Vbt gnnfagttf PDBUBdD BTBBT WioaxaDAT BT H. G. SMITH A CO. A. J. Steiwman TERMS—Two Dollars por annum, payable In all oosos in advanoe. TUB LA.XOABTEIB DAILY iNTKLLIOKNOma Ift published every evening, Sunday excepted, at $5 per Annum in advance. OFFlCE—Southwest ooazrsxt of Oxhtee 3CJOAEB. §otfct). TBUE HEBOXSW. by obaht r. p.odinson. Let others write of battles fought On bloody, ghashtly fields, Where honor greets the man who win?, And death the man who yields ; But I will write of nlm who fights And vanquishes his sins, Who struggles on through weary years, Agilnst hlmßelf, and wins. Ho Is a hero staunch and brave Who fights an unseen foe, And pats at last beneath his feet Hit passion baso audlow; Who stands erect In manhood's might, Undaunted and undismayed— The bravest men who drew a sword In foray or In raid. It calls for something more loan brawn Or muscle to o'ercoma An enemy who marches not With banner, plume, and drum— A foe foreveritirklug nigh, With silent, stealiiiy tread, Forevor near your board by day, At aight beside your bed. All honor, then, to that bravo heart, Though poor or 1 leh ho be, Wmi struggles with his baser pa. ! Who conquers ami is free, Uo may not wear a hero’s crown, Or fill a hero's grarn|; 13ul. truth will place his name among The bravest of the bravo. £JW«eUiuwoU;s. A Very Singular Story. s My nums Is Rachel Althea Travers. Jt ueems to me that in an account of this sort, it ia better to state that at once, ami then it avoids all worrying as to who that perpetually recurring “I” may be. They are unfortunate initials, as you may perhaps observe, and have led to my being apostrophized as “Rat” by an impertinent younger brother, who Is, I am thankful to say, generally at school. We, that is, my mother, my two sisters, ami myself, live in iJryan ston .Square. We have no country house, and consequently are in town a great part of the year, when I, for one, would sootier be anywhere vise; not that that melancholy fact has anything to do with my story, except so far as it accounts for our being in London one nasty day in November, when some thing happened which was the remote cause of my writing this, the cause, in fact, of my having, this to write. 1 had a headache; I ttjiilc that perhaps, would have been fttiaiaon for not writ ing it, but I will* QOGplaiu in a minute what my headaches £ad to do with it. It was the loth, I think, and I was sitting in the drawing room while my sister Agnes had her music lessou. I could speak German with tolerable fluency, having spent the last winter in Vienna with some friends, but Agnes hardly understood a single wonl. Herr iihnne 'could, however, speak a little Ertglish, and they might, in reality, have got on very well, had it not been for the ex treme excitability of the little man’s temperament. In the event of a wrong chord, his conversation, though iluent, became totally incomprehensible, and of such a striking nature that Agnes, who was very nervous, had once gone Into violent hysterics, occasioned by agonizing attempts to suppress her laughter. After that, my mother de clared that 1 must always remain in the room Lo trunslato. It was a great boro being tied to one spot twice a week at exactly the same hour, and I heartily wished Agnes would learn Herman her self. Lessons had been talked of, but Lho idea had been given up. “ Rachel, dear, I don’t think it’s any use,” my mother had said to me-; “ she hasn’t the least talent fur languages, and though the lo ? smi- may not be very expensive, yet. you know, my dear child, all rliM? tilings muko a dili'er once.” Poor-dear mamma! I made the sac ri-iice with a heller grace, knowing as 1 didhow mauy of “all those tilings” she would gladly have had, but domed herself for our Bakes. And bo it came to pans that that loth of November found me at my usual post iu a corner of the sofa, awaiting the arrival of Herr Illume. In he came, as tiie clock struk eleven, iu the midst of a frantic rush on poor Agnes’s part through an immense pile of music to find her piece. I think that put him out, for he stood watching tier with an unnatural calmness, which I felt sure could only be tile eilect of almost super human etlbrts of self-control. He was a short, hay-colored man with spectac les, extraordinarily round eyes, mid an immense quantity of distracted-looking hair, through which lie was constantly running his lingers in a manner quite peculiar to himself. At last the piece was found, Agues began to play, and i establislied myself more auugly iu my corner. Alas ! the peace which follow ed was hut of short duratiou. A series of small disturbances began, the imme diate cause of which was the piano : now the piano was a hired, and not partic ularly good. Under a successful course of our treatment it had arrived at a blissful state of inditl'ereiicp concerning the pedal, keeping up a perpetual rum ble which sounded like mild thunder; This little peculiarity appeared to have a most irritating effect on the unfortu nate music master, and once or twice he had giveu vent lo his feelings by a violent castigation of the wretched in Htnnnont. This, however, ns one may imagine-, only ’tended to increase the evil, ami matters had arrived at a cri sis, when Lilia morning my mother en tered the room as he was;engaged in iu- Hiding upou us a succession of tremen dous miuor crashes that were truly ter rible. With a bound which would not have disgraced Leotard, he leaped from the music-stool aud stood before her. After the usual compliments, he asked if it might be allowed to him “to make to madame one small representation?” This little inquiry was accompanied by a smile intended to be insinuating, but which was simply snrdouic. My motherof courso assured him that slio would be most happy to listen to any suggestion; upon which lie de clared, running his fingers through iiis hair, tliat, though it inflicted upon him much sorrow, lie felt it to be hisduty to instruct her that tiie pedal was much disordered, and was very noxious to him. “For myself,” he proceeded, with a grand heroism, “for myself, I care not a little bit, but for these young messes” —here he indicated with a theatrical flourish Agues and myself—“it is a fatal story.” “It is only a hired piano, Herr Blume,” said my mother, “and I think I really must chauge it; I know It is very bad.” “Ach!” he said, eagerly, “why docs not one have her own splendid instru ment? Madame will perhaps reflect this whatl have said.” He then suddenly closed his lips, and with a pirouette and another bound seated himself again, commencing on the spot such an illustration of that lit tle weakness on the part of the pedal of which he had spoken, that my poor mother fled the room. I remained, sorely against my will, but tried to find consolation in a pile of cushions. My head ached, I could not read, and I sat listlessly turning over a photograph book, until I suppose I must have gone off into a doze. I was suddenly roused byjHerr Blurae’s voice, raised to a posi tive shriek: “Laugsamer! lang-samer, lang-sa a-mer*rel” I got up, audrushed toward the piano; poor Agnes was as white a sheet, and Herr Blume’s fore head stood great drops of perspiration. “ Blower, Agnes, slower; that is what Herrßlume means,” I said. Poor child, she made one more effort, but her fing ers trembled 90 that she could hardly strike a note, and the next moment she Vurst into tears. There was nothing more to be done that morning by either of them, I plainly saw; as for him,' he had been in a vile temper from the beginning. “I am really very sory, Herrßlume,” I said, as the door closed after her; “ it was entirely my faultfornotattending; you know my sister hardly understands a word of German.” “ That, my frauleiu, I know,” he an swered, with awful solemnity, “ and’ I must, I fear, abandon her, if she can not learn a little.” To be abandoned by him he seemed to think the moat dreadful fate in life, “My tempers,” ho continued, with excitement, “suffers, yes, suffers, through these trials.” He never had any to speak of, but I didn’t tell him so,thinklng hemightn’t like It. For a few minutes we both remained silent, he standing in a ' Napoleonic attitude, with folded arms ana knitted brows, glaring in ajnalig- VOLUME 70 nant manner at a cross in the carpet. I began nervously to consider whether it could possibly be that, owing to a strong anti-rituallstic feeling, our carpet might be displeasing to his eye. My appre hensions were, however, relieved when he proceeded to unfold his plans. There was, it Beemcd, a German lady of his acquaintance lodging in a street close by, who was anxious to give lessons; he could recommend her highly for her ability and accent, he added, and If my mother would permit Agnes to have a few lessons, he was sure her music would greatly benefit. Might he ask the lady tocall on madame? he inquired; and so the end of it was, that it was ar ranged for her to come the noxt day at eleven o’clock. “Of course you will manage It all, Rachel,” my mother said in the eve ning. “ I dare say she can’t speak a word of English.” So she came. As I look back at it now, the whole thiDg seems so odd, as if all that followed were the conse quence of a little headache on my part, and a little temper on Herr Jilume’a; all the merest chance; and yet it can not be ; we are all working out some vast design, subservient to one great master will ; generally, upon tiniest threads of trifles hang the great joys and miseries of life. A little after eleven the next morning a card was brovght up, on which was written “Kraulein Lorn,” and in a minute she was in the room. •She was not the least like what I had expeelod. Most people form some idea an to any one ilrey are going to meet, ami I had formed mine ; but I was entirely wrong; there was not a trace of that downiness of dress and manner of which I had seen so much in the Vaterland, even in the classes to which, I knew, by her name, she did -not heioug. On the contrary, everything about her was fresh ami graceful, and there was a charming ease and grave courtesy in her manner which astonished me. Her face, even now that I know it under its many changes, isdiJlicult to describe. Clmr was the only word that came iuL* my mind as I looked at her. A sweet oval face, clear and pale, witli dark hazel eyed, somewhat round and deep set, looking out fearlesslyj like shiniug stars. Her lips were excessively pretty, and gave color to a face which would perhaps otherwise have been too pale; not that dark color verging on purple which Lely has bestowed on sonic of his beauties, and which gives one tine pain ful impression that they have been in dulging in black currant jam, but a bright light red. It was not the first morning that 1 saw all the excellences of her face, but afterward?, when I grow to know her better. There were lessons a week, and l generally to join in them; she was very quiet at first, but gradually wo began to get better friends, and she would talk about England, or on any general Subject in the most amusing and lively mauner; but I could never by any meuns whatever lead her to speak of herself, her former life, her reasons for coming to England, nor any a word, in fact, that could afford any clew to her history. There was a mystery about her; of that I felt very sure. Now the unravelling of mysteries was considered rather my forte, so I felt on my honor, as it wore, to penetrate it. There had been an eagerness about Herr lHume’s manner which lnd struck me at the very outset of the affair, ami, strange to say, once or twice during the lessons, I had beeu possessed by a stronger feeling that I had seen her before; yet the face was perfectly strange to me. The more I atudiVul it, the more convinced I be came that 1 must be laboring under some delusion, there was not a feature familiar to me. The lessons eontiuned regularly until a little time before Christmas, when onemornhigshe failed to make her appearance. I knew the number of the house, thaugli 1 had never been to her lodging, so before luncheon 1 walked round to see after her. The door was opened to me by au untidy-looking maid, and as I advauced into the passage, loud, angry tones issued from a room on my right. There was no help for it but to proceed, ami this I was doing when I was almost knocked down by a fat, dirty, angry woman coming hastily out of the room, her head turned rouml, still addressing some one within. “And sure it’s not my house as ’ll hould ye, with yer fine clothes and yer fine airs, if it’s not a civil tongue ye can keep in yer bead !” She flounced off, and I ventured a peep into the room. It was in a slate of the utmost confusion; clothes were lying iu every direction, on the tables, on the chairs ; and boxes half packed .•trod about the floor. On one of these, looking llkefScipio amid the ruins of Carthago, s\L—the fraulein. Another woman, black eyed, with an angry red spot on eithercheek, was busily packing a box. On seeing me the fraulein started up. “ Ach ! I am so glad to see you,” ahe said. “I must explain why I have not come to you. This woman, Thereee lias made her angry,—furious ; poor Therese, she was foolish. Tho woman has said we leave the house, so I go in stantly; but where to, that I know not.” This was wretched, # I tried iu vain make her tell mo what Therese had said, Uiinkiug it most problablo some misunderstanding which had arisen owing to their not understanding each other's language; but she evaded it, declaring, however, that it was impos sible for her to remain. I made up my mind on the spot, and rushed home to ask my mother to in vite hereto come to us until after Christ mas. h “ My (tear Rachel, I realiy dou’tthink I can doiit; she Is quite a stranger; you know nothing, or next to nothing, about her. I think you had better give it up ; no doubt she has friends in London.” Such were the arguments with which my dear mother attempted to dissuade me from my request; but I could not be dissuaded. “Darling mnrnsey,” I implored, ca ressing her, “just this once; you ac knowledge that she is very nice; aud indeed she has no friends, except Herr Blume and his wife, who live them selves in lodgings. You mustn’t shut up your heart at Christmas time; just for a day or two,” I entreated, giving her a hug, “ until she; can fiudaplnce to go to.” I knew she v’ouid not bo Die to hold out long. “-Well, Rachel,” she said, “ it’s all upon your shoulders. You’re a naughty, self-willedgirl,” she added, smiling, and shaking her head deprecatingly, as I dashed off to bring back my beauty to Bryuuston Square. It was as I expected, they all fell in love with her; her sweet face, her high bred, gentle manners, her charming grace; but most of all, she fascinated Bertie, that unpolished school boy whom we owned for a brother, aud in so doing caused the beuedictious of his sisters to. rain down upon her head. Never were there such peaceful Christ mas holidays within the recoliectiou of the “oldest inhabitant,” and we trem bled at the idea of losiug our presiding genius. My mother, also, joined heartily in our entreaties for her to stay, for be side really liking her, it was impossible to overlook the immense advantages which accrued to us from her society. She could scarcely speak a word of I Euglish, but German, French, and Italian she seemed to be equally fluent in ; and, wonder of wonders, Bertie, by New Year’s Day, was positively begin ning to talk French with, I won’t say a good, but certainly a less extraordin ary accent than when he came home. This undisputed possession of the field was perfect bliss to him ; he lion ized her about London, taking her to all sorts'of museums aud places, which ho professed to think it quite necessary that she should see. In my own mind I felt sure it was for the pleasure, pure and simple, of hav ing such a pretty person under his pro tection, and entirely dependent on him. I think she liked him, and his boyish admiration. One evening, as she was talking, or rather gesticulating, to my mother—for their conversation was mostly carried on by signs—he gave me a nudge that would have been amply sufficient to awaken St. Paul’s to atten tion. “ I say, Rachel, she is pretty,” he said, in a low tone, “ there’s no mistake about that; you should see how all the fellows stare at her, and I don’t believe she knows it, now,” he added, in in quiring sort of voice, as if he weren’t quite sure of the truth of his own state ment. “ Don ? t you think so?” I asked, Inno cently. i “ Well, I don’t quite know how ahe can help it,” ho said meditatively ; “when I took her to the Colosseum, the Guards were just passing, and you should have seen how they looked at her, and wished themselves in my shoes, I know; and I think they're pretty good judges,” he said, in an ap proving tone. Bo wo went on very smoothly until New Year’s Day, when she began to declare ahe must leave us. I promised to help her to find lodgings, if she would wait for a day or two longer. The time of her visit had not beep altogether unfruitful in affording me some insight into her history,—au In sight obtained, however, more through my own observation than from any in formation vouchsafed by her. It was one day in Christmas week, I think, she was going to the pantomime, or something of the aort-with mamma, Agnes, and Bertie. She was sitting with her opera cloak on, talking to Bertie, before they went, when I came into the room ; her back was turned to the door. As I looked at her, suddenly, like a Hash of light, a host of recollections forced themselves into mv mind. I was no longer in our own drawlDg room, but in u well-known salon in Vienna, blazing with light, listening to Made moiselle de Murske. The figure which was before me uow was before me then, a few rows in frout of us The cloak iu itself was peculiar,—white, with a very beautiful border of blue and silver,— that perhaps helped my memory ; but as the light shone on the crisp, goldeu hair, I wondered at my own stupidity ; yes. there could hardly be any mistake, I thought, as I remembered a letter vhicli I had received some time before from my friend in Vienna. “Look, Rachel, look!” she bad whispered to that niglit, “ there Is the great beauty, Countess Arnheim.” Where?”! asked, trying to look In every direction at once, for I had heard a great deal about her, but had not seen her. “There, to the left; don’t yous£o? Ah! what a.pitvl she has turned her head.” 1 could nut help laughing at her dis appointed tone; she was always so eager that I should see ail I wished. “Never mind,” I said, “she will be sure to turn it back again but she didn’t; never during the whole time that we both sat there, though we were not more than two yards from the place she sat, did she turn once, so that I could even see her profile; just the pretty outline of her cheek, and the mass of crisp, rippling, goldeu hair was vouchsafed to us. Of her companions we saw quiteenough, adark, handsome woman, ami a middle-aged, keen-eyed officer, who sat on either side of her. After the concert was over, in the little excitement of securing udroschky, I thought no more of her. This evening, hoivever, she waa brought forcibly to my mind, as I entered the drawing room, by the outline of Fraulein Dorn's face, and tiie white and blue cloak. Not till afler they were gone did I produce my writing-caso, ami, settling myselfjin acomfortablejarm-chair before the fire proceed to dive into its recesses after my Vienna letters. * I fished out four or five from its ca pacious pockets, but the right one did not make its appearance, and I was just be ginning to echo my poor mother’s wish, that 1 were more tidy ami methodical, when I made a good haul and brought up the letter I was in search of; it began,— 'Kotheuer Atrasnn IU, W'ton-Mny. “Dearest Rachel,— “My letter, you see, is dated from our old quarters. We have takea these rooms again, for though not so large as the others, they are much cleaner, and I think more comfortable. It makes mo quite melancholy to go into your room. Char has it now. We all miss you- dreadfully ; it takes away half the pleasure of tilings, having no one to talk them ovc-r with, though really in these days of excitement there is no time for reflection; one simply has to keep one’s mouth open to swallow the next new thing. There seems not to be the slightest doubt uow about the war. I believe Count Bismarck has intended there should bo war from the first. Talking about ottering them an indem nity for llolsteiu! offering a fiddle stick! It’s a very bad business alto gether, it'seems to me, auii it serves them right, of course, the home people will say, for having joined in it; but why Prussia should come off so much the best Ican’tsee. GeD.Lobetskaeame in this morning, and he thinks he will have to go the day after to-morrow. There was a report that two Austrian regiments had crossed tho Saxon fron tier, but that lias been contradicted. You can imagine the chronic state of excitement in which we are kept by all sorts of contradictory rumors. The troops here seem confident enough of victory. By the by, young Biegeliieim came in yesterday for a minute; his high spirits were quite funny and in fectious; lie had just gone home on leave, but had beeu recalled of course. The olficers seem all delighted with the prospect of war; they only look at the bright side ; for my part, I think it is very awful. And I cannot understand how they can rid themselves of the thought 'that, though the campaign may be a successful one, yet to some among them, perhaps to many, it will iu all human probability bring death ; and who those some will be it is the question I cannot help asking myself; which are the ones who are walking these well-known streets for the last time ; looking for the la3t time upon the old familiar faces, who will in a few weeks, perhaps in a few days, bo father removed from us than thousands of miles coukl remove them, wrapt in that sleep, upon which no roar of can non, no shout of friend or foe, ever can break. I confess to me it seems very terrible. I suppose it is a woman's view of the case; but I mustn’t write any more of this sort of stuff’, or I shall make you dismal. I dare say you don’t feet particularly lively now, but you shall have any news that wo hear, es pecially of that regiment to whose uni form you used to be rather partial. There, how horridly I have made you blush, only as there's nobody but meiu the room it docs n’t matter. Oh! there is one piece of scandal for you, which has, however, made less noise than if it had happened at any other time, for which I suspect the parties concerned are very thaukful. Do you remember yourseeing, or rather not seeing, the young Countess Am heim at a concert? Well, she lias ac tually gone off, and no one kuows where to ; but to begin at the right end of the story, for, as I happened to-be au eye witness, I can vouch for my version being the correct one. We were at a ball at the Nessel-roders, and she was there; she was lookiug most exquisite, I thought, though somfcP“people in the room said she looked not what she hud beeu. Her husband was there too. of course, but I didn’t see him go to her once the whole evening, though she was surrounded by a good many gentlemen; there was one man,- a Frenchman, iu the Austrian service, who never left her. His attentions, Icertainly thought, were rather marked, but I did’nt see any return on her side. You know that room oil’ the hall at the Nesselrodes, wiiere one takes off one's things. Well, we happened to be there, putting on our cloaks ; I was ready to go, and was standing at the door, talking to Herr von Laugen. The countesswasstanding iu the hall,waiting for her husband,l think, faughing and talking with a few gentle men. All at once thecountstrode out of one of the dancing rooms, and up to her. She was so placed under the lamps that I could see her face perfectly, and part of his; she glanced up in his face with a smiling look of inquiry in her beautiful eyes, which was answered by a fierce scowl and a muttered oath. Of courso there was a breathless silence ; no one know what to say; no one ever does on such occasions. “ ‘Leopold,’ she half whispered, ‘his anything happened V She had sprung forward eagerly, and laid her hand upon his arm. His face worked frightfully as she gazed up into into it with beseech ing eyes, but he turned it from her. ‘Happened!’ he said, iu a loud, harsh voice, shaking her off roughly, ‘no, nothing particular. By Heaven, no ! nothing to you; I, fool that I have been, have found it more.’ x or God s sake, Leopold, come away,’ she whispered in an agony. She thought him mad or drunk, I believe. He did not shake her off this time, but taking both her slender white wrists in his iron grasp, he held her at half arm’s length; and then, before those men, looking straight into her face, he said most cruel things to her. I don’t know how she bore it—it was cruel, horrible; if I had been one of those men, X think, LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING JUNE 2 1869 whether it were right or wrong, I must have struck him down. It took less time, far less, than it has taken me to write it. I could not tear myself away from watching them; but I sincerely trust it may never be my lot to witness such a scene again. “ Poor thing! kereyellds never droop ed: she looked into his dark, angry eyes, with a half-amazed, half implor ing look. I think she had a dim sense of how very awful it was before these people ; but that was*all swallowed up in the agony and astonishment hi* words caused. When he had finished speaking, he dashed her hands away and strode off, leaving her standing there, a broken lily, but turned again after he had gone two steps. ‘ Mon sieur,’ be said, looking at the French officer, 4 1 recommend this lady to your protection.’ His whole countenance was convulsed with passion and deadly pale. That woke her up : her face quivered as with a sudden flash of an guish, and she turned to a young beard less officer who had been standing good-naturedly trying to shield her from the many pitiless, prying eyes ; ‘ Will you be kind enough to take me to my carriage?’ He could not look at her, but gave her his arm, aud took her away almost tenderly. He was a merry, rough boy, and I dure say they had had many a laugh together; but I don't think either of them laugh ed then. She would have walked straight out into the cold, bitter night in her ball dress, had he not stopped her and her servant to wrap her up in her furs. That was all I saw of it, and it'was indeed quite enough. The next day we heard she had gone, as I quite expected. 1 most certainly would have gone too in her place, and I am sure you would ; but I am writing you the most unconscionable letter; that is the way when I sit down to write to you ; I in teud just to write onesheet, aud I scrib ble on aud on till two o’clock some times. I am glad Aunt Margaretdoesu’t examine the candies! If she ever should, I will tell her that I find Vienna candles delicious eating, and can’t resist the temptation. Best love to your mamma and the girls from all of us; they’re all fast asleep, but of course they would send it if they were in possession of their faculties. Good-night, dearest. I must go too by-by. “ Ever your “ Stephanie.” It was a long letter, but I read it all through, and, when it wasfinished, laid it in my lap and sat gazlDg into the lire, and musing over those eventful days in which she wrote. How different now to then ! Tilings were changed iu Vien na. What was then but conjecture had become sad reality. All had taken place with such fearful suddenness as made it almost impossible to realize. I sat over the fire and tried to imagine it all, and re-read more recant letters, injnone of which, however, was tho Couutess Arnheim’s name mentioned. I be gan to doubt the truth of my own sur mises ; if seemed almost impossible that she should have come to England iu that manner, and remained quietly for such a length of time; she the potted Vienna beauty, giving lessons in Eng land ami living in London lodgings! No, it was hardly credible; but there was one simple test which|oceurred tome; by copying out a small portion of that letter,aud putting someplace where it would fall into her hands, at a timo when I should have au opportunity of watching her, I did not doubt but that I might read in her face the truth. Aud I did copy it, translating it into French. I chose that partin which her name was mentioned ; but when it was done, I put it by, aud delayed to use it. One day wo were talking of Chris tian names, and she then told me, for the first time, that hers was Valerie, and asked me to call her by it. Another time she allowed rae a little book, with “ Valerie” printed in it, and , something over tho name scratched out, which I felt sure must have been a coronet. I longed to know ; and yet though I often thought of-putting her to the test which I had devised, my heart failed me. Why should I seek to penetrate her mystery, and lay bare tiie bitter secrets of her heart? So I fore-bore aud waited. However it was not destined that she should go from us as she had come. On the 3d of January my mother came down to breakfast with rather a troubled face, and after I had read my own letters, she passed one for me to read, withouta word. It was from my Aunt Houora, a sister of my mother’s, whose husband had a house in one of the hunting counties. “ Dear Margaret,” it began, “ I am in great distress. The house is full of men, and only one lady besides myself, —young Mrs. Charteris. Do, I beseech you, come to me the first day you can, They are frozen up, and there is no hunting, aud some of them don’t even play billiards. Francis says I ought to do something to amuse them, but what can I do? It is so mis erable. Bring all the girls, and your German friend and Bertie. I en treat you not to refuse. I’rancis wishes it also so much. Write at once and let ( me know when I am to send to meet ' you. Your affectionate sister, Honora C. 1-lerrieh.” This was the letter, written in a scrambling, uncertain sort of hand, which my mother gave me. I had scarcely finished it, when Bertie said., from theothersideof the table, “What’s the row, Rat? shy it across;” so I shield it across, as he called it, aud the young 'gentleman was pleased to ex press his highest approval of the plan, “lie alive, now, girls, aud pack up; the weather ’ll break, you ’ll see, and then I shall get some hunting out of the old rascal.” He settled on the spot, I believe, the horse he intended to ride. Alas! for human proposals. All the world knows that there was no hunting for those first weeks of January, But it wasn’t for his ainusementthat my mother determined to go. With tears in her eyes she reread the letter when we were alone in her room, whither she had called me after breakfast to consult about it. “ Poor Houora ! poor Houora!” she murmured. “ Ye 3, my dear, I think we mustgo; there willprobably be but little pleasure to any of us, but I think it is right, I can leave Agnes in Eaton Square with your uncle.” As I looked at the feeble, shaky writ ing, I, too, ejaculated from my heart, “ Poor Ilonora!” She had married a man who had discovered her weakness, aud had been a very tyrant to her. It seemed as if he had all butstamped out her identity. It was not from age that her letters were ill-formed and tremb ling ; I hardly think she had any hand writing in particular. So a note was despatched to say we would come on the Monday. We might have managed to go before, but after some consultation it was fixed for that day. “ Impossible! I cannot spend Sunday there,” my mother had said, decidedly; and even Bertie, I think, was glad when it was settled that we shouldspend that quietly at home. For myself, I did not much care whether we stayed or went. I had not much hopes of the party like ly to be assembled at Chedding ton. The only two people' I was sure of meeting were men whom I particularly disliked; but then it was also possible that some of the others might be very pleasant; as for Sir Francis Herries himself, he could be as agreea ble or disagreeable as he liked,—under the present circumstances’it was not unreasonable to hope that he would be at least civil. From him, that was suffi cient. After a great deal of persuasion, we succeeded in making Fraulein Dorn promise to accompany us ; and Monday afternoon saw us all at the station, where the carriage from Cheddington was to meet us. Long before we got to the end of our drive, the windows were so frozen that we could see nothing of the park or house ; and we were all heartily glad to find ourselves in the wide, old-fash ioned hall, where the fine oak carving, seen by the light of the blaziDg fire, for the winter twilight had set in, called forth Valerie’s warm admiration. There were a great many hats about, and as we followed the servant up the stairs, I could hear the sharp crack of the billiard balls. It was quite a pro cesßion, and in spite of her earnest in vitation,l think we rather overwhelmed my aunt when we invaded her sitting room. She was looking the same as she had always looked to me,—a faded, worn-out picture, fragile and helpless, with traces of a beauty not dimmed by age, but by unhappiness. She stretched out her hands kindly to us all, however, kissing us, and welcoming Fraulein Lorn. “Margaret,” she said to my mother, sitting down immediately again in her low ohair by the fire, “you must take it quite into your hands, the entertain ment of the young people,” and she tried to smile, a weary, withered smile. “I give you free leave to do exactly as you like. There are the Hobarts ; I thought of asking them before, but I was afraid their mother would object to their coming.” Mr. Hobart was the rector, and had a very nice wife and two pretty daugh ters. “I don’t think they mind short no tices,” said my aunt, passing her thin, white hand wearily across her forehead; “you can ask them to dinner to morrow night if you like.” And in this way was thepowerpassedover to my mother, but in truth, in my aunt’s hands it wus only nominal. For years she had beeu the mistress of her own house but in name, letting her authority slip away from her through sheer weariness and want of energy. She had married, fif teen years before, a man for whom she was in every way unfitted—a man whom she was neither loved nor re spected. She had truly received her punishment; but I think alsoniatlhere was another aidd to the question. I think that, wretched as might be her lot, she had inflicted a yet deeper, a more unpardonable injury upon him than tipoiflberself. Possessed of talents of a certain brilliancy, yet weak ami easily led, with a woman of a strong and upright character for his wife, under whose influence be would necessarily to a certain extent have been brought, he might have attained to better things. I believe there are many men of this sort; 1 believethat there are some, even among those who sit in high places, upon whom the daily, hourly, life- long influence of a sympathizing wife has wrought very powerfully. Of the master and mistress of Cheddingtoh’one scarce knew which to pity most. For weeks he would leave her, going to Paris with a friend, a Mr. Sartoris, the owner of a large estate in Devonshire, but who spent his time mostly abroad, except during the hunting seasou, when he was generally at Cheddington, —a man who had not set foot on his own land for years. My aunt used sometimes to plead for a house in London, but on this point Sir Francis was inexorable; pleading and complaining were alike iu vain, until she at last, half from the listless ness of a broken spirit, half from real suffering, faded away into the weak, helpless womau she was at this time. Once she had sought with an amazing courage or a childish imprudence, I know not which to call it, to persuade him to take her to Paris. “She was tired of this life,” she urged. “If Lon don was denied to her, she w’ould at least like to see a little of the world, — that Parisian world to which'lie was always going." He looked at her with a gloomy sneer. “See the world, madam? See tiie devil!” he answered, aud strode out of the room. Aud I think he was about right. Miser able, lonely, desolate as Cheddington might be, it was better, yes, a thousand times better for her than Paris, —with him. Not that he would have ever consented to take her had she even ex pressed her willingness to look upon that personage to whom he had thought fit to allude. It was childish in her to ask it, but it was tiie last time. “I shall never ask him again, my dear,” she said, with plaintive queru lousuess, to my mother, “never.” As I had expected, ho was civil eqough to us all this visit, and when the skating began, was very anxious about the ponds, that they should be well flooded at night, aud that every thing should be arranged exactly as we liked. We had on the whole a delight ful week. There were some very pleasant men besides my two horrors, Mr. Bar toris and Lord Cosmo Fox, who, strange to say, though they didn’t generally agree about things, both seemdd very much smitten with Valerie. After all, however, it was not strange that she and Mr. Sartoris should be a good deal together ; for, with the exception of Sir Francis, he was the only man in the house, I think, who spoke any foreign language with sufficient fluency to be able to talk to her. As for Lord Cosmo, it was droll enough ; not a word of any other but bis mother tongue could that great scion of nobility utter; it was mute admiration on his part, confined to paying her clumsy tions, I did hear him one day talking broken English to her, thinking, I sup pose, that style better suited to her in fantine capacity. But in spite of Lord Cosmo and Mr. Sartoris, and other little annoyances in separable from Cheddington, it was a very pleasant visit, and we ail enjoyed it tho more from having expected some- : thing so different. The first day ortwo that the ice was really good, the female portion of the community assembled at the edge of the ponds, and watched the 1 skaters, but no one ventured on the ice ! except iu chair 3 ; but the third day Mr. Sartoris came up to Valerie, after we had beeu there a few minutes. “ Won’t you venture to try tiie skates on?” he asked. “I would promise to take good care of you.” “ 1 don’t think there would be a pair to fit me,” was tier answer, given rather indifferently, I thought, as she put out her foot. Her iudifference, however, did not seem to have the effect of damping his eagerness, for the next thing lie said was, — “ If I find a pair, will you come ?” “ Yes, I should like it very much,” ahe auswered. He instantly sat down, and took otl’ his skates without another word, and went off’ himself to the house. I was amazed ; I had never seen the man put himself out of the way so much for any one before, but Valerie seemed to take it ail as a matter of course. She had never known him before, and could not tell how different it was to his usual habits. Presently he returned triumphant, holding up a small pair of skates. “ Whose are they ?” Valeric asked, as she sat down and gave fcim one of her feet. “ I got them at the rectory,” was the answer ;“ there were not any ladies’ skates up at the house, so, as the rectory people said they were not coming down to'-day, I went on there, and asked them to lend me apair.” “It was very kind of you to take all that trouble,” Valerio said, “It was for my own gratification. I am afraid.” He was bending over her foot, but he looked iuto her face as he said the words in Frenoh, and in such a low, rapid voice that I only just caught them. It was not the words, but the tone and look that made me watch eagerly the effect on her. Not a shadow of a blush rose into her clear face ; shelooked over his head with sad, vacant eyes, bent evidently on another scene than that before her. What was therein his words to bring such a sad, hopeless look into the beautiful face? Something seemed suddenly to have stirred within her a crowd of sorrowful remembrances. In a moment it passed, aud there wa3 nothing different about her voice and manner when next Bhe spoke. When the skates were on, before she could rise, Mr. Sartori3 put out his hands, saying, nervously,— “ Now, please take care; you havlfb? idea how difficult it is, evocCto stand firmly, just at first.” But she drew back, aud with a smile, half arch, half sad, rose lightly on her feet. Then she put her hands into her muff, and glided away with long, slow sweeps. Her cavalier stood still, watch ing her without a word. I don’t think he liked it; it was as if he had been rather taken in, and made to look fool ish, and that, in the verimosttrifle, wa9 to him gall and wormwood. When she came back to us, there was more of his usual cool sarcasm in his voice than I had ever heard in speaking to her. “I bow to your superior skill,” he said, in a half mocking tone ; “ forgive my mistake, and accept my humble apologies.” Though he smiled, she was very quick to mark the change in his manner, and instantly set herself to work to soothe him; not that I think she cared for him, but she had an innate horror of being disagreeable to anybody, and a delicate sensitiveness with regard to other peo ple’s feelings. His features were certainly effectually smoothed, and, in fact, as I watched them, I began to wonder whether he was trying to play with her, orwhether he really liked her. The idea of Mr. Sartoris being attentive to anybody, except in his own cool, insulting! fie testable way, was an idea so new as to be startling. She was here under my mother’s protection as much as we were, and I determined to tell what I had seen. One thing, however. I now re solved to do. I would give Valerie the letter; before speakiue to my mother it was better to be sure that there was any cause to interfere. We generally sat together and read or talked in her room the hour before dinner. She bad got hold of a French book in which she was interested ; I knew if I brought a book she would rc-ad that, so I slipped the piece of letter,as itappeared,between tho pages of her novel a little way after her mark, aud left it on her table. About au hour before dinner, as I had hoped, she had went to her’room.and I soon follow ed; but it seemed as though she would never settle to her book. I sat where I could see her face without her seeing me, aud tried to answer her remarks, feeling horribly guilty. For some.time she kept up a desultory sort of conver- ! satiou, keeping mo in a fever of expee- j tation by playing with (he leases of the J book. * ! “ How well your u ncle speaks French, Rachel!” she said. “ Yos, very weli; he goes very ofieu to Pari?,” I answered, rather shortly. “ Mr. Bartons talks better, though.” 1 • “ Does he?” I said. “ Why, of course ha dote ; you must : bear.” “Yes; I suppose so.” “But 1 wish I could talk to your big Mr. MoiuitjoT,” she said reflectively. “Why?” “ Ach !” she smiled ; “ why oue does wish those sort of things I kuow not ; he looks so honest and upright.” ; “ And Sartoris does n’t, you think?’ ! She raised her eyebrows comically ! “ Neither of our Frenchmen are of au | open character,” she said, with a wise I shako of her head. This was unendurable, aud I wnapre* . paring to go when she said, — J “ There’s a man in this book that re- J minds me of Mr. Borloris ; listen.” She ; then read a description of some one, aud j after that went on to herself. In a few | minutes she turned to the page where tho i little piece of paper lay. I saw hersud den start, and thou her face grow deadly | pale. She looked rouud the room with : wild, hunted eyes, like a stag brought I to bay, seeking some outlet for escape, i There could be no doubt. In the first i moment «Tf cercainty, I felt heartily ’ sorry for what seethed then my cruelty. I and would gladly have undone it, had \ such undoing been possible. Full of ; remorse and slsame, I ?at staring at my ; book. At last the bell rung and I left the room. As I went out, I saw that i she was seated in exactly the position, ■ with the novel lying open before her. When I was safe in my own room, I . sat down and drew a long breath. 1 “Soit is true,” I said to myself, “and .what then? 1 cannot tell her that I : know about her.” One thing, however, ! was nut now necessary ; there was no ; speaking to my mother concerning Mr. Sartoris needful. I had often thought that, though always gracious, she re : ceived their attentions with a wonderful ■ indi!!*jrence. What would the eud of it be ? I sat and speculated before my iirq, uutii I had scarcely lime to dress for dinner. That evening, for the first time, she was not composed, very brilliant, butexcitable and nervous, and I fancied she avoided me. They w’ere very busy arranging some tableaux vivanU for the evening but one after this, and it ap peared to me that Mr. Sartoris had con trived that Valerie should have all the principal parts assigned toiler. There was little doubt as to her fitness; as I watched her face to-night, it looked more lovely tlian ever before, though thore was iu it an unrest hitherto un known. As we were going up stairs she managed to get by me. and said in a low voice, — “ I have something to say to you to night ; come into my rooth when you have had your hair brushed.” I nodded consent, aud we sepa rated. As soon as 1 thought she would be ready, I went to her. — She was sitting before tiie table, wrapped in a white dressing-gown. Therese, her maid, was brushing her hair, which fell about her like a golden veil. I could not help tbinkiug of Savanarola. No need of “oapelli morli” here. Had all possessed such hair as this, (here had been a smaller fire in Lie Piazza than we rend of. Imagine, my dear readers, a bonfire of chignons in Waterloo Place, presided over by tlie Bishop of Oxford! “ Mako haste, Therese,” she said, impatiently, as she caught sight of mu in ttie glass, and her maid turned it all back and braided it iuto one great braid at the back. She waited till the, woman had left tiie room before she spoke. As the door closed, ehestood up and drew me gently towards a sofa by the fire. We both sat dowu. Then, without a word of pre paration, taking both my hands in hers, she looked into my face and said, — “ So, Rachel, you havo found out my secret.” It was not the way I had expected her to speak, and there wus no answer ready on my lips. “You mustn’t mi ml,’’she said, gently, seeing, I strppo?e, my troubled look ; “ I think I am glad. There will be no more reserve between us now, and we oau be true friends.” Of course I kissed her, and of course I told her I would be her friend through “And now,” she said, “I am going to tell you how I come to be here.” She then got up and walked once or twice up and down the room, after which she reseated herself in a low chair by the lire. “But first ” she said, “may I see that letter from Vienna?” I grew crimson ; she looked .surprised, then bent her head. “Yes, yes, 1 see; perhaps I had better not ; it.was,not fair to ask it.” Her tone cut me to the heart. “Valerie! dear Valerie!” L cried,; kneeling beside her, 1 'forgive me ! Itra . not that; I have deceived you; it is j written iu English, and I copied that; bit into French for you to read. Then, J miserable aiifl ashamed, I hid my face < in her lap. v “Don’t, Rachel, don’t!” she im plored, in her sweet, clear voice ; “it is no harm ; it is far better as it is : bettor that you should know all the truth : since you have guessed so much.’ “But can you ever love me again?” I “Love you!’’she answered, with a smile more piteous than tears; “nay, ; as you ask me that, dearest, you can : hardly know how desolate \ am! I have no one else to love.” But I could not be at rest until I had told her all my conjectures, from (lie time of first seeing her, and after that I read her the letter. I could not see her ' face, which was shaded by her hand, j but once or twice there was aeonvulsivu ; movement of her shoulders which al i most frightened me. When it was done, j she said, simply, “Thank you.” i Her story, as she told it to me,that night, was too long to write here. I bc-lieved i her then, as I kuow her now, to j have been -free from the faintest su.i- 1 picion of guile, though from her own! account she must have been imprudent, i It was with a sort of horror I learnt i that she actually had not been able to i ascertain whether her husband were j alive or dead. The night of the ball : she had packed up all her clothes, and jewels which had come to her from her mother, and had setoff fur England.— j Herr Blume had been her music-master j in happier days, and to him she ap- , plied. During tiie whole recital she main- | tainoil a pitiful complacency’, which ■ had in it, however, for me a pathos be- : yond all description. It was not like a ; person relating a story in which they , feel any interest—more like a dead man | recalling the life to which he can never I more return. She described Her bus- j baud, declaring him to have been noble, generous, brave, but fiery and j passionate. Then, speaking of Mon sieur de St. Juste, with whom I had ! seen her, she said, “I think he was ai very bad man, as bad almost as a man i can bo, without committing murder aud ! that sort of thing.” ■ I could not suppress an ejaculation of astonishmen t. She looked at me with a sort of smil ing despair in her sweet shining eyes. “Ah! you wonder at we,” she said, “but you can never wonder at me as I wonder at myself.” • Then she ceased staring Into the fire and laid her head back upon the chair in aweary way, like a tired child. I almost thought she had gone to sleep, she was soquiet, though when I watch ed her attentively I could see that her face had grown paler, and every now and then the lips, which were pressed firmly together, were convulsed by a sharp twiching. I turned away and was looking absently into the fire, thinking over all I had heard, when, with a sort of low wail, ehe sprang up from her chair and began pacing the room. “ OGod 1” she moaned, “ why have I done this? Why have I told you about • it? I who have so tried to forget! It j is waking up,” she cried, pressing her - hands upou her bosom, “ and I thought iit was dead! But it will never die!” she , added, wildly throwing up her arms. I knew not what to do. uud sat help | lessly watching her walking rapidly to 1 aud fro ; her eyes were wide and wild, but still shining and tearless- This t paroxysm, though dreadful, seemed to mo, however, more natural thau the i calmness with which she had told me ' her history. Suddeuly she stopped and 1 turned upon me. “You give me no comfort!” she cried, half fiercely, half imploring; but without giving me time to answer she turned again aud continued, saying in a voice of anguish, “ Comfort! comfort; there is noue, why do I ask for it? O God! grant me forgetfuluess ; it is all I ask.” “Ah, me! comfort*ludeed there was : noue to give, but my tears I did give ! her freely, weeping for this woman i who could doi weep for herself, j I thought at one time that she was I becoming delirious in her grief, for as I she paced swiftly through the room she i muttered sometimes Italian, sometimes | French. j “Toute seule! tuule sculc!” she ' moaned, wringing her bauds, “il ra’a jhiisse! il est mort! je u’ai personne i dans le moude! seulomeut feremords! i ie lemords pour toujours !” I At last she throw herself down upon I a sofa and seemed to fall into a sort of stupor ; she must have been thoroughly [ exhausted. For some time I remained j sitriug quietly by the fire, almost afraid i to breathe, for fear of rousing her again. ; The silence was only broken at inter j vals by a coal falling out of the fire, or I tho clock at the stables striking the ; quarters. Half-past two, a quarter to : three, and still the never moved ; at last j three struck. It was impossible for me jto remain there any longer. We had ; i all agreed to breakfast earlier than usual i fur the skating ; and I knew that she, : fur one, had promised to skate, though I 1 hardly believeditpossiblethatshecould ! bo up after this, much less equal to ! any exertion. However, I should have | no excuse to offer for non appearance, ; so I determined to go to bed at once. At , first I thought of stealing quiotly out of | the room ; then the thought of her ly ; ing there until tho morning, perhaps, in the cold, for the fire would soon be out, stopped me, and I resolved to rouse her and try and persuade her to go to bed. As 1 moved across the room, she started up. I said as gently as possible, “ You have beeu asleep, Valerie, I think.” She pushed back her hair and stared at me for an instant. “Ah! Rachel,” she said, then, In a confused sort of way, “I had forgotten you ; it must be late; you are goiug to bed, mein Herzchen ? ” “ Yes,” I auswered, “and you, you will go too ? ” “ Yes, O yes,”, she said; but from her manner I doubted her doing it. “You promise to go now, immediate ly ?” I urged. She looked at me inquiringly ; and I think the remembrance of what had passed only then fully ilashed uponlier. “ Rachel!” site said, eagerly, seizing my hands and bending towards me, “I have told you a great deal to-night, more than to any other person living; I trust you, you will never betray me?” “ Never,” I answered, solemnly. “ There, there, I know you will not.” she said, her eager manner suddeuly vanishing. “Good night, dearest, good night;” and she kissed me on both cheeks, aud then almost pushed me from her. I don’t know how site slept that night, or rather that morning, but I lay tossing ou my bed till six o’clock, iu vain trying to get to sleep, At last I fell Into an uneasy, dreaming doze, hauuted by a vision of something that looked like Lord Cosmo in petticoats, and who kept incessantly repeating, to Hie tune of “Il Bacio,” the two words, “Toute seule, toute seule,” while I ex hausted myself in fruitless endeavors to make the words aud music suit each other. In spite of our promises the night be fore, it was half-past ten before I got down. Lord Cosmo, Mr. Sartoris, aud another man were eating their break fast in moody silence. It was my pri vate opinion that tho two former were waiting lor Valerie. Aunt Houora was not down, and the others had already gone to the ponds. “ Good mornin’ Miss Travers,” said Lord Cosmo, witii a charming Indis tinctness, owing probably to his mouth being quito full of cold pie, which he continued munchiug, while he made his inquiries after my health aud out going intentions ; he then kindly em ployed himself in lurching about the table collecting before me everything within reach. “ They’ve all been taking your name in vain, Miss Travers,” said Mr. Sar toris, who was opposite me ; “ Fox and I only just came down in time to stop them. They’ve beeu abusing you aud Fraulein Dorn frightfully, for being the only ones who had broken their getting up views. There wore some very iiard words I can assure you ; were n’t there Fox ?” “ Ron honor,” said Fox,” I think it was you bein’ hauled over the coals when I came in ; and after that they were chafiin’ me ; Miss Travers aud her friend they were discussin’ aftewards.” He always called her my “ friend.” I think he had some vague, uncomforta ble misgivings (if lie ever hau a mis giving) that “ Frowlin,” was not pre cisely the proper way of pronouncing that word. “ It don’t sound quite right; but I’ll be shot if I do know how to pronounce It now. Miss Travers,” he said to me later in the day, with au J-know-you wun’t-believe-it sort of air that wus truly edifying. 1 didn’t express myself as that point, as beseemed toexpect; and directly afterwards he relieved me of his society, careening away to auother part of the ponds like a Dutch fishing boat in a heavy sea. How I detested the man ! He was a born snob,—l think his grand name only made it worse. All that morning wo were on the ice. Valerie wa3, as usual, the centre of at traction ; her skating was certainly the perfection of grace. To me there was a change in her form that night. Jt seemed that in telling me her true name, she felt it no longer incumbent on her to feign any simplicity that, was not natural to her. One, at least, in the room would recognize her right to wear the diamond rings that made her pretty hands look whiter'that morn ing. There was certainly a change in her dress, which to this time had been extremely simple. That day she wore a tight fitting velvet dress and petticoat, looped up forskatlng, and trimmed with narrow but beauLiful sable round the throat and sleeves. Jt suited her ad mirably; and it was impossible to mis take the undisguised looks of admiration of my companions as she entered the breakfast room, laughing and talking with Bertie, who had come up from the ponds to look after her. I was amazed at her fresh looks, and, had it not been for my own-weariness, should have been inclined to thiuk I had been laboring under some delusion. Altogether, that was not a pleasant day ; the afternoon was spent in arrang ing the tabieaux for the next evening. They were to be In the dining room, ns Mr. Sartoris. who had the manage ment of the whole affair, pronounced that to be the best room for them. I only saw one rehearsed; aud certainly it did credit to the manager aud the performers. He had chosen the scene where Elaine is sent off in the barge. The two brothers were represented by Mr. Sartoris and Mr. Mountjoy, who made an admirable Sir Torre. As for Valerie, no part, in poetry or in prose, could have been chosen for which she was better adapted. Truly it was a picture to make one hold one’s breath ; the pale, pure, passionless face, in its perfect repose; the long, golden rippling hair spread around her; and the two men standiug over her, mournfully taking a last farewell. I could not help wondering what the thoughts of at least one them had been while he stood there. It lasted but a moment; fur, before'we had looked half enough she opened her eyes and laughed, breaking the spell completely. “ That’s quite enough, I’m sure,” she said, getting up and laughing merrily at the appearance she presented as she passed a mirror. They had .darkened the room and had lights; and the uoise, even of her voice, seemed strangely dis cordant with the scene. After we came out from dinner, poor Mary, my sister, came to me almost crying with indignation. “Rachel, do you see anything the matter with my hair?” she asked. NUMBER 22 “ It’s certainly not done in the usual way,” I answered. 4 * Well, no; but Bertie Is so dreadful ly rude; I wish you would speak u> him.” Here there were strong symp toms of tears. “He said just now, be fore Mr. Mountjov, ‘My eye, Foil! what a fuzz your wig is iu!’ He is ho vulgar; and you kuow I hate Ins call ing me Foil.” Here the tears really began to wnno ; and, though I could hardly help laugh ing, I managed to console her. Mrs. Charteris had induced her, it appeared, to accept tho services of her maid; and the effect, I must own, was startling. Poor, dear Mary ! Mr. .Mount joy and she were rather good friends even then, —they are something more now; but it took all my powers of per suasion to make her believe he would never think of it again. He had laughed, it seemed, and that had tempted Bertie to go on. We danced in the eveuiug : the Hobarts and two girls who were : stayiug with them came, and so we ; mustered eight dancing ladies. Oue of | the Hobarts’ frieuds was very intimate ■ with Mrs. Charteris, it appeared. They j rushed iuto each other’s arms, and there } was a great deal of “ What au age It is j Since we met!” and; all tlini sort o'! tiling. And a minute or two afterwards i I heard the married lady inquire solic itously of the other, “ Now, my dear, tell me all you've been doing; what was your last smite ? ” I moved au ay, i thinking the conversation—u Inch was, however, carried ou in a lorn! poio-mo select for common ears. But 1 waa ties- 1 tined to be annoyed that night. In try- : ing to get into tho dancing-room dm ! ng the evening, I was hindered by the legs I of a young mau, who, wi!h the help of i the legs of another yonug man, u as J laudably endeavoring to block up the l doorway, insteadofdancing. They v.ere ] both strangers ; and 1 was just debating i whether I should ask them to let me ! pass, or wait till the waltz was finished, j when their conversation attracted me. ; My mother was at the piano, playing with all her might, and they v. ere talk ing, it seems, of her. “And that’s the mother,” drawiui one. “By’ Jove!” said tiie other, putting up his eye-glass with an air of languid interest- “wlmt a thrashing Uie old lady is giviu’ thepiano !” The young idiot! I could have thru-In d him; if lie had ever tried half so much, to give other people pleasure as my 'tear mother, he would have been a better behaved young man. As it ivu-, I think I gave him a mental thrashing, h-r, ju-t as the other was iu the middle of his answer —“Groat strength of imwlc there; couldn’t do it if I tried; quite envy the old woman 'pon honor—” I asKed to pass; and the waltz just then coming toau end, 1 crossed straight over to my mother, so Lbhttlierc should be no mistake, and then I looked at them. They were certainly !h*.bher gasted—l will say that for them. But that wasn’t all I was to go through that eveuiug. Once, when I went up to Aunt Ilonora, she attacked me on the subject of Valerie’s dress. “My dear, how very much your friend Is dressed !” she paid. “Dou’tyou think it’s rather odd for a person who pro fesses to give lessons? Why, my dear,” continued my aunt, seeing I made no answer, “that lace on her gown is mag nificent !—quite magnificent!” she re iterated, waxing plaintively eloquent; “it must have cost! don’t know how much.” Old lace was ruther a failing of the poor thing’s; and I don’t think she would have objected to peeing that In question transferred to her own ward robe. “Is it sucli good lace, aunt?” L :aid, for wan t of anything bettei. “My dear Rachel !”—this was with a spark of feeble indignation—“you don’t mean to say you are so ignorant as not to know lace like that when you see it?” She then closed.her eyes, laid her head back, as if the exertion had been too much for, and relapsed again into the plaintive. “She’s your friend, Rachel: I only hope it’s all right. Margaret says you know very little of her. With men of such a high position here as Lord Goa mo, one must he careful, you know.” “Good heavens!” I ejaculated to my self. “O aunt! don’t bo afraid; it’s all right,” I answered, though I could scarcely restrain my’ bitter laughter. Good heavens ! Lord Cosmo! the idea of Valerie corrupting Lord Cosmo! it was really too good. I felt up if 1 inli.-t impart the idea to Borne one, and for once I felt inclined to make a confidant of Mr. Sartoris. had it been, possible to make confidences on such a subject. Jie of all others would enjoy the joke. Tin* petted, high-born Austrian noauty not considered fit society for the muddle headed, boorish Englishman ! I felt very wrathful at first, but ealim-d down soon. After all. my poor aunt, with her narrow notious.knew nothingfaboutVal erie,and I knew a)l,twhioh just made the difference perhaps, though I went to bed that niglit wit li a strong desire to he possessed of a great broom with which I might sweep all the Lord Cosmos and such-like things out of society in general. The next day all was bustle; there were a good many people coming to din ner, and more in the evening to see the tableaux,which were evidently ex pec ted to a success. Fart of the afternoon I helped in the dinning room, where all was confusion, the curtains being put up, while some of the party were alter ing and arranging dresses and rehears ing scenes. At last T grew quito tired with the noise and bustle, and, wonder iug how order was ever to be grow out of such chaos, I went away to my own room and sat at my window look ing out oyer the park. I felt miserable; not from any real cause, but. the nameless feeling that the setting sun gives one, shiniug through purple trees on a win ter afternoon; it almost i-ecrns as if hope were leaving the world in that blaze of crimson and orange and purple. It wa almost dark when, to my surprise, I heard the crunch of wheels, and the next minute saw the Cheddington car riage going towards the slables. No one had been out that afternoon, of thru I was certain. Some one must have come from tiie station, but I knew of no one coming. 1 went down to the dining-mom, hoping to see the new arrival on my way, but met no one, only as I entered the room I heard a servant inquiring for Sir Francis. As I had expected, there was still much to be done when the dressing-bell rang. Fortunately it. was an irregular sort of dinner in the hall, served at two tables, and no one seemed expected to appear at the proper time. The tables were so placed that the occupants sat back to back ; and il so happened that Valerie and Mr. Sartoris were not my ris-a-via 'out my don a-dos. At the other end of our table there had been two place* kept, one for Sir Francis, and the other, I suppos'd, for the newly urrived guest. The soup hud gone when Sir Francis entered the hall by a door near his seat, a com panied by a tail dark man with his arm in a sling. There was a great deal of talking and laughing going on at the other table, and no one there seemed t<> observe their entrance. “Do you Bue that dark man sitting by Sir Francis Herries?” asked my neighbor. “Can you tell me who lie is?” I could only answer “Xo;” then, to see if my own impression* were correct, I asked, “What country do you think he belongs to?” “I don’t know,” he answered slowly, looking at the subject of our conversa tion ; “French, perhaps, perhaps Indian or Austrian; at any rate, not English, he said, smiling as he turned away. Not English, indeed! How the Vi enna days returned as f watched Idm, so utterly unlike the Englishmen among whom lie sat. A dark, hand some face, though worn with recent suffering, and eyes of Southern splen dor. It was evident that lie couldn’t speak English, for he talked to no one hut his host, aud once I distinctly saw Sir Francis directing him to the place where Valerie sat. Tt was not hard to guess who he was; the only tiling I longed for was to wayi her in .some wav of his presence, but it was impossible. She was not near enough to speak to without causing, perhaps, a scene, and, if possible, that was to be avoided. If I could only have stopped her talking to that man 1 Many times during that Intermina ble dinnerl saw the deep-set, glittering eyes flare up with a sudden blaze as her silvery laugh or the deep tones of her companion reached his ear, and the dark blood came and went in his face, pale through long illness. Though hiß arm was In a sling, I noticed that It was RATE OF ADVEHTINIHG. (obincho advertiskmiutb, 912 a year per aaro of ten I lues t W per year for eaob aa ttlonftl square .. A I, KfeTATK ADV*RTJBII»«. 10O«OlA a Un* fo* itio Ural, and Scents (or e»oh anhsequent In «*-rtlon. knfral Adveltising 7 cents a line for the first, and l cents for each snb ©quanl Inser. lion. 'kciax. KoTTCEO Inserted In Locul Colnron 13 cents per Una. •soiAk Notices preceding tarrlagea and iealbs, 10 cent* por liQ9 for flrut luaertloD \od 0 oenta for ovorv subsequent insertion^ Leo AX A!fD OTtI *< H rSQTICKS— Executors' notices Administrators' notloes, Assignees' notices Auditors’ notices, __ Other "Notloes,'’ton lines, or leaa, 3 three times, not altogether helpless, for he some* times used it. } O that dinner! nml how I disgraced myself! Before it was over i was | worked up to such a pitch of excite ( merit tliat I precipitated a quantity of ' sticky pudding-over old Mr. Talgrave's ' knees, and then hurst Into a lit of hys terical laughter in the poor old gentle man's lace. At last it was time for us to go, and the other table moved at the same instant. I had not a moment to warn her; she turned towards me, and her eyes instantly fixed themselves upou the lower end of our table. Ho was standing up, lookiug full nt her. For one seeoud she remained, motion less, then, without a word, fell forward upon the tloor. Whether the inStly jumped over the table or went rouud l' uever discovered, but, beforeeithor Mr. tSartoris or Ford Cosmo could get to her. lie was at her side. "1 will carry this lady, sir,” said Lord Cusmo, thickly, attempting to interpose I;is great hutking form between Valerie and the Austrian; but tho other put him aside with a quiet, courteous de term imuion. “ Pardon, monsieur, It Is my right; I am her husband! ” lie SAid rapidly In Fienrh, a little speech, the point of which was entirely lost on the thick headed F.nglishman, who looked iu eiimd to resdat ami follow this black headed devi! of n mossno, ns he no doubt called him in his own mind, when Mr. Surtnris laid his hand upon his arm. “ Don’t he a fool, Fox, the man’s her ini.-d-aml ' 'Hit- whole scene had taken place In less than a minute, and the ladies had not yet got nut of t lie room. 1 turned to look at. tho speaker ; something in tho lone of his low, clear voice struck me. 1 le was leaning on the hack of his chair, his eyebrows contracted, and looking whitish about the mouth. As our eyes met lie iiiovnl away ami left the hall by another door, lie must have heeu badly hurt. It was tho only time I over saw the slightest change in the cool, crml, aristocratic face. As for Lord I’omuo, lit* had sunk buck in his chair; iiis mouth half open, his eyes staring vacantly at the wall. Fuenan event us ibis was beyond the \vildest llighls of bis imagination. “ l don’t believe it, I’ll bo if I do, he muttered ; “ i dinn’t waut to carry iier up, Fll be if 1 did.” As I pass ed through tile door 1 heard tho sooth ing, innocent refrain still issuing from the lips of that young man of “high position,” Whether lie went through the whole verb " to do ” I don’t know ; if he did, I should say it was about tho only exercise in Knglish Grammar ho had over indulged in. 1 1 was no use going to Valorie'e room, there were too many people there al ready, ami 1 knew that Mrs. Cherry, the old house keeper, would do exactly what was right. After two hours’strug gling to entertain the people, who wero in that state of suppressed whiaporlug excitement in which people will bo when there is uuy thing going on which They uru not desired to know, l managed to get up stairs. On the landing 1 mol Mrs. Cherry, and asked how she wan. “ Poro young lady ; really I don’t know windhover is tho matter with her,” ftlic said, folding her hands across the front of lior portly person. “ She’s no sooner come to tliuu she’s ho IT, and even when she his awake she don’t seem to seem to mi* in complete posses sion of her facilities.” So I went down again to tho wonry work of eutortnining, hut found, to my joy, that tho people were going fast. Soon after I got away and wont to Valerie’s door, but all was so quiet that) j [ was afraid to go in, ho wont on to my own room, took oil’ my dross, and put ting on a morning gown, sat down to watch. About half an hour passed ami then a rnan passed my door, which X lirnl left a little open, lie stopped two doors oil'and went into a room ; then I heard voices for n few minutes, and then two people came out. I wont to tho door with a feeling that I way wanted. It was Sir Francis nml the Austrian. “All ! that is all right,” said Hlr Francis ; “allow mo to introduce Count Arnheim toyou, Rachel ; Miss Travers, the friend of Madame Iu Comtesse," he said to the count. “Rachel, tho count would lilto very much to speak to you.” I bowed. It was an odd intro duction, at the door of my room, by tho light of bedroom candles. “ You hud better go to your aunt’fl morning room,” Sir Francis said, ami I led the way, followed by the tall dark figure. T had only that moment to consider what to do; I had Indeed promised not to betray her, hut it were surely best to tell him all. It was very dreadful to him, the first speaking, I could seo, hut as far ns I could Judge ho was a man who would have walked through a wall of lire if ho hud onco made up his mind to do it. In sharp, short, concise words, wrung from him us it were, he told mo that his prbsenc® was so hateful to Valerie that, ho long as lie stood by her, she went from faint to faint. At lust ho hud left her, and now ho held in his hand a letler which lie had written, and which lie would leave in my charge, he said, to lie given at such time uh h!io should bo able to read it. I hardly dared oak him if ha wero going, it seemed uh though it would be Hteppingon a volcanoof pride, and shame, und love, that might hurst beneath my feet. If I could but find words to tell him all I knew ! But his manner was so desperately nlorn and cold and uninviting tliat. my thought* seemed frozen within mo. At last I ventured to stammer, — “ I think you are mistaken, Herr (frnf; it was the sudden shock whioh has boon too much for her.” There was a dangerous glitter In hla i yes even ut that slight contradiction, and his manner was colder and stiffer than before, as he auswered, — “Pardon, gracious Fraulino, much has passed of winch you are no doubt ignorant, therefore permit me to say you can hardly in; a judge. I have don® and said that which It was folly to sup pose she could either forget or forgive.” He spoke with the air of a man to whom confession was a now and bit ter ex perienco. Then, however, my tongue was un loosed, und I told him, if not quite all, yet enough. During the whole Interview ho had declined to sit down, hut stood by tho mantelpiece, liis head resting on his hand, whilst I talked. When I hnd finished, ‘ ho cam* towards me, and holding out his hand, said in a husky voice, — “ (iutl reward you ; you have been a true friend to her.” And yet, strange to say, for all that, I think lie was disappointed. I think tin* man, though lie hardly knew II himself, would have boon happier If there had been more to forgive, if Jiehad not been so entirely in the wrong. Ho felt the truth of those holy words, “ To whom little is forgiven, tliosamo lovoth little,” and lie trembled lest her lovo for him should bo dead. 1 loft hirn there ami went to Valerio's room; it was necessary to finish tiow the work l had begun. At the door I met my mother. “.-•lie lias been asking for you, Kueliei; go in to her, hut try and kfi-p iier quiet; she lu delirious, I think; they have cent to Little Strat ford for a doctor.” As soon u* she saw mo sho stretched out her arms. I took her cold, tremb ling hands in mine, and she drew me towards her. whispering fearfully: “JLachel, I have seen him ; ho must he dead, he looked ro awful! O, it ha§ been dreadful!” oho gasped. “Why does iio come to haunt mo liko this al hi.-l V he must know that it was all false ; surely, now ho must know 1” she moaned. I held her hands firmly and looked into her face; then I steadied my voice and chose tho shortest, clearest words I could think of. “Valerie, it is no spirit,” I said ; “It is your husband himself, who Is here to ask your forgiveness.” She looked wild ami incredulous, then tried to get up; but she waa too weak, and falling back burst into a pas sion of Lears. I slipped away and sent him to her; then, worn out myself with excitement and fatigue, eat down and cried like an idiot. The doctor came, and I was obliged to go to her room. Her husband was sitting by her holding her hand In his. What betweeu her smiles aud tears, it hardly seemed the Valerie I had had known. “ Rachel, come In,” sho said ; “ you know him, I needn’t Introduce you. O you wicked man!” she laughed, “you have frightened her, I know you have, Leopold,” she said, with her old, quick perception. “I know exactly, he put on the iron mask. You, poor dear Rachel I and you know you muft b® fritnda.” 2JjQ 2.60 lOO
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers