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NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.
NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. A FAT ALP A S T. BY DORA RUSSELL, tuthor of "Footprints in tha Snow, "TAe Broken Seal, "The Track et she Storm, "A Bitier Birthright,' &c., &c. [ALL RIGHTS SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOTTS CHAPTERS. TL'HAPTIIT.'I 1. AND II.—Lieut. Francis Roche, yr,ir and, to a certain extent, dependent, receives a mysterious communication by means of a Mr 'L'wis: an old lawyer's clerk. The missive is handed to him i. Twias's rooms, and is to the effect than he will in futuro receive yearly the sum of £ £ UQ, that amount being (inclosed iu bank noccx. As he receives the letter his movements are watched by a la-.< in an i aner apartment. After her departure Mrs Twiss communicates to her husband a story concerning the Jady which she had no right to tell, and Twiss considers how he can best make use d the story for his own advantage. Lord and Lady Ennismore :1" few evenings afterwards are in a box at the theatre, and Roche and a friend of his, Mr Arthur Curzon, are introduced to c»Wem. When Lord and Lady Ennismore go hoiT*3 they :ake a look at their infant boy ss he ia sleep, ng in his cot. God keep him," whispared she" uiother, little guessing of th« susjitsnded BWOI d which hvmjj over the child's bright fc ead. CHARTERS III. AND IV.—Lcrd and Lady Ennismore returned to Brackenford, arad are visited by Mis* Helen Drummond and Miss Bingham, fe vvo gay and sprightly girls, v^ho. keep the home of the Enr.i mores lively. Dune £ their stay there all are surprised by the appearance of Curzon and Roche, but Lady Ennismore ■ t sadly troubled by th«r advent, though she and (savours to conceal her agination. CHAPTBKS V. ÆND VI.—Lady Ennisnore re- ceives her guests -jvith outward equanim rcy, and Curzcn and Roclw are introduced tj Maud Bingham, Lady Enuismoa-e's second daughter, and also to th* youthful heir, Rooert Patrick Bingham. The Rev Peter Prescott, vicar cf Morconburv. a baciitlor, guarded by his two jealous sisters, is introduced into the st cry. He is, though on the shady side of forty, not blind to the blandishments of the fair sex and Miss Sinclair, the- wily governess of the Ennismore family, 'would appear to have designs upon him. CHAPTER VII.—HELEN'S LOVER. As the Rev. i?eter Prescott walked home acrcss the misty hills, after spending thi f. evening at Brackenford, ho was thinking somewhat sadly, though very kincly and gently, of hvs sisters. "Ah, poor souls," he thought. "It would never do to bring a stranger beside them. N3, no, I mast be content to remain what I have always been-a. Ibnrely man. The Rev Peter sf'ghed audibly as he came to the conclusion. iVever before had ho been tempted to change- his state, for driring his poverty no woman had looked at him, und since he had been recto.. of Mortonbury his sisters had hitherto safely guatded him from call matri- monial entanglements. But struggle against fthe feeling: 3B b< s; he could, he now constan tiy found himself think- ing of Caroline Sinclair. He had met her first at Brackenford, And since then he had not un- frequently encountered hser in his walks, and somehow or other he cotdd not hel.p thinking that Miss Sinclair liked hnru That any woman should do so seemed wonderful at first to Peter's simple and modest heart. But still the idea had recurred to him, anrl the idea had become very sweet to the poor rc^tcav Na woman had ever flattered him before, .nor ever sought his society. Few families lived in the neighbourhood of Mortonbury, and the fe,r who did had only young unmarried girls tc find husbanos for, and young girls do not often tlx'.nk of men of the rector's age. But suddenly across his son/bre and contented way-! of life, there had flashed, a gleam of youth and brightness that threatened to become highly dangerous to the rector's peace. A woman grace- ful, calculating and attractive, had looked at the rectory-house, and then at the rector, and had decided that she was well-fitted to hold the posi- tion of the rector's wife. She had overshot her mark a little as we have seen, and had not guaged the Misses Prescott aright, when she tried to flatter thzm. But her words were balm and sweetness to the Rev Peter's ears. £ ut_but—I must not think of her," he said to himself softly, as he reached the rectory-house and opened the door with his latch key. A grim figure arrayed in a violet flannel dress- ing gown met him in the hall. "Is that you, Peter' said Miss Dorothy Prescott's voice, for only her little red nose was to be seen Deeping out of the wraps and flannels in which her head was enveloped. I thought you were never coming. Why did you sit up, my dear ? answered the kindly Peter. 11 Was it likely that! should go to bed when y.cu were out?" rejlied Dorothy, in an injured tone. "No, Peter I never neglect you, do I?" I am sure you do not," said Peter in all good faith. "And I think," continued Miss Dorothy;"con- sidering the people Lady Ennismore contrives to pet about her, Pcit-r, that you're better at home than at Brackenford." "Contrives to get about her!" repeated the Rev Peter. "Why, my dear, there is no one staving there but two young soldiers and Miss Helen Drummond." "And that very forward person, the gover- ness, 3 said Miss Dorothy, waspishly, and the little red nose gave a vicious jerk out cf her strange headgear. Miss Sinclairsaid the rector, gently. "I do not think that she is forward, Dorothy." "Flattery does not go down my throat as easily as it does yours, then." retorted Dorothy. Why, Peter, a mcle could see through her She's a vile, flattering hussy, on the look out for a husband, if ever there was one "Nav, nay, Dorothy, nay," said the gentle rector, "do not speak thus of one of your own sóx- of a gentlewoman. She is poor, I suppose but other ladies have been poor before now." "Thank you I" said Dorothy, wish another vicious jerk. I may have been poor, I was poor, I am poor for the matter of that, but no man living, nor dead either, can say of me that I tried to flatter him into making a fool of himself, and I should tLink dozens could of this Miss Sinclair, though she hadn't succeeded with any of them yet!" The rector put up his brown and bony hand deprecatingly. "Hush, Dorothy." he said, and then he bade his gister good night and went alone into his study, and having lit his pipe and mixed his modest glass of grog, sat there quietly thinking. Could Dorothy's rough, hard words have any truth in them? Dorothy was a shrewd woman, though net gentle, nor pitiful, tho rector knew. But could it be—could it be ? Had this fair woman sought his society, and seemed to take pieasuee in his words, merely because he had a good income and a pleasant home? If so. "thought the rector, pursuing his cogi- tations, I pity her; for if she is not true to herself and to her womanhood, how poor and mean'must all life's highest aims seem to her. But I cannot believe it. Ah, poor Dorothy, she fears, I suppose, that I may bring a new mistress to her home—but no, nc—Martha and Dorothy have had so little sunshine, such hard, cold lives, that for no selfish happiness of my own will I ever interfere with their narrow joys. And as for her—for Caroline—she is too fair not to have many wooers. I am doing her no harm—only a little self-denial and the pain will be past." So he made up his mind. This man, who would turn aside not to tread on the worm upon his path, bore his own pain during the next few days with silent endurance. He grew a little greyer about the temples, and more lines came round the kind and thoughtful eyes, but he showed no other signs of his mental struggle. Yes. perhaps he was a little kinder even than usual to the two hard, cold, selfish sisters, for whose sake he was practising his self-denial. This was his nature. He always gave generously, and none knew what he gave. Miss Sinclair was not slow to perceive that a change had come over the rector's manner. She saw that he rather avoided her than otherwise, and this knowledge annoyed Miss Sinclair exceedingly. But she also made no sign. She went as regularly to church, and sat there demure and pensive-eyed, while the Misses Prescott watched her with bitter and contemptuous glances. Had she been the best woman in the world, they would have felt precisely the same to her. They wished to keep their brother un- married, and therefore regarded their whole sex with distrust. While the Rev. Peter's one love affair thus languished, another love affair, at Brackenford, was progressing only too quickly. Again and again, in the early winter twilight, Francis Roche had met the sunny faced Helen Drum- mond. They managed it all very quietly. Helen sat with Lady Ennismore in the mornings, drove with her in the afternoons, and was shy and even a little distant in her manner ts Roche during dinner, and when they all met together afterwards in the drawing-room. m Had Ladv Ennismore been asked the question if there were anything between these two young people after Roche had been a week at Bracken- ford, she would have repiied that their acquaint- ance was a very slight one. Yet, before the end of this week, Roche had begun to think of his future income: begun to speculaie and wonder if he were justified in asking a woman to share the somewhat precarious live hundred a year which had been promised tn him at the Lady's Wardrobe," in Buckingham Palace-road. He naturally hesitated before doing this. The Wrsre he thought of this strange adventure the j-v »«e surprising it seemed to him, and Walter Curzon I'lso often recurred to the subject with mingled feelings of curiosity and envy. Rixihe had still nearly three hundred pounds of this money at his bankers when he went to Brackenford, and this small sum now seemed to the youn;- man in the first flush of his love, as something very respectable to begin life upon He was very glad at all events that he had saved it. Every day the frank, bright face of his Helen became dearer to him, and all his former expensive amusements and pleasures suddenly- grew flat and wearisome to his imagination when compared with her sunny sini?<-s. They were almost like two childr«nv these Y(l1Ul,; lovbrs. Over their hearts had come. great sense of enjoyment..30 golden -haze* which wrapped everything in misty bliss and 'undefined happiness. How Helon is growing," a^aLa and again thought Lady Ennismore, glancing/with vague uneasiness at the young girl's glad face, and then sometimes at Roche's dark one. But still she noticed nothing between them, until one evening. Miss Sinclair came into the drawing-room alone, Snd after a few words of commonplace cpn- vcrsatioD, begaa to about Heteo. oj I scarcely like to mention what I am about to say, Lady Ennismore," said the governess, stand- ing in a graceful attitude before Lady Ennis- more's tea. table, "but from a sense of duty-for Julia's sake—I must do it." Lady Ennismore looked quickly up, and her fine complexion changed colour. What is it ? Nothing has happened, I hope ?" she asked. "Oh, no, nothing has happened—only, Lady Ennismore, you understand, as Miss Drummond is not my pupil I scarcely like to interfere. Still, from a sense of duty, as I said before, I will speak—for—I feel sure—at least I feel almost sure that you are not aware that Miss Drummond walks daily, and for hours alone in the dusk, with Mr Roche nis Lady Ennismore's face grew suddenly crimson. "It is impossible she said. "With Mr Roche ? Mr Roche is with Lord Ennismore on the moors." Mr Roche nevertheless contrives to leave the moors every afternoon before four o'clock," replied Miss Sinclair, with her subdued smile. They indeed meet every afternoon in the grounds and wander about the walks together they are together now," ,0 Lady Ennismore rose hastily, and went to ono of the bay windows which looked out upon the grounds. It is most imprudent, most foolish she said. Thank you for telling me, Miss Sinclair—to- gether now, did you say ?" At least together a quarter of an hour since," At least together a quarter of an hour since," said Miss Sinclair. I was returning from Mortonbury, where I had been on a little errand af charity, and I came unexpectedly on a ceun- sentimental scene under the shadow of tha fir trees. But do not be uneasy, dear Lady Ennis- { more, she is but a child, and this young gentle man is probably on amusing himself—still I thought it was better and kinder to tell you.' Certainly," answered Lady Ennismore with j a sharpness and decision of manner very uuusual I to her. I will go and join them—perhaps, Miss Sinclair, if Lord Ennismore and Mr Curzon comes in before I return you will give them some tea ? And will you kindly say, if Lord Ennismore inquires, that I shall be back almost imme- diately—and, of course, I need not ask you not to mention anything about these stupid young people ?' Of course I shall mention nothing, "said Miss Sinclair, and dear Lady Ennismore—may I ask you a favour ?—but please do not be very angry with Miss Drummond, nor yet tell her that I told you about these foolish walks ?" I am not angry with the child, only greatly annoyed," answered Lady Ennismore and she opened the bay window before which she was standing as she sfoke, and went out on the terrace beyond. It was now quite dusk. Overhead a half-moon was casting its fitful beams from amid the drifting clouds on the dark tir trees, which stood out sombre and gloomy in the uncertain light. The cold white rays, too, fell in weird and fantastic j shadows on the walks, and on the trim and well- kept evergreens, and somehow as Lady Enms- more hurried on in her way through the grounds, her thoughts went back to her dead brother—to Norman Maiden, who had been so strangely cut off in his early prima. She remembered how he had partly planned this plac" how he had planted somo of these very holly trees on which the moonlight was falling, and how they had grown on and on, while ins memory had almost faded away. She gave a quick sharp sigh, as she though;. this. The stillness and silence of the plac") seemed almost to frighten her. The shadows of the past came near her, and involuntarily she glanced round, and stood looking" for a moment at the great dark hills behind, where amid the heather they had found her young brother dead. In the meanwhile the two whom she ha.d gone out to seek were standing together hand in hand, thinking only of the blissful present. They were lovers, but not yet declared lovers, and were in that state of sweet uncertainty, of happy ex- citement, of strange new joy, which is the pre- lude to a bright future, or to great rvnd woeful pain. Do not go yet," Francis Roche was saying. Everything seems so dreary when you leave me." A November evening is not proverbially bright, you know," replied Helen Drummond with some archness, and she would have drawn her hand away, but the young man held it fast. Helen," he said. more earnestly, do not really go yet. I want to speak to yûu-I want to tell you—well, it seems so stupid to say it, yet it is the truth—that it is in your power now to make my future life happy—or, indeed, weariness enough Before the girl could reply to this disjointed sentence, while she stood blushing and trembling a little, and with her eyes cast down, a footstep was heard approaching, and Roche suddenly released her hand. The next minute Lady Ennismore's tall figure appeared on the very path on which the young lovers were standing. She did net see them at once, for they were partly beneath the shadow of some fir trees, but the moonlight fell on her face, and both Roche and Helen recognised her. "Here is Lady Ennismore," said Helen, with some embarrassment. "Yes," answered Roche, "so I see." And though he felt greatly annoyed, he was of course obliged to follow Helen, who moved forward to meet Lady Ennismore. Lady Ennismore received them both very quietly. "Helen, my child, is that you?" she said, as Helen somewhat deprecatingly and timidly laid her bands on Lady Enniamore's. It is too late for you to be out. dear," she continued, "so run to the house as fast aa yeu can, and ask Miss Sinclair, who is in the drawing-room, to give you some tea." Helen hesitated for a moment and looked at Roche. Go at once, dear," said Lady Ennismore; and Mr Roche, will you stay and take a turn with me ? I have a headache, and I think the air will do me good." Helen left them as Lady Ennismore said these words, and then in her usud sweet and gentle manner Lady Ennismore addressed Roche. I have sent the child away, Mr Roche," she said, because I want a few words—a -few con- fidential words with yotf." I shall be delighted to listen, of course," said Roche, though he certainly did not fed so. It is about Helen—Helen Drummond," pro- ceeded Lady Ennismore, and she put her hand through Roche's arm. "Let us walk down the path—yes, I want to talk to you about the child —they tell me you sometimes walk with her— and—well, Mr Roche, I am about to ask you to do so no more." "Why, Lady Ennismore ?" said Roche, with some sharpness. "Because you are a good-looking young man," answered Lady Ennismore, with rather a forced smile, and she is a country girl unused to the world, unaccustomed to receive attention, and it will only unsettle her to be with you—only, per- hapa, make her unhappy. hapa, make her unhappy." I would never willingly do that, I am sure," said Roche. "I am sure you would not, yet it might be so if you were constantly with bar. Do not, there- fore, see her any more, Mr Roche Helen is a nice girl, a dear nice girl, and I would guard her from any trouble if I could." But, Lady Ennismore," answered Roche, after a momentary hesitation, and with a slight break in his voice, you do not surely imagine that I should bring any possible trouble to Miss Drummond if I could help it ? Y. u must know— I am sure you must know—that in seeking her I have only one meaning—that if I were happy enough to win her regard—" Hush, hush, Mr Roche interrupted Lady Ennismore, with unmistakable agitation of manner, "do not speak thus. There can be nothing between you and Helen; nothing. Put the very idea out of your mind." "But why, Lady Ennismore?" again asked Rcchc. "Because,'1 answered Lady Ennismore with a strange quiver in her voice, Helen is not in a c position to think of yon-—to tr. anything to you. You must promise mo, Mr Roche, promise me on your word cf honour as a eentleman never to hint anything of this kind to Helen." LaJiy Ennismore said these last words eagerly, and bent forward se. that she micrht see the ex- pression on the young man's face, but with an annoyed air Roche turned awav his head. I will make no promises," lie said. But yon must, urged Lady Ennismore. Mr Rocne, listen to me and she clasped her hand tightly en his arm. It is for your good I am speaking," she ccntinued, for your good and for Helen'3 good. She can be nothing to you—do you understand, nothiTUJ 1 If you have thought of anything, or she has thought of anything, she must go away—she must return to her relation Miss Drummond." "You surely would not send her away, Lady "You surely would not send her away, Lady Ennismore ? "Yes, I would," answered Lady Ennismore, I will. Anything would be better than that you Lady Ennismcre," said Roche very earnestly, it is unkind of you to speak thus—to speak in riddles. Why do answer me—why would it be such a dreadful thing if I were- to ask Miss Drummond to be my wife ? Lady Ennismore withdrew her arm hastily 'from s and with a sudden, almost a rasping sigh, put her hand over her face. "I entreat you to answer me," said Roche, looking at her in great surprise. What is there about mer what is there about Miss Drummond Lth»« n»d«3.our Suture Again Lady Ennismore gave a gasping sigh, and then moving her hand from her face, she looked at Roche with strange wistfulness. It is like fate," she murmured, as if she were thinking rather than speaking like the hand of fate." Will you answer my question?" urged Roche. Why is it impossible ?" Lady Ennismore tried to rouse herself at these words. She looked at Roche, she considered, and then she said slowly ana painfully— "There is a shadow on Helen Drummond's birth that renders such an idea absolutely im- possible. You must not think of her, she must not think of yon. I cannot tell you any more, only I entreat you, I beg you, to go away, to forget her, to see her no more." "A shadow on her birth?" repeated Roche, with both dismay and sorrow in his tone. Lady Ennismore did not speak. She stood there pale, trembling, and so visibly agitated that Roche felt that he could not urge her to tell him any more at that moment. "The subject seems a distressing one to you, Lady Ennismore," he said, after thinking for a few seconds. Perhaps some other time "Yes," said Lady Ennismore quickly, "some cither time we will talk of it again but let us go in now, for I feel cold, so very cold." And Lady Ennismore shivered. "It is cold," answered Roche; and he changed the conversation, and together they proceeded towards the house. But just as they reached the bay window in the drawing-room, by which Lady Ennismore had left it, and which was still standing open, Lady Ennismore laid her hand for a moment on Roche's arm. Remember," she said, emphatically, what I have told you," and next minute she passed on and entered by the bay window into the lighted drawing-room beyond. Roche followed her. "Here they found Lord Ennismore drinking tea and talking to Miss Sin- clair, Curzon, drinking tea, talking to the pale, fair Julia. Bingham and Helen Drummond, who looked flushed and agitated, standing apart. My dear," said Lord Ennismore, looking- round as his wife went into the room, have you been taking a walk by moonlight ? Yes," answered Lady Ennismore, smiling but as she approached the fire she shivered again. Why, Katie, you are as pale as a ghost exclaimed Lord Ennismore, still looking at her. "Give me a cup of hot tea for her, Miss Sin- clair ?" While Miss Sinclair was pouring out the tea, and Lady Ennismore was warming her chilled hands by the fire, Roche took the opportunity of half whispering a few words in Helen's ear. I want to say something to you, Helen," he said. When can I do so ?" Helen hesitated, and her already flushed face grew crimson. Then, before she could frame a reply, Lady Ennismore looked sharply round, and Roche observing this moved quietly from Helen's side. CHAPTER VIII.—A FIRST GRIEF. To Roche's surprise and annoyance Helen did not take her usual place at the dinner table. "Where is Helen?" asked Lord Ennismore, noticing this. She has a headache, and is not able to come down," answered Lady Ennismore, gravely, and this reply did not add to Francis Roche's con- tentment. In fact as he sat eating his dinner he began to feel very angry with his hostess. "What right had Lady Ennismore to interfere and lecture him, and, probably, the poor girl." he was thinking. "If her ladyship supposes she is going to have all her own way she is mistaken," decided the young soldier, and a certain resolute hardness crept over the expression of his face as he made this decision. Then, when he returned to the drawing-room, he found that Helen still was absent, though Miss j Sinclair and Julia Bingham were there. Lady J Ennismore al-io disappeared, and so Roche went up to Mir s Sinclair to enquiro after Helen, How is Mi.ss Di amniond ?" he said. Is she not well enough to come downstairs? "Miss Druiamond," answered Miss Sinclair, in her usual unrufiled way, "-has one of those convenient illnesses—a headache." And Miss Sinclair smiled. A convenient headache ?" repeated Roche. That means, I suppose, that Lady Ennismore and then Roche suddenly paused and left his sentence uncompleted, for he remembered that he did not know how much Miss Sinclair knew. Again the governess smiled her placid self- satisfied smile, while Julia Bingham's delicaje Again the governess smiled her placid self- satisfied smile, while Julia Bingham's delicaje skin Hushed, and her sensitive lips quivered. Where is your fair friendsaid Walter Curzon, at this moment also approaching Miss Sinclair and Julio, but addressing his question to ] Julia. The ycung girl turned her small lovely face round, and looked at Curzon with a smile as she answered him. Walter Curzon was a more calculating and colder-hearted man than Francis Roche. But he was not so good-looking. His extreme pale- ness, and his almost colourless hair, were scarcely redeemed by his regular features and a certain grace of manner which he undoubtedly possessed. But he had a dissatisfied spirit lurk- ing in his breast, and was very much inclined to be at war with fortune, which had placed him in the somewhat trying position of the younger son of a poor peer. Since he had been at Brackenford, and had seen on all sides the evidence of the great wealth which Lady Ennismore had so unexpectedly inherited from the rich Maidens, he had thought several times very seriously of Julia Bingham. True, there was the boy, the heir, but with all this money in the family, the girls, no doubt, would have large fortunes as well. Curzon had listened with a suppressed sigh while the frank, genial Lord Ennismore had told them on the moors of the vast revenue which the coal mines, tha iron- works, and the land, that had once been the Maiden's, now yearly brought in. The once poor Irishman was apparently astonished still at his own good fortune, and never wearied of talking about his wife's wealth. And whenever he had the opportunity Walter Curzon had in consequence of this wealth done his best to charm fair Julia Bingham. Miss Sinclair's vanity had given him more chance of doing this than anyone in the house supposed. The good-looking jjeverness had meant on Curzon's first arrival at Brackenford quietly to ignore certain love passages which had taken place between herself and Walter Curzon at Otterly- hall two years ago, for the very ^sufficient reason that she now intended to marry the Rev Peter Prescott. But when the Rev Peter drew back, and was, no longer to be met in the walks round Morton- bury and Brackenford, the governess, finding it very dull, once more began to smile on Curzon. Curzon immediately took advantage of these smiles. The attractive woman so well, satisfied 'o with her own attractions, never dreamt that a mere child, a chit, as she mentally called Julia, could have any charm for a young man cf Curzon's age, and she therefore took Julia with her when sne walked with and talked to Curzon. In a few words, with a laugh and a shrug, Walter Curzon soon let Julia know who was his real attraction. Miss Sinclair was called one day suddenly away, and for five minutes or so the two young people were alons. These five minutes were Curzon's opportunity. "For once," he said, "I have a chance of speaking to you without your duenna to listen." "I thought," answered Julia, in her half- proud, timid way, "that you admired Miss Sinclair?" Then Curzon shrugged his shoulders. [ How could I admire her," he said, by your side? Miss Sinclair has been a good-looking woman, but her day is past, though, of course, she cannot see it. The bud is fairer in my eyes than the fading flower." The foolish girl cherished those words and be- lieved in them, and with a look, a smile, Curzon easily carried on the understanding between them. He talked, laughed, and jested with Misa Sinclair; and, though he scarcely spoke to Julia, she felt a strange delight in his society. She was not jealous of Miss Sinclair, and Miss Sinclair was Certainly not jealous of her. When, therefore, he asked Julia where her "fair friend" was (meaning Helen) Julia looked at him with a half shy, half conscious smile. "She is not very well," she answered. "She is I lying down." Curzon did not ask any more questions. He began talking in a very lively fashion to Miss j Sinclair, pressing her to sing a certain song that he pretended particularly to admire, and as the ■: two were bending over some music in search of it" Roche had the opportunity of speajdng privately to Julia Bingham. "What is the matter really with MissDrum- mond ?" he said, in a low tone. "WiN you tell me Julia's young sympathies were at the present,- time naturally enlisted in the cause of lovers, and | she therefore immediately answered- Something has grieved Helen very much. i Miss Sinclair—I am sure it was- Miss" Sinclair— i told my mother that Helen walked very often with you, and my mother is, angry with Helen, and Helen has been crying, oh, so bitterly,, Mrff • Roche—and she is going away-" ."Going away? interrupted Roche,, greatlyv, ■<L concerned.. Do you. mean from Brackenford I When-issshe--gDing f' To-morrow, I betiesce.^saidJnlia, "and, and, it will be so,dreury without b<]E." Roche knit his black brows andibit his lip iitii; anger when he heard this news. Hecould indeed j -«»rcate wpBCBffi hisHKli&urtipp, that Miss Sinclair was so interested in her con- versation with Curzon or she would at once have noticed the young man's expression. Roche considered a moment, and then made up his mind. You are Helen's friend, I am sure," he said, again addressing Julia and I can trust you, and I am going to ask you to do me a favour. I must see Helen before she goes—I am determined to see her. Will you give her a little note if I entrust one to you ?" "Yes," said the young girl, rather nervously but Roche was Curzon's friend, and therefore Julia wished to oblige Roche, and she was also really fond of Helen. "I will write it and give it to you in five minutes," said Roche, and he left the room almost immediately, while Julia moved shyly to the piano, by which Miss Sinclair and Curzon were standing. Curzon looked round snd smiled as Julia ap- proached them, but so strong was Miss Sinclair's faith in her attractions that she scarcely glanced at the lovely young girl'whom it was so natural that Curzon should admire. Miss Sinclair," said Curzon, looking at Julia, "has been coquetting so long with this song, first saying she would sing it, and then that she wouldn't, that I am weary with waiting, Miss Bingham." "What a word to use to me!" said Miss Sinclair, with a soft look of appeal in her eyes. "I scarcely know what coquetting means, Mr Curzon. What will the child think to hear you use such a word ?" "The child, I hope, is too good a child to understand it, cr at least to practice it," laughed Curzon. Julia blushed crimson and said nothing. "Dear, run and bring me that music-book that is on the table there," said Miss Sinclair, speak- ing to Julia, and as Julia turned to obey her Miss Sinclair shook her head with a smile at Curzon. You should not talk in that way before Julia," she said. True she is only a-child, but children pick up strange ideas." Again Curzon laughed. "bhe is too young," he said, "to know any- thing about coquetry or love, isn't she, Miss Sin- clair ? She isn't come to the age to make a fool of a man, eh ?" Miss Sinclair thought Curzon meant to pay her a compliment. She cast down her eyes, she sighed, while OurZGn stood looking at her, trying to hide the sneer upon his lips. Yet Miss Sinclair was quick enough when vanity did not blind her. It was her failing, and, like all great faults, con- stantly exposed her to ridicule. "We don't all make fools of men," she said, softly. Sometimes it is our duty to appear cold -to those we like best." And again Miss Sinclair sighed. Curzon felt a little alarmed. Had he gene too far he thought, but he was a young man who had seen something of life, and he, therefore, made the best of the situation. Yes, indeed," he said, "likes and dislikes in this world must all be controlled by reason. Unless a fellow is rich, Miss Sinclair, he is never his own master." While Curzon was thus gently throwing cold water on Miss Sinclair's incipient advances, Julia had met Roche returning to the drawing-room, and had silently taken the little note which Roche had silently placed in her hand. It was addressed to Helen Drummond, and without returning to the piano with the music book that she had been desired by Miss Sinclair to bring, Julia went upstairs at once to Helen's bedroom. As she approached the door of the room she overheard her mother's voice and Helen's from within. You must not doubt my love, Helen," Lady Ennismore was saying. Helen's voice as she answered was broken by a sob. "No," she said, "yet it seems hard—hard—" And then came a sob. Nonsense, nonsense, darling," said Lady Ennismore soothingly it is only a. child' grief, a girl's first foolish fancy-" Julia felt that it was dishonourable to hear more, and therefore she rapped at the door for admittance. Lady Ennismore herself answered Julia's summons. She opened the door, and when she saw Julia she hesitated a moment, and then asked her to come in. "Come in and chat with Helen, Judy," she said, I must go downstairs now, but by-and-bye I will come back. Don't fret, Helen dear, you shall return to Brackenford very soon—Judy here I am sure will see to that," and Lady Ennis- more stroked her y oung daughter's smooth fair cheek as she spoke. "Ye», indeed!" said Julia more impulsively than usual, and she went up to Helen and put her arms around her neck and kissed her. This caress almost overcame Helen, and she could not restrain her tears. Then Lady Ennis- more bent down and tenderly kissed her. "Hush, darling," she said, "you shall soon come back," and after kissing her again she left the room, and the two young girls were thus alone. I have something for you, Helen," said Julia., and she drew Rochs's letter out of the pocket of her dr&3Z. Helen snatched it hastily, but her hands trembled so she could scarcely epen the envelope. When she had succeeded, she found only a few lines inside. I have just heard that you arc going away (Roche had written). Please do not do so with- cut seeing me. If you will name any time or place most convenient to you I sh«,ll be there, for I wish to see you, I must see you, before you leave. Yours faithfully, F. ROCHE." Helen read these words, and then placed the note in Julia's hand. "I cannot meet him," she said wistfully. "I have promised your mother not to see him or speak to him before I go, and I cannot break my word to her. If I had promised Bliss Sinclair I should not have minded though added Helen, with more spirit. But had my mother any right to ask you to make such a promise ?" said Julia, in her half-shy, half-proud, inquiring way. Yes!" answered Helen, with energy, "for she is my best and dearest friend, and I won't deceive her or lie to her for all the world. She has been though about this-hard, almost cruel, and I cannot understand her motive-for-for, Judy, I told her I liked Francis Roche: Why should I not ? He likes me, he says-and I shall never like anyone else—never, never, I am sure And Helen suddenly hid her now blushing face on Julia's neck. Dear, if you are true to him it will all come right," whispered Julia, and she also blushed as she made this assertion in all her new young faith in love. "I will be true," said Helen, in a. fervent undertone. Then my mother cannot part you—nothing can part you," answered Julia. But I do not understand my mother—I cannot understand why she is sending you away ?" She says I am too young, that he is too young, but that if he were old it would be the same thing What can she mean ? What can she know about Francis ?' asked Helen, now lifting her head and looking, earnestly and inquiringly in Julia's face. I know nothing," said Julia, "but my mother seems distressed—there must be seme reason Helen." Yes-can it be—about me ? Helen made this inquiry with sudden anxiety. For the first time in her life it had flashed upon her imagination that there might be something— something that had been hidden from her—and as she fixed her eyes eagerly on Julia's face, Julia's soft eyes flickered and fell beneath .her gaze. Do you know anything, Judy ?" she cried the next moment. If you do, tell me the worst ? (Tabt continued.)
THE NATIONAL EISTEDDVOD.
THE NATIONAL EISTEDDVOD. The date for holding the great annual Welsh festival is not yet definitely fiied, but we under- stand one of two dates will be selected—the 18th or the 25th of August. Either will enable a deputation of the British Association to be pre- sent. The uncertainty as to which date will be chosen is in consequence of the necessity for con- sulting the convenience of the Prince of Wales, whom the mayor of Swansea expects to be able to induce to honour the eisteddvod with his presence.
AN EXCEPTION TO THE THANKLESS…
AN EXCEPTION TO THE THANKLESS ONES. GRUFt OLD GENTLEMAN (to Howell Gibbon, who is buried in his newspaper): Here, young man, get up, and give this lady your seat (GIBBON, too astounded for utterance, jumps up, and-) THE LADT (promptly taking vacant seat, sweetly to Graff Old Gentleman), who beams on » her from the double seat he fills): Thank you, sir. (Thus are^the world's smiles distributed I)
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[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]
[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] SLAVES OF FATE. BY d. MONK FOSTER. Author of "For Love of a Lancashire Lass, or, Queen of the Factory," "A Miner's Million," "A Pit Brow Iijftsie," "Passion'sAftermath,"&c. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] PART III. CHAPTER V.—AT BLAIRGOSSL On the very evening that George Chester and Diana Fell were sitting in the conservatory at Mansell-place, Roger Cumberland Fell, M.P., and his friend Sir Godfrey Sherstone were having a quiet chat and smoke together on the lawn in front of Blairgossie Castle. Roger had now been a member of Parliament for several months. At the late general election he had offered himself as a candidate for the borough of Macclesforth, in lieu of the baronet, and had been returned by a large majority, the town being one of the safest Conservative seats in all the shire of Lancaster. Sherstone had contested a small place in the south of England, and his uncle's influence had enabled him to win the election by a few dozens of voters. Thus it had come about that Roger and Sir Godfrey went into the House together, and as the party to which they belonged had now a majority in Parliament the reins cf Government changed hands, and tha baronet's uncle again be- came a member of the Cabinet. But as yet nothing had fallen in Sherstono's way save promises. He was rather indignant at being left out in the cold, especially as some scores of far weaker men had been pitchforked into places of one sort and another; and during the earlier part of the session, he had harassed his own leaders considerably by his daring and unscrupulous attacks. Of course, the Government understood that the free-lance policy which the baronet had seen fit to adopt was due solely to his disappointed hopes, and Mr Garswood Olvertcn was com- missioned to bring his fiery young kinsman to reason. Olverton undertook the task, and he went to pacificate Sir Godfrey. The Minister pointed out that he had used every effort in Sherstone's behalf without avail. It had been morally im- possible to do anything for him just then owing to the immense number of his colleagues' private friends who had served the party well and long. But he-Sir Godfrey—had not been forgotten. His ability and great help had been recognised, and when an opportunity presented itself something would be done for him. With these promises the baronet was forced to content himself, and henceforth he had directed his glibness of speech and mordant invective against the Opposition. In the middle of August Mr Cumberland Fell and Sir Godfrey, with a host of their fellow poli- ticians, were invited to spend a few days at the ancestral seat of the great Tory noble, the Duke sle. of Blairgossie. It was whispered about in the inner circles of the party that there was to be something of the nature of a political conference at Blairgossie Castle to consider some great legislative scheme, and of course Roger and Sherstone had availed themselves of his grace's hospitality. For just a week our two friends remained in Scotland, silking deer, shooting blackcock, and talking political philosophy and political expedi- once-which are two different things-with Cabinet Ministers, well-known peers, and lesser fry of the Commons House. All this was eminently enjobable to Mr Cum- berland Fell, M.P. To be on terms of intimacy with all the big-wigs of the Government was something to be proud of to hob-nob with the heads of great families whose traditions were Eart and parcel of English history was quite to is taste and his own presence there provsd his own importance in the estimation of his leaders. Although over a year had sped by since Reger and Sherstone had made that compact on the racecourse at Aintree, ueither of them had given up either the hope or the intention of bringing abont the only clause in their agreement which bad not been effected. Sir Godfrey had been freed from his debts and Roger was a full blown M.P., but Diana Fell was no nearer being Sherstone's wife than she was a year ago when his proposal on the sands of Car- digan Bay was declined. He had not ceased to love Diana on the con- trary his passion seemed to have increased ten- fold since his stay in Wales, but he had taken Mr Cumberland Fell at his word, and had played a waiting game." He was waiting still, but was resolved to wait no longer. Of late Sherstone had begun to sus- pect that now that Fell was safely housed in St. Stephen's he was careless about the marriage, That idea was rather unpleasant for Sir Godfrey to think upon, and he had asked the other to have a stroll on the lawn that he might speak plainly to him. But the baronet need not have had any fear on that point, for Roger was now more firmly resolved that before that Diana should marry Sir Godfrey, and he was also resolved that the mar- riage should be brought about as speedily as possible. During the last six or seven months Roger bad had a better opportunity than before of gauging Sir Godfrey's abilities and weighing up his political prospects, and he had come to the conclusion that no man in St. Stephen's had a fairer career -before him. Roger was no great speaker, but he could tell an orator when he heard one, and he felt satis- fied that Sherstone had not his equal outside of the leaders of the. Opposition and the foremost members of the Cabinet. He had noticed how rapidly the House filled -when the word went round that Sherstone was on-his feet; he had watched the signs of approval on the faces of Ministers when the young fellow was pouring out that fiery torrent of clever phrase and bitter gibe upon the scowling occupants of the opposite benches, and he knew then that all things were within Sir Godfrey's reach had he only courage to work and patience -to wait.. If he could only get him married to 'Diana and settled down he would be in the Ministry in a few years, and, with his son-in-law in the Cabinet, to what heights of the political Parnassus might he not himself aspire ? i( You return to Cressmgham tomorrow, I sup- pose, Fell?" Sherstone queried, as he and Roger, walked in the moonlight. "Yes; and you? Are you going homeward,, also, She! < one f I was thinking of doing so," the younger man answered slowly, as if in some doubt about the matter. I was thinking of asking you to return to the Park with me. What do you say Just tho thing, Fell. I will go gladly!" said Sir Godfrey, jumping at the proposal. I want to go to the Park again for many reasons. I daresay you can guess what they are ?" Is Diana one of them? Roger asked with a 'laugh. She is the beginning and end of all my reasons for wishing to go with you. Frankly, Fell, I'm tired of waiting longer in suspense. I should like to have your daughter s final answer forth- with. if it is agreeable to you ?" "Certainly, and you shall have it!" "You hardly realise, Fell," Sherstone went on in his most serious way, how much depends upon the answer Diana gives me. I tell you honestly that but for promising her to lead a better and more useful life, and hoping that .1 might win her in the^end. I would nave thrown up politics in disgust. I did not believe, Sherstone, that anyone could have so much influence over you, and am rather pleased to hear that Diana has." It is a fact, and I am glad to admit it, Fell. But if my next proposal is declined her influence will drive me the wrong way, I'm afraid," Sir Godfrey said, doggedly. But her answer next time will be all you de- sire, Sherstone," Roger replied very confidently. You said the same thing when I went to Wales, I believe." "Well, if I made one mistake I am not likely to make another on the same subject," the elder man retorted, unabashed by the baronet's rather sarcastic observation. If you wish it so much I will undertake that Diana will marry you before Christmas." "Wish it? There is nothing on earth or in ,heaven I wish for more Then you may consider the matter settled for the present. Ycu will accompany mo to Cres- singham Park to-morrow ?" I shouldjhave liked to have paid a flying visit to first. I want to see my agent; — Barton—- about a few things, and I could come to your place afterwards." "Then wecaattravel together as far' as Liver- pool to-morrow, and yon can go on to -—- fto* Cressingham, where you will not fail to put- ■in anappearanceaday or two later." ■■■ Tho baronet nodded, and they strolled back to< -the Castle. Roger was rather pleased than* i ^otherwise tharf>Sherstone=was not going forthwith: Vwith him to the Park. Before Sherstone's^ arrivaLhe would iavatime to mention. the matter ito Diana, and pregaro-ther for Sir Godfrey's second offer. i ^otherwise tharf>Sherstone=was not going forthwith: Vwith him to the Park. Before Sherstone's^ arrivaLhe would iavatime to mention. the matter ito Diana, and pregaro-ther for Sir Godfrey's second offer. That the baronets next proposal was. not re- jected he^would take care. He had made up his. hrnnd that his daug.iter wa»:to inarry Sherstone, per 'ttedt. to prevent the consummation of his cherished matrimonial scheme. CHAPTER VI.—GEORGE MEETS DIANA'S FATHER. It was Saturday evening, just a week after the picnic in Cressingham Wood, and the day follow- ing the dinner at Mansell-place. About six o'clock, as George was leaving his lodgings, he met Marcus Grantley in the lane. "Hullo, Chester!" Grantky cried as they shook hands. I'm just in time to catch you, it seems. Are you going anywhere particular ?" "Oh, no. I was merely thinking of having a stroll through Cressingham Wood, as it is such a fine evening." In that case I'll go with you, old man," said Grantley, with a laugh. What are you laughing about ?" George asked. Well, I was coming here to ask you to go with me to the wood, and I find you off there on your own account. You've had a note too, eh ?" A note? From whom ?" "Miss Fell." "Not a word. Butfyou have had a note from Miss Graham I can see." Yes; just a word or two saying she and Miss Fell would be walking in the wood where the picnic was held about half-past six this evening, and I was asked to bring you along with me. That's all." "Miss Graham and yourself seem to be getting on very nicely together," George remarked with a smile. "That is an observation, my dear fellow," Grantley retorted, which wilt apply also to a certain pair of my friends. Everything seemed to have been settled last night between you and Miss Fell." And what of yourself and Miss Graham ?" "The little witch would not take my love- making in earnest!" Marcus growled. "She was making fun of me and my sudden passion,' as she phrased it, all the night." "Perhaps you wcr.< not in earnest yourself, Grantley," "No fear of that, Chester, "said Marcus gravely. The little gipsy knows that she holds my fate in her keeping, and I'd marry her right off if she'd only let me." George remarked that he would be satisfied if he were only as certain of winning Diana as Grantley was assured of making Miss Graham his wife and they strolled along Hoscar-lane, went through the stile, beside which they had met the Saturday before, and presently, among the trees ahead of them, two well-known forms were seen. There was a pleasant greeting, a little general conversation about last nights doings at the Joule's, and then the girls and their respective lovers sauntered in pairs through the wood. Both Diana, and Nellie were award that they were slightly overstepping the boundaries of propriety, as laid down by Mrs Grundy, but that considera- tion only added a zest to the meeting. "Well, Diana," was George's first remark whan they were alone, did you tell your mother of our love ?" Yes, George, I told her all this morning." And what did she think about it, darling ?" She was greatly astonished, especially when I told her that you were so-" She paused in some confusion and looked appealingly at him. She could not find a word euphonious enough to describe his poverty. So poor he said, finishing her incomplete sentence. "Then she objected to me, I sup- pose ?" Oh, no She seems to have taken very much to you. But although she didn't object herself she said it was certain papa would do so. She was quite convinced of that." "And what do you think we had better do?" he asked, seeing no clear way himself before them. You must see papa at once, George," she said firmly, "and than, when we know what view of the matter he takes, we must decide what course to pursue." What a brave little woman you are, darling!" he said, kissing her tenderly. Yes, I will see him. That will be best. But when shall I see him? He is away at present, I supposed" "Papa returned to the Park about an hour before Nellie and I came out. He will be at home all day to-morrow, and if you call between two and three in the afternoon you are sure of seeing him." I will call," George rejoined, but I fear it will be useless. My heart misgives me, some- how, Diana. I cannot imagine that your father will give one so beautiful and good as yourself, and his heiress also, to a poor fellow like me But haven't I given myself to you already?" she cried in the sweet impulsiveness of her great love. And when papa learns how deeply at- tached we are he will surely give way. He must do so George shook his head doubtfully. "I wish he may, darling, and we can but see. But if he does not ? What then ?" Then it will be for you to counsel me what to do, George she said simply, her infinite trust in him showing in her clear, stead- fast eyes. But they would part us, Diana They would send you away from me, and at last their per- suasions and objections would prevail over your love for me "No! No! Nothing, George, can part the true-hearted woman from the man she loves, and they will never make me love you less "God bles3 you!" ho cried huskily, deeply moved by her devotion. I am blessed already with your love she said proudly, with a fervour that equalled his own. "But if the worst befalls us what must we do ? I cannot degrade you by asking you to change the Park for a cottage. To become a poor man's wife after the luxuries you have been accustomed to would be terrible Nonsense. How can you talk like that, dear ? If you were doubly poor as you are it would be no degradation for me to become your wife. How could it ? And what true woman would prefer a life of case and luxury to a life of love ?" "And you would marry me, poor as I am?" he murmured; "and in spite of all your father might urge ?" In spite of the world, George There were tears in both their eyes as they kissed each other in the deepening shadow of the trees. While George Chester and Diana Fell were thus conversing in the shada of Cressingham' Wood the parents of the latter wera discussing a kindred topic within the precincts of Cressingham Park. Roger had seen Diana and her friend leave the house dressed for walking, and thinking that it was time now for him to take his wife into his confidence in regard to the marriage scheme, ho remarked :— "A friend of mine is coming here, Milly, in a day or two. It is Sir Godfrey Sherstone, and I daresay you can guess the object he has in view in coming. Mrs Cumberland Fell had heard, of course, of Sherstone's proposal to her daughter at Llwyn- gwril, Diana having told h^r of that remarkable event, and it was easy to divine from her hus- band's words that the baronet was coming to the Park to try his lack again. Do you mean, Roger," she asked, with some uneasiness, "that his visit will have some refer- ence to Diana ?" Exactly, Milly; to her alone. He is madly in love with her, and is coming here with the in- tention of making her an offer of marriage. I hope she will have the good sense to accept him this time. The young fellow has a brilliant future before him, and his connections are of the very highest kind. Diana must be made to see all this. He must not be refused again ?" I am afraid he will be," she replied lowly. She was thinking just then of George Chester, and wondering what her husband would say when he learned that hia daughter had. fallen in love with a clerk at a small foundry. "Afraid? Why?" he asked. "Has Diana, said anything to you about Sir Godfrey V "No, but she was speaking to meonlythia morning of someone else." "Someone else he cried, his face growing. as. black as intense anger and surprise could make; it. "Who else ? Tell me what you mean "Well, you will remember, dear, that Diana was once saved from a zhark while bathing, and that she did not again see the man who saved her. But it seems she met him again a week ago, and I was introduced to him last night at. Mansell-place, where Diana and I and Miss Gra- ham went to dine. Well, to put it briefly, Diana and the gentleman who rescued her are over head and ears in love with each other." Damnation flew like a bullet from Roger's clenched mouth. "And this man ? Who is he?" he demanded with blazing eyes and distorted countenance. Mr Chester—Mr George Chester she an- swered, amazed by her husband's great agi- tation. Chester—George Chester Who are his peo- ple ? Where does he come from ?" His parents used to live in Wales, and were well to do, I believe, but his father lost every- thing through speculating in some Welsh copper mines. Ah burst from Roger's lips, and then he became suddenly silent. With a sudden rush his mind was filled with thoughts of the cousin whom he had morally killed the old rival whom he had treacherously ruined and he asked himself was it Fate or mere chance which was sending the son of Frank Chester across his path ? And then for a moment or two Roger's mental vision was turned inward, and he found that he was examining his own soul. In that brief space of introspection he saw things clearly. He had been guilty of a double sin in ministering to his passionate love for revenge. He had not only outraged every unwritten law of justice and right in his dealings with Frank Chester, but also broken each tie of blood and kinship in his actions towards his dead cousm. He had begun by loving Agnes F>'bs had ended by killing her. And the swift flash of inner light which re- vealed these things to him disclosed also the way of atonement. It seemed that Providence was pointing out the path. His daughter loved and was loved by his enemy's son- A heir marriage would expiate much that he had cone. But if all this flashed through Roger's mind-he had no intention of acting up011. hIS momentary., impulses. If he had seen his sins he had not yeb, repented of them, and as he cast from him all, thought of reparation he'became harder of heart and more resolved to pursue his own schemes-to -the-very end. "And where does this George Chester live i;now ?" Roger asked. And what is he r Helives in the village, an<* 18 a clerk at.the iCressingham Foundryi' », "You know all his history, Ic. seo 1" Roger sneered. "Who told you" ".Diana. And I may tell you, .Roger," she I. added firmly, "that I think a great deal of; George Chester,, and? would certainly rather see* Imy daughtei^hisgwffwtfeof Sn^fiodfaey; Sherstone-?' I' "Are you mad, Milly ?" he thundered, or do you wish rue to think you a fool ?" You must he mad yourself," she retorted in some anger, to ask such things '? I fail to see anything that is either mad or foolish in what I said. To me, at least," she added sarcastically, it seems only natural that a mother should prefer her daughter to be married to a mar )he byes than tc. one she not care for." But I tell you that Diana shall never marry this Chester ?" he cried. I cannot-I will nlJi. permit it. It must not be "Mustnot ? Why?" she asked, hotly. Then in a calmer tone she continued "I can hardly believe, Roger, that you will break Diana's heart by forcing- her to give up George Chester. You have urged nothing against him yet but his poverty, and that is a thing we need not count, for we are rich enough to render a rich husband for Diana unnecessary." What slaves of sentiment yon women are! he sneered. "An atom of romance goes further with you than a mountain of common sense. You may be sure this Chester hnows all about Diana's expectations. That is why he has thrown himself in her way. The fellow is a vile schemer who cares only for our wealth and not our daughter. "It will be a difficult matter, I am afraid, to convince Diana of that, and I shall never attempt it. And it scarcely looks as if he had thrown himself in her way when, after rendering such great service :.he disappeared without even wait- mg to be thanked." That is easily explained, my dear," Roger responded in a more reasonable manner. He did not dream then that Diana was so well con- nected and had such expectations, but when he came here and found out who she was he at once put himself in her way." "I can't agree with you on that point, and it will be of little use discussing it further. But I feel, Roger, that if you persist in your expressed intention to force Diana to give up Chester, it will break her heart. If I believe in him, you may fancy how absolute her confidence in him is That is as it may be. Still I feel sure she will. give him up at once and marry Sir Godfrey Sher-. stone when she learns all." I All what ?" she demanded, something in her husband's voice and manner filling her with a vague uneasiness. "When she learns that to marry George Chester means ruin—utter ruin—to us, and that her union with Sir Godfrey means our salva- tion The words fell from Roger's lips in a hoarse whisper, and his face sank into his hands aa he uttered them. "Oh, Roger!" she cried, suddenly terrified by his evident agitation, What has happened ? Something awful, I can see Tell me, Roger, what it is ?" "I cannot tell you yet—I must not!" he answered without raising his covered face. You will learn the evil news soon enough. I was a fool to let the words escape me. But it is. true, Milly—too true We are on the very edge of ruin, and nothing save Dina's marriage with; Sherstone can save us. He is rich now-ex-I tremely rich. You understand ?" Tell me Tell me she cried again, run- ning to her husband's side. "I must know- more "Not yet, Milly Some other time. And let, no whisper of what I have said escape you. All will be right yet, I hope. Diana can save us, and she will. Leave me now, dear, and remember not a word of this to anyone." lIe lifted his face, and taking his wife's soft cheeks between his palms, kissed her tenderly. Then she left him. On the following day, Sunday, a. visitor came to the Park. It was shortly after two of the clock in the afternoon when this visitor rang the front door bell of the big house, and to the flun- key who answered his summons he gave his name and asked to see the master. Roger, his wife and daughter, and Miss Gra- ham were seated together in the drawing-room when the servant entered and announced that Mr George Chester wished to see Mr Cumberland' Fell. The girls exchanged a. swift meaning look; a similar glance passed between man and wife, and then Roger said calmly:— "George Chester—who is he ? Yes, I will see him. Take him to my room, Edwards." A minute later Roger Cumberland Fell was. face to face with the son of his dead cousin and ruined rival. (To be continued.)
THE SMALL COAL APPEALS.
THE SMALL COAL APPEALS. Decision in Favour of the Miners Upheld. In the Queen's Bench Division, London, on Fri- day, the cases of Brace v. Abercarne Coal Co., and Higgins v. London and South Wales Coal Company came before Baron Pollock and Mr Justice Charles, sitting as a Divisional Court, in the form of appeals by defendants from the decision of Judge Owen, who had decided in favour of the men upon the question whether colliery proprietors were entitled to deduct from tho gross amount of. the coal got by tho men the amount of small which went through the Billy Fairplay. The Attorney-General and Mr A. T. Lawrence sup- ported the appeals, instructed by Messrs Simons and Plews, Merthyr while Mr Abel Thomas, in- structed by Mcsa-S MOJ gan and Rlsys, Pontypridd, opposed. The Attorney-Gbneral, in supporting the appeals, submitted that under their contracts the plaintiffs were only entitled to be paid for large coal, and that the defendants were entitled to deduct from the gross amount gotten by the men the small coal which went through the screen, known as Billy Fair- play. The learned county-court judge bad held that the colliery proprietors were not entitled to make the deductions and that plaintiffs were entitled to be paid the amounts which they claimed in respect of coal they had got. The learned county-court judge appeared to think that the, decision of the House of Lords in the Netherseal Colliery Company governed the recent cases. The learned county-court judge, had apparently overlooked the fact that that decision was given under the Act of 1872, and not under the Act of 1887. He (the learned counsel) admitted that according to the 12th Section of the Act of 1887, the amount of wages paid to persons employed iu mines depended upon the amount of mineral gotten by them. The words of the Act were that these persons should be paid according to the actual weight of the mineral con- tracted to be gotten." Now the mineral in this case contracted to be gotten was large coal, and he contended that it was perfectly legal to enter on a contract to be paid for large coal only, and the weight of tho large coal raised was ascertained by passing the mineral as brought to the pit's mouth through a screen. His contention was Is, that only the large coal which did not pass through the screen was the mineral contracted to be gotten. Baron Pollock said his difficulty was that on' the Attorney-General's interpretation of the Act, the colliery owners might say that nothing should be paid for except lumps above six pounds in weight. The Attorney-General said a contract to get coal of a size that would not go through a certain width would be legal, as it would be the mineral contracted to be got. The learned counsel then proceeded to read the judgment in this case of the county-court judge., In collusion, the learned counsel submitted that the fallacy of the county-court judge was in; thinking that he could find an exposition of the Act of 1887 in a judgment under the Act of 1872. It was not even contended by the men that they ought to receive as much for the small as they did for the large. He maintained that thet appeals ought to be allowed. Their Lordships held, without hearing, counsel for the plaintiffs, that the county-court judge was; right on all points, and dismissed the appeal with costs. Leave to further appeal was granted on;the lyapplication of the defendants.
WESLEYAN METHODIST LITERATURE.
WESLEYAN METHODIST LITERATURE. In The Crusader (with which is incorporated the Wesleyan Methodist Journal for South WalesT), members of the Wesleyan denomination have a most ably-conducted organ, of what is termed "progressive Methodism." Itopena the new year UTith novel and attractive special features, having secured contributors of ability who evince power both of perceiving the weaknesses in the organization of the connection, and also of suggesting means of remedy. Particular promi- nence is given to all questions that relate to lay agency and the full utilization of the abilities of non-ministerial members of the society and careful criticism of new departures adds to the interest and value of the periodical
[No title]
PBISON MISSIONARY: MY I- POOrt fell", Whai are you here for ? PRISONER: Fcr not- havin' enoughCpoKtteal* ^influence to get me out.
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Dymunir i'n gohebwyr Cymreig gyfeirio eu goheø- iaethau, llyfrau i'w hadolygu, &c., fel y canlyn: Dafydcl Morganwg, Morganwg House, Llantwit. Street, Cardiff.
. BARDDONIAETH.
BARDDONIAETH. Y GAREG FEDD. Etholfaen serch ar draeth eilfyd,—colofn Uwch dranc hil daearfyd Dirodres aeres ddwys weryd, Hir wylia borth arwyl y byd. Caerdydd. CYNWYD.
YR HAUL.
YR HAUL. rn byd hynod, bywyd anian—yw'r haul, Rheolwr y cyfan; Ei des a'i wres sy'n rhoi grin Ar lu dail daear lydan. Ei oleuni wna dawel en,yn—nerth Yn nghan pob jderyn; A daw anifail a dyn A'u mawl i'r huan melyn. Gowerton. CEOGFRYN.
ER SERCHOG GOF
ER SERCHOG GOF Am DAVID LLEDROD DAVIES, yrhwn a fu farw Rhagfyr 12, 1890. Yn ei fedd, cynarol fan,—y dodwyd Y didwyll Lledrodian; Huna mwy, and yn y man Daw'n holliach wed'yn allan. Nid gelyn a'i dig alwodd,—ei Gyfaill Yn mhob gofid gafodd; Yn y fan yntau 0'1 fodd Hyd y lan a'i dilynodd. Nychu mewn hir afiechyd-fu iddo Heb foddion adferyd; Ond mae'n iach bellach, mewn byd Heb un clwyf neu boen clefyd. Telyn ei en aid hwyliog—a ganodd Geiniau gwir ardderchog; Er mawr gri, mae hi ar grog, A'i chwyn am ei pherchenog. Llanrwst. J. DAVIES.
Y GAUAF.
Y GAUAF. Daw y gauaf du gwywol—a1 oerni, A'i hirnos bruddhaol Gyda gwrid gyfnewidiol Wna alar du hyd lawrdol. Daear, fel gweddw, 'n brudd ei gruddiau—geir A gwedd Ilawn gofidiau; Ac oer drwst-wynt gar dristau Bri cyngherdd bro y cangau. Oer dymhor du, a. mawr dywydd—gwywol, Yw'r gauaf annedwydd; Ac a bronog wybrenydd, Gan fwwaidd wen gwna fyr ddydd. Gyda'i oer gawod eira,—a'i chwa tern, Croch lama a blinga A'i gorwyntoedd a floedda' Ei hynt erch o'i balmant i £ Ceir barug hwyr a borau —hyd anian Yn edwino'i gruddiau; Hithau dan brudd gystuddiau A'i holl fri hoff sy'n llwfrhau. Ei fisoedd oer, a'i fysedd i&,—a'i drem Drymaidd, a'i luwch eira, A bar loesion barlysa Anian chweg,—huna'n ei chwa. Ystradgynlais. D. CTNLAIS JONES.
iAR GADEIRIAD AP RHYDDERCH,
AR GADEIRIAD AP RHYDDERCH, Yn Eisteddfod Tresimwn, Nadolig, 1890. Anerch Ap Rhydderch ymroddol—yw'r gwaith Ar g'oedd yn bresenol; lawn awenydd eneiniol—yma ga.f Yn ystad loewaf pwnc cystadleuol. Heddyw gwel fuddugoliaeth—y mydrydd Medrus, aer canmoliaeth; Yn Nhresimwn hwn a aeth—yn ei fri A rhin ei yni yn deyrn aweniaeth.\ A byw ddawn mewn boddineb—ei bwyntil Baentiai wen anwyldeb; O hirdwf, yma gwel ardeb—dillyn Hudolus "W anwyn" yn ei dlysineb. Forth. E. ODYNFAB EDWARDS.
ER COF
ER COF Am, y diweddar EDWARD DAFYDD, o Heol-llwyfen, Caerdydd, gynt o Lanilltyd-fawr, yr hwn oedd yn fasnachwr parchus, yn lienor gwych, yn caru hen- afiaeth a Hes ei wlad, ei iaith, a'i genedl. Yr oedd ysgrifau "Iorwerth" yn y wasg, fel ei fywyd dilychwin a dylanwadol, yn dangos calon onest, meddwl pur, a chyrhaeddiadau yn mhell uwchlaw ycyffredin. Onid iawn wylo ? Du niwlen-lidior Ledodd dros ein hwybren Oes Iorwerth oedd fel seren, Yn loyw ei gwawr, bael ei gwen. Deifio wnaeth bywyd hyfwyn,—oes dyner FeI sidanaidd wanwyn 0 nawdd lor mynodd ddirwyn Tangnefedd i'w fuchedd fwyn. O'i fewn yr oedd penderfyniad—yn dM Fel y dur yn wastad Oedd wr siriol, deddfol dad Nas curai heb lais cariad. Dyn i.idwyil, Cristion dedwydu,—o rmiaa Hynaws a dldramgwydd; Diliau'i rin fel diluw rhwydd Doai'i rawd diwaradwydd. Gwneud daioni, ao nid hunan—foddhad, A fu ei ddwys amcan; At Iwyd a gwael, at dlawd gwan, Toddai ei enaid diddan. Fe gai i'w arddel fyg urddas,—gwir barch Gai o'r bwth i'r palas Gwladwr hyf, yn gryf mewn gras, A doeth yn mhob cymdeithas. Hardd frodor haeddfawr ydoedd,—llwyr Hir gofia ilaweroedd [gyfaill Cymeriad diwyriad oedd, Yn wych lewyrch i luoedd. Henafiaeth a gaem yn hufen—dibaid O'i wybodaeth drylen; Torai'n ol trwy y niwlen I olud aur ei wlad hen. Oedd lenor o dreiddiol anian,—gwelai o draw golyn amcan; Nodai loes ei genedl lan, Fw hiawnderau bu'n darian. Diweniaethol y dynoethai—ei rym Dros yr iaith a garai; Glanio nerth ei galon wnai, Treisiog wawdwyr ysgydwai. Yn ddewr mewn egwyddorion—arosodd Trwy ei oes, heb olion Eilun gwael yn ei galon, Na gwermod yn ei frwd fron. Dawel un daliai'i enaid- ddedwyddyd A heddwch bendigaid; Diau gwych ddylanwad gaid Yn dilyn ei oes delaid. Ond Edward mwy nid ydywdaearwyd, Do, wron diledryw Ond ei haeddol glod heddyw Leda'n ber, a'i flodau'n byw. Mawrhau'i enw mae rhinwedd,—andwya Daear mo'i anrhydedd; I'r cyfiawn hwn, o'r ceufedd Mae y llwch yn cymhell hedd. Huned ef fe wna Dofydd—ei wylied Yn ci wely llonydd Draw 'e ga yn dragywydd Fwynhau Duw'n Nhrigfanau Dydd! Caerdydd. DJBGWIL.
YR EIRA.
YR EIRA. Yr eira gwyn, hardd eira gwyn, Disgyna ar bob bro a biyn; O'r nef y daw'n dameidiau man, Fel estrys blu neu ganaid wl&n Gorchuddia wyneb anian gu, Cuddia'i llwmder a'i noethni hi: Mor brydferth yw pob bro a bryn, Hunant dan gwrlid eira gwyn. Y prydferth od, y cainwyn od, Fel angel can o'r nef yn d'od, Rhydd gusan tyner i bob un, Y bacbgen fel y wylaidd fun; Un tyner yw, fel calon merch Ymdodda megys deigryn serch Y prydferth od, O! mae yn hardd, Yn swyno calon dyner bardd. Hen berth yr ardd mor brydferth yw, Er colli ei gwyrddlesni byw Boneddig yw ei gwedd pryd hyn- Hi wena yn ei gwisg o wyn A'r llwyn a dwf gerllaw fy nrws, O! mae yn hardd, yn hynod dIws, Gogwydda'i ben, plyg tua'r llawr Dan bwys o eira teg ei wawr. Hardd eira gwyn, disgyna'n hael O'r nef ar benau'r gwych a'r gwaeL Hyn yw ei arfer ef erioed, Heb wahaniaethu rhyw nac oed. Hyn fydd fy ymdrech inau mwy, Gwneud da i bawb, ni waeth i bwy Glanhau fy hun, diwreiddio'r chwyn, Tebygu mwy i'r eira gwyn. Alltwen. URBANUS.
Y FAM A'I BABAN.
Y FAM A'I BABAN. Ni wel hi ddim, ni fyn hi ddim Ond gwenau'i baban; Ni cblyw hi ddim, ni phrisia am ddim, Ond seiniau'i baban; Fe'i gwasga at ei bron liw'r eira, Ac ar ei fochau cochion gvvlawia Ffrwd o gusanau sydd yn tarddu o for ei charlad--mor sy'n toni Dros ben ei geulan. Dlws angel bach! ddiniwed un! Nef yw ei gwmni; A seren glaer mewn noson fIin Yw ef i'w Fami; Gofalon a gofidiau'i bywyd Sy'n boddi'n ngwenau ei hanwylyd.* Mae'n canu'i chân-ei Lwli babi ;f Pan fyddo'n gwenu, pan fyddo'n cysgu." Er ei ddifyTu. 8 Ffyddlonaf fam, gariadlawn fam O! mae yn dyngr, Ei llygaid wyha. ef rhag cam, Hebball bob amser; 5. Abertha lawer iawn o'i horiau I'w lwlian ac addoli'i wenau; Ac, O! 'r tynerwch Srydia. alIaQ 0?i Hygaid byw pan fyddo'i baban Mewn rhyw gyfyngder. I Ofalus fam a'th -f aban cun, P Beth fydd ei daiwedd ? 1 Dechreua'i daith er-d'od ya.ddyn Mewn byd. o lygredd; Dynfal-dyfal, fam_gariadus, r Sydd heddyw'n ddidwyll, heddy.w'n.rymus,. ? Na laesed hwn, mae'r byd yn rhivydo; fi Tro&gam at.Dduw, gwna wed'yn radio i, HIEW^LTOLJSAOAETIUWEDD. U.
----------,,( FACT AND FANCY.…
,,( FACT AND FANCY. 1 I In Unequal Proportions. A corn is something which is pretty hard to get used to, but still it grows on you. It is an awful strain on a woman's patieneff to have a husband who thinks be knows how ta cook. j! If a man and a half drink an original package | and a half, how long will it take three men to see I a sea serpent ? l\ "Don't you know, prisoner, that it's very wrong ? to steal a pig ?"—" I do now, your honour; they mSke such a row." Wife What do you suppose baby is thinking about ?—The Brute I suppose's he's thinking I what to cry about to-night. y Miss Pith What are you reading, dear ? Miss Smith: "A Model Man." It is dreadfully stupid. Miss Smith Yes, they usually are. We know what the girl who never thinks talks about. What we would like to find out now is what the girl who never talks thinks about.. To live in the presence of great truths and eternal laws, to be led by permanent ideals—that is what keeps a man patient when the world [ ignores him, and calm and unspoiled when the i'. world praises him. Almost all women will give a. sympathising t hearing to men who are in love. Be they evaf t so old they grow young again with that conver- | sation and renew their own early times. A GREAT ADVANTAGE.—Teacher Suppose, Tommy, you were President of the United States, I what would you do ? Tommy I would not lei j anybody wash my face or comb my hair any I more. [ A VEGETABLE DIET.—Jones: That's all non- j sense about eating meat being injurious to health. ) My ancestors for hundreds of years ate meat. J Vegetarian Yes, and where are they now ? Dead, ain't they ? HE WANTED TO SEE.—Kind Lady: Poor man, will you not tell me how you came to lose youf eyesight ? Blind Man All right, marm, but first let me see the money you are going to give i me, HEALTH NOTE.—A kind hearted gentleman I seeing a. number of boys with their pants rolled up wading a,bout in the cold water with their bare legs said :—Come out of that water, boys, or j you will get a fearful cough. Little Tommy—I guess not. We don't cough with ou legs, do we? THE PROFESSOR WAS SINGLE.—Visitor You seem to have a bright lot of students. Professor: Yes, all accept Jones. He is so confoundedly stupid that I would not be surprised if he were to come to school some day and tell me that he had gone and got married. BASE INGRATITUDE.—Widower Doctor, your bill is something fearful. After you have doc- I tored my wife to death you expect me to pay you an enormous bill. Doctor That's just what I expected you to say. Such a thing as gratitude no longer exists in this world. A REGULAR DILEMMA.—A.: I am in a hideous | pickle. B.: How so ? A.: I have not got any- | thing to eat, and the only thing I've got to pawn is my false teeth, and if I pawn them and buy f something to eat I can't eat it. I never was it- I such a hideous fix in all my life. The habit of superficial thinking is one which we should avoid. It is oftener the result of mental indolence than of pressing business. It is better to think deeply on a few subjects than to skim over a thousand; and, if wo once form the habit of doing so, we shall soon find it satisfactory and pleasurable. k. WHY THE SERMON WAS SHORT.—"You must have had an awful long sermon. You are half an hour later than usual," said Col. Yerger to his wife who had just returned from church. "Wh)Ti I thought the sermon was very short," replied j Mrs Yerger. "Did you have your new hat 6i* I the first time ?" "Yes, dear." "Ah, that eS- I plains it. No sermon is long to a woman undef those circumstances." '1,1, The mind may be so exclusively exercised j one line of thought that it is not even able U pursue that line intelligently for everything II be thoroughly known must be seen in its rel»* || tions to other things. He who studies nothing N but law is not the best lawyer, nor is he wb° A understands nothing but business the best busi' ness man. Even for the success of a single pursuit, or in the search for one kind of truth, the mental faculties must reach out into othe$j fields of thought and inquiry. J —————. When Chief Justice Chase chose to unbend hitoj t self, he could be witty as well as wise. At a socifllJ- • gathering in his house when he was Secretary 0 War, the subject of taxation having been mooteoj a diotintnrshed naval officer presor t --aid he paid all nis taxes except the income-tax., "I hav« a little property," said he, which bring me iu yearly rental, but the tax-gatherers have spotted it. I do not know whether I ought to lei, the thing go on that way or not. What would yoU do if you were in my place, Mr Chase ?" Ther0 was a merry twinkle in the eyes of Mr Chase a* '[ he answered: "I think it is the duty of every maO to live unspotted as long as he can." INSULT RETURNED BY COMPLIMENT.—A young,'V girl, beautiful in form, feature, and dress, sat iu p a car. Directly opposite sat a young girl of about the same age, shabbily clothed, with a shambling body, slightly deformed as to the I shoulders, and an exceedingly plain face, which f bore the lines of suffering and want. Her eage* bore the lines of suffering and want. Her eaget eyes were fixed on the face and figure opposite here with a devouring, pathetic look that showed 1 how keenly alive she was to the exceeding beauty of a beautiful body. The object of the gaz« i began to grow uneasy under its intensity and fixity, and finally, looking the girl coldly in the face, she leaned partly across the car and said' "Well, Miss Impertinence, if you have lsoked at me long enough, will you be kind enough to loolf j! somewhere else? I am tired it." The poor girl I grew first red and then white, A look of keefl I pain came inte her eyes, and then tears, as she I, turned away and said softly; "I was only think' 1 ing how beautiful you are." ti Tom Marshall, the great Kentucky orator, was I also a great masticator of tobacco, and one of the (|3 most uncleanly of men in the disposition of tb* 41 salivary "juice," an abundant deposit of which /II usually decorated his ample shirt-bosom. Tb'^jflf contrary of Marshall in this particular was Return Tj J. Meigs, clerk of the National Supreme Courty whose person and office were always models o< I, neatness and cleanliness. One day Marshal entered the clerk's office, as usual masticating freat quid of "dog-leg," and before he had nished his business found it necessary to unload. Where do you keep your spittoon, Mr Meigs • asked the advocate, after a fruitless search fo' the desired utensil. "I do not keep one," said the clerk. "Where do you spit?" "I do not spit." I mean, where do I spit?—I chaw, J Meigs." Generally, you spit on your shirt' j bosom, Mr Marshall." The great advocate lef* I the office, dischared his cargo of tobacco, and re* 1 turning, resumed his examination of the record* I with complete serenity. Connected, indirectly, with the big spectacul^ ( ,success, "Claudius Nero," at Niblos, are ■ young men whose ingenuity could make sever, fortunes if rightly directed. They have a coP m tract with Messrs Locke and Davis, I of the production, to supply fivo hundred 'y bodied men to impersonate the Roman 1 introduced in the great conflagration scene jJl 1 the final act, and are paid 25 cents a performanf" j for each man. Unable themselves to secu^ »j supers at a lower figure, this is how they m the contract profitable. When engaging re auxiliaries they expressly stipulated jl no money would be paid unless fo'f »! consecutive performances were attendee and that vouchers, bearing the da*J | of each night's performance, would be distribute" J| among these present, the presentation of fou' consecutive dates of which would entitle i among these present, the presentation cf fou' consecutive dates of which would entitle i holder to one dollar. These conditions wert agreed to by the supers. After the first perfor111' j ance each of the five hundred Roman citizen.. L received a crisp, transparent, handsomely print61" ] I certificate, and on each of the following I nights another. On the fourth night, when call0*. upon to present coupons for payment, not one the five hundred could produce a single couP°^f f No traco cf the elaborate certificates could found. Everyone was mystified. All that cott^ be found in the pockets of the poor Komans !j meshy lumps of a sticky substance. Thecerti^i cates were made of gelatine, and tho pockets of the supers had caused them to like snow. The clever piece of roguery netted IIiI devisers four times five hundred quarters befotf detection. ATTACKING A TIGER.—Russian hunters are sat" to look upon a combat single-handed with a be*1 as only an ordinary experience. It is doubtfu" however, if many instances of a man attacking tiger, armed with a sword only, can be vouche for, but Colonel Seaton relates the following vj" <' One morning, just as we were leaving the paradyvA ground, a man came rushing up breathless, 1 ing as scared as if his life was in danger. your guns, men!" he exclaimed, in terro^ 1 "There is a tiger In the hollow by the fakeei"s | hut, and no one dares go by!" This was aij intimation not to be slighted, so in haste we got our guns and two elephants j hurried to the spot, where, ill truth, a terribl0 scene presented itself. The tiger, bleeding from cut in the head, was on the edge of the hollo^ growling fiercely, with a man mangled, j apparently dead beneath his paws. The nnfor* j tunate man was the fakeer's son, a fine sword'' j man and first-rate wrestler, one of the champion^ f of the regiment. He had arrived home only thay fmorning. Some people who went to draw {at the well had disturbed the tiger, and upon Arising they fled in horror. The brave but rash I ;soldier, who happened to be near at the moment I ion learning the cause of the commotion, inim?' I 'diately advanced to attack the tiger, and with hig 1 .sword gave him a tremendous cut over the head, which, however, did not materially injure the i 5powerful brute. The tiger rushed at the man> ^stripped the.arm down to the elbow, and, dpsh' { ting him to the ground, held him beneath hi*» t ipaws. When we came up we were at a loss ho^ { to act, for the man was as much exposed to oUr i gfireas the tiger. However it was not a time ffi"A "lengthened-consideration—wq fired, and a luekt ] .shot; y f