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“ He went away,’ ’sayslittle May, bland. . ; “he was cross with Meg, and I thmk he didn’t like W illie to give her the pretty new frock, because the moment he saw it he went out of the window.” “ He Eertainly was here a minute 0r two ago,” says chk. .0 1...! \r n. - “Tb is indeeda Charmin ” ' Peter. g dress, said “ Perhaps,” ironically. “ You think you have it.” " I know I have it.” “ Poufi' ! ’How men deceive themselves: “ ‘ Patience is a. virtue, Catch it if you can ; It is seldem in a. woman, But never, never, NE-V‘ER in a. man !" However, don’t mind that, Peter ! come in until I show you my new gown that, VViIIie has given me. Isn’t it. a. beauty '2 A lovely thing ?’_’ “Where is Curzon ?” he asks, presently. “ I thought 1}e_was hege.” “ Peter! Peter fPéiér ! Piâ€"iâ€"iâ€"per,” cans s'ne, gayly. At last; he hears her, and leisurely crosses the lawn lower down, and games up to her. “ Why, you little pretty goose ! Did you think I could enjoy myselfwichout you? It is all selfishness," smiles Wilhelmina. “ There is Peter 2” cries Margery, pres- ontly, in an excited tone. “ He is coming across the lawn. He must see it, too. She was to the window and waves her handker- ahief with frantic ggce. 7 “ I think he was vexed about something, “0 «tammers; “But I don ’t know what. it “ Ah 2 Willie, what cafi iVâ€"EQy as she, tears in} her soft eves. . . v‘v‘ But there is no longer a. Margery to ad- dress. Miss Daryl has flown from the zoom, and presently returns to them with a mystic mass of tulle and lace carried rev- orently between her outstretched arms. “ Nonsense, Meg,” cried Mrs. Daryl, sharply. “ Of course you are going. Why, your gown came half an hour ago, by the midday train. I‘m wool-gathering to-day. That is another thing I forgot to tell you. It is upstâ€"” “ I’m not going,” says Miss Daryl. “That is what I mean.” “ Not going?” “No. The fact is, I haven’t a. gown,” declares Margery. , ,_ _ «vvv- uâ€"u-nvAASQU uncut. “ Pity the ball next Thursday isn’t a fancy one,” says Angelica. “ You could manage to look a. part, I am sure. As a. rule, I am told, the Madame Favarts look like Joan of Arcs, and the Marie Stuarts like Serpoleues. That must rather destroy the effect.” “What are you going to wear, Meg,” gsks Tommy Paulyn. “ Nothing.” “ ‘ Nothing.’ My dear girl consider. ‘Ve ue advanced enough in all consciences, but --there still is another line !” “ As anybody would,” corrects Blanche. “she only stands straight up like this”â€" drawing up her little fat body into an ab- surd attempt at dignity--“ and opens her eyes wide like this, and fastens up her fin- ers, so ! It is terrifying, I can tell you. We never vexed Muriel if we could help our- selves. “ Muriel was clever, it seems to me,” ex- exclaims Mrs. Billy. “I wish you to un- derstand, Billy, that now, at last, I know the way to manage you. The wisdom of babes is astounding. \Vhen next you give mea bad time I shall be terrifying. Blanche has just shown me how I shall draw myself up, so,” throwing herself into a pretty but exaggerated position, “ and open my eyes, so : and close my fingers upon you, so,” giving him a dainty little pinch, “and then you’ll be done for in no time 1” She looks , so bright, so gay, so defiant, yet so lovingJ withal, that Billy must be forgiven for re- l sorting to instant measures for the reducing | of her to order. He gives her first a. sound I shake and then a sound kiss. l “ And that’s What I’ll do ‘3” says he. l “ Billy ! what a. barbarian you are l” l cries she, blushing hotly at this breach ofi etiquette, but presently her laugh is the clearest and merriest amongst them. “ D“... H... I..-“ _,,,. n“ . . v-.. -u u- a.“ K,â€" “ W'hich is about chore in a blue moon,” interposes Angelica. “She never stamps, or fumes, or boxes people’s ears as Meg doesâ€"” ‘. AS anvhnflv mnnh} N --__--L_ In ‘ “ 1’d have known it anywhere,” says Daryl, who is now shaking’hands with and welcomin g Tommy. “ Staying with Muriel, eh ‘2" he asks. “ I’ll tell you something,” says Blanche, “ Muriel isn’t a. bit. like the resu of us. Is she now ‘3» When she gets in a rageâ€"” ““YL:AL :. -L-,,L - . , “ Perfectly. Oh, Dick 2 and so that was what you thought of me. Say. Billy !” ac» costing Mr. Daryl, who has suddenly ap- peared in the doorway ; a. fetchip’ descrip- tion wasn’t it?” “ Blanche !” in an agony from Dick. “ You would hate little girls like me and May, and go about the farm all day in top- boots and leggings. You wouldn’t like leggings, would you now ‘2” “No, no,” assents Mrs. Billy. “ And he said you would always carry a cart-whip with you, to strike the farm peo- ple with, just like Legree, and Sambo, and J umboâ€"rec’lect ‘3” 7 “ Tallâ€"veryiâ€"vergr Big,” nods the child, solemnly. “ And you are quite little, after all. He said, too, that you would be a dreadful womanâ€"a. sort of an Orson ! and that you wouldâ€"" “Blanche !” in an agonv from hint: “Not until you have given me Dick's portrait of me, drawn from hlS mner con- sciousness,” says Mrs. Daryl, mischievous- ly. “ Now beginâ€"I wasâ€"” 1"â€" ~. ‘uv .-â€"-vvv- * ing a. picture he dre'w ?” aske Wilhelmma. “Blanche !” calls out Dick, “ Go fetch me my- fishing-rod from your den, and I’ll go and gel: you some trout for your break- fast tab-marrow.” Mm. Billy is still laughing over May’s revelation of Peter. “ Poor Peter,” she is saying, “ what a shame to betray him! He certainly does any funny things at times.” “Not so funny as Dick,” breaks in Blanche. airily. “ He told us about you be- fore you came. But I don’t think he could have known, because what he said wasn’t a bit. like you.” “ Whét did he say? Was it too flatter- g a. picture he drew ’2” asks Wilhelmina. “ Blanc‘hg !” caill§ out Dick, “ Go fetch CHAPTER XVI. HIS HEIRESS; ,, LOVE IS ALWAYS THE SAME. 9n whisp- “ It is a. pity, Curzon,” remarks Miss Daryl, “ that you will permit yourself such brusqueness of demeannr. “ It is very distressing! Your manner is positively farouche at times; it quite takes one’s breath away.” " Answer me,” says Curzon, obstinately. “,Your asking me now suggests to me the possibility that you are very desirous of getting ‘ no’ for your answer,” replies Miss Daryl. “ After your dreadful behavior of this morning, ' I wonder you have the ‘hardiâ€",” “ W911,” she s'ays, impatiently, “ I’m not goxng to marry Tommy, if that is what you megn.”_ 7 “ If,” looking up eagerly, “I could be sure of that? Or any one else for that matter! Look here !” he says, gazing straight at, her; “ If you are not going to marry him, are you going to marry me? I want. to get an answer to that question no y.” “ Is there anything strange in that? I have kissed him since I was so high,” pointing to about, an inch or so from the ground. “You forget he is an old, old friend.” “ So am I, yet you have neverâ€"” “I should think not, indeed. You will be good enough to remember that he is my cousin.” “ One can marry a. cousin 1” puts Bellow irrelevantly. __w_ - v v- V“; UB‘IJOUD '- 4 ’ ' “‘“ J “ No,” says Mr. Bellew, “ my senses are w1th me now, as then. They were all with me when I saw you lass him 1” “So that is it?” said Miss Daryl,'rega.rd- iug him coutemptuously. “All the vile temper you displayed this morning arose out of the fact that.” sat on Tommy Paulyn’s knee!”Alituleirrepressiblelaughbreaksfrom her. “You might as well find fault with me for sitting on Billy’s or Peter’s knee, it would be quite the same thing, I assure you. except that I should prefer Billy : he wouldn’t. gig one so. So that’s all the ex- cuse you can give for ynur base conducts? Have you taken leave of your senses?" “ No-” save Mr Rnllnm u n... M..-“ nothing to do with it. When I came in through the window, you were sitting on that fellow‘sâ€"" Here he stcps Show. and then bursts out; againâ€"“knee I” he cries \ehemently. “How you saw me? In this old gown 2 To which. if you are no: accustomed, you ought to be.” “It in a. lovely gown, and you look lovely m it,” says Curzon, gloomily. “But it has nothing to do with it. When I came in through the Window, you were sitting on that fellowlSâ€"l’ Here he stcns Rhnri: nnA It was now close upon noon. .In the wood a. somber light, sweet; and delicate, is playing upon the opening buds and the greening branches. Through the heavy fir- ltrecs the sun is glintmg, making warm I pa’E‘ches of color upon the mossy award. “ Is that wretched word to be remember- Perhaps it is sometimes easier to escape from one’s self than from a determined lover. This thought occurs to Margery when she sees Mr. Bellow afar off, plainly in hot; pursuit of her. She takes no out. ward heed, however, of the on-comer, but pursues her way as though his near ap- ptOilch is a. thing unknown to her. puLcnes or color upon the mossy sawâ€"Md. The'pale dog~violets have all burst out a.- flowering, and already the meadows are gzny wuh marguerites, white and yellow. But $11.8 finest flOWer amongst them all is the fan‘, penswe maiden, with lily-drooping head, who steps between them with a care- less grace, and crossing the brilli nu meads enters the cool, dark woods beyond. She is ‘hoi‘algtflgone upon her solitary journey when the upper window is darken- ed by the incoming Iorm of that moody yopog man. v Honorable Tommy; unabashed. “ Do you really think, after all your expenence, that such an opinion as yours is of any consequence at all '2” “ A reg’lar shindy,” persists Mr. Paulyn, untouched by this scathing remark. “ Pshaw !” exclaims she, and stepping through the southern window may be seen presently marching off in the dlrection of the wood, a. route that will convey her far rum the garden made obnoxious by Mr. BellewA’s presence. cries Blanche. “ He has his eyes,”excited- ly, “ glue to the around. I’m sure, I’m certain he is looking for cockrowhes.” “ Looking for a. reason for his ill~ temper more likely,” says Margery. “ Go and find him, and have it out," says Mr. Paulyn. “ Why should I? One would think it was a. tooth you were talking a.“out,” re- 1 turns Miss Daryl. “Go and have it out with him yourself. He was looking dag- gers at you all the time he was in-doors. What have I got to do with him ?” “ I leave your own innate sense ot truth to answer that question, Margaret,” says Mr. Paulyn, solemnly. . “ No, you don’t,” wrathfully, “you want to answer it yourself. It is a. most ex- tiaordinary thing, Tommy, that you will interfere in the aflairs of other people.” “ It is my opinion that you have had a. right-down flare-up with him,” says the Honorable Tommy, unabashed. i “ He is wal king up and down the garden,” I SI CHAPTER XVII. in Mr. The tennis-courts without are thronged with guests ; and Miss Mumm, standing stiff and starch in her drawxng-room to re- ceive the late arrivals, with her small curls hanging crisply on either side of her parsed- up mouth, is full of importance, and in a. degree, more unapproachable than usual. She is holding forth in her usual dictatorial style to old. Lady Primrose about Muriel, who it appears, after all, has disappointed her expectations in many ways. Old Lady‘ Primrose is feebly entering a protest here! Last night was full of tears, but now the sad reign of weeping is at end, and the pas- sionate storm that raged in the dark, small hours has left no trace on the smiling earth, save the sweet shedding of white blossoms on the garden paths. ' In a. very little while, in a. moment, as it were, he feels the light touch of her hand upon his arm. She is very white, and her eyes have a strange gleam in them. She has evidently altogether forgotten that there was any disagreement between them. 4;an luv uuluc, uuxouu, sue faintly. “ I am tired ; deadly tired. l Bellew is quite aware that she has not as ‘ yet forgiven him by the little petulant fashiOn in which she keeps her head turned away and directed to that grassy rendez- vous that once had been so dear to Muriel. His eyes follow hers, and grow a little wider as they rest on a. solitary figure-a. woman’s figure that slowly and wearily en- ters it, and sinks in a dejected attitude upon a mossy throne that decorates its nearest side. It is not long a solitary figure ! Even as they both gaze spell-bound at it, a man steps lightly from the brush- wood outside and advances toward it. There is a suggestion of surprise in the way the first tall, graceful form rises to receive this last comer, and then Bellew, as if aware that Margery has grown decidedly pale and that she would gladly believe herself sole witness of this vague scene beneath her,| turns abruptly away and concentrates his ‘ gaze on the Branksmere turrets. “ I Suppose s6. All the world is to be there, and one should at least patronize one’s Uncle.” Bellew is qqite aware that she has not as ___4_ f- I 7 “ Willie made it up for Don’t mix matters.” “And to-morrow you 8.1 Mutius Mumm’s afternoon? “ You are right. I want to tell you how glad I am that you have at last made up your mind to go to the county ball. ” “ Willie made it up for me, you mean. “Ann. _.-:-_ A" AA u - .--~ .vvv. “*You are longing tbflsiaryfisomething,” says Miss Daryl, at; last, “ Why don’t you ’1’. :50” (16 in?” “'I am glad to know at? ieajsfigrhat'pleas- es you. Margaret,” returns he, evenly, his gaze riveted upon the turf at; his feet. “Margaret, then. There is samething respectable about that. No flippancyâ€"no vulggr rhymes are connected with it.” ,,L.V_ .__.a u. .l-J evur’ulvllhnl “ I will call you by any name you choose,” declares he, submissively. “\‘onrrunn+ ‘Ln... n‘L-_- 3, .1 - “ Now once for all !” she deciares, “ I won’t, be called by that name again. Meg! It is monstrous ! It reminds me of nothing on earth save a. goat ! “ Margery, then,” meekly. “ Certainly not, That is, if possible, worse. Do you think I am Without feeling, that you seek to annoy me? I Wish I had had the transporting of my godparents.” “Tnn‘llnnn ..... L---_.-__,i__r Her continued silence is more than Mr. Bellew has strength to endure. “ Meg I” he says, in a. voice replete with misery and contrinion. , vr-_-.â€". “ I think I am‘ the most, unfortunate man on earth,” he begins, “ I have ofl'ended you twjge to-day. â€" - â€"-â€"-- v-‘vv‘vrv. She almost forgets Curzon now, as her eyes dwell upon it, and unconsciously she sxghs audibly. This resigned expression of a hidden grief is misconstrued by her com- panion, and compels him to speech. “ T +l\;n]y T am «I... m--- ._.,r ,L l Silence! Aterrible silence! Nowoman, if born acoquette, likes to be called so. Most; women who couldn’t; be couqettish to save their lives. are delighted if you will call them so. Miss Daryl, belonging to the first; class is hopelessly offended. She turns deliberately away from Curzon, and clasp- ing her hands behind her back commences an exhaustive survey of the landscape. 0!. - _ I ,7 7 , . r . I“ ’ “Take me home, Curzon,” she says int]v_ “ I am tirpd - Hamil" Hm“: U ' “ You aFe a. shameless coquette claims Mr Bellew. “I never-quarrel,” declares she, “ except wish the boys; They like in, so I do it with them out of sheer good nature. But other- wiseâ€"” “ Perhaps you think 1 like it, too?" “I have told you already that I should not; dream of quarreliug with you; and as for thinking about; you. I never do that.” -LA,",I,A, .. nu H ‘7’.“ .HM .. “ Poof l” says‘she, contemptuously, “you are but a poor reasoner ; a. moment ago you doubted my having such an unsatisfactory article, and now you accuse me of having misappropriated yours. How is one to grasp your meaning ‘2” “ We are talking nonsense, declares the young man angrily. “ We shall be quarrel- ing goon. " “So do I. For once we are agreed. That is why I care never to part with mine.” ' “ “One must possess a. thing, to be in a. position to part with it. ” “ True, 0 King 2” “ Have you a. heart at all? “ Have you ‘2” “ Who should answer that question but youâ€"you, who possess it ?”- “ Why? I haven’t fallen in love with any- one in a. hoplessls idiotic manner, have I? And as for ‘ serving me right’ Why, if you think it would distress me, your falling in love with any one, you are immensely mis- taken, and I would advise you to dispel from your mind at: once all such illusions.” “ You are cruel beyond imagination,” he says. slowly. “ I hate a. heartless wom- “ I don’t, want a slave!” declares she. “It. ,is very rude of you to suppose so. Am I a. South American planter? And to talk of slaves ! If you called yourself Mrs. Amyob’s shadowâ€"you would be nearer the mark 1” “Stuff!" Says Mr. Bellew, more forcibly than elegantly. “ You don’t. believe a. word of. that. And if I were in lov‘e with her, it would only serve you right. We might; be quits then.” ,-_.--.. ...w.. -. “You are talkirnlgi nonsense!” says Bellew, indignantly. “ I am your slave, as all the world knows. It ought”â€"bitterlyâ€"“ It can see daily for itself how abject is my submission.” “Seldom ‘5” repozi'ts she. “How little you understand yourSelf. In my opinion, you are the most offending man I know.” “\‘m. -_- 5-11-..“ A .n .. ed forever ‘2’” interrupts be. “Good Heavens! how I wish it had never been, coined. Think how seldom I ofi'end you. and don’t follow up this one sin to ins death To my death, 1 verily believe in will be.” 1131 1‘ CHAPTER XVIII. you a}? going to Sir P, ex~ “He and Aunt Salina, as he calls her, are about the most absurd pair in the world.” “'I wish you wouldn’t talk so uiiguarded- 1y, my dear fellow,” says Halkett, gravely, “ when you know there are ladies present. Itâ€"it is not decent !” “ Of Sir Mutius? No, that’s what I’m preaching,” returns Primrose, stolidly. “ What an absurb name it is,” says Mr. Amyot, laughing, “Mutius Mumm. Oh! it is too ridiculous !” “ Of a. long series,” interrupts Mr. Paulyn. What had she been going to say? “ I employed but one letter to efi'ect the desired comparison. It instantly made Sir Mutius’s p9 te a plate.” “A cheese plate,” supplements Margery. “ It stayed at that for some time, but now it is a. soup plate. “ We expect no ’more from it. We feel it has done its duty.’ “Why don’t he do something fâ€"or it ‘2’ demands Primrose, “It’s very abominable his__g9ing_about like that in his skin.” indicating Net. Paulyn', by a. wave of her fan â€" “ came to the rescue. He surmount- ed the difficulty. A brilliant thought oc- curred to him. The first-” “That bald spot was a thing full of in- terest to us for years,” says Margery, gay- iy “ We used to make baby bets about it. And every year it grew carefully big- ger and bigger! Such an old head as he has ! First we used to compare his patch to a threepenny bit, then as it inâ€" creased with our years and his, afourpenny Then it became a. sixpence, then a. shilling. then a florin, and then, all at once, as it were: it changed into a five-shilling piece ! \Vhen it came to that point it staggered us a good deal. I can tell you, but Tommy”â€" indicating Nor. Paulyn, by a wave of her ‘ “ Ay, ay ! Root ’em outâ€"root ’em out l” gabbles the old lady‘, with senile enthusi- asm. “ Lord Foozil thinks with you. They shouldn’t be allowed to live,” with a. wild cackle. “ That’s what he says, cuck, cuck.” “ E11 ‘2” says Miss Mumm. “ They shouldn’t have a. vote if he had his way. It’s monstrous how they’re spread-‘ ing. Country’s going to perdition. That’s what he says. Clever fellow, Foozil? Eh '2 en ‘2” “ Pshaw 3" exclaims Miss Mumm, indig- nantly, turningr on her heel and leaving the . old lady. ‘ Outside, the gardensâ€"beingin unison with 3 the furniture Withinâ€"are simply exquisite. The pleasaunce is crowded with gay groups dotted here and there. Through the open windows beyond the wall of rhodo- dendrons come snatches of Mozart and Dussek. From further still the laughter of the tennis-players, and the triumphant cry that tells of a game won. Mrs. Amyot, in a gown of sap-green, is lounging leisurely on a. low garden chair, and is holding her court gayly. A little further on Lady Branksmere, in a. marvelous costume of ‘Venetian red, looks likea spot of blood in the assembly, whilst Angelica, leaning on the. back of her chair, in a little white nun-like frock, and with a rapt expression on her face, makes a charming contrast. “ \Vho is the old man over there?” asks I Lord Primrose, presently. Margery, who overhears him, laughs. “ Hush ! Mutius Mumm is the word for him,” she whispers, mischievously. “ What a name!” says Primrose. “So that is really your uncle? You do him credit, let me tell you, and I should think he wants all he can get. \Vhat’s the mat- ter with his head? He doesn’t belong to any particular order, does he '2” - , u my snouid weeds be found upon her avenue at all '3” continues N'iss Mumm. “ Of course, if one’s servants are not looked after, What can you expect ? If I had forty -â€"as I believe that silly young woman really hasâ€"I should keep my eye on every one of them. They will do nothing, I have learn- ed from sad experience, unless the mistress is after their tails morning. noon and night. Now, weeds they will take no trouble about. Off they whisk the heads, leaving the roots behind them, whereas if one hopes to keep their place decent, they must be got out of ‘ the ground root and branch.” ‘ “ She has got no stamina,” goes on Miss Mumm. “ She’s all for glow and glitter ; solid worth is of no account in her eyes. For example, look at the improvements she is organizing up at the castle. She has thrown up a few earthworks and calls 'em terraces. Terraces, forsooth ! and to manage that she takes away the ball: beneath the arbutus- trees that always was thereâ€"even 1n the days of the old man’s grandfather, I’m told.” “So I’ve heardâ€"so I’ve heard ! Threw up everything, and went off with her in a post- l chaise,” mumbles Lady Primrose, who is i now dreadfully at sea again. “ The avenue in itself would tell a tale. I was driving up there yesterday, and s: w weedsâ€"positively weedsâ€"growing at the sides ofit. I stopped the carriage, got out and counted twenty ! \Vith me, seeing is be- lieving. I take nothing on hearsay, but I counted those weeds with my own eyes. Now, weeds are as pushing as parvenus, and like them, should he eradicated.” “ Quite right, quite right. Have no sympathy with radicals myself ; can’tendure ’em,” quavers the older woman. “ Why should weeds be found upon her 1 avenue at all ‘3” continues N'iss Mumm. “ Of course. if one’s servants are not looked after, What can you expect, ‘? If T hm: arm-m “ She may be good !” Miss Mumm is say- ing in between her greetings to the wife of the local practitioner and the Honorable Mrs. Hornblower, which differ widely in texture. “ She may be ; I’m her aunt and should know. And she may be charming, too, as yen say. But I fear she is careless. I have noticed may little defects in her ; many leanings towards the frivolous side of life ; much desire for riotous livin . Yes, she is cu‘eless. I fear she won’t do. ’ .Here Lady Primrose. who is deafer than ever to- day, grows very mixed, and begins to think ‘she has gone a good deal wrong in her un- derstanding of Miss Mumm’s discourse, and that she is alluding not to her niece, Lady Branksmere, but to some incompetent upper ‘ house-maid. “ You are alluding toâ€"?” she asks. “ Why, to Murielâ€"Lady Branksmere. Can’t you follow me ‘2” shouts Miss Mumm. “ Of course, of course. I hear you. I beg you will not distress yourself like that. One would think I was deaf,” says the old lady, irritablv. and there, and 18 lookinga little distressed, which 13 only natural, the person attacked being her hostess. J inksâ€"“ When burglars were in house the other night did Mrs. Filkin under the bed for a. man '2” Filkinsâ€"“ Yes and found one, $001 Jinksâ€"“One of the burglars 3" F ilkinsâ€"“ No, me '” “ You say your boy is a. somnambulist ‘2’ “ Yes ; gets up in the night.” “ He’s a good deal difl'erent from my boy; I can’t get him up even in the morning.” J immy-â€"“ Pga. édmi'rn‘g‘i; wighw thé cook you discharged yesterday.” Maâ€"“ Did you say, Jimmy, that Uncle Joe took you to the circus today ‘2” J immyâ€"“ Yes." Ma.-â€"“ Well, now, tell me what was the most surprising thing you saw there ‘3” -v va-LVOQ, " Iv“ the result that the honest, German couple, so long estranged, will now, like John Anderson and his wife, “ go dowu the hill of life together.” A Touching Incident on which A Romance Could be Written. l A touching incident occurred at Atchison (Kansas) the other day. A German woman alighted from the train and greeted her husband, who had been waiting for her at the station. The couple burst into tears as they fell into each other’s arm. They had not met since they separated more than twenty years ago. Heinrich Weichmann and his wife went to America in 1869. Four years afterwards her father died in Ham- burg, and she was obliged to return to I Germany to secure her portion oi the paren- tal inheritance, which amounted to what, for people in their walk of life, was a very large sumâ€"more than SQOOOâ€"including building lots in Berlin and Hamburg. Karl Kollatz, who had paid court to Mrs. \Veich- mann before her marriage, who followed them to America, and who was established in business at Atcnison, returned to Germany at the same time as Mrs. \Veichmann. He and a certain Hin- zelmann, it is alleged, hatched a dia- ybolical plot, which circumstances com- ’ pletely favored. By means of forged letters ‘sent by Hinzelmann, in Atchison, to Mrs. \Veichmann, and by Kollatz in Hamburg to Mr. VVeichmann in Atchison, each of them was brought to believe that the other was dead. Hinzelmann wrote to Mrs. Weir-h- manu in his own name assuring her that lVeichm‘nn had died in his arms after a. short illness during a. visit to the Black Hills. The villainy of the once rejected suitor was crowned when he renewed with success his addresses to Mrs. Weichmann, now, as she supposed herself a widow. He managed to squander in idleness and dissi- pation a considerable portion of her prop- erty. Of late years they had lived apart. Not long ago Kollatz fell from a tramway car at Hamburg. and sustAined injuries that proved fatal. Before he died his awakened conscience impelled him to confess, with ‘L- ____, 'l- A start, so imperceptible as to be only a. thrill, runs through him, and a. little ashen shade mixigles with the natural bronze of his complexion. It is at this moment that Mme. von Thirsk slips her hand through his arm. She inclines her head isilrig'hâ€"ély. It is a dismissal, and Staines very wisely takes it as such. e.--.â€" â€"â€".v, wv-V . va- 1 â€" y “ You have, I fear, but an indifferent opinion of my artistic taste,” said Staines. “I really do not think,” With gentle insistence, “ that you would care for it. But,” looking round her, “every one can come.” “ Every one can come,” returns Mar- gery, very slowly. “It is but a. little place, and I do not think it would suit you. It is nothing but a. :mull wilderness of sweets. It would, I imagine, bore you.” “ VA“ linuvn T t-_,, ‘ A - u... i “ As it stands, or without its present occupant?” asks Halkett. “ \Vithout.” “ And not one single exception ‘3” " One only !" with a. tender smile. “ Ah ! And that 2” The Dachshund yonder.” “ Some dav you will drive me to. sui ‘ cide,” says Halkett, with melancholy fore- boding. “ Beyond this garden there is another almost equal to it,” cries Margery. “ Will you come and see it ? A year ago it was lovely. It must be lovely still.” “ N o no. I am surfeited with happiness here. I shall not tempt fate further. You see a strange thing in meâ€"a contented woman ! Find another companion in your ramble. ” “ Try me, Miss Daryl,” says Captain Staines, springing to his feet. A Boy who Hasn’t to be Called- “ Was there'ever sdfléh_a:rlinvi_x{g;"bâ€"i}; of garden ‘2” exclaims Mrs. Amyot. I should like to steal it.” “ I dare say you will rally here,” says Lord Primrose ; “ the air_is very mfld.” 7 x: TI”! . “Alone I did it,” xfetums Mrs. Vyner- “ It tired me horrlbly, but no one should live entirely to themselves. Mr. Goldie told us that last Sunday. I’ve been living to Freddy, and it has brought me to death’s door." “ Do I ‘3" Her tone is‘of that order of in- difference that might be termed insolent. “A charming compliment,” . says Mrs. Amyot, smiling at; Staines. “ But as to your playing ”â€"turning to Mrs. Vyner, “ who did you get to do it for you ?” “ Freddy Trent, of course. You know I never play with any one else. He does all the serving, and takes every ball. ” “ Useful boy ! and what did you do 1'” _ “ I told him how good it was of him,” lisps Mrs. Vyner. “ So it was.” . “ .;I wonder how you managed the stand- mg.’ {says Halkett. “ Did you lean on Cagtein Trgngz _or did you do it alone ‘2” “Imposéible! Why, you look as cool as 1* ééevdxvriput in Capt?!) Stain?”- r . “01:9, ca; understand that. I told you she was delicious,” murmured Mrs. Amyoc. Mrs. Vyner, crossing the sward Indolent. ly, comes up to her. . ” “ I have been playing tenms, she Says, mougnfully,_ _ could not make a greater fast flan she doe. abguf going thezie.” ‘ ..I n T 4A1! Y The Concealed Husband- AFTER MANY YEARS. (TO BE CONTINUED.) General Surprise. id Mrs. Filkins look your and when snow inste and deepel earth decid ntation no of these st: took no sm sion. 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