Baines remission CONSTERNATION. The honeewife woke with sudden frizhs, About the hour of two, And, trembling, lay with gasping breath Not knowing what to do. All sorts of plans for safety sped Like lightning through her brain But still she was inanimate, Held fast by terror's chain Was there a burglar down below Revealed by Intel's elick, That made her heart almost stand still Aud every fibre sick? Was creaking step upon the stair, Had baby ceased to breathe, That she should take this Russian bath Or creeping chills receive? Was smell of smoke within the house, Had she forgot her prayers? Ob, no, she simply had not brough The silverware up stairs! Olives Step-Hothes. | “8he is the sweetest, dearest ereaturas In the world!” said Olive Ogilvie, en- ‘husiastically. ] “IHumph!” said Miss Jane Barrin ton. «Px ople didn’t use to talk so of stepmothers in my day |” “Bat then vou see,” retorted with the of who effectun silences al cumen never wus exactiy such a stepmother before. fix he's not self!” sai “And that she sympath pursuits so he y. “She married your poor, for a home, and to avoid the necessi of going out as a governess,” uttered Miss Jane Barrington with aeerbity. “Jt is false!” cried Olive. «Sh married him becanse she loved him.” “Huomph!” said Miss Jane Barrin: ton. “You're bewitched, i You're nader the glamour, if woman was, 1 agreeable awake Ogilvie; see you have “Not with spirit, as paused a second. “(), never mi Barri: ing her ey mischief. sy “Percei Ozilvi I do hate dark innn foes! thing to say, Miss on, do say it out, and have done with it. If not I'll go down to the river and see h the children are getting on with stone tito.” Thus driven to the wall Barrington said her say In the communi : ly be described. As I remarked bef re,” Barrington, “I am the last one mulgate idle reports; but it is qui plain to all disin erested eyes that vour young stepmot ! 1 widow whose deep weeds eeedingly becoming ——" “Do cried Olive, in an agony “It is quite the gossip of the place,” went on “that Mrs. Hayden Ogilvie is carrving on a lively flirtation with Albert Stanfield.” “With Albert Stanfield! Impossi- ble!” cried Olive incredulously. “Just what I should have said self,” said Miss piously. “If [ hadn't been an es withess to all her goir with her poor, dear first husband yet cold in his grave, and? “Be silent!” eried Olive, springing to her feet so suddenly that Miss Jane Barrington started backward and tumbled with more precipitation than grace over a square ottoman. “How dare you utter such slander ous falsehoods? And to me, of all other persons ifi the world, who owe everything to her loving eare, her more than maternal kindness! | mysclf for standing here to it!” And she swept away with the roval pace of a princess, her cheeks dyed earmine, and her eyes glittering like wrathfal stars, Btraight as an arrow she went to the sttit of apartmeuts occupied jointly by herself and her young stepmother at the “Crown Hotel”—a Summer resort of some celebrity among the moun tains that wall in the blue waters of a Camberland lake, The door was open, the soft Angust breezes blew the muslin window- draperies to and fro, and a piece of embroidery lay on the table with the needie yet sticking in its folds, and the thimble beside it. All the tokens of a recent presence were there, but the | room was empty. ‘She has taken her the little woodland spring,” said Olive to herself; and she ran down the cool, secluded path, where inter- | mingled sunshine and shadow made a moving checker-work at hier feet, eall- ing “Mamma—where are you, mar ma?” as she went. Bat no answer came. The woods and spring bubbled out in cool drops over the ferns that shadowed its pool, | the birds sang overhead, and that was wll. “Oh, dear!” said Olive to herself, “where can she be?” Bbe wandered along further down the glen, swinging her hat by its strings as she walked, her footsteps falling noiselessly on the velvet turf, until suddenly she pansed, stricken to she heart as keenly as if ao barbed ar- row had pierced her gnivering flesh. For, hidden away by the leafy cove | ert of tremulous birches and white pines, upon the moss-covered trunk of | Olive s i wir one “there rs older th » Barrington, Yervy reason all my interes inyvour- that ts and ear pa tha Teton ag 8 $3 maiicious Miss Jan , with a re » tion which o 4Li0n Willch can scm said » {0 pr her—the charming are so ex- §5y » On: oe of suspense, i he backbiter ii MOCK OIter, my. Jane Barrington, ow on, not EO des; listen to hook down to in her deep mourning robes, her face turned wistfully upward, while, in an atti- Stanfield leaned over her, Olive Ogilvie did not mean to listen : the was an honorable girl, witha keen of delicacy; but all volition seemed gone from her at the moment. She leaned, pale and trembling, against a tree, and could not but the words spoken within a throw of her. Believe me, sense ' up stone's Albert, I the treasure of your love,” Ogilvie, softly; “bat I do whether I am justified in your offer.” “Dear Mrs. Ogilvioe— suid Mrs. not accepting lutelv motioning him away, s&s you not premature? 3 time has elapsed since Mr, Ogilvie was laid in his grave?” “] have forgotten nothing,” the ar dent lover made reply. ¢“ Nor do I deem it any disrespect to the dead in that [ would fain extend the tenderness and protect who was dearest to him in life. that you will grant my praver. me but word of and I shall be happy.” “I must Mrs. Oril “Time retorted. ay Give one for vie answered, hesitating! ! tima! “ Yon have had tae enougl have time reflection,” ? ale 2 a1 x Stanfield impatien already . a matter of such i, you must rest con- you your answer to- 180 not forget the truth ; : ' - LMC deep 0yaity And it all, Albert; only he hotel now. Olive | it grows toward suu- , and Olive, wait- i. dead passiveness through the fy dell, took uld ever touch it unfinished ' A penny arain. novel. now goil n w hethe } i rried or not. “1'll go and liv Aunt Sarah.’ said Olive to herself. «Jt will be a life; but--but it’ i that's left to me now. [I de care for much variety or brightness.” “Olive, darling, where are you?” it was Mrs. Ogilvie's Mrs. Ogilvie's footstep: and although Olive would fain have fled from her presence it was so now, The young stepmother came up to her, and seated herself at the girl's side. “1 have something tell Olive.” Olive shrank Wa | olne with 4 onotonous i ntt voice, 0H IHRE 0 (in t late t i to you, away from the arch, questioning gaze of her stepmother's eyes, “] know what it is.” said she faint- Iy. “You are going to be married.” “I! My dearest child, what could possibly put such an idea into your head? You are the one who is married, if only you can bring your- self to say ‘yes’ to the suit of Albert Stanfield.” “Mammal” “He has been urging me for per- mission to address you this Jong time; but I have scarcely dared to consent, knowing how recent a time has elapsed since the death of your dear father. jut, perhaps, I have no right longer to object. He loves you tenderly and truly. He would lay down his life for you, and I believe him to be worthy even of my Olive. Shall I tel) him you will listen favorably to his suit 7” Like a burst of renewed sunshine after the blackness of a thunder- shower, Olive's face grew brilliant; and throwing her arms around her stepmother’s neck, she sobbed out, “Mamma, mamma, 1 have been wicked in my heart! Oh, mamma, can yon ever forgive me?” And then she told her story, ‘Go to Albert, my dear,” said her stepmother, smiling. “He will con vince you presently that all is right with your heart and his.” That was the end of Olive Ogilvie’s tribulation. And she still firmly per- sists in the belief that she has the best stepmother in the world. And Miss Jane Barrington is rather disappointed thau otherwise. I ————— or Must be Fresh, Shopkeeper—