is t 5 5 One morning I was shopping in Dainâ€" & tree when I met Jiune Lewis, and I stopped immediately. to inquire about her mistress. The comely face was cloudâ€" } ed and anxious; it seemed to me that she was even relieved by my addressing her. She did not this time refuse to anâ€" 5 swer my question, but told me frankly that Miss Vane was not at all well. f ‘‘Has she long been ill?"" I asked. : . â€"‘No; she is not exactly ill, but she 37 geems to be fading slowly away." She looked at me with wistful eyes, _and then seemed to regret her candor. es ‘‘Can I do anything to help you?"‘ I _ asked, abruptly. & a She sighed deeply. â€" «i\ _ ‘*No; there is no help possible.‘‘ ? "I can do one thing, Mrs. Lewis," I _ said. "The summer is a very hot and 3 exhausting one; at Neville‘s Cross we have some exquisite fruit â€" grapes, $ peaches, and apricots. I will send someâ€" Miss Vane will find them refreshing.‘‘ She shook her head doubtfully. ‘"You need not tell her that they have come from me,‘"‘ I said. "She will think & you have provided them.‘‘ oo Ttb is economy to profit by the ‘experience of "So do. I,‘‘ was the unexpected reâ€" joinder; ‘‘but as a servant, it is not my place either to criticise or disobey my qmistress." I laid my hand on the woman‘s arm. «"‘Jane Lewis," I said, solemnly, "I do not know whether your mistress is old or young, but Lâ€"do know that it is wrong of her to shut herself out of the pale of all human sJ;mpathy and kindness."‘ Later on that same morning, having business at Daintree railway station, I was surprised to see Jane Lewis coming out of the telegraph office. She looked so dismayed for the moment that I preâ€" tended not to have seen her.. Afterward I heard that the eminent London physiâ€" clan, Sir John Emmett, had passed through Daintree, and I felt a certain conviction that he had been summoned to the River House. I thought it time to break my promâ€" ise, and go to the River House. I went one beautiful August day, when the heat seemed to lis like a golden haze over the land, and the flowers drooped in sheer weariness, and the sky was so blue that one‘s eyes ached in looking at it. As I drew near I heard the rushing of the river and the low wash of the waveâ€" lets on the green bank, and they gladâ€" dened the heart within me. Once more I stood under the shadow of the grand old porch, and the world seemed far aAway. _ In answer to my ring, the grayâ€"haired butler appeared. I told him it was Jane Lewis that I wanted to see. He looked surprised, bowed soléemny, and ushered me into the libraty.. There I waited for some time. Certainly rumor had not exâ€" aAggerated the wonderful magnificence of the house. The carpets, hangings, pictures, statues, all amazed me. I deâ€" tected a peculiar perfume, faint, sweet, and refreshing; but the silence â€" the deep, brooding stillness which nothing broke except the rushing of the river and the chirping of the birdsâ€"was strange, deep, wonderful. ‘ If any doors opened or closed, I never heard them; if servants moved, they must have been ghod in velyet. _ "It is not that, Mrs. Nevilleâ€"my misâ€" tress never notices what is set before her. I was only wondering if she would. take the trouble to eat them.‘‘ Presently Jane Lewis came in. Sho looked pale and worn, yet seemed pleased to see me. ‘‘I have broken my promise, Jane,"" I said. ‘‘The truth is that I feel sure Miss Vane is very ill, and I want to help her." ‘"My mistress has been very ~ill," was the grave reply. ‘‘She is recovyering slowâ€" ly now; but, as I told you before, Mrs. Neville, you can not help her,‘" ‘"At least let me try,"" I said, persuasâ€" ively. ‘Then let me help her, unknown to her, in some fashion or other." _ "I am quite sure she: will when she sees how fine they are. I shall send them, andâ€"you can try." "It is quite useless.. You do not unâ€" derstand. You are very kind; but, if I were to kneel for an hour begging of Miss Vane to see you she would not. She__would simply be very angry with ‘*You can not. You do not understand, Mrs. Neville. You are very good and kind, but belp is out of the question." Time modified opinion. Lady Glendon said there was no doubt the poor lady suffered from spinal complaint, and was unable to leave her room. Mrs. Conyers was inclined to think it a case of melanâ€" choliaâ€"she had known a few such. Miss Hurst had a theory of her own, and it was that the strange tenant of the River House was a political refugee. But as time passed on, and new sources of inâ€" terest arose in the neighborhood, the curiosity about my strange tenant died away. I myself never ceased to think of herâ€"the very name, ‘"Huldah Vane," had a charm for me. Three years had passed since my silent and mysterious tenant had taken up her abode at the River House, and during that time the silence that surrounded her had not been disturbed. At first she had proved a. marvel in the neighborâ€" hood,. Lady Glendon, Mrs. Conyers, the popular wife of our member, Mrs. Hurst, of Hurst Greenâ€"all thoso cn whose verâ€" dict social success depended had gravelyâ€" pronounced it to be a most serious matâ€" ter, adding gravely that "dear Mrs. Neâ€" ville‘‘ had not shown her usual tact in admitting a mystcrious lady into their exclusive neighborhood. As there was generally around Daintree a dearth of topics for gossip, this one gave . new life to ourâ€"social meetings. Who was the lady? Why did she choose to live in that peculiar way? What was the mystery surrounding her? These problems conâ€" tinued to be discusse:dl until time showed the utter futility of doing so. All inâ€" quiries and curiosity were baffled. . Every week the confidential maid, Jane Lewis, went over to Daintree and gave bher orders. They were such liberal ones as to prove that whatever else might be deficient at the River House, there was plenty of money there. From the tradesmen who executed these. orders, it ws gleaned that beside Jane Lewis, or rather under her, there were two other women servants, and there was a grayâ€" headed butler. , Erom the servants no information could be gainedâ€"they knew nothing, exâ€" cept that their mistress was an invalid and declined all society. The servants appeared at church, the mistress neverâ€" indeed, Miss Vane herself might have been a myth q & CHAPTER ILâ€""WHAT WAS THE MYSTERY SURROUNDING HER?"‘ NWP y d ; A Wedding Morn. BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME. Aoet On Her : o sm2a®&sAARREly. . ‘Thank you, Mrs. Neville,"‘ she said. | ‘You are, indeed, kind. I ought not to \ have said that. My mistress would not \like it, I am sure." I So I went away, having learned nothâ€" ing of the secret of the house. I had, inâ€" | deed, gathered one fact. Miss Vane was young; she could not possibly be more than twentyâ€"two or twentyâ€"three if Jane | Lewis had been her nurse. I sat looking at them in silence. The face and head of the owner were hidden by a veil worn in the Spanish fashionâ€" but the hands wers eloquent enough. They never moved; they were neither clasped in thought, nor folded in paâ€" tience, nor wrung in despair; but they lay listless and motionless, as the hands of a dead woman might lie. A tall, slender, graceful figure moyed swiftly and gently between the trees, and then sunk at the foot of one with a tired, wearied look. I could distinguish only the graceful outline and the black flowing sarment, but lying listlessly on the black dress were the whitest and most beautiful hands I had ever seen in my lifeâ€"white as polished ivoryâ€"perfect as though carved by the most skillful sculptor. So, in my. little boat, feeling happy and completely at my ease, I watched the sun set and great floods of crimson light die over the waters, and then, when the crimson had become grey, I lot the boat drift idly down the stream, In the month of September I was at Neville‘s cross alone, without any visiâ€" tors. I had just indulged in the purchase of a light boat, for I was passionately fond of rowing on the river. I liked rowing myself, and not sitting still while another did the work. Ib was quite dusk when I reached the River House. I rested opposite the smooth, green lawn, and then I saw something at last. He showed me an envelope containing bankâ€"notes to the amount of three hunâ€" dred poundsâ€"the sender merely requestâ€" ing that they might be. used to supply the poor woman‘s loss. Ib was strange; we exhausted all conjecture, but could not decided upon any one likely to. have done so generous a deed. One evening the idea came to me to row up the stream and let the boat float back with the tide. I should pass the River House, and perhaps in the gatherâ€" ing gloom I might see something of its sbrange occupant. _ The shades of night were falling quickly; it was time to go.. The faint sound of the sculls in the water did not reach my neighbor, and I hastened away. Ib never struck me that in thus watchâ€" ing my mysterious tenant I was doing anything in the least degree unladyâ€"like or dishonorable. There could be no doubi but that at last I had seen Miss Vane. She was young and graceful, and had hands of marvelous whiteness and beauty. I knew no more. Some weeks afterward I went for a long ramble in Daintree Woods. There is to me no sight in the wide world so beautiful as the woods in autumn, with their variety of foliage and splendor of autumn coloring. I took a great liberty and went into the pine woods, saying to myself that even should I meet any one from the River House, it would be very easy to hide. _ While walkipg slowly along, very Busy I think from that evening a spell was laid on me. (I could never forget her. What was she doing, young and fair, alone in that solitary house? L passed and repassed, but never saw her again. I could not tell him. Another singular circumstance happened.. Outside Dainâ€" tree stood a small cottage, inhabited by % laundress, a widow woman, with a im{ly of little children. How it happenâ€" eÂ¥ no one seemed to know, but one sumâ€" mer night the cottage was burned to the ground. All the furniture, with the clothes that had been intrusted to herâ€" everything was destroyed; and the poor widow, surrounded by her children, woke to ths conviction that there was nothing before her except ruin and the workâ€" houss. We proposed a subscription for her; )ut, before «unything was even deâ€" cided dpon, the rector came over to Neâ€" ville‘s Cross. "This morning I received an envelope directed to myself, containing four bankâ€" notes for fifty pounds each. The envelops contained only these words: ‘For the poor, one hundred pounds; toward the eastern window fund, one hundred pounds.‘ Who can my unknown beneâ€" factor be, Mrs. Neville?" ‘"‘This parish of mine must be. blessed with some unknown saint,"‘ he said; "look at these, Mrs. Neville." I did not go to the River House again â€"it seemed perfectly uselessâ€"and I heard no more for some time of Miss Vane. I concluded that she had recovered. Surely Mrs. Lewis would have told me if anyâ€" thing had gone wrong. Just thenâ€"strange circuinetances hapâ€" pened in the parish of Daintree. Dr. Rawson called on me one morning, his manner more than usually excited. Tt may be so, Mrs. Neville. I can not say. I only know that while I am in Miss Vane‘s service I must obey her orders. Suppose I disobeyed ber, and did what she has forbidden me to doâ€" brought her into communication with the outer worldâ€"do you imagine ib would influence her? She would change teither her resoluions mor her ways, but she would dismiss me, and find some one more obedient in my place. I love my mistress, Mrs. Neville,‘‘ she continued, with a flush on her face, ‘"and I have every reason to love her. I nursed her when she was a baby." ‘‘My dear Mrs. Neville, such a strange thing has happened. You remember, perhaps, that last Sunday,in my sermon;, I said sometbing about my earnest wish to restore the eastern window cf the church; at the same time I said that I did not wish to divert from the poor the money usually given in charity."‘ "I remember it perfectly well, Dr. Rawson.‘" She stopped ~suddenly, as though frightened at what she had said. It ocâ€" curred â€"to me immediately that, if she spoke truly, Miss Vane must still be quite young. I felt for the woman‘s emâ€" batrassment. ‘‘Never mind. You are regretting what you have said; but you need not do soâ€"there is no cause. I shall never repeat it. I can see that your position is a delicate one. I am desirous of helping, not injuring you." Old, and tired of the world, I could have understood her desire for retirement, her seclusion from mankindâ€"but young ! What could it all mean? CHAPTER III. â€" "HAPPINESS! IS THERE SUCH A WORD?‘ "Then we will consider it unsaid, and,if I can really be of no use to you, I will not detain you." > & ©You are right; but has it never ceâ€" currred to you that you share the wrong in aiding and abetting her?"‘ W W \ 4) A\ A t For many long months after my last glimpse of the tenant of the River House I haunted the banks of the streaim in vain. I saw Jane Lewis in Daintree, but beyond a brief recognition, we exchanged no word. Huldah Vane was again lost to sight. Once, when the snow lay on the ground, I+ fancied that I saw her walking gently through the pine woodâ€" a tall, graceful figure, robed. in black flowing draperies; but the winter passed, and never a word of my mysterious tenâ€" ant was heard. Our neighbors had ceased to discuss her. In the spring of the fourth year of her residence at the River House I was destined to see more of her. . I rowed down the stream, past the River House, to a favorite nook of mine â€"a bank that was literally covered with wild hyacinths,. I always had a passionâ€" ate liking for those pretty flowers and in a feow minutes I had imy hands full of them. ‘The river here reached the height of picturesque beauty; it ran between green bauks, and then, suddenly curyâ€" ing, sped between white masses of rock, which were supposed at some farâ€"distant time to have fallen from the cliff. ' I went one morning for a long row on the river. What a morning it wasâ€"the air clear, sweet, balmy, filled with the odor of spring flowers, the hedges all blooming with pink and white hawâ€" thorn, the trees a tender green ! I sat on one of the stones, looking at the picturesque waters, when I heard a faint sound as of some one moaning with pain. I listened attentively, although thinking that I must be mistaken, and I g;'esently heard it again quite plainly. as it a wounded animal, or had some ahild fallen over the huge stones? I knew now who had sent money to the rector. What. else should I Jlearn of this strange, eccentric Huldah Vane? CHAPTER IV.â€""A FACE MARVELâ€" OUS IN ITS LOVELINESS AND ITS SADNESS." The woman turned away obediently, and the graceful head drooped against the tree, .while once more the white hands fell listlessly on the black dress. "I must steal away in silence,"‘ I said to myself. "I can not discuss such matters with you, Miss Vane. I will send the money as you wish, quite privately, toâ€"night or toâ€"morrow." "I fear not. There is a funeral pall about meâ€"one that grows thicker, and deeper, and darker as time goes on. Now go away, Lewis, I shall be home long before the sun sets." I stood up and looked around. At firsy J could distinguish nothing; but, shadâ€" ing my eyes from the bright sunshine, 1 soon discovered, close to the water, what in the distance looked like a heap of black drapery. I hastened toward it. My heart beat fast when I saw a white hand clinching a portion of the dress: ~I knew the handâ€"I recogrized the drapâ€" ory. It was Huldah Vane. I stood quite still for a second or two, and then hastâ€" ened to her,. The graceful figure was bent as though in deadly painâ€"her face was turned from me, and drooped toward the ground. * % e I knelt down by her side and touched her gentlyâ€"the feebhle moan changed into a startled cry. ‘‘Are you hurt? Are you ill?‘ I asked, ©You have only to take care that the woman does not know from whom it comes. I should never expect thanks or gratitudeâ€"rather a curse than otherwise. Who is always the first to prove treachâ€" erous and ungrateful? The one you have most warmly befriended. Who is tirst in the ranks of your bitterest foes? The one you have loved best *‘ ; ‘Heaven help you, my dear!‘‘ said the patient woman. ‘‘That is a bitter view to take of everything. I can not help saying ‘my dear.‘ I wonder if you will ever recognize the «merciful goodness of heaven again." ‘Happy!‘‘ she repeated, and in the emphasis she laid on the word there was a volume of meaning; it indicated ‘a dreary sadness and hopelessness which impressed me strongly. ‘‘Happiness! Is there such a word, Lewis?‘ "I am fond of you, Miss Vane,‘"‘ was the dignified rejoinderâ€"‘‘there is no preâ€" tense. I beg of you to leave the woods, at least before the mist rises.‘‘ "I will. Now leave ie in peace.‘‘ _ ‘*Miss Vane,‘‘ continued the maid, after a short pause, ‘‘you told_ me that you wished to be made acquainted with all the cases of distress that should come to my knowledgo.‘‘ ‘"Certainly I did, Lewis." "I know of one nowâ€"that of an eldâ€" erly woman, whose living is derived from the produce of a small garden and. from the sale of milk. Her cow has died, and she is asking for help toward buying another."" ‘‘How much does a cow cost, Lewis?"‘ "I do not know, Miss Vaneâ€"fifteen pounds, I should imagine ‘/ ‘‘It is not wasted, Miss Vaneâ€"it makes people happy."‘ ‘‘Fifteen pounds,‘‘ repeated the sweet voiceâ€"‘‘that is not much. Is it possible that one‘s happiness or misery may deâ€" pend on fifteen pounds?" ‘‘Yes; but remember, it must bo. sent to her secretly, quite secretlyâ€"I do. not wish any one to know what I waste.‘" "Her‘s does, Miss Vane; it seems a trifle to youâ€"it is everything to her. Shall I do anything toward assisting ‘©Well, miss, that is an old subject of dispute between us.‘ Whether it is right to be so utterly indifferent to life is another matter. I must do my duty, and that is to take care of you."‘ ‘*You sat on the lawn until past midâ€" pightâ€"not long ago, Miss Vaneâ€"that was bad enough; but this wood must be damp. â€" ‘The autumn mists will soon rise from the river and pass over it, and then you will take cold and be in danger again.‘‘ ‘Lewis,"‘ said the young voiee, "you pretendsto be very fond of me.‘‘ her? an accident, and she would have thought I was spying. Sune came up to Miss Jane, and stood at a respectful distanceo from her. â€" ‘‘I hope you will not think me tire: some, Miss Vane," she said; "but l thought you were coming to sit in this wood. You would be quite content to sit here until the sun has set, but I can not allow it, Miss Vane. You may be angry if you willâ€"remember what Sir John said."" From under the yveil came a low sweet, musical sound. Ib was not a laughâ€" nothing that could possibly be callel a laugh. It was cortainly Miss Vane speaking. but all attempts at describing her voice would be yain. It was low and soft, and there was something clear and vibrating, yet hopeless in it. It produced. a strangse impression on me, making me think of many things sweet and sad. "I am quite indifferent, Lowis, to all that Sir John may say."‘ _ ‘©You do take care of me,‘‘ said the same sweet voice. gathering a peculiar kind of berry that ripens in September, I saw â€" the same graceful figure, with the long, trailing black garments, and the white marvelâ€" ous hands. I stood quite still, and in a few minutes she sat down in the same attitude as before at the foot of a tall tree, her head leaning against the huge trunk, the white restless hands lying on her black dress. I looked at her in silence. I would have given the world for courage to speak to her, but I dared not intrudeâ€"indeed, I hurried kehind the clump of trees when I saw Lewis adâ€" vancing toward her. I did not want her to see me. After all, my being there was "CAll of i6?" "Certainlyâ€"give her the money.‘‘ 913 ‘‘Does your arm pain you very much?"‘ ‘‘It seems to me‘ more a question of I asked, skill than of strength,‘‘ I rejoined. ‘‘Neâ€"not more than I can bear," she | _ And then, having cautioned the docâ€" }eg_ï¬___,flli‘ed s o e t e ï¬?&'fl}lh to epeak of Miss Vane, or to tell when your husband diedâ€"to say, ‘Ah! poor thing, it is very shockingâ€"very berrible!‘ and shake their heads about you?" . ‘‘Yes; I think that it soothed me." ‘*Ah!‘‘ she said, calmly, "then you have not a brave soul.‘‘ I laughed aloud; I could not help it. "I know some one who has a very proud soul; but we will talk about that another day Your arm is badly bruised and broken; what is best to be done‘‘ "If you would help me a little I could walk home." "No; you do not know the toture is would give you. I saw some men at work in the fields close by; Iâ€" will send one of them for my carriageâ€"we are not very far from Neville‘s Crossâ€"and then we can drive you home by the high road." She did not object. I left her sitting there, so white, so still, so proud and defiant, that she look more like a marble statue than a living, breathing woman. A man who declared himself to be a swift runner I chose for my errand. I sat by Miss Vane‘s side until he reâ€" turned, but we said little. From the fixed, set expression of her face I felt sure that the pain was just as much as she could bear. "It would have seemed easior to me to lie still and die,‘‘ she replied, and a sudâ€" dep}_)_ot fiush came over the pale face. ‘‘Those are terribly proud words,"‘ 1 said, laughingly. ‘"There is no humiliaâ€" tion, when we are hurt.or wounded, in crying to a fellowâ€"creature for help.‘‘ "I would rather creep away to suffer and die alone,‘‘ she returned. "I do not like pityâ€"it is weak. I could endure anything rather than be pitied.‘‘ ‘*My poor child, when you are as as I am you will know how sweet pity of those who love us is." When the carriage came she sunk with an air of exhaustion on to the softâ€" cushioned seat. * ‘"Call out?"‘ she said. ‘"I _ never thought of such a thing.‘" "It would . have been only natural to ask for help.‘‘ _ I went to the other sideâ€"she was lyâ€" ing on her armâ€"and tried to raise her gently. . I found that the limb was not only terribly bruised, but that it was also broken, ‘"How did you learn my asked. ‘"You forget that you are my tenant. How many documents haye I seen signed by Huldah Vane? Now for your arm? ‘ ® T can not move it,"" she said, and her lips grew so white that I feared she was going to faint again,. â€" ‘‘My dear Miss Vané, your arm is bro@sn. I am afraid. you will have a great deal to suffer. How long have you been lying here?"‘ "More than two hours,"‘‘ she said. "It is terrible to think of. â€" Bub there are boats often passing; why did you not call onb?"" Though she talked lightly, I saw that her lip was white .and quivering with pain. "I6 is the natural color,"‘ I replied. ‘Yet you wear a widow‘s cap,‘‘ she continued. ‘ You have a buried lovye?"‘ ‘‘YÂ¥es, I have a buried love but when I think of the dark grave I think also of the blue sky smiling over it."‘ ‘How can people think death the greatest pain?"‘ she said, musingly. ‘"I fancy no one could he quite lonely. who had a grave to weep over." ‘‘These are morhid fancies for one so young as you are. Now, Miss Vane, let me see your arm.‘‘ ‘"So you are Mrs. Neville,"‘ she said, wonderingly, and with somewhat of the simplicity of a child. "I have tried someâ€" times to think what you were like. Is that the sunshine on your . hair, or is it the natural color?‘ is no more left for me to do, we can be "I dare not wait, Miss Vane; your strangers again.‘‘ 5 arm must be attended to at once. I must er face flushed, and she looked wistâ€" | send to Daintree, the nearest placeâ€"we fu?y at me. must have a doctor from there." You do not know,"" she said, slowly. She turned impatiently from me. ‘‘Nor do I want to know. I want to ‘‘Lewis,""‘ she said, with sweet imperiâ€" help youâ€"nothing more. Let me look at | ousness, "you will not allow me to be your arm,‘" inconvenienced and annoyed. You are ‘‘So you are Mrs. Neville,‘"‘ she said, | pledged to obey me; if you disobey, 1t is wonderingly, and with somewhat of the | at your peril. Send for Sir John; I will Eimplicity of a child. "I have tried someâ€" | see no stranger; I will bear all the extra times to think what you were like. Is | pain with patience. _ Remember your that the sunshine on your . hair, or is it promise.‘‘ ‘‘My dear young lady, I am sorry to refuse you, but I can not do any such thing; I can not leave you here in this state. Do not be afraid of me; I am Mrs. Neville. You have been my tenent for three years now, and you know how I have respected your desire for secrecy. Ask yourself if it is my wish to intrude on you now. Let me help you, let me do all I can for you, and then, when there is no more left for me to do, we can be strangers again.‘‘ & ‘©Yes, I have injured my arm. I was sitting on one of those stones, and did not notice that those above me were loose. I movred carelessly, and one 05 thenrfell on my arm. I managed t cieep to the riverâ€"side, thinking that the cold water would ease the pain." ‘*Will you let me see it?"" I asked, She looked half timidly into my face. "I need not trouble you,‘‘ she said, shyly. "If you would go to the River House and tell my maid, Jane Lewis, that would be the greatest kindness you could do for me." "I am Mrs. Neville, of Neville‘s Cross, and you are my tenant.‘‘ She lay quite still for a few minutes, and then she said to herself:â€" "It canégt be helped."‘ ‘‘Miss Vane?" I interrupted, ‘‘we will speak of youâ€"never mind me. Havye you hurt yourself?" I saw that all at once she had awoke to full knowledge of where she was and what had happened. "Lay me down, turn my face to the river, and let me die,‘"‘ sho said; and then fuller consclousness. returned to her. *‘ Who are you?"‘ she asked. ‘Not quite,‘"‘ I replied, hardly knowâ€" ing what to answer. They were looking into mine for some mioments before I quite recovered myâ€" self. I saw by their vague, dreamy exâ€" pression that Miss Vane was only half conscious. I took off the bonnet with its long, disfiguring black veil, and then I laid the beautiful head with its wealth of shining dark hair on the cool grass. Presently J raised it again, and pillowed it on my breast. I kissed the lovely face in a perfect passion of yearning pity, and then dipped my handkerchief in the flowâ€" ing water and moistened her brow. It revived her, and scon afterward two dark eyes were looking mournfully into mine, so dark, so sweet, at once so proud and tender, with such deep sadness in their rich depths that they haunted me with their sweet imperiousness and proud beauty for days afterward. ‘Was I almost dead?""‘ she asked, in a strange whisper. Still there was no word. Such a strange, constrained silence it was that I raised her head, and saw sho had fainted and lay in a deadly swoon. I threw back the black veil that covered her face, and was compelled to ory aloud in wonder at its marvelous loveliness. Great heavens! what did it all mean? This child, so young, so tender, so lovely, living alone, shut out from her kind. talking as I had once heard her talk of preferring death to lifeâ€"what did it mean? She looked about twenty, certainly not more; and she was beautiful as a dream. â€" zo my intense surprise she turned from me and made no reply. "Do not turn from me, my dear child,"" I saidâ€""I may call you ‘dear child,‘ for L am many years older than you." Still no answer came. â€" "I do not wish to distress you, but common humanity will not â€"allow me to go away and leave you here." "Did you like people to pity name?‘ you old the she I sat by her side, bathing her face with fragrant water and soothing her with gentle words,. She did not comâ€" plain, but her face relaxed, the dark eyes grew tender, the proud lips softened. ‘You are very kind to me,‘‘ she whisâ€" pered. ‘*How soft your hands are! How low and gentle your voice is!"‘ And then she seemed to fall asleep or into a faintâ€" ing fit, I could not tell which. I knew that nothing could be done for herexcept bathing her face and keepingâ€"a cool fresh ourrent of air round her. I saw there was nothing for it but to take the lead, and Iâ€" did so. I sent my coachman into Daintree, and I told him to bring Dr. Eletcher without delay. Mrs. Lewis looked terribly frightened. ‘‘You must not come into Miss Vane‘s room until I send for you,"‘ I said, and I went back to the sufferer. ‘Even that will be better than letting her run the risk of losing her armâ€"it would be better to leave her. than to reâ€" main with her crippled. Leave it to meâ€" I will take all the risk. Keep out of her room for a time, and all will be well.‘" She shook her head doubtfully. ‘‘You do not know my mistress, Mrs. Neville. If I disobey, I shall have to leave; she never breaks her word. But, as you say, it wouid be better for me to leave ‘than for her to lose her arm," ‘Where is Lewis?" she asked, as I onâ€" tered. ‘‘She is busily engaged. Miss Vane, let me be of use to you until she returns."‘ The doctor soon came, and was shown into the room. Perhaps the slight noise of his entrance disturbed her. She looked up at him. I bent down over her. She intended, I feel sure, to make some protest; but, even while I looked at her, all consciousness died out of her eyes, and words of wild meaning camo from her lips. Then the doctor began his examination of her arm When Lewis came trembling into the room, dreading severe reprimand, it was found that her mistress did. not even recognize her. The doctor told us not to be alarmed. % ‘‘My dear Miss Vane,‘‘ I said, ""we have been compelled to disobey you; you are too ill to understand. I have sent for Doctor Eletcher from Daintree ‘‘ "It is a compound fracture,‘‘ he deâ€" clared, ‘"‘and will take some time to heal.‘‘ In the meantime he pronounced Miss Vane to be very ill. "It is evident,"‘ he said "that the paâ€" tient is of a nervous and excitable temâ€" perament, very susceptible and sensitive, There can be no doubt that she is delitiâ€" ous from the effects of the severe pain." The arm was set with great difficulty, and then the doctor asked me if I should like to have a professional nurse. But the beautiful face, the strange, half imperious, balf caressing manner had found their way to the very depth of my heart. I could not surrender Miss Vane to strangers. The doctor was astonâ€" ished when I said :â€" ‘"No, I will retmain myself." ‘*But you are not strong enough, Mrs. Neville,"" he said. ‘‘Miss Vane will send meo away if I disobey her."‘ I should not be surprised,"‘ he said, ‘‘if fever were to set in, and, if it does, Miss Vane, as I think you called the lady, will need careful watching.‘" Lewis went out of the room, giving a wistful glance at me. I made some exâ€" cuse and followed her. She was waiting for me in the corridor. ‘Your duty is plain enoughâ€"you must disobey; it is the only thing to be done in this case." ‘‘What shall I do, Mrs. Neville?‘ she asked, in great distress. ‘‘You must see one; it would be a little sort of murder for me to let you remain in this way much longer. The only question is, what _ doctor shall we sumon?" She lay quite still for some minutes, and ther said :â€" "If you send for any one, let it be for Sir John Emmett " You must have a doctor at once,‘ I said, as she lay on the bed, "‘without any further loss of time." "It is imperative. Every moment adds to the danger of the delay. I have no idea how to set a broken limb,or I would spare you the noed." And then, with Lowis‘s assistance, I took her to her own room. I had not time then to note the splendor and magâ€" nificence of everything. Miss Vane cerâ€" tainly either had no idea of the value of money, or had such an abundance of it that she did not know what to do with it. I could not help admiring her fortiâ€" tude. No matter how great the pain, it did not wring one cry from her. Great drops stood on her brow; her lips were white with anguish, but no word escaped. her lips. ‘"A doctor? No, Mrs. Neville, I would rather not." ‘"That is a polite form of dismissal, Miss Vane, but I shall not accept it. I have no wish to inconvenience you; but I most certainly intend to take care of you. When your arm is well, I will go away and forget youâ€"1I will do anything you like; but I refuse, absolutely and decidedly, to leaye you now." She looked confused and embarrassed, "Try to forget, my dear, that I am a stranger,‘‘ I went on; ‘"‘think of me as one anxious to help you. Believe me, I will respect your privacy. Let meâ€"I ask it as a favorâ€"help you just now, when you stand so desperately in need of help.‘" _‘"Let it remain broken,‘‘ she said. "I would rather that than see a doctor." ‘"‘As you are so kind, I can not of course but be grateful to you.‘‘ "I believe you are too proud to comâ€" plain," I said, and again a hot flush suffused her pallid face. Afterward she looked at me, and, although her good breeding prevented her saying the words, I knew that she would have been pleased had I taken my departure; but I had resolved upon what I shoulid do. She held out her hand to me with a shy, halfâ€"wistful look. "I am very grateful to you, Mrs. Neâ€" ville,"" she said, "for your kindness." She grew agitated; her lips . trembled. Most women would have indulged in an outhurst of tears: she waited until the last trace of emotion had disappeared, and then she said :â€" Never once did the proud spirit yield; no murmur crossedâ€" her lips, although the motion of the carriage must have caused her intense anguish. Now and then I noticed a dazed expression in her eyes, and knew it was caused by the pain she endured. Jane Lewis stood in the porch when the carriage drove up. She made me a distant courtesy, as though we were the greatest strangers; but I saw something like relief in her eyes as they met mine. Shall I be ill for some time with it?" asked the girlâ€"and there was a tone of impatience in her musical yoice. ‘‘Yes," I replied; ‘‘a broken bone takes some weeks to restore it." "Then, Lewis,"" she said, imperiously, "I will go to my own room.‘"‘ ""Miss Vane has had an accident saidâ€"‘"she has broken her arm." Office in the Oddfellow‘s Block. _ Waterloo, Ont. The memory of those nightâ€"watches returns to me vividly now. I can see the magnificent roum with its splendor of adornment, the shaded light from the nightâ€"lamp falling on wonders of art and luxuryâ€"I can see the roseâ€"colored hangings of the pretty white bed, and the beautiful, pale face on the pillowâ€"a face marvelous in its loveliness and its sadness. During the strange, weird. silence. of the night â€"Miss Vane‘s voice sourded like nothing earthlyâ€"like faint, sweet, sad musicâ€"and the words sho. murmured were always of farewell, always of death, of going away from sunshine and flowâ€" ers. A hundred times and more during the silence of the night she would stretch out her hand and say :â€" ‘‘Goodâ€"bye, my lost loyeâ€"goodâ€"bye!"‘ The words would lie in sweet cadences on her lips, only to be repeated over and over again. f Special attention paid to Catarrh, Axthma and Chronic Diseases. DR. C. T. NCWCKER, MEDALLIST OF TO RONTO University, Licentiate of the Col lege of Physicians, Surgeons and Aceoucheu of Ontario. Diskasks oF EYE Anp EAR TRzATED, Officeâ€"New residence, Albert street, Water loo, & short distance north of the late Dr Walden‘s residence. L.D.S., Toronto, ‘92. D.D.S., Philadelphia, 91. * SPECIALTY : Presorvation of natural teeth. including mounting artificial crowns on sound root=, aud. the insertion of zold bridges to supâ€" ply the place of missing teeth without & plate OFFICE : Canadian Block, Berlin. ‘Ph no 61. Fred G. Hughes D.D.S. DENTIST. It was easy enough then to guess thas some cloud or shadow had darkened her life, I might have found out what, if I had listened to her, but the halfâ€"whis pered words were sacred. â€" : 1J BARRISTERS AT LAW Solicitors in all the courts, Notaries and Conveyancers. Money to lend on Mortï¬ages at lowes rates. Offlceâ€"Court House Berli W. H. BowrBY, M.A., LL.B., Q.C.," County Crawn Attorney m ts and Clerk of the Peac DRS. D.3. & G. H BOWLBY, PHYSICIANS, SUrerons, ETo. Dr. D. 8. Bowlby, Coroner for the Count Dr G, H. Bowlby treats diseases of the nose, throat and ear. Homeopathic Physician, 105 King Street West, Berlin, Ont. any one in Daintree that she. we tient of his, I bade him adieu, I did another thing which was promptâ€" ed by the caprice of Miss Vane. I sent my servant home with a note saying that I did not intend to return to Neâ€" ville‘s Cross for some few days, as I was going to visit a friend. And then our business of nursing beâ€" gan. Miss Vane was not dangerously ill â€"I could see that myself; but acute pain brought on fever, with almost conâ€" stant delirium. If I had learned to love hor before, my affection for her now beâ€" came intense. ‘The large dark eyes folâ€" lowed me through the long, warm night; yet the touch of my hand, the sound of my voice, seemed to soothe and calm her. Money to loan at lowest rates of interest. FREDIRICEK CoLQUHOUN. A. B. McBRID® ALEX. MILLAR, Q.C. HarvEy J. SiMs, B.C.L, Batrristers, Solicitors, Notaries, etc. Office: Upstairs Economical Block, King St., Wost, Berlin. W. R. WILKINSON, Dentist. Will visit EImira Duuke‘s Block, the second Thursday and riday and fourth Thursday and Friday of each month (Chursday 1 p.m. to Friâ€" day 1 p.m,) ODOoNTUNDER. â€" Barrister, Solicitor, Notary Public, Con veyancer, etc. W _ _â€"__â€" Barristers,Solicitors, Notaries, &c. â€"Officeâ€"Corner King and Erh Streets, Waterâ€" oo, over old Post Ofice. W. PROFESSIONAL . . . CARDS. | H. WEBB M D., * Coroner County of Waterloo, Offliceâ€"At his residence on Erb street. Telephone communication, Telsphone communication (Money to loan.) Odice _ Killer‘s Block, Wateroo Ont. E. P. CLEMENT. AMES C. HAIGHT OLQUHOUN & McBRIDE, ERGUSON & READE, OWLBY & CLEMENT R. HETT, ILLAR & SIMS. . W. L. HILLIARD . . Licentiate of the College of Physicians, Surgeons and Accoucheurs of Ontario. Residence and office on King Strect. Opposite Woolen Mills _ â€" Phone 210. For the painless Kxtraction of teeth Office hours from 9 a. m. to 5 p. tn. , EVANS, WELL3, L. D. S. C. W WELLS, D. D. 8;, L. R. C. P., Ireland ; M. D., C. M. Trin Uuiv.; M. C. P. 8. 0. Licentiate of Medical Council, Great Britain. Speciilty â€"Diseases of Woâ€" mea and Surgery. Calls day o. night promptly answered. ___ _ s DR. McLEAN, Schweitzer‘s Block, Cuonestogo. 109 King street east, Berlin. Office and Residenceâ€"John street Barristers, Solicitors, â€" Notaries _ > Conveyancers, etc. MEDICAL. DENTAL LEGAL. DENTISTS, WATERLOO, RicesPure V Ssalt HERBERT J. BOWMAN PROVINCIAL Land Surveyor, Civi Engineer and Draughtsman, Graduate of the Ontario School of Practical Science, and late assistant to the York T‘p Engineer on the construction of Pubâ€" 1c Works, and the subâ€"aivision of lsuds in the uburbs of Toronto. Oficeâ€"Court House, Berlin. > Charles N. Rockel flouse and Sign Painter BEST FORTABLE.DAIRY.AND FARM 1J Fire, Accident and Life Insurance :igentl. representing the best Stock and Mutual Com:â€" panies deing business in this Province, PUPTL of A, 8. Vogt of the Toronto Con#e vatory of Music, late of Leigsio,\Germn.n! Pupils prepared for the first and second year‘s examinations in Piano at ,the Toronto Conâ€" servatory of Music. Residence, â€"â€" _ â€"‘_ Albert St. Such as Oil Painting, Paper Hancing, Kalsomining, Tint ng, etc., nea ly executeg. Church Decorating ~a specialty. Address care of H. Niergarth, Water!« â€" f King St. Waterloo. . _ Fancy Bread, Buns, Rolls, and Fanoy Cakes always on hand. for circulars, Teacher of Piano and Organ go co Henry Maier. Prices as low as at any ther place. A commercial schâ€"ol where the equipment aud teaching are just what your boy or girl reâ€" quires to fit them to enter commercial Jife. :f you are interested write to the Firstâ€"class rigs and good reliable horses. Two and three seated carriages always in readiness. All calls promptly attended to and char&l moderate. Office and Livery in rear of the Zimmerman Houso. Entrance on King streeb, next to Fischer‘s butcher shop. LIVERY AND EXCHANGE STABLKS® Gxo. SUcaITT, Proprietor, All kinds of conveyances constanily on hand. Charges moderate. Stables in rear of the Com mercial Hotel. IT PAYSTO ATTEND Sanderson‘s Bakery EP‘O Rommsâ€"â€" KNITTING . . MISS ANNA R. BEAN _ House and Sign Paintor. Waterloo, EMIL F. SRAUN . Moderate. AIMON SNYDER, % Upposite the Market square. An easy shave, a stylish hair cut, a Mï¬ood BCm cam, an exhilirating sbampoon. Ladies‘ and hildren s hair cut, Hello There! Anyone sending a sketch and dnoflgtlon may quickly ascertain our opinion free whether an invention is probably Pntanmble. Comgunleja- tlons strictly confidential. Handbook on Patents gent free. Oldest :gency for securing (}%‘m“' Patents taken ron%h Munn: & Co. receive special notice, without charge, in the A handsomely ilnstrated weekly. Largest cirâ€" eulation of any scientific {onrnnl. Terms, $3 a year ; four months, $1. Sold by all newsdealers. MUNN & Co.:=*»>«» New York ) _ _ _ _ Issuero Marrlage Licenses, Offlceâ€"At his Drug Store, Waterloo, _ |'0HN L ~WIDEMAN : Issuer of ï¬smage Licenses. Officeâ€"Post Office, E8 Jmcobs. Ont. No classes. Individual instruction. Rates John Strebel‘s, _ ASK YOUR DEALER FOR ORHLMAN‘S BARBER SHOP, Scientific American. UCKBERROUGH & CO. Branch Offee, 62 F St., Washington, D. C. BUCKBERROUGH, Livery, Sanle and Exchange Stables. A full line of knitted goods such & Ladies‘, Gents‘ and Children‘s Hose coarse and fine yarns, fancy goods eto kept on hand. A call isflj_cibed. > q“/i«f ph Business @offege W. A. KUMPF, VETERINARY SURGEON. Cheap Harness MISCELLANEOUS Trunks, _ Valises, f Dusters, Sweatâ€"pads, Now Is Txx T:ux For Waterloo. Ont. DECORATOR. LIVERIES. 3H, W.A RarxO, > GxKo. A. BRUOK. , WATERLOO and Paper Harger ~ Ontario MISS STRICKLAND. J. Sharp, Principa l 8f