Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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4 "cruel ITHEjSvE wi rt i o-rv me secret 01 uunraveu Castle. BY ANNIE ASHMORE, ^Author of "Faithful Margaret," Etc., Eto CHArTER XIII.?Continued. Loveday started and turned a pained look upon the pair,?truly it seemed likf It! Her heart swelled bitterly; it -.vaj hard to find herself in Auberon's way,? to see that all thissareet, loving intimacy was but a lover's rnse to bring Miss Kae to terms! She followed Accrinjjton's guidance without a doubt; she felt as if she could never meet Auberon again. Accrington knew every foot of the locality; five years ago he had spent mans a day with his sporting companions beating those glades for game. Be did not at once disturb the painful reverie of his companion, but tojk advantage of her preoccupation to lead her so many turns and twists that when &l> lengiu sue ivu&cu iuuiju, juoisniwm pletely at fault. Accrington confidently assured her that they wore on the route lor home, and drew her into a conversation with such tact that she gradually yielded herself to his influonce, and listened, responded, and became imcr ested, while time flew, and the miles stretched behind them. Never had Richard Accrington exerted himself so earnestly: he was talking against time, and each half hour thej lingered together?each mile they left behind them?was another link to the chain ho was forging for the capture oi Miss Dellamere! He wooed her thoughts far from herself and her present surroundings, to follow him from land to land where h? had been; when marvels mignt begin tc . pall upon her, he caught hei anew with a pathetic version oi his own history, specially adapted to attract her tender and innocenl sympathies; she lent herself to hi! charm willingly, for her own thought; were very bitter, and escape fiom them was welcome. They reached the margin of a wide moor; not another human being was visible on all the broad expanse, orJj the bleak Octobei sky lowered'over it, and a low wind moaned across the heather. Loveday looked around her with a shiver. "I don't in the least know where we re," said she, blankly; "are you quite Bure that jou do?" "Trust me, Miss Dellamere, you are quite safe," said Accrington. with a Xrank smile which almost reassured ber; "no! don't look at your watch. I entreat you; let mo take all care of you for this once; give me the delight of seeing that "you have perfect faith in me." "You treat the matter more seriously than it deserves," replied Loveday, somewhat startled; but she had no motive sti-ong enough to bid her cross his tnood, and slipped back her watch without glancing at it However, a9 they crossed the moor, the only beings visible 'upon it, and her wandering eyes encountoroH nnt. nnp faml'iar landmark shpliA. Kan to own a secret uneasiness, and to chide herself for liavinp left her fricnd9 bo far behind a-s to bo committed to such a prolonged tete-a-tcte with the Colonel. * A.ccr!ncton, ob.serving the turn of her thoughts, gradually allowed the conversation to flag, and appeared to share hei gravity, often timing in his saddle to watch the action of her mare for a minute at a time; and, indeed, she began to notice herself that boih the animals seemed spent, ajid.drooped their heads wearily. At last Accrington said, with visibly assumed lightness: "Will you allow me to have a look at your mare's hind shoe? To me she seems to wince at every step." A chill misgiving swept over Loveday, a sudden shocked realization of Lei thoughtless imprudence. Without a word she drew rein and dropped lightly to the ground without waiting for assistance. "I begin to fear that it is later, and tnat we are farther from home than we Imagine," said she anxiously, and again drew out her watch. One glance, and a cry of dismay burst from her?it wa9 hour9 past the time when the hunters were expected to reassemble at Dorlmant. Bewildered, angered, and distrustful, she moved apart from her companion, without heeding his exclamations of surprise; she felt as if his proximity stifled her. An ordinary admirer might have iuffered a pang of sorrow or mortification at such a movement on his lady's part whenever her hour of need came upon her, but the Colonel only glanced after her with a peculiar smile, and bent over Ahmed's hoof while he performed a slight operation with a dexterity worthy of a prestidigitator. He laid down the hoof with a look of ominou9 gloom. "Come, Miss Dellamere, courage:" he tried, with affected cheerfulness, "there Ir nothing far wrong with Ahmed yet, but we mu9t deal gee!1* with her. A mere cut, which her shoe Irritates; if we can rcach a blacksmith in time, ho can Bhift the shoe and preserve the wound from painful pressure. We cannot be far from the village of Blackrock, where we sha 1 find help." Loveday's crimsoning cheek and compressed lips showed her deep annoyance at such an adventure; how heartily she reproached herself for tho ill-timed p:ebccupallon ol mind which had placed her in such an unwelcome situation! To bo separated from the general company was bad enough, even had her cavalier been an old and trusted friend, approved by her mother; but to bo c ast upon the courtesies of Richard Accrington for long hours?to exhibit h?rself before tho curious eyes of Blackrock with him for ole companion?wa9 a mortification she could not endure. "If we are near Blackrock, we are r.ot five miles from home," said she coldly, "and I would infinitely prefer walking tne wnoio way 10 luaKiiiy uuy >oup. nut since this mischance has befallen me in Coioncl Accrineton's comoanv. 1 am nre he will not refuse to give me all the asMstam e 1 may ask of him." Ac. rington bowed, murmuring his devotion. "Lend me your horse, then, and allow mo to hasten homo at unco and send him back with a servant, who will attend to my pot r Ahmed," said Loveday, with her innocent, eyes on Accringtun's Impenetrable face, upon which an expression of the utmost regret instantly appeared. "How can I disappoint you, Miss Dellamere!" exclaimed he; "yet 1 dare not risk.ynur life'up n this fierce brute, who o lurli? in l\iu l?f<? A UtlO liv; >tl van ?vu ? " - "?v. .tuv *lone! No. a?. that plan will i.ot do Ahmed-may be able to take you bOme, with a little care: come, let mc remounl you; we must at least get out of this desolate place." Lovcday mounted her own animal without another word; but Accrington observed, with chagrin, that she would barely allow him to touch her, springing from his hand to her saddle with the morost touch on his shoulder to uoisc herself, amf giving him a formal how ol acknowledgment. They resumed the way, Accrington walking by her marc's head, and his own line animal following with a docility which scarcely coincided with the character which his master had given him. In rapidly mounting impatience, Lovetfav watched the slow advance, while the iUil the minutes JN . VnTolio rtorml nnt nrcM th? no oa ucu, v ^ w ouv mu* v?. mw. ?pv ?^ r-vv, for now, Indeed, she detected the lameness of her mare, which eraduaily increased with every stop she took, until at last, when the spire of the long looked for village appeared in sight, she started and winced In agony whenevej the woun..ed hoof touched the ground. "I see that we must find relief for mj poor Ahmed," said Loveday. tremulously, for her favorite's suffering tried her sorely, and sho welcomed the chance now which had seemed so intolerable before; the tears stood in her eyes, and she scarcely realized her own disagreeable position, and was in no mood tc detect She artifices of her companion. They approached still nearer to th? village, and Accrington remounted hia own horse for appearance sake; roused by the diversion Loveday, for the first time, gazed round her in search of familiar objects in the scene. She had expected to see a rough little hamlet buiit under the shelter of a cliff; what she did see was a pretty village clustering about the banks of a wide flowinK river. She grew pale with astonishment? with rising anger. "ttionei Accrington, tms is not JiiacKro k, it is Silvcrstream!" she cried "Why. wc are twenty miles from homo!" Accrington uttered an exclamation ol deep remorse; the expression of his well utored features terrified her. "I've ruined her!" he muttered, butnol so low but that she heard the words ant? quailed. "Oh, Miss Dellamere!" he cried, flinginp himself again from his horse to seize her hands, reins and all, and "press them convulsively, "how can you ever forgive me for this fatal mistake? I must have been dreaming?bewitchcd, to forgot my path; I who thought that I knew every rod of land between Salford and Lynn! I was bewitched," he exclaimed, with a sudden change to mournful tenderness, while he fixed his strange compelling eyes on hers; "I was for onco happy?all that I prized of earth was at my side. I forgot that we two had fellow-creatures! My poor child, I would have died to spare you a moment's annoyance?I have been tho first to draw the world's suspicious eyes upon you!" "Colonel Accrington, what do you mean?" she demanded, haughtily, wresting ber hands from his grasp with a sudden fierce iepu!sion. "I dare not?dare nDt insult you with a clearer explanation," said he: "oh, that 1 had resisted the too welcome spell which your presence cast over me, which made hours to fly as minutes, and thrust every thought of consequences out of my mind! But now, now?what can I say lo this watching, sneering world? Who does not know that Richard Accrington loved Miss Dellamcre " "Colonel Accrington!" interrupted Lovcday with flashing eyes, and she would havo left him had he not sprung to catch her bridle with a burst of grief and deprecation. "Dear Miss Dellamcre, I entreat you to bo calm and to listen to me, for your own sake," he urged "I dare not let you go in your defenseless innocence straight into tho snare which slandei will spread for your overthrow. We must- take counsel; you must be saved at any coet " "You insult me: I will not. hear yourdisgraceful insinuations. Let me go at once," cried she, with indignation and incredulity, though a sickening apprehension lurked beneath, in spite of her le nance. "Heaven knows that I would rather affer you my life-blood than an insult," returned Aecrington. "It is a terrible necessity which I must perform, or else you will have cause to curse my cowardice your whole life long. Permit me. then, to speak. Am I not devoted to fou, heart and soul? Through my inadvertence I have placed you in a cruel position. Slander will say that our flight was premeditated; no one will :redit the simple truth. You will bo made a mark for every jeering impertinence " "Silence:" exclaimed Lovcday in burnmg humiliation; "how dare you apply such words to me? If I have been somewhat unfortunate in my adventures today, who shall presume to accuse me of Imrrudcnce?" "Alas, poor innocent!" groaned Accrington in a tone of poignant grief, "how shall I screen her? What reparation shall I offer her for the wrong 1 bave done her? You little know how evil are the thoughts of those who seem our friends. Miss Dellamere," resumed he, tenderly; "a simple impropriety like this of to day has often doomed the innocent to ths suspicion and scorn of BfM'ietV. " "Oh, you are cruel! you have no pity!" faltered Loveday, suddenly bursting Into an agony of tears, as her girlish sensibility at last succumbed to his repeated attacks and her fears , overwhelmed her; "if you had been worthy of ihe trust you asked of me I should cot have been in this false position now." "I deserve your reproaches," said Accrington, humbly; 'but not for venturing to show you the edge of the prccipice upon which you are standing. This I am obliged to do to prevent you from committing yourself to the destruction which awaits you. For there is prevention." He paused to allow her terrors to rack her into a mood for his purpose: she crushed back her agitation and endeavored to follow his meaning, her mute glance bidding him continue. Accrington once more took her reluctant hand in his, and fixed his fiery eyes upon hers; she could not escaoe him. *nd in spite of the fierce repulsion she felt toward him the imperious power of will subdued her razing spirit to listen passively to that which he now was I Ciiuj tu oojt "Miss Dellamere,'' began he, with soft, respectful tenderness, "this not the time to dcscant upon my love for you: you have long seen it, and the future will prove its sincerity, in this, your hour of need, my love gives me a light to say to you, 'Make me your protector and you are safe from every whisker.* Accept oio for your future husband, betroth yourself to me. and tho world has nothing left to say." For a few moments Lovcday remained speech ess, returning her lover's passionate gaze with a look of fear and amazement: it seemed to her that he had suddenly opened a door through which 6he could see into a dark country, Dlled with shailowy forms of horror. A host of vague suspicions beset her; it needed not tno passing memory of Auueron to make her shrink back from this man as if ho had been a serpent. "I do not ask your answer now." Accrington hastened to aMd, as lie saw tho stern refusal on her lips; "but think of what I have said; think of how much depends upon your decision; and, abovo all, realize the fact that I am your loyal friend, whatever may befall. And now i I Shan con-ducTAjou to a.pTace wnere you I may lake some rest while 1 attend to 1 your mare." Without giving her a chance to uttei a dissenting tvora he hurried her forJ ward to the pretty rustic vlla^e inn, | and the prospect of being relieved from his presence for even a short time went 1 far to reconcile her to the dreaded ne1 cessity of appearing before the public f in the company of Colonel Accrington. Content to leave the case thus for the i present, since, deprived of her horso, i eho wou'd be completely in his power, ho murmured a few last tender reassurances and they were before the "Silverstream, Arms," the cynosure of all tha admiring loungers about th:> inn court. Tho landlord advanced to reccivo hi& fiistingn'shed company, and Accrlngton , spoke loudly, for the benefit of the curious listeners: "Can this lady obtain a private room fnr n. chnrt. t.lmo whilA h?r nnnv's hurt I hoof is b.-ing examined? We have been i detained behind our party by the accident and wish to follow them as soon as possibla n The portly landlady instantly appeared k> take care of the young lady, and Ac' crington presented his hand to assist Loveday to dismount, but sho, coldly [ waving him a^ide, rode to the mount* lng block and alighted unassisted, vanishing with the woman with a formal bow to her escort When he turned from watching her departure, moodily, he wa9 just in time to see an ostlor in the act of extracting a sharp flint from tho un? lucky Ahmed's hoof. "If ye had cast Aalf a glance ye would havo seen it yourself, master," grinned the man. holding it up for inspection; "it's a wonder the poorbiute walked a step." Accrington impatiently hurried him off with the horses, casting a nervous look toward the open window near. Doubtless ho feared that MiS9 Dollamero would bo needlessly pained if she overheard the cause of her favorite^ sufferings. His whole object now was to spin out the time till it would be too late for Loveday to take the road for such a long journey that night. Ho had proposed her betrothal to him; he meant to propose an elopement now; he was ready ! for it. His whole day had been governed by that intention. Having sent in some tea to Miss Dellamcre and refreshed himself, he quietly locked the "stable door upon the two horses and walked away to perfect some arrangements. This business took him to the river bank, to a boat-house of which he possessed the key. Having unlocked this place, he launched a beautiful little skiff which lay within, rowed it along the stream until it came under the inn. and, concealing it under a clump of trees, he returned to request an interview with Miss Dellamere. He had delayea to the last minute he dared. He was now ready to prov9 to Loveday that her only safety lay in mar rying him at once. The landlord met him with a very puzzled face. "Your lady's been wanting to start off by herself, sir. Sho wasn't for waiting a minute after you went," said he. "Indeed?" muttered Accrington, scowling with mortification. "Weil, jou didn't let her go without me, I hore?" "Oh, no, sir. surely not, since you were to be right back again. I b'lieve you took the stable key with you anynow, didn't you, sir? Though of courso I didn't say so to her." "I like my horses to eat in peace," said the Colonel, coolly, handing back the key ajjd a guinea with it "You eave some accent excuse, I suppose, for noi fetching rotind her mare?" "Trust mo for that, sir; both horses was off to the blacksmith's getting their shoes looked to. Sho then wanted to hire a team with a driver, but I put her off till you would comr\ sir." "Very good: you have done right," said Accrington; but this continued resistance was unexpected and chafed him much. The honest landlord, supposing that he had stumbled upon a pretty lovers' quarrel, went on to narrate that the lady asked particularly after her horse'9 hurt, and was much pleased to hear that it was a mere pebble in the hoof and that the animal would be as fit for the road as over after a feed. "Worse and worse," thought Accrington; "this bungling fool has made her independent of me, if she has the couratrn in ehnlrn -mo r>ff; nfirhans She even suspects?pshaw! nothing venture nothing win!" Ho strode to her room and knocked; she instantly opened, but he did not walk in as he expected, for she held tbe door open a littla way and looked out with a white, rather fierce face. "I've come for yotir answer, dear," he said, gently; "let me in, won't you?" He smiled at hor, as if amused, but his heart was chilled. "No, you must not come In," said she, quickly. " "You must go away and let me get home by myself." "Oh, Lovcday!" he mournfully exclaimed. "Yes! yos! I must go homo to mamma?I will!" she burst out with fiery lraperiousness. "How could you bribe these people to detain me against my will?" "My poor child! you have chafed yourself into a fevor," murmured he, tenderly, "and are allowing miserable suspicions to enter your mind. You shail go home, my precious girl, this very moment; come, your sl.ghtest wish is law to me, even though it breaks my heart." Surprised at this complete submission ana ratner ui tuts ug?y auapicSona which had been torturing her. she came forth with downcast e3? and etood beside him. "Yon will kt me go quite by myself?* said she, slowly. "Assuredly, since It Is yonr wish." "And not even follow me at a distance, but stay here?" "I sna 1 not vex you by one sight of my hated face, my only love!" "It?it is not that I hate you," she faltered humbly, "but that I?oh, If only I had not come!" she burst out with a sob. "Hush! Appearances!" he whispered, earnestly: "the people here know nothine whatever, and think nothing." This assuranco went far toward calming the sensitive young creature, who liail been, as Accrington suspected, chafing herself into a fever of wild fancies, among them the thought that the Inn-people were in collusion with Accrington to detain her there. She had only one burning desire now, and that wa? to lice to her mother for protect on and concealment from the scol'iing, >neering world. Poor, frightened thing! she was in no condition to plan wisely, and was about to /nakc a journey of twenty miles along roads traversed liy all sorts of people, shaking otr the protecting presence of her one friend. She did not even asK for a servant to riue behind her, lest sho might, bo detained a few minutes longer. And when she thought sh>! had got Accrington's consent to her wild scheme, sho was grateful to him. Accritigton retired to order her horse; devoted friend! lie even examined the animal himself, and went over all her shoe* with his own pocket wrench?no doubt to test their security. Ahmed pranced as cayly up to the door as though sho had never known the anguish of a sharp-pointed stono treacherously wed?ed betwi-cn her shoe and her hoof, and innocent Loved ay caressed hor sole remaining friend and hope with delight. Vl'ou darling," sho whispered u> Ahmed's silken car; "you will not Tall aie in my need/wril you?" Miss Dellamere said "Good-byB to Colonel Accrington before all the inn-people and rode away alone. The Colonel ma: o no comment, bal sauntered down to the river bank. CHAPTER X!V. ONE SHALL TAUT CS JJOW!" A low sigh went through the Octobei wood us Lovcday rode along, leaving the last thatched roof of Silvcrstream fai behind her. The clouds had been gathering all day long, and now lowered threateningly over the quiet Si-ene, along which tho white road wound up bill and down dale, with the deep strong Silverstream running far beneath in the ravine. Relieved from the agitating presence of Accrington, she began to review hei situation more rationally; hope entered her voting breast. What If she could get home to mamma unseen by every one, and confiding the wholo dreadful affair to that faithful heart, be com forted. a:id hear no more of it? .But oh! but ob! thcro wero too many previous ingredients In the cup to be able to forget its bitter tang like that There was Auberon's enga.ement to Merrion Rae, if he was engaged; and Col. Accringtoa's strange, oppressive love for herself?no; there could be little comfort for poor Loveday, even if she was so blessed as to escape the busybo iies to-day. How dark it was growing! and ohl what sound was that? the mournful hoot of an owl in the far recesses of the forest. What if she were to meet some rough people, gypsies, or tramps, or sporting cads from the town, half drunk, and disorderly as usual? Loveday's eyes began to glance hither and thither 2 ? moa ?/) t.?ar>nn t i %m ati f An/) Vi Vl Aft HI MJill'f'U PJCOCHHUJCUU, QUU uui ncaiv V\J throb thickly, when a sound more terrible than any imaginary ones smote upon her horrified ear. It was the loose clink of her horse's shoe. The road was rough and flinty, her barb was tenderfooted as a lady; what was to be done il it came ott? And how cou d (his have happened, when mine host bad said thai both the horses were having their feet examined hy a blacksmith? She choked down her disffs steru'y, and slackening her pace, patiently ambled along, mile a'ter mile. Several people had passed her, but although everyone stared in astonishment at the elegantly appointed equesirienne plodding along without the usual apparition of a trim groom some twenty paces behind, nobody accosted her. And the wind roared, and the stormclo? 1 darkened, while the clink of the loosv/ shoe grew louder and looser. Suddenly she caught the gallop of a horse's hoofs coming behind her; she drew up to listen?yes. above the roar of the wind it came distinctly to her ears; and she knew that across a little ravine which she had been rounding, some man was riding furiously after her, and must be at her 6ide in less than five minutes. "He has followed me, then!" thought she, with a ereat plunge of the heart, and now for the fir.-t time awoke a wild, thrilling terror?terror of Col. Accrlngton. He had played her false and had followed her, oh why, why? She urged her horse forward, faster? fuctnr nf tho final r.latter and clang of the thrown sho2, and of hor fine animal's wincings and stumblings as the flints wounded her tender foot; she heard the far shout of her.pursuer, who had likely caught the sound of her galloping; and now she plied the whip on her horse's sensitive flank, for the first t'mo in fcer life forgetful of a living creature's pain, and Ahmed bounded ten feet at a spring, and then flew, ears laid back, ryes lamping and bulging, and white foam float ng from her red nostrils. Away! away! while the trees whirled by. and the road swam under them, and the fury of the race drained the life blood from Lovcday's lips and cheek, and her brain seemed bursting with excess of throbbing, and her fear rose to frenzy! And yet the pursuer was gaining on her every moment. Suddenly the road dipped Into a hollow where the river crossed their course^ with a bridgo thrown over it [to be continued.] Discovery ot Catsup. I The discovery of catsnp and how the odd-sounding name came to be ap- f plied to that common and important tablo'garuiture was, curiously enough, due to a blunder by a preserve maker many years ago when the canning industry was in its swaddling clothes. This statement was made by a veteran member of the Western Canners and Packers' Association. It is only another illustration how mistakes sometimes lead to important discoveries. In the East many years ago a well-known preserve maker, now dead, while boiling a huge cauldron full of tomatoes for preserves one day accidentally put the wrong spices and other ingredients into the boiling mass of vegetables. He did not discover his error until some time afterward, when, tasting the mixture to ascertain whether it had been boiled to the proper consistency, he saw that something was wrong. Tomato preserves never tasted like that. He smacked his lipa and puckered his mouth and made a very wry face as the bitter-sweet and now familiar pungent flavor cf the mixture made itself felt. "Well," said he, with a rueful ex pression on his face, speaking-to an attendant., "the cat's up," meaning by that slang term that the tomatoes had been spoiled. The whole mes3 "was about to be thrown out, but. fortunately for catsup-loving mankind, a happy thought suggested itself to the author of the trouble. The taste of the new mixture still lingered on his palate, and he had to confess that it was very pleasant. "I wonder how that will taste on a piece of roast meat," he remarked, and the suggestion was immediately acted upon, with the re3ult that the cauldronful of boiled tomatoes was cnrefully bottled, and it soon became i a popular table adjunct aud a source of great protit to the discover. The name "ketchings" was first lsed to designate the new condiment, and it is yet to be occasionally met with, but the proper name is ' catsup," from the augry expletive of the cook when he exclaime i ''.The cat'.s upon discovering what he had done. ?Chicago Times. Imitation Jewel Frames. "Time was" when imitation jewels wprn dpemed indescribably vnlsiar. At preseut. and for their present. uses, they sire as chic as possible. But nowadays they are employed for ornamentation in the way of picture frames and the like, not at all for wear as ornaments. The little frames encircling small photographs that are made of mock mbies. emerald?, or turquoises are things ot beauty and joy as long as they remain unbroken.-Chicago Times. I EASTER. r When Eiister comos the violets lift Their shyly hooded faces. "Where late the frozen snows adrift Heaped high the woodland spaces. Whmi Easter eomes the sunbeams dancs On green leaves all nquiver. And grasses rally, spear and la nee, Ev rippling brook and river. Wien Easter eomes the lilies ha-te What lime the bells are ringing. To tiring their perfumes, pure ami chaste Prom hallowed censers swinging. Shine dim church aisles on Easter day Beneath their serried whiteness. And happy children kneel and pray Amid the lilied brightness. When Easter comes, a merry train, The robin, wren, and starling. With song and wing are here again, Ami] many another darling. The bluebird and the oriole. The martin and the swallow. "Away." they chant, "with grief and dole, Hero's spring, and simmer '11 follow!"' When Euoter comas, when Easter comes, Then winter's spell is over! Erelong we'll hear the elfln drums Where Itees are deep in clover. After we catch the swaying lilt Of winds among the daisies, And see the roseoups' sweetness spilt Among the garden muxes. WheD Easter comes, ah! happy day, EVii tenre like dewdrops glisten. x And .songs climb up the heavenward way While angels bend to listen. For lovo and life and joy untold Are iu the age-long story That spells itself on harps of gold, And thrills with endless glory. ?Mrs. finngsler. in Harper's Young People. AN EASTER ROMANCE. BT ALICE CHASEMORE. PHEN Aunt Hetty was only twentysix I came to live with her. There was only a difference of two years jetween us. but //(m.' troana somehow she al ways seemed mid?Aj'&.iT (^e"flged to mo, 8}je was qUiet an(j serious and so different from my restless, excitable self. She was so sad at times that I could not help wondering if some time in her life she had not experienced some selious sorrow, for che had means and friends enough to make life worth living, and should have been happy. One day I found her weeping quietly with a little book in her hand. I endeavored to calm her, to find out the reason for her sorrow, and then t she told me this story: "It happened when I was only eightj, een. I was engaged to be married. My lover was four year6 older than myself; he was a mate of K ."'hip, and a fine, dashing young fellow named | Edward Blake. We had been engaged six months and were to be married a month later. The day was fixed, and Edward had arranged to give up the ! sea and take a situation on land. We were as happy as two young people could possiblv be: but, unluckily, just a month before the time fixed lor our wedding day, a picnic was gotten lap by some of our friends, and Edward and I were of the party. There was a handsome young fellow there named Percy Sands, the son of a neighboring clergyman. He was fresh from college, and full of fun and frolic. I chanced to be placed next to him at luncheon, and not knowing, as I afterward discovered, that I was engaged, he was specially attentive to me. I did not care for his attentions in the least, but I was in high spirits and only bent on the enjoyment of the moment, and I did not check him as, perhaps, I ought to have done. Presently I caught sight of Edward's face, and saw that he was looking terribly cross and angry. Foolishly, I thought it rather good fun to make him jealous, and on purpose to tease him, I pretended to take all the more notice of Mr. Sands. When we finished luncneon the party scattered and strolled about the woods in various directions. I naturally expected Edward to accompanv me, but he rather rudely, as I thought, held aloof, and to punish him, I paired oil with Mr. Sands. When the party got together again Edward looked so strange that I thought it better not to provoke him any further. "I 6hook off Mr. Sands, and. walking away with Edward, began to Scold him for his unreasonable jealously. Of course I did not think I myself was in fault; nobody ever doea A loving word would have made me penitent Jiroctly. Unfortunately he was white with anger, and began to reproach me in a way that roused my temper, too, for I was quick enough to take offence in those days, Ruth, though I have learned better since. I can remember, as if it were yesterday, the nook in the woods where we stood, the sunshine glinting through the trees and lighting up Edward's flushed face and angry eyes. He reproached me bitterly?more bitterly, I think, than I deserved. He called m* a heartless coquette, and I called him little-mindod and told him he had made himself ridiculous by his unreasonable jealousy. We got hotter and hotter, and finally he declared that if I did not admit that I had been wrong, and promise to behave differently for the future, all must be over between us. I did not care a straw for Mr. Sands, and would fifty times sooner have had Edward with me, but I would have died sooner than have told him so then. So I gave him a bitter auswer, and we both grew angrier still. His last, words, uttered with all the intensity of passion, ring still in my oare. T can tell you them word for word : 'Hetty, if you let me go now, understand clearly, you will never sec ir.y I'acc again.' I did not quite believe him. Perhaps if I had I should K til I have let bim go. At any rate, I was far too angry to give way then. 'Go, by all means, if you wish it,' I said, and in another moment bo was gone. I had been tearing io pieces in my passion a little spray of hawthorne ho had given mo earlier in the day. I had pulled off the leaves one by one, and when he left me the bare stem was left iu my hand, with one leaf only remaining. See, here it is, the last relic of my first and last love. God grant that in your whole life, my Rath. you mav never weep ;,\1 ' such. tears as I have "wept over that one faded leaf.*" She opened the little red prayer book in her Jap and showed me, hidden in a tissue paper pocket, the yellow hawthorno leaf. "This little book,'' she said, "was Edward's gift to me, and this old dry leaf is my only relic of the day wllen wc parted in the woods, never to meet again in this world. Stay. I have one more treasure." : She drew from her bosom a quaint old locket and put it in my hand. It wasa miniature painting, representing a young man in an old-fashioned naval costume. It was a handsome face, but stern and proud-looking, and I could very well beliove that the orig inai would have behaved as Aunt Hetty described. "But did yon really pnrt like that, auntie?" I said. "Did you never 6oen him again ?" "Never. He did not go back to the picnic party, but joined an outwardbound ship the next day, leaving a brief note for my mother, stating that we had fortunately found out in time that we were uusuited to each other, and had, therefore, by mutual consent, put an end to our engagement." "But that was very craei, auntie." "I thought so then. Perhaps it was a little; but afterward I blamed myself far more than .him. I had given the provocation; and I knew in my J||y AN EASTE heart of hearts that one word of regret on my part would havo made all right between us. But I was too proud to say it. I let him go with my ejes opened, and I have been justly punished." "But have you never heard from him since, dear auntie?" "Once or twice, but only indirectly. He had no relatives in our part of the country. I know that he gave up the sea and obtained a commission in some Indian regiment. When last I heard of him he was a captain; but ' AUrtl wknnvp wAava n r?r> on/1 T /I A I/U'at JO JLuaujr j cai o a^v< uuvi a. uv uw know whether he is alive or dead. So ; ends my poor little romance. There ; is one thing I should like to ask, . Ruth, and that is partly why I have ' told you my story. You have seen 1 my relics. They have been my greatest treasure in life, and I should like them put in my coffin when I die. Will you remember this, dear?" I coulJ not answer for tears, but I ] kissed her hand and she was content. f Two months ago, tired of our hum- ] drum country life, auntie and 1 resolved to visit foreign parts. Accordingly, we went to Boulogne and took } up our abode in a quiet boarding f houce in the Rue des Vieillards. There ] were a good many visitors staying in ^ the house, but they were mostly in .. families or parties, and we did not ( mingle with them. Our vis-a-vis at ( table was a tall gentleman of soldierly j appearance, who was always spoken of c as the major. When he ventured to j address an order to the waiting maids ^ in French, the difficulties ho got into t were dreadful, and be always ended ^ by getting angry with himself and t them. l ventured to neip mm out 01 a difficulty once or twice, and in this . manner a Blight acquaintance sprung f up between ue. It bad, however, gone ^ no farther than a friendly nod or a ? remark across the dinner table. With ^ other visitors ho fraternized even less. ^ So matters stood until the night of r Easter Sunday came, when we went e to the little Engliiih church in an ad- i joining street. We were ushered into t one of the pews appropriated for a strangers, and a minute or two later o the major was shown into the same V pew and sat down beside us. During f the service the major, by auaccidental ? movement of his arm, threw down auntie's little red prayer book. He t picked it up, and was about to replace i; it, but as he held it iu full view under tho gas, ho started as though he had j ? cf TTr> laid flu* book down. e but he glanced from it to Aunt Hetty, 0 us if trying to satisfy himself on some t point. The sermon came to an end, fc and (he benediction followed, but I y fear the major had no part in it. He f took advantage of the moment when t nil heads were bowed to do a very unmannerly thing. He slyly put up his eyeglasses and rend the name inside auutie's book. It was quickly done, { ami might have escaped notice, but I c watched him closely. I could even read the name myself. It was in n bold, manly hand: "To Hester; June 0 US. 18?'' I was aghast at such an act of impertinence, and glanced at auntie to see if she would resent it: c bat she-had * probably not noticed it, J for she made no sign. , * The congregation began to diapers?, and we went out, but we were scarcely* in the street when the major spoke to1 auntie: "Madam, I am going to ask you aj* TTo?Tr oinmilov nnoof tnn hnt. let. mA AH-: sure you that I have a deep personal . interest in asking it. Will yon tell > me how yon came by that red prayer book you use?', _ I shall never forget auntie's quicklygiven answer, "but I could tell by the . faint flush on her usually pale face how deeply she was moved. "You gave it to me yourself, Major 'Jg Blake, eight years ago." Surprise, delight and incredulity struggled for the mastery in the m*-; J jor's face. He took off his hat andi ' stood bare-headed, and that one littlei gesture told more plainly than the, \fM most passionate protestations could; , . | have done, that the old love had been kept a treasured and a sacred thing. I think from the smile on her mouth: & as she looked at him, that the same thought cdme to auntie. "And you are Hetty! Yes, I know ''>^1 you now," he said. . V ? j "iou nao iorgoiien me eignt yeare, Major Blake. I knew you from the! ; . first." "And would yon really have let ma $ go without a word?" "Why not? How could I krjow yon R vision, would wish to be reminded of old times?" "Reminded! I have never forgotten. I tried mv hardest to forget and , vxi couldn't. Although you preferrel an- > S other?" "Another! What other?" "Didn't you marry young Sands?" "Ihave never seen him since." At this stage of the conversation it " struck me that I was de tiop. Major BJake, side by side with auntie," was walking slowly homeward, and on reaching a convenient street corner, I went off for a stroll in an opposite direction. When I reached home I found auntie and the Major sitting in the courtyard under the tree?. The Major lifted his hat at my approach md said: "Miss Danvers, your aunt and I . ivere very old friends; indeed, many " rp years ago we were engaged to be married, but an unfortunate misunderstanding separated us. We have lost many happy years, but I hope some still remain to us. I trust we shall t y-t $$ save your good wishes?" I looked from one to the other. 4 -T J 12 "IOU (itur, uiunug auuuc, iuou j>uu really are going to be married after ill? Of course I wish you joy, and \Iajor Blake, too, from the very bot;om of my heart!" I don't know how the secret oozed v' )ut, but before another day had passed svery one in the house knew that the landsome English major had met an >ld love in the person of the gentle V;r2? ittle lady with the sweet smile, and hat after a separation of eight years hey were engaged to be married, and hey were accordingly promoted to all he privileges of engaged lovers. I must pass over the homeward' ,r ^ ourney and the astonishment of onr riends at Fairfield wheu auntie reurned engaged to be married. Some ew of them had known Major Blake J >ut to most of them he was a stranger. ilauy were the questions and expla- V ' tations before everything was accountid for to everybody's satisfaction; bnt -1 a. l~~i. A _ J I was UOUt! Ul J US I. AUU IUCU UUllit? & he preparation of the trousseau; ami t last the happy pair have been made >11 e, and auntie is off to the Isle of Vight to spend her honeymoon. Beore gDing she called me to her room ml said: "Ruth, dear, I am going to give you bis little red prayer book as a partugremembrance. You know howl iave treasured it, and you won't value t the less, J am sure, tor having been o dear to me. And if, when the right ne comes. Ruth, you are tempted to ie wilful or wayward, or to pain a (\. leart that loves you truly, think of ' .' * our Aunt Hetty und the faded leaf, ? ?1__ _ J. or iioi every misuse 111 mo eaus nine did on Easter Day." That taster Bonnet. ^ Wife?"My milliner was here to-day V o see you, and I told her you were ^ iut."' Husband?"What did she say?" Wife?"She said that when she had een you you would be out still more."' A New York restaurant gives ft icrarette tree with everv order.