The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

LOVE REASONS NOT. CHAPTER X.Y.MX. NtlTMBK MirK MiR WIDOW. It was with tome trepidalion lhat Lord Chan dot presented himself at the gat-'t of tae Cedara, yet aurely she who had loved him ao well would nevir refuse him ad- miiauon into her hcute! that U if it wen Leone. At be walked through the pretty garden and aaw all the pretty flowen blooming, he aaid to hinuelf, that it wa* like her. She had alway* *o dearly loved the apring flowen, the flame of the yellow orocut, th* faint, tweet odor of the violets, the pure head* of the white enow-drop*. He had heard her say to often that ib* loved the** modest, tweet flowen thai cone in tht ipring nion than the dainty onea that bloom in summer-time. It was like her, tine garden, and yit, be ould not tell why. dreat clusten of lilac- ireeti wen budding, the laburnums wen thinking of flowering; bat there was no ong of running brook, and uo ripple of feutaini, no aonnd of falling waters; the birds wen bniy wooing and they had ao uch to ling about. There wai a profuiion of flowers, all the windowi seemed full of them; there wai a picturesque look about the place that re- minded him of Leone. On the lawn stood two large cedar*, from which the place oWived it* name. He went to the hall door. What if ihe should meet him tuddenly and turn from him in indignant anger? What if it should not be Leone but a stranger. A pretty housemaid, Parisian, he knew from the type, answered the door, from whom he inquired, in hit most polite fashion, if Madame Vanira wai at home. There u no denying the fact that all women are more or let. sus.-eptible to the ! "T. "" ' rget a11 an<1 '^"'OK but " Lord Chandoe, you mutt not kneel there; remember you have a wife at home.' " The word* (truck him like a sharp sword. He aroae and drawing a chair tor her, itood by her ude. "1 am betide mytelf," he laid, "with the pleasure of siting you again. Forgive me, Leone; I will not offend. Oh, whal can 1 tty lo yon ? How can I l< ok upon your face and live?" " You were very cruel lo me and very treacherous," she taid; " your treachery hat spoiled my life. Oh, Lanoe, how could you be so cruel to m* when I loved yon so how could /on 7" Tears that she had repressed for yean raintd down her face , all the hitler grief that the bad held in ai with an iron hand, all the pride so long triumphant, all the pain and anguish, and th* desolation, that had been in check, rushed over her, a* the tempettuous waves of the sea rush over the rook* and land*. "How could yon, Lanoe?" the cried, wringing ter bandt ; "how could you? You wen cruel and treacherous to me, though I trusted yon so. Ah, my love, my love, how could you?" The beautiful bead fell forward in the very abandonment of sorrow ; gnat sobs thook th* beautiful figure. " Oh, Lance, I loved yon so, I believed in you as I believed in Heaven. 1 loved you and trusted you, yon forsook me and deceived me. Oh, my love, my love!" His faoe grew whit* and his strong figure trembled under the pain of her nproachea. "Leone," he said gently, " every word of voun is a sword in my heart. Why did I do it? Ah me, why? I have no word of excuse fur myself, not one. I might aay that I wa* under woman'* influence, but that would not excuse me. Can yon ever forgive me ?" .She raised her faoe to hit, all wit with tear*. " I ought not to forgive you," the laid ; "I ought to drive you from my preeence ; I ought lo curse you with my ruined life, but I cannot. Oh, Lanoe if I only lay under the water* of the mill-stream, dead." The pastion of her grief was terrible to charmt of a handsome face, and Lord Chandoe wa* handtome exceedingly. The girl looked up into the dark face and the dark eye* tl.at always looked admiringly whan a woman wa* near. "Madame Vanira *ee* no one," the re- plied. .Something pasted rapidly from hi* hand toner*. "You look kind," he (aid, "be my friend. I think that year* ago, I knew Madame Vamra. If *he be the lady whom I believe her to be, she will be pleated to tee me, and no puetible blame can be attached to you. Tell me where the it that I may find her." 'Madame it in the morning-room," aaid the girl, with aoroe hesitation, "but I shall lone my place if 1 admit you. " "I promise you no," laid Lord Chando* ; "on the contrary, your lady will be pleased that you are able to discriminate between thoer whom *h would like to me, and thoee whom she would not." "At least, let me announce yon," plead- ed the pretty hou*emaid, in broken Knglish "No, u would eerve no purpose; that is, of oourte, you can go before me ami open the door I will follow you immediately. You need only sv, 'A gentleman to *ee you, madame. ' Willyuudo thu?" "Ye," said the girl, reluctantly. At he followed her through the pattage, it did occur to him that if it were not Leoui-, he ahould be in a terrible dilemma. It occurred to him alto, tnat if it were Leone, what right had he there, with that fair, tweet wife of hit at home what right had he there? He followed the pretty maid through the hall and through a tuit of room*, furni*hed with quite elegance. They came to the door of a room before which th maid (top- ped and Lord Chando* taw that her face ad grown pale. .She opened it "A K u tie man to tee you, madame,'' the hastily. And then the maid die. eared, and he entered the room. jone wai etandiug with her face to the window when he entered, and he had one moment in which to look round the room OM moment in which to control the rapid beating of hit heart; then the turned tod- denly, and once more they were face to face. Ah to *ee the heaven of delight an.i rapture that came over hen the light that came into her eye* ; it wat) a* though her face wai sudden ly transfigured ; all the patt in that one moment of rapture wa* forgotten, all the treachery, the perfldy, the faltity. Nhe uttered one word, "Lanoe," but it wat a cry of unutterablt delight, "i *m r, the repeated, and then, with all the light ef heavtnitill thining in her face, ib* hid her face on hie breatt. She did not remem- ber, ahe only knew that it waa the face of her loet lover, the same strong, tender arm* were clasped round her, the tame warm kiaae* were on her face, the tame passion- ate, loving heart wa* beating near her own. Ah, HMavtn, how iweel that one moment waa. To die while it lilted, never to leave the shelter ot tboee dtar arms again. She had waited for him for yean, and ht had oome at last. There wss a few minute* of silent, rap- turous greeting, and then, tuddenly, the remembered, and iprung from him with a low cry. "How dare you ?" the cried, "I had for- gotten. How dare you !" Thin tht light of the beloved face, the dear eye*, the well-remembeMd figure, took all the hot anger from her. "Oh, Lanoe, Lanoe, I ougnt not to ipeak 1 1 yon or look at yuu.and yet I cannot help it, (led htlp me, I cannot help it." He wat down on hi* kneee oy her lide, Heaping her hand*, thr folde of her dreai, orying oil to her to pardon him; that he had no n ic use to offer her; he had been failty beyond all guilt) that neither in eaven nor on earth could there |be any pardon for him; that he would have died hundred deatht rather than have lost her, tO tone five minute* it wat a mad Whirl of paaaion, love and regret. She Waa the tint to leoolleot herself, to lay to him. IU I Ihe wife t home, the plighted vows, honor, truth, loyalty all and everything except ihe girl whom he bad loved with a mad love, and her gr:ef. He drew her to hi* breatt, he kissed away the shining tears; he kitted the trembling lips. "L*ons, you will drive me mad. Great God, what have I done? I realize it now; I had better have died, ' and then the itrength of th* itrong man gave way, and he wepl like a child. "It is no excuse," he said, "to plead that I was young, foolish, and easily led. Oh, Leooe, my only love, what was 1 doing when I gave you up when I left you?" The violence of hit grief aomewhat rt> ttramed hen; she was half frightened at "We are making matters worse,' she aid. "Lance, we muit not forget lhat you are married now in earneeu" "Will you ever fergive me?" he asked. 1 have no exeat* to offer. I own that my in wa* the nioel disloyal and the men traitorous a nmn could commit, but forgive me, Leone. 1 have repented of it in sack cloth ami ashes. Say you forgive me. The beautiful, colorleti face did not often at Ihe wordt. "/ oannol," the aaid: "I cannot forgive lhat Inachery, Unce; il ua* wounded me even unto death. How can I forgive it 1 " "My darling Lejoe -say you will pardon me. I will do anything to atone for it," She laid one white hand on hi* arm. " Yon tee, Lanoe," the aaid earneetly 'it is one of ihoee things for whioh you can never alone one that can never be undont but one which will brand me forever. \\ hat am I ? Did you stop to think of thet when your new love temple, I you? Wha, am I? not your wife not your widow. Oh God, what am I ' He dnw her to him again, but this time she rasisUd his warm kisses. " Leone" he said sadly, " I deaerv* to be shot. "I hate mytelf I loathe myself. I carn.it imagmj how I failed in my duty and loyalty lo you. I can only say that I was young and thoughtleee easily led. en help me, I have no mind of my own, but I have suffered to cruelly and ao " The vows are all fonrotton. The ring atunder broken.' How true and how cruel. I hear the ton , and I hear the murmur o: the water in m; dreams. ' "So do I," hi rtplied. tadly. "My dar ling, I wilh we never lefk the mili-tiream I would lo Heaven w* had died under th' running water together." "So do I," she said, "bat w* an living not dead.and life hold* duties just a* daall holds relief. We most remember much harm has been done we need not d more." "Say that von will forgive me, Leone and then I do not care what happens. I will do anything you tell me. I wil humble myself in every wsy. I will do any thing you can desire if you will onlj forgive me. Do for Heaven's saki. I am a utterly wretched that I believe if you refuse to i vy one word of pardon to me shall go mad or kill myself. There was a long straggle in her mind Could she forgive the injury whioh seemed greater than man had ever inflioted on woman? She wa* very proud, and her pride wa* all in arm*. How could she pardon a traitor? She had loved him better than he life, and with the tint tight of hit hand torn*, beloved faoe all the glamour of her love wa* over her again. How could she forfive him ? Yet the proud figure was bent to humbly before her, the proud head ao low. "What am I to say?" she cried. I was a good and innocent girl now it teems to me lhat the evil spirit* of passion and un rest have taken potarttion of m*. What am I to say or lo do? Heaven help and teacli me." " Forgive m*," he repeated. "Your refusal will send me away a mvimsn. ready for any reck less action. Your content will bumble me, but it will make me happier. Oh, my darling, forgive me . " "Suppose that barm follows my forgive- ness we an better enemies than friends, Lord Chandoe," "We will never be enemies, and no barm can oome except that I shall be happier for it. Say you will forgive me. Leooe. See, I ask your pardon on my knees. For Hea- ven's sake, for my great love's sake aay you forgive me !" He knelt before her humbly at a child, h* bowed hi* handsome head until hu face retted on her knees ; he lobbed aloud in hi* sorrow and hi* deep regret. She stood for a few minute* quite uncertain ; her clear reason and common aease told her thai it would be better if ahs would re- fuss him pardon, and that they sSonld part for all lime; but love and pity pleaded, and of course love and pity won. she laid her hand on the dark head of the man whom the had oooe believed ber husband ; her beautiful face quivered with emotion. "I forgive you," the said, "freely, frank- ly, fully, as I hope Heaven will forgive me you mutt not kin me, Your kisses belong to all my sins. Nay, not even my hand. some one else now -not to me. I forgive yon, but w must perl again. Come whal may we mutl pan, we mutt not meet again." "1 can never pirt with you," he laid, in a hoarse voice. "You hav* been lit* of my life, heart of my heart too long for that." She held up her hand with getture of warning and tilenoe. "Huh, Lord Chando*, ' she said; you ipeak to me in thai ttrain, I thai a tuper " I cannot subrr.it to it," he cried. lint the looked at him with a face item, retolute, fixed ae his own. " Remember, Lord Chando*," the said, "that 1 am my own mutreu . 1 can chonae my friend* and aatociatai. I refute to ad- mit you among the number." " You cannot pn vent me from coming to tee yon, Leone." " No; but I can, and shall, refute to tee you when you com*, ' sne replied; "and I tball do to/ " Oh, my love, my cruel, beautiful love,' he cried. The girl'* faoe flushed with hot anger and indignation. ' Will yon be ailent ?" the cried. "Shime on you. Lord Chando*, to nee tuch word*. You have a beautiful and beloved wife at home to whom all your lave and fidelity belong. If you say one more inch word to me I will never aae yon again. " " But Leone, it teem* to very hard you might let mo call at time* and aee yon. * " No, I cannot, 1 cannot trait mytelf even if I could trust you. I have had < other husband, no other love; you hav married. 1 would not trust mytelf; my love it a* great now at ever it was, bat it shall not run away with me; it shall not be my matter. I will matter it. Yon must not come near me. " " But, rarely, if I meet you in the street yon trill not a*k me to paea yon by ? h< aaid. " No; if we meet qnite by chance, quite by aooident, I will alwayi speak to you. Ah, Lance," ahe added, with a imile, " I know you ao well, I know every look in your eyes; you are thinking to yourself yon will often aee ma by accident. You must not; inch honor at yon have left me let m* keep." ' If this is to bo our last interview, for tome time, at leaat," he continued, " tell me, Leooe, ho it it that you have become to famous' " Yet, I will tell yon all about that; 1 km rather proud of my power. It ii not a long story and it dale* from the day on which your mother sent m* that letter." She told him all her etndiee, her struggles, her perseverance, ber lucoea*. inaliy htr crowning by fame. ' It U like a romance," be aaid. " Y'ea, only it ii true," ihe replied. He tried to prolong the interview, bat ihe would dose it nd he wee compelled to eave her when he would have given years of bit life to have remained one hour longer. have you, my darling to have you." "I ?" the replied. "When you can count the leavet in the ioreit. or the sands on the teathore, you will know what I have Buf- fered, not until then. Her voice died away in a melancholy cadence that to him wa* like the last wailing breath of the summer wind in the tree*. CHAPTKK XL, "rORGIVI Ml, I.IONC." "Lanee," the aaid, suddenly, "or, a* I ought to aay, Lord Chandoe how can I never tee you again. Remember you have a wife; you muit not be false to t women keep true to one. Neither ycur Kistet nor your loving words belong to me now." "I will not offend you," he said, sadly. She leaned htr beautiful arms on the table, her white hand* under her ohm, looking steadily at him. "I have forgiven you," ihe said, mus ingly, "I, who have iworn tuch terrible oaths, tuch bitter revenge, I have endec by forgiving you, after the fashion of the type ot women. . Heavrn know* how forgive you? What you uk i* more than any woman could grant. I cannot pardon the treachery which ha* ruined my life, whioh ha* stricken me, wilhoul blame or fault of mine, from the roll ot honorable women which ha* made me a by-word, a mark for the sc-rn and contempt of others, a Woman to be contemned and deipited. Of' what use an all ihe gilt* of Heaven to me, with the tcarltt brand yon have marked on my brow'" Ht gnw white, evt n to the lipt, at the passionate word* reached hi* ear*. "Leon*," he oriec?, "for God's aak* spare me. I have no defence no exouie; spare m; your word* kill me. They are not true, :ny darling; none of what happened waa your fault yon were innocent and blame leu as a child; you are the same now. Would to Heaven all women were pare and honorable a* yon. Say what you will to mi, no puniihmont would be too great for me but Bay nothing against yourself, never one word, Leone. Could you for- give me ? I hav* done you the moet cruel wrong, and I have no exouae to offer no- thing but my fooluh youth, my mad folly, my u nmmnly weakness. I have known It ever linoe I married. Y ou are my only love ; I have never had another. Ah, my darling, forgive me. If I have mined your life, 1 have doubly mined my own." She ratted her beatiful, oolorlea* faoe to hit. 'Lanoe, phecy that running water how alwayi murmured i fault, not mine. 1 she tald, ei. tly, " what a pro t aong held for n*. And the true a foreboding it most milk an. t water t have forgiven you, and I tried to hale you, and have Iried to lake pleature in ihe thought! of my vengeance. " You have had your vengeance on me, Leon*, in the shape of the love thai ha* never lefl me, and Ihe memoriee whioh have haunte 1 me. You swore vengeance againil my mother, but you will forego that." A slow smila came over her face died away again. "Lord Chaados, "she said, " yon wiil not be my debtor in generality. You Have atked me lo pardon yon; I have done to. Grant me one favor in return tell me who influenced you to forsake me?" "1 hardly know, Leone, I can hardly tell you." "U WM not the lady whom you hav* married," she continued, "of that I am sure. Who was it ?" "I think if any one influenced me it must have been my mother," he said, gently; "she was alwayi violently opposed to it," Tht beautiful lips paled and trtmblad. '1 thought it was your mother," she aid, gravely. "No, I thall not forego my >r, although I I U." forget all that," he go vengeance against her, although I k not when I may gain it." Yon *ill forget all that," he aaid "You are too noble to care for vengeance." "I am not too noble," ahe replied. "All that wa* beet and noble in me died on the day you forsook me. And now, Lord Cbandoe, listen to me. Wordt of peace and pardon have ratted between us. It hat raiaed a heavy funeral pall from my life; it ha*, perhaps, railed a black cloud from your*. Lord Chandoe, we must not meet again." " You cannot be to cruel, Leone. Hav- ing found you, how can I loae you again?" " You mutt, it IB imperative," ihe taid tlowly. 14 But, Leone, why ihould we not be friend* ?" he laid, gently. She laughed a hard, scornful laugh that truck him in the faoa like the sting of a sharp blade. " Friend* ?" the repeated. " Could we who have been wedded lovers ever be friends' You do not know what words mean if you think that." He stood before her with a item, white face, "Leone," hi cried, "are you really going to be cruel enough to eend me away out of your life again, I who have been mad with Joy at finding you ?" " If I wen cruel," the aaid, slowly, " now I would take my vengeance. I should aay at yon once left me to now I leave you, but I am not cruel, and that ii my reaion. My n aeon it a good and pur* one; we could never remain friend*, we love each other too much for that; we muit live a* stranger* now; and remember, it i* your i._u _a ,;. CHAPTER XLI. " LIT 1,'S BI KRIK.MOa." Lance," *aid the tweet voice of Lady Jarion, plaintively, " I am beginning to lave a faint suspicion about you." Indnd. Your suspicion* are not faint a* a rale. What it thii?" 1 am afraid that you an growing juit a little tired of me, aaid the beautiful [uren of blondes. "What makee you think to ? " he atked rying to laugh a* lie would have done a waeki since at inch an accutation. Several reasons. You are not *o ttentive to me a* you used to be; you do ot teem to listen when I ipeak; you have rown to abeeot-minded, and then you say uch tlrange ihmgt in your sleep. Ha looked grave for half a minute, then langned careletaly. "Do I? Then I ought to be ashamed of mytelf. Men talk enough in their walking hours without talking in their sl.-cp. What do I say, Marion ? He asked the queetion carelessly enough, but then was an anxious look in his dark eyas, " 1 cannot tell; I hardly remember." aid Lady Chando*; bul you are alwaya asking aome one to forgive you and aee you. Have you ever offended any one very much. Lance ?" " I hope not, " ho replied. " Dreams are so strange, and I do not think they are often true reflections of our lives. Havi you any further reason fc r saying I am growing tired of you? It is a vexed quee- tion, and we may as well settle it now as renew the argument." No I have no other reason. Lanoe, yon an not orota with me dear V 'No, I am not cross ; but. at the tame !-, I muit aay frankly I do not liks the idea of a jealooa wife ; it it very diatastefu to me." Lady Marion raised her eyes in won der." Mealous, Lanoe ?'' she repeated. "I am not jealoua. Of whom could I be jealou* I nsver as* you pay tbs least attention u any one." Jealous wives, as a rule, begin by ao cuiing their huabandi of cooling love, wan of attention, and all thai kind of thing." "But, Lanoe," continued the beautifu woman, "an you quite ture that there is no truth in what 1 say?" H* looked at her with a dreamy gas* in ii dark eyes. "I am quit* *un," he replie 1. "I love irou, Marion, as much as ever I did, and 1 lave not noticed in the least that lave failed in any attention toward you ; f 1 have I will amend my ways. " Hs kissed the fair faoe bent so lovingly ovsr him ; and his wife laid her fair arms round his neck. I should not liks to be jealous," she said ; "but I must have your whole heart, M ; I could not be content with a shart of it." Who could (hare it with you?" he aiked, evasively. 'I do not know, I only know that it must be all or none for m," the antwtred. It is all i* it not. Lance. He kitted her and would fain have said re*, but il cam* home lo him wilh a sharp conviction that hu heart had been given to one woman' and one only no other could ever poesest it. A few day* afterwards, when Lord ,'handos expressed a wuh to goto the ipera again, his wifs looked at him in wonder . Again ?" the said. " Why Lanoe, it U only two nights since yon were then, and t U the same open ; you will grow tired "The only amusement I realy can for the opera, " he said. " 1 am grow ng too azy for balls, but I never tire of mutio." He ai I to himsslf that if for the future e wished to go to th* opera he would not mention the fact, but would go wilhout ier. They went out that evening, the opera rai " (forma. " Lord Chando* heard nothi- ng and taw nothing but the wondroua ace of Norms; every note of that muiio ent home to hi* heart the love, the rust, th* reproach**. When she sang hem in her grandly pathetic voice, it WM a* though each one were addrancd to him- self. Three time* did Lady Chando* ad (ire** him without any reaponie, a thing wmch in her eye* wai little leu than a. crime. "How you watch La Vanira, "the taid "lam ture you adrr.ire her very much." He looked at ber with eye* that ware dazed that aaw nothing ; the eye* ei a man mon than half mad. "And now," the laid. "Why, Lance, La Vanira i* looking at me. What eyee ibe haa. They ttir my very heart and trouble me. They are laying aouetbiag to me." "Marion, hush ! What are you talking about ?" he cried. "La Vanira'i eye* the IB looking at DM, Lance." "Nonsente!" he said, and the one word wa* ao abruptly pronounced that Lady Cbandot felt lure it wai nou tense and Btsld no more. But after that evening be aaid uo more about going to the opera. If he felt any with to go, he would go ; it would be quite easy for him to make tome excuse to her. And thoee eveningi gnw more and more frequent. He did not dare to duo bey Leone ; he did not dan to go to her house, or to offer to tee her in the opera home. He tried bard to meet her accidentally, bat that happy accident never occurred ; yet he could not rett, he muit aae ber; something that wae ttronger than himtelf drew him near her. He wa* weak of pnrpoee: be never re aolutely took him tell in hand and laid: "I am married now. I have a wife) at home. Leone's beauty, Leone's talent*, an all lew than nothing to me. I will be true to my wife." He never aaid that; he never braced hit will, or hit energie* to the tatk of forgetting ber; he dallied with the temptation at he bad done before; he allowed himself to he tempted at he had done befort ; the reeult wa* that he fell at he had fallen before. Every day hi* first ibought wa* how he could poetibly get away that evening with- out drawing particular attention to his movemenU; and he wenl *o often that peo- ple began to laugh and to teaae him and to wonder why he wa* alwaya there. Leooe alwayi aaw him. If any one had been shrewd and quick enough to follow her, they would have teen that the played lo one person ; lhat her eyee turned to him continually ; that the getturei of her white arms teemed t-i woo him. She never smiled at him, bat there wore time*, when she waiiinging come lingering, pathetic note*, it teemed a* though ahe wen almost waiting for him to answer her. He did not dan to go behind Ihe scenes, to linger near the door, to wait for her carriage, but hi* life wa* contumed with be one eager deein to aee her. He went night after night to Ihe box; the at in the ame place; he leaned his arm* on the tame pot, watching ber with eye* that aeemed lo Hash fire a* they reeled on her. People remarked it at last, and began to ronder if it could be poaaible that Lord Jhandot, with that beautiful wife, the |Uenof blondes, wat beginning to care for aoira; he never muted one night of her acting, and he taw nothing but her when the wa* on ihe (Cage. Again one evening Lady Chando* aaid o him: "Lance, have yon noticed how aeldom ou spend an evening lhat is, the whole of an evening with me ? If you go lo a ball ilh me, it teems to me that you art) Iwayt abeent for an hour or two. ' " You have a vivid imagination, my dear wife," he replied. And yet tie knew it waa on the night <eone played, he could no more have kept going lo tee her than he could have own; it wa* itronger than hinuelf, the mpultj that led him there. Then hi* night* became all fever; his lay* all unreal; hi* whole heart and *oul raved wilh passionate longing for one half hour with her, and yet he dand not aeek it. Even then, had he itriven to conquer hi* love, and have resolutely thought of hit duty, bii good faith and hit loyalty, he would have conquered, aa ant ttrong man can conquer when he likee; he never tried. When the impulse led him, he wenl; when Ihe temptation came to him to think of bar, he thought of her, when the temptation came to him to love her, he gave way to it and never once tet hit will againai it. Then, wnen the fever of hi* longing con- sumed him, and hi* life had grown intoler- able to him, he wrote a not* to her; it aaid implj: "Dear Leone, Life ii very tad. Do let u* be frien.it why should we not ? Lift) is to short. Let ut be friend*. I am very miieiable; *ing you ometimet would make me happy. Let u* be frieudi Leooe; Why refute me ? I will never ipeak of love the word thai) never bd mentioned. Yon (hall be to me like my dearett, bell-loved litter. I will be your brother, your (errant and your friend; only give me, for Uod'i dear take, the comfort of teeing you. Leone, be friend*." It wai one evening when the wai tired thai thu letter wat brought to her. She read it with weeping eyee: life wai hard: ihe found it ao. She lo'ved ber art, the lived in it, but the wa* only a woman, and he wanted ooiutort of a human love and friendship. Wearily enough ihe repealed the word* to hertelf: Let u* be friend*. Aa he aayt, life u thort. 1 The comfort will bo iniall enough. Heaven know*, but it will be bttter than nothing. Yea, we will be friend*." So she answered the letter in a few word*, telling him if be really wiahed what he aaid, ihe would diicua* th* prudence of luoh a friendthip with him. '1 his letter of hen fell into the hand* of Lady Marion. She looked at the fine, tautiful, clear handwriting. " Lanon, thit u from a ldy," the aaid. When he took it from har hi* faoe fluth ed, for he knew the hand. " It is from a lady," she repeated. "It it on bueineat," he replied, coldly, mtting the envelope aaide; and, to hi* ntente delight, Lady Marion forgot it. He WM to go and ate her. It wa* wrong to be to pleated, he knew, but he did not even try to hide hi* delight ever it. When should he go ? He thould count h honri he could not wait longer than to-morrow. Would ah* be willing ( or would he not ? How long the houn teemed, et they patted, and once mon he wat) at be Cedar*. (TO Bit fOXTIVPBO. > It ii itatea lu L/OUUUU mat me Marqui* f Lome, huiband of the Prince*! Louise, a* become a partner in a firm of house ivooratori and n actively ibariog in the dtiigning work. f '