J = . Let us have the pleasure of your com- , that night in one whole piece. AX Bellefonte, Pa., June 25, 1897. EE ————— IF YOU KNEW. You say I'm making game of you, That goes for granted nothing said, Ah! if you knew, if you but knew, ow I had listened for your tread, aX you but seen me flush and start, To feel and know that you were drawing nigh, Or felt the sinking at my heart, « When footsteps, not your own, went by. If you knew that my thoughts, each day, Defied the mandates of my will, And from its guidance stole away, To cluster fondly round you still ; That in my steep you hold the key - That opens to my sweetest dreams ; That you were oftener with me, Than all their angel band, it seems Would you be glad if you had read : My letter wrong? My fooling you Was in the sharp things I had said ; And not the sweet ones; if you knew ? Would you be surer to forget, In knowing I was fond and true ? Or would you he more cruel yet, Or kinder, gentler, if you knew ? The unattained is always rare, The gained not always ; does it pay For what it costs, that with no care, We trifle human trust away ? Yet since I eannot tell unless The years should prove your heart untrue, Just which I meant, you can but guess, It I could know if you but knew. —From ———— THE MARKED CHEEK. “Is this Mr. Robbin’s?’’ -It was a handsome young man who ask the question. . And the girl who had opened the door for him, in that pretty country place where the richest people were not very fashion- able, was Mr. Rushton’s only daughter, Fanny, herself. “What a pretty thought. Then, as she turned her head, he won- dered for a moment whether somebody had just slapped her on the left cheek, there was such a singular spot there, exactly like the scarlet print of a palm and four fin- gers. But that mark had been there all Fanny Rushton’s life, and it was her one grief, her perpetual torment. + She had grown morbid about it in these | early days of womanhood. But there was no cosmetics and no arts of surgery that could remove it. There the red mark must be as long as she breathed, its hateful scarlet attracting the first glance from every stranger. “Mr. Rushton at home %’’ said Luke Rob- | bins, with a how. “Yes,”” said Fanny. Then she ushered Mr. Robbins into the parlor and went away ; in a few moments the mill owner sauntered in. It was a busineds call. The business was casily completed, and then Luke Robbins rose to depart. “The hotel is a long way off, and I should be pleased to have you stay over night with us,” said the old gentleman. “There are one or two spare bedrooms, and Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes. Vogue. little soul!’ he pany.’ ’ “Thanks,”’ said Luke Robbins. are very kind?’ Then he thought of the pretty face with the red mark upon the cheek. Despite the mark, 'he wanted to see it | again. It sat opposite hin at supper time. “The best and the kindest face in the world,’’ he said to himself a dozen times. And he did his best to win a little chat from the shy girl, who could not forget her tormenting mark uhtil they sat on ‘the piazza in the twilight afterward. * Mrs. Rushton had a call from some neighbor, and sat apart conversing. Mr. Rushton, after many amiable at- tempts to rouse himself, went soundly asleep. + : Through the evening shadows Luke saw the girl’s finely-cut profile and exquisitely shaped head ; and the moon turned all to black and white soon, and blotted out the red mark. rT And he sat. as close to her as he dared, and her sweet voice charmed him, and he fell in love. as men do, for an hour. ,» Poor little Fanny gave away her heart #You It is always best to keep a little piece, if one can : but sometimes that is impossible. “Oh, what a beautiful night 1’ said | Fanny, as sffe stood on the porch with her ! mother, after the gentlemen had retired. | “Such a fine breeze and such a bright | moon.’ : “It's quite damp. We'd better retire.” I wonder whether your pa will be suited | with to-morrow’s breakfast. He does ask | visitors so unexpectedly,” returned Mrs. | Rushton. se Married forty and single twenty take | different views of life sometimes. = + .| Fanny went to bed to dream of para- | dise, and the next day was all happy in| memory of a parting pressure of the hand | | and a whispered hope that they might often meet again. f “What a pity that mark is,” thought young Robbins. ‘*‘Sheis a darling little | thing, and I suppose that Rushton is a very rich man. A young man might do worse | than be his son-in-law. ; i Then, as the train whirled him away, he | said to himself : . | “What a pity that mask is 1? i Nevertheless, very often after that he | was with Fanny a great deal. Fanny’s mother felt tha though this suitor was not rich, he was eligible, and | she-knew that that red mark was a disad- | vantage to her Fanny. | '*‘He certainly means something; said | mamma. | ‘And they could always live with us,”’ | | { said papa ; ‘‘we need never part from our only one.” ; ; J Our eyes grow used to everything after a while. y Luke Robbins forgot that there was any mark on Fanny’s face, unless something | particularly called his attention to it. | He loved her very much at times, though there were long hours in which he never remembered her existence. Twice a week at least, Luke thought | enough of Fanny to buy her a bouquet, or | some music, and to spend two hours on a dusty railroad for the sake of seeing her. He felt her love for him in her very finger tips ; he saw it in her eyes ; he heard'it in her voice. . He was a man who is happy in being be- loved. And it.was not old Mr. Rushton’s mon- ey that made him decide to offer himself to her, despite the red mark. “ Yes, the next time he went he would ask Fanny to have him for better or worse. | fortable when any one looked at her. light heart. | nothing whatever to do with anything but And he knew that she would say— “Yes.” There are evil moments in every one’s life—moments that change one’s destiny for the worse. . If only it had rained one morning ; if only Fanny had fallen ill ; if only she had not undertaken that trip to the city just when she did, this would be a different story. She used to be shy of going into the crowded streets alone, and, even with her mouiier, wore a thick veil and felt uncom- But now she cared nothing for strangers’ eyes. uti her blemished face had found favor in his. Let them stare. The prettiest girl living was not so hap- py as she. She made her little purchases with a And then she saw Luke Robbins—yes, j really Luke himself, coming to meet her ! | “Looks as if some one had slapped her in the face,” said a giggling girl’s voice. And he turned his head. He saw her and went to meet her at once. ‘Oh, I am so glad to meet you,” said Fanny. “I suppose I ought to start at once.’ [ : “And I'll go with you as far as N—, where you change carriages,” said Luke Robbins. He saw people stare at her as she passed. Part of the staring was at the mark, part of it at the pretty face and figure. He laid it all to the mark, as she bad all her life. He grew very grave. It was a terrible blemish. ‘In those. moonlight lovers walks in the country he had forgotten all about it, but in the crowded streets how it forced itself upon him! : o Everyone stared so. In the carriage which they soon stepped into, a little child opened its round eyes, and with a child’s innocent Impertinence, pointed its finger straight at the mark on fanny’s face. \ At the station there was a crowd. Luke had passed Fanny in first, and stopped to pay the fare. “Two,” said he. ‘The old lady ?*’ asked the man. . “No.” said LuKe. ‘Oh, that one with the red scar on her face,” said the man, lowering his voice. “All right.” *‘Confound you !’ said Luke, in a rage. But the man bad meant no rugleness, nor had Fanny heard him ; but Luke was ex- cited, confused, agitated. He hardly knew why then. « He handed her out of the carriage ; then he pressed her hand. “Good-by until we meet,”’ he! said, and | stepped to the platform. ‘Here is your train coming up.”’ Ps There stood one of those white-bearded, red-cheeked old gentlemen who affect to be ‘‘judges of women’ in away that is in- sulting to every woman, since it places her on a level with wine and horses, having her personal attractions. = . “Ah! how de do.?”' said