CHAPTER VIII.

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MARGUERITE VERNE;

OR:

SCENES FROM CANADIAN LIFE.

BY

RE. AGATHA ARMOUR.

CHAPTER I.

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

"Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New Year blithe and bold, my friend

Comes up to take his own."--_Tennyson_.

New Year's Eve in the fair city of St. John, that queenly little

city which sits upon her rocky throne overlooking the broad expanse

of bay at her feet.

Reader, we do not wish to weary you with the known, but love for our

own dear New Brunswick is surely sufficient apology.

It is one of the feelings of human nature to be possessed with a

desire to worship the great and titled, to become enamoured with

those appendages, which are the symbols of social distinction. Let

us consider how we, as a people, are privileged. Is there any

grander title this side of Heaven than found in these words, "I am a

British subject," and next "I am a New Brunswicker"? You who have

travelled have often felt your hearts rebound when listening to the

eulogiums passed upon our country and its gifted sons through the

medium of the pulpit, the platform and the press. "He is a New

Brunswick boy." Ah, those words are sufficient to inspire us with

thoughts ennobling, grand and elevating. There are to be found

growlers in every clime, and it is only such that will desert their

fatherland and seek refuge under foreign skies. We have liberty,

right, education, refinement and culture in our midst; we have a

good government, noble reforms, and all advantages to make us good

and happy. Then let us cherish every right and institution which

makes our beloved New Brunswick the pride of its loyal people. It is

such feeling which prompts this work, and if the different scenes

throughout the province which we will endeavor to portray, the

usages of society, custom, &c., and the few characters introduced

from real life, meet your approbation, our highest expectation will

be realized.

Now back to our fair city.

On this New Year's Eve the moon was holding high carnival. Wrapped

in a costume of silvery radiance, she was displaying her charms to

the busy throng beneath with all the coquetry she could summon, to

her aid, darting quick glances at youths and maidens, and by

covert smiles bringing even the middle-aged man of business to her

feet. The air is also influenced by her wooing, and is inclined to

be less severe than some hours earlier. Floods of light are

radiating King Square, giving even to its leafless trees a charm

of softness and effect. Pedestrians are going to and fro, while

several halt in the vicinity of the fountain to smoke their pipes

and discuss the news of the day. Presently a quick step is heard

approaching, and a trim little figure greets us, wrapped in a

fur-lined cloak, which, despite its ungainliness, cannot conceal

the grace of the wearer. As the maiden casts a passing glance we

are impressed by the sweet purity of her face--a face that will

stamp its image upon more than one heart, and leave memories that

cannot be forgotten.

Such was Marguerite Verne as we now attempt to introduce her in the

fond hope that others will see her as we do.

"Marguerite," exclaimed the child who had overtaken her as she

reached the pavement in front of the Royal Hotel, "Marguerite I am

tired running, I thought I never would get up to you. Golly, how you

do streak along!"

"Charlie Verne, you naughty boy," returned the girl as she

confronted her pet brother, his childish face aglow with the late

exercise, "I thought you were going to keep house with Winnie?'

"So I was," said the boy, eyeing his sister closely to watch the

effect of his speech, "but the Listers have arrived and I had to run

and tell you."

At this announcement Marguerite Verne could scarce repress a hearty

laugh and her large, deep violet eyes sparkled, and from their

changing expressions exhibited such variety of shade that one would

scarce venture to say which was the original one.

A deeper tinge now rested upon the purely oval cheek as the girl

returned the recognition of a thoughtful-looking young man who had

the air and manner of one possessed with more common sense than

generally falls to the lot of the young men courted by the _creme

de la creme_.

"Miss Verne, I see that you too are bent upon enjoying this glorious

evening; the old year is going out in all its serenity."

"Yes indeed, Mr. Lawson; the old year is dying with all the true

greatness that characterizes its life; it has left nothing undone,

and if we have failed to garner up its hours sacredly, to us--not

it--we lay the blame."

"True indeed; but how little do we think of those lessons until they

are beyond reach. We make grand resolutions on each New Year, but

how often do they go to the winds ere the first week has passed

around."

Phillip Lawson's words took an earnest tone and his manner was

earnest also. His rich, deep voice found its way far down in the

maiden's heart; but she would not allow herself to think so. She

would not acknowledge to herself that the restless emotions within

her heart were other than a passing thought to a very dear friend!

She must not see that Phillip Lawson, in his gifted, manly

character, was her hero of all that was good and true, and that his

was the nature by which she tested others.

As the foregoing remarks turned into a lengthy conversation

Marguerite scarcely heeded that Trinity chimed out the hour of nine

when the trio turned their steps homeward, Master Charlie forming an

advance guard, and making the air resound with all the hilarity at

his command when he came in friendly contact with some of his

"fellers" as he expressed himself.

When Marguerite bade good night to her companion and stood for a

moment in the hallway watching the retreating figure, we will not

disclose her thoughts, but will follow her to the drawing-room,

where "the Listers" are marshalled _en masse_ awaiting her

return.

"Marguerite, you darling!" exclaimed the eldest Miss Lister rushing

forward and embracing the former in a manner that was more

demonstrative than conventional, but was accepted with the best of

grace, notwithstanding there was to be a repetition four times in

succession.

Mrs. Lister was a distant cousin of Mr. Verne, and having six

marriageable daughters on hand, had recourse to much diplomacy in

the way of matrimonial speculations. For several years she had been

in the habit of spending the New Year with the Verne family, each

year adding one more eligible, until she has now the happy six.

It had ever been the boast of Mrs. Lister that she had attended

boarding school, and carried off several prizes for her classic

ability; and in order to establish the fact, had named her six

daughters after six of the Muses. Clio, the eldest, inherited the

largest part of her mother's ability.

The former often regretted that three unruly boys came to interrupt

the succession of the classic nine.

But all this addition of inspiration at this festive season did not

_inspire_ the Verne family with any such high-toned sentiments

as might have been expected.

"Marguerite Verne," explained the haughty Evelyn, the imperious

first-born of the family, "you are enough to drive anyone

distracted! How can you submit so tamely to being bored to death by

such pests? Indeed, Aunt Hester with all her wisdom is preferable to

that empty headed woman and her muses."

Marguerite had retired to her own room. She was sitting at a small

ebony writing desk, jotting down a few thoughts in her diary When

her sister entered, but now arose and drew forth a luxurious

arm-chair for the imperious beauty to recline in.

"If worrying myself to death would do me any good, I might try it

too, Evelyn; but as it does not, I try to make the best of it."

"There you are again, with your philosophical ideas. I must expect

nothing else from one who cares so little for the opinions of

others, and lives only in sight of all the old half-crazed poets and

fanatics of the Dark Ages."

Marguerite durst not look toward the speaker, lest her quizzical

expression might heap further assault upon her; so she sat quietly

regarding a favorite print that hung over the mantelshelf. After a

few moments silence, Evelyn drew herself up haughtily and arose to

go, when Marguerite felt a rising sensation in her throat, and

instantly rushed into her sister's arms. "Eve, dearest, I know you

are disappointed in not going out this evening, and I am sorry; can

you not believe me?"

Evelyn Verne was a beauty--beautiful as an houri, imperial as

Cleopatra, but merciless as a De Medicis. She was a true woman of

the world; self was the only shrine at which she worshipped; and if

indeed she could feel a momentary sympathetic chord, surely

Marguerite was the cause. The piercing black eyes send forth a flash

that is electrifying, then fix themselves upon her companion. She is

perhaps struggling between pride and duty, and it costs her a heavy

sacrifice. As she gazes upon that sweet, soulful face she is almost

tempted to become a nobler and better being; but the world has too

heavy a hold upon her, and slightly pressing a kiss upon

Marguerite's cheek, she takes leave without saying another word. As

the latter listens to the rustle of the silken train through the

spacious hall and stairway, she heaves a deep sigh, and once more

seats herself beside her desk. On the pages of the little book she

pens thoughts worthy of such a soul, and worthy of the memorable

eve--worthy of the dying moments of the year which had been her

friend, her comforter and her hope. She could look back without many

regrets. The hours had not been misspent, and she could say: "Old

Year, I used you well. Now that you are nearly gone I will not

regret, but try, with God's help, to welcome in your child."

Marguerite sat thus while the clock struck twelve, when she buried

her face in her hands and remained in thoughtful silence--a feeling

too reverential for words, as something too sacred for intruding

upon.

And now the New Year had been welcomed in. The moon, in all her

majesty, witnessed the solemn pageant; and unseen choristers wafted

the tidings from pole to pole.

"Another year," murmured Marguerite, as she gently raised the

casement and looked out upon the beauty of the scene. Queen Square,

studded with tributes to the Loyalists, was peaceful as the grave.

Beyond was the calm, blue water of the harbor; while here and there

a white sail upon its bosom added to the effect. Peace reigns over

the city, and the lights have at last disappeared from the Verne

mansion. Let us take the liberty to mention a few facts that may be

necessary ere we proceed further.

The Vernes belonged to a genteel and respectable family. They did

not lay claim to an aristocratic ancestry, but for generations could

reckon on a spirit of proud independence and honest worth. Mr. Verne

was a man of honor and sound principles in every sense of the word;

and he always tried to inculcate those principles in the minds of

his children. If he daily saw in his first-born traits of character

which he openly condemned and censured, there stood in bold relief

upon his heart the pure, high and noble character of his delicate

Marguerite. Nor was he to be disappointed in the younger scions of

the family. Fred. Verne was a noble, manly boy of fifteen, and gave

promise of being a good and upright citizen; while the precocious

Charlie, despite the daily amount of spoiling received in the

domestic circle, was a clever little fellow, as ready with an answer

as he was ready for his daily supply of chocolate caramels.

Mr. Verne had married when very young, and was still in the prime of

manhood. He was not handsome; but an intelligent, open countenance

was the most pleasing attraction in his face. One could look upon

him the second time without a feeling of dislike or even

indifference.

But there is another important personage of whom we must make

mention--the mistress of the Verne mansion. She is, to say it in as

few words as possible, an out-and-out woman of the world--one who

never says or does anything without considering what will be the

world's opinion of her, and one who never says or does anything

unless there be some selfish motive at the bottom of it; one who

lives only for the gratification of her own selfish ends, so far as

her friends and family are concerned, and whose chief delight is

show, display and social greatness.

It may be said that when Mr. Verne married his child-wife, who had

been petted and spoiled by her elders, he made much allowance for

her daily short-comings, and fondly hoped that he might bend the

impulsive nature to his will; but when he saw the great mistake he

had made, he calmly bowed his head in submission to the decrees of

fate, and labored more diligently to set a good example before his

children. When vainly remonstrating with his wife, upon the

increasing gaiety into which she plunged so wildly, he always found

encouragement from the sympathetic Marguerite; and when retired from

the noise and din of the drawing-room, his favorite amusement was a

game of chess, with the latter for partner. It was then that

Marguerite's deep violet eyes would sparkle and her face glow with

enthusiasm, as she followed her father through the mazes of the

game, and her clear silvery laughter had more charm than the

ravishing strains of the most brilliant fantasia.

Surrounded by the _elite_ of the city of St. John, Evelyn Verne

was courted by the rich, the gay and the distinguished. It was the

sole end of Mrs. Verne's existence that her daughters should make

grand matches. For this purpose she entered upon a career which we

intend to pursue through all its straight and crooked paths, hoping

in the sequel to impart the sad but profitable lesson!

CHAPTER II.

SUNNYBANK.

Sunnybank, the stately residence of the Vernes, is indeed an

imposing structure. Its towering form and massive appearance mark it

as one of the noblest piles in St. John. Its costly windows,

reflecting all the colors of the rainbow; its solid brick walls,

stone pillars and grand entrance, bespeak it the home of wealth and

affluence. Even the solid brick pavement leading from the main

gateway to the terrace marks the substantial tone of the edifice,

and impresses one with the stability of its owner. And the statuary,

seen from the highway, denotes the taste displayed in the vestibule,

with its floor of tesselated pavement, echoing to the tread of

footsteps as the corridors of some grand old cathedral.

It is now our privilege to be introduced to the interior, and we

make good use of our opportunity while mingling with its guests.

On this clear wintry evening as we are ushered into the Verne

drawing-room with its beautifully-frescoed wall and rare painting a

pretty sight is presented to our view. Seated at the piano is

Marguerite, who is singing a quaint little ballad for the benefit of

a company of children gathered at her feet. She is evidently their

queen, as the sly glances at the happy-faced maiden are ever

increasing to be repaid by the sweetest of smiles. Evelyn Verne

appeared in a heavy garnet silk with bodice and draperies of the

same shade in velvet. Her elbow sleeves reveal arms that would

rival in miniature those of the master-piece of Phidias--the

Pallas Athena--which graced the Parthenon in by-gone ages.

Her hair, of purplish blackness, gives effect to the creamy tints

of her complexion, and heightens the damask tinge of the

beautifully-rounded cheeks. One glance at this magnificent looking

form and you are victimized by her charms; you cast a side glance

towards the childish-looking girl at the piano, and you will only

pronounce her passing fair. Beauty is beauty, and will charm while

the world goes on, and while we are endowed with that sense which,

in general, has outweighed all others; but in most cases we are,

in the end, taught that the beauty of the soul will wear until time

is no more, and the beauty that fades is a thing of the past!

"Evelyn, dearest, if Paris had now to decide between the goddesses,

he certainly would have awarded you the golden apple," exclaimed the

first muse, who never let an opportunity slip to display her

knowledge of mythology.

"What nonsense you talk, Clio!" returned Evelyn, whose heightened

color betrayed the insincerity of her speech.

Urania Lister, "the Fifth Muse," as Fred. Verne had dubbed her, now

entered from the conservatory, and throwing aside a scarlet wrap,

also joined in the conversation. She was a slight creature, with

some pretension to good looks; but there was a sort of languor in

her manner that disappointed one ere she had uttered half a dozen

sentences. In order to sustain the character her name suggested, she

was continually soaring into immensity of space and deducing

celestial problems for the uninitiated _habitant_ of this lower

sphere. It was when Urania had taken one of her upper flights into

empyrean air that the fond mother would exclaim: "If Galileo were

alive to-day I believe he could get ideas from my dear Urania."

But to return to the drawing-room.

The children have been dismissed to their homes, and Charlie

consigned to the limits of his own apartments. A slight bustle is

heard in the hall, and presently two visitors are duly announced by

a servant in waiting. A smile of satisfaction beamed on the

countenance of the anxious Mrs. Lister as she eyed the two young

gentlemen on their being introduced to her three daughters, and in

less time than it would be possible to conceive, she was

consummating two brilliant matches for the ancient-looking Clio and

the celestial Urania.

Be it said for this lady's benefit, and by way of explanation, she

had consigned three of the muses to "dear papa," and kept the three

most eligible under the shadow of her wing.

While the devoted parent is weaving all manner of bright visions,

she resolves that practice be not sacrificed to theory, and

commences by a skilful contrivance to expatiate upon the ability and

goodness of her offspring.

Montague Arnold is indeed an expert in all that concerns society

through its labyrinthine phases. Not a look or tone but he has

thoroughly studied, and ere he is many moments in an individual's

society can accommodate his pliable nature to every demand. His

physique is striking, his face handsome, his manner engaging, and he

is reputed to be wealthy. His family connections are desirable, and

he has education, accomplishment, and the benefit of a lengthened

tour on the continent.

What then is to debar such an one from entry into the best social

circle the city affords?

Will we overstep the bounds of charity and describe a scene in which

Montague Arnold and his companion, Hubert Tracy, played a

conspicuous part a few hours previous? Ah, no! "Tell it not in

Gath!" Let them be happy while they may.

Of Hubert Tracy we might have a more favorable opinion. There is

still upon his broad, fair forehead a trace of manliness and honor,

but there is about the lower part of his youthful looking face a

lack of determination that threatens to mark him as a victim for the

wary and dissipated man of the world.

Conversation had now become general, while music and games filled up

the intervals.

Evelyn Verne was indeed the object upon whom Mr. Arnold lavished his

attentions--a fact not overlooked by Mrs. Lister. Hubert Tracy was

devoting himself to the Muses, and occasionally venturing a glance

at Marguerite, who took much interest in the younger members of the

circle, and seemed happy in her devotedness to brother Fred, and his

chum, silently engaged over a game of chess. Mrs. Verne smiled,

chatted and listened to each as opportunity served, and looked with

fond delight upon the imperious Evelyn, who, by a series of

coquettish manoeuvres, held her admirer in chains apparently ready

to be put to any test for her sake.

"This new beau of Eve's is in earnest, and there is no chance for my

dear Urania. Well, well! men do not appreciate a girl of such

heavenly ideas as my celestial-minded daughter, and they throw

themselves away upon a pretty face without an ounce of brains." Poor

Mrs. Lister had murmured these sentences after the events of the

evening had transpired and she was enjoying the privacy of her own

room. She always expressed her thoughts to herself, as she judged

best never to let her dear girls know that she felt anxious for

their settlement in life.

A few mornings later while the family lingered over the late

breakfast in the handsomely-furnished morning-room, with its

delicate tints of mauve and gold, the conversation turned upon the

gossip of the preceding days. Miss Verne had not sufficiently

recruited from the dissipation attendant upon a large assemblage,

given by a lady friend in honor of some relative who had arrived

from Ottawa. She was inclined to be resentful and petulant, and

found fault with everything, from the delicious hot coffee and

tempting rolls to the generous sunbeam that danced in at the

opposite window, and it increased her anger so that she could

scarcely restrain herself in the presence of her guests.

"You are somewhat uncharitable this morning, my dear," was the only

reproof of Mrs. Verne, while she sought to cover her annoyance in a

marked attention towards the others at the table.

"Indeed, Miss Marguerite; it will be a long time before I shall tell

as many lies for you again. I was really ashamed, for they all knew

that they were broad falsehoods," exclaimed Miss Verne, casting an

angry glance at her sister, who sat between her mother and Mrs.

Lister, looking the very picture of contentment and good nature.

"I am sorry, Eve, that you committed any grievous sins on my

account, for it was a very unnecessary thing to do."

"Unnecessary! Be careful, my dear little Madge, or I will out with

the whole truth; and if I do not bring the blushes to your cheek my

name is not Evelyn Verne."

"Come, come, girls--never mind more talk now," said Mrs. Verne,

rising from her seat, and motioning them to withdraw, at the same

time trying to conceal a look of displeasure that had contracted

into a dark frown.

Mrs. Verne was a woman not to be trifled with. She had a look of one

born to command, and well each member of her family was aware of the

fact. She was a handsome woman, of proud and dignified presence,

high-tempered, and in many instances unreasonable, her opinions

being strengthened by the force of circumstances, and very seldom on

the side of right. On this morning in question she was inclined to

feel somewhat ruffled at Marguerite, rather than the aggressor.

Miss Verne had thrown out a hint that was more effective than a

well-timed speech of polished oratory, and well she knew it.

"Such a ridiculous thing to think of," repeated the haughty mistress

with emphasis, as she swept from room to room giving orders to each

domestic, and arranging and rearranging matters to meet her own

taste and convenience. The pretty crimson cashmere morning robe,

with relief of creamy lace, hung in graceful folds and set off Mrs.

Verne's form to advantage; and as you looked upon her then and

thought how she must have looked more than twenty years in the past,

you could not blame Mr. Verne for seeking her to grace his luxurious

and beautiful home.

Evelyn Verne has picked up a very sensational novel and is

languishing on a divan of crimson velvet and old gold plush, with a

drapery of beautiful design which she had thrown aside. One arm is

gracefully curved around her head, while the other clasps the book,

and in contrast with the rich hue of oriental costume resembles that

of polished ivory.

The passage being read is certainly pleasing--yes, rapturous--for a

current of an electrifying nature suffuses the slightly-pale cheeks

and delicate lips, and again Evelyn Verne wears a beauty that is

fatal in its effects. While the latter is engaged in this selfish

manner we hasten to a somewhat odd-looking apartment, which, from

its confused array of books, playthings, fishing-tackle, hammocks,

old guns, powder-horns, costumes that had assisted in personating

pages and courtiers, and also many other articles of less

pretensions, might be taken for a veritable curiosity-shop. A

central figure gives interest to the surroundings and prompts our

curiosity to watch the proceedings.

The mischievous smile upon Marguerite Verne's face is of sufficient

proof that she is engaged in a pleasant occupation. She has pressed

two of the Misses Lister into willing service, and they are a happy

group.

"What will this make, Madge?" yelled Charlie, with as much as his

lungs had capacity, holding up an old green velvet tunic with

enormous supply of tinsel.

"I'll go as Coeur de Lion, and wear it," exclaimed little Ned

Bertram, snatching the precious article from the other.

"Nonsense, children!" cried Marguerite, who, with her companions,

laughed long and heartily at the ludicrous representation of the

"knight of the black plume."

Considerable time had been spent in bringing these would-be heroes

to any decision as to their respective characters. Ned wished to be

Richard the Third, and Charlie that of Richmond and repeat the

triumphs of Bosworth; but meeting such obstinate opposition from

their council, turned their attention to "something commoner,"

as Ned expressed himself. After several hours intermingled with

side-splitting laughter and grave discussion, a fair representation

of Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday was produced, while Marguerite

and her friends received more compliments from the young aspirants

than the most gallant cavalier of the sixteenth century ever paid to

the queen of love and beauty. But the last remark was a deep thrust

from the innocent and unconscious boy.

"You darling old Madge! I am going to tell Mr. Lawson you got us up,

and I am sure we will get the prize. And I bet you I'll not forget

to put a word in for you too, Miss Marguerite, and mind you Mr.

Lawson don't consider me no small account."

The manner in which this twelve-year-old urchin got off the speech

had a telling effect. His air of importance brought a burst of

laughter, but it could scarcely hide the blushes that played

hide-and-seek on the girl's face--which fact fortunately escaped the

notice of the Listers.

The long-looked-for hour has arrived, and Crusoe and Friday emerge

from their "den," as Miss Verne contemptuously designated the

curiosity-shop. On this occasion Marguerite remains at home. Her

constitution is rather delicate, and owing to a slight cold and

throat irritation it is deemed advisable to exercise caution.

"I am sorry that you will not have your papa's company this evening.

There is to be a meeting of the Board. There is always something

going on."

"Don't mind me, mamma. Please bear in mind I am good company for

myself. I remember once reading a passage in some book which said

that all the pleasure we derived had its source in ourselves, and

not in external objects. I often think of it and believe it to be

true."

"What a sensible, but conceited girl!" exclaimed the proud matron as

she kissed Marguerite, and sallied forth to chaperone the Misses

Lister and their loquacious mamma.

"You dear old room, I'm with you once again," said the girl in half

dramatic tones, as she drew her favorite arm-chair near the grate

and sat down, not to read but to weave bright, golden dreams--fit

task for a sweet maiden of eighteen summers--with a quaint

simplicity of manner that is more captivating than all the wily

manoeuvres that coquetry can devise. Were there any pretty pictures

in those dreams? Yes. But those that gave the most pleasure she

tried hard to shut out from her sight and with a gentle sigh

murmured "it can never be."

Sweet Marguerite! Has she her "concealments" too?

CHAPTER III.

A NOBLE CHARACTER.

In Phillip Lawson, a young lawyer of more than average ability, is

realized Pope's definition of an honest man--"the noblest work of

God." Those who think that all lawyers are a set of unscrupulous and

unprincipled men are sadly mistaken. There are in our midst men of

the legal profession who follow the paths of high-souled honor and

integrity with as unerring coarse as the magnet the north pole.

But it is in a special sense we wish to speak.

Phillip Lawson is sitting at his desk in one of the upstair

apartments of a large building not many rods from "the Chambers."

His office is not inviting in its appearance--no luxurious

leather-upholstered arm-chairs, Brussels carpeting--nothing to

suggest ease or even comfort. Stamped upon every inch of space

enclosed within those four bare walls we fancy we can almost see the

words "up-hill work! up-hill work"!--and look toward the young

aspirant to see if he is in the least disheartened thereby. But our

friend receives us with a gracious smile and extends his hand in a

manner that is hearty and genuine. Even the tone of his voice is

assuring, and we listen, wrapt in admiration, forgetful that we are

trespassing upon his generosity. But we must first introduce you

personally to the subject of our remarks, that you may form your own

impression:

Phillip Lawson is not handsome. His large irregular features are not

in keeping with the proportions we call classic, nor is the sallow

complexion any improvement; but despite these facts, there is indeed

much that is attractive in Mr. Lawson's face. His gray eyes have a

tender sympathetic look--tender as that of a woman; his brows have

the reflection of genius as they are being knitted over some

intricate and perplexing law points at issue; and the look of

benevolence expressed in the lips, mouth, and chin, impart a tone of

self-respect and dignity which, united with culture and refinement,

make our legal friend an ornament to the profession.

Nor is it when office hours are over that Mr. Lawson's labors are

ended. His services are freely given to many societies. Old and

young, rich and poor, can testify to the fact.

Yet he does not rest here. Many an hour the midnight oil has burned

low as this thoughtful student sat poring over pile upon pile of

some old work as he kept up his never-flagging research, or penned

his thoughts with marvellous rapidity.

As anyone appears to better advantage in a neat, cosy little

library, with a bright fire burning in the grate, than in a

cheerless, dim and prosy den, called by way of courtesy, an

"office," we thus look in upon the young man of books and letters.

Phillip Lawson has just returned from a meeting in connexion with

his church, and judging from his haggard looks, has had a busy day.

His bright-eyed little sister has made her appearance at his elbow,

and has placed upon the pretty five-o'clock table a cup of coffee

and some of her own making of tea-cakes.

"Lottie, you silly little puss, why did you go to such trouble?"

asked the admiring brother, as he took the little hands in his and

looked into the piquant face for answer.

"Just as if I am going to let you work yourself to death and starve

you into the bargain! Oh, no, my big brother, I am too selfish to

keep you for myself to do any such thing; so go now and take the

coffee while it is hot, else I shall have to bring more."

Lottie Lawson shook her head with all the determination of a miss of

fourteen, and emphasized the fact by settling herself very cosily

into a low seat to see that every cake is disposed of to her

satisfaction.

"Have you anything to tell me, little one? You know I can talk and

eat at the same time," said Phillip, sipping his coffee with the

_abandon_ of an epicure.

"Indeed, I have not one bit of news worth telling. I hear anything

except a lot of the silly stuff the girls bring to school."

"Well, that must be worth something, arising from such a variety of

sources," replied the young man, his grave face expressive of the

fund of true humor within.

"Suppose you heard of the quarrel between Maud Harrington and Hattie

Reynolds?"

"No; what was it about?"

"Oh! I can hardly tell you; but it was at recess, and nearly all the

girls were out, except three or four. Maud said that Carrie Wilson's

mamma had been calling at Mrs. Simpson's and that she said that Mrs.

Ashley told that Hattie's sister Belle was the most dowdy-looking

girl at the Langley's party."

"How did Hattie find it out?" asked Phillip, with all the gravity he

would exercise on one of his clients.

"Oh! you know listeners never hear anything good about themselves.

Hattie was listening and never said a word about it until she got

home, and then Hattie's mother went to all the folks who were mixed

up in it and they had an awful time of it. Oh, yes, and what do you

think?----" Lottie gave another piece of news of much more

importance to her brother than the preceding one, but he very

quietly kept his own counsel, and soon after dismissed the little

maiden, that he might take up a few hours of hard study. The student

lamp was lighted, and new fuel added to the grate. Phillip Lawson

sat himself down; but it cost him great effort to concentrate his

thoughts upon the work before him. Still he labored on and fought

manfully with the intruding thoughts, that, despite all resistance,

would at times be heard. But duty gained the victory, and it was not

until the young man had placed the much-prized manuscript in its

resting place, drawn his chair nearer the hearth, and lit a cigar

with the blessed expectation of having a puff of the weed, that he

again reverted to the banished subject.

"How the child could hear such a thing! Much as I dislike gossip I

should, like to question her further, but I dare not encourage such

things in a child," murmured the young man, involuntarily pressing

his hand upon his brow, as if bent upon study. And it Was a study

both pleasant and unpleasant. It presented two pictures--one fair

and bewitching, which lit up the student's face with its reflection,

while the other, dark and lowering from its deep and gloomy

appearance, shed a cloud of despondency and sadness upon the

thoughtful brow, leaving thereon an expression that was fretful and

annoying.

"If the fellow were worthy of her I would not care so much, I could

and _would_ live it down; but for me to see her associated with

him through life, it is something dreadful. And what am I to do?

Warn them of the danger myself? oh, no; that will never do! I will

be accused of plotting to secure the prize myself. But you will

certainly do it in justice to the man whom you value as a true

friend, if for nothing else," were the burning thoughts that forced

themselves uppermost, and bade the young man reflect very seriously.

"Yes, that is a motive sufficient to nerve any man; but there is a

deeper one--yes, I will admit it--a selfish one." There was a

struggle going on worthy the soul of this noble-minded youth. He was

trying to solve a problem which vacillated between right and wrong.

It was no common task, for when duty pointed the way, the form of

self overshadowed the path, and showed only fitful gleams of light.

"I will be cautious; but she must not be sacrificed to the artful

wiles of unprincipled tricksters while I have an trinity. Come what

may, I must and _will_ speak out!" Phillip Lawson thus resolved,

with a sense of relief. He knew now how to act, and his mind was

clear, calmly awaiting the hour to carry his resolutions into

effect. But how often do a few careless words change the

whole course of action which hours of thought had premeditated.

Phillip Lawson's high-toned resolutions by these means were

scattered to the winds, and he turned once more to the lofty

aspirations of his intellectual nature for refuge.

Let us explain:

It is the hour of twilight, and the streets have an air of

desertion. The people of fashion that are daily to be seen on King

and Prince William streets have retired within their palatial

residences, and none are abroad except an occasional man of

business, with wearied and abstracted air, soon to find rest in the

bosom of his family. Suddenly a handsome turnout claims our

attention, and instantly the driver assists a lady to alight. She is

dressed in costly furs and velvet, and her haughty mien shows that

her associations and preferences are with the patrician side of

nature.

"Will you come in, too, Rania? I need not ask Marguerite, lest she

might miss a chance of seeing 'Farmer Phil' and lose effervescence

of the hayseed. Do you know he is always associated, in my mind,

with homespun and hayseed."

Evelyn Verne laughed at the cleverness of her remark, and adjusting

her mantle entered a publisher's establishment, followed by the said

Rania Lister.

"Homespun and hayseed," muttered a muffled figure as he stood in the

recess of a doorway, from which situation he could see each occupant

of the sleigh and hear every syllable that was uttered.

"Homespun and hayseed! ah! my proud beauty, the effervescence of

hayseed is less noxious than the stench odors inhaled from

dissipation and vice, notwithstanding the fact that they are

perfumed over with all the garish compliments and conventional

gallantries that society demands."

Phillip Lawson had a highly-wrought imaginative temperament. He had

not heard more than those few words, but his mind was quick to take

in the whole situation. He could hear the lengthy speeches of

ridicule and sarcasm aimed at him from every possible standpoint,

and he felt the more determined to live down the scathing thoughts.

The man did not hear the reply by Marguerite Verne to her arrogant

sister, but he calmly and slowly repeated the words--"God bless

you, noble girl!" He still had faith in the purity of her mind, and

would have given much to be able to convince her of the fact.

It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that the moment Phillip Lawson

uttered the words above quoted, an almost perfect repetition found

their way into Marguerite's heart, and left a deep impression which

all the taunts of the subtle Evelyn could not shake off. Nor did it

seem strange to her when she fancied that a figure, on the opposite

side of the street, hurrying along at a rapid pace could be none

other than the subject of her thoughts.

* * * * *

"A delightful evening, indeed. It is almost too fine to remain

indoors."

The speaker is none other than Mr. Lawson. He is looking his best in

the neatly-fitting dress suit, with all the little make-ups

necessary to complete a gentleman's evening costume, and while he

leisurely surveys the groups of pretty faces on every side, is also

engaged in entertaining a bewitching little brunette, charmingly

attired in cream veiling and lace, with clusters of lovely damask

roses to enhance the brilliancy of her complexion.

The scene was truly intoxicating. Mrs. Holman, the fashionable belle

of society and wife of one of the leading physicians of the city,

was entertaining a brilliant assemblage of the _elite_. The

informal announcement of her grand "at home" had kept society

in a delightful state of anticipation for the past ten days, and

reality was indeed equal to all that could be devised. The grand

drawing-room, furnished with regard to the beautiful in art, was

certainly a fit receptacle for such an array of beauty and grace.

There was the exquisite blonde, with face of angelic purity; next

came the imperial Cleopatras, with their dusky grandeur of style

rivalling that of empresses; and conspicuous among the latter was

Evelyn Verne. Her amber-satin robes revealed the fact that she was

an adept in the art of dress, and spared no pains to display the

beautifully-rounded form and graceful carriage as she whirled

through the mazes of the waltz, with Montague Arnold as partner.

The latter was indeed a handsome man--one that is sure to attract a

fashionable woman. There is a sarcastic expression lurking around

the well-formed mouth, that has not, to the intelligent mind, a

wholesome tendency; but then there is such a dash of style, and an

amount of gay and charming sentiment in every word, that the

resistless Montague Arnold finds himself an important adjunct to

every gathering representing wealth and prestige.

To an ordinary observer the contrast between Phillip Lawson and the

acknowledged beau of society never appeared more striking, and many

would exclaim, "Well, Lawson is a very nice fellow, but then he is

awkward, and makes a poor appearance in society."

At this moment a familiar and graceful figure engaged the attention

of the young lawyer. Marguerite Verne has been dancing, and

accidentally finds herself seated near the conservatory in which

Phillip stood. He is instantly at her side and it is then that the

real beauty asserts itself--beauty of soul. "Miss Marguerite, I see

you are determined to enjoy yourself, if I may judge by the number

of dances you have already participated in," said the young man,

eager to join in conversation with the gentle but dignified girl.

"Why are you not doing likewise, Mr. Lawson? Now if all the

gentlemen were like you what would be our fate? What an array of

hopeless wallflowers there would be! Really I feel half angry at you

already!--" Marguerite stopped suddenly in her remarks. Hubert

Tracy came to claim her for the next dance, and as she took the arm

of the latter, she quickly turned towards Phillip Lawson exclaiming,

"Remember, I will be back in a few moments to finish what I intended

to say. Indeed you need not think to escape censure so easily;"

while the accompanying ripple of silvery laughter "low and sweet"

were something to contemplate in the happy meantime.

"Mr. Lawson is evidently not intended to be a society man," remarked

Hubert Tracy to his partner, when they had reached the other end of

the room.

"In my opinion he is all the more to be appreciated," returned the

other in a tone of reproof which stung the young man with deep anger

and resentment; but he was too artful to express himself, and from

that moment there entered into his mind a firm resolve to lessen the

high estimate that Marguerite Verne had formed of the would-be

lover.

CHAPTER IV.

A SCENE OF HILARITY.

Several weeks had elapsed since Hubert Tracy had made up his mind to

thwart the man whom he hated with a bitter hate. He was not backward

in expressing his thoughts to the accomplished Mr. Arnold, who

entered into the project heart and soul, and discussed the subject

with all the nonchalance his shallow nature was capable of.

On the evening in question they are seated at a small side-table,

profusely decorated with champagne bottles, glasses, and a few

delicate morsels of refreshments.

"At the bazaar, Dick?" exclaimed Montague, stroking his

artistically-waxed moustache with considerable dexterity.

The individual addressed as Dick was certainly a dude of the

fifteenth degree--his pale-blue pantaloons being sufficient proof

without venturing another glance. His movements, voice and manner

were constant reminders of the excruciating assertion, "I'm a dude."

But of the question.

"Oh! is that you, Arnold? I really did not expect to see you here

to-night. How is business at the governor's? Hear you are making a

bold dash there?"

"Yes, you can bet on that! I'm the white-headed boy there now."

As Arnold was in a short time highly exhilarated by the contents of

the table, he became very communicative, and as his conversation was

not such as would be under the head of pure language, we will leave

him to make merry with his set of jovial companions.

Hubert Tracy was calm and self-possessed. He was too much intent

upon some plans to allow himself to become incapable. He had

"another iron in the fire," to quote his expression as he thought

the matter over to himself, and called upon all the powers unknown

to come to his aid.

It was within a short time that Hubert Tracy had become vitiated in

his moral nature. He had hitherto been known as a good-living young

man--one that respected what was good and pure; but the old, old

story--he fell in with bad company, and almost fell beyond reprieve.

You ask, "Had he a home?" He had, indeed, a home, where all that was

good and pure was daily practised--loving, warm-hearted sisters, and

a fond trusting mother had not the power to drag him back from the

tempting gulf of dissipation and allurement. But we will not say

that their prayers were lost. There was yet a small, still voice,

that would intrude itself upon the young man, and despite his

attempts to silence it forever, would steal upon him in the silent

hour of midnight, and haunt him in the noisy abodes of revelry and

carousal. It even forces itself upon him now as he sits planning a

scheme to outwit his rival. The voice is repeating over and over

again the words "Lawson is a good young man," and they are re-echoed

until Hubert Tracy raises his head and glances around as if to

convince himself of the reality. "A good young man," he murmurs

bitterly; "I was one myself--in the past."

A bitter groan escaped the lips of the speaker as he uttered the

sentence, and his face became stone-like in expression.

"It is of no use; I must not give up. The fellow is good; but what

is that to me now? If he win the day, I am lost forever--for it is

only through her I will be a better man--and surely, with Lawson's

nature, he would willingly make the sacrifice. But here I am,

moralizing like a preacher," cried the young man, as he arose and

began pacing up and down the floor in an excited manner. "By heaven!

it won't do to give up! If I ever expect to be a better man I must

first fall still lower!"

A strange method of reasoning indeed! But a striking illustration of

the fact that degenerate natures have always some loop-hole to crawl

through in order to shield themselves from just reproach.

Hubert Tracy had not sufficient moral courage to take upon himself

the responsibility of his actions. He had not faith to strike out on

the path of right, and with a sense of his own helplessness, turn to

Providence for his guide. Oh no, he could not see ahead of him with

an honest hopefulness; but instead "an ever-during dark surrounds

him," and he, with all the cowardice of his nature, consoles himself

with the thought that the nobility of Phillip Lawson is apology for

his base actions.

It was after such reverie that Hubert Tracy bethought himself of an

engagement he had made to join a number of acquaintances at a whist

party. He straightened himself up and cast a glance in the mirror

opposite to see if he would "pass muster" in a crowd. "Guess I'm all

right," he exclaimed, stroking his fingers through the masses of

chestnut curls that clung so prettily around his well-shaped head.

"Halloo, Tracy, not going so soon? The night's young yet, boy! Come,

sit down and have some of the 'rosy,'" shouted a rubicund-faced

youth, with a generous proportion of carrotty hair crowning his low

flat forehead.

"Sit down Tracy," exclaimed another, slapping him on the back by way

of accompaniment to the words: "We'll not go home till morning,"

which song the whole company began to roar in a style more forcible

than artistic.

When the last strains of music had spent its force and a general

interchange of silly speeches had been made, the young man once more

rose to go, but a youth with broad Scotch accent seized him by the

arm exclaiming: "Don't go yet, Tracy dear; for if ye do, ye need'nt

come back here."

"A poet of the first water," cried a voice from behind, at which all

joined in another roar of laughter, which reached its climax when a

feminine-looking youth exclaimed, "What a pity the government have

not discovered such talent! they would surely have him for poet

laureate."

Before quiet was again restored Tracy took advantage of the occasion

to cover his retreat, and hastily gained a small side entrance which

led to the suspicious-looking alley not many yards from a very

public thoroughfare. Having reached the street without any serious

apprehension, he then set off at a rapid pace in the direction of

his lodging.

A careful toilet, including some necessary antidotes, and we find

the subject of our remarks an honored guest in one of the luxurious

drawing-rooms in the city. Not a trace of the recent association is

visible as Mr. Tracy takes his seat at a whist-table with an

interesting and amiable young lady for partner.

"What a brilliant young man Mr. Tracy is," remarked an anxious mamma

to a lady sitting near, who also was on the _qui vive_ for an

eligible _parti_ in the capacity of a son-in-law.

"Don't you think Miss Simpkins is very forward; just see how she is

flirting with Mr. Tracy. I'm glad she is no relation of mine."

Miss Dorothy Strong had ventured the above speech in hopes of

testing the _strong_ tendencies of her audience. She was a

spinster of youthful pretension, and invariably took occasion to

condemn any such exhibition on the part of others a dozen years her

junior. Not meeting any remonstrance she made quite a speech on the

familiarity of young ladies, their want of dignity, and ended in a

grand peroration upon the conceit of the young men, their vicious

habits and all short-comings she could bring to bear upon the

subject.

But Miss Dorothy's speech was unhappily chosen, and therefore "lost

its sweetness upon a desert air."

"Sour grapes," whispered a pretty miss of sixteen to her elder

sister, as they stood apart from the others and watched the effect

of the oration.

As we glance towards the said Miss Simpkins and watch the game for a

few moments, we feel certain that Hubert Tracy is not deeply

concerned whether he win or lose. He is evidently studying a deeper

game--one on which he would willingly stake all he possessed.

"Now, Mr. Tracy, that was mine as it lay!" cried his partner,

somewhat petulantly, as she noted the mistake.

"Never mind this time; I will look out better again," said the

culprit, his penitential look being sufficient apology for a more

grievous offence.

"If I didn't know you better, Tracy, I would say you were in love,"

exclaimed a fashionable young man, engaged as bookkeeper in one of

the largest wholesale firms in the city.

"You seem to have great confidence in your own opinion, Mr.

Berkeley," retorted Miss Simpkins, who, be it said, was a girl of

much moral stamina, having an aversion to conceited young men, and

let no opportunity slip when she could give a home-thrust.

"Pray don't be so captious, Lottie; I am certain that Mr. Berkeley's

opinions are always founded on correct observation," timidly

ventured a mild-looking little woman, whose speech had no other

motive than a desire to throw oil on troubled waters.

As the game progressed, the party became more interested, and after

an hour or more thus engaged Miss Simpkins was congratulated on her

run of good luck; and Mr. Tracy, to show his appreciation of her

ability, turned out some pretty compliments.

"Where is Mr. Arnold to-night, Mr. Tracy?" asked one of the guests,

as the party stood in the hall making their adieux to the hostess.

"I cannot say," replied the young man, tugging at his great coat

with more vehemence than was necessary, but affording relief to hide

this oracular reply.

"Oh! you need not ask that question," exclaimed a voice near; "we

all know that he is at 'Sunnybank,' paying his devoirs to the

peerless Evelyn." The speaker was a young lady, and the tone of this

speech intimated that jealousy was at the bottom of it. But there

was another side to the story. Turning to Hubert Tracy, with an air

of playful badinage, the young lady continued: "And I believe that

Miss Marguerite has a lover too. Surely, Mr. Tracy, you must know

about it for you are on intimate terms with the family. You can

enlighten us upon the subject."

Hubert Tracy was master of his feelings, but he had difficulty to

suppress himself. An opportune bustle among some of the other guests

gave him time to reply in a cool and wholly indifferent manner which

would turn their attention to another source.

It was only when this would-be suitor had thrown off the mask of

studied indifference that he began to realize the state of his mind.

"It will never be," he cried, in a fit, half-anger, half-emotional,

as he paced his room during the silent hours that precede the dawn.

"I don't want to injure the fellow in any other way. Arnold says

wipe him out; but--heavens! those words--he is a good young man!

what makes them haunt me! It seems as if my mother and the dear

girls at home are repeating them to me: Why was I not dragged up,

instead of living hourly under the influence of a sainted mother and

devoted self-sacrificing sisters? Ah! young man; it is a hard

struggle for you to fall when you think of 'Home, sweet home!'"

Such was the soliloquy of Hubert Tracy as he sat himself down in a

half-desperate state and commenced writing a letter with that

nervous haste which showed he was anxious to get rid of the

disagreeable task at once. After the envelope had been addressed the

writer gave a sigh of relief, and rising from his seat, exclaimed:

"Heavens! I would rather than a fortune it was over with!"

Despite the fact that curiosity has been defined "the lowest emotion

of the soul," we cannot forbear glancing over the content of the

letter which seemed to affect the writer so deeply. It ran thus:--

ST. JOHN, Jan. 25th, 188-.

_Dear Friend_,--Intended to write you some days ago, but am now

at fever heat, and manufacture my thoughts accordingly. Going to

make no excuse, but come to the point right off. You heard the

report about Lawson. It is too true, and if I cannot choke him off

somehow, it is all up with me. I want to get the fellow out of the

way. Can you secure that site for him instead of poor Jim Watters?

If we can only get that deuced sprig of the law entrapped out there,

some goodly stroke of malaria may come to the rescue, and I can

breathe the grateful fog with double freedom. "Give the devil his

due," I believe the fellow is a veritable Mark Tapley--jolly under

all circumstances--and will in the end thank us for giving him a

change of climate and the vicissitudes of life so invigorating to

his athletic and muscular composition. Much depends upon you to

think and act at once. Saw that "drummer" yesterday; not a bad sort

of a fellow. He speaks well of you--says you are a tramp. Go to

headquarters on receipt of this and write immediately. If Lawson can

be induced to go, my prayers will follow you for life.

Yours in dilemma, H. T.

This epistle--disconnected and vague as it seems--needed no further

explanation on the part of the writer. The recipient was acquainted

with the whole history of Hubert Tracy's career and also that of

Montague Arnold.

It is necessary to add that while this correspondence was being

carried on, that Hubert Tracy was a daily caller at Mr. Lawson's

office, and without any apparent effort, had the satisfaction of

knowing that the young lawyer was much attracted by his engaging

manners and persuasive tongue.

It had been considered somewhat strange that a man of Lawson's

integrity should look with favor upon a gay youth whose preferences

were ever on the side of conviviality, but many wise-headed seniors

said that the influence might be exerted upon the other side and

Tracy would thank heaven for the star which guided him thither.

It was surprising how many little attentions were paid our young

lawyer from the fact of the newly-formed friendship, and how many

consultations were held as regards a promising field which glittered

before the eye of the hopeful aspirant. A wide range of labor lay

within his grasp, and Phillip Lawson was not made of the stuff to

lose a prize when it could be attained at any cost of self-sacrifice

and personal feeling. With herculean effort he shakes off the bitter

thoughts that hourly intrude within the privacy of his own heart,

and armed with all the moral courage and true heroism of his soul he

goes forth into the world's conflicts a noble defender of the rights

of true manhood!

CHAPTER V.

MORNING CALLS--"GLADSWOOD."

A bevy of fair and interesting young girls are grouped around

Marguerite Verne in the spacious bay-window of the library. One, a

bewitching brunette, dressed in slight mourning, is indeed a pretty

picture to contemplate. Louise Rutherford possesses a face and form

which bespeaks a high degree of idealism--an aesthetic nature that

is lofty and inspiring. As she turns toward the fair young hostess,

there is an expressive look of sympathy that leads one to know they

are firm friends.

"It is no use to say anything against it if _you two_ have made

up your minds," exclaimed a good-natured looking maiden of

seventeen, who had been trying to convince her audience that they

had not selected the most fashionable characters for the coming

parlor entertainment.

"That's just what I always have said, Mattie. You know well what

Damon proposes Pythias will ever agree to," ventured another devotee

with a "cute" little face, tiny hands and tiny feet, with decisive

tone and dignity of manner showing that she was beyond the ordinary

type of girlhood, whose highest ambition is to have a good time,

cheat her teachers out of as many lessons as she can, and walk,

skate and dance, with a train of admirers ever at her command.

Helen Rushton was a native of Halifax and had been bred upon

strictly conservative principles, but there was an innate generosity

of heart that converted them into a happy medium.

She had relatives in St. John, and hearing much of its advantages

And disadvantages, had accepted an invitation to see for herself,

And now, after six months had been passed amid the grateful breezes

and invigorating fog, she dreaded the approaching season, which

demanded her return home.

Marguerite Verne was indeed the crowning deity on that happy

morning, as she replied to the many little speeches intended for her

benefit, and as the color came and went she was truly worthy of all

the admiration then and there bestowed.

She is in striking contrast to Louise Rutherford whose black

cashmere costume forms an effective back-ground.

Marguerite's delicate cream-colored morning robe is also relieved by

the shades of garnet worn by the others.

Much real happiness is exhibited as one looks upon every countenance

within the radius of her smiles. No jealousy lurks upon the brow of

any. Thrice happy Marguerite! The secret of making others happy lies

within the confines of your own unselfish nature!

"Well, girls, I declare, you have not told me one bit of news.

Surely there must be something going on worth talking about,"

exclaimed a new comer who had pounced in upon the company _sans

ceremonie_.

"Nothing much, Josie," returned Marguerite, "we have just been

having an old-fashioned chat, and I am not sorry to say gossip has

been at a discount."

"Oh, you bad girl! Now, had that been Louise I would have been

'hoppin', but, girls, you see, we take everything from Madge."

"Yes, anything from her is worth coming from Halifax to hear,"

exclaimed Helen Rushton, rising from her position and crossing over

to the range of bookshelves that adorned the opposite walls.

"Well, it's no use; I'm out of my element here. I can't get up to

your high-toned talk. Look at Louise--reminds one of a Roman

empress--and you, my self-conceited Haligonian, must follow suit;

was there ever such a set?" The manner in which this speech was

dictated set the circle in a roar of laughter, and Josie Jordan felt

repaid seventy-times-seven.

"Helen is going to leave us soon. That is news," exclaimed Louise

Rutherford, glancing at the incorrigible Josie.

"But bad news," chimed in Marguerite.

"Not going home so soon, Helen," ventured Josie, with an earnest,

inquiring glance.

"I am only going to Fredericton, or the Celestial City, as it is

generally called," said the other in reply.

"Pardon me, Helen, but the manner in which you say that word only

would lead one to suppose you did not entertain a high opinion of

our seat of government. I have been there during several sessions,

and I always felt sorry when the time was up, and the M.P.P.'s and

their families turned their faces homeward."

The speaker was Louise Rutherford--her face aglow with an

enthusiasm, called up by those pleasing associations which gave rise

to her speech.

"Louise Rutherford," said Helen Rushton, the color mounting higher

in her cheeks, "you misinterpret my thoughts. If I have not

sufficient command of the powers of speech to express myself without

blunder, you should not attribute it to want of charity. Indeed,"

added the girl, with more than due emphasis, "if, for no other

reason, I should speak respectfully of the place, from the fact that

I have very dear friends there."

"Josie, this is all your doings," cried Marguerite, raising her hand

in a menacing gesture and trying playfully to restore quiet.

"I'm always bent upon mischief," cried Josie, her eyes sparkling

with merriment. "Indeed, at home, I am treated to that highly-

seasoned speech every hour of the day, and now I don't think I could

live without it."

"Helen, my dear, I did not"--"think to shed a tear in all my

miseries," shouted Josie, in a stagy and tragic style, and then,

'twixt laughter and song, attempted a series of courtesies worthy a

star actress.

"Why did you interrupt Louise when she was going to say something

good?" asked Marguerite in a half-reproachful tone.

"Just because I want no scenes until to-morrow evening, when Miss

Louise Rutherford and Miss Rushton will not display their histrionic

ability to a desert air."

"Hear! hear!" cried a voice from without, and instantly a promising

youth dashed in _sans ceremonie_, claiming all the familiarity

due a younger brother.

Fred. Verne's arrival changed the current of conversation. Louise

and Helen were soon interested in the costumes to be worn at the

theatricals, and Marguerite's good taste was always to be consulted

on such occasions.

"Madge is a genius of the first order. Charlie and the boys all

swear by her, and say she would beat the fellow that invented the

carnivals."

"Fred, do be moderate," cried Marguerite; who at the same moment

could not repress a feeling of pride in the boy's earnestness and

filial affection.

But Fred, was not to be gainsaid, and edged in his witticisms with

an air of infinite satisfaction. Trinity chimed out the hour of

twelve, and served as a reminder for the withdrawal of the guests.

Josie had succeeded in getting up a first-class encounter with the

indomitable Fred, and then beat a hasty retreat, utterly regardless

of the least approach to etiquette.

"I will see you again before you go away, Helen?"

"Yes, my dear Madge," cried the other putting her arms around

Marguerite in a sweet caressing manner, "and I shall have one more

chat that will last until I see your dear old face again."

Marguerite Verne stood in the outer doorway waving adieu and

throwing tokens of affection to the two young girls until they had

crossed Queen Square and were lost to view.

On returning to her room a formidable array of letters lay awaiting

their owner.

A glance at the address of each was sufficient. Marguerite rapidly

seized a large square and heavy one from among the number and very

soon devoured its contents. It came from "cousin Jennie Montgomery,"

a genuine and true hearted girl whom Marguerite loved as a sister.

Mrs. Montgomery was a sister of Mrs. Verne but never was nature

known to indulge in so many freaks as when she bestowed such

relationship.

"Gladswood," the comfortable and happy home of the Montgomerys, was

indeed no misnomer; for in this beautiful and sylvan retreat every

heart was truly made glad and every guest only felt sad when the

summons of duty suggested departure.

Marguerite Verne never had too many society demands upon her to

neglect correspondence with cousin Jennie, and she was more than

delighted on this morning to hear such glowing accounts of

"Gladswood" and its inmates. On the situation of this charming

country seat we might exhaust pages and never weary of the effort.

It stood on a rising knoll surrounded by the picturesque scenery of

Sussex Vale. Here was that enchanting beauty of nature in which the

most aesthetic soul might revel. In the months of summer the verdure

was "a thing of beauty." Luxuriant meadows showered with golden

buttercups, alternating with patches of highly-scented red and white

clover, while the air seemed freighted with the balsamic odor of the

crowning foliage. But the foliage of "Gladswood"! We have no powers

capable of description. The majestic maples, stately willows and

graceful elms were grouped with an effect that baffled the mind of

man. And the interfacings of soft feathery furze, moss and ferns.

Surely this spot must have been in the mystic ages one grand

amphitheatre for the sylvan deities. And the stately manor-house,

for such it much resembles with its quaint wings and irregular

outbuildings. Its old-fashioned windows, tall chimneys, projecting

eaves and arched doorway have an inviting appearance and impresses

one with the fact that there are still some substantial homes--some

reminder of the past.

And now we come to the mistress of "Gladswood." While she is

carefully pruning some choice specimens of ferns growing on the

shady side of the doorway, we take advantage of the situation, and

hence the result: Mrs. Montgomery is a matronly-looking woman, of

about forty-five years of age, perhaps less; for the abundant mass

of dark chestnut hair reveals not one silvery thread. One glance is

sufficient. Never was character more cleverly delineated than upon

this woman's face. There, in bold relief, is the deep penetrative

mind--one that has power to read the masses as they pass before her

mental vision. Her's is the heart that opens wide to the one crushed

and broken by the uncharitable sect called "the world." Her's is the

hand ready to help the suffering and support the tottering. The

shoddyisms of modern every-day life have no charms for Mrs.

Montgomery. Woe be to the victim who comes under her censure. She

has no mercy upon those who are under a daily strain to cater to the

usages of society.

Let us see good, honest and noble-minded men and women, and then

will follow all those accomplishments that are really necessary.

Jennie Montgomery had early imbibed those principles, and in her we

see a striking illustration of this truth.

But in our praise of the mistress we must not forget to introduce

the master.

Mr. Montgomery is not the sort of man one would naturally associate

with his energetic and self-reliant helpmate. There is a lack of

shrewdness and an utter want of that keen discriminating power,

which can give at first glance the full numerical value of all

exterior objects. The owner of "Gladswood" belonged to that

"come-easy-go-easy" class, who, unless circumstances come to their

relief, are ever being duped or made a prey to the avaricious. But

Mr. Montgomery had a source of never-failing strength in his wife.

"Had William Montgomery married a different kind of wife he would

have become a poor man," had grown into a proverb regarding matters

at "Gladswood." All business transactions and pecuniary affairs

always received the approval of Mrs. Montgomery before they took

effect; while each and every individual about the farm well

understood the business-like capacity of their respected mistress.

But it must not be supposed that Mrs. Montgomery was the ruling

spirit of "Gladswood." She displayed no strong-minded nor

dictatorial manner; no arrogant gestures or inclinations to

combativeness; but seemed as one endowed with the happy faculty

of presenting herself at the right time and right place, and by

her motherly counsel to superintend the working of her household

in a perfect and unconscious manner.

There are several younger members of this family, but as they are

not necessary throughout the work we will not make mention of them

here.

On the morning when Marguerite Verne sat in the luxurious crimson

velvet arm-chair reading Cousin Jennie's letter, the latter was

engaged in fashioning some dainty scraps of wool and silk into

various little knick-knacks for a bazaar.

The pupils in attendance at the common school were anxious to

procure some extra apparatus for the hall, and having received much

assistance from the young ladies of the district, entered into the

work with a will.

Jennie Montgomery was a host in herself. A bright, amiable girl of

eighteen, with robust constitution, sunny disposition, and step

elastic as a fairy. She was, indeed, an ornament to her home and

also to the community.

Jennie was not a beauty--had not the least pretentions to one. Her

dark complexion was pure and health-like; but it was not heightened

by that peachy bloom peculiar to brunette's, instead only a warm,

bright and ruddy hue, which some might consider as approaching the

rustic. Her eyes, as they sparkle with delight at the pretty array

of bright colors, might not be admired as of the poetic or ideal

type, but in their depths lurks a keen and significant expression of

the peculiarly intelligent and earnest appeal that seldom speaks in

vain. The neat and cosy parlor, with its many articles of female

handiwork, speak for the taste and talent displayed by this

interesting girl. The pretty sketches of familiar haunts near her

loved home showed that genius had stamped the brow of Jennie

Montgomery, and inspired her with a deep enthusiasm for the

beautiful and sublime.

Presently she rises from the work table, and opening a door leading

to the balcony, stands for some moments gazing in mute admiration

upon the lovely view of Sussex Vale, wrapped in its mantle of purest

white, reflected in the sunshine as a vast expanse of frosted

silver.

CHAPTER VI.

A LAWYER'S REVERIE--A VERDANT CLIENT.

A dismal dreary day. The fog had crept slowly over the city and

enveloped every object within its reach. There was fog clinging to

turrets, spires and towers, fog in the streets, fog in the alleys,

fog in the ditches--all was fog. It hurried along utterly regardless

of the delicate fabrics that were ruthlessly despoiled by its touch,

musing now and then, doubtlessly, on the ingratitude of the fair

daughters of St. John who, in the possession of their clear and

brilliant complexions forgot to give thanks to the great enhancer.

In the midst of this fog many pedestrians are wandering to and fro,

crowding the streets, hurrying along the wharves, hailing vehicles,

accosting their friends, and in fact as perfectly happy in their

surroundings as though the cheerful, sunshine were illuminating all

visible space.

Passing along Prince William street as far as Chubb's Corner we see

a familiar form--it is Phillip Lawson. He is enveloped in a gray

Mackintosh and his soft felt hat is worn with an air of careless

ease that is more becoming than otherwise.

"Chubb's Corner" had lost its charm for the young lawyer. He did not

stop to consult stocks, exchanges, debentures or any such business,

but merely nodding to an acquaintance or so crossed the street and

wended his steps to the lawyers' nests--nests from the fact that in

this, locality they hatched all the schemes by which to victimize

their unwary clients.

But of our friend. He gained his apartments, and throwing aside the

outer garment, sat down at his desk and drawing his hand across his

forehead, began to think. "I want to see nobody for the next hour,"

murmured the young man, his brows contracting as he spoke.

A deep shade settled upon the usually mild countenance. A question

of momentous importance was to be decided. "To be or not to be" was

the final answer. Each solution involved a corresponding number of

conflicting doubts and anxieties, and left scarcely any choice in

the mind of the reasoner.

"No doubt it's a good field for a beginner in life. St. John has

more lawyers than would start a colony. Some of us must go to the

wall, and I don't fancy being one of that number."

This was the sunny side of Phillip's reflection. He was trying to

cheat himself into the belief that "green fields and pastures new"

were panacea for all other grievances, and that that was the goal of

his ambition.

"Yes, it's a good 'spec'; but why is the fellow so anxious for me to

get it? Still I would like to hear more of the matter before I

question the motives."

The young lawyer was aware of the fact that Hubert Tracy had been

using his influence for another a short time previous, and he could

not see his motives for such change of opinion. True, a sudden

intimacy had sprung up between them, but the subject had been

hitherto mentioned and acted upon; therefore the last reason formed

no groundwork for his convictions.

Occasionally a dark thought crossed Phillip Lawson's mind. Can the

fellow be honest? I cannot bear to think ill of a fellow-man, and I

must not now. I know that Tracy is not what he might be, yet he has

a kind heart and what's the use of my talking, who is faultless?

"Let him that is without sin cast the first stone."

It was here that the beauty of Phillip Lawson's character showed

itself. The young man was a Christian. He had always cherished the

principles of true piety, and as he repeated over the words of Him

who was the friend of sinners, it was in tones of sublime

tenderness.

Instantly a second thought flashed across his mind--he had an

acquaintance--a member of a legal firm in that newly-founded city in

the Northwest. He, therefore, made up his mind to write at an early

date and make all the necessary inquiries.

Having settled his mind upon this point another subject presented

itself to our friend, and from the sudden flash of his grey eyes one

would imagine that it was of an electrifying nature.

It is one, which, from the remote ages, has had power to magnetize,

humanize and civilize; it is the power which makes man what he

should be--love--that short word of four letters--what a world of

thought it embraces--it held the heart of Phillip Lawson at will,

and despite his power of self-control he was often the victim of its

vagaries.

But the lawyer had not long time to indulge in such thoughts. A

knock aroused him.

"Come-in."

A stalwart looking youth of muscular build (with suit of grey

homespun not cut exactly in the proportions of that of a dude) stood

upon the threshold with a look upon his florid face that betrayed

some embarrassment.

"You be Mr. Lawson the lawyer, sir."

"Yes, sir," said the young practitioner, a smile lighting up his

face and making him an interlocutor not to be dreaded by the most

unsophisticated client.

"'Spose I needn't ask, be you pretty well posted in law?" queried

the individual on taking his seat, at the same time pulling out an

enormous expanse of red and yellow cotton, called by way of courtesy

a handkerchief, which he vigorously switched across his face as

though a swarm of mosquitoes were on the aggressive, and kept the

field unflinchingly.

"What is the cause of complaint, sir?" ventured the interested

lawyer, scarcely able to repress a smile.

"Well, sir, to come to the pint at once, as you fellers allus happin

to say, since I was knee-hight of a grasshopper I had a hankerin'

after the law, and allus envied tother fellers when they'd to go to

the 'Squire's on trials, and I tell you they thought themselves some

punkins when they got a day's wages for goin'"--

"Of your question at issue," interrupted our legal friend, "I mean

on what point do you wish to consult me, sir?"

"Well, sir, as I told you before, I'm comin' straight to the pint,"

replied the youth, giving the aforesaid bandana a more vigorous

switch in the direction of his interrogator, then continued, "and,

firstly (as them lecturin' fellers say) I allus thought I'd like

mighty well to have a trial myself, and bring some un up to the

scratch; and I've jest got my wish, and if it costs all dad's worth

I'll make 'em sweat!

"Are you a minor, sir?" demanded the lawyer.

"No, sir; I'm no relative to them _miners_, nor don't want to

be, tho' Sally Ann is allus taggin' arter me, and would like

terrible well to hitch on to me; but I tell you, 'Squire, I'm not so

green as they think, though I'm mighty fond of buckwheat."

This last speech was too much tax on the risibility of the

"'Squire," as familiarly dubbed by the would-be client, and after

some merriment, explained the tenor of his question, assuring the

youth that it bore no allusion to "Sally Ann."

After the young lawyer had taxed his ingenuity to draw the verdant

client "to the point" he learned that the cause of complaint was

directed against one Joshua Jones, who had given himself an

invitation to haul off some cedar poles claimed to be the property

of the said Mose Spriggins, and the said Mose wished indemnification

right speedily.

"Tell you what 'Squire I'll put him fur as the law will carry it,

and if you can slap on plenty of cost 'Squire, it'll do me more good

than eaten my supper."

"I shall do the best I can for you sir," said the young man,

carefully noting the points which Mose brought to bear on the

matter.

"Well now 'Squire, suppose you want your wages for this 'eer job.

What's your price?"

Mose now produced a complicated piece of mechanism from his

expansive waistcoat pocket. It might have been constructed for a

three-fold purpose--for money, pipes and tobacco. The odoriferous

exhalation giving strong evidence of the latter commodity.

"Well 'Squire, you fellers earn your livin' mighty easy," exclaimed

Mose, tendering the five dollar bill into the lawyer's hand.

The latter smiled, pocketed the fee and commenced writing the letter

to the defendant Joshua Jones.

"Now sir, if this thing works well, I don't grudge ye the money

'Squire, and any time I have somethin' more in the law business I'll

throw it your way, for I think you a squarer sort of a chap than

them ere gang further up the street. I tell you they're sharpers,

they fleeced dad last summer and I wasn't agoin' to be so green, eh

'Squire?"

"Well Mr. Spriggins, I shall always try to work to your satisfaction

any time you are in need of advice," returned our friend, rising

from the desk and going toward the window.

Mr. Spriggins thought he would soon be ready for "startin'" and also

rose up, in the meantime depositing the before-mentioned wallet in

his waistcoat pocket. Silence reigned in the lawyer's office for

three minutes, when the door was reopened and Mose Spriggins'

rubicund face once more adorned the apartment.

"Say, 'Squire, aint there a new kind of insurance consarn 'round

these diggins? I'm thinkin' of gittin' my life insured--not 'cause

there's any kinsumption in our fam'ly, only there's no tellin' when

a feller might peg out. Tell you, 'Squire, I'm sound as a bell."

Mr. Spriggins turned himself around for inspection, and shrugged his

broad shoulders with an air of evident self-esteem.

A lengthy speech might have followed, but our legal friend averted

the catastrophe by informing his client that the Dominion Safety

Fund office was close at hand, and with quiet mien escorted the said

Mr. Spriggins to the door.

A genial "come in" answered the summons of the applicant, and in

another chapter we will be able to inform the reader how the

veritable Mr. Spriggins was sent home rejoicing from the fact that

he had become insured in the Safety Fund.

Phillip Lawson was re-established at his desk, and not wishing to

allow his thoughts to wander to the subject which had hitherto

occupied them, took up a novel that lay upon the opposite shelf. It

was one of George Eliot's masterpieces--Daniel Deronda. Its depth of

thought and richness in the sublime and beautiful theories as

regards the Jewish dispensation had a charm for the talented

scholar, and he read for more than an hour, deeply buried in the

inspired words of the gifted author--one who will occupy a deep

niche in the inmost recesses of all hearts, so long as the

literature bearing her impress shall make its way in all tongues and

through every clime! Presently a light, well-known step greets the

reader's ears, and a trim little maiden, with waterproof, heavy

boots, and umbrella in the foreground, presents herself upon terms

of much familiarity.

"And my dear old Phillip, how happy you look in here! Why, its

fearfully disagreeable out to-day, and you look as contented as if

the room was heated only by the sunshine, while I am really

shivering with the dampness and fog."

"Well, little woman, what brought you out to-day?" exclaimed the

indulgent brother, stroking the fair hair of his pet sister as she

stood beside him, looking into his face with a look of pure

devotion--a look which showed that her brother was her world, and in

his face shone all that was good and true in her eyes.

Lottie Lawson was a child of a sweet and tender nature. She had been

watched over by a model mother, and this earnest mother's prayers

had not fallen unanswered.

"God grant that the woman be a living realization of the child," was

the fervent prayer that dwelt upon Phillip Lawson's lips, as he drew

the child towards him and tenderly kissed the fair forehead.

"You wonder why I am out to-day, brother Phillip; I came on a

message from Kitty."

The latter was the house-maid, and the young man smiled as he

thought of the force of character which constituted this efficient

maid of all works.

"Oh, I see now, there is some excuse for you. What are Miss Kitty's

demands to-day?"

"She is having a new dress made and wished me to select some samples

for trimmings, and as she wants to wear the dress home next Sunday,

I had to go to-day."

"Yes, that is all right; Kitty's wishes must be attended to," said

Phillip, with an air of much gravity.

"Will you soon be ready to go with me Phillip. I shall wait for you.

It is just such a day as needs your dear old self to drive the gloom

from the back parlor."

The little maiden had not long to wait for an answer, as the young

lawyer took down his mackintosh, and in a very short time the

pair were to be seen walking at a quick pace along Charlotte

street, through King Square and out beyond the limits of the old

church-yard.

A neat and cosy cottage is reached, and a tidy looking domestic

answers the summons and smiles graciously as the coveted samples are

placed in her hand while she receives a full explanation of the

prices and the additional advice of Miss Lottie thrown in as extras.

The cottage has an air of neatness throughout. Its windows filled

with choice plants and gorgeous foliage lend a charm that impresses

one with the taste of the inmates. The spotless purity of the muslin

curtains and the transparency of the windows bespeak the thorough

cleanliness and comfort of this home-like little nest. And the

inviting parlor: it's furniture was neither elegant nor costly. The

plain mahogany chairs and straight-backed old-fashioned sofa were

well preserved. Not a particle of dust could be seen without the aid

of a microscope. And the beautifully polished andirons which had

done service in the family for many years, and seemed to assume an

air of importance over the less attractive articles grouped around.

A pretty little work-table with writing-desk combined stood at the

left side of the hearth. It was a gift from Phillip Lawson to sister

Lottie. It was the child's favorite seat, and that fact repaid the

brother more than the most extravagant praise.

The upright piano was not neglected. Piles of music lay near, and

the well-worn rug beneath showed that music had its charms for the

members of this household.

Reader, we will not weary you with minute details, but merely say,

such was the home of Phillip Lawson. In this abode he could look

back to a country home, with which, as the haughty Evelyn Verne

said, "you could associate hayseed." But did that fact lesson the

reputation of this gifted scholar?

Nay; the sons of the soil are in reality the "lords of creation."

They have the first and highest calling, and ere the proud beauty

had passed through all the ordeals of life, she hastily repented of

the bitter and sarcastic words.

CHAPTER VII.

ADVERSITY.

As our legal friend occupies a prominent part in our story we will

endeavor to give such explanation as will enable the reader to form

a true estimate of his character.

Phillip Lawson was indeed the son of a farmer--a man who had, by

honest industry and untiring perseverance, made a comfortable home

for his family in one of the frontier settlements of Carleton

County--that truly agricultural locality where nature has done so

much to assist the sons of toil--that county where the crops are

almost spontaneous, and where none need be ill off, unless through

misfortune or mismanagement.

"The Lawson farm" was the abode of comfort and happiness. Thrift

greeted the eye on every side--from the well-filled barns to the

unbroken range of fences, through which a sheep could not crawl, nor

even could the most "highlariously" inclined Ayrshire be tempted to

try the pass.

The neat farmhouse, with its bright coat of paint, was the

attraction of the district, and was just such a place as would be

besieged by all the lecturers, agents, and travellers that happened

to strike oil in this direction. Nor were they ever disappointed.

Mrs. Lawson was truly wife, mother and friend. None passed her door

without the hospitality they craved.

"It is a wonder to me how the Lawson's stand it," was often the

comments of the less hospitable neighbors, as they watched with no

uncommon curiosity the daily arrival of some unexpected guest.

"The more we give the more we'll have," was the wise mother's reply

as she sometimes heard complaints from the female portion of the

household as regards the extra work.

It had always been the highest ambition of John Lawson that his

family should grow up industrious men and women and that they should

each receive all the benefits of education that lay within his

power.

In his eldest son he saw much ability and also a mind logical and

argumentative, and he had fully resolved that the boy should be

educated and trained for the legal profession. And the farmer

"plodded his weary way homeward" each day buoyed up with the

thought that he was doing his duty towards his family and above

all towards his God.

"But man proposes and God disposes."

Ere the young student had finished his collegiate course the

fond parent was called to his long home, and within a year the

heart-broken mother was re-united in that world where sorrow

never comes; where she awaits a further re-union, when she shall

once more gather to her bosom the loved forms whom she watches

over in anxious solicitude from the portals of her blessed abode. It

was from this time that the noble minded youth was aroused to a

sense of his duty. He must not give up the course of action which

had been laid out for him.

What was to be done?

Sickness and death had told heavily upon the pecuniary resources of

the family. Much of the produce had to go to pay the wages of

labourers, and only by dint of much anxiety and careful management

could the farm be made to cover expenses. Something further must be

done.

Julia Lawson had reached her sixteenth year, and possessing more

than ordinary ability, resolved to prepare for the vocation of

teaching; and within a year from the time she had formed such

resolution, was actually engaged as teacher of the school in their

immediate district.

This fact gave Phillip Lawson much relief of mind, as the young

teacher could still have a care over the household, and give advice

to the two younger children under her charge. The young student

having received his degree at the N. B. University next turned his

thoughts towards the law.

While spending a few weeks at home to assist in the farm-work,

he received a letter from an old friend of his father. Nothing

could exceed the joy of this young man as he read and re-read the

kind-hearted proposal from one of St. John's most able and popular

lawyers, praying that the son of his old friend engage to enter as a

student in his office.

"The Lord will provide," was the earnest comment of the reader, as

he folded the missive and laid it away between the leaves of his

wallet.

But means were necessary as well. Phillip had, much against his

inclination, to raise money by a mortgage upon the farm. He had

often heard it said that a property once mortgaged was never

redeemed, and the thought gave much concern. But the old maxim,

"Where there's a will, there's a way," was ever rising uppermost in

his mind, and he was doubly resolved to make the trial.

A few weeks later the student is at his desk, poring over the dry

documents and legal lore. On his brow is determination and disregard

of difficulties.

Phillip Lawson soon became a general favorite. His generous nature

and frank manners won the esteem of his fellow students, and also

that of the senior members of the firm.

"Lawson will make a mark some day--he has it in him," was the first

remark passed upon the student as the eagle-eyed solicitor glanced

at the son of his friend, whose thoughts were intent upon the copy

of Blackstone before him.

Things went on prosperously at the homestead; and as the student had

succeeded in increasing his means by giving evening lessons to a

class of young men, he felt comforted and assured that in the end

all would come out right.

But a heavy blow had suddenly fallen upon the Lawson family--typhoid

fever came into the household and prostrated the noble-minded Julia

upon a bed of suffering.

Uncomplainingly she had watched her pet sister through all the

stages of this dread disease, until the child had been pronounced

out of danger. It was then that outraged nature asserted itself and

the worn-out system was not equal to the strain--she succumbed to

the raging and delirious fever an object of deep and tender pity.

"God help me," cried Phillip Lawson, in despairing tones as he read

the letter conveying the news in as mild a form as possible. "If

Julia lives I shall never be separated from her again," were the

reproachful thoughts that forced themselves upon the affectionate

brother.

Need we speak of the agonizing hours spent in the dread suspense

that followed.

In the midnight watches as the hours dragged slowly by, the young

student was silently learning to "suffer and be strong." And it was

well that these lessons took deep root in good soil, for within a

few weeks Phillip Lawson knelt beside the dying bed of his beloved

sister, and in heart-broken accents commending her departing spirit

to the loving Saviour.

Ah, such a scene is too sacred for intrusion; but it is only by such

means that we can realize the true value of our esteemed friend.

And as the last sod had been placed upon Julia Lawson's grave, and

the flowers that she loved strewn over it by loving hands, we cannot

move from the spot.

It is scenes like those that teach us what we are, so long as there

is the least impress of the Divine in our nature will we look to

those scenes as mile-stones on our journey through life.

Kneeling beside the sacred spot the grief-stricken brother was

utterly unconscious of our presence. With tearless eyes he gazed

upon the mound that held the remains of her he loved so fondly.

Who will not say that in that dark hour there hovered near a band of

angelic beings, and foremost in that band the angel mother whose

breath fanned the pale brow of the mourner and quieted the soul

within?

Ah, yes; it is not heresy to think thus. Phillip Lawson surely felt

such influence as he arose and in tones of quiet resignation

murmured, "Father thy will be done." Then picking up a half blown

rose that had fallen upon the ground, pressed it to his lips

exclaiming, "fitting emblem of the pure and innocent young life cut

off ere it had blossomed into womanhood."

And the hollow sounds that greeted the mourner as he wandered

listlessly from room to room apparently looking for some object,

some vague uncertainty, something indefinable.

What solemn stillness reigns around where death has been! The

painful oppression, the muffled tread, the echoes that haunt as

tidings from the spirit world, borne on invisible wings, confronting

us at every step.

To the most matter-of-fact mind these things are indeed a solemn

reality. Death has power to change our every-day thoughts to others

ennobling, beautifying and divine! But we do not sink under the

weight of affliction. God has seen otherwise for us. He heals the

wounds and bids us go on amid life's cares administering to those

around us with increased diligence, happy in the thought of doing

what is required of us.

Throughout the inexhaustible stores of poetry and song is there

anything more exquisitely touching than the lofty and inspired dirge

wailed out in tremulous tones--in memoriam--and the healthful words,

"Ring out the grief that saps the mind

For those that here we see no more;

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind."

But to return to the Lawson homestead.

Very soon all was bustle and preparation. The young student had

rented the farm and by selling off the stock had raised means to

secure a home for the children in the city, and ere a few weeks had

passed around we find them comfortably situated in a convenient

tenement in the suburbs of St. John.

But a stouter heart than our young friend might well have groaned

under the weight of difficulties that pressed upon him.

What with the management of his household, the hours of office work,

and the hours devoted to his classes, and hours of anxiety and care,

the young student was oftentimes depressed and wore a look beyond

his years; but he never once swerved from his duty, and trudged

manfully onward his eyes ever bent upon "the strait and narrow

path." Lottie the pretty child, full of life and hope with her sweet

winning ways imparted warmth and sunshine to the snug home; and the

merry high-spirited Tom, a blue-eyed youth of fourteen, gave life

and freshness to the surroundings.

It was indeed a pretty sight that greeted a visitor as he entered

the plain but neatly-furnished parlor, in this quiet home. It is the

hour between tea-time and that prescribed for evening work. It is

the only hour of leisure during the day, and it is generally devoted

to the boy and girl at his side, the latter sometimes sitting upon

his knee looking into the face that in these moments wore a smile

that oftentimes belied the conflicting and agitated thoughts within.

Such was the history of Phillip Lawson previous to the opening of

our story. A period of six years had elapsed since he commenced life

in the city and now we find him an honoured barrister, with

sufficient practice to meet the expenses of the pretty residence to

which he had removed some months ago and to which we referred in the

previous chapter.

We now see the reason which prompted Evelyn Verne in associating the

young lawyer with "hayseed'" It is only shallow sordid natures as

hers can indulge in such meanness, but thank heaven the venom has

only a momentary sting, a resting place in proportion to the

superficial source whence it springs.

In respect to other members of the Verne family it must be said that

Phillip Lawson had received much kindness and hospitality within the

walls of their princely residence, and if the spoiled beauty

indulged in spiteful taunts it was because she saw in the young man

that ability and soundness of principle which placed her set of

worldings at painful disadvantage.

Montague Arnold with his waxed moustache, Adonis-like form and

studied hauteur, minus the brains, amiability and that true

politeness which constitutes the real gentleman cut a sorry figure

when contrasted with Phillip Lawson.

Mrs. Verne was in every sense a votaress to the world's caprice, yet

she was not devoid of insight. She could see the noble traits of

character in Phillip Lawson; but she must bow to the mandates of

fashionable folly.

Mr. Verne, deeply absorbed in stocks and exchanges, seldom took

respite in the gaieties of the drawing-room; but in his business

hours he saw enough of young Lawson to convince him of his

character.

A slight circumstance happened one evening which had a tenfold

effect upon Marguerite Verne; but the girl kept her own counsel, and

cherished the thought as a happy talisman through all the months and

years that followed ere events brought about the consummation of her

fondest hopes. Mr. Verne was seated in the library. Brilliant rays

of light were reflected from the highly-burnished chandelier.

"Madge, my girl, come read awhile," exclaimed the former, as

he espied his favorite across the hall with a delicate bouquet of

hot-house plants in her hand.

"I will be with you in a minute, papa, dear," was the response, in a

sweet, childlike voice, as the speaker ran up the broad staircase

with elfin grace and gaiety.

"So the flowers were not for me, you naughty girl. Well, well, times

have changed since when, in the eyes of the august peers of our

motherland, it was considered 'an atrocious crime' to be a young

man."

"Oh, papa, you see I do know a little history--enough to accuse that

'young man' of being guilty of sarcasm in the highest degree."

"Well done, my Madge! Here, take the paper--read me the rest of that

speech of young Lawson's. It is a clever defence, and goes to prove

my words--that he is a young man of sound judgment, and every day

gives proof of greater force."

It was well for Marguerite Verne that the newspaper hid the blushes

that, despite her efforts at self-control, played hide-and-seek upon

the soft, fair cheeks.

"I am waiting, Madge."

The sweet, silvery tones were the only response, and though the

maiden knew it not, there was a tender chord of sympathy that united

father and child more firmly, and bent their thoughts in the same

happy direction.

CHAPTER VIII.

HUBERT TRACY'S DILEMMA.

As Phillip Lawson sat silently poring over a formidable looking

volume, bound in heavy parchment, he was accosted by a familiar

voice.

"Working as usual, Lawson?"

"Yes, sir; I generally find something to keep me out of mischief,"

said the barrister, smiling, in the meantime clearing the proffered

seat of a pile of documents that had been cast aside as useless.

"What's the news?" demanded Hubert Tracy in his indifferent and

careless style.

There was a restless, wearied look upon the face of Phillip Lawson,

as he glanced towards his interrogator. "To tell you the truth Tracy

I've heard nothing startling to-day. I might for your amusement give

you some of my own afflictions. In the first place I have a headache

that I would gladly part with."

"For heaven's sake don't wish it upon me," cried the visitor,

thinking no doubt of the unsteady hand and nervous headache of the

previous morning.

But this was not the kind of news that Hubert Tracy sought. He

wished to draw out some well-timed allusion to the northwest and he

had not the courage to do so.

He had been a frequent guest at the Verne mansion of late, but the

fact did not add to his felicity. Marguerite Verne could not play

the coquette. She was attentive to her callers but nothing more.

Montague Arnold, who was on the eve of declaration to the imperious

Evelyn, had now gleaned much of the affairs of the family. He

learned that Mr. Verne had a high regard for the rising young

barrister and he knew well that there was strong sympathy between

father and daughter.

"That little dame has plenty of grit to fight the battle, but if I

can manage it she will have to give up, if not she is a match for

the old fellow."

The above remark of Montague Arnold gave his companion some

assurance yet it did not satisfy him.

"I tell you what Mont, the only chance for me is to get the fellow

out of the way, then you can influence the old lady and if she puts

her foot down we are all right."

Hubert Tracy was far from being in a settled state of mind. He had a

continual dread of his suspected rival, while a strange fascination

possessed him--a something which attracted him to the latter with a

force in proportion equal to the dread.

It was this state of mind that forced his steps to the barrister's

office at this time, and as he turned the burning subject over and

over he felt more confused.

"It is madness to give up--it will kill me;" were the thoughts that

rose half framed to his lips and then forced themselves back with

renewed energy.

But of the forgoing conversation which we interrupted.

"Don't be alarmed my friend," cried Phillip "I can get rid of it

sooner than you, and judging from your looks this morning one would

imagine you too had been battling with some of the 'ills that human

flesh is heir to.'"

Hubert Tracy winced under this remark but the fact was lost upon the

other who innocently exclaimed, "Any trouble in the shipping

business just now."

The young man laughed.

"Thank heaven I'm right on that score and don't even expect much

trouble unless the world would get turned upside down."

"Which is an unlikelihood," said Phillip adroitly. And much as we

speak of the uncertainties of this world, the latter remark might be

accepted as a truism in regard to the pecuniary affairs of Hubert

Tracy.

He was the heir of a rich uncle--a modern Croesus--a man who had

amassed a princely fortune by his wonderful success as a

manufacturer and speculator.

It was this circumstance which gave the nephew such value in the

eyes of good society. Hubert Tracy was fully aware how matters

stood. He knew that money was the only screen to cover up all the

shortcomings and glaring deformities of our nature. He well knew

that he could haunt the abode of dissipation and vice and fill up

the intervals with the gaieties of the fashionable drawing-rooms. He

well knew that a young man of pure morals with strong determination

to rise to the highest manhood would have no chance with the heir of

Peter Tracy.

And the young man was right. He was sought after and courted

by fashionable mothers who saw only in this beau ideal of a

son-in-law--fine houses, fine carriages and in short everything that

wealth could give.

The worldly Mrs. Verne was not without her day dreams on this

subject. She never let an opportunity slip when she could show Mr.

Tracy that patronage which his prospects demanded.

But this woman of the world did nothing rashly. She was always

acting from motive and though apparently unconcerned was keenly

alive to the situation of the hour.

Such was the tenor of Phillip Lawson's thoughts as he chatted to

Hubert Tracy for more than half an hour, when the latter departed

less satisfied than when he entered. Then the former set to work

upon some important business, and being a rapid penman, soon

finished the job. Finding time for a short brown study, or more

properly speaking a soliloquy.

"If I go out there and be dissatisfied it will be worse than ever,

and there is Lottie, I cannot think of taking her with me. The poor

child would break her heart if I left her behind, and our cosy home

would be broken up--perhaps forever."

Home had always been the oasis in the dreary waste of Phillip

Lawson's late eventful life. After the monotonous round of

office-work he always anticipated with delight the hour and

circumstances so truthfully depicted by the poet.

"Now stir the fire and close the shutters fast,

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,

And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn

Throws up a steaming column and the cups

That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,

So let us welcome peaceful evening in."

Therefore the thought gave much pain. "But life is made up of such

struggles," murmured Phillip, "and it is our duty to be happy

wherever we are--in Winnipeg as well as St. John." The last words

were repeated in a tone of determination and the speaker arose

hastily, took down his overcoat and shortly afterwards was to be

seen walking along the north side of King street with a rapid but

regular step. Having gained Charlotte street the young lawyer is

greeted in an artless and unaffected manner by Marguerite.

The graceful and sylph-like form had sufficient power to cast all

the high minded resolutions to the four winds of the earth. In the

maiden's presence Phillip Lawson was bound body and soul, yet he

would not allow himself to think so.

"I am quite fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Lawson, as I am saved the

trouble of sending a note." Marguerite emphasized the word trouble

in a manner altogether peculiar to herself and a manner which

infected the banister with a certain degree of gaiety that was

unusual to him.

And no wonder that our friend felt the influence of the maiden's

smiles. Marguerite Verne was indeed a pretty picture to study. Her

rich costume of seal brown, plush with ruchings of feathers, the

coquettish hat to match with the jaunty ostrich plume were becoming

in the extreme and gave an air of richness and refined elegance.

"Is it any harm to inquire as to your wishes Miss Marguerite?" said

Phillip, glancing inquisitively into her face.

"I don't think I shall tell you to-day."

There was a look of arch mischief accompanying the words--a spirit

of banter that was truly fascinating.

Phillip had escorted his companion as far as Coburg street, where

the latter was to call upon some of her friends.

"Mr. Lawson, I am not quite so dreadful as you think. Come this

evening and I shall gratify your curiosity at once, and you know

papa always likes to see you."

"I shall go," exclaimed the barrister to himself, as he had turned

down Paddock street on his way homewards. "Her papa will receive me;

why did she not say Evelyn?"

Marguerite was sensitive on the subject of Mr. Lawson's reception,

and she had a modest intuition of her friend's feelings, and, as is

too often the case in trying to smooth matters, only made a greater

blunder.

"Why did I not let well alone," exclaimed the girl, as she stood on

the broad stone steps leading to the elegant home. It was six

o'clock and the first bell gave the warning that there was barely

time to dress for dinner.

"He will be here without fail, for I know his word is inviolable,"

cried the girl, as she hastily re-arranged some lace on the sleeves

of her pretty dinner dress--a combination of silk and velvet in

shade of ash of roses.

"Dear me, there is the bell, and my hair not presentable."

But Marguerite was mistaken.

"Why, Madge, where have you been?"

"I have been out making calls," said she, with an air of surprise.

"Well, my dear, I advise you to go every day if you can bring back

such roses."

Marguerite blushed as deeply as if the compliment came from an

admirer--aye, more so; for the girl well knew that those from her

fond parent were from the heart.

"There now, don't spoil them, _ma belle_," cried Mr. Verne, his

eye resting with fond admiration upon his daughter.

Children are oftentimes _de trop_, and Charlie Verne proved no

exception.

"Papa, I was one day with Madge, and she had two big red spots on

her cheeks as big peonies."

The precocious youth was on the eve of explanation, when Mrs.

Verne's--"Children should be seen and not heard" put an end to the

subject.

It were well for Marguerite that her elder sister did not grace the

festive board that evening. Evelyn's keen and penetrative eye would

have taken in the situation at a glance. The light in the soft,

deep, violet eyes would tell the tale that the maiden would strive

to conceal; and the bright flush, heightened by fond anticipation,

would have accomplished its deadly work.

But Marguerite was granted further respite.

She gave Phillip Lawson a quiet reception, and much to the relief of

the latter, they were allowed to chat at their ease the greater part

of the evening, uninterrupted by a guest.

Mr. Verne, having returned from one of those Board of Trade

meetings, on hearing that Mr. Lawson was in the drawing-room,

immediately made his appearance, and from his warm greeting, one

might see that the young lawyer stood high in his favor, and that

his prospects were indeed fair as any suitor might wish for.

CHAPTER IX.

MR. SPRIGGINS GETS INSURED--THE DOMINION SAFETY FUND.

As Mr. Spriggins is a gentleman of no mean pretensions and occupying

a prominent place among our characters we will again introduce him

as he is seated in the office of the Dominion Safety Fund.

The general agent greets Mr. Spriggins in his usual gentlemanly and

unassuming manner--a fact which is not lost upon the applicant.

"Well, Mr. Agent, spose you'll think it a mighty queer business to

see a feller comin' here without a bein' asked, so to make a long

story short, I might as well till you all about it."

With this remark the speaker pulled his chair closer to the desk and

with an assumed business air began--

"You see, Mr. Agent, I'm not a married feller but have a terrible

good mind to hitch on one of these days and that's the reason I'm

here to-day."

"A poor place this to come to look for a wife," remarked an elderly

gentleman in a gruff voice, who had just entered on business as the

last words had been repeated.

A happy smile illuminated Mr. Spriggins' face as he rose to

retaliate.

"Oh, indeed sir, I'm posted on such affairs. When I want a pard'ner

I know mighty well where to go--none of yer peeaner players for

me--give me the girl that can make butter and boil a pot of tatters

without havin' em all rags and mush."

Mr. Spriggins became more and more eloquent upon the necessary

qualifications of the future Mrs. Spriggins, and then once more

addressed the gentleman behind the desk.

"Well, now, Mr. Agent, suppose you don't mind me a askin' a few

questions on this eer bisness."

"Not at all sir, that is our pleasure Mr. ----"

"Spriggins sir. I'm Moses Spriggins of Mill Crossin', but they allus

call me Mose to hum for short."

Mr. Spriggins would have added further explanatory remarks but was

interrupted by the official:

"Now Mr. Spriggins, I wish to hear from you--"

"What do you say the name of this consarn is Mr. Agent?"

"The Dominion Safety Fund Life Association."

"Well now, that's a terrible long name. Hanged if that doesn't beat

Uncle Amaziar Wiggleses family, for their oldest gal's name is

Samanthy Eunice Esmereldy Jerushy."

At this speech Mr. Spriggins burst into a fit of laughter, affording

sufficient proof to the company that there was little need of the

necessary medical examination to testify that the applicant was of

sound health.

"Why do you call it the Dominion Fund?" queried the applicant

looking intently at the title.

"Because it is the only one of its kind in the Dominion sir!"

"All right, Mr. Agent. Safety Fund--that's a queer name. Would you

mind explainin' that. You musn't think hard of me sir if I want to

know all about this business, for you know people have been so taken

in by so many humbuggin' consarns that it makes a feller keerful."

Within a very short time Mr. Spriggins was led to see the beauty of

the Safety Fund. How that the longer he was insured the more

favorable his position; how persistent members of the class received

the benefit, etc.

"That's just the thing I've been lookin' for," exclaimed the

applicant, his face aglow with enthusiasm.

A few more preliminaries were discussed to the entire satisfaction

of Mr. Moses Spriggins, and arrangements were made that he should

present himself before the medical examiner on the following morning

at ten o'clock.

"Nothin' could suit better, Sir, for one of our naber's girls is

a'stayin' in town now, and there's enough attraction there, sir, to

keep me here for to-night."

Mr. Spriggins cast a knowing glance at the official as much as to

say "you understand me."

On his way up Princess street the veritable Mose might be heard

soliloquizing at a wholesale rate--"Well, now, its mighty cheap,

too, and a feller is gettin' sich profit; better that than raisin'

tatters and lettin' the bugs eat 'em--on a thousand, too. By George,

it's next to nothin'; let me see: four times $1.44--4 times 4 are

16. 6 and carry 1; 4 times 4 are 16 and 1 are 17; 4 times 1 are 4

and 1 are 5--576, that is $5.76, and $3.00--$8.76--and next year

less--then lesser, and then I'll be a makin' right straight along--

won't Melindy Jane be astonished." A dashing turnout for the nonce

arrested Mr. Spriggins' attention, and as he gazed at the richly

caprisoned steeds, and fair occupants, exultingly exclaimed, "Yes,

ye think yer a mighty fine crowd, but there's not one I'd swop for

Melindy Jane."

And Mr. Spriggins had not changed his opinion when, at the appointed

hour, next morning, his good-natured face wreathed in smiles, made

its appearance before the official, hailing all with delight, and

full of conversation of the most animated style.

The entrance of the medical examiner now claimed attention, and when

the said Mr. Spriggins had passed the fiery ordeal his delight knew

no bounds.

"What did I tell you--sound as a bell--no kinsumption among the

Sprigginses."

This and corresponding remarks fell from the lips of Moses as the

papers were being filled. Silence was the order for a few moments

when our friend rising quickly to his feet exclaimed:

"But, hold on, here's sumthin' I've not seen afore. Is it part of

the agreement?"

Mr. Spriggins then drew attention to the motto--

_"non mihi sed meis vivo."_

The medical gentleman very quietly allayed Mr. Spriggins' fears by

convincing him that it was the motto--the principle which governed

the working of the institution, and also, gave the literal meaning

in our mother tongue.

"The very words I told Melindy Jane last night. Well, if it don't

seem, like magic. If it don't suit my case to a tee--not for myself

but others--well, there is just one mistake in it. I would say not

for myself--but mine."

Mr. Spriggins directed his remarks to the follower of Aeculapius

with an air of importance, and then began a vigorous onslaught on

the pronunciation of the foreign words.

"And that's Latin. Well, I never had such liken' for Latin afore. If

I wasn't too old would try to learn it yet--by jimminey, doesn't it

say nice things though?"

The forms being filled in and payments being made Mr. Spriggins

reluctantly arose to depart, but another glance at the motto and he

broke forth afresh. "It's just the thing that old Parson Simes was

speakin' of last Sunday--gracious me--who'd a thought there was so

much religion in the insurance business. Well, sir, I feel like a

different man already; and now folks, if you see any more fellers

from the Crossin' you'll know who sent 'em that's a sure case. I

tell you what the crossin's not the worst place to come to, and if

any of yous would happen to come our way don't forget to give us a

call."

Thus ended Mr. Spriggins' speech and as he made his exit through the

doorway at a two-forty gait a smile was visible upon the occupants

of the office. But ere business had been suspended for the day Mr.

Spriggins again appeared on the scene with the following

exclamation:

"I could'nt go back to the Crossin' without seeing you and tellin'

what I heard. Of course I wouldn't like it to go outside as it is a

kinder secret but thought it too good to keep, eh Mr. Agent."

Mr. Spriggins threw himself into an arm-chair and then in lively

tones continued:

"You know them ere Verneses that live in the big house on that high

bank near the Square--well that's where Melindy Jane is hired, so of

course when I left here I went up there and as I was a showin' the

paper to Melindy Jane and explainin' it who should walk in but one

of the young ladies.--(Now between you and me and the wall I believe

it was a put up job of Melindy's to show me off and have the young

missis' idees of me.)"

At this point Mr. Spriggins became very confidential and lowered his

voice almost to a whisper, then, no doubt bethinking himself of the

importance of the subject added: "Howandever its no matter here nor

there, so as I was a sayin', the young missis came right over and I

had to say sumthin', so I ups and tells her where I had bin and you

never seed anyone more delighted. She seemed to know all about it

and told me it was the best insurance consarn in the dominion."

At this remark the agent smiled and said that he was pleased to know

that young ladies were interested in the Institution.

"Well, sir," continued he, "but that was not the hull of the

conversation. I was a'telling her about that ere young lawyer, the

young feller that gave the advice for Josh Jones (I declare it makes

me bile over while I think on it), and she listened quite attentif

and took great consarn in it, and said she was sure I would get

justice, as Mr. Lawson was an honest lawyer, (and between you and

me, Mr. Agent, that's more'n can be said of most of 'em)."

"You are rather severe on the legal profession, sir," ventured a

voice from the other side of the room.

Mr. Spriggins having confided his affairs, and seeing that business

absorbed the attention of his audience, finally took leave, with the

parting injunction to give him a call if they happened his way.

It did, indeed, seem a strange coincidence that while Mr. Moses

Spriggins drew Miss Marguerite's Verne's attention to his legal

proceedings that Phillip Lawson should be turning over certain facts

in his memory in order to elucidate some important problems as

regards his relation to this fair being.

Could he then have seen the respectful manner with which Marguerite

greeted the son of toil, he would feel more deeply impressed with

the beauty of her character, and could he have heard her modest

eulogium upon himself, an emotional chord would have vibrated to the

musical tones of her soft and well-modulated voice. But our young

friend was not to be thus gratified. It is contrary to the laws

which govern the order of the universe that an eternal fitness

should adapt itself to our circumstances.

Ah, no, my young dreamer, much as we would wish it otherwise, we

must sit patiently and see you suffer much mental agony in trying to

discipline your mind for the trying ordeal through which you must

irrevocably pass.

Nor did the sweet-faced Marguerite, as she chatted in her quiet

happy way, for one moment dream that the brawny and muscular hand of

Moses Spriggins should be yet held in friendly grasp, and that she

would ever cherish this sturdy son of toil in grateful memory.

Standing there on that uneventful morn with the rays of sunshine

playing hide and seek through her silken hair, could she have looked

beyond the surrounding of the present, and cast her eye along the

dim and shadowy perspective, what sorrow might have been averted;

what heart-throes might have been quieted! But let us not be carried

away by such thoughts. Let us not seek to penetrate beyond the airy

nothings of every-day life.

Marguerite Verne went back into the presence of the other members of

the family. She chatted, laughed and sang blithe as a bird carolling

its earliest matin.

Marguerite's pure and transparent soul finds shelter in the daily

acts of goodness emanating from her loving heart, and if she feels a

momentary pang she struggles bravely and lives on. She could ill

repress her feelings when the peerless Evelyn, radiant in convenient

smiles and blushes, went to be congratulated on her engagement to

Montague Arnold.

"You never did seem like a sister to me Madge, and you act less like

one now. I did not come to tell you that I was going to die."

Evelyn's manner was anything but amiable. She could brook no

opposition to her will, and she was piqued to the highest degree

that Marguerite did not break forth with the wildest terms of

extravagant congratulation. But it matters not. Marguerite is not a

hypocrite. She pities from the bottom of her heart the woman who

will wed an unprincipled man like Montague Arnold.

How her tender pitying nature went out to the first-born of the

family but the girl knew well the stubborn haughty spirit and looked

calmly on without reproach.

Mrs. Verne had accomplished much in her own eyes. Her daughter was

to revel in the comforts and elegancies of life. And when once the

grand event had taken place she would have further opportunity to

turn her attention to Marguerite. "I must get rid of Evelyn first,"

was her comment as she bent over a piece of embroidery designed for

a mantle drapery--bunches of delicate ferns and golden rod on garnet

plush, and intended for the home of the future Mrs. Montague Arnold.

But there was one who took a different view of the matter. Mr.

Verne looked on in grave disquietude. It may be sacrilegious but we

cannot refrain from intruding upon his inmost thoughts and with

heartfelt sympathy grieve for the indulgent parent who sees his fair

first-born sacrificed to the world and mammon. The man of far-seeing

penetration knows too well the great mistake and with painful

intensity contrasts the sweet girlish wife of his youth with the

fashionable woman of the world who presides supreme over his

household--he sighs deeply and plunges deeper into the ponderous

folios before him.

Presently a smile illuminates the grave face. A graceful form is at

his side, and as the maiden holds up a pretty bouquet arranged by

her own fair hands, the fond father draws her towards him and

tenderly kisses the white, smooth forehead earnestly hoping that his

favorite child may have a happier prospect before her--that she may

be happy with one she loves.

"A guardian angel o'er his life presiding

Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing."

CHAPTER X.

HELEN RUSHTON AT THE "CELESTIAL."

A few weeks had rolled by and Helen Rushton once more entered

"Sunnybank."

Marguerite receives her visitor with open arms.

"I am so glad to see you, Madge," exclaimed the quaint little

maiden, as she threw aside the pretty wrap, worn carelessly around

her shoulders.

"I ought to be angry with you, you naughty girl," returned

Marguerite, playfully, shaking the former by way of punishment.

"Oh, please don't say a word, like a good old dear. I did intend to

write, but you just know how we spend the time running around, and I

had so many demands upon me."

"Well, this time, I shall 'take the will for the deed,' but remember

the second offence will be dealt with according to law."

Madge emphasized this threat with a hearty embrace and turned her

eyes in the direction of the door.

"Well, if that is not too good to keep," shouted Josie Jordan,

rushing in pell-mell, and seizing the pair with a lustiness peculiar

only to a maiden of athletic pretensions.

"Oh, you nuisance," exclaimed Helen. "How did you know I was here?"

"If that is not ignoring our hostess I should like to know what is.

Indeed, Miss Helen, I came intent on weighty business matters, but

Madge's allusion to the law drove it out of my head."

Josie shrugged her shoulders and gave way to fits of laughter, then

exclaimed, "But you know, Helen, why Madge should be interested in

legal matters."

"Josie Jordan, I believe you are the greatest pest I ever met, just

to come in when I was going to entertain Madge with my visit."

Helen Rushton had adroitly commenced an attack upon the former to

conceal her friend's embarrassment. She saw that Marguerite liked

not the badinage of the thoughtless Josie, and she was determined at

her own expense to turn the conversation.

"Just as if I am not as much interested in hearing celestial gossip

as our worthy hostess," exclaimed Josie, making one of her most

stately bows and assuming a very mock-serious air.

"We can both listen, you saucy puss," said Marguerite, drawing a

pair of pretty ottomans close to the sofa on which Helen sat.

"Indeed I am not going to listen--I can't wait--I am going to ask

questions, and then we will hear more in the prescribed time--as the

teachers say.

"As you wish," said Helen, patting the mass of golden curls that

were as antagonistic to all order as the fair head they adorned.

"Did you go often to the House, Helen? Now for my questions.

"Yes, I went when there was anything worth going to hear."

"And I suppose that was not often."

"Hard on the M.P.P.'s, Josie," said Marguerite, smiling.

"Not half hard enough!" said the girl, vehemently. "They go there

and sit and have a good time at the expense of the Province,

and show off a little with a passage-at-arms now and then that

suggests more of a gladiatorial arena than that of a body of august

law-givers!"

"Oh, mercy! hear the girl!" cried Marguerite, raising her hands in

tender appeal.

"I tell you it's the truth; I will ask Helen if it is not so," cried

the speaker turning to the latter for answer.

"I must confess that to a certain extent Josie is not far astray. I

have seen exhibitions of cross-firing not strictly in accordance

with one's ideas of a gentleman. But I suppose sometimes they forget

themselves."

"A gentlemen never forgets himself, Helen. Although you have

high-toned notions of the Capital, and granting that you have been

lionized right and left, it does not excuse you from exercising a

sense of right and wrong."

Marguerite could not but admire the brave girl with such an earnest

look upon her face. The laughing, romping hoyden was capable of

sound sensible argument, her character was made up of opposites; and

Helen Rushton, clever in many things, was almost baffled.

Marguerite soon poured oil on the troubled waters.

"You told me where you were going to stay Helen but I have

forgotten," ventured the latter.

"I did not happen to find my friends in the Belgravian district, but

what matters it?" returned Helen.

"Up town or down town, that is the burning question always uppermost

in Fredericton," cried Josie.

"It was that part I believe they call the West End, but unlike

London and other cities it is not a locality habitable by the

fashionable or good form of the pretty little city. But the

residence of my friends is, notwithstanding this drawback, the home

of culture and refinement, nay more--it is the home of generosity,

for never did I see more genuine true-heartedness than in this truly

happy home."

"You doubtless have found many such people during your visit, for

the hospitality of Fredericton is proverbial," exclaimed Marguerite

in a soft and gentle manner.

"I did indeed," exclaimed Helen, "the people are very much

conservative, but that gives them all the more favor in my eyes."

"Ah, you precious daughter of the old school," cried the vehement

Josie, "it were well that you went to the Celestial ere you

started for Halifax, in order that you might, to a certain extent,

have re-acquired that amount of red tapeism which you must have

almost forgotten amid the more liberally-inclined citizens of our

fog-begirt city."

"Quite an orator, Josie," ventured Marguerite. "I will not interrupt

you again, Helen, only to assist your memory by questions. Were

there many young ladies in the family?"

"There was just one of the loveliest and sweetest girls in

existence," cried Helen, enthusiastically.

"Be careful now, we are jealous already," said Josie, holding up her

forefinger, menacingly.

"And two young gentlemen, lately enrolled as professionals."

"At which?" cried Josie, in mock gravity.

"Where's your promise now?" ventured Marguerite.

"Never mind, Madge, I can manage," replied Helen, smiling. The

latter then gave an interesting description of her visit from

general to particular. She had listened to the speeches from the

government and opposition; admired the pretty surroundings of the

Parliament buildings; glanced over several of the volumes in the

neatly-kept library, and in the meantime formed opinions upon many

of the representatives of our Province. Government House also

received much notice.

"I've never been there yet," cried Josie, in a half-regretful tone.

"Then you have something in store worth going to Fredericton for,"

said Helen, "it is such a grand old place. The conservatory is

charming--a spot where you can dream that you are in the land of

perpetual summer and golden sunshine. Standing upon the threshold of

the blue drawing-room you are almost spell-bound. Really my eyes

were dazzled with the array of lovely pink and white azaleas that

were arranged at respective distances. And the camelias--really, I

had to hold my breath--then came the endless group of calla lilies--

pure, transparent and beautiful."

"Oh, Helen, I should have been tempted to pluck a stray one and say,

'old conscience, it is public property.'"

Marguerite laughed at the amusing look depicted upon Josie's face,

but Helen disconcerted went on. "But what made the scene more

effective was the soft and velvety carpeting of luxuriant grass

growing in the centre of the conservatory--nothing to be seen but

lovely flowers, foliage and verdure."

"Suppose great care must be bestowed upon it," said Marguerite.

"Truly, I could have lingered there for days and not been wearied."

"And in the meantime live upon the effervescence of your beautiful

thoughts," cried Josie, bursting out into a wild ringing laugh.

"You mentioned the blue drawing-room, Helen," said Marguerite,

anxious to prolong the conversation; "is it not very pretty?"

"Pretty is indeed the term suitable for it, Madge. There is no

elegance, but it is sweet and inviting, pretty draperies, pretty

bric-a-brac, and pretty effect.

"Did you notice anything different from other drawing-rooms, Helen,"

queried Madge.

"Yes, I did," replied Helen. "The entire absence of so many silly

knick-knacks oftentimes heaped up in ordinary drawing-rooms. How my

eyes gloated over a few pieces of quaint and rare old china!"

Helen's keen, scrutinizing gaze had taken in the whole situation,

doubtless without any apparent effort; good-breeding was the innate

principle which actuated the speaker's every-day life; and it was

now from a desire to speak in high terms of life in the capital,

that she wished to entertain her companions. "I have heard Louise

speak so many times of the kindness she received there, that I seem

to know all about it," said Marguerite, her dark violet eyes aglow

with earnestness.

"And yet you never went with _her_?" queried Helen.

"Something always happened to prevent my going then, yet I have some

pleasant associations connected with Fredericton."

"Pleasant anticipations you should say," chimed in the irrepressible

Josie.

"Miss Jordan, please do not misconstrue Madge's words, you saucy

girl!" retorted Helen, tapping her toes upon the stool near, by way

of calling the other to order.

A brilliant description of a ball at the Government House then

followed, also several parties and other indoor amusements.

"That is all very nice Helen," cried Josie, "but I want to hear

about the people. There is always so much talk about the celestials,

their culture, refinement and all that sort of thing, now you can

give us your opinion."

"That is a delicate subject for Helen to handle," said Marguerite

with a slight shade of embarrassment heightening her color and

making more pathetic the soft speaking eyes.

"Indeed my peerless ones you are all good and lovely in my sight and

the fair Marian is among the number."

"Is she pretty, Helen?"

"Not what the world would call pretty, but she is neat and graceful,

has a pretty form and graceful carriage and carries her head like a

queen."

"What of her brothers--are they blonde or brunette?"

"Neither, but tall, straight and rather inclined to be fashionable

young men."

"Then I cannot bear to hear of them; for anything in this world I

despise is a dude," exclaimed Josie with an expression of disgust

upon her face that was in accord with her speech.

"Anything in moderation is tolerable," returned Helen, "I cannot say

that I admire the extremely fashionable young man but I must say

that I cannot appreciate the young man of antediluvian aspect."

The latter then settled down to a lengthy detail of her visit in

particular, the different characters she met and the pleasant hours

enjoyed in their company.

"How different your visit has been to some who have gone there. Why,

I have heard the girls say all you could do was go up and down Queen

street for a few times, hear remarks passed upon you by the loungers

at the hotel doors, and then stow yourself away to be scorched to

powder in summer or be converted into a tolerable sized iceberg if

it happened to be winter."

"Like all other places, Josie, one's impressions are always formed

according to circumstances and I must say I never will forget the

happy hours in Fredericton."

"But you never told us of the 'head of the family,' Helen?"

"That thought was uppermost when you spoke, Josie. I never can fully

express my gratitude to the esteemed couple who so kindly invited me

to their house.

"Marian's father is fat, fair, and slightly over forty, with the

most happy and frank countenance that you ever met. He has a good

story always on hand, can entertain clergy or laity, and never

wearies in contributing his store of amusing anecdotes, which

oftentimes are at the expense of his nearest relatives."

"How I should like to listen to them; it does me so much good to

laugh," cried Josie, her eyes beaming with fond satisfaction.

"Kingsnook" (for such we will name this happy professional's abode)

is of all others the place for a good hearty laugh. No simpering,

silly affectation is allowed much reception within the neat and

tastefully arranged parlors, or tempted to display itself on the

shady verandah, cool, leafy shrubberies, or spacious garden.

"Did you see much military life there, Helen?" asked Marguerite, who

had been for some moments apparently engaged in deep study.

"That is the beauty of it, my dear. The study, the drawing-room, and

in fact, every inch of 'Kingsnook' reminded one of the true spirit

of patriotism which ruled its master, who could look with pride back

to the sturdy and high-spirited ancestors who wore the uniform of

the British army. I am not the daughter nor grand-daughter of a

British officer, but I could look with pride upon the arms and

accoutrements adorning the study walls, and feel a wave of emotion

break over me and fire my soul with a pride that can only be

experienced by one of Britannia's children."

"Hear, hear," cried Josie Jordan, springing to her feet, and seizing

the speaker by the hand. "Helen, I am with you heart and soul.

Remember, we New Brunswickers are true loyalists. I am proud to

belong to that good old stock which gives our Province so much of

its prestige."

The bright romping girl had now changed into a whole-souled woman.

There was a dignity in her bearing worthy the mother of the Gracchi.

But an unlooked-for event put an unceremonious end to the

conversation and Helen Rushton took leave promising to tell them

much of the friends she made during her late visit.

The unlooked-for event was the arrival of Cousin Jennie Montgomery.

"I thought it best to surprise you, Madge!" cried the bright

sunny-faced maiden as she was folded in the arms of the outwitted

Marguerite.

"I suppose it is best to forgive you," cried the latter and putting

an arm around Cousin Jennie led her into the family parlor to

receive greetings from the rest of the family.

CHAPTER XI.

PHILLIP LAWSON HAS GAINED AN ALLY.

It is needless to say that Cousin Jennie was a welcome visitor at

"Sunnybank." Her bright presence shone everywhere from the

drawing-room to that particular spot dedicated to the sports of

the romping, noisy boys.

"We will have the jolly times," was the password of the latter;

"Cousin Jennie is the girl to help us fellers along."

And there was the usual stir and bustle necessary for the equipment

of Evelyn Verne's trousseau. The beauty had scarce time to think of

anything but the different styles of dresses, pretty bonnets,

delicate laces, and the most costly trifles, from the gorgeous fan

to the delicate tiny slippers.

"Dearest Eve, I should think you would be tired looking over such a

lot of things," exclaimed Cousin Jennie in her cheery tone, "really

my eyes would get sore in less than no time."

"What a speech, Cousin Jennie. Indeed, you are not so

unsophisticated as you confess to be," said the dark-eyed fiancee,

with a tinge of sarcasm accompanying the words.

"Well, fair cousin, much as I may lose caste by my confession, I

cannot help it,--you know the country folks never see grand

weddings, and I may say truthfully that I never expect to see so

much finery again."

"Then you ought to make good use of your eyes now," was the rather

ungracious reply.

As Evelyn stood amid the heap of boxes, arranging and rearranging

the delicate fabrics to her heart's content, she was not an

object of envy. She was flattering, herself that she was moving a

grand marriage and she never let her thoughts wander beyond that

well-defined boundary line. Hers was a nature seemingly devoid of

feeling and incapable of fine thought, and when she artfully feigned

such in the presence of her lover, it was only from a desire to make

him more completely her slave.

Jennie Montgomery was not many days at "Sunnybank" ere she saw a

glimpse of the world from a fashionable society standpoint.

"Oh, Madge, how can Eve marry that man? You surely do not like him

either?"

Jennie Montgomery had favorable opportunity of passing judgment upon

Montague Arnold the previous evening, and now she had directed her

appeal to her favorite cousin.

"I will be candid, Jennie. You know I never could admire, much less

respect, an unprincipled man--I mean a man who lives for his own

sordid pleasure--and my sister will have cause to repent the rash

step. Poor Evelyn; she has faults, but really she has many good

traits of character if her pride would not stand in the way."

Sweet, confiding Marguerite. She fain would shield her sister from

censure, and hoped for her a brighter future than she durst picture.

While at "Sunnybank" Jennie Montgomery saw much to like and dislike.

She met many kind-hearted women whose mission on earth was to do

good. With the keen, discriminating acuteness peculiar to this

maiden, she could sift the wheat from the chaff--she inherited this

gift from her far-sighted mother, and was happy in such possession.

But there was one who claimed due attention from Cousin Jennie.

Phillip Lawson of late had made several calls at the Verne mansion

and had received a more than hearty welcome from Mr. Verne.

The latter held young Lawson in high respect and took no pains to

conceal the fact--which was not lost upon the deliberating Mrs.

Verne; but she was cautious, knowing well that moderation was the

surest way to overcome opposition.

Within a short time the young barrister and Cousin Jennie became the

best of friends. They chatted together without interruption and to

the evident delight of Mrs. Verne seemed happy in each other's

company.

Jennie was of a quick, decided turn of mind and had a dash of

sentiment in her nature that might have been considered dangerous on

this occasion; but her whole-souled sense of honor would have saved

her from taking a step from the path of right.

"It is the best thing that ever happened, mamma," exclaimed Evelyn

Verne as she stood arrayed in an elegant velvet reception dress

which she was admiring before the large plate-mirror in her

dressing-room.

"I will forgive Jennie of all her rudeness and country ways if she

will only rid us of this importunate suitor," said Mrs. Verne,

giving the lengthy train a few more touches to add to its effect.

"He seems very much in love with her at present," replied Evelyn,

"and indeed they are just suited for each other. It is to be hoped

Mr. Lawson will find one more congenial to his rustic manner than

Madge."

"Of course, my dear, you don't think Jennie very rustic in her

ideas, but she has a certain odd way about her that is not the

highest mark of good breeding."

"Common sense, as her wise-headed mother terms it," remarked Evelyn,

with a scornful curl upon the otherwise pretty lips.

On the following evening Mr. Verne entered the small back parlor

adjoining the library. Mrs. Verne was seated at a daintily-carved

ebony work-table. A piece of silk lay upon her knee and many shades

of crewel were spread out before her.

"Busy, my dear?" queried the husband, greeting his wife in a

pleasant, quiet way.

"Really, Stephen [Note: hand-written, 'Richard' inked out], have you

found time to venture in here? Surely there must have been a mistake

somewhere," returned Mrs. Verne, in an affected and patronizing

manner, that from a quick-tempered man would have forced a hasty and

perhaps disagreeable speech.

But Mr. Verne sat down and commenced asking such stray questions as

came into his mind.

"Where have the girls gone to-night, Matilda?"

"Jennie and Marguerite, you mean?" queried Mrs. Verne, dexterously

weaving the bright silks into a pretty many-hued flower.

"It is the night of the concert, and they have accepted Mr. Lawson

as escort." A slight frown accompanies the speech.

"Indeed," said Mr. Verne, with a knowing look upon his face, then

turning abruptly towards his wife, added, "It seems to me that

Jennie has made an impression upon Mr. Lawson."

"I hope so," was the only reply.

Mr. Verne was bent upon forcing from his wife the true state of her

feelings towards his young favorite.

"Jennie will be a lucky girl if she can win such a prize," said he,

with considerable warmth of expression.

"He is, indeed, a very suitable husband for Jennie," replied Mrs.

Verne in icy chilling tones.

"He is a fit husband for any young lady in St. John, my dear. If he

were to look with favor upon Marguerite I should say she, sweet

child that she is, would be honored by the proposal of marriage from

such a man."

This was too much for Mrs. Verne. It aroused her temper and gave

opportunity for many harsh, bitter sayings. Then she found relief in

sarcasm.

"I am pleased to know that Mr. Lawson occupies such a proud place in

your esteem. No doubt you have been making a few encouraging

suggestions to this second Gladstone." Then changing her tones to a

higher key exclaimed, "Remember, I will not oppose you in this step,

but If will never sanction my child's encouragement of that

upsetting, half-starved lawyer."

"Please bear in mind, Matilda, that Mr. Lawson has never once spoken

to me upon the subject and it is very foolish to suppose that he

wishes to pay any attention to Marguerite otherwise than any young

gentleman might."

"You need not think to hoodwink me, I can see for myself, and it

seems too bad that when a mother expects her children to become well

settled in life that she is sure to be disappointed."

Mrs. Verne within a few moments entirely changed her course of

action. She was almost moved to tears and her manner seemed to say,

"Well, I suppose it is all for the best, come what will I am

prepared for it." But might we not quote the words of the Psalmist,

"The words of his mouth were sweeter than butter but war was in his

heart."

A clever thought had entered Mrs. Verne's mind. She is already armed

for the occasion hoping that she will come off victor.

"Well, my dear, we will not quarrel over this matter. It seems so

foolish, knowing it is only conceit on our part, for I believe that

Mr. Lawson is very much interested in Jennie Montgomery."

"Jennie has grown to be a fine girl," remarked Mr. Verne, in a

matter-of-fact way.

But the fact did not change his opinion as regards the preference

for Marguerite.

"It would perhaps be better that such would be the case," exclaimed

the parent, as he was once more closeted in his private apartments

looking ever the list of bills and documents awaiting his signature.

In the meantime Mrs. Verne had found her way into the drawing-room,

where she was soon after joined by Evelyn and her distinguished

betrothed. What a smile greeted the seemingly happy pair! In

languid, drawling tones the beauty was relating her adventures of

the previous afternoon--the calls made, and the making of a new

acquaintance.

"A gentleman from England, did you say, my dear? How delightful! I

shall be most happy to meet him."

"And so you shall, dear mamma, for he intends calling upon us very

soon."

Mr. Arnold seemed not to notice the radiant smile which illuminated

the countenance of his betrothed. Yet it gave him annoyance.

He bit his upper lip and bent closer over the new song that lay open

before the piano. "She will sing a different tune before long," was

his comment.

In truth Montague Arnold possessed not that feeling which can only

be cherished by true, unselfish love. He openly admired Evelyn Verne

for her beauty. His sole desire was to make her his, and bend her to

his will. His nature was too superficial to harbor jealousy, but his

stubborn vanity answered the purpose.

Ah, my peerless Evelyn! you may blush and smile at the well-timed

compliments of your admirers now, but your reign seems nearly at an

end!

"What a grand opportunity to give a party," exclaimed Mrs. Verne,

glancing at her daughter for approval.

"It would be just the thing, mamma," said Evelyn, in her nonchalant

and dreamy sort of air.

"You are already settled my dear and now I must try to do my duty

towards Marguerite. Really, dearest, you have no idea of the

anxiety I have about that girl. She is so much like her father that

I am at a loss how to act. You know that she secretly adores that

good-for-nothing lawyer and if it were only on her part I would

not care, but I am certain that he is head and ears in love with

her. Dear me! What a world of trouble we poor mothers have to

endure. Why do not our children see as we do?"

Poor Mrs. Verne! She seemed in much distress and assumed a woebegone

appearance.

Dear mamma--I think you ought to feel less uneasiness just now for I

verily believe that Cousin Jennie has designs upon our unfortunate

visitor."

"God grant that she may be successful," was the reply.

"You must encourage it in every way, dear mamma," said Evelyn, with

more earnestness than usual.

"Yes; I was just thinking of a plan which doubtless by clever

management, will succeed."

"Let me hear it, mamma," said Evelyn, raising her jewelled fingers,

cautiously.

Mrs. Verne glanced in the direction of the smoking-room, (whither

her future son-in-law had retired to enjoy the delightful weed,) and

finding that there was no fear of interruption for the next ten

minutes, cleverly sketched out her plan of action.

We will not give the outline of this cleverly devised speech, but

merely say that from this time Cousin Jennie was honored to her

heart's content, and was induced to remain much longer than she

intended.

Mr. Lawson was a frequent visitor, and to the great delight of Mrs.

Verne signified his intention of accepting the invitation of Mrs.

Montgomery to spend part of his summer vacation at "Gladswood."

"That will certainly put an end to all your fears, mamma," said

Evelyn, standing before the bronze mantel shelf admiring a pretty

and rare vase which had arrived from England as a wedding present

from an old school mate. And so matters went quietly along.

Mr. Verne kept his counsel and worked away amidst his folios, And

when his pet daughter shed a ray of sunshine over the matter-of-fact

apartment, he felt a tinge of sadness and fondly hoped that no

darkening clouds should burst over this idolized treasure.

"What a pity that such a being should ever know the meaning of the

word sorrow. In one way, my darling, I can save you, in another I

cannot."

Mr. Verne was almost convinced that Cousin Jennie had supplanted

Marguerite, and he well knew the proud nature of the latter.

"Perhaps it is all for the best. My pearl could never outweigh all

difficulties like the self-reliant Jennie." Such murmurs escaped the

lips of the fond parent as he glanced up and down the long row of

figures balancing his accounts with a rapidity only acquired by long

experience and constant practice. But what of Marguerite?

The girl was not unhappy. She lived on cheered by her happy, dreamy

nature, and as it was far above that allotted to ordinary mortals,

it sustained her and kept her mind above all sordid thoughts.

"Time has laid his hand

Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,

But as a harper lays his open palm

Upon his harp to deaden its vibrations."

CHAPTER XII.

EVELYN'S BRIDAL MORN--FESTIVITIES AT "SUNNYBANK."

. . . "To the nuptial bower

I led her blushing like the moon, all heaven,

And happy constellations on that hour

Shed their selectest influence, the earth

Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill,

Joyous the birds;" --_Milton_

Such is the glowing description of the appearance of nature on the

morn when, in the presence of God and the host of white-robed

angels, was celebrated the nuptials of our common ancestors--

nuptials whence sprang the ills of our humanity.

Could the fair and beautiful Eve have foreseen the future that to

her seemed so promising, would she not have given up to despair and

remained aloof from sound of tempting voice?

But God's decree willed it otherwise, and the fair Eve, whose beauty

and submissive charms had power to influence her lord and master,

became the mother of mankind.

It would be unjust, uncharitable, to intrude upon the feelings of

the pair to participate in the present festive ceremony at

"Sunnybank."

Evelyn Verne emerges from her boudoir "a thing of beauty." Was ever

bride more enchanting, radiant or beautiful? Were ever bridal robes

more graceful? Perfect beauty, queenly beauty, dazzling beauty. It

is needless to expatiate upon the shimmering train, mist-like veil

or conventional orange blossoms. Reader, we will allow your

imagination full scope. Let it rest upon the radiant bride until the

eye becomes familiar with the minutest arrangement of the elegant

costume.

And then the bridesmaids! Five lovely maidens--St. John's fairest

daughters. Five bewitching forms with grace in all their movements,

claim our attention; and on all sides--"How pretty!" "How sweet!"

"How beautiful!"

Two sisters are exquisitely dressed in India muslin and antique

lace--one in pale-blue and the other in pink.

Marguerite Verne is radiant in pearl-colored satin and ruchings of

delicate pink azaleas.

Two younger girls are becomingly attired in cream lace and soft

filmy crepe of the same shade.

Each maiden carries a bewitching basket of flowers, and imparts to

the senses the most delightful effect. Indeed, it is seldom that

historic Trinity ever witnessed a grander pageant within its sacred

walls.

As the handsome and distinguished-looking bridegroom stood before

the altar awaiting the entrance of his bride, it were almost

sacrilege to utter a word deprecatory or otherwise.

Hubert Tracy supports his friend with an air of interest. He seems

more impatient than the other, and has a look of ill-concealed

uneasiness upon his slightly furrowed brow. He hears not the remarks

of pretty maidens or dignified matrons, else the slight frown would

have given place to a smile.

"Mr. Tracy is as handsome as the groom, mamma."

"Handsomer, my dear."

There was still a chance to ensnare the uncaged bird, and this fact

was alone in the mind of the anxious mamma. But the entrance of the

bridal party put an end to all talk concerning the sterner sex.

"Isn't she lovely?" "What a magnificent dress?" "She is so

composed." "Really, Marguerite is as pretty as the bride." "Oh,

indeed; fine feathers make fine birds." "If our girls could have all

the money they want and nothing to do I bet you they would look

better than any one of them." "Well, well. The world is ill

divided." "Isn't Miss ---- gorgeous in that lovely lace." "If we had

some of the money that has been spent upon them dresses we wouldn't

have to work any this summer."

Such was a brief outline of the speeches made upon this important

event, but they were lost upon the wedding party.

The guests comprised the wealth and beauty of St. John and as each

guest was ushered in one could not fail to exclaim: "St. John has

wealth, beauty and refinement."

The scene was an imposing one. While the choir sang,

"The voice that breathed o'er Eden,"

a young man entered and took his place among the guests. He had been

detained but arrived in time to tender his congratulations to one

more important to him than the radiant bride.

Why does Hubert Tracy instinctively cast a glance towards the new

comer, and feel a slight shudder through his frame?

It matters not at present. Let him enjoy the benefit of his thoughts

while we turn to our old friend.

"Mr. Lawson is growing better looking every day," is our verdict, as

with genial warmth we grasp him by the hand.

An intelligent face can never remain long in obscurity, and when a

generous soul and kind, true heart are also accompanying graces

there is a beauty that is unfading. But it is only the higher side

of humanity which can discover this beauty. And perhaps on this

festive morn many of the worldly minded would fail to recognize this

superior style of beauty.

But proudly Phillip Lawson stands with the consciousness of having

tried to act well his part and live in obedience to the dictates of

his God.

It was only when the guests had assembled in the spacious drawing-

room at "Sunnybank" that our friend found opportunity to have a

short conversation with Marguerite, who with sunlit face took no

pains to conceal her delight. She chatted with Phillip Lawson with a

familiarity that led the calculating mother to think that she had no

further troubles from that source.

And Cousin Jennie's presence heightened the effect of this illusion.

Clad in draperies of soft nun's veiling Jennie Montgomery was, if

not pretty, quite interesting, and her bright, fresh face was

refreshing as the air of her native vales.

As in truth every wedding boasts of the time-honored

conventionalities, toasts and speeches, that of "Sunnybank" formed

no exception, and we will not weary you with the endless list of

compliments and amount-to-nothing-in-the-end talk which is current

at such times.

It was only when the hour for departure had arrived that a sense of

loneliness crept over Marguerite.

The elegant presents had been inspected, luncheon served, and the

bride, attired in a superb travelling costume, stood in the doorway

awaiting the carriage.

Montague Arnold wears all the necessary smiles that are expected of

him, and as he takes his place beside his bride a new responsibility

dawns upon him.

A large number of the party accompany the newly-wedded pair to the

Fairville Station, and Marguerite is assigned to Mr. Lawson and

Cousin Jennie.

The latter is cheerful and witty and strives, under cover of her

remarks, to divert her cousin from the sadness that is common to

such occasions.

Phillip Lawson sees with gratitude the girl's kindness and thanks

her in a way that is tenfold more valued than the counterfeit

everyday thanks passed around in common life. If the young barrister

could have seen the true state of Cousin Jennie's feelings towards

him he would have fallen on his knees and thanked God for such a

friend.

But Phillip Lawson was not a mind reader. He could not divine the

thoughts that were passing through Jennie Montgomery's ready and

active brain. But one thing he did know, that in this warm-hearted

girl he had a true friend.

When Marguerite returned to her home a vague, undefined feeling took

possession of her, and gladly would she have given herself up to

this feeling, and indulged in a good, old-fashioned, time-honored

cry.

She felt a sudden pang of remorse. She thought of the lost

opportunities when she might have had a stronger hold upon the

sympathies of her elder sister.

"Poor Eve," murmured the girl, "she was less to blame than I. We

have never had each other's confidence. I hope she will try to love

Montague as a woman should love her husband. How I should like to

ask mamma what she thinks; but what is the use. She will say it is

one of the best matches of the season, and no doubt she will end by

advising me as to her anxiety--on my behalf. Oh, dear! why cannot we

live in a state of blissful oblivion?"

The miniature bronzed clock on the mantel-shelf caused Marguerite to

look up.

"Four o'clock--dear me; I wish this afternoon was over. The house

seems as if a funeral had left it. Poor Evelyn."

"You naughty Madge, where are you?"

The speaker was Jennie Montgomery. She had been busy over the

arrangement of a number of bouquets for the dinner-table, and

assisting Mrs. Verne in many ways, and now made a hasty transit

towards Madge's favorite retreat--a pretty boudoir adjoining her

mamma's dressing-room.

"Just as auntie said, you old offender. A pretty time for day-dreams

when everybody is head over ears in business."

"I have not been here an hour, Jennie," said Madge, in an apologetic

manner, putting her arms caressingly around her cousin's waist.

The latter, though apparently preoccupied, could not fail to admire

this quaint and pretty nook--just such a spot as one could sit in

and dream their life away; a sort of lotus bed, where one inhaled

the beguiling odors, and cast all worldly cares to the shores left

behind.

And little wonder cousin Jennie gazed in admiration.

The walls were of the most delicate rose color, tinged with gold;

the carpet, a ground of white velvet pile bestrewed with delicate

roses; the furniture of delicate pink satin, with setting of

quaintly carved ebony.

But the "seat of state," as Jennie termed it, was the crowning

feature in this pretty retreat.

This seat of state was a raised dais, curtained with costly lace and

surmounted by a canopy of pretty workmanship. In this alcove was an

antique chair or fauteuil, and beside it a small cabinet, inlaid

with mother of pearl, while opposite stood an ebony writing desk,

strewed with fragments of exquisitely perfumed note paper.

It was evident that Marguerite had been penning down some stray

thoughts, for the pen stood in the inkstand, and traces of ink were

to be seen on her fingers.

This seat of state was just such a place as our sweet-faced

Marguerite looked to advantage, not as a queen upon her throne, but

as a type of the _spirituelles_--of the pure-minded maiden with

a slight shade of melancholy, giving interest to the soft, fair

face.

"You remind me of a madonna, my saint-like cousin," said Jennie,

placing her bright red cheek against the purely transparent and more

delicate one of her companion.

"What a contrast, Madge. Just look at your country cousin--a

blooming peony, and you, my most delicate blush rose. Ha! ha! ha!"

Cousin Jennie's laugh was one of the genuine ring--untrammelled by

affectation or repressed by pain or languor. She gave vent to her

feelings and exercised such influence upon Cousin Madge who now

joined in with a clear silvery peal of laughter, sweeter than the

most bewitching music. Nor was this "sweetness lost upon a desert

air."

Mr. Verne had been engaged in his apartments for some minutes. He

had entered unobserved in company with a friend and a few minutes

later a gentleman bearing some legal looking documents entered and

without ceremony was ushered in. It was while the latter was taking

leave that the well-known tones of Marguerite Verne's voice rang out

its silvery sweetness and caused the listener to start. But it

matters not who the latter was--suffice, a man

"of soul sincere,

In action faithful, and in honour clear;

Who broke no promise, served no private end,

Who gained no title, and who lost no friend."

"Come with me Madge and see what I have done. Indeed, I am not going

to put my light under a bushel. Everyone must see my good works,"

exclaimed Jennie, drawing her arm through that of her cousin and

leading her out to the supper room where a sight worth seeing

presented itself.

The tables were arranged with an eye to the beautiful. Everything

that art and taste could suggest was there.

Epergnes costly and rare almost overpowered the senses with the

exhalations of their gorgeous exotics. It was a difficult matter to

determine from what source came the most assistance, the caterer or

the decorater, but all harmonized and all made up one perfect

adaptation.

"Jennie I am ashamed of myself," cried Marguerite, standing before

an exquisite combination of roses, heliotrope, lilies and smilax

which occupied a central place on the supper-table, "you can do

anything. How I envy you."

"Beware my little coz, I have read a little line somewhere

throughout the course of my extensive reading--

'Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise.'

Now be governed accordingly and escape the fearful condemnation."

Marguerite smiled at the bright cheery girl and wondered if it were

possible that such a life might ever feel the weight of care. She

was thinking might it be possible that the girl would give her heart

to the whole-souled friend who always seemed brighter in her

presence.

Is it possible that jealousy finds a lurking place within so fair a

soul--that it may take root and grow and bloom and scatter the

noxious weeds peculiar to its growth?

Ah no, pure minded Marguerite. We accord thee a higher mission upon

earth. Thy nature is too exalted, too ethereal, too much of the

divine.

"I verily believe if I were not here to arouse you, Madge, that you

would be off in another dream in less than no time. I believe some

day in the not very far future if one happened to stray as far as

Boston that on looking over the _Herald_ the first notice that

will greet us is:--

"Madame Marguerite DeCoeur--Clarivoyant. Predicts past, present and

future. Much attention given to maidens seeking a husband. For

particulars see circular. Advice sent on receipt of postage stamps.

No. ---- Court Street, Boston, Mass."

"What's all the fun about, I'd like to know?" chimed in none other

than Master Fred. Verne with an eager curiosity common to his youth.

"Some time you may feel interested my young man, then you may

consult your big sister," was the reply of Cousin Jennie.

Four hours later Marguerite Verne was, as Cousin Jeanie said a

perfect picture--a being born to be admired and loved. Never had she

appeared more bewitching and as the clear-headed Jennie watched the

effect produced upon a pair of thoughtful grey eyes she felt a

sudden relief, murmuring "he will love but one 'my Marguerite.'"

CHAPTER XIII.

MARGUERITE AT "GLADSWOOD."

Reader, another glimpse of life at "Gladswood," and in this inviting

retreat imagine Marguerite. Great indeed, was the delight of Jennie

Montgomery, when, on a shining, bright May morn, she set forth from

"Sunnybank," accompanied by her favorite cousin.

"Take good care of my Madge, Jennie. You see she is of two-fold

value now. I cannot afford to lose my second daughter for a very

long time."

Mr. Verne had arrived at the railway station in time to see the

girls off, and his parting injunction to Jennie was playful, and

partook more of the nature of a brother than that of a parent.

In the companionship of sympathetic natures he was warmhearted,

affectionate and familiar, but in ordinary moods thoughtful and

reserved, and at times gloomy.

"Jennie, do you think it possible for any girl to love her father as

much as I do mine," asked Marguerite, as she leaned forward and

waved adieu, then throwing a kiss sat down beside her companion.

"What a question," cried Jennie. "I hope you don't imagine I care

one straw less for my dear old man than you do for yours, my

sweet, saucy coz. You really must be punished."

Cousin Jennie gave her companion a hearty shake and the subject

dropped.

Friends and acquaintances coming in at Torryburn claimed their

attention and when they arrived at Rothesay a greater reinforcement

came--a party of pic-nickers going to Hampton to feast upon the

beauties of that pretty rural town, and divide the remainder of the

day between the delicacies of the luncheon baskets and the more

delicious bits of gossip common to such gatherings.

"Miss Verne, I really did not expect to see you to-day!" cried a

sprightly miss, springing towards her at no gentle rate.

The girl was Lottie Lawson, her bright young face beaming with

excitement and happiness.

"I have been at Rothesay for a week, and just think, Miss Verne,

Phillip has not found time to come and see me."

Lottie's manner expressed that of a deeply-wronged maiden, and

Marguerite broke forth in a ripple of silvery laughter. Cousin

Jennie also joined, and the infection spread to the aggrieved

sister, whose child-like, musical tones were refreshing to all.

"How I should like to go as far as Sussex! but my visit ends

to-morrow, and Phillip will expect me," said Lottie, in a half

regretful tone.

"But you can come with Mr. Lawson during his vacation. He has

promised me to come to 'Gladswood' then."

"How funny that everything seems to come contrary! I have promised

to go to Woodstock."

Having reached the Hampton station Marguerite glanced out of the

window.

It was fortunate that Cousin Jennie was at that moment deeply

engaged in conversation with a lady in the next seat. A blush

mantled a maiden's cheek, then left her a shade paler than before.

"Brother Phillip--" In another instant the child was in her

brother's arms. "You bad brother, you did not come to see me, I was

just telling Miss Verne."

The young barrister then espied the latter and holding his sister by

the hand walked to the front of the platform.

"I must soon steal her away for a few days, Mr. Lawson. If business

did not interfere, I should feel like making a second raid and

secure another citizen."

Cousin Jennie spoke in a way that one seldom hears. Her artless,

heartfelt manner, was acceptable to our friend, and with true

gentlemanly grace, he bowed acknowledgment.

One of the picnic party--a vinegar-faced woman of forty-five, with

two eligibles at her side--declared to a very intimate friend that

she thought it very queer that Miss Verne should be following at Mr.

Lawson's heels all the time. "For the life of me I can't see why

girls will make themselves so ridiculous. Why, I often see her

cutting across the Square to overtake him."

"Oh, indeed; the girls now-a-days don't have much modesty. Just see

how she is laughing and talking now," exclaimed the confederate.

"Yes," retorted the first speaker "and that country-looking cousin

is just a cloak for them. She is watching a chance to catch some

others of the firm."

"Nice looking, did you say? Not a bit of it. For my part, I think

she is homely; her face is too round and red."

The last remark was made by a saucy-looking maiden of sixteen, who

owned to nothing being good that did not belong to herself.

Marguerite was utterly unconscious of the comments made upon herself

and companion.

In the minutes that Mr. Lawson remained they found much to say, and

there was an absence of coquetry that was gracious to see. The

thoughtful, yet bright, expression of Marguerite's eyes had power to

magnetize the most callous-hearted, and on this morn they were truly

dangerous. The graceful form, attired in pretty travelling costume,

could not fail to attract notice, and we see her repeatedly

acknowledge the recognitions of many of the sterner sex with her

quaint rare smile.

Just as the train was starting a voice exclaimed, "Miss Verne here

are some violets, I brought them purposely to match your eyes." The

fairy-like child placed the treasures in Marguerite's hand and

bounded away without further comment.

"She is a good child," said Phillip, waving adieu to his companion

and hurrying towards the carriage awaiting him.

Cousin Jennie now came forward demanding a share of the violets.

"Mr. Lawson thinks so much of her that I almost love him!" cried she

vehemently. "And she is so cute, I'm sure her brother cannot pay

such pretty compliments, Madge!"

Marguerite smiled and glanced far away over the distant hills,

crowned with trees and foliage already flaunting themselves in

holiday attire.

At that moment Phillip Lawson was thinking over a host of

compliments, which if repeated would have caused Marguerite Verne's

_spirituelle_ face to glow with maiden blushes.

But let us believe--

"One truth is dear, whatever is, is right,"

and leave each to the free range of thought indulged in at the

self-same moment.

The lovely views of nature on this lonely morn soon claimed

Marguerite's attention.

"If the world were all so fair! Oh, how charming!" exclaimed the

latter rising from her seat and drinking deep of the glowing beauty

of hill and dale, beautifully undulating expanse of green carpeted

fields lying in the distance, the purple mountain tops glowing with

regal splendour and above all the ethereal dome of heavenly blue

with fleecy clouds in fantastic shapes and trooping along in gay and

festive march across the boundless field.

As the spire of Apohaqui Church gleamed in the distance Jennie

caught her companion by the arm exclaiming, "Madge, I cannot realize

that we are going to have your dear old self for three long weeks. I

hope papa will be at the station to meet us."

"If not what matter; I love to take good long walks."

"And so do I, my pretty coz; just wait until I trot you out over the

hills and far away," said Jennie, giving her companion a pinch on

the ear that caused it to assume a crimson dye. Sussex Vale, in all

its loveliness now came within sight.

"My own, my native land," cried Jennie, in high glee, as she eagerly

looked for the guard of honor that would be awaiting the arrival.

"I thought so. Look Madge."

The latter saw a group of merry children, a respectable-looking man,

whose good-natured face could belong to none other than Uncle

William Montgomery.

"Wasn't it lucky that you came on a Saturday, Cousin Marguerite; it

is just lovely in the fields now."

The bright-eyed urchin had claimed a seat beside the delighted

maiden with all the airs of a gallant, and jealously guarded all

access from the other unfortunates.

"Hal is not going to ride beside Cousin Marguerite to-morrow, for I

will get in first," whispered a younger lad to his confidante--

Jennie.

"Yes, Jimmie, you shall have fair play. Count on me as your

champion," whispered the former in conciliatory tones.

It is needless to speak of the beauty of Sussex Vale. Did ever

passenger travel along the Intercolonial "with soul so dead" as not

to be stirred with a sense of the beautiful as he neared this

delightful spot.

On this golden May morn Marguerite was indeed intoxicated with

delight. But she could not remain in silent admiration, for Master

Hal's attentions demanded recognition, and after chatting gaily for

half an hour the phaeton deposited its smiling load upon the terrace

at "Gladswood."

Truly "Gladswood," for upon every side arose some sight to make glad

the heart.

There stood the warm-hearted and energetic mistress, her genuine

soul stamped upon every lineament of the plain but inviting face.

"And you did make out to come, Marguerite!" exclaimed Mrs.

Montgomery giving the girl a warm, hearty kiss.

"Yes, we've got her now and the city folks can do without her until

we are ready."

At this ambiguous declaration the gallant Hal gave his head a

defiant toss and gathering up an array of sundry feminine

indispensibles made towards a side entrance where he deposited the

said articles.

"Cousin Marguerite come out and see the calves." We have two of the

loveliest little creatures with large eyes and such pretty white

spots! And you would think they had their foreheads banged!"

"Well, they must be very pretty, Jimmie," said Marguerite, laughing

heartily at the lad's description.

"Now children do let Cousin Marguerite have time to draw her breath

before you tease her to death about your stock," said Aunt Hester

with an amused look upon her face.

"Cousin Marguerite will excuse herself to the company," cried

Jennie, motioning Marguerite to follow her and the latter was soon

snugly ensconced in the cosiest and most inviting chamber that one

ever beheld.

It was not the spare room but a smaller one adjoining that of Cousin

Jennie.

The walls, contrary to fashion, were covered with a delicate paper,

a white ground sprigged with pale lavender, the paints were pure

white and the hangings and draperies were transparent in their

whiteness.

The neat furniture was also of a dazzling white relieved by stripes

of gold and pale lavender. The old fashioned window was formed in a

kind of recess which was filled with pots of the choicest flowers,

while just within reach stood a large lilac bush which on the least

provocation forced its branches into the room.

"Cousin Jennie, the grandeur of St. John cannot boast of a spot like

this. Can it be reality." cried Marguerite, pushing aside the lilac

branches and glancing out upon the enchanting landscape, which gave

such effect to the pretty room.

"It is so cool," broke from the girl in rapturous tones as she eyed

the bare floor with its coat of soft tinted lavender and deeper

shaded border. "You know it would be such a disgraceful thing to

have an uncarpeted floor in the city."

The last remark was in tones slightly ironical, and showed that

Marguerite Verne held views not in accordance with good form and

fearlessly regarded the consequence.

"Of course, mother would not have a carpeted chamber in the summer

season, and now, I really like it, but I fear that some of our

guests are very often surprised."

It being past the noon dinner-hour a luncheon was prepared and the

girls were interrupted by the indefatigable Hal knocking lustily on

the chamber door.

"Really, Jennie, I would rather sit here than eat," said Marguerite,

going to the mirror to re-arrange the mass of silken hair that

crowned her prettily shaped head.

"I am going to take Cousin Marguerite down to luncheon," cried a

voice from without.

This set both girls in a fit of laughter.

"You can't say that you did not raise a beau while in the Vale,"

cried Jennie, with a roguish twinkle of her eye.

"Indeed, Cousin Marguerite will hare no city chaps skulkin' 'round

while I am here," cried our twelve-year old with all the airs of a

dude of twenty.

Next in turn came a tramp around the proud old domain of

"Gladswood."

The stately elms seemed to extend a kindly welcome. All nature

seemed to say "welcome, to Gladswood." The birds seemed to have been

practising some of their latest melodies, for never did grander

strains issue from their sylvan orchestra.

How pleasantly the hours glided by in this charming abode. Truly it

hath been said--

"How noiseless falls the foot of time

That only treads on flowers."

"It is a fortnight to-day since I came to Gladswood," said

Marguerite, one bright, sunny afternoon, as she came up the broad

avenue, crowned with lovely wild flowers and such trophies as the

neighboring wood afforded.

Cousin Jennie had remained at home to assist in some extra duties,

and as she greeted the "spirit of the woods," as she playfully

dubbed Marguerite, she was worthy of notice.

A neatly fitting light colored print wrapper, spotless in its

purity; a linen collar, fastened by a silver horse shoe pin; a long,

plain, white muslin apron; a neat and substantial shoe, tied with

black ribbon, and high over all a crowning mass of purplish black

hair, in beautiful and striking contrast.

"You radiant country maid," cried Marguerite, "stand until I admire

you awhile."

Jennie was playfully turned around as an automaton in a shop window,

and at length breaking forth into a merry laugh, exclaimed, "You

saucy minx, please turn your wit upon some other object."

And thus amid fun, frolic and gaiety, Marguerite's visit came to an

end, and on the last eve to be spent at Gladswood, the girls are

seated in the old summer house enjoying an uninterrupted chat--that

blissful recreation peculiar to each and every maiden.

"Madge, I am almost sorry that you came," said Jennie, taking the

pretty white hand within her own. "Promise me that you will come

while Mr. Lawson is here," cried the girl in a vehement and almost

determined manner, while the large, brown eyes had a far-off look

that she tried hard to conceal.

"It is impossible, Jennie; besides, you must not mention the matter

again."

Marguerite's voice was clear and bird-like, but Jennie Montgomery

fancied she felt a slight tremor in the last words uttered, and with

that intuitive caution characteristic of her mother pressed the

subject no further, and the warm-hearted maiden felt keenly her

utter helplessness to render her companion any sympathy.

"Let us go in, Cousin Jennie," said Marguerite, in tender tones that

seemed as reproach to the high-minded girl, but she heeded not, and

playfully putting her arm around her companion's waist, led her into

the parlor, where the rest of the family were seated around awaiting

their appearance.

"Marguerite is too proud," murmured Jennie, as she sought her own

room on returning from seeing her fair cousin aboard the down

accommodation train which was to carry her homewards.

"Oh, my loving Marguerite, I know more than you think. I could

indeed tell you much that you little dream of, but why is it

thus?" and humming an old-fashioned air Jennie mechanically went

back to her household duties, as if all the world were sunshine

and brightness, and not a troubled thought had ever found a

resting-place within her mind.

CHAPTER XIV.

AT THE NORTHWEST.

The scene is changed; and we find ourselves transported beyond a

doubt to the far-famed city of Winnipeg--that emporium of wealth,

enterprise and industry which arose from its prairie surroundings as

by the magic of the enchanter's wand.

It is a bright, cheerful day in leafy June, and as one jogs

leisurely adown Main street, there are to be seen many happy smiling

faces.

But we are bent upon important business, and yield not to the more

leisurely inclined side of our nature. A large four-story building

is our destination. Its door posts, windows and available space are

decorated with the inevitable shingle that sooner or later ushers

the professional into the notice of his victims. And this building

was not alone in such style of decoration.

"Dear me, I believe every other man in this place is a lawyer! Sakes

alive--it's worse than being among a nest of hornets." Such was the

exclamation of an elderly lady who had recently arrived, and was out

taking a survey of the town.

And the old lady was not far astray, as Winnipeg has proportionately

more of the legal fraternity than any other city of the Dominion.

But to our subject. Having arrived at the end of a spacious corridor

we stop directly opposite a door bearing a placard--the letters are

of gilt upon a black ground:

N. H. SHARPLEY,

Attorney-at-Law,

Notary Public, etc.

A medium-sized man is seated at the desk busily engaged over a

lengthy looking document which he has just received from the young

copyist at the further end of the office.

"All right, Ned, you are at liberty for the next hour. Wait: You

can in the meantime run up for the ink," said Mr. Sharpley,

Attorney-at-Law, in an impatient tone, as though he wished to enjoy

the delightful communion of his own thoughts.

And while the scion of the law was wending his steps towards the

Hudson Bay Company store--that mammoth collection of goods from

every clime--the father, yea rather grandfather, of variety stores--

the disciple of Coke and Blackstone takes out of his breast pocket a

letter, which, judging from its crumpled state, must have claimed

the reader's attention more than once.

"Five thousand dollars--not bad, by Jove," muttered Mr. Sharpley, in

firm set tones, then began whistling the air accompanying the words:

"Never kick a man when he's going down the hill."

Before going further let us take a survey at Nicholas Sharpley,

Esq., Attorney-at-Law, as he sits with his right arm resting on

the desk and his left supporting his very important head. He is

about thirty-five years of age, or perhaps less. His face is long

and his chin sharp, so that his name is no misnomer. A pair of

glittering, steel-like eyes, play a prominent part in the

expression of his face. A sinister smile plays hide-and-seek

around the thin, pale lips, while the movement betray a

flexibility of mind that is not nattering to the possessor.

There is about the man a striking combination of Uriah Heap and

Mr. Pecksniff; which, to an honest-minded man, rendered him

intolerable.

But Nicholas Sharpley had his followers, and thrived and shone

bright among the legal luminaries, and was always ready to do the

most unprincipled jobs to be met with.

A cunning leer passed over the greyish countenance as the dazzling

vision protruded itself before Mr. Sharpley. He drew his fingers

convulsively through the mass of bristling hair (which might be

designated by that color known as iron grey), and then suppressing

a yawn, muttered: "It's worth the trying. The fellow's good for

another five--that's a bonanza these devilish hard times."

The attorney then glanced over the contents of the prized letter

once more and evidently experienced a fresh sensation of delight.

"Tracy beats the devil--all for the sake of a girl too; bet my

life she's no better than the rest of them. Well, Mr. Tracy, my

humble client, you will pay a good price for the enchanting

dearie, who has caught you body and soul--fools--fools--men are

fools."

Poor Nicholas made the last assertion with much force of manner,

betraying his own feelings more than he would have dared to

acknowledge.

Dame Rumor had not been sparing in circulating the love affairs of

our attorney-at-law, and when she fearlessly came forward and

declared that a certain maiden with more pin money than beauty,

rejected his suit, there went forth from the four walls of the

bachelor's apartments an edict ruthlessly vowing vengeance upon

the whole sex, and comforting himself with the thought that he

loved a good horse better than anything in this fluctuating world.

"Ten thousand out of it; not a bad speck--and that in the eight

per cent--a thousand times better than the other side of the

bargain. Eh, Moll?" The latter part of the sentence was addressed

to the pretty animal that was reined up before the court-yard just

as the speaker rose to his feet.

It was four o'clock and Mr. Sharpley, taking the ribbons from the

boy with all the importance of his position, rode down Main street

towards the old fort, and afterwards through the different streets

lined with the most imposing and stately residence so characteristic

of the southern portion of the city.

Have patience, reader, while we give another thought to the

crumpled letter. Its pages make mention of one very dear to us.

Phillip Lawson is on the eve of being the dupe of two unprincipled

schemers.

Hubert Tracy knew well where to look for an accomplice. He

possessed money or the means of getting it, and he knew that for

the precious dust the high handed and unscrupulous soul of

Nicholas Sharpley was his only help.

"Ten thousand--not bad--and more to follow," were the words that

rose to Mr. Sharpley's lips and which he muttered incoherently as

he sat over a rubber of whist in a private apartment of the hotel

on the self-same evening, and as the many-sided character of the

attorney-at-law presented itself, we can see in bold relief a

placard bearing the mark "$10,000--not bad--and more to follow."

And there is another on the eve of happiness--a rival is to be set

aside--that other is Hubert Tracy, and the rival is Phillip

Lawson.

Within a few hours from the time that Mr. Sharpley had made up his

mind, there lay on the office desk a letter addressed:

W. CLARKE CONNOR, ESQ.,

Barrister,

Portage, La Prarie.

Barrister at Portage La Prarie. Yes, my friend; barristers at the

northermost corner of the earth.

Mr. Connor was a man of fifty years or upwards. He had formerly

practised in Winnipeg and in his office Nicholas Sharpley first

entered as a law student. Doubtless the quick-sighted lawyer saw in

the former much in common with his own sordid nature and liked

communion with kindred spirits, for Nicholas Sharpley rose high in

Mr. Connor's esteem, and when the latter started out for "greener

fields and pastures new," he was in full confidence of the affairs

of the younger lawyer.

Mr. Connor was a man whom few liked but very many dreaded. He had

the power of ingratiating himself in favor when he was least sought,

and his bland oily manner could scarcely be disconcerted.

"That old nuisance of a Connor is always poking his nose where he is

not wanted," was often heard from any outspoken Miss who had the

audacity to express her honest thoughts.

Mr. Connor always appeared to take a very great interest in church

affairs and from his indefatigable labor generally strove to be at

the head of all measures advanced in the interest of his own church.

Whether or no the congregation of the pretty Presbyterian Church on

the outskirts of the town appreciated such labor we will not say but

let the reader judge for himself.

But to the subject in question. Mr. Sharpley had no hesitation in

disclosing his mind on the present burning question.

A great inducement was to be held out to Mr. Lawson to enter into

partnership with the said Mr. Connor, Barrister. Nothing was to be

left undone in order to accomplish this scheme. The wide field,

large practice, wealth of the country; its future greatness was

pictured in a wonderfully clever manner.

Mr. Sharpley had been made acquainted with the affairs of the St.

John barrister in every particular.

Hubert Tracy had carefully noted the average salary of the latter

and found that it was only by dint of perseverance and up-hill work

that he could meet all his demands.

"The stronger the inducements the easier the job," was Tracy's

advice to the Winnipeg lawyer and it is needless to say that such

advice was carried out to the letter.

Portage La Prarie was indeed an enterprising little town and

possessing many of the characteristics of earlier settled districts.

On Main street are to be seen several fine buildings, fine stores

and fine residences, while Pacific and Belliveau hotels are quite

imposing.

And the education of the youth is not forgotten. On an elevated

position commanding a fine view of the town stands the new

schoolhouse, a pretty and imposing structure with surroundings in

keeping with such an institution.

And to this habitation the young lawyer was to be consigned. He

could not see his way out of the arrangement to which he had

partially given his consent. And when Mr. Sharpley's letters were

read and re-read, Phillip Lawson was in no enviable state of mind.

To do or not to do--to do was invariably the answer. Then there

arose another side to the question, which the young man hardly durst

think of.

"I may stay here until my hair is gray, and what matters it? I have

no reason to think that there ever will be any hope for me in that

respect."

Here Phillip fell to musing, and what his musings were, we may

divine from the foregoing speech. He considered Mr. Tracy in several

ways, and though he felt a little uneasiness in the matter

attributed it to the morbid state of his own mind.

"With a wider field I can do something," murmured the lawyer, as he

gathered up the loose sheets of paper lying around and threw them

into the waste basket.

But Phillip Lawson only saw one side of the proceeding--the

alluring, tempting side.

There was, indeed, a complication of schemes already concocted, and

each one was to follow in a well conceived and nicely arranged

order--"a wheel within a wheel," as Hubert Tracy coolly expressed

himself.

Perhaps no more diabolical scheme could have been more cleverly

planned to ruin the character of a fellow-being. But it is ever

thus, and shall be until the arch fiend, who first plotted in the

Amaranthine bowers of Eden, shall be cast out forever beyond the

reach of mortal ear.

Had Phillip Lawson now received the timely warning of one kind

friend--but there was none to warn. If he asked the advice of some

older members of the profession, the answer invariably was: "Try it,

my boy, if you think you will succeed." So the outcome of it all was

that the young man had made up his mind to try it, and, after a long

conversation with Hubert Tracy, resolved to inform Mr. Sharpley of

his intention at the earliest opportunity.

But Tracy was not so deeply enthusiastic as might be expected. He

seemed quite indifferent as to the result, and the change would have

puzzled as wise a head as Mr. Lawson's. Great was the surprise of

the latter when a few mornings earlier Mr. Tracy called to bid

good-bye. He was ready to take the train for Halifax, whence he was

to sail for England.

"I may never see you again, Lawson, so think of me as you will,"

cried the young man, with a sudden outburst of energy quite foreign

to his nature.

"You may not go to the North-West?"

"I certainly shall," answered the lawyer, determinedly.

"Well may God prosper you, old boy," cried Hubert Tracy with a

choking sensation in his throat, and rushing madly out Phillip

Lawson caught the peculiar glance in his eye which he many a time

called to mind years afterwards when he could interpret it with all

clearness--the look which seemed to plead for forgiveness--which

seemed to say, "I was desperate and the devil tempted me, I was

indeed brought up by a good, pious mother."

But it matters not that Hubert Tracy had been early trained in the

paths of right, he was possessed of a weak many-sided nature and

fell a prey to vice on the first opportunity.

Worse still, he appeared in good society and was looked upon alike

by maidens and mothers as a most desirable acquisition by way of

alliance, notwithstanding the fact that many had doubts concerning

the tone of morality set up as his standard.

Let us, however, earnestly hope that the pure heart of Marguerite

Verne shall never come in contact with such deadly poisonous

influence. May she ever remain the guileless, sweet creature that

she now is.

CHAPTER XV.

HELEN'S CELESTIAL SKETCHES.

A few mornings after Marguerite had arrived from "Gladswood" she was

sitting in the library writing a note to cousin Jennie.

A fresh young voice gaily greeted her and Helen Rushton stood before

her, a pretty picture in her morning costume of delicate cambric.

"Madge, darling, it seems a year since I saw your dear old face!"

cried Helen enthusiastically, at the same moment embracing the

former in truly genuine style.

Marguerite returned her friend's salutation, and putting her into an

old-fashioned arm-chair drew her own seat near and was ready for a

good chat.

"Madge, I have news for you."

"Good news or bad news?" queried Marguerite.

"Both," said Helen, "can you guess?"

"Spare my patience, Helen, I am no good at guessing."

"Then you give up?"

"I do, but you know full well that I have as much curiosity as any

of Eve's daughters."

"Indeed, Madge, I will not give you credit for any such thing. I do

think you have the least curiosity of any girl I ever met--you are

far above it, you precious darling."

"Be careful, Helen, or I shall begin to have more conceit than is

strictly in accordance with what is right," said Marguerite

earnestly. "But of the news, Helen? You see, I cannot conceal the

weakness after all you have said."

"Well, I shall not tease you any more. Last evening I received a

letter saying that papa was called away to England on business to be

absent for three months, and as mamma's health is delicate the

physicians thought the trip would be highly beneficial to her. Papa

and mamma both write and ask if I would like to remain here while

they are absent."

"Oh, I am so glad Helen--of course you will," cried Marguerite in

earnest pleading tones.

"Yes Madge, I will stay. My brothers are in Philadelphia and the

dear old home would seem very lonely."

Helen was about to say more but the unceremonious arrival of Josie

Jordan brought it to an abrupt end.

"Well, of all things! You girls here! I do think I am mean to come

when I wasn't sent for. Now Madge Verne, you are one of the meanest

girls I ever met."

"What have I been guilty of now, Josie?"

"Oh yes, to be home more than a week without sending Fred. or

Charlie to let me know. And this precious article," pointing to

Helen, "I thought in Halifax."

"Am sorry you are so sadly disappointed, Josie."

"Come now Miss Helen, I mean no offence and though it is nearly two

months since I saw you, remember I have not forgotten your promise."

"What about?" asked Helen.

"Celestial entertainment, my dear," ventured Madge.

"I thought myself to be free, for you know, my dear, that was some

time ago," said Helen, laughing.

"I'm ready with questions girls. Let us call the House to order. Is

the House ready for the question?" cried Josie, jumping to her feet

and brandishing a lignum vitae rule which she held in her hand.

"Well girls to be serious I don't know how to begin. Last evening I

had a note from Marion and she says they had a most delightful time

at the Encaenia and spoke of two young gentlemen who graduated with

the highest honors. I met them frequently and received much kindness

from them."

"Suppose you saw in them a 'Roland and an Oliver,'" cried Josie,

making a series of amusing grimaces.

"One was from Westmoreland and the other from Kings--the latter, I

am told, is the banner county for intelligence and ability."

"Now Helen Rushton, I am not going to stand that," exclaimed Josie,

her eyes sparkling with good natured repartee--"indeed the famous

county of St. John has been the birthplace of men who ranked high in

intellectual ability, proud attainments and held their own with the

professionals, legislators and statesmen of other countries."

"Well done Josie, you are true to the core," cried Helen in rapt

admiration at the defiant and fearless girl.

"What if York could have her say, I suppose _she_ claims to be

historic and grand too," remarked Marguerite with a sly glance

towards Helen.

"Aye, and that she is, too," said the latter, the bright color on

her cheek betokening the earnestness of her speech, "surely you will

give to York the credit of the 104th regiment. It was while there I

heard much of that glorious march which is unparalleled in history.

When the brave veterans set forth amid all the hardships of piercing

winter winds and boundless wastes of snow, the patriotic band, their

hearts kept warm by the patriotic fire within, toiling on without a

murmur, and singing snatches of song to sustain their drooping

spirits, at last reached the goal; and when called into action,

fought bravely and to the end, shedding greater lustre on the

Province of their birth than if each soldier had been raised to a

peerage."

"New Brunswick has many such true, loyal and brave sons, Helen, and

if the hour should come when our country demands them, not one will

shirk his duty."

Marguerite Verne was the speaker, and at that moment the

enthusiastic expression of her face showed that the girl would not

stand idly by if she could also administer to the sufferings of the

wounded and the dying.

"Well, I do believe we are the oddest crowd of girls in existence.

Just look where our conversation has landed us, and for goodness

sake look at Madge! One would suppose she was starting off with an

ambulance and all the other requisites necessary for a field nurse!

Ha! ha! ha!"

Josie's ringing laugh infected the others, and a general laugh

succeeded.

"This reminds me of an evening while in Fredericton," said Helen.

"Some company happened in, and after music we formed a party for

whist, and during the first half hour as the game progressed the

conversation was, strange to say, of a serious nature, when in an

instant a bright, happy girl sitting near me, by an unconscious

remark, completely changed the current of thought and convulsed the

entire party with fits of laughter."

"How I would have enjoyed it, Helen. If there be anything in this

world that I admire in people it is a propensity for laughing," said

Josie.

"Yes," added Marguerite, "if people laughed more heartily there

would be less doctor's bills to pay, and less palatial drugstores at

every corner."

"I believe so, too; but as I have many friends among the medical

faculty, would not like to take a shingle off by advising too

frequent hilarity," said Helen, laughing herself as contradiction to

the speech.

"Oh, I forgot, Helen; you said that you visited in a professional

gentleman's family. I hope your host would not be among the list to

be boycotted by our new method of prescription?"

We will not give Helen's answer. Suffice it to say the girls

received all the facts they wished to know, and felt more than ever

impressed with Helen's ideas of celestial hospitality.

Then followed a vivid description of several of the M.P.P.'s,

particularly the younger members of that august assemblage.

"The Crichton's of the House, did you say, Helen?" cried Josie,

abruptly.

"Yes, several are considered quite beaux; I believe many of the

young ladies have had designs upon them."

"And they are invulnerable?"

"Not exactly so, if rumor is correct; but as I never met the young

ladies in question, cannot tell you much about it. Yes, I was at

several parties, and had a good opportunity of seeing many people."

"Did you form as favorable opinions of the fair sex, there as those

of our set?"

"You absurd girl! what a question! Well, to be candid, I saw much to

approve and much to disapprove. One thing I did not like--that was

the young ladies invariably flirted with the married gentlemen, and

_vice versa_,--anything I despise in this world is a male

flirt."

Helen Rushton drew herself up proudly and looked the embodiment of

scorn and disgust.

"And I dare say little Helen was not behind in the list, for you

see, girls, she favors it among the fair beauties."

"Josie Jordan, I would not stoop so far beneath the dignity of woman

as to indulge in the most 'harmless flirtation,' and I pity the

woman who does so; but man, with all his high sense of honor, and in

possession of those manly graces which, when properly directed, are

a guiding-star to society, falls low indeed when he becomes what is

generally termed a flirt."

"Dear me," cried Josie, "and you really passed through the campaign

without making an attack upon any of the celestials?"

"I am not going to tell you, Josie. I only wish you to know that I

walked, danced, sang and was kindly entertained, and hope that I may

only have an opportunity of returning such kindness when any of

those acquaintances should happily tread on Haligonian classic

soil."

"I believe the poetic and aesthetic of the celestial have taken,

deep root already! Girls, just listen to the style of speech--tread

on classic soil!"

At this Marguerite smiled, yet she did not altogether endorse

Josie's repartee, and going to a cabinet took out a portfolio, which

she passed to Helen.

"Excuse me, Josie, I had almost forgotten to have these sketches

ready to send by the evening mail. I have promised two of them to

Cousin Jennie, and really am at a loss to decide--which do you like

best?"

Marguerite had now arranged several pretty sketches before her

companions, and to decide was no easy task.

"This is cute!" cried Josie, holding up the foremost of the group.

"The banks of Nith," remarked Helen, examining the pretty Scotch

landscape with the air of a connoiseur.

"Yes, I believe Jennie will like that," said Marguerite, taking the

proffered sketch.

"Like it? she will adore it! for if she be like me she will admire

anything that is Scotch--Scotch music--oh, girls! is there anything

on this earth more enchanting than a quaint old Scotch ballad?"

"Yes; and if Madge or yours very humbly ever gets to Halifax we may

expect a daily repast of oatmeal bannocks," turning towards Helen,

and was about to exercise some of her latent strength upon her, when

a reminder from Marguerite caused her to turn in dismay.

"Look what you have done!"

The sketches were lying upon the carpet. Instantly Josie was on her

knees; and as she placed each sketch upon the cabinet, described its

merits and demerits most heartily.

A pretty companion sketch--"Kilchurn Castle," rendered famous by

Wordsworth--was also selected, and when the package had been sealed

it passed into Josie's hands to be mailed on her way homeward.

Before the girls separated, Helen had given a glowing description of

a choral service in the Cathedral. She described the building itself

with the precision of an architect, not excepting the massive key

which was also in keeping with the style of architecture--the form

of a cross. And this grand and imposing Gothic structure, its solemn

service, inspiring music pealing along the corridors, echoing and

re-echoing through the vaulted arches, the solemn procession wending

slowly down from the altar and entering by the eastern door, the

prelates in the order of succession.

"It was a sight I shall never forget," said Helen, with a peculiar

earnestness. "I stood long in the grand tesselated vestibule and

took in the scene, and as I did so, I noticed a young gentleman who

seemed spell-bound; he was wrapped in deep enthusiasm, and on making

enquiries learned that the dreamer was an artist--a native artist--

in fact I could almost see the poetic glow overspreading each

feature of the expressive face."

"And thus it ended that Helen Rushton went to the Celestial and fell

in love with a Celestial artist. Amen, so let it be!"

"Josie Jordan, how irreverent!"

"Forgive me, Madge! I forget that I am in the presence of High

Church people. Now dear, I will be ever so humble."

Josie's contrition was of short duration. Within a few moments she

had to be reproved for interrupting Helen in the midst of a short

but clearly-defined picture of the University and the pretty groves

and avenues.

"I am determined to see those places later in the season."

"Then you will be repaid a thousand times, Helen," said Madge, a

smile resting upon the madonna-like face and throwing a halo around

her. "Last summer a number of friends were staying at the 'Barker,'

and in the meantime Cousin Jennie and I found ourselves in Uncle

William's care and registered at the 'Queen.' It was a lovely

morning in August, and as we were engaged to attend a garden party

on the self-same evening, we set off in the direction of Mr.

Bebbington's garden, to get some of his choice roses. I was somewhat

ahead of the party, and on turning the corner of Queen and Church

streets the scene was truly enchanting. I was pleased to be alone to

drink in the grandeur. I never could half describe that picture, it

was as one brief glimpse of some paradise that appears only in

dreamland. Not a sound marred the effect. All was calm and peaceful

indeed. Stretching out in graceful curves lay the river, looking

indeed like living silver; the soft, green sward and grassy bank;

then the Cathedral in its sombre Gothic dress, its leafy grove, its

hallowed associations. I looked further, and there stood the

outlying hills crowned with lovely foliage, and above all the soft,

fleecy clouds chasing each other through the blue sky. Soft and

beautiful as an Italian landscape! And the neat, suburban cottages

with artistically-arranged flower gardens in front. All was in

keeping with the scene.

'No sound of busy life was heard.'

"As I stood in wrapt admiration, the Cathedral clock chimed out in

soft, silvery tones, summoning the worshipper to the morning matin.

Presently a figure emerges from the doorway of a neat residence and

crosses the street. It is the Lord Bishop, who for so many years has

crossed the same well-beaten path. The calm serenity of the place,

the hour and the solemnity of the scene was overpowering. I dared

not wait until the ethereal sweetness of the music would cease. I

took one lingering gaze and murmured: This is indeed Elysium--a step

nearer Heaven, and with feelings of reverential awe set forth on my

errand."

"It must indeed have been grand!" cried the listeners in concert.

"I can never forget it," said Marguerite, "and if you should ever

happen to see the same picture, you can imagine my emotions at the

time."

"It is growing late, and I must attend to business," said Josie,

taking up the package and setting off for the post office, while

Helen and Marguerite stood on the balcony throwing tokens of

affection, and as the coquettish form was lost in the distance,

Helen, turning towards her companion, said:

"If Josie could only remain as she is--a grown-up child!"

CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. ARNOLD AS A DIPLOMATIST.

Some evenings later Phillip Lawson found his way to "Sunnybank." He

was received by the stately mistress with more than usual courtesy.

"You have surely forgotten us of late, Mr. Lawson," exclaimed she,

in a playful and remonstrating style. "Are we to attribute your

delinquency to business or total neglect?"

"I must plead business to a certain extent, Mrs. Verne," said the

young man with a quaint dignified reserve.

"I understand that you intend spending your vacation at 'Gladswood'

Mr. Lawson. Really I envy you the prospect, for it is a truly

delightful spot."

Mrs. Verne had seated herself upon the sofa. She wore a rich black

moire robe which, with the addition of a magnificent display of

garnets with setting of gold, made an elaborate costume.

"I am sorry that circumstance has cancelled my engagement in that

direction. In fact I regret it deeply, I was anticipating too much

and was justly punished."

"It must be weighty business that would thus interfere, Mr. Lawson.

I am inclined to believe that you are already becoming too worldly."

Mrs. Verne had raised her jewelled fingers and rested them upon her

forehead.

Among the many weaknesses of Mrs. Verne was her vain and

uncontrollable desire to show off her beautifully shaped hands--fit

models for the sculptor's chisel--rivals for those of, the Venus of

Cnidos by Praxiteles.

The young barrister had kept his negotiations quiet and had no

intention to gratify the woman's curiosity.

Marguerite now entered accompanied by Louise Rutherford. The latter

had returned from Montreal and was making her first call at

"Sunnybank."

"Mr. Lawson has just been receiving a slight reproof, young ladies,

and I think you have arrived in time to assist me," said Mrs. Verne

glancing at Louise with a bewitching smile.

"I for one always think that when Mr. Lawson neglects any part of

his duties it is wholly from inability to perform them," said

Louise.

"Duties! That is the great trouble. It is to duty that we attribute

the true source of our complaint. To the stern goddess is sacrificed

every would-be pleasure."

"Forgive me Mrs. Verne, I believe that Mr. Lawson is right, and

forgetful of every presence Louise exclaimed:--

"Stern daughter of the voice of God,

O duty, if that name thou love,

Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove--

Thou, who art victory and law,

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free,

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity."

"Noble girl," thought the young man, "those words give me greater

strength."

Little did Marguerite Verne dream of the thoughts passing through

Mr. Lawson's mind as he bowed acknowledgment to her companion's

quotation.

The rising blush betrayed Louise Rutherford's embarrassment.

"Really Mr. Lawson, I beg to be excused. I have a habit of

committing to memory any subject that I admire and it sometimes

makes me seem very ridiculous when they unconsciously repeat

themselves."

"Not in this particular, I assure you, Miss Rutherford," said the

young man very earnestly, and as Marguerite fancied, with a hidden

meaning in their depths.

"I presume you are aware that Mr. Tracy has sailed for Europe?" said

Mrs. Verne, casting a meaning glance at Marguerite and watching the

effect upon Mr. Lawson.

"Yes; I was somewhat surprised when he called at the office to make

his adieu. It must surely have been an impromptu arrangement. Within

a fortnight he had been planning a different course," said Mr.

Lawson, quite cheerily.

"Sooner or later he will join Mr. and Mrs. Arnold," said Mrs. Verne,

referring to the newly wedded pair with proud delight.

"That will be very pleasant, indeed," said Mr. Lawson.

"Would you not like to be one of the party, Madge?" cried Louise,

with all the honest enthusiasm of her nature."

"I cannot say that I would," replied Marguerite.

"Oh! you are such an old-fashioned home body, Madge; I might know

your answer without asking the question. Suppose I might ask

_you_, Mr. Lawson," ventured Louise, persistent in getting a

favorable reply.

The young barrister smiled, and that smile was a conquest in itself.

It had powers to enable a mild and _spirituelle_ maiden to form

a resolve that was as unyielding as the marble hearthstone beside

her, while on the other hand it exercised a spirit in the

calculating matron that no human influence could brook.

Mr. Lawson had little thought of the agencies at work in those two

beings of widely different natures, and of which time alone will

interpret the result.

Marguerite Verne was sweetly irresistible. Her dress was simple--a

sweet simplicity in every look, motion and gesture. The pure white

draperies gave to the _spirituelle_ face the radiance of a

Madonna, and placed the maiden in striking contrast to the sparkling

bright and witty Louise--a striking and high-spirited brunette, with

a mind of no common order.

As Mr. Lawson sat in the Verne drawing-room with the being that he

idolized so near him, a deadly struggle was going on within. What a

conflict--what doubt, what irresolution!

It was worse than ever to give up all earthly hope, all earthly

happiness.

What prevented the young man--aye, every inch a man--from falling on

his knees and declaring his love, and begging a slight return for

such love?

Go ask the weird sisters upon whose spindles hang the threads of

every human life! Go ask the winds that echo the wails of human

hearts and often carry them along with a cruel insatiable spirit of

revenge, until all is hushed in the stillness of death.

Mrs. Verne dwelt with pride upon the adulation which her firstborn

was receiving in them other country. Mrs. Arnold's beauty had been

commented upon in the journals; her face was sought after in all the

fashionable resorts, and her queenly torso was the subject of every

artist.

"They are going to remain for some weeks in Paris, and I am really

afraid that Evelyn will be intoxicated with gaiety. She is such a

lover of society, the dear girl, and Montague is just as fond of

gaiety as Eve. What a happy couple they must be--they write such

sweetly interesting letters. Really, Mr. Lawson, it would do one

good to read them."

The subjects of those remarks were in the meantime enjoying life at

a hotel in Picadilly. They had seen the sights of the great French

metropolis, but were they really enjoying life as it should be. Was

there real true happiness existing between these two hearts--"this

happy couple?"

This is a question to be answered in due time, and which will be

"sweetly interesting" to know.

When Mr. Lawson rose to take leave he was uncomfortably conscious of

the patronage bestowed upon him. Mrs. Verne was radiant in smiles

and gave her hand to the departing guest with the grace of a

dowager.

"You must not stay away so long again, Mr. Lawson. Remember if you

do, I shall be very angry, and, perhaps, not so easily conciliated."

It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that at the very moment that

Louise Rutherford had asked Marguerite if she did not wish to be one

of the tourists that a thought flashed through Mrs. Vernes' head

with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than is conceivable

was formed into high and daring resolve.

And more surprising still is the fact that some hours previous the

same bent of thought was being cherished by the wily Mrs. Montague

Arnold.

The latter was determined that through her influence upon her

worldly mother that Marguerite should wed Hubert Tracy, heir to Sir

Peter Tracy's grand estates.

"Mamma will accomplish her end if any person on earth can do it, and

Marguerite is too good, too conscientious, to disobey."

Was this peerless beauty so fond of Hubert Tracy? Did she entertain,

such high opinion of this fashionable young man? No! He had riches--

that was all in all. That was one reason; and another, it would be

the means of outwitting Philip Lawson, whom she hated with a bitter

hate.

When Evelyn Verne gave her hand to Montague Arnold she never gave

her heart.

Her marriage was in the eyes of the world a good match, and that was

all that was necessary. Mr. Arnold was a man of the world, addicted

to many habits that were not what the better side of life would

approve of; but his wife had her failings, likewise, and she availed

herself of the license thus given her--the liberties of fashionable

folly. Mrs. Arnold being a beauty, was courted by the gay and

fashionable world. She flirted without restraint, and took delight

in making conquests among the degenerated nobility, and lost no

opportunity of displaying her charms. Excitement was as necessary to

Mrs. Arnold's nature as the air is necessary for the support of

animal life. She was buoyed up by excitement and kept alive by

excitement. Life was one giddy round of delights--the dejeuner fete,

opera, and ball-room.

It matters not to know whether this woman of fashion ever gave one

thought to the real object of life--whether she even dreamed that

God gave man an intellect, with mind-power capable of being brought

nearer that state from which he fell ere he lost the impress of the

Divine; but it matters us to know that she strove to bring every one

whom she met on a level with her own superficial mind.

"Madge must marry Hubert Tracy; once with us she is perfectly safe.

Papa will be beyond reach, and his counsel or suggestions will not

come in time."

Such was the comment of Mrs. Arnold as she stood opposite the

elegant plate mirror which reflected a life-size portrait of

herself.

"I am beautiful, and it is but in justice to myself that 'I improve

the shining hour.' Oh, Montague Arnold, you were a lucky man to wed

such a prize," murmured the woman, clasping her hands over her head

in an attitude often seen upon the stage when the actress is

exhibiting much feeling: then looking into the depths of the

brilliant dark eyes, exclaimed, "What jewels can compare with thee,

my priceless orbs?"

The elegant evening costume was a marvel in itself--creamy lace,

shining satin, and flowing draperies, while bright jewels gleamed

from the dusky hair and burned upon the heaving bosom.

"Evelyn, my queen, you are ready for the conquest!" cried the

beauty, taking one long gaze, and then picking up the jewelled fan

that fell at her feet went forth at the summons of the waiting-maid

to receive a visitor in the drawing-room.

"The Hon. Cecil Featherstone! The man is my slave! Why is he here at

such an early hour?--it is too bad! What shall I do with poor

Huntington, my latest flame? Oh, dear! I wish the men were not so

incorrigible! Featherstone--it ought to be Featherhead, for I

believe his head is sadly light of brains. Featherhead--Hon. Cecil

Featherhead!--ha! ha! ha!"

Had not the grand drawing-room been at the other end of the spacious

hall the latter part of Mrs. Arnold's speech would have been heard

by the subject of these remarks. Be it said, to that gentleman's

ease of mind, that he was in the meantime admiring some choice

paintings and counting the minutes hours until the fair hostess

should arrive.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Featherstone! I was really

wondering what I should do with myself until the opera--and how kind

of you, Mr. Featherstone, to think of me! I believe that I am one

of the most favored of mortals!"

Having made this speech, Mrs. Arnold cast upon Mr. Featherstone one

of her duly-organized smiles--a smile that was magnetic, and that

set the heart of the luckless visitor into a flutter beyond recall.

"My dear Mrs. Arnold, you certainly do me the highest honor that can

be bestowed upon a human being"--Mr. Featherstone felt considerable

difficulty in getting off this speech, but another glance at the

fair creature and he continued--"for you are certainly born to be

worshipped at a distance--a something too lovely to be approached by

anything this side of paradise!"

"Oh, Mr. Featherstone, spare me this flattery--I cannot really

receive such, and from you-one endowed with such intellectual power,

such ability and such genius! The thought is really dreadful!"

Mrs. Arnold's assumed earnestness of manner was indeed flattery of

the seventh degree to the superficial Mr. Featherstone. He was

transported to empyrean air. Mrs. Arnold had insight and her opinion

was something to cherish. Poor Mr. Featherstone!

The conversation that followed was extravagant to the highest

degree, and he went away that evening in a state of great

disquietude, wondering why it was that it had not been his good

fortune to meet his ideal of female loveliness ere she was wedded to

another.

"That miserable bore! I am late in writing mamma's letter. I really

wonder what she would say if she saw me flirting with the Hon. Cecil

Featherstone! but I must be cautious, for I want the simple-minded

Madge to share my blissful fate."

A servant in livery entered in answer to the summons of the

bell-rope.

"Has James gone for the evening mail, Watkins?" demanded Mrs. Arnold

in an imperious tone.

"He has not gone yet, my lady."

"Go and see how long before he does."

"Yes, my lady," said the servant, bowing very low, and with an air

that seemed to say he was in the presence of royalty. The said

Watkins had seen service in distinguished families, and the habit,

though a ridiculous one, had become second nature, he invariably

addressing every woman of fashion as "my lady."

Mrs. Arnold was pleased to learn that she could put her plan into

execution without a moment's delay, and being a rapid writer she

wrote and sealed a formidable-looking document, which she styled

"mamma's letter," and within a few minutes saw it safe in the

mail-bag awaiting the arrival of James, the trustworthy footman.

What the letter contained and its effects upon the different members

of her family will follow in another chapter.

CHAPTER XVII.

MR. SPRIGGINS MAKES A DISCOVERY.

It is indeed, a warm July day--a fine hay day--and the people of

Mill Crossing are taking advantage of the occasion. They are turned

out _en masse_. Mowing machines are called into active service,

and the new inventions--reapers, binders, etc.--are also at hand.

The farmers of this favored locality are pretty well to do, and

conspicuous among the number is our friend Mr. Spriggins.

The Spriggins farm was well cultivated. A good frame house and

commodious barns speak of the industry of the Sprigginses.

There was also a heavy stock upon the farm, and that fact alone is

sufficient proof of its thrift.

On the day in question we see the healthy, beaming face of Mr. Mose

Spriggins in the doorway. He had been very busy in the earlier part

of the morning, but now had a few moments to talk to the young man

who had been hired to help in haying time.

The homestead, like many others that we see in country districts,

had a snug room on each side of the narrow entrance--the one on the

northeast side being fitted up for the best room, and used only on

state occasions, such as weddings, quarterly meetings, etc. Into

this apartment Moses peeped with an air of great caution, as much as

to say "I must be keerful the old lady don't spy me in here with my

big boots on."

But important business was on hand. The mantel piece must be

reached! The old clock that didn't go stood there, and within, its

sheltering recess was a valuable document.

"Well, I never; if this eer room isn't as dark as Egypt," exclaimed

Moses, going to the end window and hitching up the blind in that

remarkable style peculiar only to the sterner sex.

The light sun streamed in and brought out each article of furniture

in bold relief.

There was a brand new set of cane-seat chairs that the old lady had

bought at Stewart & White's the last time she had been to town. A

woollen carpet from A. O. Skinner's had lately taken the place of

the home-made one which now graced the spare bedroom up stairs. A

motto, "God Bless our Home," hung over the mantel, and a few chromos

relieved the walls. A large, beautifully bound Bible lay on the

table, and beside it a photograph album, which had been subscribed

for a few days previous by the persistent, efforts of an

indefatigable canvasser. A white tidy covered the back of the

rocking-chair, and another the back of the lounge. An old-fashioned

pitcher filled with sweet-brier and some of the old-time flowers,

such as bachelors' buttons, London pride, blue rocket and

jump-up-johnnie stood on a kind of sideboard and showed a desire

to make the room attractive and inviting.

In this apartment the young man stood for about five minutes' time,

then exclaimed:

"By golly! I must soon git; for if the old lady catches me I'm a

goner."

Suiting the action to the words Moses made his exit, carrying in his

hand a sheet of paper which, on gaining the door, he folded and

thrust into his bosom.

"Where's N'h'miar gone, Bill?"

"He's up to Widder Smith's; Ned was here a few minnits ago and said

he was a' wantin', so off he sot; but he said to tell you he would

be back less 'n ten minnits."

"The 'tarnal fool, to be a runnin' arter the Smithses every time

they want him," exclaimed Mr. Spriggins, seating himself under a

tree to take the afternoon lunch which now had arrived.

"Why didn't mother send a bushel more?" exclaimed Moses, eyeing the

basket of bread and butter, cakes and pie--real raspberry pie.

A slice of bread was followed by a mug of milk. Then Moses took a

glance at the document, probably as a means of facilitating

digestion.

"Great scott! what's this? Well, if I'm not one of the darnd'st

fools on this side the crossin'. Well, if that ar' lawyer won't

think me a nice 'un, and like as not a thief."

Mr. Spriggins had been at Mr. Lawson's office some days' before, and

bore away some advice, written down, that he "might not forgit."

The barrister had received several visits from his client, and each

time had treated the said client with considerable favor.

Mr. Lawson somewhat admired the honest-hearted young farmer, and

really was interested in him, and felt a sympathy which was

unaccountable.

"One good turn deserves another, Mr. Lawson, and I may throw

something your way some day."

There really did appear to be little value in this remark; but

strange to say, in it were bound up Phillip Lawson's hopes,

happiness, yes, all that was dearer than life. The sturdy son of

toil proved his truest friend, and to the hour of his death he will

ever cherish the thought wholly sacred.

But of Mr. Spriggins' surprise!

He had opened the letter to read the advice on trespass (which

sooner or later is the experience of every farmer), when to his

dismay another letter dropped out. It bore the address of the

Winnipeg solicitor, and evidently was some private correspondence of

his respected counsellor, Mr. Lawson.

"Ginger, I must git to town soon, for it must be something

important! Darned if I know whether to read it or not. P'raps I'd

better not. I couldn't go and tell a lie and say I didn't when I

did. It would make a feller feel kinder streaked when he thought

on't."

Mr. Spriggins reasoned thus, and the upshot of it was that next

morning, after he had got a man to take his place, set off to town,

a distance of twenty-two miles.

A pallor overspread the countenance of Mr. Lawson as he glanced at

the missive which Mr. Spriggins placed in his hand, with the

impression that it was business.

"Yes, it is indeed business, Mr. Spriggins, and I am your debtor for

life," said the young man, extending his hand to the obliging Moses

and giving him that hearty shake which often betokens lasting

gratitude.

"Call on me at any time, Mr. Spriggins; you will be in again soon, I

presume."

"After hayin', sir."

"Very well," and bowing the visitor out the lawyer once more took up

the letter and read it slowly through.

"Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, excitedly. "I have it in my

power to bring the scoundrel to justice. Thank God, I have not

fallen a victim to the villains. And to think of the simple way by

which it is brought about. Oh! Heavenly Father! to Thee I am truly

grateful." The speaker raised his eyes upwards, and a light shone

upon the broad manly brow--a light that seemed really to descend

from Heaven.

Phillip Lawson buried his face in his hands and remained thus for

some time.

During these moments what a rush of thought passed through the busy

brain. What a change from the last fortnight, when he had made up

his mind to leave for a distant town in the far West.

"And yet, if it had not been for the second part of the offence, I

could have borne it; aye, it might have been better for me in the

end. But the dreadful pit into which I was inevitably to fall--God

forgive them. Hubert Tracy--we may never meet again, and if we do,

you shall never know. And all engaged in it were of the profession.

No wonder lawyers are denounced in the holy writ--"

"My dear old brother looks as if he had lost every friend in the

world."

Looking up Phillip Lawson saw a _petite_ figure in white

cambric frock standing at his elbow. The child put her arms around

her brother's neck and looked steadily into the honest grey eyes, so

full of thought and so striking in their depths.

"Phillip, you are troubled, and you are hiding it from me. Dearest

and best of brothers, can I not help you? I am not the little child

you think me. Oh! Phillip; I can be a woman when I am needed," and

the large bright eyes filled with tears.

"What nonsense, Puss. What an imaginary little creature you are. Now

please drive away such silly thoughts, and when Brother Phillip is

in need of sympathy he will ask none other than his little sunbeam."

The young man then kissed back the sunny smiles and listened to the

playful prattle which fell from the bright lips. Then he thought of

the lines--

"The tear down childhood's cheek that flows

Is like the dew-drop on the rose;

When next the summer breeze comes by

And waves the bush, the flower is dry."

"What have you there, Puss?" said Phillip, glancing at the volumes

in the child's hand.

"I can scarcely tell you, but I believe they are good, for Miss

Lewis recommended them."

Mr. Lawson took up one of the volumes. It was Miss Alcott's first

work--"Moods."

"It is very good, indeed, but I fear you are too young to appreciate

it. There is an analysis of character that requires much mind

knowledge, and that is why so many young girls consider it dry. If

I were to explain it fully you would not understand; but you can

read the volume through, and we will have a little chat when you

have finished. I hope my little sister will not be impulsive and

moody as the heroine."

Phillip then patted the golden curls, and as he stooped to kiss the

pretty pouting lips he saw a fair vision of a lovely maiden, no

longer a child on her brother's knee, but a sweet and amiable

maiden, with a subdued and thoughtful look that showed she had

struck a sympathetic chord in a fond brother's breast and given him

the devotion of her first and purest love.

Then the dreamer vainly tried to draw another picture; but all was

chaos. No bright form could be exorcised from the conglomerate heap.

All was disorder--a ruined mound of buried hopes!--a blackness dark

as the Stygian shore.

"Is it not nice that we have a Public Library now!" cried the child

in gleeful tone, so sadly in contrast to her brother's thoughts.

"It is, indeed, Puss. I wonder how you young ladies got along before

we had one?"

"We did not get along at all, Brother Phillip. Annie Morrison says

that it was not living, only staying."

"I suppose Miss Annie must be right," said the lawyer, turning to

the other volume.

"'Tales of a Grandfather.' In this you have something nice. I read

it when quite a little boy, and I can remember much at it yet."

"It is Scott's, and anything of his I love," said Lottie, with a

womanly air.

"It is historical, and such books are great helps to study. You must

read some of it this evening, child. I am somewhat, tired, and will

be both amused and entertained. You can sit in the old chair and I

will play lazybones upon the lounge."

Hand in hand went the pair in the direction of the cottage.

When Phillip Lawson sought the asylum of his own room he knelt down,

and offered up a fervent prayer at the Throne of Mercy.

A sense of relief followed, and a light seemed to break forth amidst

the gloom--a light that lightened the dark path of life and

portended to usher in a new and happier day. The last look of Hubert

Tracy received interpretation, and as Phillip Lawson thought over

and over of the deep abyss into which he was so nearly to be

plunged, tried hard to feel kindly towards the perpetrator of the

double-sided crime.

"God forgive him! Let him pass into other hands than mine," was the

young man's decision as he turned over the pages of the cruel

letter. The young barrister was magnanimous in the highest degree.

It was then the grandeur of his character shone in its purity and

nobility, and as his sister came in with a tiny note she fancied

that she heard him repeat in earnest tones the words "never--

never--never!"

"This is for you, Brother Phillip; Fred. Verne left it this

afternoon."

A smile followed the reading of the note. It was from Cousin Jennie.

The young lady had arrived in the city and was ready to convey him

to "Gladswood," free of charge.

"Lottie, can you get Edith to stay with you this evening? I shall be

out."

The girl, with all the impetuosity of her nature, set off on the

gleeful message, while Phillip Lawson mapped out a letter that was

energetic and full of decision.

"There will be no more solicitation from that quarter. Heavens! it

was a great temptation. Well, if I had exposed them, what good could

come of it."

A few hours later Mr. Lawson was announced at Sunnybank. Cousin

Jennie was in her gayest mood.

"I am ready for you. Mr. Lawson; what is your verdict?" cried she,

giving him a hearty shake of the hand.

"That the law must take its course," said Mr. Verne, who at that

moment entered and gave the young man a warm greeting.

"You have been sadly delinquent of late, Mr. Lawson. I ask the women

folks, and the answer invariably is in the negative. Now, if it were

not that this little country girl is here I would carry you off to

my den."

"Yes, Uncle Verne, it is just such an ungallant thing as you would

do," cried Jennie, giving her head a saucy toss.

"Madge, you are just in time to support our claims."

"Pray enlighten me, dearest," said Marguerite, who, hat in hand,

stood on the threshold.

A second look caused a slight blush to mantle upon her cheek, and

she came forward with a sweet smile and gave her hand to the welcome

guest.

"Mamma has a severe headache and wishes me to convey her regrets to

you, Mr. Lawson," said Marguerite, on her return to the drawing-room

a few minutes later.

After the young girl made the above speech her eyes met those of her

father, and she knew that he felt annoyed. Did he think she had done

wrong? She could not refuse to deliver her mother's message. And

that headache! It was a purely conventional one--arranged for

effect. Mr. Verne had occasion to say some hasty words to his wife.

He could not sanction the steps she had taken in direct opposition

to his advice, and he must speak his mind. He was a man of few

words, but those words were to the point.

Thus while the rest of the family enjoyed themselves in the

drawing-room Mrs. Verne gracefully reclined upon die gorgeous

crimson lounge in her own room, and was as deeply interested in the

heroine of the novel which she was reading as a maiden of eighteen.

"Half-past nine. How the time flies over a good book. It is better

that I don't go down. I would be almost tempted to break the news.

Enjoy yourself while you may, my verdant friend. Money will triumph

over brains, especially when you have none of the former to back

them up."

Mrs. Verne picked up the ivory-backed hand glass within her reach,

and looking into its depths, exclaimed, "Mrs. Verne, of St. John,

New Brunswick--not exactly beautiful, but a pretty and fascinating

woman."

As Mrs. Verne laid aside the glass and once more took up the

novel--but not to read--her thoughts were bent upon conquest of an

important nature. Accomplish her end she must at the risk of all

that was near to her, and all that ought to be dear to her.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VERNES GO TO EUROPE.

"I declare nothing need astonish one nowadays," exclaimed Mrs.

Montgomery, throwing aside the _Daily Telegraph_ announcing

that Mrs. and Miss Verne had sailed for Europe the day before.

"There's something that will explain matters," said Mr. Montgomery

coming in with a letter with Marguerite's initials on the corner of

the envelope.

Jennie tore open the missive and hastily scanned the contents.

"They went quite unexpectedly, mother," said the girl, with a slight

quiver on the healthful lips, "else Madge would have come to bid

good-bye."

Jennie Montgomery loved her sweet-faced cousin as she loved no other

companion.

Madge was to her all that was good and lovely, and the thought of

separation sent a strange thrill of emotion through her frame--a

sense of loneliness that she had never known before.

Mrs. Montgomery felt for her child, and adroitly referred to the

fine opportunity of having a correspondent from the mother country,

and the pleasure it would give Marguerite to see the sights and

curiosities and grandeur which she would hourly meet in her

intercourse with the world.

But this shrewd, penetrative woman took another view of the matter

when alone in the presence of her husband some hours afterwards.

"Matilda needn't try to stuff such nonsense down our throats. She

cannot make me believe but that she concocted the whole thing

herself."

Mrs. Montgomery was evidently aroused. Her sallow face assumed a

deeper color, and her eyes spoke out the honest convictions of her

thoughts.

"_Poor Evelyn_, indeed! She is just as much sick as I am at

present. How they can trump up such things and make people believe

them is more than I can see."

Mrs. Montgomery plied her knitting needles with almost lightning

rapidity, and the exercise seemed to give relief to the angry

feeling that accompanied it.

"You need not say a word in Matilda's defence, William. I pity

Stephen Verne from the bottom of my heart. It is always such men

that become martyrs to the whims and tyrannical grievances of their

wives."

Mrs. Montgomery stooped to pickup the ball of yarn that had rolled

under her chair, and her husband went towards the door as if to

depart.

"I tell you what it is, William, Matilda Verne is my own sister, but

it grieves me to think so. Talk of pride or dignity. She has none.

Pride--yes, a nice kind of pride that lives on lies and falsities of

every description! But she cannot deceive me, thank Heaven; I can

read her through and through."

"In some instances, my dear, your boasted accomplishment is not

always of the most agreeable kind," said Mr. Montgomery, in his

bland, easy manner.

"Never mind that part of it. I can bear it, since it gives the

preciousness of seeing people as they are, their shallowness and

their shams. Is there anything genuine in this every-day world?

Really, each day I see something to disgust me."

The speaker's face gave proof to her speech as she fixed upon her

husband a long, earnest look.

"Poor Marguerite it should be instead of Poor Evelyn. It is the pure

minded girl that is to be pitied. Marguerite is the victim of this

freak. Matilda will drag that child to the four corners of the earth

to accomplish her ends."

"My dear, you are severe. Have some moderation," said Mr.

Montgomery, in a conciliating tone.

"Moderation!" retorted the self-reliant wife--"moderation towards a

weak-minded, unscrupulous fortune-hunter and match-maker--a despiser

of those genuine graces which adorn the female mind and make woman

what she should be. Don't talk thus to me, William, else I shall

feel that you would abet Matilda in what she has undertaken, and

what she may evidently accomplish."

"God forbid," said Mr. Montgomery, with more vehemence than was

peculiar to him.

* * * * *

Marguerite had only one week's notice to prepare for the projected

trip. She did not receive the summons with joy and eagerness, nor

did she evince any pleasure in the preparations.

"I shall have some beautiful costumes ordered for you when we arrive

in London, my dear," said the fashionable mother on inspecting her

daughter's wardrobe and commenting upon the array of materials

before her.

"Really, mamma, if I am to be bored by _modistes_ from morn

till eve I should prefer to remain at home. I know it is wrong to

say so, but I almost wish that Eve was well enough to get along

without us."

"I believe you, my dear," said Mrs. Verne, stroking her daughter's

head, "but then you know it would be cruel to have the poor girl

break her heart, moping away her time and begging to see a dear face

from home."

A wicked thought entered Marguerite's head. She wondered if it were

possible that her haughty sister ever possessed a true, honest

heart? and was there in her marriage with Montague Arnold the least

approach to sympathy? Did the proud heart ever beat with one

responsive throb for him whom she had chosen?

As the maiden reasoned thus there was a slight pang which told her

she had a heart, but that it must be silent--it must not be allowed

to assert itself, but masked in conventionalities she must act the

part of the worldly wise.

Mr. Verne was piqued to the highest degree when his wife spoke of

her intended tour.

"Why not put it off until next year and I may be able to accompany

you. Arnold can take care of Eve without out assistance."

The sound sense arguments were of no avail.

"We must certainly go, and I should think it would be much

pleasanter for us to think that we left home without any

disagreeable feelings."

"I suppose it is the best way to look at it," said Mr. Verne,

quitting the room and going to his office, where in a few moments he

was found by his beloved Marguerite.

"So my sunbeam is going to leave me," said the father, taking the

girl in his arms and kissing the soft oval cheeks until a faint

flush overspread them and the lips grew tremulous.

"I do not want to go papa, but mamma says that she cannot think of

going alone," said Marguerite, as she nestled closer in her father's

embrace and wound her arms lovingly around his neck.

"Perhaps the invigorating sea breeze may coax a few brighter roses,"

said the fond father, emphasizing his words by patting Marguerite's

cheek with childlike playfulness.

"Never mind, you dear old papa, they cannot force me to stay very

long away from you. Remember, if you hear of my doing desperate

deeds it will be through madness to be once more beside you in this

dear old spot."

"Ah, you silly little Madge, you will soon find other attractions

than your prosy dull old father, but you must reserve one little

spot for him."

Mr. Verne glanced at his pure and lovely child, and inwardly invoked

God's blessing, and prayed that she might pass through the many

temptations and dazzling allurements of fashionable follies

unharmed.

"Darling papa, believe me, I care so little for society, so called,

that I would rather spend a few hours each day among my dear home

friends than be lionized in the highest courts in Europe."

"I believe you, my child," said Mr. Verne, placing his hand

reverentially upon Marguerite's head, "but it appears that it is a

duty to go."

"Yes, papa, but I am inclined to be rebellious, and ask you to pray

for me. Sometimes I feel that I am not doing my duty in any way. It

seems so hard to know the way before us."

Marguerite's face had a perplexed look and a shade of gloomy

foreboding succeeded.

"Put your trust in God, my child--never forget Him. He will be your

best Friend, when earthly friends will fail you."

Mr. Verne was what is generally known as a "good-living man." He

made no parade of his profession, but he tried to live at peace with

his God and do right to each and every man. His religion was not put

on with his Sunday coat. He wore it into the counting-room as well,

and carried it to Chubb's Corner, aye to every business resort and

doled it out on every opportunity by acts of charity and Christian

benevolence.

But of the departure.

Mrs. Verne was in ecstacies of delight. Everything pleased her. She

superintended the manifold duties as if her whole soul was in the

work, and beaming with smiles, flitted from one room to another with

the playfulness of a child just setting out on its holiday season.

"I hope we shall have no scenes from Madge," said she to one of the

friends who graced the drawing-room the day previous to their

departure, "for anything I hate is a crowd gathered around with

faces all gotten up for a funeral."

Here Mrs. Verne shrugged her shoulders and assumed a look of

abhorrence.

Marguerite was leaving the conservatory as she overheard the remark,

and she pressed more firmly the sprays of heliotrope and azalea

which she held in her hand.

"Heaven help me," murmured the girl; "am I always expected to go

through life with my feelings put away far out of sight-far away--

"Deeply buried from human eyes?"

Looking upwards she remained motionless as the marble statue of

Psyche that adorned the recess in which she stood. Then the lips

moved and the words "Put your trust in God," came forth soft and

bewitching as the strain of an aeolian harp, and leaving, as it

were, a holy hushed spell, subduing the soul of her who uttered it.

It was well for Marguerite that she had those precious moments of

communion, and at no other time in her life did she need them more.

They were the only beacon lights to guide her through the

treacherous shoals into which she must inevitably steer her course.

It was with such feelings that the girl stood at the station and

shook each friend by the hand without the least tremor in her voice

or tear in her eye.

It did, indeed, cost a struggle to keep the pallid lips firm as

Marguerite returned her father's parting embrace; but strength had

been given her.

And the manly form beside him, Phillip Lawson, stood unmoved and

erect, his face quiet in expression and not the least betrayal of

the passion within his breast.

Mrs. Verne, with the tactics of a shrewd diplomatist, had arranged

matters to enable her to perform her part without opposition.

Marguerite had to devote much time to the pressing duties devolving

upon her, and when Mr. Lawson called at "Sunnybank" it always

happened that she was out making her farewell calls.

It was the last evening that Marguerite should gladden her home,

perhaps, for many months to come. The bronze clock on the mantel

shelf struck the hour of eight. The drawing-room was unoccupied, and

Marguerite stealthily glided towards the piano and sat down.

Her beautifully-moulded hands rivalled the ivory keys before her,

and would have tempted the genius of a Phidias or a Lysippus.

Soon a low, soft symphony sounded through the room a music that had

power to move the soul and hold it entranced.

"Marguerite, darling, do not play like that. I cannot hear such

music without feeling sad, and sadness must not intrude to-night."

"Perhaps this will suit you, papa," and instantly Marguerite

commenced to sing the old-time ballad, "The Campbells are Coming,"

in the liveliest manner possible, looking indeed the picture of

happiness.

"How is it that my little girl cannot attend to the social demands

that press so lightly upon her?" said Mr. Verne, as the last notes

of the song were ended.

"I do not understand you, papa dear."

"Mr. Lawson called and I heard one of the maids tell him that you

were not at home."

"It is strange that mamma did not send up to my room. I have not

been out since ten o'clock this morning, when I went up to

Manchester's to buy the pretty little work-basket that I wish to

carry to Eve."

"A work-basket for Eve!" cried Mr. Verne, gaily. "What extravagant

taste my little Madge has!"

Marguerite smiled and then looked thoughtful. She tried hard not to

see her worldly mother's feelings. Yet she could not be blinded to

the fact.

"It is ungenerous of mamma to deny me," she thought. But her

mother's shallowness was sacred to her innermost thoughts. Much as

she desired Mr. Lawson's visit, she offered not a word of complaint,

but smilingly said, "Papa, when you see Mr. Lawson please apologize

for me and explain matters to your satisfaction as I know that you

feel sensitive about it."

"It will all come right soon--perhaps before you leave."

As Marguerite Verne waved her last adieu to her fond parent and

received his tender recognition, a second glance convinced her that

all was made right, as Phillip Lawson raised his hat and stood with

uncovered head until the train was out of sight.

"Crying at last, Madge; I thought you could not bear up much

longer," said Mrs. Verne, as she entered the seat with a new novel

ready to devour, and smiling and bowing to several passengers whom

she recognized. But the remarks were lost upon Marguerite. She

remained in deep abstraction for some moments, and then regaining

consciousness, threw aside the pretty wrap, murmuring--"Papa says it

will all come right."