CHAPTER XVII. A LETTER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 214, 3 April 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XVII. A LETTER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

The Vicar war rather confirmed' in thin idea the next morninir, for 1 -a* he wa* standing afctbe ( JrtaMedoor*nspeotinl|r pM Jamet fubbitte down" h!# ( ho*<Volis of the' groom* from tße Tiallrodte^nto the and produced;* pot*, ' i" " »,•' ♦ It tW from my aaughtetf .M^ted the Vioar. i ' , '>, „'i ; ; . ' No, : air.' answered - the man, touching hu bat! >*< it'll' for the young lady ben — Sir Hugh gave it to me V And the Vioar, taking it in hi* band with «>m? cariosity, mhW it was dddrested in hi« nephettfa handwriting to ftlfitt Wfl|iams. ' Giv? it to one of the maids,*" ha "raid, 1 oarelestly, banding it "back, and then thrusting hit hanjls into hi« pocket* he strolled out of thfiLjUJble^tanL. ! r - v He felt any thing hut pleased at he did to. In ipke of his ownTftitlike.xtor>Kxr Hutfh,; and bin oon«taiifr-«qsMbbles-with hu daughter, he;,wa<« yet by no meaM without both pride, and- ambition on ber account, and somehow he had frequently thought of and ttpeoulated on her .mar- i riage with her coutin. „ There were, many, things, of course, to lead htm to thw "opposition— th«ir b>nsr intimacy i and early (.affection, .-and Adelaide's , uudisgAiwedu preference, al| tended ; to the. idea, and therefore he felt tome indignation -on finding k tb»»t - bit governew was oarrvinir ,on any, tort of,, correspondence , . with the man . he -ihadj perhaps half-uncon*oipu4T, fi*ed op forj hiit ton-io-law. So , strongly • did tbif incident affect him, tb«t duringrthe, aftes* noon ht informed hit *ifeihatheintended to walk up to the hall. ' For it it high .time thty were, all horn» again,' he added. ' I don't care for them intruding on Huith a moment longer {than; it neceiHary, and any danger of infection must 'now; be over.' 'It'it only three weekri, Arthur,' taid. Mro Manner*, n^rvou*. • There's no fear -I asked, Euthyen tbjt morning. My dear, do not begin crying again ; I know nothing ho tiresome.' ,. ' 1 was thinking uf oar darling,' wept poor Mr* Manners. ' Hutb, both !— nonsent* ! Don't. h& ut have any more sickness Or «sene», fori iroodnera' sake, ■ for some time. .You ye wra Mist WiUinnw, I tuppose, thit morn* ing— how is the ?' * < • Very mwh thaken and altered* lam beginning '- to be uneasy ..about her,, Arthur — and. you : frightened me last niurht, too—she looks so worn and anxious.' ' What the deuce did you ever get a pretty poTerneHs for, Nelly?' sad ithe Vioar impatiently. ' She's brought nothing but rows into the house since ebe came, I think.' ' Adelaide is no foolish about her.' , 'Perhap* she hat some reason,' an' awered the Vioar, significantly ; and then he vet out on his walk to the hall. , He found. Adelaide and the children alone. ' Hugh was out riding,' Misn Manners explained ; aiid after a'ftw minutes' conversation the Vicar said — • Now!, my dears, I want po talk.to tour Miter;' and thus dismissed- the' three younger ones. **■ ' I think,' began the Vicar, as toon' as they were alone, ' that it i* quite time you were thinking of coming home.' ' ' 'Bui the, infection'! Oh Pit it' too toon— <a m6nth ,wbuld be too soon!' I really Bare not cokne yet, and Hugh iky*; W« are quite weloojoe to say as longrjai we.'. like— indeed, be likejii, ut Jo he hete.' , „ 'Hug)) Js ivery. police,. I'm s.jire,',{tai.4,i theVilsar; ' but for til that;. L think you t have bjeen here long enough; . , Don't *tij>; too long any where,« Adelaide. - . A man oaa't well turn yott'/out of hit house, yourf know.! ' ■*•'' "' - 1 " ■ r 'Hugh has newish.* ' ' '"' ' 4 Veiry ftkeiy not\ but'tokfc'tny advicejf' and leave him he't tired of you.' . t Ade aide, sighed. ' I don't much like taying what I am going $o say,' continued the Vicar half nervoU«ly,- ' but, Adelaide, it there any-; j thing between you' and your ooutin ?— I mean jlove- making — you know what I mean, I suppose,' my dear ?' ' ' • Papt r 'I wouldn't ask you if I hadn^' a , reason. I don't interfere, at you^know, much with your affairs, or fmy one flaw's for that matter ; But if Hugh it anything to you, I would advite. you to look • little tharper after him, tbat't all.' < " 'What do you mean, p*pa?' and= AdeUitfr turned pale. 'I moan he carriet on some sort of correspondence, at any rate, wiiH Mist WUliamt,' •Itctnnot be!' tt,ld Adelaide, much; agitated — 'it cannot be, papa; tell me n bat maket you think to— tell me, for Heaven > take !' . '.Simply/ he tent a groom down this mornipg with a letter for *er,' - ' ' •It thY true— lt tbit possibly true f taid Adelaide, rising Itnd pacing th[« .room ia a perfect ttorm of tndigntut tnge^ •And you don't turn her out.o^ 1 thW houto, paDa-rybu don't turn her , into the ttretW -vile woman that the must U !' 'That U too strong language, Adi* laHe.'i i 1 What is too ttroni; for a creature iik« that?-r>A creature who first entangles .George, and then throws him over, and tries for Hugh ! Papa, turely, surely you will listen to me. Let George find hef gone when he comes back— pay her'herwaget. and send ber away at onca-nto*i day. !• »h, papa ! don't refuse me that.' .• ' Don't make a foot of yourself, 'Ade* laide/ taid the Vicar, toettishly; 'yon' forget that this ypnng lady, 'or whativar the. it. nursed your poor little sitter, and y4ur mother, when you did not. And by Jove, I'm not going to turn h«r ou,t, without a roof to ber head, after that, to pleate you or any one else.' 'It't what I expected,' said Aelaide. bitterly. ' What am ito a ttranger f ' ' It't your own doing ; but fm not unreasonable. I don't wonder at you not liking to have her at home— and I don't see that there is anything to prevent us sending her away directly — I mean giving her proper notice, and time to find another situation,' and that sort of thing;.,, 1 She will not have to go far for fritnds, it seems;' sneered Adelaide. . : ' •If you talk and act like a fool,' I'm done with you; I came to you as a friend, I give, you irty advice ; and as far as I can I will artist you. fi UttWk J*? not the tense to pee tha^ trea?xrig V,r as you would treat her'is the mps,t likely way to send Hugh to ber arms/ < 'There it nothing, beiw#sn. ;' nothing, .but folly,' replied Aneiaids; do|gedlyi *He'soft«p told ms ht though^ tU mUw 16ve wJwGiotgt. 1 '" , ' „i

' There's >uch a thing as throwing dust in one's neighbour's eyes, Adelaide ?' ' Pupa, you are odious.' 'Very well, my dear,' said the Vicar, shrugging his shoulders. ' I've done my duty.; I've warned you, and you enn, of course, now act as you please. About the children, however, I shall decide This is Saturday, and on Tuesday afternoon I shall send for them ; and, in the meantime, will write to Hugh to thank him for his hospitality, and inform him that I wish them to leave. And now I am going to have a chat with them, so I wish yon goort day.' Saying which the Vicar took up his hat, mid left Iho room ; leaving 1 his eldest daughter furiously jealous, and indignant, yet scarcely knowiog how to net in her anger. Au hour later, just before she was going upstaira to < dress for dinner, fa circumstance occurred which decided her. She was sitting in the library, waiting with a kind of feverish impatience 'for her cousin's return ; scarcely knowing how she wonlftrecewfl him, or what she .w.oulfl pay to him ; dottbbful whether she should jreprOftch hnn,<yet conscious that she had 'to real grounds foe her jealousy to reit on. Sir Hugh indeed had never,' during hir4ontf'irit'int*cy; and 1 intercourse!: with hur, gone beyond mere gallantry, or consinlV anfectionv While she was'sittiug Impatiently thus," thVdoor opened,' and* servant looked mr: ■'-"=-- - v_ -- ~ . ',''l bW vpuv, pardon^ miss,'. said t,n p. man, h&lf r&reatinfcrbilt iVttd not know 1 any one was here, and I wa^jnst goiug to leave this on the table for Sir- Hugh. It's a- letter from the Vicarage.' „ f You can lay it down ; 1 expect him every minute, answered .Adelaide, be- ' ginning to tremble violently, for in a moment, ahe, guessed"' who it would be from, j . ' She ouly waited until, the servant had (leftjtho room; and then rose and took up her cousin's letter.- She had no need to loojc at it twice. She.knew. the fine cleir hapdw -itttlg of its address, by sight, and , saw at once it was from Miss Williams, and a strong and violent temptation . rushqd into her mind as, she saw it. Why should -she not now solve this mystery ? AVhy snouldsbe not leara the tie which hound] Hugh Manners to this woman? i for Gfeorge't sake, whispered' a lying spirit-rfor Hugh's — and she yielded, and ■lipping the letter into her dress pocket, ran.hu rifedly upstair,*'. ' + " It w, m not Sealed, ' and a small kettle with h >t watei- in i,t was standing on the' ;jrid« (Id-fashioned hearth in her bedroom. < She ptntated a moment.' She had boen . born ajlady^ and something teemed even, then to' restrain ben eager trembling baiidf. Bat the refinements of birth and •dnoaton were powerless against the .fierce i ltttncta of jealousy and passion, *nd th i 'nekt she had pot the kettle on fire, and w,a« holding her cqwn 1 i letter to the steam. H^er lac* flashed painfully, with shame it might be, as the envelope opened, and when with her shaking hands she drew out it# enclosure. This contained not many jworda, but these to her seemed written in fire—teemed to scorch her brain M the fcead them— and with a sort of cry •he flimg; the note* passionately on the floor; looking down 7 at it there at the clear, finery written', words, ' with the fiercest indignation, depicted on her fnoe. . ,'1 dould not. come this morning,' she said, • though I wish to see yon. so much, for j. was very, ill, yesterday really very ill; and to-morrow (Sunday), as yon suppose, G.M. will probably be at home, and «f course I wish him to know nothing of thi«. I will trust to your honour that it in so, and I am sure when you know all you will not deceive me. Will you, therefore, come on Monday afternoon about four o'clock, and meet me on the sand-, just beneath the links, nnd near the end ot the first opening across them ? .!• ' 'Yours, .- - - -'A.W,' I Saturday. The .first dinuer-bell rang before Adelaide Jilanners picked np this note, which nhe considered as most convincing- evidence of her cousin 'a guilt. That he— he whom she had meant to marry — whom at least she truly iovod— should" hus deceive her — «hould lie to, her,— pretend it wag George. On ! ifc n wi* , \ er v '< bitter—bitterer ;han,, git]). ;f; f and Adelaide scarcely thought, of hev i aNvn ; opnduct in ]f opening St"f Hi: s^'Sjlejttfr, under ',tpe ove^'oye^ ; &firitilluß«pe J ofiihiBcmel«diB6orery. i , ( At a^t slowly, and^a^.jjr almost she pioke ( d i /u j p*' thq'notj3 t) an| raBtored]it,tp fy envelope, and # q; j^ ( , tened it d.ow ( u : 'and^hen with k < purnun^ dMoended to cbe ybrary,, without 4»ajv.in^ , artempted, fy cjianee } her l^es i j ( qr ronkqj the - B|igf»teft app'e^" attce: j „ . „..,,,,, ,f , - , , '• •Oh L you ,bppw. then ? y ,ja\& ,l?oll^ to her ns 'she n e]itered, a^tei' glancing satirically for a 'moment at ncr plain morning dress;! for. Ad Ia,UB, r y9ua\ly, sinee n they hadrWon at jtn,a, Qvlti bi'4' ""}de, a, yerj^ ehtborato^oilet former. CQuain'fj benefit. • r WhHtdo I,t[upv f* sti'o ( anf}wered. ••Thß^H'/gh i^,cdnuusr to 'dinner.' - •Jf o, w^JjoljT you r ( asked .Adelaide, 'H< 'a raeapa^— won't,, bp back till latje. He has met with a friend.' ' 'vein ' I I thought youjjnew, a^ you, hadn t djrewed.'t adcled^'likollji impectinpi^yT . But Aaelajde^mad^j ll^.! 0 ? answer t ,j«itti,i,UK f down :o djnjaer ,w,^i) a »prt moan, aud •oaroe y tjoac^in^, 9jr attgmmng.ta^ouo^, ( the de licao^w^oh Sir.Jfe^.hn^d^ily trititi \ty, ajt w^enij tyn : three fine to laugh over her e^rriordi^ presei timfr&^&tymmiui , a . 1 <«' Wi WMW ix& l i\ ii^jnorniui^th^Ajrs^. jaa,nnerfl,h^q ( 'Ssi ! UroSj il ' y Fa t '"'S George, T implore you for the to «oo bj Iffjimy W,,tpe, atorewvOD, ,tram jwfbioh anma.af Jj^fbrojqyjlf.in^^on }»boub foui't < ndjt (( ihall me^ty^u' there! for! liar© madjftja,disoo.v4ry so ihf^nnnl^o. n« 1 both*, 1 h*t-jit u w .nghjt you ahopld be convinced j^f^ypiffi own eyes of thf tjreaohert ofia pewon-T-jnf two persona,, m^one of Cfom* «t fuiy ooi»t,,ftnd, ;^o PjOt refuse your only aUter'i .earned request. , „ .'A. M^N|fßS.' t After Adelaide h*d written and addr«*sed this letter, she immedU^ly despatched it by trainj* to Qeprjure at Oldcastle. , Having arranged th,jB*matter qhe then sat down and copied Miss Williams' note to Sir Hugh, without, however, reopeninir it, ao deeply was eaoh word imprinted on her memory. She then waited until the children had retired for the night, and quietly returned to the library, and replaced the original letter on tv» table where the servant had left it, and ' having done this sat there expecting her cousin's return, with the fiercest emotions struggling, in her breast., She, however, waited in vain. Sir Hugh had^ot comeback, when, the oW clock in the Hill struck one; anl ashamed to Bit up any?,lon?er Adelaide at last ,left the room, ana went f upstairs to her feverish rest.' A night's "reflection, never^heW, and the knowledge, peri/ips, 'that St Hiflfb 'might ju#lyli-k lur what right, she had' to interfere' in hix private affair, wl^ o|ien bi» ldttors, bad eorho'wbat^irvM M

ngnin met hoy cousin, changed and influenced her conduct. She did not — iudeed ~he oould not.— meet him with the ooidirtlity of old; bur. Sir Hugh allowed her chang" of m.innr'i, apparently and really, to pjis-i unnoli< i'd, tor he appealed at lunche n dopre^ed and out <>f t*pirit-« and scarcely answered, even when ad-di\H-id by his favourite little Milly. 1 Has George gone, or nther uoine down again} 1 ' was the only qu^tion he a«tked, adding presently — ' By-tho-bye, wliat a deuced bore ! I've forgotten to send the books down to Miss Williamn that ehe wanted. I've lo.»t tho list too, I deol iro,' he said, putting hi-* han.ls carelessly into hi.s poeketn, as if seeking for something ; and Adelaide tat and looked at him as ho spoke, biting her red lips, •and doH isin*r herself because she did not, could not, hata her cousin. Oh ! whit a long, dull Sunday that was — a long, dull, dreary day ! Other girls have loved and been unhappy— but most of other girls, it is to be hoped, have, been able to console themselves with—' He that I love at least is worthy ;' ,or it may be- '£ have loved him, at least' .worthily, unselfishly.' But .Adelaide Manners could do neither. She knew. that Sir Hugh. was a bad man— had" known it for ye,ars; iWd,.' she knpw also thai; for her own. *ake, not) ,for,hisj she planned ajid schemed bfr his; wife.. Xc^i^'P loved jiim'— had learnt to love him with a paa-ion;ito nnd fierce temotion. which' seemed so!i.etune> cd her to be almost akin to hate. Aud us silent and indignant she pat that evening, shaded by the h"avy window cuituns, and watched hjs handsomo face, on which the firelight flickered, she was asking heraelf with exceeding scorn, if it were the straight white features "lone whioh had wois her heart — vtjhich had. d^atrojgd her peace — 'for what Jhaa he else.?' she "iiid, almost aloud — 'ior what has he else? 1 -"' ' " • Adelaidp, do you evor wish you word dead ?' said Sir Hugh to her from his easy-chair ; by the fire, aftor not having addressed a Vingle word to her for at leant i an hour. • Yes — or that I never had been born,' she answered, in the 'bitterness of her heart. . i i i ' But why ? Come here and be a little more sociable. What the douce- can make a girl like you wish you *eredeadf i What can make you ?* ■ ' • A confounded feeling here that won't let me* rest,' answered Sir Hugh,' in a manner and voice so unlike his own onrele«* one, that Adelaide half started as he spoke. ' I What' sort of feeling P' «he a*ked: ' A gnawing, cursed shame of one's self,' said Sir Hugh, with Mirage energy. 'By Jove, what . a grand thing is human nature! Does anyone trust in you, uhild ? Is any oue true to you ? Then you'll deceive ' them — you'll break their hearts But you and I aren't such fools, Adelaide — we are not fond, loving fools, are we, my dear ? We love ourselves too ' much for that — that is not our sort, in it ?' i ' What are you talking of, Hugh ?' said Adelaide sternly. ' What folly are you talking?' 1 ' I was' epeculating on the folly of some natures, iDo you know, Adelaide, I'm beginning to believe that some women actually do love men. for themselves' 4 And what did you .think before may I isle?' i ' ' ' Come, don't you - pretend you want teaching on such >points. You know pretty wgll by this 'time how a fellow's purse, ov name, or position affects your fair damsels when you bestow your affections. There aren't f»uch things as priceless gifts of love, or faith, or tenderness to be had now-a-days in the world, and you know that very well, Miss Adelaide.' I 1 thought you t>aid,' retorted Ader laide, scornfully, ' that you were beginning to believe in — what was it ? — in women loving men for themselves F' '• ' Not in the world,' answered Sir Hugh, burning away his .head. • Do you mean out of it then, pray ?' c I mean not in our world.' • May I ask what world you have found it in then!" llt is folly such talk. You do not under stand me or of what I am thinking.' 4 Perhaps better than you think, Hugh,* mswered Adelaide, significantly; and then after struggling for a moment with her pride .she came towards her oouxin rod stood beside her ohair. '.Hugh, '.she aaid in a trembling and broken .voice, 'we are old friends— at least old; companions— my t poor »unt ' Then' she., stopped, for her voice .failed her. '- ■ : .-i< •What is. it,, Adelaide,? said Sir Hugh, kindly, ' What is matter tfith you, fihild ?' and he took hold of her band. ' Obi! p*us» Hugh;' continued Adelaide with much emotion, ,' pause, before* you are ,mad— before yoji let a brief , love passion, whatever it is— destroy your, whololife.' . • . • 'Of, what are you talking-, Adelaide?' said Sir Hugh very gravely. % What do you know ?' ' I know she has deceived and trifled with poor George ; I know he .loves her, and that now she is ready to deceive and entangle you.'. Sir Hugh gave » little laugh as Adelaide ended. , * "Don't j'ou take 6uoh folly into your head, child,' -he «aid-, 'So it* little MUs Williams you're thinking of, is it ? Wake yqurtelf eat^y, Adelaide as I've told you ' before. Sho won't marry George, arid by Jove, I oan promise you one thing, ahe won't marry me !' • . , " ' I cannot trust -you,' said Adelaide, bitterly ;, and pulling her hand from her cousin's, she loft him without another word.' j, i 'Sir Hugh sat almost without moving his attitude for nearly an hour after she was^'one., Sat with his face leaning on his hand, and with remors?, affection, and same, new and ■trapgely awakened feelings struggling ;for mastery in his cold and world* worn heart ' Poor girl !' he said — 'poor, poor lov ing little girl !' But, he was not thinking 'of Adelaide Manners., nor yet of the fair delicate woman whoap, letter to him had caused ,her aijch .passionate anger, He was thinking of 'Pretty Peggy,' the beautiful fiaher-girl, who loved him, and •\vhota hjjud devoted affection had touched some Ipng forgotten tenderness, which yet against bis will, had lingered, ia his breast. k •What cowards we arc— what vile cowardf 1' he thought ; ' for I'll stab this Jittle one who loves me, will I ? for the sake of the.sneeringt mocking world, to whom my life here or hereafter will scarce afford a jest* or my deatjh ft si«h. My God 1 if what George Manners calls the awful truths of eternity are real, how the great Master up there must laugh at us weak children of time.' The l)all clock struck ten, and Sir Hugh roused himself from his roverie, and looking at his watch, rose and went to the window. It was a wild aud stormy night, with a half moon struggling overhead among masses of heavy, drifting clpuds, and casting just then its fitful rays on the trees and shrubs around th< Hill. •When I am gone,' said Sir Hugh, bitterly, to himself, ' this will be all the same. ' My children, or George's, will stand here -and I shall be 'Old Sit Hugh'— or, 'that young scamp Sir Hugh, who died young,* on their, tongues. I shall be nothing ; yet for them— and such as them— l am going to break poor Peggy's heart.' And with a sort of laugh he turned and left the room, and wrapping himself in his military cloak in the hall; and slouching a cap <k*i* bis face, he opened the hall door, aud we&t out mto tha night

Ho crossed the country by the shortes way, and went down upon the sands keeping close under the shelter of tin links, an'l there — sitting ' 'mid the wast mil lumber of the shore,' was the younj yirl he had come to meet, and who, as In appioaohe.l her, ro-=e and held out to hm her shapely brown h uul. 1 Well, Pepgy, it's a wild night, child, said Sir Hugh. ' Ay,' answered the girl, in a voice ol much pathetic sweetness, and looking ai him with her dark and earnest eyea. 'What does 'ay' mean?' said Sii Hugh, laying his hand lightly on hei .shoulder and smiling. ' What does little ignoramus me.in by ay ?' 'I wish I wasn't ignorant,' sh( answered, wistfully. 'I wish— l wish ' Well, what Peggy ?' •I was like you, Hugh — like you,' and she looked up into his face as she spoke with such tender, trustful love, that Sir Hugh dropped his eyes beneath hers with a sigh, • Don't wish that Peggy— don't wish to be a sinner 'like me,' he said. I No> no, you're not. You ' a sinner— ' you, who are so handsome,- and so kind.' 'You area, little flatterer,' , , „ ' Nd, Hifgh.' * ' - J - *r^' '%-■'- • ; ,„,' By' Jove, I believe yoir" don't think so j but atlaill events, Peggy7'yon/re-a~little fool.' i - ' ' Yei— perhaps besides you,' 'Idjon't mean, that, child, I mean for lovingme.' ' Ho\v caa I help it, Hugh? Who is there like you— and— and you know,' she added .softly ami caressingly, 'you loved me a little first.' ' I I6ve you now, Peggy ; believe that ,at> any! rate ; and if you would only be a wise lijttle girl, and let me do something for yon you would make me far happier? ',1 don't want your money, or your gifts,' said she, pushing slightly away, as Tf he had hurt her. ' But what fully ; it isn't me giving yon any thins?. I love you child, and you've a right to it. I hate to think •of my little Peggy working and toiling-, when I have more than I know what well to do with.' ' ' No, Hugh, I can't, I can't, I can't.' * Well ' dou't distress yourself, I 1 would work for you, I would toil for you, I would die for you I' said she, passionately ; ' but don't ask me to, |b*ke anything from you. Oh, my darling, you don't guess such love as mine,' she continued. 'It wasn't, it wasn't — when I *skpd you the other night to wed' mo — for the world's sake^rhafritf thß*worid to me ?— you are my world— buj; it was for GodV " - ' ----'.. * Hush child, hush.' * Oh ! look Huirh, when I kneel down at nighc and pray for tny darling — let me ask for my husband — not that I want anyone to know ; oh ! no, no, no \ Do you think I would hurt you like that ?—? — I know what you gentlefolk think of us ; but I want Him to know ; and then I'll bide all the sorrow, all the shame they c.in he<ip on my head.' 1 You don't mind what people say of you, then ?' ' They have said their nay,' ehe answered, with some bitterness ; ' they have called me names, and mocked me on the roads ; but what in that ? Hugh ! Huifh ! your little finyer is more to me than all the world beside.' * But what good would such a marriage do you ?' ' This' said Peggy, solemnly ; ' that when you and I nre called to that account we all must render, no sin may lie at your door -no sin on the poor lass who loves you so well.' 1 And you wish for no recognition, no rank? You will be content o remain as you »re ?' ' Glad and joyful ! Would I wrong you, do you think, my dear ? I ? No : ib would wronu: you for folfcsto know. I only mind for God and you.' ' Well, we'll go over tho Borders to he married, some fine morning,' said Sir Hush, lightly. ' You can get married easily enough there, you know, Peggy — just jumping over a broomstick does it, I believe.' * Oh ! Hugh, now !' ■ Well, child, it does ;or if I say ; I, Hugh, take thee, Margaret — that's enough, really,' lls it ?' said the girl, innocently. • Well, that's easily said.' .. ' Yes—make room forme there bj you, child— yes. Iv Hugh, take tbee, Margaret, for better or for worse— it that it P* (Yet sitting' there, with her doit lorely cheek jisrainst bis, and with/ hands tight claspod, Sir JHugh. was true ; to his dreed. • . • 'i • • I shall sec— l shall try iier,' he was saying to his conscience ; 'this<majr be put pretty acting 1 , like the rest.-.. Wait until ,«he thinkd she ban name right' aver, me, and then — why then, by Jove ! I'll show them all I too can prize a faithful little heart. The moon came out aud shone upon I their heads — on the girl's pure, beautiful j face, and on Sir Hugh's hand-ome, passion* lite one. There was no human eye to see them— far away, stretching out into dim distance before them, lay the long yellow *auds— aud farther, still farther, the wild blue tea. There was no human eye ; jbut the One .who could read the secrets of these two loving, beating hearts knew how much higher and nobler was the poor rude fisher- girl's than that of tho well descendedgentleman.'by ; h«r-iide, who, even as he olaspt her to his breast, wa« yet planning to deceiro th» trusting woman who loved him too Well. - ( To be continued).

"Good graciquB ? " said the .hen when she discovered, a porcelain egg in the nest, "I shall be a bricklayer next ," It is reported from 7 Rome that the .Pope is about to canouize Joan, of Arc. , While the decision is pending the maid of Orleans bas been admitted to the title of "venerable." The American colony in Paris numbers about 3,000 people, but the shopkeepers say it is worth more to the trade; of the French capital that its 30,000 Germans aud 28,000 Italians combinedThose "good Americans" would be greatly missed were th« French Government as brutal as the German, aud Frenchman know it. Tns huge Cyclopean walls of Tiryui, which form the principal defences, are composed of irregular limestone blocks, tnany of them from six to nine feet long, three wide and three feet high, and Dr. Schileman declares that they were laid without mortar, their weight keeping hem iv position, and the interstices being filled with small stones. Party politics are thus humorously described in the Albany Argus :— " What is the uteau of victory ?" "' Three cheers for our candidate." "And what is a iiifleous howl from a score pf drunken chroata?" " Three cheers for the other candidate." " What is meant by the millions of free hearts and honest hands upon which rests the hopes and destines of the Republic?" "Us." "Aud to whom does the grovelling horde of bl itant demagogues that wallow in the foetid cesspool of festering corruption, refer'" "Them." "Correct all round: To-morrow bring your Blue Book with you, and we'll pick out what is good for yOJ. Re.nember, o& the way home, the opposition members all live on the shady side of the street. The pupils will find a basketful of stones in the front area as they pass out. Now, be good boys, ' and don't crsate any disturbance. The class i> diamM,"