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$ €" W 18 mil evel fut MD W L1 n t () Mr L Y In person, Albert Trichet was small and thin, he bad dark hair, and small, cunningâ€"looking eyes, kis skin was brown and wrinkled, and he cultivated i small black moustache, carefully waxed up at the ends, and a still smalâ€" ler black tuit upon his chin, which it is hardly necessary to say that these hopes, which were as ciear as daylight to Matthew Dane, had never been in the smallest degree encouragâ€" ed by him. Never, in his wildest imagâ€" inings, had he hitherto contemplated for a moment the very remotest possiâ€" bility of such a contingency as turnâ€" ing Albert Trichet into a partner. If be allowed him to retain the fiction of his name, it was in order to award him without making inviaious preferâ€" ences, according to the exact measure of his merits, but no more. Phillibut, the head accountani, with his heritage of four sons, had passed through the great man‘s brain as a possible succesâ€" sor to ths fortunes of the house, but never Albert Trichet. He was too good a judge of human nature, and bhad too genuine a reverence for the greatness be represcnted, to fiing it rashliy into the hands of the unworthy, or the adâ€" venturer. n:me he bore, was a matter which posâ€" sibly Matthew Dane was alone aware of, and sometimes, when he was spoken of before his chief, the great man would smile in a curious manner, which led beholders to suppose that he knew more of the matter than he was willing to sayâ€"possibly, he had at any rate no legal right to it, or perâ€" haps his connection with the extinct family of the Lyons partner was so reâ€" mote as scarcely to warraot the claim at all. In older days, no doubt, the chairs in the second room were reserved for younger brothers and cousins, and for the sons of widows whose bhusbanis had in some fashion been connected with the partners. /But for a long time there had been a paucity of sons to claim the doubtful privileges of the position, and it was only within the last year that a truly astonishing fact had come to pass. ‘The old names of the firm were, by a curious coincidence, reproduced in the upper clerks‘ ofâ€" fice. Geoifrey Dane had veen transplantâ€" ed, at is father‘s request, from an idle life at home, to one vacant stool, whilst a young man of the name of Albert Trichet had been suddenly raisâ€" ed from the outer office to fill another. Trichet, or Tricky, as his fellow clerks called him, was in himself a mystery. Whether or no he bhad any right to the pupatintrteteiPivtadiints athé Shice) Prceitthaisieirenit Arbdiitetsiis 4. »no doubt, have dispensed with their services altogether, but for the fact thit the House was preâ€"eminently Conâ€" servative in its customs. ; From time immemorial there hod always been three upper clerks, who were sons of genilemen, upon the regular staff, and so the habit was kept up, not so much from any inherent merit in the system, as from a due regaid to the ancient usages of the firm. an altogtherl easier fashion. The carâ€" peted floor gave forth no inharmoniâ€" ous scrapings, neither did the rapid scratchings of pen interfers to any serious degree with the conversation, whilst the presence of the morning popers upon a side table gave evidence that the three privileged young men who occupied this room were in no danger of overtaxing their strength by the assiduity of their labors. As a matter of fact, the House might easily, Upon a certain grey and somewhat moist morning in the month of May, all the clerks at Dane and Trichet‘s were sittirg together over their daily duties. In the outer rooms the pens scratched freely, wooden chairs scrapâ€" ed restlessly upon the wooden floor, and subdued whispers of conversation concerning contemplated "runs" for next Saturday to St. Albans or to Bevenoaks, were carried on surrepiâ€" tiously between illâ€"kempt heads bent mysteriously together, under cover of those customary sounds of daily toil. In the second room, behind carefully elosed folding doors, life was taken in CHAPTER XII.â€"Continued. Upstairs again, were the head and anderâ€"accountants‘ offices, Mr. Halliâ€" day‘s private room, which faced the courtyard, and was prepared with a chcerful modern paper, afd was altoâ€" gether humanized and friendlyâ€"lookâ€" ing, inspiring no mysterious notions whatever in the minds of the clerks, and their sample rooms, and packing rooms, filled up the remainder of the bouse up to the furthermost corn»r of its uppermost storey. It may be menâ€" tioned that to be sent for to Mr. Halâ€" liday‘s private room, was of no more moment to the young man who was summoned, than to go to Mr. Philliâ€" but, the head accountant ; he ran upâ€" stairs with an equaily light heart to either, three steps at a time, hands in his pockets, and a subdued whistle upâ€" on his lips; it was a thing which was sonstantly happening, and ereated no disturbance whatever in â€" anybody‘s mind. But to be sent for to speak to Mr. Dane, was a very different matter. It very seldom happenâ€"d, and when it did, was looked upon as an event of a portentous nature, all his companions looking on with beating hearts and aweâ€"stricken countenances at the vicâ€" tim, who, with blanched cheeks, went forth to meet his doom. | "It‘s the first time in the course of all my experience that I‘ve ever heard of Mrs. Dane coming down to the office," remarked Miles, when a pause in Trichet‘s rapid story enabled him to put in a word. "Mrs. Danel poohâ€"it was no more Mrs. Dane than it was you. I tell you this was a tall woman with a slight figure, and as I opened the door I saw her plainly, she was sitting by the governor‘s table with her arms stretched out, and I‘m pretty sure she was crying. I heard her voice plainly â€"her back was turned to meâ€"and then somcone shut the door on me and turnâ€" ed the key. Now would it bave been your aunt Geoff, to be sitting in the office like a culprit praying and beâ€" }seeching, and crying?" ‘"You were evidentiy not intended to see her, Tricky," here remarked Geofâ€" frey. ‘"Don‘t you think you may be a bit indiscreet in mentioning all this, even to us?" ‘"‘That‘s the very first iime in my life I‘ve ever been accused of indiscreâ€" tion!" cried _ Trichet, turning round somewhat sharply upon him, and there was a glitter of anger in his eyes; for Albert Trichet hated Geofirey in the secret depths of his heart, with a hatâ€" red born of envy and fed upon rivalry. ‘"I don‘t see that there is any breach of confidence where one has not been ifureintaits â€"tintlcitrnt We Arindiiih detscint ns ie tss Rredaccst a leaning forward \‘Jpon his elbow and nibbling the end of his quill pen as he listens. of the other, with a bland smile upon his broad rugged face, and one kindly ©ye glittering behind his eyeglass whilst the other blinks in pleasant sympathyâ€"to see him now, it would not have been easy to credit him with these grim tales of bloodshed and reâ€" venge, Albert Trichet is holding forth to his fellows, and they are both listening to him attentively â€" Miles with his lizy pl asant smile â€"Geoffrey â€" with carnest brown eyes fixed upon him, th But Providonce had equalized matâ€" ters. In disposition, Miles Faulkner was as genile ind lambâ€"like as any timid maiden. His heart was soft and tender, his smile swuet anu shy. This Samson of modein life would have di=d rather thin hurt a flyâ€"and not the bitterest gibe or the blackest injury to hmself could haive drawn from him more than a gentle expositulation or a piiiful smile. Eut if, in his p.esence, a woman were insulted or a child or an an.ual illâ€"treated, then wait and see whit Miies would have to say to it! ‘There were stories told as to his meihod of procedure under these cirâ€" cumstances, Once, it was saiq, he had come across a crowd of drunken men‘ who were tormen.ing a puow olu appl=â€" woman. One had taken her stall away, others were tossing ab.ut" h« wares ho was as one of the giants of ancient lore. Had his soul only been as feroâ€" clous and warlike as his huge frame was massive and wellâ€"knit, then, inâ€" deed, he would have been a man to be feared as well as admired. T20 C00, CTHL I0° all IHal, we most of ns unconsciously ‘bow to it. Strength, like beauty, is felt to bs a gift of the gods, and as such, an excellence in itâ€" self. To Miles Faulkner this great gift of physical power had been freely meted out. His frame was massive, his force of endurance im.neasurable ; added to the foreign aspect he was deâ€" sirous of keeping up. Sometimes, inâ€" deed, Albert even affected a slight foreign accent, but this was only when he was particularly desirous of imâ€" pressing his origin upon othersâ€"any affectation in speech is troublesome to remember, and "Tricky" oniy rememâ€" bered it occasionally. », The third occupint the room was, in appearance, exceedi ly different to his companions. He was a large, fair min, of almost Herculean proportions; his broad shoulders and deeper chest _were a source of envy and admiration to his friends, and the muscles of his huge arms were felt to be worthy of all respect by his foes. It is no doubt one of the ineradicable primary inâ€" stincts of man that physiscal strength always carries with it, per se, a large amount of veneration. Not all the reâ€" fining influences of civilization, not all the elevating principles of education and mental superiority can olliterate thit blind and unreasoning homage which man accords to him whose bodâ€" ily strengih surpasses that of his felâ€" lows. There is a fascination about it; no doubt it appeals to the senses alone, and to those lower attributes which man shares with animals and not with angels; but for all that, we most of in {he muady siumâ€"others were off the line, and so precipitated the thief to a doom more awful than any that the law could have brought upon him. This is what * happened is it not?" and as Matithew Dana ended his relation he bent his eyes sternly and off e se o o e es see that he was not taking tha money to its proper destination. You! did so follow him, with the result that you plainly proved that he was bound, not to Vienna, but to New York; and as clear a case of fraudulent embezzleâ€" ment as has ever been made out would have been conclusively proved against him, had not the engine of tha train ix}‘whivh you and hbe were both in run "You rendered me a great service once, Trichet," "I was lucky indeed, Mr. Dane, to have been able to help you," replied Albert modestly, wondering more and more what all this preamble was leadâ€" ing to. *"*Do you remember all the circumâ€" cumstances of the case?" "I think so, Mr. Dane." { "L~t me refresh your memory. I had reasun to suspect Leon de Brefour, some time head clerk in the Lyons brancsh of the bouse, of some irregulâ€" arities in the conduct of the business. I entrusted you with a secret mission to discover whether or no my suspicâ€" ions were correct. In a very humble position. you took your place in the Lyons of{ice and watched matters for me forthe space of three monthsâ€"reâ€" porting progress to me by letter every day. Then the transfer of a large sum of money having been confided to de Brefour, you underiook to follow him, and have him arrested should you "L trust I did not intrude, Mr. Dane?" ‘‘Not at all. You saw, of course, that I was engaged with a lady, Trichet?" Just for half a second Albert hesitaâ€" ted. Should he tell a lie, and say he hiad not seen?t Fortunately for himself he (hought better of this idea, and owned that he ceriainly had seen a l1dy in the room. @hen Mr. Dane busied himself for a few minutes amongst the papers on his table. It was evident to Albert that what he was about to say was of some importance. "Mr. Halliday bhad sent me, otherâ€" wiseâ€"" i ‘"Just so, quite right." ther or no the young man was worl hy of his confidence. During the seruâ€" tiny Albert looked modestly down at his own varnished boots. "I think it was you who opened, the door this morning Trichet, was it not?" he said at length. "Yes, sir." ‘"You came with those credit acâ€" (-ounr-',s of Bellamy‘s, didn‘t you?" «car â€" we Gi.200 | 2 Mr. Dane‘s room consisted of one inâ€" ner chamber, small and lit by a skyâ€" light, and an outer vestibule where messengers and errand boys had occas ionally to wait for orders. ‘There was a boy waiting there now as Trichet passed through to the holy of holies within. Mr. Dane laid down his pen as his clerk entered, and surveyed him for the space of some ten seconds in a critical silence which was rather tryâ€" ing to its object; it was as though he were weighing in his own mind wheâ€" Mr. Dane would be glad if Mr. Triâ€" chet would step into his room for a moment, was the message, and Albert rose quickliy with a delightful sense of im‘;:ortunoe to obey the summons. Then the door opened, and the messâ€" enger stcod upon the threshold. Had Madame de Brefour herself entered the raom, poor Geoffrey, who flattered himself that for her harshness and cruelty to him he had cast her forth from his heart, could hardly have started more. ‘"What a fool I am," be said to himâ€" self. "Every time I hear a woman mentioned my thoughts fly to her. It shows what a contemptible condition of weakness I must still be in. She has left me, and betrayed my affection. Haive I not determined to forget her, to tread out her image from my fancy} It‘s only a matter of time after alil. How _.eity Angel looked last night! how well that soft white dress suited her and the crimson roses in her bosom. No mysteries about that girl, I‘ll be bound!‘ and then there flashâ€" ed back suddenly into his memory something that Rose de Brefour had s:id to him once. "You will marry one of those girls one day. ‘ When Mitthew Dane makes up his mind to a h‘ ng, it generally takes place," she siid, and as he remembered them the words came, back with a certain shock to him. _ What did she know of Matâ€" bow Dans and his character? At the t me sh> h d put him off with some vogue answer, and he had been satisâ€" fied, but now they came back to him with a certain significance. â€" Was it possible that she did know him, and ht intimately, that that vague quickâ€" ening at his heart at Trichet‘s desâ€" cription had been but a prescience of thetruth, and that she had been in this very house this very day? So near, ‘nd yet he had not known it! Great Hâ€"avens! was this possiblet H# felt a sudden sense of suffocation, the pen dropped from his fingers, and he passed his hand hurriedly across his face. Then Geoffrey dipped his pen into the ink and bent his head over _ his writing again. Hoe took very little inâ€" terest in Albert‘s speculation, al: hough something, he bhardly knew what, bhad irrested his attention at the beginning of his story. _ _ "I should say it was in the highest degree improbable," he replied, rememâ€" bering that be had seen Mrs. Dane and the Halliday giris home after a ball at three o‘clock in thae morningâ€" the girls fresh as daisies, and their unâ€" fortunate chaperon in the last stages of fatigue and exhaustion. Geoffrey felt absolutely certain that morning, it could not very decidedly have been his wife. Geoffrey 1 vgh do:f;i{g'h-t. Torch‘t‘s insatiable curiosity was of.en a source of‘_gml_xsen_lgnt to his companions. Faulkner said this with his usual placid smile; he was always the arbiâ€" trator and the peaceâ€"maker in any dispute. & "1 meant no offence, Tricky," said Geoff. "In that case I withdraw my reâ€" mark," replied the other; "but, Geoff, do you think it could have been your aunt?" he pursued eagerly. fensive remark, Geoffrey, and I think you ought to apologise. â€" Don‘t you think so, Milest" ‘ "1 confess 1 don‘t see it. Geoffrey on!y spoke his opinion; we can say what we think in this room, Tricky, without giving offence, and I‘m cerâ€" tain Geoffrey meant none." pledged to secrecyâ€"that '7'1.“,"‘;“’ Bubbats ‘...’iri", ‘!"-:-â€"â€"v was an ofâ€" fixedly upon his clerk. "You w and I thinkttiat train, Trichet?" the words Don‘t you time were nolonger an assertior itact. they were an interrogation, . _ Geoffrey| ‘"‘Undoubtedly. I was in it, sir, e. can say | plied Trichet, with assurance. "I om, Tricky, in one of the three last carriag nd I‘m cerâ€" the train, which eseaned . as The youthful prophet was plainly mortified. _ He had just been appointâ€" ed and his first prediction had not been verified. The reason we didn‘t have that storm, be explained earnestlyâ€"Hush! interâ€" rupted his aged superior. In this business we never stop to apologize. Just guess again, at anchor or Jie moored to the shore. They have little wood or water, but rain is stored in cisterns. The shores are rocky, and here and there jut out into promontories and cliffs. _ From Devil‘s Island Dreyfus may plainly see the other two islands and the mainland, only seven miles away. The islands are of about the same area. They form the apexes of a triâ€" angie, and between them â€" are deep channels wherg large vessels may ride The Balvation Islands were not occuâ€" pied again until 1802, when the transâ€" port of convicts to Guiana began. Saint Joseph and the Ile Royal now form the convict station proper. On English maps the three islands are called the Salut Islands, and the name Ile du Diâ€" able, originally extended over the group, now applies only to the island on which Dreyfus is a prisoner, and which is occupied only by him and his guards. \ This is how it happened that the three isiands came to be known as Salvation Islands and the name has clung to them ever since. As a group they are known by no other name. The immigrants gathered up what was left ‘of the supply of provisions, and 3,300 men, women and children, all that were left of the 13,000 who had landed on the neighboring coast, crowded upon the narrow, rocky area which could comfortably hold only about 400 perâ€" sons. They landed on the islands withâ€" out shelter or clothing, and being exâ€" posed to bad weather and having only the scantiest supply of food their sufâ€" fering was great and most of them died on the rocks which they had hoped would help to save their lives. A few hundred of them at last succeeded in geitting back to the French port from which they had sailed. TORONTO The unhappy victims of this blunder began to perish by thousands , and they thought that if they could only get away from the plague spot where they had landed they might have a chance to live. They were told that the three silands which they saw oif shore were the Iles du Diable, and that they were worth nothing for human uses. " At least," cried the poor unfortunates in their desperation, " they are swept by ocean breezes. There is no poison in the air among those isiands. We will cali them the Iles du Salut, for we may hope that they will save us Irom‘ ulter extinction." ‘ was sent on one of the ships to build a theatre in Equatorial France. Those who provided these means of diversion, however, forgot to send suificient food supplies, and no arrangements were made for landing and housing the setâ€" tlers. The Chevalier de Turgot, who was appointed leader of the expedition, took care to remain in Frsnce. It was in 1763 that about 13,000 perâ€" sons from Alsace, Lorraine and Sainâ€" tonge were landed on the banks of the Kourou. France was smarting under the humiliation of having been comâ€" pelled to cede Canada to England, and the bright idea occurred to some of her public men to replace the lost terâ€" ritory by dubbing Guiana " Equatorâ€" ial France* and sending thither fleet after fleet of colonists. A more cruelly mismanaged enterprise was never known. _ The men who aroused in France enthusiasm for emigration knew nothing whatever of the country to which they invited the poor victims. They recalled that in Canada the French had greatly enjoyed the sport of skating, and accordingly a large supply of skates was sent with the colâ€" onists to tropical America. It was thought, also, that in their leisure hours they would require amusement and so IN THE WEATHER BUREAU. The islands have considerable verâ€" dure, but in the early days of French Guiana they had a reputation for sterâ€" ility which they did not deserve, and on this account no use was made of them. They were named es du Diable, and were thought to be of no value untii thousands of wretched immigrants from France who were perishing among the pestilential swamps on the Kourou River fled to them in the hope that they might escape death. ing, and the way in which they beâ€" came applied to these little rocks is interesting, and calls to mind one. of the greatest tragedies in colonization that ever occurred. known as Devil‘s Island, Ile du Diable, while the three islands in the little group are known together as Saivaâ€" tion Islands, lle du Salut. The contrast between these names is certainly strikâ€" Th* Great Tragedy im Its Neighborhood That Cost About 12,000 Lives. The island on which Dreyfus is imâ€" prisoned, within sight of the South American coast and twentyâ€"seven miles from Cayenne, French Guiana, is SDO CCE NROAPCOCRUEIL WOP H one of themâ€"I had seen him get in at the station." *‘Ab! Are you quite certain, Triâ€" chet, that‘ de Brefour was killedt" °T @3 7. "~ o wSro an interrogation, ‘‘Undoubtedly. I was in it, sir," reâ€" plied Trichet, with assurance. "I was in ome of the three last carriages of the train, which escaped as by a miracle from the fate of the front porâ€" tionâ€"six carriages followed the engine off the lines, and were dashed into a thousand pieces at the bottom of the embankment. Leon da Brefour was in fixedly upon his clerk. "You were in that â€"train, Trichet?" the words this time were nolonger an assertion â€" of A COMPANY OF ACTORS, DREYFUS‘S ISLAND HOME. To Be Continued. and on the day appointed he took them to Mrs. Vivian. She received him graciously enough, but Gerard, who was sensitive to a fault, winced at the shade of patronâ€" age, which he fancied he detected in her manner. He though* she would at least bestow a word of praise upon his work, which left nothing to be desirâ€" ed from point of finish of fineness of execution. But in this he was doomed to disappointment, for she glanced at them carelessly and laid "them aside. Gerard felt a cold chill steal over him. Yet what could he expect ? This was a woman of the world, and her emotions must necessarily be of a tranâ€" sient natureâ€"here toâ€"day and gone toâ€" morrow. He thrust the closed envelope: she gave him savagely into his breast pocket, and did not open it until the following morning. He certainly had no reason to complain of want of genâ€" erosity as he fingered the notes, which amounted to £20. He gazed at tham C o mteerwue Awuunt leave entirely to you." * Very well. Bring them next week to this address. Wait, I will put an hour, so that you may find me home." She handed him the card, and with a slight inclination passed on. Gilbert Gerard‘s heart was filled with bitterness, andâ€"curious anomalyâ€" the more so when on examining the box be found a bright gold piece among the pence and halfpence. A previous glance at the bit of pasteboard had shown him that it bore the name of Mrs. Vivian, and that the address was Eaton Square. He faintly remembered the name as. that of a brilliant beauty whn had first dazzled the fashionable world some ten years ago, and he saw that she was now in the zenith of her charms," For the next few days he worked hard at the sketches, though, of course, not entirely deserting his old bhaunt, and on the day appointed he took them to Mrs. Vivian. ip igs. 4. PD mtA# ic da cA ic " Iâ€"I like these," she said slowly, unâ€" willingly almost it seemed. "I know this part of Cornwall well. What would you charge for three duplicate copies of the sketches t" * My days of fixed prices are a thing of the past," the artist replied with cold courtesy. " The remuneration Iwanla He drew his sombrero still further over his eyes, but not before she had time to notice, that his handsome, hagâ€" gard features, bore traces of refineâ€" ment, and that his voice had a culturâ€" ed ring. After all, it was none of her business, she argued ; yet, as she dropâ€" ped a coin in the box, her eyes still rested'lingeringly on the pictures. w« ov i 8 P 2 > * Not by a street picture maker who craves your charity," he replied, with a touch of bitterness. " You are right. But strange as it may appear, I, too, was once honored and resvected, but I had the misfortune to be unfortunate. It is a crime that the world never forâ€" gives‘.‘ * By you?" she exclaimed, amazed. ‘*Surely not! That was the work of a rising artist already famed in his profession, notâ€"â€"" *" You seem to know this part of the country well,‘" she said, addressing the artist, who looked up startied as her musical tones fell on his ear. " This is certainly a faithful portraiture.‘‘ * It ought to be," he remarked, ‘‘the design was executed by me."" The beart of the beautiful woman was stirred with a strange emotion. She had not seen the original for ten 1ong years. it almost smothered in flowers. Climbâ€" }ing roses clambered over the base and wound about the exquisitely carved figâ€" ure of the angel, who stood erect with outstretched wings and hands pointâ€" ing to the skies. In the next sketch no trace of the roses remained, but in their place the tomb was strewn with withered leaves, emblematic of the deâ€" cay of life‘s hopes. The third showed the leafless branches of the trees, wayâ€" ing in ghostly fashion over the wind-} swept monument, which now â€" stood. alone in stately grandeur, unhidden by any earthly shroud. The gleaming figâ€" ure of the angel, denuded of all earth‘s favors, still pointed triumphantly upâ€" ward in reminder of the life everlastâ€" ing, which was still further exempliâ€" fied by the inscription, " Till the Day Break," which was carved in raised letâ€" ters on the pedestal. The artist, following his own poetic fancy, bhad made three studies of the grave as it appeared in summer, auâ€" tumn and winter. The first showed it was not upon the sacred edifice that her eyes were riveted, but on a grave which, from its beauty of design and comparatively recent structure, stood apart from the others, which were all more or less in different stages of decay, Five minutesâ€"ten minutes passedâ€" and still she remained chained to the spot, her gaze fascinated by the scene before her. It represented an oldâ€"{fashâ€" ioned churchyard, with a little ivyâ€"clad church nestling among the trees. But Toâ€"day she had a better opportunity of examining hbis work than she bad ever had before. She had been passing an idle hour in the park at a time not consecerated to fashion, and as she sauntered through the gate on hber homeward way hbher eyes rested upon some of the artist‘s recently completed sketches, and lingered there. ‘ She had often noticed him before. He always sat in the same spot, with bowâ€" ed head and a crayon in his hand. Beâ€" side him were the pictures he bad drawn, no mere daubs, crude in color, and sketchy in treatment, but real arâ€" tistic gems. Strange that a man of genius should be reduced to this. She was young, beautiful and wealâ€" thy. What could she have in common with a street artist, however great his talent f She did not like poverty, sorâ€" row or affliction, in any shape or form. If it came prominently before her she stepped aside with a shudder; it unâ€" doubtedly had the power to ruffle moâ€" .mentarily the surface of her lotusâ€"eatâ€" ing existence. it Saplrs Aimakt. remuneration Iwould he notes, which gazed at them $ _ _\ )j" TCTard was sublimely in different to praise or blame. When s more than usua‘lly venomous remark reached her ears, she glanced at he: handsome husband and delivered herâ€" self of the following aphorism : " To the discoverer belongs the benefis of his discovery‘. If I discovered your genius you discovered my heart. 1 put it to the world which was the greater feat of the two $" C oC Ond tm Uid s 2 70 UCCCTi to the really few fin; natures which are incapable of appreciating their own nobility. At present it is incrus~d with an element of worldly cynicism 'tnd hardness, which, however, lies « nly on the surface and does not represen! your true self at ail. Although you expressed no word of sympathy at \he recital of my wrongs, I noticed the pal lor which spread over your face ; that was enough for me." _Mrl. Vivian blushed as she cast at him one of her speaking upwarnd glances. " You _ are always making wonderful discoveries," she r(‘nl:llk"'i\ "I wonder what the next one will be? * Shall I tell you?" asked Gerard, meaningly, gazing at ber with al! his sou!l in his eyes. But the beauty shook her bead and vouchsafed no reply. He must have enâ€" lightened her, however, on a subseâ€" quent occasion, for some months later society was electrified :; the news that the lovely Mrs. Fivian, at whos feet princes ha languished in v=in had married an obscure ariist of whom thaey hnadl nmever Aien Ihasnd ‘"Don‘t idealize me, pray," she said with a little nervous laugh. "I don‘t deserve it. I never aspire to be more than a social butterfly, and as such only seek the sweetness of life and none of its gallâ€"that is to say, voluntarily * You altogether belie yourself," reâ€" turned Gerard, gravely. " You belong me, a man to whom existence was a living death. You rescued me from the slough of despond, and my future is yours to mold as you will. I desire n: better fate.‘ He raised her hand to his lips, and she made no resistance. l was driving a very fidgety mare when suddenly she bolted on the brow of a hill, and I was pitched out on my head. They carried me to a hospita concussion of the brain followed. ind for about a year my. mind was ajer feet blank. When I recovered Iwent down to Cornwall, and, as I expecied there stood the monument bea ring the usual signature. What could 1 do! My long illness had cost thougsands, for it took the best men in London < pull me together, anrd their charges are not modest. Thi« coupled with an unlucky investment, sompleted my mis fortunes. The few friends I had made deserted me, as friends are wont to do, and genius, if it pleases you to di¢â€" nify my e‘forts by that name, is worse than useless without money and with out influence. If I had pointed ont statues in public places as my work I should have been openly ridiculed and people would have said tha: my mind had not recovered its balincc And so I drifted on to what you found "It has never been allowed to ti!! now,‘ he replied gioomily, " When | completed my art education I was a young fellow without means. and therefore gladly joined lots with : sculptor who had already made a name in the profession. We shared the same studio, and in a very short time 1 learned the reason of my | soâ€"called friend‘s kindness and generosity I like several others before me, was the monkey employed to pull the chesnuts out of the fire. He was a man of great plausitility and succeeded by dint of push in getting a good many orders Beyond this, and inscribing his name on the finished work, his respons©i}â€" ity ceased. In the case of your father‘s tomb I revolted and said that it shoul< be known as my work. Then ensued or first quarrel, and I suggested that we should part. The monument was Ehen all but finished. On the same day **Yes." The reply came stern and cold from Gibert Gerard‘s set lips, as bhe Jlaid down his brush and crossed the room. "I was working under an alias, but not a voluntary one. If you will deign to listen I will give you in as few words as possible, an on line of the history of my life. 1 wou!l« not, at all events, like you to regar« me as an imposter." *"That I could never do; your work speaks for itself." ** Will you think me very impertinâ€" ent, Mr. Gerard, if I mention someâ€" thing that bhas been exercising my mind for some time past? It is this. On the first day 1 â€"made your acquaintance through seeing the sketches you had drawn of my father‘s grave, and exâ€" pressed my surprise, you replied that the desizn had been your own. Now, on looking over some papers recently, I found the original estimate, and ho artist‘s name was not Gerard. Wer you then working under a pseudonym?" He painted on assiduously. Mrs. Vivâ€" ian glanced at him curiously, her inâ€" terest in him growing deeper She wished to lift the veil of mystery which surrounded this man, who was so difâ€" ferent from the satellites which reâ€" volved around her, and of whom she grew so weary. There was something grand in his air of stern selfâ€"repres sion, she thought, although she would? have wished him to be more communiâ€" cative. ** Who could have imagined you were such a genius?" she said laughingly, some weeks later when the picture was nearing completion. Gerard, in his silk blouse, and irreproachable getâ€"up, with all the paraphernalia of art surroundâ€" ing bim, and the aristocratic air of *" Royal Kensington" permeating the tasteful studio, seemed altogether a dif. ferent order of being from Gerard the street artist. long, buried in profound thought, thep lvfldw-llumovor him to egâ€" from his shackles and buy hack ufl t and all that made life He pondered long into the night, an4 it was not until the first rosy streaks of ?‘:n ilumined the beavens t)h;; he 1 aside his briarwood, and stretch. ing hbimself upon his campâ€"bedstead, fell asieep. He was a man of impulse Once laving made up hbis mind to , certain course be never wavered in {is fulfiliment, and from henceforth his " pitch" knew bim no more. Th week he modeled an exquisite portra;; of his fair patroness from memory, andg begged hber acceptance of it. Even the spoilt beauty felt a thr;}] of pleasurabfe emotion as she noticed the subtle flattery expressed in every curve of the medallion. She compared it favorably with portraits of herseif by two of the most eminent academ;â€" cians, and felt that it would be upâ€" gratefu! not to give Mr. Gerard sii(â€" tings.. AV~ CTeoLhriHed il the n° e lovely Mrs. Yivian. at wh rinces haq languished in v= rried an obscure ariist of wh ad never even heard. Mrs. Gerard was sublimely 7 __TC‘" at all. Aithough you d no word of sympathy at \he f my wrongs, I noticed the p~l h spread over your face ; that ugh for me." Vlvign blushed as she cast at deiphi One= in Mis The anne x P ranc servic in th geon Afre y@ PB nite if Quee t â€" ®ir ed M hex bee Am mit N rs Bri of â€" ut by 300 F40 T he th Th lar at di ui