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With downmat head, and handnoluped In if in pnyor, Mrs. 'Hepbum “swung pstiently. u a penitent' before a. prioamnly ut the word “murderer” s shiver seized her limbs :3 taken the poplar when its have. tufn pd. before the bitter outwind. “Um no... vâ€"~â€"J â€" w"â€" .. 1 hm mm in this'ziah." quoted she. “ who has taken pity upon the widow and hthorlou." luvs- II..- .I v -â€"vâ€"â€"â€"_ When Ill w; rad. sh; £00k the letter from Mn. Carey's hand. and kissed it. ..- n A“, (-2LL :. “4.. man " nnnfiml aha WI? uvuwuâ€"av v u .-_ “You," said Miidréd firmly. “It: not that the very definition of true faith ‘2 This igno pretense or stntwem. I am nu I _M_ -_L-_-J fl-nnn’n “WWII”. “What! and yet you have never him. nor can even guess who he is ? " the lieutenantfg w_i{9;_ A '- n,_,_‘_ ”1 in” “V . vv‘-â€"‘ vv sure. It never could have entered Grace’s heathwith all its cunning. to snare we thus. There is no approwh to thut {or wygoeq, not event in seeming.” #4 A ‘13:“; elme‘utm tun ‘1" â€"vv ‘.__- __ V "I h r V , 1 . v ‘ “But how strange. Mildred, that you can make no guess at who this friend may be; ior kindness. not like that warmth which makes the quicksilver to mount the tube, unconscious of what sort of host it be. whether from sun or fire, sets the heart at once inquiring from whence the genial glow proceeds that has so moved it. Friend re- cognizes friend, no matter under what disguise he does his lbving service. All love you here, dear Mildred. to the humb- lest. Have you, then, left none at Olyfie when} you can accuse of honest tea’lty?" A..-LL-.. .1...- R's-I- "uv vu- vâ€" â€"v_vv- v “ fioone more than fihother, deaf Mar- ion," answered Mrs. Hepburn thoughtfully. " They were ell Jreepeotfy‘l to meâ€"ney ' .7 _ L 1-....-L 1 «IV HOB mwuv u ........ “ Ah, that was how my own dear Bay-'1 mond used to speak," cried Mildred with agitation. “You feel as he felt, indignant â€"nobly brave,but again, I say, you do not know this woman. She fears nothingâ€" nothingâ€"excepb that she should be thwarted in her purpose. I do not want revenge; Iwant my child, my Milly. If she should but say “there, take her safe and well.’ I would premise never to molest her more.” 7 A l- .. 0 -| .1 , 1:---L-.. ”Uh luvs» v. “ So would not I, then,” cried the lieuten. ant's wife with flushing cheeks. “ What! forgive the wretch who set a man to slay my husband ? No; had she twenty livee she would need to look to them all. And if. in truth, she sat above the law, then without the law I would exact the penalty. I have no child, ’tis true, nor, as I hope, may I ever hear achild, if, having borne it, it should make me thus forgetful of my husband’s wrongsâ€" Pardon me, Mil~ dred ; I have a home unshattered. a hus- band living, I know not what it is to be forlorn like you, or, perhaps, like you, I should sit down content with any shred of comfort that the destroyer might permit me to retain, and almost thankful that so much was left.” For a minute or so, over Mildred‘s face passed traces of some painful inward struggle, but presently it grew calm and even smiling. “ I love you for your frank- ness, Marion, quite as much as for your charity. Some day, perhapsâ€"not nowâ€" on will know how much I thank you for it; how my heart yearns towards yours. Perhaps, again, after this day and night, I shall never see you more; then God will thank you for me, and far better. May it be long. indeed, ere death o’ershadows gar dwelling, and may less like mine never known to your true heart. Nay, do not Weep. dear Marion; it is your part, not mine, to play the comforter; and that you have done so He will not forget who repays human love with love divine. May He suffer us, in heaven, if not here, to meet again."_ up” 1,, , ,1 an _-A.A_ "131::th mean you, Mildred ?" mur- mured Mrs. Carey, through her tears. " Whither are you going?" ' AVENGED AT LAST. All." 01 1;; and Dal-lu- Iâ€"-vâ€"'â€" w__ a V." l. I start to-morrow Exorning, Marion, for Olyfle Ball." ‘ TEE SLEEPISO CASTLE. There are few things that try the tender human heart so cruelly as the revisiting a home scene from which death, or even absence, has taken away that which made it home; for however dear the external aspects of nature may be to us--and to some the are very dearâ€"it is the associa- tion whic they cases with our loves and friendships whie . after all. forms their most sacred charm. The wood may wave . asgreenly. the fountain leap as bri htly, 3 an the lake reflect the peaceful s y as ] laithlully as of yore, but there is some- thing missing to the inward eye which mars the beauty more completely than if some drought had stripped the trees of every leaf. and robbed the stream of its song. and the more of its silver flood. Nature seems cruel then. Ye banks and brass o' bonnie Deon, How can ye bloom so fresh and fair! flow can ye chant. 0 little birds, And I can weary. u‘ o‘ carol is a thought that stabbed many a breast, before Burns so touchingly expressed it. Ye‘ll break my heart, ‘0 little birds. That wanton throng the flowery thorn; Ye mind me o' departed joys, Departed never to return. Never-mover. And yet the sun shines as in the days when it was wont to gladden us, nor has the treasury of heaven, at night. lost asingle star. " From end to end,“ writes another post, very different from the Ayrshire ploughman, but equally susceptible of this divme regretâ€"" from end to end of all the landscape underneath, I find no place that doth not breath some gracious memory of my friend." But while he was with us. what had we to do with memories? All is chan ed to us. although the scene remains tie sameâ€"- lovely as ever. and ready to enchant new eyes; the heartless beauty smiles even open m. who have found out her falsehood. - .. A..._A Aiâ€"v-atlvl tho sumo: of “th 119 Out not.” “Gwendolluo'l Haven" and on»! mpulu noves. CHAPTER XXXI. 1E? '5 cried Yet Neture is not {else for being fair. It} is we who ere altered. sud not she. It 18‘ spring with her sgeiu. as it was with us onceâ€"eh me. how long exclâ€"for she renews her ybnthtime yetirly.~ The sum- mer odors ere es sweet now as then. end borne by the suns bright clear sire. which drive the self-same seas of meadow. rs‘ss. eithongh their shores may shift a. litt e See those of ocean do) from copes to oornfie d. The cradles of fresh moss, with their cov- erlete of wild-flowers, invite us as of old-â€" only we ere no user children. The shadows flicker end ens ethwsrt the fees of the pool. end fade sway into light (like is good men’s death). exactly as theyJ were wont to do ; but in the faith ul dept s we see I. won. worn tees. and the white heed. 'where once, he mile wss mirrored. and the crown 0 flowers. The garden to our eyes has become a. wilderness. nuke: very i VJ“ a... vv-vâ€"v .. v-vmâ€"vâ€"w . ., , less of tombs. beneath such ot which is uriededesd joy. _ Thus was it with Mtldted Clyfl‘elgd. as her long lonely journey northwards drew to its close. and through the windows of the post chaise she began to discern the well remembered scenes amid which her love hed_ gipened is; him, who was no A..- _-II_.: -II .010 um . â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" louse: with-tier.» She hid Vii-walled all night, and at early dawn Ribble had shot np_l_>elqre‘_her fair and green. with its great A I,-I_:_.‘:.. LL- .‘hsbnnnn will 0! limestone lookin in the distance like a mural crown ; Ribb 9, within which her troth had been first plightsd. Then for many an hour her way lay through a land of rocks and streams, whereevery atone might have horns Raymond's name; and runlet babbled it. so instinct ‘was 'it with his memory. The spring-time seemed to mock her with its joy. It was nearly midday when the wheels began to rattle! over the uneven village street that led to. the Hall gates, The last time they had done so it was when she had fled with her lover on the very eve of her threatened marriage with Rupert. Strange to say. she felt lees terror in thus returning alone to brave the malice of her aunt, and the‘ anger of him she had so slighted, than upon ‘that oocasion. She had then feared for ‘Raymond. and listened for the clanging boots of the pursuer with a sinking heart ; but now against him Grace Clyflard had done her worst, which was so bad that even she was glutted with it; while was not Mildred there to be herohild’s protector -â€"preserver from she knew not what, fellow-guardian with she knew not whomâ€" and did it not behave her above all things not to fear? The poet-chaise had drawn many a familiar face of child and woman tothe doors of the hamlet, but the park itself, seen over the sunk fence, appeared un- usually destitute of life for such an hour ; no keeper with his gun, no laborer with an axe in hand about the plantations, no blue- aproued bearer of vegetables from the kitchen~gar§en,_ no ‘meeeage-boy loiterin ,S‘IA ,, "xiiiy," grinned Giles, "but that only makes it worse. The master will have no such folk within his doors." u Ay' b Clgfl'ard.” v-J â€""__. In a. moment the gates were thrown back. and through her veil Mildred could see the porter drawn up in the mostunoom. forteble of the attitudes of. respect, and shading his eyes with his hand. as though the glory of the exalted personage to whom he was doing honor was almost too great to look upon. on the path that led to the villageâ€"no external sign of life, in short, such as is ordinarily visible about a. great country household was there. The porter at the lodge. too. could not easily be roused ; and while she waited, through the gilded iron gates the long avenue showed strangely desolate. As the cottage-door opened, she drew back mechanically. for she knew the man would start to recognize the face of run‘away " Miss Mildred as was ;" but she could hear his welLknown voice in expost. ulation with the poet-boy. “You know. my man. it’s no use your bringing anybody here at this time,” quoth Giles the porter. “ Why can’t you let a poor devil, who scarcely remembers what a night's rest is like. take a little sleep? ” “It is a lady, and Idid not like to tell her," replied the other in a. tone so low that:! Mildred could scarcely catch the wor s. The deer that had been wont to keep at aconsiderable distance from the avenue.: were now feeding close beside it, and canr tered nimbly off as the chaise rattled by; while the rocks, more easily moved than of yore, rose in a single cloud irom the swinging branches. and like a household roused by night-alarm, inquired of one another hoarsely what was wrong; where- upon some answered “Thieves! " and some cried "Fire! " and others (who seemed halt asleep) murmured “Both! Both l " As the visitor drew nearer to the house itseli. the eacook on the terrace began to scream; ut Mildred remarked to herself how strange it was that, save the deep bay of the bloodhounds, notanote come from the distant kennel where the fox-hounds lay, and from whence such a tumult had been wont of old to issue in ' the daytime at the echo of boots from the courtyard. No sound of human tongue was heard, no cheerful noises_ such as the nioirning Brings to ever: dwelling; no human face eume tothe linded windows of the upper floors, and those beside the door were shuttered close. “ In there death here '2 " asked Mildred of the poet-boy. letting down the glass with a trembling hand. and thinking with agony of a. small white face. growing pointed and thin. and cold little bands, which she had not been in time even to put crosswise over the einlees breast. ” Speak, man, and tell me the whole truth." “ Well, ma‘am," returned the young fellow. mitigating the Craven dialect torher benefit as well as he was able; " it’s what I can’t incense you about in a crack, but I‘ll notleeto ye. The master. you eee.be‘e odd,end Will have nothing done in the day- time. All the folks here gets up at eve. and seen to bed in film gnawing: We mackly that they’re all mailbag:3 and will give me time to tell the tale fore they answer the bell. Some folks hes lile brains, and aome'a an outslmt :‘ and Mistress Clyfl'urd. she has brains for horse! as well as for Squire Rupert." “ But he must-be stark-staring mad," ex- claimed Mildred involuntarily, " thuuhabib- ually to turn night into day." “ You‘ve about hit the atioklobutt. ma‘um; but'mad‘n'nhard‘word. find a bad one" (here he looked cautiously ' An outbuflding.m Addulonal place ofstowoge for um uticlo. ibfiir she comes to visit Mistress ground him) “ to speak of heroabouu. Benides. we cant‘ bo newt when there’s I0 much gen goiugf. It would not be wise in use mistress to ook hign upliko the root of . .AAI_,, [A ‘A m “uni!”- ’em. Bettor'fiev: Sign}? a mucky 1300 than wall its 1103303): UH.” "-3.- 0.“ uvwâ€" v... " Then this poor gentleman is only luf- tered to be at large to eerve the purposes of another?" “Nay. ma’em." returned the poet-ho op rehensively ; “ I know nothing myae t -â€" only tell what I have been told; and it the grant talk here should come to learn it. they would tek unconth‘ at poor Toby Dreyson. 7 - -- . I - Â¥,I,h4 J" :6. what a. dreadful h pocrisy.” what an acted lie must all things oreâ€"” h--. __ 412...-.. A: tn "1» unhavmnfnfl Bu WW“ lav mun. vu- .â€"â€".-"- fl ,, , “ Tush, ms‘sm. dinns flite."t interrupted the other ; “if leeing were ohokin . thssr'd be hard aspiug everywhere. An again, I say. spa not 0' what I told ya. Ye breed 0' me,:.I see. and have an honest kindly hesrtmr I should never hs' spokenâ€"But whet name shall I say, {or here is some- body ooming at last." “ Mrs. Raymond Clyfl‘ard." “ Saints and soldiers! What. are ye breed 0’ them! Then ‘I wish I’d never spoken. But folk ses out when the: i’ drink. and indeed. indeed ins'sm, I made too tree with the‘liqu‘or this cold morning.” 1 IISI J_-3 -_:] “ Then. for an sake." returned the man confidentially, “let us shag book again to Lmoesteljhmhfla yetja, may. Wee worth ye, if ye stay her‘é. and Be an unfriend of e mistress. Come ; for yo kind face. and the trouble in it I will 1: ya back, and risk ellâ€"3y. thgugh there's ill look- ing devil on the bri ge younder wonder where he eprungt m?â€"-â€"lmteri therefor no good, and as mix 11 as to say. have stolen. that w keep.’ 33 he word. and I’ll ride him own like {him take care-of ' .toehs.f’§ WU llcu “urn qu .- â€"__ -__,~ “Do not fear." returned Mildred Bui'il- iug, “I cannot of their race. although of their uamo.;.nor am I and Mrs Clyffard such friends, although we are relatives." uuu "(lav via-v v 7â€"7...” “Thank you‘ll-33h,” rett'frned gratefully; “ fut I have come hi I: of my own will, andnm not. ell-aid to 8 here." Neverthequa, as ehe looked baa m the direction}ndiceted by her new it ‘ beheld the gaunt form of the m ~ ’ standing upon the narrow way. as indeed to forbid her egress. 3116 b that she had need of all her oonrage. Duo um uku v- â€".- ._-- The next moment the door was opened by Mrs. Clyffard. . A mx’s umfizvn. ‘ “ You have come at lv t, niece; I have visited for you long." id the Lady of Clyfp. letting tall her ice cold syllables one by 0119,1119: drops from petrifying spring. _.-_ -ALA _._.- L-..) :5- €a “A", "‘ If I do n‘ih ggke 3109 hand, because I am not fluid to see you.‘ Resolute. severe, unbending as ever was Grace Clyfiard, in voice and gesture ; but her fair features had suffered change. The brow was no longer smooth, and the little form had lost its rounded grace. Trouble, and what is worse than trouble, the anxiety of guiltâ€"the dread sohoitude of one who drives a chariot on a city wall, unfenced on either side. and dares not for his life look right cr left, but always to his plunging steeds-had worn at last her wondrous youth away. Moreover, she seemed to take no pains to keep it; her attire was loose. and her finehair unbraided, although it was plain she had not been roused from her bed, as other inhabitants of the Hall had been by this time. And indeed, Grace Clyfiard. it was said, new never slept. Perhaps, had Ralph been. alive, she would have contrived to retain her marvellous beauty, but now, as though aware it was of little use .to her, she neglected it. unwomanly in that, as in all else. A look of scorn which had set upon her. when she first appeared, faded away ,as she gazed in Mildred's face, and marked ‘its calm resolve. Twice had her niece essayed to speak and twice had failed, but it was easy to observe that her inability did not proceed from fear. Even Tobias Drayson, who was by no means free from apprehen- sion,cculd see that, as, after lifting the luggage into the Hall, he threw into his farewell scrape at the door a more genuine sympathy than could have been expressed from all the bows that Lord Chesterfield ever made in his life. “ Stay one moments.” cried Mildred to this friend of three hours’ standing. who was aboubto leave her in the keeping of hot mortal foe, "there ma have been some mistake here after 1511â€" re. Clyfiard, whet}; is nay philg?” n, A ”,1; -1-‘.__- - 'I_'-- -~ ._. -_.__ “ She is] in they Cator'a char eâ€"a servant new to you. I think, but very eith- tul. Must you needs see her now? " no “11111 and at once!" returned Mildred nun “Mu-1": â€"' .. _.__ " Here. and at once I " returned Mildred resolutely. “ I will not stir except to leave this house, unless I see her; unless I hold her in rug handy." . . .n . q,,41___:-__-.1 nun II. An , ...... The hideous thought that already pierced the mother’s breast was again at work ; she dreaded lost this fiendish woman. hoe?- ing herpromiap to the our. might Present! I, ._ ‘tn ,1-.. ing her promise to the ear. might Freeentl give to her orphaned arms her Mil yâ€"de . “ Your child is safe and well enough." re- turned Mrs. Clyflard with a. sneer ; “ this bell will bring her in three minutes. Therel ” She rang it. " But do not look no haggard. niece. for be sure I do not Mk you to Clyffe Hall to play the mourner." The cruel shaft sped not home; the mother had no one one (or the sounds she hungered forâ€"the echo of a. tiny foot- lall, and the bubble of a baby tongue. Tobias. too. with head aside. awaited them with not a little interest: and presently they_oeme.‘ A w.___ H --:...1 a Dav] vuwv “ Run. then-run to mamme." cried a woman’s voice, not unkindly. and then was heard the Eompoua Manger of an infant‘e feet, and t 9 crew that beepeeke pedestrian confidence; and like an arrow from the bow, forth darted Mildred. and caught her child up as it attained, like hound in leash, to meet her from its nnree'e hand, and hugged it to her breast. and kissed and lcndled it. and rocked it to and fro, with murmuroua inerticulete joy. 7 No sooner had the first gush of grateful happiness passed away, then her eyes glanced toward the door. It was cloned; there ween dull sounq ogwh‘eele. obias was atending by it no longer. and .A!A_4 u,--._v __ 'r “ If I do n‘ih take yofi‘ hami, i7; i's not A “-2. .Lrfi A- man um: ” DIIU " It. will be better both for you. niece. and (or our child." said Mrs. Clyfiard. in her mbi ant vome. " not to think any more ofwbnt I read in your mind jun: now. { squeamish ' Take oflenco‘ § floold. : Ygg no of the same brood or ohonctor. x so". To”. CHAPTER x15}; You have (oiled me once, it is true. but " No, niece; that is no longer necessary. But see you speak him lair. and promise what he asks for. There is no harm in humoring a madman. Thanks to you, Rupert has never been himself since when you broke your faith With him and me, and fledâ€"as did your ialse mother before youâ€" irom kith and kin. to link yoursel! with their sworn enemy. I cannot quench the anger of my eyes the while I speak of it. but I have forgiven you this. and Rupert has forgotten it. He deems that every morrcw is his marriage morn; and there- fore. that the night may pass the uicker with him than it, on a sleepless pil cw, he lay longing for his gypsy bride, he turns it into dayâ€"hunts. shoots and fishes by moon- light. or by torch-light if there be no moon, and makes the name of the mad Clyfl'ard a wonder and a jest the country through. And he is mad, too; so mad. niece. that if I did but tell him ‘ That is Mildred’s child, she that is widow of thy brother,’ he would pluck her from thine arms, and dash her brains out on yonder court-yard stones; and yet the law would hold him harmless. But the law stirs not of itself; and if I have his name set to a certain parchment. 1 written out and ready for his signing more than two years back, and which he would have signed upon the very day on which he called you hisâ€"you ungrateful girlâ€"I say that even now, should be but sign it, there being no greedy heirs to wrangle with me, and dispute my rights, the thing would hold ; and all this goodly heritage, on which Ihave fixed my eyes these many years, and have yearned after as you-â€" weak fool~have yearned after that babe these ten days, shall henceforth be mineâ€"- mineâ€"mine!" Grace Clyfierd clasped her hands as tho’ ‘ she were invoking a. blessing from High Heaven upon her sinful soul. So wrapped in greed, that for a moment she forgot the very presence of her niece. Then suddenly she swooped upon her with, “You dare not thwart me. Mildred; you dare not come between me and such a. prize! If loss of all you loveâ€"who have already lost so much. and can afford to lose :30 illâ€"has terror for you, play me not false again! When will you see Rupert ? " " Alas, Aunt Grace, I fearâ€"â€" “ Whomâ€"when, I say?" exclaimed the pitileee woman‘ not stormfully, as the winds beat and the mine full, but fiercely, as the hailstonee rattle and hiss. " To-day, to-morrow ? A week hence, it you will have it so ; but when once named, see you depart not from the time. I will not brook postponement!“ an hour." n ,, n ___AAL sun: {VJV'ELEBâ€"vailifiéée him now,” quoth Mild- red resolutely. “ Here, at once: I am ready. _Let hi1}: comet" “ Fool. would you have him rend you limb from limb, you and the child as well ? You know not what you ask. No. nor yet toâ€"morrow. Thoee sunken cheeks must be plumped out. those eyes harbor no tears, those mournlul garments be exchanged for others befitting one on the threshold of her bridal. A Week hence it shall be. You hear me. girl? I do not mince my words ; but do you heed ? I will not take your silence for consent. Speakâ€"speak, I say. What! you are contumaoioue ?-â€"â€" ‘Luoy. take her child I" ‘ A ”H”; “3 L- -L-.. ”my -â€"_â€" .â€"‘_ _W_V__ V J I As the woman stepped forward to obey her mistress Mildred cried with passion, “ I hear, I head. I will do all you ask, if I have still my child ; without. her, nothing. Rupert. and you may rend me limb from limb, as you have said, but I will not be parted filom my childnl” .. 13-.. .. ._.....1. u a. .â€" w -_..-__. l”""" " J v “ Good," returned Grace. “ For a week. then, you shall have her to yourself; and then. after that. if the parchment be but signed, shall take her whither you will ; if not. then you will not be much together, you and she. Do you understand me, Mildred ‘7 " AIL-lul vu a " Yemwe shall be parted like my husband and myself." returned Mildred hoarsely. " Let me go hence to my chamber ; I can» not bear to look qpon your wickedjace." A AL-L uvu Wu". .w -v--- ’1'" a -fi “You are no flatterer, niece; but that does not affect me. My presence shall not vex you longer now. not any more. unless vent qwn cuudpeg‘ozfllu {or i‘tâ€"Luey, show A -â€"-_._. . -_.I yuun vvvu vvuuuv- "â€"--â€"â€" --_ V, , v , Mrs. Raymond Olyfierd to her room ; and see you never leave her nights nor day. as I have already charged youâ€"Remember. a Week hence. and you meet. Rupert Clyfi'urd as his betrothed bride. Have I your word. Niece Mildred? " “You have. Aunt Grace.” answered v “You have. Aunt Grace." answered Mildred. resolutely. For is note “ week hence" a precious boon, to be rejected by no human soul in gresent peril. and least of all by a women? very eternity of comfortâ€"a s we wherein a score of unlocked for bu s of hope have time to spring 11 . any one of which may blossom into the ower safety. CHAPTER XXXIII. A GENTLE JAILER. Lucy Gator. the woman who was arpointed to be Mildred'e attendant, and sec her jailer, was one of those reone who are alwaya middle aged. ll 0 the wicked dwarf in the fairy tales (although she was by no means a dwarf). she looked: an though ehe had been born into the world‘ very gray and wrinkled. and yet with a heady brightness about her eyes that seemed to promise an eternal youth. I! it wdeimponeible to imagine hera clnld. it was equally hard to picture her bowed down and decrepit with ago. Like the horse that we buy at fourteen. and work for six years. and bent (and believe our boast that ho is ‘M oung and an ntrong an ever. moy Gator loo ed ca able 0! doing domestic service for eevera generatione yet‘ to come‘ the moat prudent mother would have hired her to fireside over a nureery of young children, wit no fear that she won d econ (elae, alae, ,for the poor human. who hae no paddock to take her ease in. and to whom even the knwkers afford nu happy releiso. when pugwgk!) poopugu "uueguul to fine eituetfon." She had been oul y recently taken into Mrs. Cl) future service. but she came of 5 stock upon whom that ledy could rely. Her brother William lied been you by your oetebliuhiug .huuuell in the good graceec! the Lady of Clyt‘fc. and since Gideon’s death ho hum grown to be some- thing more than it eon-ant. She could count upon him toexeouw project» from the consequences of which Clement chunk in teen and although he was much wanted at the Dene. where. indeed. her brother ‘conld scarcely be induced to utuy without whim. she had retained him at Cl) fie Hell [of late for her own reasons. Much of this Mildred guessed, and on that account. as well as from the odious relation of domestic spy in which she stood to herself. was inclined to regard her new acquaintance with great disiavor. But there was one thing which much mitigated this leelingâ€"Milly was fond of Luoy. With that strange waywardness that belongs to infancy, and which might at times almost lead a mother to imagine that her own child was a changeling. no sooner had the three arrived in the large chamber allotted to their-nee, than Milly ‘stretohed out her little arms to her new nurse. Luoy stood with her hands by her side, not offering to take her from her nat- ural protector, and still the child struggled towards her, as though it would have said, “ Now. let me go to her, now do; for though I am well aware you are my mother, and the person to cling to in the presence of an egress. such as she who has (I sin delighted to see) Just taken herself 06, yet I do owe this smgularJooking female an apology for my apparent desertion of her. You have no idea how civil she has been to me while you have been away; I really must go to her.” Aflush of wounded pride involun- tsrily stole upon her mother's cheek : but she stepped forward and gave her child to Lucy. saying “ You have been very kind to her, I see; may God reward you for it l " For an instant the whole face of the gray women was ht up with pleasure. as and- denly an a. gas-jet which one turns the wrong way before one turns it outâ€"then once more it became as hard and wrinkled use winter’s road. “Mrs. Cbfiard bade me treat the child with every care, ma’am.” returned she coldly. “That was to be one of my chat duties.” “And what is expectea of you also," inquired Mildred, her aversion renewed with this reply, " beside this hired care?" “ I am to wait upon yourself, ma'am," returned the other. her face quite buried in the child, who laughed and gurgled at her kisses like the rich wine epcaping from} the 5:31;, and Mbhlifig of the ‘viuvtage feast whereof it was the pride 9. score of yam ago. “That ‘waiting’ means watching, does it notâ€"means playing the spy upon me nighfiand flay ‘1’." u . ‘1' n1, ct -1 __:.1 “ You heard what Mrs. Clyfl'ard said, ma’am," replied the other quietly. She spoke with a. humility that disarmed her interlocutor. It could not have been in the letter of her task that she should behave with such respect and gentlenew. Besides, what could she know of the wronge_th_at had been aufiered at Grace Clyfiard’s hands? No! It was manifestly unfair to treat this woman. who was only doing her dutyâ€"and that with delicacy and feelingâ€"â€" as one responsible for the actions of her mistress. " You are right. Lucy, and I am wrong," eeid Mildred. " I ask your pardon for my angry words. If you knew how cruelly I and mine have been treated you would make allowance for me, I am sure." . Lucy bowed her head, but without speak~ mg. “ I want, however. to know exactly the position in which I am. You are to be my inseparable companion. But am I to be eleolxept. an iii-door grieoner? " W I ”I, _L -â€" unuv ”vr' .___ ,â€" “ You may walk about the park, wher- ever you please, madamâ€"that is. if I am with you; but not upon the village side of it, 0}: in the_avanne." , A, n __:J nu, v. u.â€" wâ€"â€" v. “ Your orders are precise enough." said Mildred. bitterly. “Now tell meâ€"I have a foolish fanci for visiting Bibble Cave to- morrowâ€"do t ey preclude it ? " “ No, madam. they do not.“ It was well for Mildred that as this answer came her face was turned away from her whom she addressed. for at those words her features changed from shrink- ing pale suspense to the full rose of exulta. tion. Nor was it at once that she could trust herself to yoke her rapturous thought with sober words. “Lucy! I do not know if you have ever loved and lost, as I have done ; but it so, when I tell you in that cave fell the first whisper of love upon my ear from lips that now are dumb, you will underutend the rayer 1 am about to make to you to grant it ; it not,perohnuce because I am of your own sex and friendlees, you will indulge me in what is at worst a. harmless whim. I wish to visit Ribble Cave alone. To me andto my child that place is hallowed; you would not surely break in upon your meter at the alter steps. and met her prayers ?” .\ The woman's face melted at this appeal like new before the sun, then froze again as qlljokly 93 before. ,.-A1_L L- 4.! .......... w: m uvu- wâ€" V-_ "lfl‘hereJ is no outlet to the cave save one," continued Mildred; "and therefore you will not neglect. your duty by remaining at the entrance; you will have us both secure." v an shook her head. “Let. us talk of sometzing 33139. madam. if we must. needs talk; but. you cannot. but. be weary with your long night‘s travel. Here is refresh- mentmnd when you have taken it. lie down upon your bed and sleep, as all at Clyffe {we sleeping now.” _ Ln-.- nnnm:nnp‘ m‘\n‘ T Ul’llv nlu I’l‘d‘a‘rIâ€"n __ V, , " Not until you have promised what I asked." leaded Mildred,pnsnionately. “It is a mm 1 thing perhaps in your eyes; but in mineâ€"ah! you cannot guess what value Isetu nitl Come, promise me. and I shall a cop in peace." "No. madam, I cannot," enid Luo , gravely; “your very eurnentneaa forbl a me to any ‘Yee.’ You will not be sale without my presence. From Ribble Cove there in an outlet beaides the one of which you speak.” So iluehod wee Mildred with her recent joy. that she did not guano the women’s monuin , notwithntandiug her grave tone, 101‘ the eurt. when hopeful, in an diein- ‘olined an ,childhood‘a self to contemplate ’the dreadful void of death. " What outlet. _ 3:1 -\-A ---_-.. . "I ulcwuuu- .v-.. . iuoy ?" Then. wfien she did not answer : "Do you think thus I would drown myueu, Continued from «and pigs.