thereiore, watched the rector with lynx eyes. The Rev Peter, indeed, was, no doubt, well worth locking after in the way of matrimony, The rectory of Mortonbury was in the gift of a great ducal house; and while at college Peter Prescott had had the good fortune to risk his own life one day in a very gallant and successful effort te save the life of young Lord Algernon, who was the second son of the great ducal house, and who wuuld certainly have been drowned but for the bravery of Peter Prescott. Lord Algernon did not forget this. Peter got his first curacy in a manufacturing town, and laboured there in his quiet and unobtrusive way for many years. Then, at the age of ninety, old Mr Moon, the rector of Mortonbury, retired into the sparsely-filled graveyard of that town, where people rarely die, exeept when full of years. Upon this event occurring, Lord Algernon re- minded hi3 father, the Duke, that if it had not been far Peter Prescott, the Duke would now have had no second son. The Duke accord- ingly desired the rectory of Mortonbury, worth over two thousand a year, to be presented to the Rev Peter Prescott, who was still contentedly working amongvhis knife-grinders. Had Peter been suddenly elevated to the peerage he could not have been more sur- prised. Years and years had passed since he had fished Lord Algernon out of the waters of the Cam, and he had never seen him. Two brace of grouse had certainly every year arrived at the curate's humble lodging in Sheffield, with Lord Algernon's compliments, but this was all. Peter used to smile to himself sometimes when he got the greuse, remembering the white agonised face cf the young lord in his death throes in the river. But Peter made no sign and asked no favour. Lord Algernon had forgotten him he supposed, and the Sheffield curate was a very humble- minded man, and was content that it should be so. Imagine then his utter surprise when the Duke presented him with a living worth two thousand a year, and when he received a kindly, well expressed, and grateful letter from Lord' Algernon. Do not suppose," wrote bis Lordship, that I have ever fcr a moment forgotten your great bravery, when at the risk of your own life, you undoubtedly saved mine. But I waited to tell you this, until something worthy of you fell out. Tliey tell mo Mortonbury i3 a good living, and that there is a nice rectory-house attached. May you live in it long, my dear Prescott, and if the rector of Mortonbury will honour me occa- sionally with an invitation to visit him, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to clasp once more the honest hand which plucked me so gallantly from the grasp of death. A tear dimmed Peter Prescott's grey and seri-* ous eyes when he read this letter. He had been unjust to this true-hearted gentleman, he was thinking, and to be unjust was grievous to the soul of Pettr. He sat down and wrote a. few words to his noble friend, cold, even stiff words, perhaps; but had Lord Algernon seen him kneeling with his long, lank figure, and with his lean hands clasped, while he prayed in heart- felt accents that all blessings might fall on Lord. Algernon's head, Lord Algernon would have understood better the man's simple and tender nature. As it was, Lord Algernon felt that he had done his duty and paid his life debt, and the Rev. Peter Prescott was congratulated on all sides. His parishioners presented him with an address and a silver salver; his vicar fawned upon him, and as for his vicar's daughters—well, Peter felt more at ease when he saw the last of Sheffield. But he went away with the goodwill of all, men. Women had scarcely looked at him. Her was poor, he was lean, he-was ugly therefore what charms had he in the eyea-of women ? They mostly look to the husk, and not to the good: grain within. But if he had no lovers-among them he bad no enemies. "He was a .good' I creature," they said, and none of them had heard the story of his having s^ved Lord Algernon I until the unexpected gift of the rich living told the tale. But it this gilt gratinect tne simple raiaiy. neart of Peter, words cannot describe how it gratined < and delighted the somewhat narrow and soured" hearts of his two maiden sisters. These ladies were then living together in a tsmall country town, ia a poor, little house, where their father, the late Rev Peter Prescott, had been perpetual curate over forty years. They were leadid I a very meagre and struggling '.existence, though their brother, the curate at Sheffield, invariably contrived to spare them fifty pounds a year out of his own scanty in- come. For the rest they kept a day school for. young ladies, but. young ladies did not flock in any overpowering numbers to the Misses Pres- cott's establishment. Whan, therefore, one morning there arrived a letter with the Sheffield post-mark from. [Peter to tell his sisters the good and unexpected' inews of his promotion, the poor ladies were, almost overcome with joy. Dorothy, who had a tendency. to heart disease, nearly fainted, but oontrived nevertheless to read to the end of the letter first before she gave in." The letter not only contained the news of the Rev Peter's appointment to the rectory of Mor- tonbury. but it contained also a kindly and generously-worded offer to his two pocr sisters of a home at the new rectory house. "They tell me it is a pretty, healthy place," wrote the kind Peter, "and I trust, my dear sisters, that some happy days of rest are now before you, and that you will both live long to enjoy them. Give up your little school, of course, at once, and come to Mortoubury as soon as you can. I enclose a cheque for accidental expenses," and so on. The cheque was for fifty pounds, and the hearts of the Misses Prescott were greatly up- lifted. They who had had such sombre grey- tinted lives, found themselves suddenly in an atmosphere of sunshine, prospenty, and flattery. They held their meagre necks higher than their wont, and walked with proud and elated foot- steps during toe rest of their stay in the little country town, where often and often they had-, hpd such a hard pinch for daily bread. Then they sold their scanty furniture, and went to live at the rectory-houae at Mortonbury. They found it to be a "place fit for tho-resi- dence of the highest gentleman in the land," Miss Dorothy wrote to one of her old friends in the little country town, where they had kept the .school. Old Mr Mooa (the late rector) had been ? a. man of taste and of wealth, and there:were.: .conservatories and vineries at Mortonbury, and •, flower-beds glowing in all the beauty and glory -of summer, when the two faded sisters arrived. there, just when the evening sun was setting, over the-grand grey hilis-in the background. It seemed scarcely real at first this great: ? Is a change, and then little by little the Misses Prascott got accustomed to thpir new position, :nd settled down in their comfcrtable home. The butcher came for orders, and they ahncst forgot the time when they could scarcely gefr. credit for the, end of a of mutton! Ye*, -•erhaps.Jt • • was the memory of the "hard times" long ago,, that made them watch their brother so jealously.1 if an unwedded woman approached the rectory. At all events they did watch him. When* Helen Drummond and Francis Roche went into, Lady Ennismore's drawing-room and foundf them drinking tea there, the Misses Prescott: were both thinking of their brother, and think- ing of him with some uneasine&s. The cause ot' this uneasiness was that the Rev. Peter Pres- cott bad been seen a day or two before talking in the main street of Mortonbury to Miss Sin. clair, Lady Ennismore's governess. Thus, the Misses Prescott felt uneasy, and their visit an this occasion to Lady Ennismore was caused by this feeling. And your daughters, Lady Ennismore," Miss Dorothy was saying just as Francis Roche entered' the room, I hope they are well ?" "Quite well," answered Lady Ennismore, courteously. And-and," continued Miss Dorothy with a aittle hesitation, have you still the same young person to overlook their studies that you formerly •had?" "Miss Sinclair? Oh. yes," said Lady Ennis* more smiling, fer the Misses Prescott's anxiety about their brother was well-known in the E; place. Miss Sinclair said Helen Drummond in her bright, frank way; "Oh! she's quite an institu- tion here, Miss Dorothy. Do you think her very handsome ? All gentlemen think her so hand- some, don't they, Mr Roche, and so graceful looking ?" Roche laughed, for he saw the girl was amusing herself. "Of course I admire her," he said. "I see nothing in her to admire;" said Miss i Dorothy tartly, forgetting that a moment before she had pretended she scarcely knew whether Miss Sinclair was at Brackenford or not, At this moment Miss Sinclair and Julia and Maud Bingham entered the drawing-room. I could not get the silk matched in the village, Lady Ennismore," said Miss Sinclair, alluding to some silk for Lady Ennismore's embroidery. But if you wish it, I can write for it to town this evening ?" Thank you," said Lady Ennismore. 1 don't know," she added, whether you know these ladies, Miss Sinclair ? Miss Prescott, Miss Sinclair—Miss Dorothy Prescott." The three ladies bowed at this introduction— the Misses Prescott very stiffly, Miss Sinclair very graciously. I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before," said Miss Sinclair in her calm, lady-like way, but I know your brother, the rector, very well-we have just met him." Audacious hussy," thought Miss Dorothy, and she gave an audible grunt of disapproval and moved uneasily on her chair. He gave us such a beautiful sermon on Sun- day," continued Miss Sinclair. He seems to-, understand the human heart so well." 1 An amused smile quivered for a moment over Lady Ennismore's lips at these words. She Was cleverer than her governess and Miss Sinclair's own feelings were teo blunt quickly to understand the feelings of ethers. "My brother is no fool," answered Miss Dorothy, he is not easily taken in." No, indeed, I should think not," said Miss, Sinclair with a calm, lady-like superiority of tone to Miss Dorothy's quick irate words, for the poor jealous sister's uneasiness was beginning to dawn on the governess's mind. But clergy- men must be so greatly tried. I daresay people often go to him and pretend to be poor, and all that kind of thing, just to get money ? And it must be so hard to refuse an appeal of any kind, don't you think so, Lady Ennismore ?" My good friend Mr Prescott would not, I am sure, Eke t» refuse anyone," said Lady Ennis- more. Bufc-ie can see through people," said Miss Dorothy, with surprising bitterness of accent, and then she suddenly paused, for the Rev. Peter Preseott and Lord Ennismore at this instant actually walked into the room. "Well, Miss Dorothy, and who is it who can see through people ? said the genial lord, ad- vancing with outstretched hand to the rector's sister. "Were you talking about me, when I've got my bran new glasses on ? And liord Ennis- more gave his hearty laugh. "Miss Prescott was speaking of her brother," said Miss Sinclair, in her soft, even-toned voice. ".[She was saying that Mr Prescott" (and Miss Sinclair smiled at Mr Prescott as she said these words) is not easily taken in by people who try to delude him." Ah, my friend!" said Lord Ennismore, laying his big brown hand on the rector's lean shoulder, "you wait till some pretty young woman tnes; to delude you, and then we II see whether you're S easily taken in or not We're all the same,, Prescott," he added, and again his jovial laugh j rang through the room, women can make; fools of us just whenever it pleases them!" The reverend rector of Mortonbury blushed, from bashfulness as Lord Ennismore said this, and Miss Dorothy Prescott from rage. "That's a strange thing to say, I think, Lord, Ennismore," she said. f "What, that women can make fools of us?} Ah, my dear lady, I've no doubt, if you would'; tell us the truth, that you have been at Eve's* work yourself before now." And again Lord' Ennismore laughed. This compliment rather mollified Miss, Dorothy. But still she felt that it was her duty; to go. Martha," she said, looking at her eld«r sister, and gathering her various and many-tinted wrapa 't together; "it is time we were moving. Peter, you will see us home ?" Once more Peter blushed. "I have promised to—ah—dine with Lord* Ennismore," he said. Miss Dorothy gave a nervous shiver. You had better see us home, Peter she re peated. Nonsense, nonsense," said Lord Ennismore. Stay and dine with us yourself, Miss Dorothy. "It is impossible," replied Miss Dorothy, thinking cf her dress. Then 111 see you home myself," answered the genial Irishman. You would take a young man like my friend the rector there away from all these charming young ladies No, no, come along, Miss Dorothy, I'll see you safely home." Miss Dorothy gasped twice, and then yielded. It was dangerous to leave Peter, but it was some- thing to be escorted home by a lord, and so Miss Dorothy yielded. As Miss Dorothy and her sister quitted the room, the rector sat meekly down on a chair, feeling exceedingly foolish. He had scarcely done so when he found Mis3 Sinclair sitting next him. "I was just telling your sister," she said, how charmed I was with your sermon on Sun- day-you understand the human heart so well, Mr Prescott." For the third time since he had entered the 'room, the Rev Peter blushed. I—I—try to get along," he said. You know everything, I think," said Miss Sinclair, modestly. You are indeed gifted." Peter grasped the arm of his chair. He felt powerless while this glib-tongued woman kept whispering her flatteries in his ear. (To be continued.)
LLANDILO SCHOOL BOARD ELECTtON.
LLANDILO SCHOOL BOARD ELECTtON. The polling for the sixth triennial election in connection with the Llandilo School Board took place on Wednesday. The polling stations were 'the Town-hall, Liandilo, and Brynlloi School. The result was declared on Thursday, and was w under. Those marked with an asterisk were 'members of the last board :— ELECTED. VRev J 'Towyn Jones, Garnant (Independent and Liberal) 1.553* *Mr James Rees, draper and grocer, Garnant (Independent and Liberal). 1,419' "Lord Dynevor, Dynevor Castla, peer-of the i reglm (Charchman and Conservati ve). 1,353 • *Mr L. N. Powell, Carregcenen, gentleman (Independent and Liberal) 1,234, *Mr J. B. Morris, Oak House, Garnant, railway station-master (Churchman and Conservative) 1,221' *Mr Herbert Peel, Taliaris, gentleman (Church- inanand Conservative) 1,184 f *Mr Morgan Davies, Cwmivor, farmer (Baptist and Liberal) 1,133. Mr John Thomas, Moreb, timbfer merchant (Churchman and Libaral) 1,094 -Mr Griffith Williams, King's Head Inn. LJan. dilo, cattle dealer (Independent and liberal).. 1,068; NOT ELECTED. *Mr W. Gwynne-Hughes, Tregib, (Churchman and Liberal) 901 Mr 1. E. Morris, Brynhyfryd, works manager (Churchman) 801 *Mr John W. Jones,Llandilo, retired ironmonger (Methodist and Liberal) 694 The defeat of Mr Itwynne-Hughes is much regretted. It is attributable entirely to the same unfortunate feeling amongst the Liberals that, caused the defeat of the Rev W. Davies for the county council.
SENTENCE REVERSED.
SENTENCE REVERSED. Cou.ntky Jushoe OF the*Peace (who has been painting the city green): Whell, seein'eshow this be the fust time (nek), you been brought be- fore me (ick) IH recormend yer,to,tlla,(Gcky mercy of ther court. His Hobocbk You forgefcj .sir^tfaafcwik'amir running; tbis courfe. Officer, usher.the<priBonerrtot the ten-daxaputmente.
[No title]
A CMM.-Anirn iiscover A Cabd.—Animportant discoraery/is.annaunced*' in the Pari*.J?iauro<& a. valuable remedy lac jkehmkj debility, physical kidney «Rs«Mwy and* kindred: complaints. Th»- discovery was- made fy a. missionary in 01<fcttexico. T5ieR»«.. J osepbJHolmea, Bloomabory-manstona, BloosoBbury-sofuare, liandon, W.C., wiU 8»nd the>jxeacnptfon^fr<»->of charge on re- ceipt oftt^eit-addr^sed'stajaped^enrelope. MtooSm;: "_r_-
[NOW-TIPAT PUZLMUMD,]
[NOW-TIPAT PUZLMUMD,] SLAVES OF FA.IE. BY-J. MONK FOSTER. Author of "For Lovo of a Lancashire Lass, or, Queen of the Factory," A Miner's Million," A Pit Brow Lassie," "Passion's Aftermath,"Jcc. [ALL RIGHTS keskrvkd.] PART. HI. CHAPTER III.—After THE PICNIC. Diana Fell and her friend Nellie Graham were seated in the bedroom of the latter on the even- ing after the picnic in Cressingham Wood. Nellie was playing the maid to her companion, being engaged in brushing Diana's long golden looks, and the girls were talking about the events cf that afternoon. After that waltz beneath the trees our friends had adjourned to the refreshment tent, where they partook of stewed tea. and buns together, but each member of the little party was too happy to notice either the condition of the. beveragt) or the dryness of the cakes they were- consuming. Had the repast been sumptuous as those Lu- cullus was wont to provide for his friends in the Hall of Apollo the fair maidens and their cava- liers could not have bben more joyeus over it, and an inordinate number of cups of tea and buns were disposed of. And on leaving the tent the band was playing a polka, and once more George and Diana, Grant- ley and Nellie went whirling and hopping over the thick mossy sward. Then to cool themselves they had taken a long delightful stroll through the quiet wood, and by this time it appeared quito natural to them all that Chester and Miss Fell should CTavifcato towards each other, and that Misa Graham and Marcus Grantley should d;) liktwise. How swiftly that afternoon had seemed to fly It was gone almost before they realised it. When they returned from their walk the west was ablaze with the fire of the falling sun, the band was playing its last air, and the general body of the picnickers were preparing to march home- ward. They parted with pressure of hands, fervent looks, and w&ispered hopes of another meeting. The girls returned with the band and the crowd, having come with them, and George and Marcus went back across the brook, through the waod, towards the stile in Hoscar-Iane. By Jove! Chester, she's a splendid girl: Grantley cried suddenly, as be and Georre- strolled. under the duskening trees. "Who? Miss Fell?" "Ho! ho! So you are thinking of her, are you I ought have known who you were thinking about. Well, they're both splendid, old fellow Never met a more charming pair of girls in all my life—one especially." Hit, and badly, eh ?" George responded, giving the other a sly dig in the ribs. "Yes; and what about yourself f It might have been possible once," Chester replied in an altered tone. "Now, Miss Fell is as far beyond my reach as yonder star." He pointed to the east where the first of heavon's tamps was faintly flickering. Not at all, Chester. I could see that she-,was immensely taken up with you. That adventure with the shark did it, you may swear. I only wish I bad snatched a certain fair one from some monster of the deep. And then, you know, love conquers all things." "Save poverty!" George cried sententiously, and somewhat bitterly. They were now beside the stile where they had met some hours before. Here they stood chat- ting awhile and smoking. ^Grantely asked Chester for his address, and with evident reluctance be. gave it. Then they said good night and went their different ways. "Diana," said Nellie as she ran her fingers over and through her companion's hair, "would-, you tell m&something about Mr Grantley ?" "Are you so curious about him already, Nellie?" Of oourse—-there, I admit it. I dare say-yon are just as curious about Mr Chester." What do you want to know ?" Diana asked, wilfully ignoring her friend's last sentence. "Who is he? "What-is he ? Who-are his- people? Where did you meet him? Tell me all Jrou know about him, and I'll tell you all I have earned about Mr Chester." "You have learned something about him, then. How did you manage it ?' I led Mr Grantley to talk about his friend, as I thought you would like to know, dear." "Who told you I wanted to know T You didn't tell me, but I knew all the. same. Well, I learned lots, and I'll tell yon on the con- ditions named." All I know of Mr Grantley can be told in a few words, Nellie. He is the head of an old Devonshire family; is very rich not over foolish, except when you are nipar, dear seems to own a fair reputation, and is in love with a friend of mine." friend of yours ?" Nellie asked, a note of; alarm in her voice. "Yourself, you goose Diana cried. "-And now it is your turn." "Well, I am sorry to say, Diana, that Mr Chester is poor—awfully poor—so poor, indeed, that he has been compelled to obtain work as a clerk. He and Mr Grantley were at Cambridge together, it seems, but his father lost the whole ;of his fortune through some unfortunate specu- lations. The loss drove the elder Mr Chester 'insane—he is in an asylum now—and it killed ihis wife. Wasn't it awful to lose father, mother, ■ and fortune at one blow ?" Fearful—fearful Diana exclaimed in tones -in of the deepest commiseration. When did all this take place ?" Several months after our bathing adventure. Mr Chester was then at home for the summer vacation. His parents lived-at Tudor House, just beside the village of BrynUiidoch, and it's singular we dida tmeet him again before to-day. .1 suppose his fathers ruin compelled him to leave tCambridge at once, and become a clerk. Mr iGrantley had only learned all this an hour or two before ha told me. He and Mr Chester met quite accidentylly half"411""0111 before -we saw-them. at. ;the pic-nic." # Diana Wbat Nellie had told her-in preference to George Chester's misfortunes had •intensified tho interest she felt in him, and her. "'heart was stirred with sweetest pity. She knew now why she had thought of him so often while in Wales, and why she had desired to* (see him onco Ifc. w'as because she loved,'j ihim. Yes, loved him The passion that had-. been planted in her heart that morning wheni igeorge saved her from the shark had blossomed, tinto sudden life to-day. "I[ love-,birn!- I love him' were the wards. I that formed themselves in her mind, and pre- sently sho began to wonder what her father would think of the man she loved. Diana only asked one more question of Nellie. "I euppose y°u do not know, Nellie, where Mr ^Chesterlives?" "In Cressingn"" vrtUge, Ibeheve. Anyhow, 'he is employ™ office of the iron foundry there. So there is som-thm- to be thankful for, after all, Diana* Indeed! • As Mr Chester lives in the neighbourhood Lyon will see f^tly; but I am not so I lucky. If Mf,GnmtWy llves in Devonshire i Lm*y never se* ;;im agam-" CHAPTER^V. -—THE OLD TALE. Mansell Place, „ September 20th, 1875. •"My-Dear Chester ? oome here to dinner on Friday f .know what vour first thought will be on receiving such an invitation but you must throw the first thought to the dogs and come. H»rry remembers you quite well and is anxiens to y°u again. I have told him you are stayinS *n neighbourhood, but that is all I have told hun yet. I may add that Mrs Cumberland Fell, Miss Diana Fell, and another maiden yclept Nellie are expected to din3 here on Friday. Perhaps you do not wish to meet the fair heiress again ? "But jesting apart, (wd ellow, come I don't see that you need be afraid or ashamed of meet. ing anyone. I s~aU exPecb you even if you write and say you wont come. "I enclose 7"™ ™ Joule% invitation, and a remain, yours faithfully, s "MaBCUS GBatHTJuET." Between tbejsbecte-ofGran fcley's missive there was a slip of perfumed note-paper upon which a ■ few words were traced in a lady's handwriting. Glancing over it George saw that Mrs Harry Joule presented her compliments to him and hoped to have the honour of his company to .dinner on Friday-evening. It was two days after the picnic In,- i Cressingham Wood wften G^rgei Chester received 5*he foregoing «mmiratoatfpn& His landlady ipkoed them on the table with his^tea'onerevening Aa Grantley had sm-mised Tda- first thought Wras that be could not poesifi]ygo<4te3ifareell JPlaco. Whafrbusmess -had he there now? Tho- oftbn., FA=theuwwe POI-uw,& -tb*,JBrmen ■VfeaarfsMaroaadthis>relfectiDns, and'he felinthatthe hnaaxs^dixad^aKlirecta^hcatiorttoibnnseJfvTmder- existing .circumstances. Certainly ho must»de- *c&ne.their%indimftla&ons. Then hat law -1. tthat discovery put a slightly different complexion ^upon things. To renew his friendship with Harry Joule, to jbe introduced to the charming Mrs Joule, to join :Maraus Grantley at his cousin's table he was un- iwilling to put himself in the place of the Earthen- ware Pot in the old story. But to meet Diana Fell once more he was will. ing to risk something. After all, why should, he -not go? The people he would meet at Mansell Place would, in all probability, know nothing of him and his misfortunes. There would be a crowd, very likely, in which he might hope to tpass unnoticed by all save Diana. He would go, he ultimately decided, and on ^Friday evening he went- George Chester's reception by the Joules could tnot ha.ve been more pleasant had he been the 'latest success in fictional literature, a newly- fledged songster or player, or as rich and famous as he was poor and unknown. Arriving half an hour before dinner time, George found Grantley and several others in the drawing-room, and his face flushed a little as he saw that Diana was present. So glad you've come, old fellow," Grantley whispered as he pressed Chester's hand. The party from Cressingham Park are here. Come and let me introduce you to Mr Cumberland Fell. As they crossed the long room towards the spot where Diana, her mother, and Nellie Graham Were sitting George murmured Is Mr Cumberland Fell here ?" Oh, no. He and Sir Godfrey Sherstone and -alot of politicians are shooting blackcock and stalking deer with the Duke of Blairgossie in Scotland." George had not yet set eyes on Diana's father, but that fact had not prevented him from form- ing an ill opinion of Mr Cumberland Fell, erst- while Roger Cumberland, and he was pleased to hear that the Master of Cressingham Park was not at the place that evening. He still remembered what bis motherhad.told him regarding Roger's doings at Hansford before he was born, and some portion of his mother's distrust towards her cousin had sunk into his mind. If his father had only paid heed to his wife's expressed fears ho might have been sano now, comparatively well to do still, and his mother would still have been alive. And Diana Fell was the daughter of his lather's, old rival. How much he wished that she had beten any other man's child. Even had he been Diana's equal in every respect her father might have thrown obstacles in their way. That Roger's professions of friendship for his father were insincere George was certain. He had seen the letter in which Cumberland stated that he had sold out of the Lhadyllan mining affair, and he had heard his father say that Roger had told him to sell not a single share. And after considering all things George had1 .^concluded that Roger had never forgiven his father for winning Agnes Ellis, that he had ad- vised him to keep the shares that he might be' ruined, and that under the mask of friendship he had worked out his old hatred. Something of all this passed through Chester's mind as he crossed the room with Grantley and was presented fo Mrs Cumberland Fell. For Diana's mother George almost instantly conceived ■a liking. She was so much like her daughter; sher "seemed so unaffected and honest-hearted, and she thanked him so heartily for that little business in Cardigan Bay. Matters assumed such a pleasant aspect that George forgot, for a time at least, all about his poverty and Mr Cumberland Fell. He took Diana in to dinner, and as he was fortunate enough to be seated between Miss Fell and Miss Graham, the' meal proved a feast. of pleasure. After dinner was disposed of there was a. general move to the drawing-room, where there was to be. dancing and singing, and presently a sweet and clear young voice was filling the spacious apart- ment with its sweetness. The singer was Nellie Graham, her son £ one of. Burns's simple ditties. It ran :— When, o'er the hill the eastern star, Tolls brightin time is near, my Jo; And crwaen frae the furrow'a fleid, Return so dowf and weary 0 Down by the burn where scented birks, Wi' dew are hanging clear, my Jo, III meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie 0 A murmur of approval went round the well- filled room as Nellie finished, and Marcus Grant- ley's face was flushed with pleasure as he led the .fair singer from the piano. She had sung to oblige him, and the song she had chosen seemed to have a meaning that only himself and Miss Graham understood. "Do you not sing also, Miss Fell?" George asked as their friends rejoined them. "Never after Nellie," Diana replied with a asked as their friends rejoined them. "Never after Nellie," Diana replied with a |; smile. She sings so much better than I do, Mr Chester, you know, that I never like to :think of the comparison one is forced to make between us." ANonsense, Diana "Nellie cried, her dark hand- between us." Nonsense,iDiana,"Nellie cried, her dark hand- some face aglow at Grantley's softly whispered § raises. "You must not believe her, Mr Chester, he is a prima donna compared to me, and you must persuade her to sing When other lips and r,5,a 11 other hearts. You will sing it?" George pleaded. "If you wish it," Diana replied, her heart throbbing quickly, and her voice sinking to a whisper. There was something in George Chea- ter's words and eyes sho ^bad neither heard nor seen before in any man's, and over her white sculptured throat and fair cheeks there stole a. wave of deep rose oolour. "They are getting up a quadrille, Chester," Marcus said just then. "Are you zoing to dance ?" ° If Miss Fell will oblige me ?" Diana murmured her acquiescence, and they moved toward the other end of the room where there was a clear space for dancing. Several quadrilles were formed, and soon our friends were gliding through the graceful and intricate evolutions of "The Lancers." A little later Diana fulfilled her promise and sang the song Nellie had mentioned. Her voice was a pure contralto of great purity and compass her articulation was perfect, and every word fell from her tongue sweet and clear as the chiming of a silver bell. Deep into George's heart and mind that song sank, and years afterwards, when he was thousands of miles from Mansell-place and Diana Fell, those sweet words and their singer often re- curred to him. Mrs Cumberland Fell had no idea that her daughter and Nellie Graham were already en- tangled in the rosy meshes of the net which Love casts abroad, and she had left them to follow their own devices. Had she known this sho would not have enjoyed so much her hand at whist with her hostess and their partners. "How hot it is, Diana., "Nellie remarked, fan- ning herself vigorously. "It is cooler in the conservatory or on the lawn," Grantley broke in with a laugh and a. look of deep meaning directed at Miss Graham. "Dare you venture so far ?" What do you say, Diana ?" said Nellie, trying to appear unconcerned and oblivious of the preg- nant glance Marcus had shot upon her. "I don't mind," Miss Fell answered; "it is j certainly rather warm here." They all rose together. George offered his arm tto Diana, Grantley took Miss Graham's arm within his own, and they went toward the con- eervatories which adjoined the southern end of the drawing-room. Chester walked by Diana's side through the dimly-ht avenues of exotics, and neither of them spoke for some moments. He was thinking that he had been very foolish indeed to permit himself this glimpse of Paradise, which would make his return to poverty and work on the morrow all the more bitter by contrast. And he was wondering also ifjDiana Fell would continue to be so gracious unto him when she learned that he was a virtual pauper in compari- son to herself and all who were at Mansell Place that night. It never crossed his mind then that .the gloriously beautiful girl on his arm was ralready acquainted with his sad misfortune. They came upon a seat amid the plants and ithere they paused. Hither and thither among the green depths of the foliage a little coloured ,lamp"flickered; the odour-laden air was tcm- >pered by a faint stir of wind, and through the ier t crystal roof above-them a full moon like a silver "shield floated through the clear autumn sky. A penny for your thoughts, Mr Chester," Diana cried leaning back over the couch until her head nestled amid the broad green fronds of a palm. You appraise them highly," he said, starting, from his reverie, if that is all you will pay for' them, Miss Fell." Set your own price upon them," she rejoined pleasantly, if mine is not enough. Anyhow, let me know what they are. You would hardly care to h?ar them, I fear;" he returned a trifle sadly. Your reluctanco only excites my curiosity and I must know. Do tell me, Mr Chester. It is so seldom I have any thoughts of my own that I am all the more eager te listen to other people's." I will tell you, then," he said, fixing his erea on her face for a moment. I was comparing myself with Adam after the Fall." What a singular idea, Mr Chester," she cned with a ripple of laughter. What made you conceive such a notion ?" It is not singular at all, Miss Fell, but quite natural. If you knew anything sf the last year of my history "I do know something of it," she interrupted. You know ? he-was looking keenly at her now. Yes B "Who told yom?" Nellie Graham. MrGrantleytold'ber,<&n.d you told Mr Grantley, I suppose." Then you will understand wby *■ compared myself to Adam. His sins resulted m expulsion from Paradise, my misfortunes have banished me from Eden." "Eden?" she murmured in an interrogative tone. "Society such as I have enjoyed to-mght, 'he exclaimed. "I had no right to come here this evening. I shall never come again. xne Jfiarthen- ware Pot can only expect to get broken by coming in contact with the Brass Vessel3, j&u under- stand, Miss Fell ?" „ I understand, but X do with t you," she returned. Axjcordtng to what you !■ say there ought to be little friendship and cer- !> tamly-no intimacy between those who are poor rand those who-are wealthy. Beeanse a man i8 pr unfortunate ^should all his 'friends lgpore himf feand-becauae-a man falls ougk' to feiyet all [■ those whom, he -knew inmorepjospercjisdaya" George-wag looking strajght betorehimtfarongh fethe>glas8si»ofco £ the«conservatory mto^the moon- L light. DianaAa&lratf-relinq^hea W reclining Uposture-and- was regarding him with ^her »aaft you." must adroit,- r'thafca ni^ht like this hasJts dangers.for.-a.poor fifeHorw. Take; my own case as: an example. Here fcBanrmw disporting mysf" as i £ T were possessed e ..foi=,=rantley;h--haiLl be -to. imoraoMK? Iaitbi»offie»'at theionndi3f. ^ni'the (?wojtobe»ea^"erjto^o3^^on-accouirtrofRto-n^ht;>8' pleasure ? No It will be all the more difficult and irksome. I was a fool to come A fool! I was growing contented with my poverty Now, I shall be more discontented than ever." He spoko in a sad despairing sort of way that went straight to the girl's heart. She understood his feelings, and in a vague manner she realised that she herself was connected with his despair. He regarded his poverty as an insuperable gulf between them. I cannot tell you, Mr Chester, how deeply your misfortunes have pained me. But there may be better times in store for you. I feel sure there are. A man like you can conquer circum- stances and win a fortune of your own. Why shouldn't you ? I know you will There was a world of tenderness and hope in the girl's softly uttered words, and for a moment he regarded her intently. Then she lowered her face suddenly, and he spoke. To conquer circumstances, Miss Fell, may not be so easy as you imagine, and the better fortune, which you are good enough to predict for me. will come, if come it ever does, too late Too late!" Too late?" she aaked in a soft whisper. "Yes. Too late, unless it comes to-morrow." "Too late for what?" she asked again. She knew well enough of what he was thinking, but for her life she could not have avoided the question. Do not tempt me to speak more plainly, Miss Fell he cried. If you do not divine my meaning already it is better I should say no more. I should perhaps only pain you by speaking." i Again she spoke, but it seemed to her that her heart and not her tongue framed tlis words— "Speak. You cannot pain me. Tell me what you mean." Her voice died away in a sweet whisper, and George Chester's heart seemed to leap in his throat. She had bade him speak Could she know what was surging through his heart and brain at that moment ? Her faint words and the tone of them were ringing in his ears; he seemed to see Diana through a mist his head whirled, and the pas- sion within him rising to fever heat melted all further self-control. Miss Fell—Diana! Do you know what you .ask me to do ?" He had arisen and was standing before her, his face palo as her white arm, although his mind and souj wero ablaze. She was lyiug back over the couch, one gloved hand pressed to her bosom, the other covering her eyes. But she said no word in response to his low, impassioned question. I will speak, then he said beading a little toward her. "Fortune, come when it may to me, will come too late if you aro then another man's wife. You know now what I mean There is something I will not say. I am poor. That closes my lips." Diana's hand dropped from her brow and the moonlight flooded her perfect face. Their eyes met, and thon the girl's love was revealed to him Diana Diana Can it be possible that you love me ?" In answer she flung her arms around his neck and began to cry a little on his breast. George's strong arms closed round her, and with a low cry of joy he drew her to him. Then they kissed each other again and yet again with the fervour of newly declared lovers. For seme moments neither George nor Diana spoke. Their joy was yet too sacred to break in upon it with words. How often in after years of sorrow did each of them remember that night in the conservatory at Mansell Place. What will your parents think of your love, Diana ?" George said at length. "Of course, I do not expect them to sanction our engagement!" "Mamma may when I tell her all; but I'm afraid papa will not." "Would it not be well for me to mention it to Mrs Fell to-night ?" "Ob, no! Leave me to tell her to-morrow and then I will write to you and say how she takes 'it. That will be best-" Here are Grantley and Miss Graham." There was a sound of approaching feet, and a moment later their friends came up arm in arm "and very joyous, having been doing a little love making on their own account. "I thought we should find you here," said Nellie; But Mr Grantley would persist in look- ing about the lawn and shrubberies for you. It is so beautiful outside, Diana." "It was pleasant enough here, dear," Diana re- joined, with a loving glance at George. They they all returned to the drawing-room. (To be continued.)
JOINT STANDING COMMITTEES.
JOINT STANDING COMMITTEES. Pembrokeshire. A meeting of the members of the Pembroke- shire Joint Standing Committee was held at the Shire-hall, Haverfordwest, on Friday, the chair- man (Mr H. G. Allen) presiding. THE ATTENDANCE OF CONSTABLES AT TITHE SALES. The Chairman said the chief constable had been asked to attend certain proceedings in connection with tithe sales in the north of Pembrokeshire, and he wished to know whether the committee would defray the expense which he must neces- sarily incur in sa doing. He (the chairman) be- lieved the sales referred to would not be at- tended with any violence, yet it was necessary that the police should be represented if only to watch the proceedings.—Mr R. Carrow What number of men will you require?—Chief Con- stable One man and myself cnly, sir. There will be the cost ef our maintenance and convey- ance and other cut of pocket expenses.—The committee authorised the chief constable to at- tend the bales in question, the expenses of the same to be paid by the county. Breconshire. This bodv met at the Shire-hall, Brecon, on Friday. Mr Councillor R. D. Cleasby was unanimously re-elected chairman, but owing to his disability as sheriff continuing, Alderman W. M. North was re-elected deputy-chairman. The Chief Constable (Mr E. Gwyune) drew attention to tbe inetIective system of heating the cells at Crickhowell police-station, and the matter was referred to the local bench for consideration. The Chief Constable applied for an increase of salary, after 34 years' service, and it was decided to raise his salary from J3260 to £300, with allowance of x;50 per annum for keep of horse as heretofore. It was explained that £ 20 of the increase would come from the county, and the remainder from the Government grant. The tender of a Birmingham firm (Messrs Wright and Holmes) was accepted for heating the Shire-hall throughout, and also the new pohee-stati-m and cells. The amount was £ 135, but in addition to this, it was pointed out. there will be the cost of masonry, &c., which will bring the total cost up to something like £ 200. It being stated that tho keeper of the County House would be leaving after the next assizes, it was decided that Supt. John Joseph and his family should, under certain conditions, reside in the house in future, and thus save the county the salary paid for the house- keeper-£20 a year. It was also determined to expend a sum not exceeding £ 70 in carrying out certain masonry alterations and improvements in the judges' lodgings. The committee went through the bills for the quarter, the total pay- ments amounting to £1,228138 lOd.
INSTITUTE OF JOURNALISTS.…
INSTITUTE OF JOURNALISTS. South Wales District. A meeting of the executive committee of the South Wales branch of the Institute of Journalists was held at the Town-hall, Cardiff, on Friday afternoon, Major Jones, the president, occupying the chair. Several new members and associates were admitted, including Mr Thomas H. Thomas, R.C.A. Mr Charles Elms, C.E., Cardiff-; Mr J. M. Staniforth, Cardiff; Mr S. W. Allen, Cardiff: and Mr W. Cooper Harries, Pembroke. The secretary (Mr G. Padfield) read a letter from the Marquis of Bute courteously acknowledging the compliment paid him in his election as an honorary member, and thanking the South Wales district for nominating him for that distinction.— A communication was received from the executive of the institute intimating that Mr James Mackenzie Maclean, M.P. ( Western Mail), and Mr John Duncan (South Walts Daily News), both ex-presidents of the South Wales district, had been elected Fellows of the Institute. This. intimation was received with applause.
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GcsaBY: Here, Emmie, why is your hat like a. baby? Emmie: Oh my, Fm sure I could Inever,guess that. Gusset One you wear, tho other ycu were. -See it? (She's stilfilooking for it.)
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. HIS SECOND SERMON. .
HIS SECOND SERMON. Her bold, black eyes stared at him as he went by the open barroom door. She stood on the threshold, and Mr Ashton flushed at her smile as he passed. She had long since ceased to blush, others might do it for her, but she was in nowise ashamed of her appearance. Strangely out of place she looked in the garish light, laughing and joking with the rough men near her. Such a girlish embodiment of the vice he was seeking, the young minister was not pre- pared to behold. The heavy-footed, coarse- faced men, smoking strong-smelling pipes and sickening cigars, the imitation dandies, with swaggering gait and flaring neckties, they seemed to belong to the vicious place, But the girl with her handsome face, plump arms and shoulders, bare as if she were in a ballroom, and her scanty, pink dress barely reaching to her knees, she was startlingly incongruous. So young, 30 pretty, so hardened, going down so swiftly to the gates of hell Ah, it was pitiful. Mr Ashton sighed compassionately as he went into the hall adjoining the bar-room. A few kerosene lamps ranged along the walis shoiie dully through a blue haze of tobacco smoke. Long wooden settees covered the floor, which waa dirty and un- carpeted. It was Saturday night, and a larger number than usual of men and youths lounged upon the seats, or gathered in groups about the hall, across the rear end of which extended a stage, with footlights and curtain. A low, dingy-white gallery, con- necting with the stage and running half-way around the room, was divided into a dozen or more little stalls, called" wine-rooms." In them certain moneyed and reckless patrons of the place could sit at their ease while drinking, and viewing the stage and scene below, or they could, with curtains, screen themselves completely from the public gaze, as they preferred. Such was the thriving, young Western city's most notorious den of vice, sink of iniquity, centre of sinful contagion, etc., against which the young minister had re- cently thundered. His first sermon, de- livered the Sunday before, had made a pro- found impression, It had set all the better portion of the community to talking about this plague-spot, known as a "dive," though it was up one flight from the main street. With the crusading spirit strong within him, Mr Ashton, in the midst of his pre- paration of his second sermon, determined to slip out of his study quietly and see the monster of vice with his own eyes. Then, returning, with its hideous visage still fresh in mind, he could vividly describe it on the morrow. So, taking a seat well up to the stage, for he was rather near-sighted, he looked about him. It could scarcely be pharisaical, he thought, with a shudder of disgust, to thank the Lord that he was not as some other men were—such as those around him. What enjoyment could they get out of such a re- pulsive place ? The foul air was hot and nauseating. Already he felt slightly feverish and his head was beginning to throb. There was none of the glitter and glare which he had expected to find, but, of course, it was early yet he would wait as best he could for the curtain to rise. Meanwhile, he studied the faces of those nearest to him, trying to read their thoughts, listening to their talk, and endeavouring to put himself in their places. Two brawny fellows, with an Irish brogue, were warmly arguing about a strike of ironworkers then in progress, and their reeking, whisky- drinker's breath swept over his thin, shrink- ing nostrils. Next to them, three boys, the oldest not over fifteen, were animately dis- cussing, while puffing cirgarettes, the pecu- liarities of their boss." Such shocking pro- fanity, so carelessly uttered, the minister had never before heard. They left their seats, and, following them with his eye down the hall and through the open door, he saw them go into the bar-room, stopping on the way to chat minute with the bare-shouldered siren at the entrance. He began to realize that he had got into another world, the inhabitants of which neither knew nor cared what he might have been saying about them from his fashionable pulpit to his silken and fur- clad congregation. Clenching his thin, white hands together passionately, he longed for the power of an autocrat, that he might arise and command that this soul-destroying ulcer be instantly cut out, these-, good- hearted but imbruted ones about him forced to walk in the light till they came to know, as they must in time, that it was vastly better than darkness. The whining of a fiddle, followed by the clamour of a small orchestra, interrupted his thoughts, and presently up went the lights and the curtain. It was a variety performance, somewhat above the average, as a travelling company had gone to pieces in the city that week, and some of the mem- bers, unable for reasons of a distinctly fin- ancial nature to return to Chicago, had, in their stranded necessity, turned to the dive stage. They were skilled in the art of making both good and wicked people laugh. Mr Ashton was forced to confess to himself that the stage performance was a deal more innocent than the sur- roundings. To be sure, some of the actresses appeared in tights, and all of them wore abbreviated skirts, but so, as he knew, did actresses occasionally in theatres and opera houses of the highest respectability. Stamp out the bar and wine-rooms and there would be nothing so very debasing about the resort, he decided. And after that he made no more mental memoranda. For upon the stage came one who instantly caught and held his seeious short-sighted eyes as none had done before. He leaned forward, breathlessly, his heart beating like a trip-hammer, a scarlet line in either cheek. The voluptuous form, so freely displayed, did not.iaffect him in the least, but the face —the face he could see nothing else. It1 thrilled him with a nameless ecstacy, the arch glance from the sparkling eyes, the pouting red lips, the curves of chin and cheek guiltless of paint, it was to him no gaudy dancer, but a living picture suddenly advancing from out of a hidden nook of a 'half-forgotten time. Who—who was she ? Of whom did she so vividly remind him? He caught up his flimsy programme. "Bella la Reine, the Famous Queen of the Variety Stage." It was a lie. She was not a creature of that sort. Did she look at him then 1 Did she know him, though he could not recognise her ? His hands grew moist as he twisted the programme around them nervously. She sang to him alone. Of that he was positive, and if he could /have seen himself as-she saw him, his clear- cut intellectual face standing out in sharp contrast to-the heavy features around him, ,he might not have wondered that she looked at him as she did. Her dancing, though graceful, annoyed him her songs he did not hear, except one that told of by- gone love—that stirred him strangely. -She seemed to talk to him with her eyes, and held him spell-bound. But it could not last for ever. She vanished the way she had come, and with a choking gasp he realised she was gone. For him the lights were out—the performance ended. He sat dazed for a few minutes, and, then grasping his hat, was about to leave his seat, having seen much more than he came to see, when a boy touched his elbow and handed him a slip of paper. Seeming, intuitively, to know what it meant, he unfolded the note and read at a glance :— An old friend would like to see you. Follow the boy. He was comparatively a stranger in the CIty, probably nobody in the hall knew him. But he did not stop to reason. Certainly he could not be blamed for following the boy to see an old friend. He had no thought of turning back even when his small guide led him into the low gallery, by way of the side door near the stage. Before he fully realized whete he was he stood in one of the dimly lit wine rooms, alone with the queen of the variety stage. She sitt with her back •to the audience room below, between which and her snowy shoulders was a dingy red curtain. Still arrayed in her scanty danc- .ing attire, her dainty, silvery shoes elevated totheedge-of around table upon which were4x>tfcles- and'glasses, she coolly survey ed thim £ ingly, advancing a step. "•Certainly," she replied,-t&kmg her 'feet off the table and .rising fctit I don't want Ho-aee- you as white-as a ghatfc. What's the; pmatteis? Do I-scare you>?" "It is therfoul air-below. }>ammot..usedi ^to.itandllhawehad a few dizay spells lately," .he murmured, unsteadily, leaning on the stable as, for an instant, even-- she^ise^med I She came to him at once, took his hat from his nerveless hand, and ran her cool fingers soothingly over his aching forehead. Here, down with this and you'll feel better," she said, pouring out some liquor from one of the bottles. He recoiled with a shudder, put the glass from his lips and stepped back. You mistake," he said, gravely "I am not a frequenter of this place—I am a clergy- man." As if I didn't know you," she laughed gaily; "and to think you don't recognise me Don't you really recognise me ? Come, look, not around, but at me, once, good and hard, and see if I am not an old friend." She poised airily before him, and then, as he still seemed puzzled, she said softly Ned A flame of red shot across the Rev Edward Ashton's pallid face. Olive Olive Faveur My God, is it you ?" he whispered, and sank into a chair by the table, staring at her dumbly, she still smiling. The minister was a young man, but his heart had once been wrung by this same fair woman. No, not the same. That was years ago, and she was then not as she must be now. Equally enthralling she had been to him then, though and most terri- bly had she disappointed both him and all her friends. She it was who had turned his life-course. In the bitterness of his sorrow over his mad conduct he ha.d set his face heavenward. And he had not known her that night till then t She saw that he was profoundly moved, but she did not know how fiercely he was trying to crush back the feeling which burned in his eyes as he looked at her. Perching on the table, she caught hold of his hand and began to talk to him of old times. But he did not listen to her. He was conscious of the squealing of the orchestra violins, the stamping of heavy feet and the tomfoolery upon the stage. In the adjoining stall he heard a drunken man try- ing to sing a ribald song with a woman, who was laughing at the maudlin attempt. Presently, though soft fingers held his own, and a fascinating face was close to his, ii though satiny shoulders were so near him—presently he would arise and put Satan f from him. But he could not do it instantly. She was so frankly joyous, so merrily bewitching, not a repellant line from her laughing eyes to the tiny shoes whose heels she was knocking together as she sat before him. With an inward wrench he shut his I eyes, and was about to stand erect and for- bidding when he was shocked by a chuckling laugh behind him. Withdrawing his hand [ from hers, as if from the touch of tire, he i turned his head with a guilty flush. A man, [ in a flaxen wig and comedian's stage garb, j stood in the curtained doorway. | "I know that they're guilty; but, oh, they're so sly laughed the intruder, j repeating a line of a topical song he had just been singing on the stage, and, bowing j low, he disappeared. t Mr Ashton reached for his hat, the flush dying out of his face and leaving it very pale. But she put out her hand restrain- ingly, a quick glitter of anger melting to tenderness in her marvellously expressive eyes. "It's only Jack," she said hastily "don't mind him nor his impertinence." "Jack?" questioned Mr Ashton, waver- ing again under glance. "Yes," she said, carelessly; "but he never troubles me. I do as I please in all things. You needn't think of retreating now, though. He has caught you fairly or unfairly. If you went now he would be sure to have it in the morning papers, and make a few dollars out of the scandal, don't you see. But if you will bide a wee, and be sociable and sensible, I'll answer for it that not a whisper from him gets to the sensitive ears of your goody-goody friends." Each word sank like burning acid deep into the young minister's heart. His face" grew ghastly, the little red-curtained stall swam round and round, the bright creature leaning toward him seemed to be receding in a luminous mist. | Olive Olive!" he gasped, reaching out wildly toward her. "My poor old Puritan Ned." she said, softly, sinking on her knees before him; let this anclme cheer you. For once for- get everything but that you and I are here neither of us will ever be here again, and never again, perhaps, will we be together, Drown care and enjoy yourself, Ned, deaf old boy." She lifted the glass he had once rejected to his lips. He, this time, clutched it, and, though it was not wine, but a far stronger liquor, he drank it to the last drop as if it were cooling water. In the gray of a Sunday morning, while f i the city was still slumbering, a tall, black- .,1 coated priestly figure stole homeward like a belated night thief. Snow had fallen during the darkness, and the wide street of the neW town was smooth and trackless, white and soft as wool beneath his hurrying feet. His footprints, showing a black trail behind him on the sidewalk stones, seemed to his j feverish eyes to mark the passage of a foul [ thing over the dazzling purity, each step defiling the spotless way. Reaching his residence, he let himself in with his latch- key, and in another minute, noiseless as a burglar, he was hidden in his study. Brazen bells clanged out in the crisp wintry air, calling to church the just and ( the unjust, earthly saints and human sinners. The first sleighs of the season jingled along with merry disturbance of the quiet, frosty atmosphere. The broad streets, house-tops and fences gleamed in the sun, t each evenly incrusted with frozen jewels bf the gentle snowfall. The ringing laughter ot J boys, snowballing one another by the curb- stones, mingled with the music of the bells- Sleighload after sleighload of church-goer^ arrived at the stately entrance of the churcbf which was the architectural pride of the young city. Within its lofty walls the organ rolled its rumbling voice high up to tbØ vaulted roof. Ladies in furs and silks, gentlemen i" overcoats and broadcloth followed the soft- footed ushers up the richly-carpeted aisles f1: the luxurious pews. Flowers rare aJ1V 1 costly were before the pulpit, and added to, their fragrance were the delicate from numerous fairer roses in the shape o' „ the city's most beautiful daughters. Tbfl'T pews were filled to the last one. It was j great congregation—the greatest tbe I church had ever held. So the I decided as he sharpened his pencils I and noted the prominent men pre" I sent, from the mayor down. The fain*I of the young minister's eloquent had gathered together all the city's leader to listen to his second sermon. But he wa* I late in_appearing. Minute after minuf went by, the organ ceased to sound and thef began again. The official chief of th' church's laymen grew uneasy. It would b* a great pity to disappoint such a splendid assembly by an untimely sick-headache. ø: did not know that the young minister migk" i even then be working at his sermon, wi^ j flaming eyes and trembling fingers, trying J to make up lost time. But he did vfi i know that Mr Ashton had not locked ore^ strong. Finally he slipped into his ove?j!< coat and went in search of the tardy 1 preacher. It was but a few steps to th« ;| pastor's residence. Mr Ashton, I think is still in his study," said the housekeeper, "I have not seen him this morning." But it is late," protested the church" man, in soft indignation at such thoughtless' ness. Eloquence was not punctuality, and there were the honourable mayor and th* highest people in the city kept waiting. Hø tapped sharply at the study door and then he called and shook the knob. Then, find- ing the door locked, and being assured by, the now alarmed housekeeper that thflTO minister must be there, he, being a Strang man and by this time excited, burst the lock and flung open the door. In the chilly study, darkened by the drawn curtains at the window, nothing but cold ashes in the grate, the minister lay sleeping his last sleep. Drawn up to his writing table, upon a lounge was extended his black-overcoated form. The upturned face, though rigid in death, yet showed lingering about the white lips a tender smile, as if in the solemn repose he had been visited by a pleasant dream. A bottle ■ labelled chloral stood upon the table. J 1"The churchman groaned in horror: J He must have felt nervous and taken ap ft f j overdose He has been dead for hours." j Beneath the bottle lay two scraps of j tpaper. Upon. one was pencilled f "An old friend would like to see voai riPollow the boj Upon the other a trembling scrawl, thy pencil still beside it: A. v Let him that thinketh'he i beed -fcst he folk" 1