better than to expose yourself so to the rain. Come, little one, there is room enough for you to nestle within my great coat until we reach the house." It was Dale, and her heart gave a great sob at his tender, sweet words. It was loud enough for him to hear, and, quickly he caught her face between his hands, and turned it up to him. It was not so dark that he could not see the tear marks. “Oh, Bertie !—crying!" he said in a reproachful tone. "Come, you will tell me the cause of it;" and he stole his arm around her, and lifted her from the damp ground. She did not try to get away from him, but she did not tell him what he wished to know. For he had never revealed to her that he loved her, and she dare not let him read her love for him. She knew that she should not let him keep his arm around her, but her heart pleaded for it, so that she could only continue sobbing on his breast. "Bertie, darling, will you not confide in me? Who can be as near to you as I?" and his magnetic touch caressed her waving hair. ery by her heartlessness and deception. You, who have ever been so kind to us, and whom I shall ever value as my dearest friend, must not be injured by any one while I may protect you." These strange, unaccountable words from her sister! Oh, what could they mean? "Oh, Agnes, as you pity me, tell it all to me again?" came the anguished cry of Dale. "My tortured brain cannot comprehend it,-cannot believe that my little Bertie, whom I thought such an angel, can be so unworthy love or respect." "What would you know, Dale, beyond that she has engaged herself to wed old Mr. Dean. She does not conceal her loathing for him, but she boasts of the uses she will make of his money, and that she will soon annoy him into the grave. She would have married him ere this, but for her boastful desire to bring you to her feet, and then mock at you in your sufferings. Oh, Dale, it breaks my heart to tell you these awful truths of my sister; but I cannot let her continue her work of wrecking your life, without warning you to beware of her." "Agnes," the anguished man exclaimed in a Then, in one great sob, it forced itself from her husky voice, "I must have proofs of all this. Selips: "They say you must marry Agnes!" She would have given worlds to have recalled these words. He started, and then looked gravely into her eyes. He comprehended all that her words should have expressed, and his reply came slow and carefully weighed. "That will be, Bertie, if ever, after you have refused my love!" The rain began to descend heavily, and they hastened their steps to the house. He detained her a moment at the door. "I had much to say to you to-night, Bertie, my little one-but I fear I will have to wait until I can see you again. Only this, let me say, darling. You are all my world of love, and I want you for my little wite!" Agnes had been looking for them, and when they came in together, a strong, threatening gleam filled her eyes, and shot out upon them; but in their happiness neither of them saw it. Beatrice wanted to be alone with all this great, unexpected joy that had come to her, filling her so full with its new life. She wanted to think it all over and convince herself that it was not a dream, but real; and she feared that her mother and Agnes would read it from her eyes, if she did not escape from their presence. So she stole away into the conservatory. She had been there an hour or more, lulled into fond dreams by the happiness at her heart, and the rich fragrance that ladened the air, when she was aroused by hearing voices quite near to her. She started up to make her escape, but was chained to the spot by some words that reached her. "Agnes, this cannot be so-I will not believe it of our pure and innocent little Bertie !" It was Dale's voice, and so full of anguish. I am sorry that it rests upon me to reveal to ou all her unworthiness, Dale, but, though she is my sister, I cannot permit her to lead you to mis cure them for me, and I will forever curse her memory, and worship you as my savior." "Here they are, Dale. A leat from her journal, in which she tells of her exultation over her conquest of you, and the uses she proposes to make of it: her reply to and acceptance of Richard Dean's tender of marriage, which dropped from his pocket to the parlor carpet, where I found it: and this diamond you have seen her wear. It was a gift from Mr. Dean, and, you can perceive, bears an inscription To my betrothed wife;' and again, 'R. to B. Take them over to that gleam of light, where you can examine them." ་ · His hands shook as if he were palsied, and his face was haggard and pale with a terrible agony. A moment he groaned over the proofs, and then they dropped to the floor. "My God! it is all too true," he groaned; and, staggering a moment, he dashed out of the room, and away from the house like one frenzied. Beatrice stood speechless and powerless during this terrible scene. Several times she tried to command voice to denounce all these charges against her; but her breath only came in choking gasps. She tried to go to Dale-to go between him and her cruel traducer, but her limbs refused to obey her. When she realized that he was gone-gone believing her most basely false and unworthy, and cursing her within his heart, life deserted her, and she fell senseless to the floor. One of the servants found her thus shortly after, and restored her to consciousness. She tottered up to her room, feeling crushed, hopeless and despairing; but when she saw seated there in ill-concealed exultation, that sister who had so basely traduced her, all the indignation of her nature was aroused, and she walked firmly into the room. "Come, sister mine," Agnes exclaimed in a voice of bandinage, "I must demand an account of your doings, that you should keep such late hours, and oblige your sister to be a model of patience for a whole hour, that she may kiss you good-night." "Surely, Agnes, it is not an hour since you left the conservatory," Beatrice said, grasping the back of a chair for support. "The conservatory!" gasped the startled Agnes. "But how pale you are, Beatrice. Do you feel ill ?" "Oh, Agnes! need you ask me why I look pale and ill ?" "I do not understand you, sister. Were you in the conservatory all the evening?" "Yes, Agnes." "Oh, I cannot do it-I cannot do it!" Beatrice wailed. "Why must I be tried so fearfully." "A few seconds more, Beatrice. Ah, you will not save me. Then a long, long farewell!" She carried the poison up-up, until the phial containing it touched her lips. A last appealing look from her eyes, and the next she would have swallowed it, had not a shriek from Beatrice check ed her. "Agnes, I promise!" and the poor girl fell at "And did you overhear my conversation with her feet lifeless. with Dale Gardiner ?" "Every word of it is seared into my brain." With a great moan, the discovered plotter fell back in the chair and covered her face. "Ah, Agnes, my sister, whom I would have given my life for-how could you deal so cruelly by me?" Moans alone answered her. "Agnes, I must know all. You must tell me how you came by that leaf and that letter which you untruthfully represented to have come from me." "Spare me, and I will reveal all," moaned the wretched criminal. "The written leaf and the letter were my own work, and in them I imitated your writing. The ring I secured from you on some slight pretext, and I had those words engraven in it. I meant to tell you if you inquired for it, that I had lost it." "Agnes, Dale Gardiner must know all this-he must be informed of it, for I cannot live under his reproaches, and worse-his curses!" The terror of Agnes on hearing these words, was most pitiable, and in her wretchedness, she imploringly threw herself at her sister's feet. CHAPTER III. BEATRICE was very ill with brain fever for several weeks, and when she recovered sufficiently to sit up, she replied to old Richard Dean's long unanswered proposal for her hand in marriage. She accepted him on the conditions that he should depart at once with her for Europe. The old gentleman was well pleased to take her on such terms, and they were married privately, and on the following day took their departure, Dale Gardiner had been very ill, too, and the news of Beatrice's marriage gave him a relapse, of which he came near dying. But on his recovery he sailed for South America. Dale's departure was a terrible blow to Agnes, but she still believed that her unfailing love for him would yet win a response from his heart. In the belief that he would some day be hers, she felt that she could wait. For she knew that he would learn to love no other during his absence. In this her faith in him was well founded, for on his return after an absence of two years, he was still single. He called frequently at her house, but his manner had sadly changed since those other days when he visited there. He was only friendto her, and he never praised her hair and eyes as he once did. But she attributed all this change to his grave, sober manner, and did not despair of winning him. "Oh, Beatrice, see, I am on my knees before you. Promise me you will not expose me-prom-ly ise me you will not tell Dale of my crimes, for he would loathe me then," she pleaded. "I must tell him, Agnes." "Beatrice, would you kill me!" screamed the kneeling woman. "I love Dale Gardiner more than I love my own soul. I cannot live without his love, and it was because I read from your eyes what he had been saying to you out in the garden, that I made him believe you were false to him. You cannot love him as I do, and you must give him up to me. Oh, promise me that you will, sister." When, however, after unsuccessful efforts to lead him into an avowal of love, she learned that he was going away again, all the hoarded passion at her heart led her to reveal to him all her years of longing for him. He was deeply touched, and it was a most painful task for him to convince her that she could never hope to be his wife. He could never love any woman after Beatrice, he said, and though she "He is all my world, Agnes. I cannot give him proved false to him, his little Bertie would be the 66 only image ever enshrined in his heart. He left a friendly kiss on Agnes' brow when he parted from her, saying that they might never meet again; and that kiss burned there until the last hour of her life. They never did meet again; for, when the truth came home to Agnes' heart that she would never be Dale Gardiner's wife, she became heart-broken and weary of life, and soon after died. Her last earthly act was to write to him a full confession of her Agnes-Agnes! you cannot do this terrible injustice to Beatrice, and plead for both their parthing-you will not do it." "Beatrice, as Heaven is my judge, I will do it unless you promise me. See, it is but one minute to twelve o'clock; at precisely twelve I will swallow the poison unless you have promised." dons for the wrong she had done them. After Dale received this letter that established the innocence of his lost Bertie, he became more wretched and dissatisfied than ever, and was not content to remain anywhere. About a year after Agnes' death, he found himself in Paris; and one day he happened to be walking on one of the fash THE BOTTOM DRAWER. ionable boulevardes, seriously thinking of starting There are whips and tops and pieces of strings, on a trip to Egypt, when he was startled by a great excitement among the people around him. The cause of it was soon apparent to him. Dashing down the street at a most terrific speed was a pair of runaway horses, dragging after them a carriage, which contained but one occupant-a lady. To check the animals in their blind fury seemed impossible, and none ventured to attempt it; while it was evident that in a few moments the occupant of the carriage must meet a fearful death. "God help her!" murmured Dale, as he looked upon the approaching animals and thought of the poor creature's fate. At that moment she turned her face imploringly upon him. He staggered, and threatened to fall at beholding that face of all others in that awful peril. Dashing out into the street, despite the cries of alarm from the frightened crowds, he had only time to brace himself before the maddened animals were upon him. With an unquailing eye and a nerve of iron, he sprang to meet them. He had not miscalculated, for each of his hands were firmly clasped around the reins, close to the horses. They raised him off his feet, and tried to dash him to the ground, but he clung to them. They reared and struck at him, but with a quick eye he kept clear of harm, and after a fearful, exciting struggle, in which the spectators looked to see him dashed to certain destruction, he conquered, and brought the animals to a stand. And then was taken from the carriage and put into his arms the lifeless form of Beatrice! There are shoes which no little feet wear, There are dainty jackets that never are worn; Of dimpled hands that have fallen to dust, That the reaper has spared so many flowers, And I almost doubt that the Lord can know Then I think of the many weary ones That have strayed from the paths of right; They perish by fire and flood; Yet a mother's song has soothed them to rest, And then I think of my children three My babies that never grow old- She had recognized him, and believing that he must be killed-that he could not escape death before the maddened animals, she fainted. When she recovered consciousness and found him stand-Safe, ing over her with all of his anxious fear expressed in his face and eyes, she impulsively put her hands up to his shoulders, and said: "Oh, Dale, you are safe-thank God! But it was an awful thing to do." "Not too much to do for you, Bertie. Can I send for your husband ?" safe from the cares of the weary years, A Royal Home. Miss Mary M. Edmunds the daughter of the Vermont Senator, in a pleasant article on Venice in "I have been alone more than a year, Dale. I the Independent, gives this little home picture on am a widow!" Who can interpret the involuntary light of full understanding that came to each of these two then, without another uttered word? He went with her to her hotel, and when they were alone together, he took her hands in his. "Little Bertie," he said, almost in a whisper, "may I tell you now all that I wished to that night in the garden?" "Oh, Dale, my heart has hungered for it ever since." And he told her, and when he parted with her for a little time, he took her within his arms, and whispered: "All mine-mine own at last!" He returned to her in a few hours, accompanied by a clergyman and some friends, and they never parted after, for she became his wife. Margaret, of Italy, and her son: "Some little time ago one of our friends was having a private interview with the Queen, and the hope being expressed that the Prince was well-etiquette will not allow even that to be put in the form of a questi ɔn— he was desired to present himself. A few moments later a childish voice outside the door said, with droll dignity: Sua Majesta! May I come in?' The Queen answered, in English, 'Yes, my son,' and in he marched. He speaks English excellently, as the Queen does also, and enjoys the American St. Nicholas and Wide Awake, which she bas taken for him regularly, as much as our own little people always do." The fruit and vegetable business from Florida to the Northern States has grown from 25,000 boxes in 1874, to 950,000 in 1879, and is still increasing. "MY DEAR HORAGE:-I am filled with alarm and terrible forebodings. Lucille went from here with the vowed intention of visiting her Aunt Lettice of Kingstonwood. She bought her tickets for that place and talked of it constantly. You know she had a thousand dollars left her by her Uncle Dreesly The money was in bills which she took to deposit in Kingstonwood bank, there being none nearer. Oh! Horace, I am in mortal fear that my child is lost-killed perhaps for the sake of her money-what shall I do? I am too ill to take steps to discover where she is, and I know that it will seriously interfere with your plans to come over here, but I have no one else to advise me. I am almost disheartened. Could-Oh! no-no-my child never would deceive me; but she has not been like herself for months. Pity an unhappy mother whose only earthly consolation is the child she has loved too well. "ANNE LISCOMB." This latter letter reached Horace Lawsten at his lodgings at six o'clock on a quiet August day. As he read, pushing back papers and letters on the small mahogany table, his face grew pale and his resolute mouth trembled. He sprang up from his seat, upsetting it with a great racket-took a few hasty steps back and forth, then thrusting his hand in his pocket, he drew out his wallet and seemed counting its contents. "Two dollars will take me there," he muttered, looking back with a perplexed air on the books and papers-and then began packing his portmanteau. He paid not much regard to the shining collars and carefully glazed shirt bosom, but thrust them in anyhow. Then putting on his hat, and throwing on a light neat overcoat, he went down stairs to summon his landlady. "Mrs. Waters," he said, as a little fat woman with cap frill standing out, made her appearance, in dough-streaked dress, and arms and hands covered with flour, "I have an unexpected call to Renleigh. I may be gone a week. Please keep my room locked, for I have left my papers scattered about"-and he was off. here, and she is usually so gay. She was in very poor spirits some time before she left, and I had fears for her health. And when she went away she was not quite as happy as I should have expected-and God forgive me, I almost felt as if I was looking my last upon her. Oh, my child, my child! this anguish will kill me." "Well, mercy!" ejaculated Mrs. Waters, watching his receding figure, "if that ain't a queer move --and he telling me yesterday that he hadn't one minute to spare for the festival. 'No, not one minute, Mrs. Waters,' says he, 'for I've a limited time to get through my examination,' or whatever he called it, and now he's off after that letter comes, like a shot from a gun-well, I never. He is a fine, handsome young man, and there ain't his like in this place-so very noble-looking and so steady. I wish my Jenny could get sich a one. And now I think of it," she continued, wiping her floursmeared arms with her dough-smeared apron, "his gal lives in Renleigh, so Miss Somers told me, and she's dressmaked there for years-a real live beau--it will give me strength." ty-and that's what's the matter. Maybe she's sick, and she may die, and then I wish my Jenny might get him, that's all." So saying, she turned into her cheerful little kitchen and retailed the news to Jenny, who sat with her hair in papers, looking over the fashion plates of a new magazine. "You say she started for Kingstonwood." "Yes. I saw the ticket myself, and remember how she looked when she stood there the light fell upon her face. Oh! I was too proud, too vain of my beautiful child, and now she is lost, lost to me forever, forever." Meantime Horace had hurried to the first stable and hired a horse to carry him two miles to the station, and he was soon steaming it to Renleigh, where he arrived at half-past eight in the evening. CHAPTER II. THE INTERVIEW. "Oh, what a false show the world makes!" THE first place he sought, although he had tasted no supper, was the Widow Liscomb's cottage. It was bright moonlight, and the walk had never been so lonely, though the road led by many a tasteful country residence. The house was small, one story, but as pretty a piece of architecture as one could imagine on so limited a scale. The bay window was closed-no beautiful face among its vines and lace-work, made his heart beat now. The sole ornaments in his eyes, was gone-lost to him perhaps, forever. Upon that subject he dared❘ not trust himself to think, but springing up the little box-bordered path, he seized the bell, and the loud peal resounded through the house. A white face and wasted form answered his sum mons. "Oh, no-do not needlessly torment yourself," said Horace, though his own manly face worked with ill concealed emotion. "I shall start to-night for Kingstonwood, and find out what I can early in the morning. There is a train at 9:10, and if you will let me have a mouthful-for I have had no tea "Certainly-I wonder I didn't think of it," and calling the little servant, the widow ordered her to prepare something for the traveller. "Lucille hasn't seemed quite like herself, lately," she said, with an appealing glance at the young man; "have you ever observed it?" "It may have occurred to me," said Horace, gloomily. "Her tastes are so different from mine," replied the widow; "she is like her father, poor child, who was never content with a quiet life; and I fear I much fear, she will never be." As for Horace, he was thinking of the last interview he had held with the beautiful, wayward girl; for she was as wayward as she was lovely, and Horace had often bitterly questioned himself how he had come to worship her with such idolatrous love as he felt at that moment surging up in his breast for her. She had promised at that interview to become his wife, and yet, some way the young man was not quite satisfied, either with her reluctant words or manner. They almost stung him now, for he recollected he had told her it would be long before he could win fame or station, both of which he would attain for her sake, if his life was spared. After a frugal meal, Horace once more took up his portmanteau and his march to the cars. It was nearly twelve when he reached Kingstonwood, but late as it was he searched the traveller's list, and found that on the previous Wednesday there "Oh! Horace, how kind of you! I shall never were only two arrivals from the east-a Mrs. Anforget it," she cried, extending her bloodless hands. gela Stewart, and a Miss Lucy Lester. Something "Come in-oh! I am sadly out of spirits; I can in the arrangement of the name struck him, and hardly command myself for a moment. What acting upon the surmise, he called one of the neatdoes it mean, Horace? where do you suppose our looking chambermaids to him early in the eveprecious girl is? I am wearied with conjecturing.ning and questioned her as to the two arrivals on I am dying by inches. Oh! Lucille, Lucille!" "Don't allow yourself to be overcome in this way, dear madam," said Horace, throwing his portmanteau aside, and himself into a chair, "but tell me everything as lucidly as possible. When did Lucille go?" "Wednesday morning-six days ago, and Saturday I wrote thinking as she went to stay only seven or eight days, she might extend the time to a fortnight. It has been rather lonesome for her Wednesday the sixth. "One was an old lady," she said, thoughtfully, taxing her memory; "and, oh, yes, I remember the other, for we all said what a beauty she was, and how strange for her to be alone. She had soft, dark eyes, and her hair waved on the sides of her cheeks, and her complexion was pure red and white." "Did she have any baggage with her?" asked Horace. |