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

an MISS HELEN'S LOVERS. |: She had been away from home about two months when the following letter from her mother awakened, with somewhat ‘insuffi- cient cause, an unconquerable anxiety about the dear writer’s health, and drove Helen to return to Meriton upon the very day after she received the disquieting allusion. Mra. Mitford badd written thus— “My Daruinc HeLex,—How cold it is. I hope that if you are tempted to wander about under those draughty galleries at your uncle's after dinner that you do not forget to wearashawl Iam reminded of such dangers to your health by a tiresome cold in my head which I caught last eve ae about the garden with your dear ther, who is more careful to protect his =e trees than his wife from the frost: wrapped my head in flannel and drank several jugs of treacle posset b@fore going to I slept heavily, but awoke headachy _ ape. so this letter will be very short d flat, dear. Iam rejoiced to hear how poet you enjoyed the ball and how delight- fal you find your surroundin Do not hurry home. I love to think of you ad- mired, happy, and making the most of your youth. I read your letters again and again, and you are never absent from my thoughts, | my dearest.— Your loving mother, Hoxona Mrtrorp.” “«P, §.—By the by, your Aunt Elizabeth has written at last ; your father received the letter some days ' ago. Betsey has been ill—seriously ill—and her time hus been fully occupied with the conseqnent sick nursing ; she is better now and downstairs| again. Elizabeth seems yery full of those dreadiul Jones people, who have gone a frightful smash. The oll man hss been en in the most reckless wsy—the ock of ruin, upon all those good <a _ of which we have heard, brought on lexy ; heisdead. If 1 can find Elzabet r) etter, I will enclose it.’ But the letter had not been enclosed, and very soon after Helen’s arrival at Meriton she led the conversation to Noelcom ** What was the matter with poor old tsey,” the girlasked. She stood before the fire with her arm round her mother's waist. Mrs. Mitford could not take her eyes away from the contemplation of her beautiful child. She had improved ; yes, if it was possible, she was more loveable and loving than before, and she had torn herself from » household of friends and cousins, had relinquished the prospect of a party, had hurried home to see with her own eyes and hear with her own ears that the “‘ tiresome cold of which she had n told was of no deadly character. ‘* A very serious touch of influenza. Oh, Nellie, I can't bear to think that you have left so much pleasure on my ac- count. It was foolish of me _ to mention my cold, but I thought you knew I only sneeze for a extra shawl, and then one of my colds goes. Why, [am quite well again to-day. The delight of seeing you; my darling, is spoiled when I remember what you have given up r me.” **T have given up nothing, mother. I wanted to come home every single day I wasaway. Ofcourse I was having great fun—lots Rs tas on—but I was a little ria re alwaysam. How long was or ‘on’ t remember exactly. Helen, did you meet with any very charming people ? 2 , yes, most of them were awfully nice. Mother, you did not inclose auntie’s letter.’ *« No, dearest, your father had gone out and must have taken it with him. couldn't find it. I asked him where it was just before you caine, but he had torn it up and thrown it into the waste-paper basket. Never mind, she had nothing to say ; i, she does write such dull letters, poor dear.” Late that night when the Meriton house- hold se been long asleep a stealthy figure, wrap ina r annel dressing-gown, with Brows heir hanging straight and thick to the knees, and a beautiful, eager face, on which the candle which she shaded with her hand shone, crept slowly and cautiously down the stairs and made her noiseless way to the rector’s stu Helen—for she it was—set patiently to wax over the accomplishment of her in- tention. Sitting on the floor by the side of the waste-paper basket, she pieced, con- shes patched the severed and scattered ants of Miss Elizabeth's letter into a whole. tl achievement. She was blue with cold her teeth chattered, and her fingers were stiff and half frozen ; bodly discom- forta were unheeded, for her heart was hot within her. Again and again she r those pieced atoms, and then, gathering them carefully im ager she stole her room. Holding them in her closed , hand, she got into bed and lay there cold, ' shivering and sleepless until dawn ; then she re-lighted the candle and re- read the | letter, which ran as follows : My Very Dear Hennry,—I have not written since I congratulated and condoled with you and yours on the sad death and extraordinary generosity of your late our It is one cf tho « events over vlich tears and gratital mingle. I do. not wonder at his attachment to my niece, | for during her visit at my cottage I learned to love her dearly. Betsey has been ill ; must be my excuse for an unusually lengthy silence, for my time was much occupied both with attending to her re- quirements and fulfilling her necessarily | relinquished duties. She suffered from™ influenza and was for some days in a critical condition ; she is now happily convalescent. Irritability—a natural consequence of wea it seems—has attacked her ; but of that, perhaps, it is unkind to _ Helen will grieve with me over the sad ruin of our kind friends the Joneses. The news of the catastrophe fell like a — nm us here, though I under- stand from Mrs. Majoribanks that some- thing of the sort was anticipated. by the better informed in London. It has been discovered that poor Sir Adolphus, whose sudden death from apoplexy heralded the — of the disaster, was a speculator and reckless enterprise. His had declined somewhat, and cxpenditure was in excess of his receipts. in, He sought to recoup himself by a venture of great risk and magnitude ; its failure emtemne P if it did not wholly occasion, the calamity. I understand that the fortunes of Lady Shuter and Mrs. Mason are secure ; a _ t a.” — able sum was settled upon the widow and son, but this they ‘on sy decided re ‘cle | contemplationpf her Icok. Upon Mon . morning the news of Miss . | on down pillows and cove It was a difficult and! new thought, no new difficulty about the k to, Much admira is the conservatory. flues one day last week, an not detected his blunder in time to avert danger, I tremble to think of what the consequences might have been. Convey my warmest love’ to dear Honora, and believe me, your fondly attached, ExizaBeTH MITFORD.” The next day was Sunday, a day on which enforced idleness begets ‘lon thoughts.” When the organ plays and when the parson preaches, upon what vast wanderings does an ill-regulated attention engage, upon what diverse tracts and over what leagues of space does imagination travel. If Helen’s mind was not under proper control, her voice, for which the congregation were wont to listen, and with which she led the village choir, had grown in depth and power, it rang clear, sweet, and rich, never faltering nor tiring through the chants and hymas. Her eyes, deep as the sea, and very grave, were lowered to the Elizabeth Milford’s illness reached the Rectory, this time it was Betsey who wrote. Her style was not discursive, in three bold lines she announced that her mistress ‘* was very bad with the influenza, and that the doctor came twice a day, but said nothing. Mr. Mitford received the letter at the breakfast-table and read it aloud to his companions. Both he and his wife,between the discussion of ham, eggs and coffee, were full of sympathy with the invalid. Helen did not join her condolences with theirs, but when the topic was at len ength discussed, she suddenly and unexpectedly recalled it by -] suggesting that she, herself, should go to Carnation Cottage and a “poor Aunt Elizabeth. She loved sick nursing, she loved Aunt Elizabeth, “she should love to be with her, might she go? The mild opposition of her mother gave her resolution strength, she described the miseries, the sufferings, the ravages of the Russian pest with such tragic vehemence as to wring the listeners’ tender hearts, till they swallowed all remembrance of the void the loss of the girl's presence would entail, and told her eagerly that she should go, she should go at once, that very day. “You have inherited your father’s good heart, Helen,” said her mother, fondly. ave learned unselfishness from your mother, Helen,’ a‘ded her father, patting her head eee tt ‘These terms of approbation affected their daughter strangely, she colored up to the eyes, tried to speak, but her quivering lips would not obey her, and then, with a mur- mur, of which the words ‘‘too good for m alone were intelligible, got up and left the yor two and put on an | room. ‘‘Helen has grown so sensitive, Henry. Last night her eyes were full ot tears during your sermcn, and really I hardly thoug t it so affecting as usual.” ‘*She is a very good girl, indeed,” said the rector, heartily ; give me the Bradshaw, Honora, re must look out her train and send a telegram to Betsey.” The next evening saw Helen once more an inmate of Carnation Cot the warmth of her welcome was overpowering. She found that Betsey had not exaggerated the severity of Miss Mitford’s illness, and Betsey herself was still too weak to attend to her mistress, so that Helen’s presence most opportune. For several days she hardly left the sickroom, she wasa devoted, I{gentle, and skillful nurse. Under her Nextarias care Miss Mitford steadily gained round, and before a wee passed was own stairs on the sofa Though Carnation Cottage was at its best in the spring and summer, its winter com- forta were not to be despised ; heavy por- taeres excluded draughts, the conservatory supplied an abundant stock of flowers ; : log fires blazed in the low gra Helen loved every nook and corner, eure chair and table in the little drawing room, she sat on a tiny chair which she had drawn to the sofa-side on which her aunt, propped with a couvre- to} pied, was reclining,and looked around her with a new far-away expression in her eyes which made then very sad and dreamy. Presently these two began to discuss a suv- ect which they had already worn thread- ee, they had talked it over so often and so minately, that they had no new light, no matter, but yet as seon as Miss Mitford had finished her afternoon siesta and opened her eyes, she naturally and inevitably returned ead | to the familiar theme. ‘* My love, Lady Jones had an annuity, asmali annuity, but safciont for her wan left her by her father ; of course it was praiseworthy of her to relinquish her claim to the money, but when we remember that the young man has no money, not a six- pence, that he has been reare in affluence, | r that he has never known an ungratified de- sire, and that under these ci gnstances, he voluntarily relinquished o vodsome in- dependence, we must find it impossible to express, with adequate strength, our warm admiration of the nobility of his conduct.” Helen had taken up the piece of em- broidery from her lap an gun to stitch with some show of industry, she was obliged to bend low pver her work, for the winter afternoon was poniog to a close, and the room was dusk. «« [ wonder what le will do,” she said. ‘* He will do wdl, mark my words, Helen. He has masy friends. I hear that already he has en merge a a of business il which he is likely, through the favor of se proprietor, to su » if he ves himself intelligent agd reliable—such quali- ties we ina ha ve sjesses. Don’t sigh, my love ; rats alone Deart a a sinking ship ; the captain and her crew are the ve her. If that unwarthy woman whom he loved chose to renowce him at theapproach of trouble, she is no better than a raf, and of such vermin he is well rid.” ‘* Perhaps it was hot dn all her fault,” said Helen, slowly; ‘‘ perhaps he would nei 4 the girl ‘he lked into poverty. Perl she could ot help it.” ** She should have made a point of help- it,” said Aunt Elizabeth, with energy. hen does a man really find comfort in a woman? When does a man appreciate the blessing of an affectionate wife ? when he is in troulle, tobe sure. And any woman worthy th i glories in the knowkdge ; worthy of the nam¢ by hi ideas conta as compass and as A | a . . Ta | ° * | circumstance, summer, ve, and of you, and I told ae of the fi strange generosity of poor Mr. Flight, then he went <r but he promised to was at Noelcombe. He fro till the business was settled and the house sold, he said.” “Did he say anything about that girl, auntie ? “‘ Which girl? Oh, you mean Lady Freemantle. No, my love, he talked at lon you; men do not speak of matters upon which they feel deeply. He talked much of you. If showed him your new photo- graph; he did not think it at all good, not at all t is a most curious thing, Helen, I po mislaid that likeness ; from da to this, I ti have never foun” it, congk I have searched diligently. I must have sent it back to the library in a book, I have lost many letters thos and some valuable packets of flower The orchid which the young is dead—it wanted more heat than mf eoakl g give it here. Good ious, love, that is the front door bell, pull down the — over my feet and set my cap straight ; the room is nearly dark. Will you - ht the candles on the mantel- iece ? hat? you prefer the dusk ? ery well. My fove—Hiaion 1 ! where are ou going ? Don’t leave the room. Stay, want you to stay.” But she had gone ; and while Miss Mit- ford was still imploring and commanding her to return, Mr. Jones was shown into the room. CHAPTER XM. Great let me call him, for he conquered me. Youna. Thad y had been clear ; not been here, eeping by thee. Whether some elite of her own girlhood, or whether the glimpse of her Had I not loved eae Had I not loved thee niece's face as she escaped, or whether the intuitive perception of & woman in the scenting-out of such ‘small game” as a love affair, brought nascent suspicion upon Miss Elizabeth Mit- ford’s hitherto obtuse mind, she could never afterward decide. But in the flash of an eye, the suspicion grew to certainty ; she knew that what ‘‘ Thomas” had once been to her this handsome but poverty-stricken | * os recently-jilted visitor was to her dear niece. She had been parted from her Thomas and was wont to congratulate herself on that but to have escaped the tor- ture of that never-to-be-forgotten wrench, she would have endured the lon unhappy | “ wifeh of her successful rival, had the choice between two evils been not attempt to re-] she heard the or two later, mn keep the muffins hot r. Jones and Miss Mitford will be i tes before long.” “ How 7 ong, me ‘* Well, indeed, t *gon't quite know, Betsey. Give me your arm, I mn a eens I feel geen shaky.” ro action she can escape the ordeal. light is the first and often the only avail- able tactic. To this refuge Helen had resorted. She had put on her coat and hat, stamped and sealed oe letter to Mrs. Mit- ford, and, after mentioning carelessly to Betsey that she was going to the post, she softly crept across the hall and let herself out by the front door. It was dreadful to leave the house, but to remain there was worse, she had escaped the meeting, but, unfortunately, she could not escape herself. She walked very quickly, it was dark beneath the trees in the glen and their branches creaked, for the was was blowing ly. Down ‘the steep, rough village street she set apace—how soon, how far too soon she fulfilled her errand ! The sun had gone down, but a full moon was rising over the sea, the tide was high and the rough waves were bellowing at the foot of the cliff. They lashed the teoken rocks—they drew Helen toward them, for their loud wailing was attune with her heart; they were in sympathy with her m Their might, their strength, their majesty overwhelmed her perso trouble ; ; she could forget all things in heaven and earth if she might stand beside them. Below the village, to the right of the beach, was a broad ridge of rock which had been a haunt of hers in other times ; the descent thither was hazardous in the faint light, but she climbed down and stood on the wide ledge, with the wind beating against her and the salt spray wet- ting her face. The silver pathway sp rom her very feet to the re moon, black western clouds were piled ke mountains against the faint sky on which a few stars glimmered. The heavy exested waves broke with a roar like thunder on the ret, the cream-like foam looked soit an ntle, now and again a | drenching, la we hopped shower of spray fell upon the pak a few feet beyond her. “ Unfathomable sea fail waves are on — of time, whos: w: of deep rackish with the wait of pote teare.” and yet whose sourd is a tonic to our spirita as much as its breath isa tenic for our left to her decision. She would—she would | bodies. indeed. Memories and half-dead longings were awakened by the ciecomieiny limpse of Helen’s face, and she was read ing the first time in her life to proclaim reed weakness. She felt quite faint at her discovery, but this did not prevent her receiving the gen- tleman with great warmth and friendliness. He was, of course, totally unconscious and at ease. e sa down on the same tiny chair as before and asked with much interest about the in- fluenza. Her answers were absent and a little puzzling ; she hardly knew what he said so sick was she with the responsibility of immediate action. Should she loa mention her niece’s presence and ju - by his face whetber the knowledge affected him in any way? But the most expressive feature—his mouth—was hidden by a mustache, and those dark eyes of his defied scrutiny, especially in this dusky light.~He went on talking ; the frank, youthfulness of his manner had changed ; he was no longer debonair and careless—he had grown earnest and almost to sternness. grave, Every now and then there was a weary note too in his voice which wrung the old lady’s heart ;she grew each moment more con- abstracted. He became aware of this, and, thinking that she was weak from recent illness and therefore unfit for conversation, he presently rose to take his leave. ‘«T am tiring you,” he said, ‘‘so I will I have finished all the business down I go up to town to-morrow and get to work next week, sol must wish you a long good-by.” “You must not go,” with the npioigsA of a general in action ; ‘‘ you must stay to tea. Kindly ring the bell.” He obeyed her and reseated himself. ** T can never tear myself away, if you are so kind,” he said. She nodded, she could not speak. ‘‘ His t dfather,” she was thinking, “‘wore three fats and dealt in second-hand ward- ce in the bell was answered she spoke out her order clear! and with decision. ill you tell Miss Helen that Mr. Jones is here, and ask her to come down and e tea.” Miss Mitford was too agitated to take notes, so to k, of the situation, but she could not avoid seeing him start or hearing the exclamation— ‘Helen? Helen here, in this house?” betore his calmer reception of the news by the remark, ‘‘I had no idea Miss Mitford was with you, ” reached her. Asthe door opened she watched him, wondering whether it was her fancy which made his face look so white, but the incamer was not Helen, but Betsey with the tea. ‘* Miss Helen went out ten minutes ago, ma’am, she has gone to the post.” The news staggered her aunt, she stared blankly at her companion, a sudden flame leaped out of a kindled log and played on the fire of his eyes. Then for the firat time in all her guilelers life, Miss Elizabe crea a plot. “Mr. Jones,” she said, ‘‘ you hear that Helen aes out ; I am vexed with her for doing 40, sheshould have sent a servant with the-tetter ; i! it is growing dark rapidly, the h the glen is very lonely, it is not fit for her to walk alone. You will think me a great fidget but it would be relief to my mind if you would go and meet her,” then, seeing the hesitation of his face, she went on tremulously, ‘I have been ill ; the illness has left me weak and nervous, I am anxious about her and ty It was long before she turned away from the wonder of the waves, away from the beauty and grandeur of the sky, she was calmed and strengtaened, she was tally to “go home.” Close behind her stood a figure ose ‘appcoash the roar of the water had drowned and whohad neither spoken nor moved, but who had i less, watching her. ig | heard where you had gone and fol- lowed you," *he said. ‘*The tide is still coming in; the waves lick over this rock i in 1; it isn’t a safe ape for you.” She was angry with the ing waters for the full sound of | his voice. She had to lift up her head to catch the mean- ing of his words. ** I was sent to fetch you home.” Alas, he had been sent ! He had always read her Siaieiaite he did so now, bat not correc as Mins Mitford sent me—I hope you do not mind—she was anxious about you, so I came ; it was,” slowly, ‘* the only chance a of seeing you, so, right or wrong, I it.’ standing, motion- ‘* We must ga,” she said. “* Not yet, not yet. Wait ; you won't mind waiting just a moment; it will be the last time—the only time—don’t you re- member we to want to watch a storm together ?” “T am glad you came peal he said, after a long, long silence ; lad we have seen a storm apelin, “alter all. Come, we must go. She turned decilely and followed him. He led the way up the difficult path to the village ; he did not offer to help her, she followed close at his heels. e seem afraid of another silence and talked fast, but on the surface of things ; she answered at low monosyllables. They had passed the eand were entering the shadows of the fee's how the time rushed by—those bitter. sweet moments which, the bend in the road once passed, would be at end for- ever. Her re weed throbbing fast with se calm, so self-contained, pain ; ne was while she could not command her tremblin voice so as to answer him. Once she her chance, once she might have had all for —_— she now fined, but she had flung it y. ‘Hethatwillnot when hemay—when he will, he shall have ‘nay.’” How was she to know that his calmness was born of some- thing like despair ?—that of all his troubles the bitterest by far had been caused by her? He, too, was realizing t these moments were almost over; he, too, had a pain like a knife in his breast. Suddenly, on an im- pulse. he broke out with a fragment of a moan. He wasby nature frank and unre- served, and the darkness, through «which they walked, made confession easy. “Tused to thin was such a luck chap; everything always went straight ; I never had the heartache in my life ti —till last July, Helen Then my luck cal iash ** How sweet you are,” he said ; ‘‘ you are sort for us.” red,d ot for you,” sheanswe: esperately ee bit for mee , *« Why for yotrself ?” sa gently. “* Because, enn I may only watch storm at sea wita you, and I want to help you “rim other—harder—storms.” She e ssid, with some return of her Fit, ee ; is not.” yeu mean, Helen ?” reached the post-office and {I ed | person, they instantly became coin oa IT tel tell you it is not pity. Whom wr ity re a «Why should I pity you 2” ” Mr gpicr-sont jilted, 0 obscure man gets pity, no mpt. ** Don’ t talk = that, I will not listen to you. wi angry because I did not know what made me like you; bat I know now, I have heard now, the whole world knows what you have done. “‘That’s as I thought,” he told her fave. “that is what I feared. You ave got hold of some exaggerated tale bout this business—such as women love— ra have made a saint out of o sinner, a hero = of an honest tradesman. And now you fancy things, in your generosity you would say anything. Betores when nosing stood between us, you would not look at me. **Wouldn’t I? You only tried me once, and then you went away, and— and—! es —_— eek don’t talk like this now. It is too la The pained hora of his manner was her best consolation. “‘T am not sone to make love to you any more,” she said, with an imitation of her former vivacity, the effect of which the in her voice destroyed. If you won't fect —_ nothing ; I have to begin work asan unpaid cler ‘ina merchant's office ; my mother will live with me. It wi uphill work for years and years, even if I am most for te.” “‘ Yes,” shesaid, “and you area man of expensive tastes, you have used luxuries as necessities, Poverty will be terribly hard on you; you will get -tempered, you will want a vent for your anger—have me!” They had emerged from the shadow of the glen and reached the garden door, and through the dim twilight her “— eyes, wet with tears, smiled athim. His scra- ples were vanishing into air, he had much to do to keep cool. With his hand upon the stag of the gate he paused and questioned. “Tell me, what has “ha you, Helen?” *« 7 have not chan ‘* Not changed ? Five months ago you refused to marry me. “You had everything then, you didn’t want me, at least, not much. was blind and vain ; and a fool. I may be a fool now, but I am no longer blind; I “ seen pin ye since July. Ihave h eal.” td ‘** You know so little of me.” ‘« That is true._I have told myself so-« hundred thousand times.” elen, you are torturing me, you tempt me beyond endurance. en open the door, if you please, and let me go.” want love ; you may mistake the one for the other ; you probably do.” “Did I pity you last summer,” she an- swered impatiently. ‘‘ And when you or me in a moment, and went away to other woman, do you think the pain I had was pity. It isn’t like you, it isn’t kind of you to make me say all this. . You have said nothing. I don’t — why I Should. think you care for me. “* Never,” he said ; his arms and kissed h Every one said that. ‘the beautifal Miss Mitford and her fifteenthousand pounds were being thrown away upon Mr. Jones—of the aye Mr. Jones himself was wont to say to predict great miseries in store ie She often acquiesced in these prophe- cies ; for she, except on one momentous occasion, was chary of feeding the vanity or — tender words on the lover of her choi At first at Mr. and 3 ge had been mente = "s de- + Helen shor should a hevces pri to the pune son of ‘those Joneses” was incomprehensible to them ; but when their mild remonstrances were met by a passionate and vensment comin sion of her great love for this aaaetiae d tula Hel had prsrene and con; tory. elen a been seh ok he was probably right now. ‘ed In the following June, upon the day pre- ceding Helen’s wedding, the tory was the scene of great, though subdued excite- rent. Bridesmaids, uncles, aunts, stray men and country neighbors thronged house and garden. ‘The presents, the trousseaa, the flowers, and the bride-elect were on view. It was to bea gay welding (as the saying is), every possible token of ca was Fag Ms manifest, every possi onor be heaped on bride and brides - Though Miss. Mitford was making such a bad match,” the girls said, ‘‘she seemed very roud of it.” And so she was, she thought herself the most fortunate woman in the world. “ver when her Aunt Elizabeth, whv was direct- ing the labels for the bridal boxes, sighed and said, pointing with an unappreciative finger at— ‘Mrs, Albert Jones,” ‘“*T can’t make it look nice, my love.” - Helen answered quickly. ‘‘ What’sina name, auntie,” and then added a little wist- fully, after a pause, “‘it is better than Hogg, at any rate.’ ** Bertie is the most charming fellow in the world,” Mrs. Mitford put in, kissing the bride-elect’s fair cheek tenderly. ‘* Whatever his name was, if he had no name at all, I should be glad for Nellie ta be called by i it.” “ I don’t know what all the gern Bee “| him,” said the rector rather “se Fortunately he is getting on fairly well is business, Elizabeth, though I believe i foolish little girl would have married whether or no.” 0.” and he eed. her into THE END. Jamaica has applied for 7,000 square feet of floor at the E tion. Col. C. G. Ward, a member of the Jamaica parlia- ment is the royal commissioner to the ition from his country. He visited last week. — ae ‘