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A. J. GERRITSON, Proprietor. i
From Once A Week,
The Burglary at Faustel Everaleigh.
" Well, Bigg, what is the matter ? Yon
look important this morning."
Biggs swelled in majestic silence, depos
ited the muffin dish on the table with as
near an approach to emphasis as-he dared,
and was in the act of retreating, when the
young lady standing at one of the open
windows looked up from her newspaper
to say,—
" Aunt Dora, these burglars are becom
ing quite alarming; they are traveling in
our direction, I think, too; there was one
a t Woodthorpe only three nights ago.—
close to us you know—"
The temptation to cap this piece ofnews
quite overcame Mr. Bigg's wounded dig
nity, and he opened his lips and spoke.
" And one, Miss Lucy, at Willow
Lodge last night, for the postman brought
the news this morning with the letters."
"Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Selwyn. "I
hope poor Miss Jenkins and Miss Aratuin
ta oawe to no harm."
'•ine family, ma'am was not molested,"
s.liwerth Biggs with solemnity, " but
eryt1:1;:; tie illnins could lay hands on
v, ie.l off, and no traces of them
ha , been discovered up to the present
L10:11ent.
'• Really, Aunt Dora, it is serious. You
w we are two lone women as well as
31,,s Jenkins and her sister. Suppose
they take a fancy to visit us next P"
" Well, Lucy, what can I do ? Is the
case urgent enough for me to write over
to the barracks, and ask Colonel Patter
son to send us an agreeable captain and
lieutenant, with a party of soldiers war
ranted sober, and not given to flirting, to
garrison poor old Eversleigh for a while?"
"I know you are as brave as a lion, aun
tie dear, but still I think this is not a
laughing matter. What could you or I
do—or even Biggs—"
"The very first thing these rascals does,
Miss Lucy, when they get into a house, is
to lock the men servants, if there is any,
into their rooms, so that, you see—"
" Well, well, Biggs that would be of
the less consequence, as I am sure if ,they
omitted to turn the key on you, you would
do it on_yourself," said Mrs. Selwyn with
a twinkle in her eyes that merged into a
laugh, and Biggs retreated. "There Lu
cy," she went on, don't look so serious,
and I will have all the plate packed up to
day and sent in a most ostentatious man
ner to my bankers, if that will give you
peace of mind."
Miss Lucy Gresham continued to dis
cuss her breakfast with a very half satis
fied look on her pretty face, which Mrs.
Selwyn observing went on.
" And I'll tell you what I can do as
well, if that is not precaution enough.
You remember Jack Eversleigh. He is
at home now on leave, and I'll write him
a line to come down here for a week or
two, with his 'long sword,' revolvers, and
all his 'bold dragoon' paraphernalia, and
mount guard over two unprotected fe
males. It will be quite in Jack's way, or
would have been once upon a time. You
have not forgotten Jack ?"
" I dont' remember him very well," an
swered Miss Lucy, bestowing a good deal
of attention on her breakfast cup. "Hasn't
he turned wit very wild ? Mary Seldon
told me something of that sort, I think."
" Give a dog a bad name, and bang
him," my dear. It has always been the
fashion in Jack's family to give the lad
credit for being everything he ought not
to be, and so really to make him some
things he would not otherwise have been.
I don't know exactly what amount, or
what kind of iniquity is comprehended jo
the word 'wild;' it, is certain Jack has al
ways been called a seapegrace; it is equal
ly certain that I believe a truergentlemen
or kinder heart does not bear: her Majes
ty's commission to day !"
Mrs. Selwyces eyes sparkled, and her
fair 'old-cheek colored, as she spoke. Child
less herself, she was very fond of her late
husband's favorite nephew, John Ever
sleigh, and had fought on the lad's side in
many a pitched battle with prim aunts•
and austere fattier. And it must be own
edsthat Jack was one of those who al-
ways give their friends enough to do in
this way. Even Mrs. Selwyn, With all
her fondness for him, could not deny that,
thought Lucy Gresham, as after breakfast
she wended her way down the shady av
enue, on one of ner accustomed errands
of good will and kindness to some di their
poorer neighbors, with that invitation and
the question of Jack's acceptance of the
same, a great deal more present to her
mind than she would have cared to own.
She would have liked to - believe that Jack
Eversleigh was not. worse than Aunt Do
ra thought him; she remembered quite
well seeing him come to church with the
Seldens once when he was staying with
them last year, and she remembered too
with a sigh, how he had certainly gone to
sleep on that very occasion, when dear
Mr. Lillydew's sermon was only ever such
a little over the hour. Mary Selden had
said be was " wild," and George Belden
who ought surely to know, being in the
same regiment, had talked of Jack's being
always "hard up,". whatever that might
ram,•and so and so—and Lucy sighed;
she would have preferred to think her old
playfellow was not utterly reprobate, if
she bad hew able,
wig very bard to look stbiza,,sad yet
hold to that opinion, Lucy was thinking,
a day or two afterwards, as she sat de
murely 'silent near one of the windows,
and listened to the merry 'talk that was
going on between Mrs. Selwyn and Cap.
taro Eversleigh, newly arrived. Jack
seemed mightily amused and interested
on hearing in what. capacity he was invi
ted, and on the whole impressed Miss
Gresham with the conviction that be
would be rather disappointed if no bur
glar afforded him any means of exercising
his predilection for strife and violence du
ring his stay.
With these thoughts in her mind, it is
not wonderful that Lucy's manner toward
them was shy and constrained to the last.
degreb. Haughty or repellent she could
not be, nature not having provided her
with that double edged weapon called a
" spirit," but only a gentle heart, that
would fain have had kind and loving
thoughts of all the world, and believed
the best of every man, woman, or child
with whom she came into contact. In
theory, you see, poor Lucy had shaken her
bead and sighed over the iniquity of the
world at large; but in practice, it was her
feminine habit to take those with whom
she came into actual contact much as they
appeared, or professed themselves to be,
not seldom, indeed, in her innocent and
tender imaginings crediting them with
virtues which I am afraid they had no claim
to, out of that gentle region.
And the shyness and constraint did not
deter Jack in the least from setting him
self to restore, at the very first opportuni
ty, something of the old familiar relations
between himself and his little companion
of long ago. He thought them both ra
ther pretty than otherwise, but by that
time, Mr. Jack had 'privately arrived at
the conviction, too, that Miss Gresham
possessed the largest, softest, most inno
centeyes, and the loveliest wild rose com
plexion, be had ever seen.
Ftishionable girls, fast girls, flirting
girls, merry, outspoken, frank girls, Jack
knew by scores, and had very likely
waltzed, hunted, and talked nonsense by
the mile, to very nearly the same number,
a little tender, unsophisticated, ignorant
girl, wh9 stook her , head at the opera
balls, and cigar-smoking generally, and
yet who cried real, heart telt tears over
the capture of that incorrigible poacher
and vagabond, Downy Dick, was some
thing new and piquant, and, accordingly,
.he set himself to the task of cultivating
amicable relations with Lucy Gresham,
with a characteristic inability to admit the
idea of failure, that must needs have gone
far to insure success, even if Lucy had
been other than slte was."
Being what she was, it is not wonder
ful that after only two or three days' ex
perience of Jack's pleasant qualities as a
companion,
in the quiet home life of the
old manor house, Lucy had gone as far as
to think that a gentleman might hunt and
even smoke without being utterly repro
bate; and that whatever might be compre
hended in the vague term of being "hard
up," it could not be anything very bad,
and yet applied with truth to John Ever
sleigh. Simple faith of a guileless little
heart ! Only it was a pity, - you see, that
it should have grounded so very much on
the fact of Jack's having handsome dark
eyes and a pleasant smile that was always
ready.
And in that companionship the daya
seemed to glide away like dreams, happy
dreams, all too fleet in the passing. Ahl
those ong sauntering walks through
bright summer ,days, in which Jack's
sportsman like - habit of observation, and
upbringing in' tbe vigorous out door life of
an English gentleman made him quick to
see and able to point out to the little town
bred danisel a thousand natural beauties
and things of interest, whidh she would
liave passed by, those rides over breezy
dOwns, among sweet green lanes and
shadowy woodland paths, where wood
doves cooed in the happy silence, and
' squirrels scambled higher among the scen
ted pines, to look down with bright in
quisitive eyes upon the sleek horses and
their riders, as they wound along the slen
-1 der path ways, with gentle footfalls all inn f
t fled and made tranquil by the last year's
leaves that • lay so thickly there. Ah !
days happy in the coming, in the passing,
—and yet destined to bear such a cruel
sting when memory of them was all that
was left !
As to the burglars, for whose expected
incursions Captain Eversleigh's visit had
been a preparation, I am inelined to think
that remembrance of them ietreated very
much kite the background, though, for
the first night or two, Jack dili g ently
made tremendous and complicated ar
rangements for their reception in the way
of revolvers, life preservers, &c., &c.—
Stout hearted old Mrs. Selwyn bad never
entertained any fears; Lucy somehow for
got hers in pleasanter things; and when,
one night, just before retiring to bed,
Aunt Dora produced from her podket book
a packet of bank notes making an amount
olnearly two hundred pounds, which sbe
had received that day, and had delayed
for some reason or other, driving over to
Marley to pay into her bankers, it was on
ly Tack who looked somewhat grave over
toe imprudence.
"It's what_ Biggs _would call a down
right tempting, of Providenoe. Joint,
Day; ha slid, id =churn his rail*
strays..
MONTROSE, PA., TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 1867.
" Biggs is such an arrant coward, that,
I declare, if I could see my way to get-
Ling up an impromtu burglary for his sole
benefit, I'm perfectly sure I should not be
able to resist the temptation," remarked
the old lady, as she put away the notes in
a little cabinet of Japanese workmanship,
of which the key was duly taken out and
deposited for secury with true feminine
ideas of the same, under the family Bible
which lay on its carved oaken stand in a
recess.
The sun was streaming brightly upon
Lucy's closed eyes the next morning,
when she opened them with a start to
find Aunt Dora standing by her bedside,
looking a little disturbed, and much gra
ver than her pleasant wont.
"My coming in did not wake you, Lu
cy," she said ; "so I suppose it is not to
be expected that you should have heard
anything of what took place last night,
which was what I ca - me to ask you."
" Took place last night, Aunt Dora !"
repeated Lucy, starting up. " Why—
but what were you going to say ?"
"Only that it seems the house was re
ally broken into last night, and the notes
I left in the Japan cabinet in the tent
room taken, after all. Jack is half wild
to think he should have played watch dog
so inefficiently. He never heard a sound,
he says, and he must have passed his door
as well as yours. But, Lucy, my . child,
don't look so terribly white and scared !
No one was murdered in their beds this
time; and Biggs was not even locked into
his room, except by himself:"
" Are you sure the money is gone ?
0 Aunt Dora! perhaps it's a mistake,—
a joke !" said Lucy, breathlessly, and with
au inconsequence that :made Mr. Selwyn
look a little impatient.
" I cannot perceive the joke of losing
nearly two hundred pounds; and, as for
mistake, the money has been carried off,
that's very certain. When Biggs came
up stairs this morning, he found the win
dow in the little vestibule wide open.
He told Martin, who came to rne,
and I
went straight to the tent room and found
the cabinet wide open and the money
gone. It had been opened with the key,
too, for that was in the lock. And you
never heard anything, Lucy ?"
"Something woke me once—but what
does Captain Eversleigh say—what does
he think ?"
"Say—why, that I ought. not to have
kept the money in the house; which is on
ty true, as I dare say these light lingered
gentlemen who have been favoring the
neighborhood lately knew quite well that
yesterday was rent day; and, as for his
thoughts, he has ridden over to Marley
post haste to share them with the police.
But I dare say nothing will come of that,
for these people have not been detected
in any one instance as yet. There, Lucy,
I am sorry to have frighted the blood out
of your cheeks; make haste with your toi
let and come to breakfast, my dear,—you
look as if you wanted it, and we'll not
wait for Jack."
But half an hour afterwards Lucy car
ried the same shocked white face into the
breakfast parlor with which she had list
ened to these tidings; and though hire.
Selwyn laughed, and said that the occa
sion was not, worth anything so tragic,
somehow that look never hided out ofLu.
cy's face, but seemed to deepen as the day
wore on.
Then ensued days of unwonted stir and
bustle at quiet old Faustel Eversleigb; a
great coming and going of the members
of the police force from- Marled; much
communing with the same on the part of
Captain Eversleigh, who entered into the
search for traces of the thieves with a
great deal of energy and spirit, and a per
fect influx of visitors to sympathize and
condole. Energy and spirit were expen
ded in vain, however, as far as the de
sired
end was concerned. There was ab
solutely, no clew, as it seemed; and wben
two or three days had gone over, and wa
ry detectives had prowled and poked over
every corner of the old house, inside and
out—had asked numberless questions of
every member of the household, without,
as Lucy fancied, seeming to pay much at
tention to the answers (that same fancy 1
enabled her to reply to those that fell to
her share with a great deal more ease
than she had thought possible before
hand) they seemed as far off as ever.
Mrs. Selwyn declared she would rather
lose the same amount of money three
times told, than to go to the same fuss ,
and bother to recover it; implored her
nephew to let the search drop, and take
no further steps in the matter; which
Captain Eversleigh was, perforce, obli'g-
ed to do very unwillingly, as he said,
"seeing that his leave was within a day
or two of its expiry, and he must deprive I
big aunt of his presence just at the very
time he should have liked to think himself
wanted."
There was a soft undertone in Jack's
voice when be made this remark, and he
glanced as he spoke towards that silent
figure sitting in _the farthest of the deep
old windoirs with the gentle evening
light falling softly on its bendipg bead.
Amidstal`'the bustle and occupation of
the last fo*dae, Jack but not torgot c ten
to noticabilii pa° and silor4Lucy.firesh.
eizcbadW;h : Ortekinniusen.tbroxe
1 lowed ana bewildered
look very foreign to their usual tender,
ness.
" It was natural enough, that—she • was
such a gentle, tender little thing—not a
bit stout hearted, norstrong minded (none
the less charming for the want, though,)
and, of course, her nerves had been sha
ken by what had happened."
Ceptain Eversleigh was thinking some
thing like this, as be walked over towards
the window, where Lucy had sat, silent so
long, meaning, when he reached her, to
say something soothing and sympathizing
only, startled and confounded by the look
that Lucy turned on him for an instant, as
be did so, that he drew back involuntari
ly with,—
" For Heaven's sake ! What can be
the matter, Lucy ?"
There was no answer : she had turned
her face away again still more closely to
the window, so that it was quite hidden;
but he saw instead the strong tension of
the clasp in which the hands lying in her
lap were pressed together. Jack was
very much amazed, but he was very much
moved too. He threw a hasty glancd
over his shoulder to where Aunt Dora
was reclining in her lounging chair, her
back conveniently towards them, then
stooped down very nearly to that averted
face, while he said,—almost as tenderly as
he felt at the instant,—
" Tell me what is wrong, Lucy. Ah !
if you knew—"
But that beginning was destined to re
main uncompleted; for Lucy Gresham sud
denly rose out of her seat, upright as a
dart, white as a ghost, serene and sad as
an accusing angel.
If I knew ! Ido know. And now that
you know I do—never, never speak to me
again—for that I cannot bear—and be si
lent," and before Captain Eversleigh could
recover from his pause petrified astonish
ment Miss Gresham turned her back on
him and fled from the room.
She did not appear at breakfast the next
morning,—the last breakfast that Jack
Eversleigh would partake offer sometime
to come under Aunt Dora's roof. Lucy
had a headache, Mrs. Selwyn explained,
and begged to be excused; which intelli
geuee Jack heard without remark, and
was altog ether during the progress of the
meal so absent and unlike himself that
Aunt Dora wais privately imagining that
there was a reason why he should be more
sorry to say " good by" to Faustel Ever
sleigh this time than bad existed on for
mer occasions.
"Well, well," thought the kind old la
dy, " and if Jack and Lucy have taken a
fancy to one another, I don't know that
either could do better; and for my part I
think I would ask nothing better than
that the children would marry and settle
down here with me, as long as I live. I
have always liked to think of Jack's hav
ing the old place when I am gone, and Lu
cy would make the dearest little wife in
the world. Ido think that Jack is smit
ten—and she—well, well—"
And while the old lady was dreaming
of love and marriage, and dark old hou
ses growing all humanly warm and bright
in the light of the sweet story that was
first told in Eden, Captain Eversleigh was
indignantly intent - upon these two ques
tions."
: 44 What the demo could Lucy Gresham
mean ? What the deuce does she know?"
There was no opportunity of propoun
ding them to Miss Gresham herself, sup
posing that Captain Eversleigh desired it,
for up to the last minute of his stay no
Lucy was visible. So his farewells had
only to be made to Aunt Dora when the
time arrived. They were very hearty and
affectionate like the feeling that subsisted
between the two, and when Mrs. Selwyn
turned in again from the partico where
she had stood to see Jack drive off, she
felt as if the silent house had lost some
thing that made it a pleasant home, in that
cheerful, manly presence.
It had lost something else, too, as it
very soon appeared; for this pale, silent
Lucy of the days and weeks succeeding
Captain Eversleigh's departure was as un
like the cheerful little maiden of days gone
as anything that could be well imagined.
Mrs. Selwyn's heart misgave her when
she saw the girl going listlessly about her
I little every day duties with that kind of
I laborious patience and consciousness so
sadly indicative of the "letter" without
the "spirit," and noticed the nervous tre
mor in which she was apt to be thrown
by such slight things as the sudden open
ing of a door, a quick footstep, or an un
expected address. Sbe saw these things
j with a little thrill of terror, remembering
how slight a foundation er fancy that
Jack Eversleigh cared for Lucy Gresham
had been built upon, and devoutly wished
a dozen times a day, that she had never
I brought the two together, nor meddled
with such a doubtful matter as match ma
king.
As to the lost money and the suspected
burglary, that seemed a subject tabooed
by both ladies with mutual consent, tho'
not so readily allowed to drop by chance
visitors, with whom a topic of conversa
tion during the orthodox twenty minutes
was too precious to be parted with light
ly.
"Dear me 1" said a lady one morning
after the circumstances of the robbery
had been, suecincily l detailed to her by
Mrs. fielyin,-,uk..,ensw.etto ter questions.
" Did it ever °cow to yen to sniped any
one in the house, my dear Mrs. Selwyn?"
"Not to me, certainly," answered - Mrs.
Selwyn, with a disturbed glance over at
Lucy, who had moved suddenly in her
chair; for I have no servant, fortunately,
whose trustworthiness has not been
proved."
"This is fortunate, indeed, for them,"
returned the lady ; " but really I think I
should not be very easy myself under the
air cumstances. Does it not strike you
as suspicious, for instance, that nothing
but the money should have been token,
or that the thief should have known so
exactly where to put his hand upon it?"
" I don't think I should have thought
so myself," answered the old lady, look
ing very fidgety, " but then I knew there
was really little but the money to take.—
I had sent all the plate we don't use to
my banker some time before, and after
my nephew came down. Biggs always
carried the rest into his room every
night. As for the fact of the thieves
knowing where to find•the money - there
was nothing very wonderful about that;
no doubt the house had been watched ;
and as we all remembered afterwards the
windows of the room from which it was
taken were wide open, and the light
burning, when I locked it into the cabin
et I From that, clump of rhododendrons
. yonder every movement of those in the
room could have been seen perfectly
well."
" Ah ! true—well it is very pleasant to
have such confidence in those about us.
And when may we hope to see Captain
Eversleigh again ?"
"He writes me that there is some
chance of his being - quartered with a de
tachment at Marley for a while; a piece
of unlooked-for good newit.'"
The conversation changed; but when
the visitor bad gone some minutes, Mrs.
Selwyn broke the silence that, had lasted
till then by. saying—
" I am sorry that you should have beard
Mrs. Sandell's charitable surmises. Lucy
dear, Jack begged me not to let you
know that such an idea had ever been
started. He thought that, being such a
timid little thing, it would only add to
your uneasiness.
"Who first entertained such an idea ?"
inquired Lucy, faintly.
"The detective who came over first
suggested it, I think, to Jack, who impar
ted it to me; but of course I could not
entertain it for ti moment. Riggs cer
tainly knew I had the money in the bouse
—but surely the fidelity for twenty long
years—"
Mrs. Selwyn paused a little absently,
and Lucy's voice broke passionately into
the silence.
" 0 aunt Dora! don't suspect any one!
least of all, poor, good old Biggs. He
never took the money, never! never!—
Captain Eversleigh is sure of that ; and
oh, surely he would not let you think so '
for one instant, it would be too cruel, too
wicked !"
" Why Lucy !" seid Mrs. Selwyn, look
ing at the girl's flushed face in some won
der, "Biggs ought to be very much
obliged to you for your cbampionship,on
ly-it's a pity there should be no more call
for it. As for Jack's entertaining such a
suspicion, he' pooh-poohed it from the
first ; so there is no occasion for all that
indignation, my dear. lam not. vindic
tive,l hope," Mrs. Selwyn went on after
a li ttle pause ;." but I would give the mo
ney over again\o have the thief brought
to light, there is something so painful in
the atmosphere of doubt and suspicion
that surrounds an undiscovered crime.—
Don't talk any more of it, Lucy, we have
have been wise in ignoring hitherto.—
Have Daisy saddled, and go for a canter
over the Downs, my dear • there is a
fresh wind blowing that will pet all me
grims to flight, I dare say."
But instead of ordering Daisy to be
saddled, Lucy put on her hat and mantle
and taking her solitary way out into the
grounds, wandered to a spot, at smite dis
tance from the house, where a pretty lit
tle brown river stole through banks all
I picturesquely broken and rugged, singing
as it went, with a happy music to which
1 the girl had unconsciousty set dreams as
, gentle and glad, many and many a time
in the bright summer days that were
gone.
Thoughts of them come back to her
now, perhaps,
all strangely and sadly
mingled with the altered present; and
throwing her arms forward against the
moss-grown trunk of one of the old trees
bending over the little river, Lucy hid
her face upon them and wept passionate, 1
despairing tears, never known before by
those gentle eyes.
" What ought I to do? What is right?
What is best ?" she thought, with a
dreadful agonizing struggle to reconcile
duty and expediency that is apt to beset
those whose conscience is so tender, and
whose heart so gentle as poor Lucy's. "It
would break aunt Dora's heart if it came
to light; and mine is breaking now, I
think. What shall Ido ?"
Bat no answer came to that sad, ap
pealing cry; the wind sighed among the
trees overhead, and the leaves came
shiv
eriiig down at`tbe sound, and were borne
silently down on the brown water, for it
was summer no longer; and never surely
was summer so cheerless before.; Lucy
thought. Biit joy .aialuytna&slire in ;he
eyes which look and the ears vhieh
VOLITME XXIV, NUMBER 15.
ten, and the fairest sunshine would hats
been clouded just now to Luoy Geoah-
am's.
In fitct,•Lucy's eyes had seen nothing - %
very clearly since that night, now many ,
weeks ago, when the bank notes were •
stolen from the Japanese cabinet 'in the
tent•room ; or, at least, everything since
then was distorted in the light of the ut
terly confounding sight they had witness
ed on. that occasion.
It was all before her now, as she sat
with hidden face and hands clasped be.
fore her eyes, for whether Lucy shut her
eyes or opened them, they only seemed
to serve her as long as she looked at one
thing.
Yes, it was all before her now. How,
on that horrible night she had started
from a light sleep and a happy dream,-to
listen breathlessly to a sound in the cm
rider outside the door—a quiet, mnilled
footfall passing stealthily along, and dy
ing away in the distance. How when it
had quite gone—indeed, had been gone
some minutes—she had sprung from her
bed, in fear that lent, her for the instant
all the hardihood of courage, intending to
fly into aunt Dora's room ; and tow, `as
she opened the door, she saw with her
own eyes.--alt heaven ! yes—in the broad
summer moonlight that lit up all the cor
ridor from' end to end with its solemn
splendor, John Eversleigh—kind aunt
Dora's dearly-loved nephew—coming out
of the tent-room with the little ivory
clasped box that held the bank notes .in
his hand ! How, in the wonder, the ter
ror, the incredulity with which she look
ed on this sight, she had shrunk back in
to the room, and had listened to that muf
fled footfall comity , le quietly back past her
door, past aunt Dora's till it died away
again out 'Of the corridor. Then the poor
obild had crept back into her bed, bad
turned her face down pon the pi'low so
as to shut out the fair ocialight,,and re
peated over and over aaio, with a pito
ous persistence in theh words, " I have
been dreaming; it was a dream—nothing
so horrible could be true I" She tried - to
stifle the thought and drown conviction,
till suddenly she raised her head, joyful,
trembling, melted to thankful tears, in
the light of the blessed inspiration Int
suddenly flashed upon her mind. "It was
a joke I—a practical joke—this abductiog
of the bank notes—done just to give aunt
Dora a little fright and a little warning l
How foolish not to have guessed that at
once. Of course the money would be re
stored, and confession made the next
morning, when aunt Dora had been thor
oughly well frightened." In the tremu•
loos thankfulness of this relief, Lucy sank
into the 'sleep from Which aunt. Dora bad
wakened her that morning.
How poor Lucy's hope that " it was all
a joke," had fluctuated through the after
proceedings, and would have finally faded
away altogether would have been a piti
ful thing to see, it any one could have had
a clue by which to trace it ! Now, she
had almost forgotten that the cloud
which had enshrouded her since that night
bad ever been temporarily lightened by
that idea. Ah no ! everything was wretch
ed !-;--the world a miserable place, people
inconceivably wicked, and those happiest
and best off who bad been laid to rest
once foi all under the churchyard daisies'.
Poor little Lucy ! This her first encoun
ter with absolute outcrying,evil, had done
the work of years, as indeed it always
does on natures so tender and innocent.
She rose up pow, after a while, and
walked slowly homeward ; so slowly that
it was dark when she reached the house,
and quite dark in the drawing room
when she opened the .door and entered
quietly.
As she did so, the familiar tones of a
rich, manly voice reached her, thit she
would have known among hundreds, and
that she recognized now with a great
bound of the heart.
Yes; there, surely enough, standing in
the full blaze of the firelight, was Jaok
Eversleigb, laughing and chatting with
aunt Dora as if there were no such things
as care, or trouble, or wrong doing in all
this world. 2
He stopped short as the door opened
and Lucy entered, coming forward the
next minute with perhaps over so little
constraint in his manner, as he held out
his Land. Lucy half extended hers, but,
ah I no, her baud must never lie in that
large cordial grasp again ! She drew it
hack, and, bowing low, Jack turned easi
ly away to his former place, and, resumed
his talk, while Lucy sank down tremb
ling into a seat where the shadows gath
ered most thickly, and \ :ialmost hid her
from view.
Aunt Dora was certainly in the best of
-moods and spirits (she was auguring A
vorably for the success of her pet plan and
th e happiness of Luoy, yon see, in this
sudden reappearance of Jack Eversleigb,)
and as for nepliew, his momentary em
barrassment, had left no palpable traces
behind.
" llow can be laugh ? How can he talk
so lightly as he does ?" thought the poOr
child, cowering among the shadows, with
a bind of sorrowful, indignant wonder...-
I. i How dare he come hero P Is it possi
ble that be did not understand me—that
I did net speak plainly enougb?", ,
She hid her face, and shrank down'Oill
morn' closely In her cornet. . Aug 'Mk*
[Concluded on fotirtb:ilige.l -