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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1893-5-19, Page 2HIS HEIRESS; OR, LOVE IS, ALWAYS TUE fiAletE. CHAPTER V. "Yee, this ode's brow, like to a :meth leafy Foretollethe nature of a mete volume, 1' Ah ! Muriel 1" cries Margery, with to Wife revulsion of feeling from fear to exons• sive joy, " It is only you atter all." Sho elms to her and encircles the cloaked figure with loving arms. There le a silent embrace between the slaters, and titer, flinging her long covering somewhat impatiently from • her, Lady Branksmere stands revealed. A call, slight woman, with a statuesque figure exquisitely molded. And a bronze tread, superbly set upon her shoulders 1 She is gowned in some soft, black, clinging Repartee, itgeirist which her naked hands and arms show with a dazzling clearness. 11'here is a tench of sunlight in the rich brown of her hair, but her face is pallid a1 - most to ghastliness, and beneath the great mournful eyes of deepest gray, purple shadowslie that tell of sloepless nights and a mind torn and racked by cruel memories. Her chin is firmly rounded, and her long, thin fingers are peculiarly lithe add supple. " Muriel I To think of yen coming back to us like thee so suddenly, without a word !" "I am not coining beck, however. I am only lent," says Lady Branksmere, with a peculiar smile, that ie altogether without Joyousness, This is Wilhelmina. This is Billy's wife," goes on Margery, hastily, who might perhaps be suspected of being afraid to stop • talking. She draws Muriel toward elm, Billy, who, up to this, has been too surpris- ed to do anything." "All" says the new -Domer expressively, with a sudleu smile, which enables one to see that ber perfect teeth are somewhat squarely formed, and that her month is large, and her smile, though beautiful, short-lived. She goes forward and lays her pretty slender hand on Mrs. Billy's nrm,and looks at her long and attentively. "There was no exaggeration," ehe says at last, in a quick restiess way ; "one can the how it is. One can understand. 1 am glad Billy is happy" She falls back from the sister-in•law after saying this, and appeals to Margery : "After all, it is only barely just that some of us should be happy," she says, with a little laugh that is too graceful to be called forced, but that certainly never arose from a glad heart. "You have a charming face," the says to Mrs. Billy, looking back at her ever her shoulder with a little nod. There is a peculiar fascination in itself in thesestiess fashion of her speech. Mrs. Billy gives in to it. She, to whom shyness up to this has been unknown, stands now amore and wordless before th's strange, lovely, imperious girl, who as yet is too newly wedded to have merged her youth into womanhood, and who has stolen upon "ser through the darkness, and dazzled her with her beauty. She has marked each charm with a curious care. The figure that would not have disgraced a Juno, the face so like a sorrowful Proserpina ! She is like a Venus, too, but in a pathetic fashion ; the ever -blossoming gayety, the orthodox irivolsty of the -one being in such sad con- trast with the mournful posing of the other. There is a condensed, a sure but subdued, passion about Muriel, that puzzles whilst it attracts the gentler nature of Mrs. Billy. Still Muriel is smiling on her 1 Then, all et once, as though the author of it is wearied, the smile fades, and the light that ]has grown within Lady Branksmere's eyes, dies, too. "Well ?" she says, sinking wearily into a chair, "huw are you all, eh ?" As well as can be expected," returns Margery, gayly, who seems overflowing with joy at having her stater with her again. "How good of you to come at once, How good, too, of Lord Brankamere to spare you." Lady Branksmere stared at her for a mo• anent. "Oh ! yes ; he spared me," she says,with a peculiar laugh thee jars upon her hearers, and'somehow reduces them to silence. Lady Branksmere, as though struck by the effect of her words, and growing im- patienc beneath it, springs to her feet. "Show me the rest of the house," she says, hurriedly. "I have thought of it, bit by bit, all the time I have been away, but now I want to see it. Come." As she gets to the door, she turns again to Margery. "Where are the children ? Can I see them ?" she asks. "Of course. They have gene to bed, but of you wilt come up—" Not now. I have plenty of timo yet. By and by, when I am going—" She 'checks herself, and draws her breath quick. ly. "Do you know I was going to say home? I meant, baok to the castle. What a silly mistake ! But for the moment I 1 ,quite forgot. She looks round her at the lbeautiful old !tall, with a very odd smile. "And Billy? And the boys?" she asks at last, when her uninterrupted reverie has .come to an end. "Billy has gone to a county meeting," mays Mrs. Daryl, very gently, "and has taken Peter with him, Diok, I am afraid, is with the rabbits," "Ah 1" says Lady Branksmere. Bub even as she says it she seems to have for. gotten the twins, Billy, and all, and lost 'Meath' in contemplation of a more self•oon. •tained character. As if still musing, she walks mechanically across the hall and into the drawing -room, .Here she wakens into 'Ibe present life again. The -scene she now looks upon ds not the one of her dreams ; all is changed, and for the better, as she at ranee allows. "What a pretty room you have made of it," she says, turning with a faintly sup- pressed sigh to Mrs. Billy. "So different! That ghastly old furniture 1 I am glad you lave relegated it to the celestial regions, as avenged to call the garrets =gem). Or was it to the infernal ones it went? I don'tbe- lieve even Cook would be glad bummed it, What a room it was 1 And they all clung to it 00 1 I suppose 1 aim wanting in the Seth grades oefeoting, because, whenever T thought of it, it gave me a headache. Well ? And so Billy ie very, very happy ? that is one of us out of the fire, at all events." She smiles again an indilfetent tittle expression of good -will that lasts just long though to make one aware that it wee there, Imbue longer, " Dearest Muriel 1 Itis so good to see you again," exaladms Margery, caressingly. "le it?" Lady Branksmere takes her sister's hand, and pale it softly. When all at 0510 her glance wanders hank agailt to Wilhelmina, " 1 may as well tell you," aha' says, r' that I intended to take Mar. gory to live with me at Branksmere, but stow that I have teen you I know oho is ler better whore 111015." She looks Intent- ly at ales, 'Deryl's bright face and says again, " tear hotter." " She fe quite isoppy where she is. Is it nit 00, Moe metre Mrs, Billy, a little atix• 1<,asly. " Entirely so," 'Turns eltrgory, hastily. In truth she would have been rather afraid to begin life afresh with Lord Branksmere, who ds ahnost a stranger to her. Then, some sudden remorseful thought reourring to her; she slips her arm around hluriel. "I am without a with now you acre !tome again," she whispers tenderly. ' Yes," says Ladyf>ratksmere. Sperm' winds the girl's arm very gently, and hold- ing her hand looks at Mrs. Daryl. " She will be safe with you," site continues, slow. ly. " And she can learn to love you now, as, once, she loved me." Her tone is calm to indifference, yet there is something in it that brings tears to Mar cry's eyes. "I Cru lova yon both, darling—but you always first; you are my sister,' she says tenderly, yet with a decisive force, for whioh Wilhelmina In her own Honest soul honors her, " Oh? as for ate, I expect that I have done with all that sort of thing," returns Lady Brankemore, with a curious laugh. She drops languidly into a °hale, and looks up at el f1h61mina. "The comfort it is to know that you are ir+"?" ehe says. "It makes home to then all, You get 011 with Billy, eh ?" isirs. Daryl looks rather puzzled, and then a sense of amusement breaks through everything. It is a good while since she has given away to mirth of any kind, and an overpowering desire to give way to it new fills hor, " 01 1 yes," she answers meekly, her eyes on the carpet, She is battling with the wild longing for laughter that it will be such a beti.se. to permit. It is all so intense. ly absurd 1 The idea of her not getting on with Billy, or he with her 1 " You like being here Very much indeed. The count • is so altogether lovely, and the children so pret• tY" Ah 1 I see," says Lady Branksmere, who has a little strange way of staring at people now and then, as if making up her mind about them, that is somethingperplex- ing. " One can quite understand. Yon, are here ; you pervade everything ; you are, in a word, happy. When I ruled here, things hardly ran so smoothly." She glanc- es at Margery with an expression that is half careless, half wistful. Mrs. Daryl comes to her rescue with a tender grace that site most sweetly on her. "All day the children talk of you and long for you," the saye; and even as she speaks—as though to corroborate her words —the door is flung violently open, and the twins rush tumultuously -into the room, and precipitate themselves upon Muriel. There is rather a panoity of garments about them, and a thorough lack of shame. They are as lively as crickets, and as full of conversation as a stream. They look triumphant, too, as though they had dis• covered a plot against them and had over- come it. "It is only just this instant we head of your coming, and when we heard it, we ran Why didn't you come up to the nursery? We were wide awake. 1 think Mlargery" —with a wintering glance at that cdefrculter —" might have told us, but we found trout from nurse. Did you hear Jumper hoe got a new pup? She had lots more, but that horrid Gubbins drowned all its little broth- ers and sisters. And how did you like being abroad? \,Tae it nice? Was it loot ? Are they all the color of lemons? Wes Rome as blue as the pictures say?" "Bluer," Lady Branksmere assures them, disengaging herself from their somewhatem• barraeeing embrace, and drawiug.them on to her knees instead.. She seems more at bone with the two little disheveled lovely things in their night-gowns than she has been with what they would call the " grown ups." "It one all blue ; abominebl Ablue," she goes on, lightly. It was hideous because of its monotony," And how is Lord Branksmere?" asks little May, prettily. As the words fall upon the air it occurs to most of those present that the child is the first, the only one, who has made a civil inquiry aboutMluriel'e hus- band. Lady Branksmere laughs aloud, but somehow, as if impulsively, she put the child away from her. " You are a courageous little mortal," she says. "You have actually summoned suf- ficient courage to ask after the Ogre 1 He is quite well, thank you." She oast a swift glance at Margery from under her heavy lids, and seems a little amused at the hot blush that has overspread her cheeks ; but in truth Margery had heeded to drag Lord Branksmere's name into the conversation. How would it have been received? What answer would have been given her to any polite inq'tiry as to his welfare? " This is not a visit, to you—you two," Lady Branksmere is saying to the children. "To-nmorrow I shall make a formal can upon you, in my carriage, and with my cards, and so forth, and will leave my re. apeets, with some bonbons. Pray be care• ful of all 1 Aud, now, considering the airiness of your dreperies,I would suggest a return to the nursery and bed," She dismisses the ehikdren, who appear to obey her instinctively, and who are evidently much cheered by the prospect of sweetmeats on the morrow, and then turns to Margery with te half contemptuous Ugh b in her eyes and a certain curving of her lips. Lord Branksmere is quite well, 1: as- sure you ; you need not have been so nervous about making your inquiries,' she says, " Don't you think you had better grasp the fact at ones that he is your brother.in•law ?" " Of course—of course," hastily, " but, you the, he has been so much abreed all our lives. We untruly know him, as it were." " True ; we'scarcely know him," repeats Lady Branksmere, musingly ; which re. mark, coming from the man's wife, rather startles Mrs. Daryl. "The castle has been exquisitely done up; hasn't it?" asks Margery. "We heard so, but none of us went over to see it, Tell me, Muriel," bending eagerly forward, "have you soon the old woman yet. Old Lady Beankemere," "Ye -es. What there is of her. She is nothing but bones aid two large prefer - naturally bright eyes. One can positively hear her rattle when ehe moves in bed. She is very trying," with a distasteful shrug. "She is a witch," explain* Mehgery, turning to Wilhelmina. 'Every one ie afraid of her. She is about a thousand years olcl, and isn't thinking of dying, She le Brankemero's grandmother, and he is by no moane 0chicken, Oh, I bag your pardon, Muriel; 1 only meant—" " llrankesnore is thtrt;••six," say* Muriel, indifferently. "By the bye," looking stub denly at her sister, "There is a Madame Von Thirsk saying at the eatlo--living there in fast. It' appears she has been there for'yeare as attendant to the dowager. lever heard of her 1" THE BRUSSELS POST, "Noyer," with sole surprise. "!But I suppose an elderly ettoudant would be 111115 heard of, "Elderly ? She is young; and remark. ably handsome. She seems to hrtvo made herself a positien there, and to havo a good dent of iutluonce. She came forward to re. oeive me this oveuing on my arrival quite as if—well, as if she were mistress of bhsloouse, not I ," with a rather strange lough. Margery lathes little stove. " I shouldn't like that," she says, " No," returns Lady Branksmere, care. lowly ; " I shall got rid of hen" She rises to her feet. " I trust be going. It grows very late." "But hew do you mean to return ?" "Aa I came, I walked across the park, and through the lower wood. No, I want nothing. I brought my maid with me, and I wish you would ring the bell and tall het' to meet me at the hall -door. Alt 1 I knew there was something I wanted to tell you ; I met Tommy Paulyn on my way through town, and he has promised to conte to me for a little while next week." She kisses Margery, and then Mrs. Billy, and presently is out again in the dark night. Isere and there an unwilling agar has forced away into the dull vault above her, and a hot, sullen wind has arisen amongst rho trees. Now and then it touoltes one, but for the most part it is pos. Bible to forget it. Not a sound wakes the air ; All thtne,e are Itnsh'd, as nature's self wits dead, and only 000aeionally the density of the darkness is relieved by the glimmering of it white patch upon the aspens, The wood belonging to the manor through whioh she must pass on her way to the park that belongs to the castle, 1s naturally well known to Lady Branksmere. Descending into a little grassy hollow, with her maid close at her heels, she Domes to a standstill, and looks around her. The cloudshavo parted for a moment, and a watery glance from a watery moon makes the pretty hol- low, that might hell be termed a lairy dell, distinctly visible. Lady Branksmere looks round her for a moment with a sudden shrinking as though. taking in each detail. Alas ! how well re- membered it all is—this dainty apob that once had been a daily trysting-placo, She sighs heavily, and then, gathering her cloak more closely round her as though a sudden ohill ens fallen on her heart, moves once more yu'ckly homeward. As she nears the castle, a brilliant light st from the drawing -room reams earths the lawn almost to her feet. The windows am thrown open in the hope perhaps that some cool air will travel inward. Muriel, dis- missing her maid, turns toward the ver- anda that is illuminated by the light, and slowly, with reluctant feet, mounts the steps that lead to it. nbe sound of voices reach her when she trigone half -way, and when she has gained the veranda she looks ouriously through the open win. dow nearest to her into the room. What she sees there dispels all languor 1 OHAPTER VI. " I vow and protest there's more plague that pleasure with a secret." Sitting upon an ottoman beside a remark. ably haodsome woman is a tall man of about thirty-six or so, darkbrowed and dark oomplexioned, with a firm moubh and a nondescript nose, A heavy black mustache partially streaked with gray, falls over but hardly conceals his lips, which are in a measure thin. His jaws, clean shaven, are square. He is nob ahandsome moan, but a very distinguished -looking one—that some. thing infinitely Letter 1 That he has lived all his time, one may see a: a glance ; that he has immense self-control and greet power of self -repression one reads as one runs. But there is something about the stern face that confuses one's analysis of the soul within—a sadness, a suppression, a strain about the whole man that contrasts oddly with the coldness of his bearing, and is probably the outcome of some past and terrible grief. The woman seated beside him, and look. ing into his face with a strange earnestness is dark and slight, with glistening, melting blank eyes and a lissome, willowy figure. To an outsider, Mme. von Thirsk, instead of a woman of thirty-five, would seem agirl of twentyone. Lady Branksmere, regard. ing her from the darkened veranda, ae• knowledges the fact. Yes 1 It must never be betrayed; ft must always rest e. secret between you and mo," madame is saying in a low agitated tone, iter hand pressed upon Lord Blanks• mere's arm. Every word is distinctly aud- 'ible to the quiet watcher without, who is standing motionless, a silent spectator of the picture before her. " Yet—" begins Lord Branksmere, with some agitation. " I tell you, moa ami, there is no ' yet,' no hesitation In this matter. It is between you and nee, after all these years ?" Sloe leans toward itim. Lady Brankamere, on the veranda with. out, smiles ouriously, and drops her eyes. "It would make the whole thing in a degree vulgar were I to see him kiss her," she says to herself, " As it is, the scene is perfect. Well I owe him little, For that, at least I should be grateful. Now to break up their tete•a-tat a t" She steps lightly into the room, and as she comes beneath the center chandelier, throws book the lase veil from her head, and looks Weight at her husband. " Where were you?" asks he, quickly, rising as she enters. Some color Hames into lois face. "At home, with my people," returns she, not curtly, or uncourteously, but coldly. "Ah I At home I" says madame, as if not comprehending "Lady Branksmere is alluding to her old home, to the manor," explains Lotd Breaks. more, stiffly, Yea, to my home," repeats Muriel, smiling, "It is strange. We thought you still here," said madame, smiling too, Muriel stares at her inquiringly. "We? Who?" demands she, Madam egrows uacomfortablyred beneath the other's contemptuous gaze, and 'noes herself for a moment in the contemplation of her face. Then ehe rallies a little. "Lord Branksmere and I," she answers, equably. Then, with a sudden glance fell of seeming anxiety, "Was ib not late? Was it not cold for you out in the open air?" e "You are very good to trosble yourself so much about me," says Lady Branksmere, still with excessive and embarrassing' civility, without, however, making even a pretence of answering her. " Your friends," remarks madame, with e sudden emphasis, "would naturally feel some anxiety about-=' " Would they ?"—(Lady l3raukomote In. torrents her lightly)—"How do you know?" the asks, with the sane immovable smile. "My /wads," copying the empltaolo, "are very far from this louse." " e,h1 0101 You forget your husband," madame reminds her softly. There Io an instant's pause, daring which she watches intently the two before her, Lord Brankemere on the hear'tit.rug is aiming frowningly at the wall beyond ; Model, with a rather bored expression shout her boantifsl mouth, is lazily unwind- ing the Ince that had encircled her throat. No titlark of love lights either teem, Mine. von Thirsk letting her heavily fringed. lids droop over her eyes, permits a faint smile of satisfaction to cull her lips. "You will muse me," site says gently, taking a step forward, "if I withdraw to son madame, your grandmother, before she retiree." "Alost willingly," returns Alnricl, eweotly, but insolently. She acknowledges =- flame's graceful salutation, and then, as it dismissing her from her thoughts as from her presence, drops languidly upon the lounge, near her, and tuxes up ono of the periodicals upon the small table ab her el- bow. Lord Brankemore opens• the door for madame, and a few words puce between thein on the threshold. His tone is low, but Muriel can not fell to understand that 1110 apologetic. She shrugs len shoulders slightly, and tarns over a loaf with a little unnecessary quickness, then the door is closed, and Branketere, wining back to the fire, stands bookingdown at her. "You look pale. 1 hope you haven't taken a chill," he says ab last, politely. "\\Talking through the nighb air is always a little dangerous." "Nob tome. It was a usual custom with me to go into tho garden after dinner be- fore my—When I lived at home." A pause. "Don't you think you will have to do e, considerable amount of explanation, now and then, if you persist in refusing to re• member that this is now your home ?" asks Branksmere, with some irritation, badly suppressed. No answer, She tures over another page and goon on reading as though he had not spoken. "You find it dull here, no doubt," This time the irritation is not suppressed at all. "Here?" lifting her eyes languidly, in- quiringly, " A foolish accusation. One could hardly call a plate dull on a few hours' acquaintance." " You could, evidently, You were hard. ly Isere one hour when you left it." "1 waenaturally anxious to see mybroth• Bra and sisters." "I had no idea," with a alight sneer, that you were so devoted to your brothers and slaters." "It is possible that time will even fur- ther enlarge your ideas about me,"- says Lady Branksmere, indifferently. She leans back in her chair, and again has recourse to her megarine. " You remember, perhaps, that we are expecting some people on Thursday?" "Yes. People? Olt, of course; your guests, you mean ?" She had roused herself•with seeming difli• culty from her story, and now returns to ft. (TO BE CONTINUED.) LIFE IN NEW ZEALAND. One Continued hound of rleloloys—I'le- nies, or Course, Stasi Favored. The colonists of New Zealand are a holi- day -making people. There is almost an average of one recognized holiday to a month, and it is a common practice for all working people to take two or more days at Christmas, the New Year and Faster, so as to make an unbroken playtime of three or four days, including Sunday. Then the great mass of the people give themselves up to amusement. Horse races, athletic sports, boat races and exouraions are carried on in every available spot, and are attended by large and wall -behaved crowds. The commonest of all holiday amusements, however, is a ?ionic. The several trades, sects and societies have pionlos of their own, to which the public are cordially welcome on the payment of a small sunt toward the expense of the entertainment. It is amus- ing to the railway traveller to note, as he passes through some please/lb countryside, nob one or two, but perhaps fifty different peonies in full swing, each numbering scores or hundreds of guests. It has been aatd with much more truth than is usuellymto bo found in epigrams of this kind, that "In New Zealand people are like eatbie. Yon need only to turn a number of them into a pasture and leave them alone and they will be perfectly happy." On a warm and tempting New Year's day an 081009ris. ung burglar might walk through a New Zea- land pity and help himself, undisturbed, to the contents of most of the hooses. Dwel- lings ani streets are alike deserted, and the camel sojourner who does not understand the ways of the plane seeks in vain for some one to speak to. By 6 or 7 o'clock in the evening the streets are lively with return. ing crowds. The Largest Heathen Temple. Itis in Seringapabam, or City of Vishnu, the capital of Mysore, in Southern India. This immense temple comprises a square, each side being one mile in length, and inside of whioh are sir other squares, The walls are 23 feet high and five feet thick, and the grand hall where pilgrims assemble is sum ported by a thousand pillars, each out by a single block of stone. Seringapatam is built on an island in the Iaveri, about ten utiles from the city of Mysore. A magnificent, peleco as well as the temple inolosed by stone walls, was built on the island by Tip. poo Saib. The place was taken after great slaughter, by the British troops on May 4, 1799, Tippoo being killed in the course of the fighting. The wealth accumulated at Sering,apataut was found to be very groat. The Duke of Wellington, then Colonel Wellesley, took part in the attack. An• other large temple in the magnifoent Bud. dhist temple at Rangoon, the Sltway Da- gohn Payah, whioh stands upon a huge mound of bwo terraces, the upper, 166 feet bove the ground outside, and in ex- tent 900 feet by Me. The long flights of steps by which the as. cent is made are covered by long ranges of handsome teak rode, with frescoes show- ing scones fn Buddha's disciples' lives and horrible scones of the torments of the wick• ed in hell. From the centre of the upper terrace rises the solid octagonal brick payah, 370 feet high, abundantly gilt, Ab the top is the Mee, or gilt umbrella of iron work of Many rings„each with many jeweled bells of gold or silver, tinkling with every move- ment of the air. Four diapers at foot of the pagoda have colossal sitting figures of Buddha, with hundreds of mallet in every style and posture, surrounding or evert fixed upon them, The decorations and carving's upon and around those are elaborate beyond description. The original temple, 27 foot high, has been again and Again intoned! with bricks rendering ie larger and taller, and hoe thus attained ire prose= height. It is periodioally togil't, the faithful never tiring of olhnbiug as High es they oars, and fixing egoares of gold loaf upon it. Among the exhibits at the Watltd'sl.'air will be a pack of cards width was oaptnrod. from Chief Ocrottimo, of. the Apeohos, and, which was hate frolni'Minim skin, YOUNG FOLK. AN ALL•NIGHT VIGI10. A True Story of the ltaokWOods n War Centan'y ago. Jueb fifty.seven yours ego 1 was a young Wren not yet married, living at home with my father on the homotlead, in western Ontario. Neighbors were few ; in fact, toot nearly so plenty es were wild animals. Uncle Johnny Ranine lived two utiles farther down the road, and although I was a farmer's son 1 learned of Uncle Johnny the carpenter's, builder's, and millwright's Dade and we were always in dontend, Undo Johnny and I, for twenty miles around. Wo were building a mill that fall ab a good site aboub fifteen miles from home, and winter came on and caught us with the job unfinished. Either Uncle Johnny or I made it a point to go home every Saturday afternoon and stay over Sunday, On the particular Satur- day that I am going to tell you of it was my turn. There was promise of a big snow• storm close at hand, but I started. It was right after dinner, about 1 o'clock, and to save time I struck out into a narrow foot path, not over plain at any time, that led through the woods, instead of taking the stein road. In about on hour the snow began to come down, and in soft, tiny flakes—the kind that 'moans business. It full fast enough to soon cover up the path and my footprints as well ; bob I pressed on, wishingthe sun wore not hidden, so thab I coulbe sure of my bearings. I stopped often and looked around, for I knew it would be no trifling matter to stray out of the path. It might mean a night in the woods with wild animals for companions, and it was bitter cold. Along toward twilight, which came early that afternoon en eceonnt of the storm, when I reckoned I should be well along on my fifteen miles toward home, entirely out of the forest and on the main road, I notie. el a fallen tree I had never seen before. It was peculiar. A very large hemlock, with perhaps arty or sixty fent of trunk free from limbs. ib had evidently been uprooted by the wind and blown over. Its huge main roots held it up at the butt about ma feet, the height of a man from the ground, while its branches and the manner in which the bree had lodged in falling supported the top at just about the same elevation. It made me certain I was out of my way, and darkness was fast approaching. After a few minutes in looking around for some objeot by which I could take my bearings, I started again. In half an hour's time I was back at the same place, and I knew then I had lost my way and was walking around in a circle. i climbed up on the fallen bree and paced back and forth its entire length, straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of some familiar landmark. It was useless. Through the gathering dusk and falling snow I could not discern anything that gave a clew to my whereabouts. I once more struck boldly out, making tracks for what 1 hoped would be home, and in what I thought was the opposite direction from that last taken. Alas 1 In another half hour that huge old fallen tree again loomed up before me, I was lost in a vastforeet bleat was filled with ferocious wild beasts, between me and home, and there was a drifting enowetorm and it was already dark. Had I been walking in the rightdireotion I would then have been warming my numb- ed feet and hands before the cheerful blaze in father's kitchen, and doing my part to- ward disposing of Sister Caroline's hot sup. per. How I wished I was there. Again I climbed upon that tree trunk, and this time sat down to think I knew any further attempt to fond my way out, with neither sun, moon, nor stars, would be utterly useless, and that the night must be passed in that lonely forest. Also that if I succumbed to drowsiness and fell teloop 1 should eibher be frozen to death or eaten by wild animals—the chance for the latter was excellent anyway. This was before the' days •of matches. Steel and Hint were not plenty enough to be carried in every one's pocket. And so I could not build a fire. That would have warmed me and also have kept wild beasts away. I pulled out my largo jackknife • It was my only weapon of defense. ” This 'knife," I thought, as I held 11 in my hand, " ds probably all that stands between me and a horrible death." Then I thought of the folks at hone and bow anxious they mutt be by bloat time --and —well, my next move was to jump off that tree trunk and out a stout cudgel that might perhaps be of use in a hand-to-hand fight with bears or wolves. Next I reflected that if for one moment I should yield to the fatigue and drowsiness that must before morning steal over me, I would be lost. I meat therefore piece my- self where there was nothing convenient to lean against, and must keep in constant motion. A comparatively open space must also be chosen, where hungryanimals could not spring from concealing underbrush and take me unawares. The fallen tree trunk aeemod the least perilous place of any. It was raised from the ground, and its length permitted quite a walk beck and forth. So for the third time Iolimbod upon it,—there to pass the hours of a long night. It grew darker and darker. Only for the white snow and tltat my eyes had grad. wally been aoonstomed to the darkness, I would have been unable to have seen stifle. cieotty to keep my footing upon the tree trunk. In that way, pacing to and fro, time pass- ed monotonously, I was growing cold and sleepy. Few boots were made at that time, and I wore only shoes. Already my feet were so numb that 1 had frequentlyto stamp vigorously to restore the oirculation, Sea. oral times, too, I paused une6ieoiously, nearly overcome with sleep, only to rouse myself with a mighty effort and resume walking. By and by I heard the cry of wolves in the distance, coming thane sometimes, then sounding away in the distance, then again tonin .roarer. Every sense must be on the alert. Eagerly I retrained oyes and ears that their approach might not Anti me off my guard. Along toward 12 o'oloek, as nearly as I could oalotilate, it had grown considerably lighter, and the onow had nearly mathto fall, when suddenly there walked out from behind a clump of trees over at my left two large bears, 1 was mueh more afraid of them than I had been of tlne wolvea,'and taking esob my jaolt•knifo I quickly opened the largest blade, and grasping the knife firmly hit ono hand and my cudgel in the ether, I awaited their coming, wide awake now. They celneon slowly, bear fashion, stop. ping every few seconds to raise their black noses dl' the torr end sniff, and occasionally standing up on 'their haunches. The minutes seemed like hours, Finally they wore quite close to the tree. Felt one and then tee other stood upon its haunches. MAY 19, 1S93 and sullied the air, for I remained motion. loss. Then the old she bear cautiously laid ono paw upon tate tree trunk. At that moment I inflated sty lunge, opened my mouth mid gave vent to the those earesplitting shriek I over compassed. I think the anhnale had never heard snob a yell—and I will say that, despite fee• quant efforts, I have never euocooded hi giving another exactly like it. Evidently they were very motel' surprised. Mfrs. Bear dropped to the ground as suddenly as though she had been shot, and both, turn- ing aside, quietly and quickly slunk out of sight, They didn't go far off, though 1 all the test of that night I cueastonelly heard thole growlings, and once or twice naught glimpses of theist skulking about through the trees, Time passed and it seemed so much light- er I thought the clouds trust have broken away, and I raised my eyes to the sky: Sure enough the eters were out, There were two whioh seemed almost overhead, And how near 1 And how very briehb. Strange, I thought, only Noose two, so °lose together, so umtsuatly beil(tant. I never had parbicularly noticed just such stars ho - fore. Then I made out the outlines of the Wore branches of a tree, and saw that those stare were peeping out from a tree, not from the sky. They wore not stars. A wild cat was crouched in those branches just about ready for a probably fatal spring. And I knew well enough just how the creature !coked, I could see in imagination how she was gathered for the leap ; how her long tail wan lashing her body, and eauti0rsly I banked away, keeping my eyes fixed upon the two glowing coals of fire, that seemed first yel- low, then red, green—all bright, Hashing tints. And I hooked hard and fast with my jack-knife, whioh I had held open dime the approach of the bears, upon my midges. No time was to bo lost. At any moment the claws of that powerful, sinewy little beast might be fastened in my shoulder, and the chances then for my life woald be sli ht. Soon I Iced a good-sized chunk out oil' from the cudgel, and taking straight aim at those glowing balls of fire, I threw with all the strength and skill of my right arm. Luckily It had been trained, Well, sir, that piece of wood hacked off the end of my cudgel with a jack.knife, owing to good luck—or something higher and better than luck—struck the cat square between the eyes as she sprang toward one, causing her to land, instead of on my head, almost at my feet, with a horrible yell and roll off into the snow. Still yelping, Mrs. Wildcat gathered herself up and limped away. At a safe distance she turned to look but did not venture back. Soon after this stars—the real stars shone brightly out, and the moon that never before had looker!, so good to me ao it did that night. Before long the moon passed, the stars dimmed, and Sunday morning's first gray daylight appeared. The wolves had ceased their cries, and no sound had been heard from them for at least half an !tour. So I let myself down from off the tree sad started for home, having taken my bearings from the moon. Before I had been long out of the woods, stumping laboriously along, my feet almost destitute of sensation, not looking about much, anxious to reach home before strength utterly failed, a cheery " Hallo, Bill; all right, are you?" reached my ears, ani I looked up to see a party of searchers who were out after toe—father and my brothers, and one or two from Uncle Johuny Racine's place. As I failed to appear they knew something had happened aorl had started out. I was too moult used op to talk, but they gather. ed enough about boars and a wildcat to divide the party. I was helped into the sleigh, and our horses' heads were turned homeward, while two or throe kept on to see where I had passed the night. My footprints in the snow were traced back, Where I had left the forest they Dame upon the double footprints of a wild- cat, showing that the ereatnre had fol- lowed me all the way from that fallen tree - trunk, through the woods, overt to the road, and then turned back. At the fallen tree beaten paths in the fresh snow showed that those two bears had tramped around in a eirele may a few rods away from that tree, probably nearly all night ; close by tracks of wolves and also of a panther were seen. By the time we reached home all use of my limbs was lost and I had to be helped from the sleigh, my feet and my legs, too, half way to the knees were frozen. Father thought I'd probably lose them both, but I didn't. I was all right long before spring. They were pretty sore, though, for a long time. Why 'didn't the wolves and bears and wild -oat and panther eat me? That is a question 1 never Would allnvaer. An Arab Elopement Foiled. There is a very unhappy pair among the party of Arabs whom Sheik Hadji lobar Ben Mehemet has at the World's Fair. Iiia is a young and beautiful girl from Aged -tars. Her father is a man of wealth and promin- ence, and when he found that his daughter was iu love with Salem Ben Jalijah, a good enough young tallow, but of no particular consequence, he lost his temper and swore by the beard of the Prophet that she should not marry him, but should go to see the Fair in the toed of the infidels in the company of Sheik Hadji, She started acoordiugly, but the party had not gone very far from Morocco when Salem,drew near and asked the sheik's permission to make one of the party. As he had the needful shekels, and proposed to pay his own expellees, the sheik, knowing nothing of the love affair, consented : and so the Myers came on to Chicago together. But no sooner were they arrived than they cume before the sheik and asked him to make them one. In his own land the sheik has the power to do so, but he is in doubt whether tide pewee may be lawfully exec. deed in this country, or whether the mar- riage would be recognized irt his owncouo try, so'l'e feels compelled to refuse. The lovers take it very much to heart. Islia spends her time dissolved in tears and re- fuses to cot, and Salenn wanders about the hotel sad and diaoonsolato. The Prioe of Slaves at Cairo. They were all gayly -dressed girls in the half-l'lnrpean style whioh has become pener- al among the young; Tour of them were =daises, and upon invitation they,produo- ed their instruments and twanged away for more than an hour for the amusement of their hosts. They paraded about the theorem all day, and the slaves of my princess dress., ed themselves in their best to impress their visitors with the wealth of the establishment: The new arrivale were all about the average olaeo, ages from sixteen to eighteen, well grown and fairly gode.looking, I heard that the price demat.dod for the four tee:. sieians was iE 1,000 ; hitt tlieti, no doubt, a large margin was left forabatoment. A very beautiful s ata would cost several thousand pounds, but Inever dew one of these over• powering beauties. The lllsodivo's two eldest daughters wigs the, lsandsontoat women I saw in Egypt,---( Recollections of an_1igyptiar Princess.