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The Advocate, 1887-12-22, Page 2, . •, . SIR HUGH'S LOVES. Evelyn sighed ail ahe read the letter. it sounded o little oold h to her, If se had been in Etle,P4Ce Bhe WOUld haYe wanted atm to come it onoe. Was it not her right as hie promised wife to be beside him and to try to wmfort 1121? How could she have the heart for these hollow gaieties, knowing that he wise sad and troubled? If it hed. been left to her she would not have postponed their mare - age ; she would have gone to church quietly with him, and then have returned to Bel grave house to nurse the invalid; but her aunt had seemed shocked at the notion, and Erie had never asked her to do so. Evelyn was as much in love as ever, but her engagement had not satisfied her; every one told her what a perfect lover Erle was —so devoted, so generous. Indeed, he was perfection in her eyes, but still something was lacking. Outwardly she could fmd no fault with him, but there were times when she feared that she did not make him happy; and yet, if she ever told him so, he would overwhelm her with kind affectionate speeches. Yes, he was fond of her; but why was he so changed and quiet when they were alone together? What had become of the frank sunshiny look, the merry laugh, the care- less indolence that had always belonged to Ere? She never seemed to hear his laugh now; his light-hearted jokes, and queer provoking speeches, werethings of the past. He was older, graver; and sometimes she fancied there Was a careworn look on his face He was always very indignant if she hinted at this—he always refuted such accusations with his old eagerness; but nevertheless Evelyn often felt oppressed by a sense of distance, as though the real Erie were eluding her. The feeling was strong upon her when the read that letter; and the weeks of separation that followed were scarcely happy ones. Aid still worse, their first meeting was utterly disappointing. He had come to the station to welcome them, and had seen after their luggage, and had questioned about their journey; his manner had been perfectly :kind, but there had been no eager glow of welcome in his eyes. Lady Mal- travers said he looked iRand wearied, and Evelyn felt wretohed. But it was the few minutes during which her aunt had left them together that diaappointed her rnost ; he had not taken the seat by her at once, but stood looking moodily into the fire; and though at her first word h3 had tried to rouse himself, the effort was painfully evident. 'He is not happy; there is something on his mind," thought the poor girl, watching him. "There is something that has cbme between us, and that he fears to tell me." Just then he looked up, and their eyes met. "I am afraid I am awfully stupid this evening, tEva," he said apologetically; "but I was up late with Uncle Rolf last night." " Yes," she answered gently; "1 know you have had a terrible time; how I longed to be with you spd help you. I did not enjoy myself at all. Poor Mr. Hunting don but as you told Aunt Adele, he is not really ree " 'No, he is just the same; perhaps a trifle more conscious and weaker; that is all." "And there is no hope?" " None; all the doctors agree in saying that. His health has been breaking for years, and the sudden shock was too much for him. No; it is no use deceiving our - wives ; no change can happen but the worst." "Poor Mrs. Trafford." "Ab, you would say so if you could see her; Percy's death has utterly broken her down; but she is very brave, and will not spare herself. We think Uncle Rolf knows her, and likes to have her near him; he always seems restless and uneasy if she leaves the room. But indeed the difficulty'is to induce her to take needful rest." "You are looking ill yourself, dear Erle," she returned, tenderly; but at that moment Lady Maltravers re-entered, and Erie looked at his watch. '1 must go now," he said hastily; and though Evelyn followed him out into the corridor there were no fond lingo words. "Good-bye, Eva; take care o yours° kissing her; and then he went away, an t back into the room with a heavy hear en very kind, but he had not once said was glad to see her back; and again she told herself that something hadcome between them. But there was no opportunity for coining to any understanding, for the shadows were closing round Belgrave House, and the Angel of Death riding before the threshold. Ah 1 the end as drawing n ow. Mr. Huntingdon w dying. He had neve recovered conscion seemed to reoo r consciousness, or to recognize th aces round him; e his favorite E , or the datigh ho fe and soothed him 'ke an infant nd yet in O dim sort of a wit he seem •onsoiotte of her presence. : ' woul defter her if she left him, and h ed hands would grope upon the coverlet in a feeble, restless way, but never ones did he articulate her name. He wee dying fast, they told Erle, when he had returned home that night; and he had gone up at once to the sick -room and had not left it again. Mrs. Trafford was sitting by the bed as usual. She Wan rubbing the cold wrinkled band, and speaking to him in a low Voice; be turned her white, haggard face to Erie as he entered, and =Stoned him to be quiet, and then again her eyes were fixed on the face of the dying man. Oh 1 if he would only speak 'to her one word, if she Could Only make hint understand that she forgave him now 1 "1 have sinned," he had said to her, " but is Ibis presume of the dead there should be pesos ;" but she had answered eeitk leitterness ; and then he had folks Woes the Met of kir dead grandson, with bin grey head stricken to the dust mitts MS repentance. And yet he washer Satan 1 She steeped Om aim now and wipe/Abe deo* deem item his brow ; and, thallitasent Muth* imaitedwilibidden 1 • OW trallist WM* koz eilhe VIII WINS bille is bee onto, Mei Iptictieststeibtaill espireilagn hi. Iweak, gasping voice, "do not be herd on your father. We have done wrong,. and I am dying; but, thank God, I believe in the forgiveness nf sins .11 and then he had soked her to kiss him; and as her lips touched his he died. " Father," else whispered se she thought • of Maurice. Father 1" The fast glazing eyes turned to her moment and seemed to brighten into consciousness. He is looking et you—he knows you ' Mrs. Trafford." Ah, he knows her at bast; what is it he „ is saying? Come horne with your own Nes, father —with your own Nes; your only shim, Nea ;" and as she bends over him to soothe him, the old man's head drops heavily on her shoulder, Mr. Huntingdon was dead. CHAPTER XXXIX. sveLvsi's incynNott. Look deeper still, If thou emit feel That thou bast kept a portion back While I bevy staked a whole Let no false pity spare the Wow, But in true mercy tell me BO, Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil ? ' One okord that any other band Could better wake, or still? Speak now—lest at some future day My whole life wither alio decay. Adelaide Anne Proctor. Evelyn Selby stood at the window, one afternoon about three weeks after Mr. Huntingdon's death, looking out on the snowy gardens of the Square, where two rosy -faced lade were pelting each other with snowballs. She was wetching them, seemingly absorbed in their merry play; but every now and then her eyes glenced wistfully towards the entrance of the Square with the sober expectancy of one that has waited long, and is patient; but weary. Erle had once owned to Fay, in a fit of enthusiasm,that Evelyn Selby was as good as she was beautiful; and it was true. ' Placed side by side with Fern Trafford, and deprived of all extraneous ornament of dress and fashion, most people would have owned that the young patrician bore the palm. Fern's sweet face weuld have suf- fered eclipse beside her rival's radiant bloom and graceful carriage; and yet o little of the bloom had been dimmed of late, and the brown eyes had lost their bright- ness. I As a well-known figure crossed the ' Square, she turned from the window with& ' sigh of relief; "at last," she murmured, as she sat down and made a pretence of busy- ing herself with some flinoy-work ; but it lay unheeded on her lap as Erle entered and sat down beside her. "1 am afraid I am very late this after. noon, Eva," he said, taking her hand. "Mrs. I Trafford wanted to speak to me and so • I went up to her room; we had so much , business to settle. She has given me a great, deal of trouble, poor woman, but I think I shall have my way at last." I "You mean about the money ?" " Yes ; I think she will be induced to let me set aside a yearly sum for her mainten- ance. She says it is only for her children's sake if she accept it; but I fear the truth is that she feels her strength his gene, and that she cannot work for themany longer." "And she will not take the half ?" I " ; not even a quarter; though I tell her that so much wealth will be a heavy burthen to me. Eight hundred a year— that is all she will accept, and it is to be settled on her children. Eight hundred; it is a mere pittance." "Yes; but she and her daughters will live very comfortably on that; think how poor they have been; indeed, dear, I think you may be satisfied that you have done the right thing; and after all, your uncle wished you to have the money." "1 do not care about it," with a stifled sigh. "We shall be awfully rich, Eve; but I suppose women like that sort of thing. I shall be able to buy you that diamond pendant now that you so admired." " No, no ; I do not want it; you give me too many presents. Tell me, Erle, does Miss Trafford come to see her mother, now she is ill?" " Yes, of course ; but I never see her," e answered so quickly that Evelyn looked m in surprise. " I have not spoken ce since Uncle Molf's death—the me so busy ; and I never go m uoless I am specially now." " Yes ; and Dr. onnor says that it will be better for her to be anywhere than at Belgrave House. We want to persuade her to go down to Hastings for the rest of the winter. When I see Mies Trafford, I mean to speak to her about it; but"— interrupting himself hurriedly—" never En' that now • you told me in your wantiscl te speak to nieparti- 1, Eva 2" looking at her rafferd is better cularly. W• very kindly. " Yee ; I have lo ," she returned, dro uld see that she w you must not mis ng no fault with d to me—no one not treating am laws but y frankn " Wha jelled at thi ing dawned n to find with m is a fault 7" " Yes, but I t for me. You sr , thing should be m for me, that you do confidence, Erie"— and looking up in his loving eyes. " y anted to speak to g her eyes, and nch agitated. crettind me ;I n. You are ' ld be Milder ; with perfect on mean ?" asked, 114I1 0.• on of her mean - him. "Yon have no fault Surely want of frankness it is only your thought anxious that every. smooth and bright t give me your full sing closer to him, with her clear, r think that I can love you oo and not two how changed you have been of late-.4owpale and care. worn ? though you have tried to hide from me that you were unhoppy." He pulled his moustache nervously, but he could not answer her. How often I have watched for you," she oontinued, when your poor uncle's illness hail detained yogi, and have seen yen °rose; the Square with your head bent and such a ea& look on your face; and yet, when We suet, yait kave nething for too tad pleaseit words, as'though my preosnoe bed .dienelied the Oland." tra. Aid*b*Stek 'EV0 il 9eiti aright fani would not abuse qiwiY 114 obelvalosil ?" Beit she IWO as though not noticing the little compliment. He woe always melting these pretty sneeches to her, hut just now they Jarred on her. It wastruth—his confidence— that she WaPted and no amount Of soft words could satisfy her, "You are alwaye geed to me—always," she went ; " but you do ,not ted me all thet is in your heart. When no one is speaking to you, I often see such a tired, harassed look on your face, and yet you will never tell me what is troubling you, dear ; when we come together—when yen make me your wife, will our life be always unclouded; am I to share none of your cares and perplexities then ?" He was Merit; how was he to answer her? " It would not be a true marriage," she continued, in a low, vehement tone, "if you did not think me worthy to share your thoughts. Erle, you are not treating me well; why do you not tell me frankly whin' makes you so unlike yourself. Can you look me in the face and tell me that you are perfectly happy and satisfied ?" " I am very fond of you; what makes you talk like thie, Eva," but his eyelids drooped uneasily. How was he to meet those candid eyes and tell her that he was happy --surely the lie would thoke him— when he knew that he was utterly miser- able. "Erle," she said in a low voice, and her face became very pale, " you do not look at me, and somehow your manner frightens me; you are fondof me, you say—a few months ago you asked me to be your wile; can you take my hand DOW and tell me, as I understood you to tell me then, that I am dearer to you than any one else in the world 7" "You have no right to put such a ques- tion," he returned angrily. „sie You have no right to doubt me. I have not deserved this, Eva." "No right!" and now her face grew paler. I think I have the right, Erle. You do not wish to answer the question; that is because some one has come between us. It is true, then, that there is some one desrer to you than I?" He hid his face in his hands. No, he could not lie to her. Was not, Fay's miserable exile a warning to him against marriage without confidence. He would have spared her if he could, but her love was too keen -eyed. He could not take her hand and perjure his soul with a lie; he loved her, but he could not tell her that she was the dearest thing in the world to him. It all came out presently. He never knew how he told it, but the sad little story of his love for Fern Trafford got itself told at last. Poor Erie, he whose heart was so pitiful that he forbore to tread on the insect in his path, now found himself compelled to hurt —perhaps wound fatally—the girl who had given him her heart. Evelyn /heard him silently to the end. The small white hands were crushed together in her lap, and her face grew white and set as she listened; but when he had finished, and sat there looking so down- cast, so ashamed, so unlike himself, her clear, unfaltering voice made him raise nis eyes in astonishment. "1 thank you for this confidence; if—if—" and here her lips quivered, "we had been married, and you had told me then, I think it would have broken my heart ; but now—it is better now." " And you can forgive me, dear; you can be sorry for me? Oh, Eval if you will only trust me, all may yet be well. I shall be happier now you know the truth." " There is nothing to forgive," she answered quickly • "it is no fault of yours, my poor Erle, and you were always good to me—no," as he tried to interrupt her, " we will not talk ot it any more to -day; my head aches, and of course it has upset me. I want to think over what you have said. It seems" —and here she caught her breath —08 though I can hardly believe it. Will you go away now, dear, and come to me to -morrow. To -morrow we shall see how far we can trust each other." "1 must go away if you send me," he answered humbly, and then he got up and walked to the door. He had never felt more wretched in his life. She had not reproached him, but all the color and life had gone out of her face. She had spoken so mildly, so gently to him. Would she forgive him, and would everything be as though this had never happened? "Oh, Erle, will you not wish me good-bye?" and then for a moment the poor girl felt as though her heart were breaking. Was she nothing to him after all?" At her words Erie quickly retraced his steps. " Forgive me, Eva, he said, and there were tears in his eyes; "I am not myself, you know; all this takes it out of a man." And then he stooped over her as though to take her into his arms. For an instant she shrank from him; then she lifted up her fsce and kissed him. "Goodbye, Erle," she said, good- bye, my darling. No one will ever love you as 1 have loved you." And then as he looked et her wistfully, she released herself and quietly left the room, and no one saw Evelyn Selby again that night. • The following afternoon Fern stood by the window, looking onton the white snowy road sparkling with wintry sunlight. Fier little black bonnet lay on the table beside her, and the carriage that bad brought her from Belgrave House had just driven away from the door. Erle had given special orders that it Wag to be at Miss Trafford's service, and every morning the handsome bays and powdered footman drew a youth- ful crowd around the aide door of Mrs. Watkins'. Sometimes Fern entered the carriage alone, bnt very often her little sister was with her. Fluff revelled in those drive o herquaint remarks and eject), 1Mb:ins often brought a smile to Fern's sad Those visite to Belgravd House were very trying to the girl. Mrs. Trifford used to sigh an she watched her changing color and absent looks. A door olosinF in the distance, the sound of a footstep in the corridor, made her falter and turn pale. But she need not have feared; Erie never once °roomed her path. She would hear his voice sOnletimee, but they never onos came Mu ie Moe, Only one day Fern saw a shOdoW Cross the hall window is she got intd the eirriage, Ind felt with a beating heart Shit We' waif *Aching bore !Tbsit veil Morning bar moodier 11164, bowi sp�oklng to her of Erie'. gam°, yi1 ;indeed She subject cook not be %Mild. "11. , wanted me to take half his fortune," Mrs. Trafford had said with some emotion; "he is bitterly disappointed at the smallness of She Hum I named; do you think I am right to take anything, Fern? My darling, it is for your sake, and because I have no strength for work, and I feel I can no longer endure privation for my children. "I think you are right, mother; it would not be kind to refuse," Fern returned quietly ; and then she tried to feel some interest in the plans Mrs. Trafford was making for the future. They would go down to Hastings for the rest of the winter —Fern had never seen the sea --and then they would look out for some pretty cottage in the ocuntry where they could keep poultry tind bees, and perhaps a cow, and Fern and she could teach m the village school, and make themselves very busy; and the mother's pale face twitched eq she drew this little picture; for there was po responsive light in the soft grey eyes and, the frank, beautiful month was " Yes, mother," she at last answered, throwing her arms round her mother'sneck; "and I will spend my whole life in taking care of you."" She was thinking over this conversation now, as she looked out at the snow, when her attention was attracted by a private brougham, with a coronet on the panel, that stopped before Mrs. 'Watkins', and the next moment a tall girl, very quietly dressed, entered the house. Fern's heart beat quickly. Was it poem- ble that it could be Miss Selby? But before she could ask herself the ques- tion, there 'was a light tap at the door, and the girl had entered, and was bolding out both her bands to Fern. "Miss Trafford, will you forgive this intrusion? lint I feel as though we knew each other without any introduction. I 11111 Evelyn Selby; I daresay yeu have heard my name from "—with a pause--" Mr. Huntingdon." "Oh, yes, I have heard of you," returned Fern with • sudden blush. This was Erle's future wife, then—this girl with the tall graceful figure and pale high -bred face that, in spite of its unusual paleness, looked very beautiful in Fern's eyes. Ah, no wonder he loved her! Those clear brown eyes were very candid and true. There could be no comparison between them— none 1 She had little idea that Evelyn was ssying to herself, "What 0 sweet face 1. Erle never told me how lovely she was. Oh, my darling, how could you help it? but you shall not be ' unhappy any longer!" "01 course I knew who it Was," went on Fern, gently; "you are the Miss Selby whom Mr. Erie is to marry. ; It is very,kind of yon,to come and see me." Oh, the , bitter flush that pseud over Evelyn's face; but she only smiled faintly. "Do yen know, it is you who have to do me o kindness. It is such a lovely afternoon, and you are alone. I went you to put on Shat bonnet again and have o drive with me; the park is delicious, and we could have our talk all the same. No, you must not refuse," as Fern colored and hesitated at this unexpected request; "do me this little favor—it is the first I have ever asked you." And Fern yielded. That drive seemed like a dream to Fern. The setting sun was shining between the bare trees in the park, and giving rosy flushes to the snow. Now and then a golden aisle seemed te open; there was a gleam of blue ice in the distance. Miss Selby talked very quietly, chiefly of Mr. Huntingdon's death and Mrs. Trafford's sudden failure of strength. But as the sunset tints faded and the grey light of evening began to veil everything, and the gas lights twinkled, and the horses' feet rang out on the frezen road, Evelyn leant back wearily in her place and relapsed into silence. Either She task she had setherself was harder than she thought, or her courage was failing; but the brave lips were quivering sadly in the dusk. But as the carriage stopped, she suddenly roused herself. "Ah, are we here?" she said with a little shiver; "1 did not think we should be home so soon." Then turn- ing to the. perplexed Fern, she took her hand gently. "You must have some tea with me, and then the brougham will take you back;" and, without listening to her frightened remonstrance, she conducted her through a large, brilliantly lighted hall and down a narrow corridor, while one of the servants preceeded them and threw open a door of a small room, bright with firelight and lamplight, where a pretty tea -table was already set. • Fern did not hear the whispered order that Miss Selby gave to the servant, and both question and answer were equally lost on her. "Do not say I have any one with me," she said, as the man was 'about to leave the room; and then she coaxed Fern to lake off her bonnet, and poured her out some tea, and told her that she looked pale and tired. "But you must have a long rest; and, as Aunt Adele is out, you need not be afraid that you will have to talk to strangers. This is my private senetuni, and only my special friends come here." "1 ought to be going home," replied Fern uneasily; for the thought had suddenly occurred to her tha$ Erie might come and find her there, and then what would he think? As this doubt crossed her mind, she saw . Miss Selby knit , her brow with o sudden expression of pain; and the next =Meat those light ringing footsteps, thot Fern often heard in her dreams, sounded'in the corridor. Fern -put down her cup and roue; " I must go, now," she said unsteadily. But as she stretched out her hand for her bonnet, Erie was already in the room, and was lodking from one pale face te the other inundieguised maze- ment •• " Mies Tarfford I" ba inclaimed, as though he could not ,believe -his eyes; but Evelyn quietly west up to hini Ind laid her hand on his arra" "Ye.,I have brought her. I asked her to drive with me, and mho never gueued the reason; I could not have, persuaded her to oome 41 .11. bad. DearErle, I know your senee of hotior, arid that you would never free yourself ; but now give you batik thie"--drawing, the diamond ring from her linger ; "it le Miss Trafford'., not "I- tonna! -kup` 'another wamati's Pir.Pen1,4"ie rensOne4ia' fiilOi "EvrAng ism to tie thar, far obi ieeniad* Omit's° 'Woo *hem ; "1 will not soup tbl. surilos ; I refuse to be Pet free," but she onlY mailed at him!. "GO to her, Erle," she whispered, 14 she is worthy even of„you ; I would not PlarrY you now even if she refused you, but "— with o look of irrepreosible tenderness—' oho will not refuse you ;" and before he could answer her she was gone. And Fern, looking at them through a sudden mist, tried to follow Evelyn, but either she stumbled or her strength forsook her. But all at once the found herself in Erie's arms, and pressed closely to him. "Did you hear her, my darling?" he said, as the fair heed drooped on his shoul. der; ",she has given us to each other—the has set me free to love you. Oh, Fern, I tried so hard to do my duty to her; she was good and true, and I was fond of her - 1 think she is the noblest woman on God's earth—but it wits you I loved, and she, found out I was miserable, and now she refuses to marry Me; and—and— will you not Say one word to me, my dearest?" How was she to speak to him when her heart was breaking with happiness—when her tears were falling so fast that Erie had to kiss them away. Could it be true that be Was really beside her; that out of She Mist and gloom her prince had come to her; that -the words she had pined to bear from his lips were now caressing her ear. But,Evelyn went up to herzoom. It is not 'ordained in this life -that giants •-• and martyrs should walk the earth with a, visible halo round their heads; yet, when such women as Margaret Ferrero and Evelyn Selby go on their weary way silently and uncomplaining, surely their guardian angel carries an unseen nimbus with which to crown them in another world. t • CHAPTER XL. AUNT JEANIE'S QUEST. The cooing babe a veil supplied, ' And ifosprt ilttriigegendone might know, Or if forecasting grief and care, Unconscious solace then she drew, And lulled her babe, and unaware Lulled edirrowtoo. JeanIngelow. All the winter. , Fay remainedquietly at the old Mani g; tenderly watched over by her kind old friend and the faithful Jean. For many weeks, indeed months, her want of strength and weary listleosnese caused Mrs. Duncan great anxiety. She used to shake her head and talk vaguely to. 'Jean of young folk who had gone into a, waste with nought but fretting, and had, been in their graves before their friends. realized that they were ill; to which Jeans would reply, " 'Deed and it is the truth,. mistress; and I am thinking it iintirne that, Mrs. St. Clair had her few 'broth." For - ell Jean's sympathy found expression in deeds, not words. Jean eeldom dealt largely in soft words;. she was somewhat brisk and sharp of tongue— a bit biting, like her moorland, breezes in winter time. In spite of her weverential tenderness for Fay, she would chide her quite roughly for what she called her fretting ways. She almost snatched the baby away from her one day when Fay was crying over him. Ah, my bonnie man," she said indig- nantly; "would your rnither rain tears down on your sweet face, and make you sairhearted before your time? Whist, then,, my bairn, and Jean will catch the sunshine for you ;" and Jean danced him vigor- ously before the window, while Fay peni- tently dried her eyes. "Oh, Jean, give him back to ine. I did mot mean to make him cry; the tears will come sometimes, and I cannot keep them back. I will try to be good—I will, indeed." But baby Hugh had no wish to, go back to his mother; he was crowing and pulling Jean's flaxen hair, and. would not heed Fay's sad little blandish- ments. "The bairns are like auld folks," remarked Jean, triumphant at her success, and eager to point a moral; "they cannot bide what is not bright. There is a time for everything, as Soloman gays, 'a time to, mourn and a time to dance ;" but there is. never a time for a bairn to be sair-hearted neither nature nor Soloman would hold with that, as Master Fergus would say. Eck sirsl but he is a fine preacher, is Master Fergus." Fay took Jean's reproof very humbly. She shed no more tears when her baby was in her arms. It was touching to see, how she litrove to banish her grief, that the. baby smiles might not be dimmed: Jean would mod her head with, grim approval over,her,pile of finely ironed things as she, heardll'ay singing in a lovisweet voice, and. She. baby's delighted coos answering her. A lump used to mine in Jean's throat, and o suspicious moisture to her keen blue eyes, as she would open the door in the twilight and see the child -mother kneeling down beside the old-fashioned cradle, singing him to sleep. "He likes the songs about the angels best," Fay would say, looking up wistfully in Jean's face. " I sing him all my pretty songs, only not the sad ones. I am sure he loves me to do it." 'Maybe the bairn doers not know his mither apart from the women angels," intittered.Jean in a gruff aside, as she laid down her pile of dainty linen. Jean knew more than any one else; she could have told her mistress, if .he cheee ; that it was odd that 'all Mre. St. Clair's linen was marked "F. Redmond." But she kept her own counsel. jean world not have lifted a finger to restore Fay to her Ifeband. The blunt Scotch handmaiden could not abide men— "1 puirlearted, feckless lot," as she was Wont to say., Of course the old master and Mr. Ferguerwere exceptions to this. Jean worshipped her master; and, though site held the doctrine of original sin, would never have owned that Mr. Fergus had a fault. But *a the rest of mankind she was suspiciously uncharitable. "To think ho drove her from him—the pair bit lammie," she would say; "and yet the law can't have the hanging of him. Redmond, indeed but we won't own to any ouch name. It is lucky the old !Motion is not ower sharp-. sighted—but there, Ouch an idea would never get into her head." (To bi eoellaued.) TIOISIlien tilk of it being hard limes for tho reresog roroo;I:ogii !,:o4Ybnyd iOiW hireAstoos year* ago.-LBUrvit-(.: Nee Neu: