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al1MS. ave Changâ€" estion. {.sh juirieos here t the Rusâ€" met in Lozmâ€" padian ropâ€" ula ers, ¢/ effect that that Chiet lace swore trial when hing of the n fouad in ars Before are 1 so man iEREL. OR DBO IT. HIEF. ib T LC nt MT M hi ted n a matâ€" hicn conâ€" d an emâ€" MP. rnc ns on the L T on Walck i1 TY bhad takâ€" explain« sed by‘ a who had Murderer { the polâ€" nal charâ€" life, and wle must try, now;, st bave & I so long re tolerâ€" * flouriah. ) closing, thing ou?* ao#gorel ila LPPA nds n , which 11 men, i great ‘He ces were ad4 beâ€" 53. Men ut God r *on lid for the â€"Allan vanted rrangâ€" found y comâ€" i <tatâ€" a loug egula~ »~+y be front C @ £e ehief. false~ Y. C sSIOnâ€" 4 the a the d had wher § «Wous nterâ€" uch~ the g1msg nada entaâ€" atll= must tha t ticizâ€" the s 1to cide on DH= Irial mUIe nly +4 e of hat ind beâ€" st y« and Mtâ€" & D 0t e Ti ©i «J\ 1G» N0« $ We F1 19 §1 l4 48 constant warfare that kept every nervye strained. It seemed to him that if he once gavo way, even if only for a momentâ€"if he opened his heart to the dreadful sorrow awaitâ€" ing to be admittedâ€"if ho closed his eyes in restâ€"he must die. Colder and harder and prouger ho grew, shutâ€" ting himsel{! and his sorrow in icy reserve, and at last Kate grew so miserable atout him that sho sent for Evelyo. ‘ 1 must talk to you, Eve," she sall, "or my heart will break. I do not like to distress my husbandâ€"he is ill enough ; and if Felix goes on like this much losger he will havo a _ lerrible iliness, or he will die. What is the matter with him, Evo? lie does not eat or sleep ; he looks like a man who has been stunned ; he grows «o hard and cold that I am almost afraid of him. He does not even open his heart to me ; he avoids me ;he does not even look at meâ€"he who used vo love me so well. What is the matter with him, Eve ?" < Eve looked very pale and sad, her sweet face was clouded; but Kate, in her distress, did not notâ€" ico it. "I can tell you what is the matâ€" ter," she replied; "I heard it this a{terncoon. YViolet Haye has gone lo London to be married." Kate cried out that it was imposâ€" sibleâ€"that it could not beâ€"Vioiet Hare was betrothed to Felix. . "It i so," said Eve; "Aunt Jane told me about it this aftern>on, und, fearing you would be in great trouble, i1 came to you at once. Violet broke off her engagement with Feix some short time since, and she is gone to London to be married." "MYarried to whom?"* cricd Kate, in hot anger for her boy‘s sake. "I do not knowâ€"she has so many admirers; but I believe it is some very rich man. Mrs. Hayo is alâ€" most wild with excitement about it. She told my aunt the day beâ€" foro they started." And then re« memberiaog how Felix loved Violet, they both weot together. "I understand it all now," said Kate. "My poor boy has hiddsn it from as lest we should know what ho sulfered. Evelyn, doss bheaven punish treachery t" "I am afraid #o," she replied, gentâ€" ty. "You say that Felix has grown hard and cold. Tell me where he is, that I may go and soo him." "He is at the office," replied Mrs. Lonslale. Do go to him, Eve. He was always fond of youâ€"ho always trusi« ed you. Go and try ifi you can comâ€". fort him." - \ A slight shadow of pain camo over the sweet face ; it passed in a minute. "Â¥Yoe," shoe said, thoughtfulily, "ho always trustadl me. I will go and see what I can co for him." Ere walked gently through the warim, sunit satreets. Many looked afâ€" tor her as she wont on her mission of moreyâ€"after the tall, gracelful figâ€" ure in tho sAmple muslin dross, the plain. pretty hbat with the broad brim. On ner f2ir, sweet face, as she walkxt arung, thinking what sho @houls; say to him, a beautiful light ahone, F0 se k es aat R BurUii ce She wont into the office without any announcoementâ€"she had done so einco gahe was a child. Only Felix sat there, his pale, haggard face bent over his papers, a shadow like death in his eye«. He looked up in wonder at his visitor. Eve, with hor sweet faco and strange light upon it, looked :i{m an angel coming to minister to iine. M + "Ereiyn," ho said, "you are an unâ€" expected visitor." She weat rouad to him and stood by tho side of his chair. P LWO ut h tss [2 you. > "Comfort! ‘Comfort scorned of doviia, the poet â€" siogs. Eve," he isauchoda: "what comfort can you _‘"Felix," she said, * happoned, and 1 am Curse, e ESE TT ns 0 020 We mees "By no moans. You know the old sgaying, ‘sorrows aro but blessings in Cieguise.‘ Who can say in after yearg what guise their sorrow may wear?" "But I loved her s0o dearly, Eveâ€" and I have lost her," he said. "I kprow that you loved her; but, Folix, hag there never been a misâ€" taken love ? Have you never heard of a man iGealizing a woman and <wworshippicg in her virtues that she uever possessed ? The very fact "It is a terrible sorrow, SNC Sa / , "no groater «orrow could havre beâ€" fallsn you. But, Folix. co not let it hirdon you. Poopls treat the visitaâ€" tion of sorrow so unwiscoly. _ Some, whon the «orrow falls to their lot, hoey,ion thoir hcartsâ€"sluut all tenderâ€" ness, all love, all afiection away from thom. They change their whole naturcs. To such persors God‘s dealâ€" ing comos as a cursc, cot a blessing." nuak cArsoy as mine must be & naturcs. To such persors U Ing comos as a eurse, cot a "3jch sorrow as mine m eurse," ke returned, sadly. on C ols > Hevaves T to him and stood s chair. "I know what has y come to comfort less kind of despair; they have no pobility. You are above that. Othâ€" ars harden themselves ; they shat out all love and sympathy from their hcarts; they grow, cold and proud, AEUTEE CS y ENUY e m m en ce o 6 w so that no kindly influence reaches them. _ Others â€" and, dear friend, bolieve me, these are the noble ones â€" accept sorrow as part of the discipline of lifeâ€"as a gift sent from Heaven, and while they accept it with humllity, they bear it with Cignrity. It makes theim noble, grand» er, and better. It is an education that prepares them for heavei Whkich of tne three classes will you join, Felix $" s "Tho last If I can, Eve," he said, slowly. Ho looked at the light on Ler fair face. "Bolieve me," she woent on, earnestâ€" ly, "wo shall sot know until we come to dio what great sorrows co for us, aimd then we swhall thank heaven for thom. There is something weak and cowardly in the idea if peing beatâ€" en by any trouble. This world is battileficld,, and we must fight nobly. Tho temptation to yield weakly to a great grief is one of the hardest that comes to us. It would be 80 muth easier for you, Felix, to lie cown snd die than to do battle day by day, ansd so have to live your icrrow down." "Yes, it would, Eve," he replied. "A soul that has never sulfered is but a puny soul," she said. "The strong wnd noble soul is the one that passes through the furnace of fire and comes out pure gold â€"not base metal or gold with an alloy â€"but pure, refined, true gold. The mysâ€" tery is why men and women must all suffer ; but that we shalll never faâ€" thom. We only know that God sends painâ€"even to His best beloved He sends pain," _ 5 : Sumething in the brave face and the brave,. patient voice touched him. Heo looked up at her syddenly. "Surely, Eve," he said, "you have had no sorrow that you should speak in such a fashion ?" She emiled, and hbe thought how like hor face was to that of pictured angels. | _ * y uns H His pride and sclfâ€"control gave way : he sobbed like a child. "My dear old friend !" said Eve, anmd, as simply as a child might have done it, che drew dus bhoead upoil her arm, and the first tears ho shed over the great sorrow of his life feli kirdly ministering hands. CchHAPTER XXV. From that day a changs came over Felix Lonxlals; he weat home even ‘that same evening an aitered man; ho opered his bheart to the iove anml sympathy that Kate had stowed him. The proud, sterm coldâ€" wess fell from kimâ€"he took the chiliren in hbhis arms and kissed the little faces.. He said to Limsel that chldren of his own woald never climb his kzecsâ€"children 6f hbis own would never gladden his teart. He did not suffer less â€"but it was in another fashion now. He worked barder than ever; he said to himâ€" self that if it were possible he would drown his sorrow in the hardest work he could find. And yet he did not know the worst ; he only knew that Violet had broken her promise, and declared it impossible to marry him ; he had not the faintest notlon that hoere was really any wealthy lover at band. He believed firmly that her parents bad talked to her and argued with her until she had been overruled by them. Still at Lilâ€" tford â€"all but himselfâ€"knew _ that â€"Violet was going to marry Sir Owen ; it had been kept quite secret for some time, but now the day was fixed â€"the fourteenth of September â€"ar«l there could no longer be any secrecy. _ _ o The whole place was in a ferment over it. There was to be a grand dinner given to all the tenants, to all the servants and depencéents ; and the beliâ€"ringers had been told how many times a merry peal was to be runz on the o‘d church bells in henâ€" or of the bride and bridegroom. The only persons who nothin@z of _ all this were the inhabitanis of Vale Houseâ€"the invalid father who saw no one but the doctor and Eve Lesâ€" ter, the kindly indusgrious young stepâ€"mother, and the young lover hbimself. No one cared to speak to them on such a subject and they were the last to near of it; Even Evelyn, who never â€" shrunk . from trouble, shrunk from ‘speaking to them about Ift. â€"â€" â€" $ 404. tudh o £ Felix wondered .on6 ~night . when eko came to Vals Houss, why she was so kind, so tender, and comâ€" passionate to him, why she hovâ€" ered round him like a mother over a sick child, why she spoke such low, earnest words to himâ€"so noâ€" ble, ®5 beatuiful, that his whola soul war stirred by them. I ¢ Not in vain I#s the summons for us to meet him. _ He will stay And darken our sun ; He will stay A desolate night, a weary day, Since in tnat shadow; our work is done, & [ : 1 And in that ehadow, our crowns are Wona Lst u.;;:tuy, still while his bitter chalâ€" Slowly into our hearts is pouredâ€" Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord " " "It is very beautiful," be eaid, when the sweet voice ceasedâ€"it was as though a strain of eolemn music had lod awayâ€""tery beautiful! I thall remember the ange!l of pain, and show him a brave face, I hope, when ho comes. But tell me why you speak to me in this strain toâ€"night ? It may be only my fancy, but it has seemed to me that on the face of every man and woman I have met toâ€"day I have read pity ; it must be fancy, but it seems to me so strange." She could have told him that every man, woman and child in Lilford knew that on the morrow Violet Haye was to marry Sir Owen. . She could have toid him also that there was noune among them who cdld not feel sorry for him and indignant with "Felix," she said, "listen to this, It is a. verse I read last night in & poem of Adelaide Anne Procâ€" ter‘s. I copied it to read to you because I thought it so beautiful." She was sitting by his side in the attitude that painters of old gave to «uardian mngels, so full of love and protaction., ° In her. aweet, clear voice, she read to him : " Who is tne anxzel tlat cometh * Pain !‘ â€" _ Let us arise and go forth to greet "I had aimost bogun to fear that there was something fresh concernâ€" ing that unfortunate will," he said â€"*"psople have b:en co strange with me. It cannot be my love story ; no one knows all that. People © all know, of course, that Violet has gone away to London, but I do not think any one out of our ow n bousehold knows that she has brokâ€" en with me." * Eve could rot tell him; she coula heart and his mind, but she could help him; she could strengthen his not look at him aud say, "Toâ€" morrow will be Violet‘s wedding day." She turned away sick at heart when she remembered the treachory, the cruelty, and the deoâ€" ceitâ€"sick at heart that she could not take the whole burden upon herself and suffer for him. She was brave enough, but she could not say to him: "The girl for love t whom you are breaking your heart thinks so little of you, so little of your pain, that she is going to marry toâ€"morrow, the man, above all others, whom you «lislike." _ She talked to him again in the same strain, of the grandeur and nobility of sorrow, ‘the bravery of bearing pain, the cowardice of faliâ€" ing under a burden; and then, when she left him, she whispered to Kate: "Be very kind to him toâ€"morrow, mrnurf. He will stand sorely in need of it " But even Kate €id not dream what tho words meant. The harvost moon that night shone cowa ucgon many diffcrent scenes,. It cropt into a superb room in London, whore Sir Owan, flushed with love and winc, tofd, with many an oath, to a choice girele of friends, how he bad outwitted the lawyer and carricd off his bride. s 6 4 C He went to the offiice cariy ine next morning, anrd it struck bim that there was an unusual stir in the stroets. A band of music prased him. He saw the people, gayly dressâ€" cd, all going in the same direction. Ho wondered if therse was a fete anyâ€" where, or any fair that he had forâ€" gotten. It was the fourteenth of September â€" no, _ hbe could _ not remember that it differed at all from any other day. He saw that it was a very lovely morning; there was bright sunshifle. a sweet western wind, while all nature looked biithe and gay; still he could uot underâ€" stand the coimnmotion in the town. It was strange thst the first perâ€" son be saw was the vicar‘s wife, Mrs. Hunter. He asked her why the bells were ringing, and, as she lookâ€" ed at him, her eyes filled with tears. "They ring for so many things," she replied, "how can I tell which it is?"" He passed on, but as he walked away she looked at him closely,while ;’.iomething like a sub rose to "her ps. "Beautiful women Are beautiful fiends sometimes." @@41id the vicar‘s wife to herself, "I would not have done such a thing." â€" n o e Felix thought her strange; but he had almost ceased to wonder at anyâ€" thing. ‘Then he met his old friend, Dr. Ludrow. He stopped and spoke to him. "I ought to be very busy with my work," he said, "but those belis disâ€" tract me. I have had to g:t away my writing, What are they ringâ€" ing for, doctor?‘ pitas i p es Pomes Aenmy PeC ORrney And the kindâ€"hearted doctor lookâ€" ed sadly at him. "Have you not heard?" he said. "Noâ€"I hear so littleâ€"IL am _ 80 busy always. What is it for 2" But the aoctor could not tell him. "Go as far as the church," hbe said ; "‘the walk will do you govrd this ‘be. utiful morsing. Askt the ringersâ€"they Are sure to know." He had rot ‘the time to spare; but the morning was fine, and some strange instine: that he could could not sccount for hurried him on. "Why are you ringing this merry chime toâ€"day ?" he asked one of the ringers, a whiteâ€"headed old man, whose arms were wearied, and who sat resting on one of the green graves. "Why ? Because the great §!r B-‘:.\'?'V‘t‘x; 2 Because the great Sir Owen is married toâ€"day, Master Lonsdale." â€" e o ies Sacoied "Married !" cried Felix. "Married to whom ?" The chiming ceased and the wind fell as the old man answered : ‘‘Married to Violet Haye." CHAPTER XXVL There are no finer woods in Engâ€" land than the woods that surround Bramber Towers. Bramber is a glorâ€" ious estate, and the woods extend to Lifford. Tiuey form the massive background of trees which helps to render the old chureh so picturesqueé and artistic. } e £ UEITUME WBR ORRRRIYY The Earl of Ariington, the master of the Towers, nad but one fault in the eyes of the county â€"he waAs too fond of travelling. It was no unâ€" usual thing for the Towers to be closed for two or three years, while the earl, with his wife and daughter, delighted in fair continental cities. It was the one drawback to a noble character; for Lord Arlington was one ol those fortunate men, who was born with a keen sense of duty. Hel was & model landâ€"owner, & model | landlord, ~a model country gentleâ€" man. When he was at the Towers, everything was sure to go well; he had a keen sense of justice â€"he gave bimsel{ the trouble to examine thoroughiy Into everything. He was never hasty, impatient, or unjust. He was alwost idolized in the county. Most ol the town of Lilford belongâ€" led to Lim, and he took the greatest possible intcrest in the place. He wuwde a point of atiending the pubs lic weetings; he would have justice â€""Jjrstice" was us wotto. * ‘Let jusâ€" tico be done, though the heavens fall," was a favorite quotation of Lis. Wos to any xan who triodl to belte anotlker, â€"and then fell into hie Lards! Woe to any voter who trilled witk his votes i were unknown to hi. It was always observed that if he were absent for any length of tixe things went wrong. His first concern on his reâ€" turn was to endeavor to set thew right. Hoa bhad been absent nearly three years this time, lingering with Lia beautiful wife ansd daughter in tho quaint cities of old Spain. He reacksi home on the eleventh of Sepâ€" tember: amd he feared that, as asâ€" ual, during his absence much had gone wrong. His return was hardly known in the neighborhoodâ€"for one of the things that Lord Arlington disliked was fuss. Why should there be : ecano every time he returned ? So ho gererally kept his intentions sec« Lord Arllnglon;vm} a straightfor» ward, Lonest, honorable Engiishmap â€"all davious ways add t_ql’tuOL.spithl rot. ECC wvhe _ countess was a beautiâ€" fil, quict, refined woman. _ One of her great characteristics was her sympathctic manners. She possessed that keen insight into the hearts and feeling, of others which creates symâ€" pathy. It was natural to her to feel intensely the sorrows and joys of others. There were two children â€"â€" The young heir, Lord RBramber, who was still at Oxford, and Lady Maude Bramber, a lovely young girl about two years older than her brother. Lady Maude inherited her mother‘s peculiariy sympathetic nature. She was as gifted as she was beautiful, and the ona thing in which she exâ€" celled was art. She would have mado one of the finest painters of the day had sho not been an earl‘s da_ughter 4 as it was her pictures were far supâ€" crior to those of many wellâ€"known artists, It was At her solicitation that Lord Arlington returned home that autumn. She hbad seen the finâ€" P Upop Emt e m anen nscas â€" e Sho had begged that they wight rperd the autumn at home, for the boarty of an English autumn surâ€" possed anything which they could see abroad. Her wish was complied with, as is often the wisb of a spoiled cehil!, _ and che promised hersel{ a few pleasant montls. A i. I . us o uis u8 1 d e oc d eeas HMA T Rrmce ost parts of Europeâ€"the most ‘pic- turesque, the most beautiful â€"out there was nothing she liked better than the fine old woods round Rramâ€" ber ; and she loved them best in auâ€" tumn, when the leaves were falling and the glovious tints on the foliage made a picture of tints of which could not be transferred to canvas. s 0OAE pOT doqe@oo. ce d Sheo eet out one morning with hewx sketckâ€"book amd pencils. The counâ€" tess suggoestol that she should take a naid or a footman with her. Lady Mavudo langke® | _ ( . | C SEROBIAEY PATCENCCCC t 1 ‘No dansger lurks in our English wcodis wamma," sho said. "If I were in Iltaly or Greece I might meet a few brigamls; here, at â€" Bramber, therc will be nothing worse than the pretty brown hares and the little sqrirrels. _ I could not sketch at my case with a great ile man waiting for me." & s 101 IAC. so she wont alone into the Bramâ€" ber â€" Woods. She wanted a . few cketcheos of â€" English trees in thair rubyâ€"tinted autumn dress, aud some of the finest in England grew amid the forn and bracken in the Bram.â€" ber Woods. She had no fear. Why chkould sho have any 2 The sky was blue, the sun bright and warm, the air full of music and song. Asa sho entered the woods whe fancied that she heard a faint chiming of distant belis. "Thoy are the old charch belis of Lilford," she said to bersell; "what a _ mellow, rich 901.1nd! 1 shall not hear it presentâ€" ".' w2 ul in l o aiils t e ts PWc e There was a broad open space, and a majestic oak spread out its great branches there. It was like a little kingdom in itself, this wonâ€" derful onkâ€"a great green kingdom with & life all its own. Near it pes: three." As sho became absorbed in the keen dcliglt ‘Of her sketching she forgot Ler feathered neifll:ebora. They no longor disturbad r. The wind pounded like an Acolian harp amorg the trees, but that was music she liked ; the merry rabbits hopped among the bracken and fern, the equirrols playei among the epreading boughs. It was all so still, so peaceâ€" ful, so bzautiful, that sho thought ghe could sit there sketching forever. Ones she was disturbed ; she fancied that from the long western glade on the other side of her there came the sound ol reckless running footsteps, and then of a heavy fall, but after a moment or two she concluded that it was only the rabbits. ¢ stood a very {ine eim, andâ€" in the distance she saw the branches of a fine ashâ€"tree. Not far from there way a protty little brook, so clear that one couid see the pebbles at the bottom of it; it ran with a sweet, musicak ripple that was a song in itseif. ‘The birds were hayâ€" ing an entertainment of some kind in the greea kingdont of leaves, and the noise they made over it wase contiruous, . "Thoy are navlig a steeplechass," ske said, and laughed at the idea ; thon the pencil trembled in her finâ€" gers, for surely she heard the sound of terrible sobbmgâ€"great, passionâ€" ate, bitter sobs. She could not be misâ€" taken ; they grow more bitter and deep, and then all was etill. She tried to go on with her drawing, but her kand trembled ; she could not perâ€" euade herself that what she heard was fancyâ€"all fancy. Something must have maZce the noiseâ€"she would â€"go and soe. Bhe was one o[f the most feariess of maidens; all the nigh courage and undaunted bravery oi her race lived in hor. She put her drawing materials aside and went toward the place whonce the sound had procceded. Her hoart beat fast whea she saw beiore her the prostrate figure of a man. There was no sobbing now, only a deathâ€"like silence, and the man lay with his face downward. She did cot faint, or scream, or run away, but she listened for his breathing, this dainty daughter of a noble race. Was no dead? Had he swooned ? Was he hurt? She grew pale and trexbled when, on the cool, green grass, sho detected stains of blood. Once, twice she spoke to him, and ther she raised his head and jooked icto his face. How handsome it was â€" just such a faco as she had scer in marble in the dim light of old Roman galleries. Then she saw that on ts temp‘e, so white, so roundcd, so full of ideality, there was a terrible wound. A moment‘s roflection showed her what the wound was. Just above him the branch of a tree. He must have been running in hot haste, and, not bceing the branch with its sharp, jaggod edge, had run against it. He had fallen there, and had swooned, probably because the blow, had stunâ€" ced him. "Viciot," he said. "I am not Violst," «ho replied. Sha saw his whole face change. "Oh, Eveâ€"Eve," he said, "you told me of the angel of pain, but the trial was moro than I could bear." % Gonily and quietly, with #softest touch, sha bathed his hot brow with the cool water of the brook, until she szlxw that his senses had returned to him. . "I found you hoere, badly hurt," she said. Heo tried to rise, but he was quite unable to stir. _ She laid her hand upon his arm. _ 159 i4 oo ag "I am not Eve," she told him, gentâ€" ly ; bit &m the cim, chadowed look in his cyes she knew that he did not hear her. N " No," she said, "you must not try to standâ€"you will feel better soon. You are dazed and giddyâ€"you must have struck your head against this branch. Where were you running so quickly ?". 2 C " D.d they distress you ?" she asked. "I thought them so beautiful" ‘‘They drove me madâ€"they were kiling me,‘‘ he replied. Then with a low cry he boent his face toward the long grass. * Away from the sound of the hbel‘s," he answored. "I knew that I should not hear them in tho dopths of the Bramber Woods." "I feel that I havo seen you beâ€" fore,‘‘ sha said. "Do you know me? [ am Lady Maude Bramber,â€"and you â€"I have seen you at the ‘Towers. Surely you are Mr. Folix Lonadale, the dear cld lawyow‘s son ?" He lockeod at hor. " Yes, I am Felix Lonsdale," he replied, "and I begin to think that Heaven _ has placed _ a black cross against my nams>. 1 ought to havre known you, Lady Maude. I remember you now, but my head was all confused." "Your face is quite familiar to me," said Lady Maude. "You came to the ‘Towers with your fatherâ€"â€" it is four gyears sinceâ€"and you took luncheon with us. I showed you some of my drawings, and you were very shy. It comes back .to me go vividly. But, Mr. Lonsdale, why were you running from the sound of thosa bells ?" Sho saw a spasm of pain pass over his handsome face; his lips trembled. Hhases 5 "Do not agitate yourself," she said, kindly. "Do not tell me if it pains you.‘" "All / the worldâ€"all my worldâ€" knows it." he replied. "I will tell you, Laody Maude. I ran, mad, blind, reckless, from thoss belis because they are chiming in honor of the marriage Of the girl I lovedâ€"the glrl, who had promised to marrty me." "Yurely,"" said Lady Maude, with a light breaking over her face, "you do nol mean your pretty goldenâ€" haired _ sweetheart, â€" Viole! Taye? Your father told us about h:e that at the Towers." cmrsc ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORONTO "Yes; she has married Sir Owen Chevenix toâ€"day, and the weddingâ€" bells were driving me_mad." " pPoor boy," said Lady Maude, rather to herself than to him, *"‘I am not furpriseq at it. You chall rot tell me about it now," added Lady Maude, after a silence of some . few seconds. "It is the old story, I suppose, of trust and love, folly and treachory. Tell me of your home, your fatherâ€"I was always very fond of your father. How is he ?" Sympathy was so sweot. They were sitting under the greoat boughs of the spreading elm. . Lady Maude‘s just and gentle heart ached with pity for him. It seemed to him suth a relie!® to talk to hor. _ He felt werk and languidâ€"woman‘s swect, Ww&a;. woman‘s pity and sympaâ€" they were very acceptable to him just then. se t i aif ty 4 told her the story of his father‘s bitter trialsâ€"how Mrs. Hardman‘s money was loft to them, how happy it had made them, what plans and hopes they had built on it ; then of the disputed will, tho trial, the verâ€" dict; how hbis father‘s business had fal‘en away from him, and his old friends had one by one deserted him, Su vut Eve Lestor; and ho told her now Ere had come to offer her forâ€" tun2a to them. "That is a girl after my own heart," she said. "That is just one of the things I should have done myseli. But do you mean to tell me, Mr. Lonsdale, that this is the outcome of Englishr law ? I have never heard of so cruel a case. All who know your father know that he is as incapable of doing wrong ie Lady Maude‘s eyes filied with tears as she listened. as any man in Englandâ€"in fact, he would rot do wrong. He was one of the honestest and noblest of men,. I have always heard him so highly spoken of. You do not mean to say that his old fellowâ€"townsmen and the oll friends who have known him for years stand aloof from him for this ?" She spoke with angry indignaâ€" tion that did his heart good to hear. "It is true," he replied, " and what is more, they have withdrawn their business from himâ€"some unâ€" der one pretext, some under anâ€" other, We have had a struggle such as few could understand, and my great fear is that my father will never be a strong man again." "He wants & reaction," she said â€""something that would put him back in his placeâ€"that would reinâ€" state him in public opinion; and he shall have it. I will tell this story, just as you hava told it to me, to the earl, my faâ€" ther, and 1 am sure this is one of the wrongs he will hasten to redress. I am glad that 1 have sceen you, glad that you have trusted me. There has been a gross miscarriage of justice." . s C "Human laws must always be more or less imperfect," returned Felix. "It is only the Divine law that has no flaw." po st bewk 4 i ""Tell me more of Eva Lester," said Lady Mamde, "Your fair, false Violet does not interest me, but Eve Lester does. I love noble womenâ€" tell me more of her." He to!d of her patience, her hercism, her noble, generous flile; and Lady Maude, looking at him, wondered why, when he undersiood the Leauty of her fair soul so well, he had not loved her in preference to Violet, He did not epeak of Violet, but he "Mon were all the same," she thought ; "a fair face will lead them in any direction. They lose their heads when beauty comes upon the sceno; they are not strongâ€"minded as a rule." * w # _Then, with a smile, she looked up at Felix. l "The little mouse in the fable freed the lion. I will be the mouse in this instance, and I promise you such neip for your father as shalb make his trouble really! a blessing in mlerulse®".. . °. ... _ X He tnought of Eve‘s words, and reâ€" peated tzem to her. 4 She emiled. _ "Your iriend Eve is right," she said, "Sorrow is often a blessing in disguise. I am glad I nave met you; you wili go home all the happler for knowing that the hour of,your fathâ€" er‘s triumph is at hand. _ You will have something to distract your thoughts, from fair, false Viojet ; and remembhar my promise, the fourteenth of Septemper, her wedding day, wilt rot be the most unhappy day of your life, alter all." Felix had intended to take up his burden bravely and carry it nobly ; but human love and bhuman passion were too sirong for himâ€"he could not face the world just yet. He stayed all night in the shclter of the Bramber woods, toing hbard battle with his despair. H» watched the sun set and the moon rise; he warched the golden stars come out one by one; he watched the check red shadows that the moon threw upon the grass; he listened to the wind as it sung its swoet song ; he thought of all the moonlit nights on which he had mot YViolect. He fecll asleep for a few short moments, and dreamed that he stood vnder the wet lilac bushes with her; her arms were clasped around his neck, her beautiful f'ace was raised to his, and che was scolding him even in a dream he could not believe her false, He woke with a ery of rapture,. There lay the colg muonlight,. thore stood the giant trees, and Viclet had marâ€" ried Sir Owen. He thanked her until the tears came into her eyes again ; and then be told her that he was better, and asked her to let him walk with her to the eng of the woods. When he tries to stand up, he looked very white and illâ€"she almost feared for him ; but the giddiness soon passed, and they walked together to wnere she had left her drawing materials. He thanked her again and again so simply and earnest at she was charmed. Then she left him, and went away home. H2 was not ashamed to impart all his sorrow to the listering stare. They had listened to Oenons‘s wailâ€" ing when beautiful Paris left his love. ‘This story of man‘s love and woman‘s folly, of man‘s trust and woman‘s treachery, of love forsaken and forsworn, was nothing new 10 them. There were times that sight when he aimost woent made, when he cried aloud for death. But Heaâ€" ven was merciful and death came not. The morning light found hinx pale, weak and exbausted; but that one fierce paroxysm had taken the sting of his sorrow away. It was better than if he had gone home and been ill for long days and weeks. That once fierce night of pain exâ€" hausted him. When it had passed he was too weak and too tired to suffer more. All night he stayed thore. It was the one terrible battle of his‘lm.a: He went home in the full light of morning, and found Kate waiting for him. She had guessed what had bagp pened. She had not spoken of his abâ€" sence, but she looked anxiously at his face when hbe came in. He bent down and kissed her. M M % "It is all over, madre," hbe said. "Now I shall live down my pain." Kate looked sadly at the wound on his broad white brow. "How did you cut yourself so terâ€" ribly, Felix ?" she agked :and he told her. It was one of his great merite that he never spoke a false or evaâ€" sivo word. (To be Coantinued.) E:’_.‘ 2t