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Oft 1 e heard a feutle mother, An the twilight bourn bogan fleatimg with a son on doty. Urging him to be a man. >m nuto her blue eyed daughter, Though with love's word* quit* an ready, i'oiuu abe out the other duty " Htrive. my dear, to be a lady." What's a lady ' Ii it something Made of hoops and mlki and aln, Uawl lo decorate the parlor, Like the fanny ring* and chain ? IB it one that wastes on ooveU Kvery feeling that ii human '.' II 'tii thin to be a lady, 'Ti< not toil to be a woman. Mother, then, unto your daughter Hpeakof something higher fat Thau to be mere faauiou'i lady " Woman" is the brightest itar. If you, in your strong tOtction, Urge your ton to be a true man, Urge your daughter no leaf strongly To ariae and be a woman. Ye, a woman ! Brighteet model Of thai high and perfect beauty, Where the miud and soul aud body Blend to work out lilt's great duty. Be a woman ; naoght if higher On the gilded cruet of time ; On the catalogue of rirtue Tkerc'i no brighter holler name. THAT BEAUTIFUL RIVER. I think you understand ma," be laid. " The wife I loved U M one dead to me. She never em-ted save in my imagination. YOB mult aooept thii as your pnniabment, if indeed yea oaii (eel any remorse lor yoor falsehood and deceit. Now, go to your ream and let your maid attend you there I presume you will not oare to meet our guests again. I am quite sure they will not wish to >e you. Kemam in geoluoiou. To-morrow I will make all needful arrange- ment* for oar separation, and they shall be duly communicated to yon," She lifted her bead and gave one long, grave lot k from her heavy, aombre eyes at tbe handsome, baugbty face, bowed slowly, and went out if tbe room. Tbe Blow swish of ber trailing latin robe eoboed drearily in bis bearing M be Blood there ale aud statue-like, but be did not turn hi* bead for one farewtll glance at tbe girl wbo was hi* wife and who to terribly deceived him. She went to ber room and innk down warily upon ber sofa. Marie, the maid, came in presently. Ber face showed that he knew all. " Marl*," she laid, " go and auk Mrs. La Roy if ibe will permit me to come to her for a few momenta. ' Tbe maid returned in a moment. " Mr. Le Roy U with hi* mother. He seams that you will not disturb ber," the aid. Laurel anBwered quietly. " Yon may go awy, and leave me now, Marie, I wiab to be alone for awhile." When the maid bad gone ibe went to the window, drew back the rich curtain* of ilk and lace aud guzed out upon the icene. Night bad fallen tbe beautiful moonlit rammer night. The perfume of rose) and honeysuckles oame floating heavily on tbe sWt air, the wids sipanse of the Hudson hone like a silver sea. " I most go away from Eden, ' said tbe nil-wife to herself, drearily. What shall I do with my empty, ruined lit* '.'" Strangely enough there oame to her a memory of tbe day she had first met St. IJBOD Le Roy the question* she bad asked him and hi* strange reply : 11 I believe I should throw myself into yoader beautiful river and *O end all," b* bad said. CHAPTER XLIII. Mil*. Marie wai very glad to get away from attendance on ber mistress tor a few boon. There is nothing happens in the parlor, but i* immediately communicated to tbe kitchen, so the denouemtnt in higb life had immediately become tbe sensation m low lite below stairs. Tbe maid wa* eager to join tbe gossip*. 80 Laurel remained alone and undis- turbed in tbe elegant room*, where she bad spent inch happy hour* with the husband who now disowned and abandoned her. She tared eat into the beautiful inmmer night with dark, inscrutable eyes, trying dimly to pierce the vil that hid the future from her aching sight. Ht. Leoo Le Roy remained in attendance on his mother. Tbe poor lady, in her weak, enfeebled state, had sustained a ter- rible shock. She bad fallen from one tainting *pell to another, and the nurse aad ber son remained constantly by ber lide. At length she recovered her reason, aad was given a composing draught, She tell into a light slumber, and 81. Lf on to** away and consummated that fatal interview with hi* wife, then returned to watch by the invalid'! conch. Be did not intend to deny hii wife an mtervrew with hi* mother, though be did DO* think it would avail ber anything, believing that she would take sides with himself against tbe wife wbo bad so bit terly deeeived him. He did not think it prudent to allow a meeting between them that night ; so when Marie oame he returned UM oort message that swept the last hope from Laurel'* heart, and, as it seemed, toe laat plank from between ber and despair. Mr*. Le Roy slumbered fitfully until midnight. St. Leon lent the auras to the IOUOKB in tbe dressing-room, and kept vigil himself by the sick bed, looking more like a statue than a man, a* he *at there in tbe shaded night-light, pale and moveless, a* if carved in marble ; bis lips oomprewed sternly, a smoldering fire burning in hi* vested, dark eye*. Hi* mind was buiy with thought and memory. He was going over, step by step, bis acquaintance with the false Beatrix Gordon from tbe day when she had first stood, shy and fright- ened, in tbe doorway of Eden, until to-night. He held the key now to manyasubile enigma that had puzzled him in those past days. " So fair, so young, and Memingly so ignorant ot the world, and yet so false," be said to himself. " False to her lover, Rom Powell, first, then doubly falie in wedding me in borrowed plumes. There is no faith or truth in women. They are bad and mercenary to tbe core all of them, ezoept my honored mother. Yet my wife ha* the faoe of an angel. Wbo would have believed that tbe greed of gold could have tempted ber to such a sin I" Mrs. Le Roy ilirred and opened ber eyee. They rested wittfully on tbe stern, impassive faoe ot ber son. " Tour wife, St. Leon." the laid faintly, " Have yon forgiven ber ?" Oould there be any forgiveness for mob falsity as hers, mother, .'" b* asked, turning sternly toward her. A sigh breathe*] over Mrs. Le Roy's lips " She was such a obild," sbe said, plain lively, almost exousingly. " Have you given her any obanoe to exculpate herself, my son ?" " Could any exculpation be acceptable ?' be anted again, sternly. Where is abe ?" What ha* been done to ber ?" she asked, anxiously. He told ber hi* dtciaion, told ber all that be bad said to hi) wile in hi* outraged pride and wrath. Sbe waa weeping bitterly when be had finished. " Mother, surely jon do not blame me and excuse hsr," he said, wonderingly. "I had no thought but that yon would take my part again** ber." I must see her first," sbe said, almost angrily in ber deep earnestness. " I can not condemn her unheard. Yon will let me *ee tbe child, Bt. Leon '.'" " Of eoune," be answered, impatiently, " You do not suppose I would deny any with of that kind you ohooee to express, mother. But to-night yon are too ill and nervous. You will wait until to-morrow." " Ob, my son, do not be angry with me I oannot wait. Send her to me now," ah* wept. " I am quite sure you had better wait until to-morrow," be began, but at that moment Mil*. Marie puahed open the door and looked in with a pale frightened faoe. laiMr*. Le Roy here :" sbe asked. " Be- cause \he is not in ber room, and I cannot nod her anywhere." " St. Leon, yon have driven ber away," bis mother oned out, wildly. He sprung to his feet in dismay. " No, no," be said quickly. " Do not think such a thing, mother. Stay here, Marie, I will go and find her it she can be found. Sbe is not far, of oomse." But all the same a band of ice seemed to grip hi* heart aa he hurried from the room. She wsi gine the dark-eyed bride whom be had loved BO wi II, and wbo had so fatally deceived him. While Marie go* 1 sipped with ber familiar* sbe had quietly stolen away. A little, tear blotted note lay on ber dressing-table. " I have gone away, my husband, ' it laid. " I shall never trouble your peace again. Perhapa when I am dead you will forgive me for having loved you, 'not wisely, but too well.' " And to tbe pathetic note the bad simply signed tbe despised name of " Laurel Vane." The white satiu dress, the withered rose*, lay on the dressing-room flcor ; the jewel* she had worn, tome costly sparkling rubies, lay on her dressing-table, betide tbe little Lire. A simple walking dress and olose hat and veil were gone from ber wardrobe ; but the next morning the dark blue veil and a pair of pretty dark kid gloves, with tbe dimpled impress of ber band still in them, were found upon tbe river bank close to the greedy gurgling wave*. Tbey suggested a horrible possibility to every one. And one week later a mutilated unrecog- nizable body was washed upon tbe shore near Eden. The faoe was defaced beyond recognition ; but tbe golden hair, tbe dark dress, the dainty linen, were like Laurel's. So one doubted that the despairing wits Bad sought oblivion from ber woes in tbe deep, swirling river. If St. Leon forgave ber now for her BID, be' made no sign. He remained silent, grave, icsorutable. But tbe waif from the river was buried quietly in the Le Roy vault, with all tbe honors due to his wife. Be shed no tears, he spoke no word of tbe feelings that held sway witbin him. The separation of death was no wider than be had meant should exist in life. But Mrs. Le Roy wa* inconsolable. Sbe wept bitterly for the daughter-in-law wbo bad so deceived ber. Sbe forgave her now [or her sin, because ibe was so young and bad loved St. Leon so dearly. And there was another reason, which one day, through ber bitter lamentations, she revealed to St Leon. " Ton must have forgiven ber if you bad known it, Bt. Leon," she said. " But she was so shy and she had only known of it a littl* while herself. 8be told me first, and I was so happy over tbe news 1 Thar* was toon to b* a little heir at Eden." CHAPTER XLIV. Laurel had left ber veil and gloves on tbe bank of the river with a deliberate par- pose. She desired that her angry, unforgiving husband should believe that ibe wa* dead. Binoe he had deliberately planned to put her out of hi* life forever, be would, no doubt, be glad to think that sbe wa* deai. Bo, with * hsart full of bitterness and wounded love, she had penned that pathetic note to him and gone away. All her trembling hopes were over now. She knew the wont. St. Leon would never forgive ber for the deceit by which she bad made herself hie wife. He bad forgotten love ; indeed, she did not doubt but that tie hated her now, and believed Roes Pow- ill's hamelees lie against her. Mrs. L* Roy, too, bad declined to see bar. Of coune she took sides with her son. Tbe poor obild had not on* friend to turn to in aer despair. Bar heart beat, her fae* burned at the thought of tbe ignominious separation ber husband had planned. What did she care [or Eden, for the wealth b* had sneeringly said she should not be deprived of, now that she had lost him 1 All the latent pride within ber rose in arms against snob terrible humiliation, She would have died, indeed, would have faced the crudest death ncninohiogly, rather than have remained at Kden on snob term*. Laurel had been a passionate, loving, impulsive child till DOW. In tbe hour of her unutterable deso- lation, she became a proud, cold, blighted woman. Her sin had found her out. That time of which she bad spoken to Beatrix Wentworth and Olarlo*, saying that only when it cam* oould the repent of her fault, bad eome, and, metaphorically speaking, sbe wore sack-cloth and ashes. Death would have been welcome in that hour. She longed for it, sbe prayed lor it. It seemed to ber quite impossible tnat sbe could lor.e Bl. Leon and live. Bbe had told herself often and often that, if he refused to forgive ber when be found ber out, that sbe should die. It had seemed to her that ber heart would Btop its beating, her pulses t and fail in that terrible hour, at the end bad eome, and the blood led tbrongb ber veins, her heart still beat, the young, strong life that thrilled her held on it*) steady coarse. A great temptation oame over ber as ihe crouched in the night and the darkness on the bank* of tbe swirling river. It would have been so pleaaatt, so sweet, to have ended tbe sbcrl, aad ttory of ber life, with its terrible temp- tation and oiuel failure, then and there to have shut out the dark, foreboding future in the merciful shadow* tf oblivion but something perhaps that tender secret she bad *o shyly withheld from her hus- bandheld ber back from the fatal plunge. Her own life abe might have taken in the freniy of despair, but that other tender one throbbing neatb tier broken heart, sbe oould not, she dared not. "I have no right," sbe said to herself. " I might be wicked and mad enough to com- mit suicide, but murder, never. No, no, 1 will be brave. I will bear my oross for the sake of what i* coming to me. Wbo knows but it may comfort me in my lonely future ! St. Leon will not want it. He would bate it and exile it from him a* he did me. It will be wholly mine some thing of his that will love me and cling to me although ha scorns and despises me." So sbe went' away. Sbe took with ber none of the jewels, none of tbe beautiful gifts ber adoring husband bad lavished upon hei in the hsppy days now for ever past. She slippped ber purse into her pocket. It oon>e>iued several hundred dol- lars. Pride would have made ber leave it, but she felt that for the sake of her tender secret sbe haaT'a right to tak* it with ber. Bbe would need Lit in tbe trml that lay before ber. So she left dsV-J-eil and glove* upon the river bank where they would find them if they sought for her, and then she went to New York and hid herself and bar sor- row in the obscurity of tbe great thronged city, bearing her burden ot sorrow alone and in pitiful silence and despair. Through tbe medium of tbe omnipresent newspaper she learned of tbe tragedy that had occurred at Kden. As if it had been the story of another she went over tbe fate of the beautiful impostor who bad been detected in ber sin, asd whose disappear- ance bad been followed by tbe finding of her drowned body. Then, indeed, she started, wondering who tbe unfortunate river waif oould have been wbo bad been buried with tte honors pertaining to St. Leon Le Roy's young wife. " I will net undeceive them," she said. " Now, indeed, I am dead to him forever, and that i* beet. Let him forget me." CHAPTER XLV. Alone and without reference*, Laurel did not find it easy to secure respectable lodgings in tbe city. She thought of returning to the bouse where she hsd lived with be* lather, but a wholesome dread of her base enemy, ROM Powell, held ber back. Sbe did not think it would be prudent to venture into that vicinity, so sbe went to a far-removed portion ol tbe city, where she only secured tbe cheap and decent lodgings she desired by tbe pay- ment ot several month* in advance. Sbe wa very well | leased to do ibis, for sbe liad made up her mind to remain in this qniel, ob* jure 'locality until her trial wa* over.. To her curious landlady sbe called btr**If Sirs. }(ane, aud said that she wa* a widow. As she had left all her clothing at Eden, Laurel found herself compelled to draw again upon ba small board of money. In accord ai.ce 4yu> ber rote ot widow, she bought only ^pak dreaee, and these of a cheap and si^Be kind. Sbe pot back her rich, golden pr under an ugly widow'* cap, and never ventured into tbe street without thick crape veil drawn closely over her faoe. Bhe did not feel that sbe wa* acting a falsehood in doing this. Bbe said to her- self that she-- wa* worse than widowed. Sbe had been moat cruelly put away from Her husband's heart for a sin that he ought lo have forgiven because she bad loved tiirn so dearly and had been tempted so mneb beyond ber power of resistance. A strange cold bitterness began to grow up in ber desolate young heart toward him. Sbe called him hard and cold and unloving in ber thoughts, because measured by her own passionate love hi* affection fell so far below tbe standard where she would have placed it. Laurel wa* all unversed in tbe lore of tbe world. Bbe knew nothing ol the difference between male and female love. Bbe bad never heard that couplet so wonderfully true that uie ha* worn it threadbare : Man's lov* Is of man's Ills a thing apart, Tie woman I wnole existence. She did not know this- no on* bad ever told her so, and ah* wa* fated to learn it in the hardest iashion by cruel experience. Sbe was learning, too, in all their subtle pathos tbe tiujh ot tbo*e mournful lines : Alas ! the love of won? an, It Is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing. For all c f theirs npon the die is thrown, And if 'tis lost life baa no more to bring. These were *ad and heavy day* that fol- lowed on ber flitting to New York. Bbe wa* almott orszed with the bitternett of ber despair. There were week* that were afterward almost a blank to ber because sbe spent them in tear* that were like Irops of blood wrung from ber aching, bleed ng heart. She lay all day on ber little bed vainly dwelling en tbe irrevocable past, ooking back on all that sbs bad lo*t with incurable longing and bitter regret. When this teajsuagOl^ lamenting bad worn itself out, Laa**T^rew hard and proud and tried x> forget a hard taek that many, stronger than our little heroine, have essayed in vain. After awhile she found out that she would Have to draw again on tbe content* of her alredy diminished pun*. There wire gar- ments to be provided for the little stranger that was coming to brighten ber darkened life. She would not choose coarse, cheap garment* now, snob as *h* had bought for nerself. She selected the finest, whitest men, the softest, warmest flannel, the daintiest muslin, and was even a little extravagant in the matter of dainty laces and Hamburg trimming*. Then, when tbe complete and pretty outfit wa* laid away, with lavender and rose-leaves between tbe snowy folds, Laurel counted tbe few dollars that were left from her expend- itures, and became frightened. " When it is all gone, what shall I do ?" she asked herself, blankly. " Where i* the next to come from?" And her startled reason harshly answered her : ' You will have to work for it. Yon will have to earn it." Laurel did not know how to earn money. Bhe bad never been taught any available thing, and her delicate condition of health precluded tbe idea ot going out into the busy world to toil. Besides, her morbid sensibilities shrunk from tbe thought of encountering strangers who would look npon her with coldness, perhaps suspicion Sbe was in despair at firm, but sb* tnd denly remembered bow eaiily and quickly h*r reckless, pleaanre-loving father had earned tbe wherewithal for their support. " Tbe publisher* were always eager for papa's MBS.," she said to herself hope fully ; " and, being bis daughter, I must have inherited bis genius. I will write." Bbe wa* not egotistical. She was simply ignorant of the world's ways. Sbe did not know how many failed in the world ol let- ter* where one scooeeded. The idea took bold of. ber taney, and without a dream of failure, ibe armed herself with a ream of foolscap, plenty ot ink and pen*, and w*ht enthusiastically to work. CHAPTER XLVI. Ill uf WH flies apace. It wa* not long before Beatrix Wentwortb, leisurely read- ing her New York paper in London, oame upon the Btory of that tragedy on the beautiful Hudson read the ending of tbe atrange story of love and temptation, for which sbe felt herself in some degree responsible, since sbe herself bad seut Laurel Vane to Eden. " I should fesl like a murderer," be said, to Beatrix. " It would aeem to me that with my own band I had pushed tbe poor obild into tbe cruel river." " lie waa so proud I All my lit* I hav* beard of the Le Roy pride," said Beatrix I have felt frightened for Laurel, ever since I found out what ah* had done. I never aoubted that he would put her away from him when he found her out ; but I never dreamed abe would be driven to suicide. I thought that after a while he would forgive ber and take ber back." She could not bear to think of tbe gentle, beautiful, golden-haired girl, lying dead. Sbe wept when she recalled ber tint meet- ing with ber, and tbe temptation that bad entered ber mind. How Badly their girlish conspiracy had ended for tbe dead author's daughter. "I wa* her evil genius, but I only meant to be kind to ber," sbe repeated, remorse- [nlly, many times. Even Clarice, wbo had been very angry with Laurel, and wbo bad judged ber hardly at first, bad nothing but tear* and regrets for tbe dead girl. Her passionate lova that bad ended in so sad a tragedy let her apart in solemn saoredness. She baa atoned for her fault with ber life. " We mut t write to Mr. Le Roy," said Oyril Wentwortb. " We must conies* all our fault in ssnding Laurel to Eden. We must tell him bow kind and true and sweet she was until her mad love led ber astray. We must beg him to forgive ber now she is dead." Beatrix wrote. It was a brave though moet pathetic letter. Bbe owned ber fault u Bending Laurel to Eden, she dwelt pathetically on her temptation to do so. She begged hi* pardon for her fault, acd then ibe pleaded for Laurel dead a* warmly and earnestly as if she bad been ivirg to profit by tbe prayer* of her friend. Tbe page wa* blistered by ber tear*, out no ktswer ever oame to her earnest appeal. [t seemed that Mr. Le Roy was indeed bard and unforgiving. He oould not accord bis pardon to any of tbe actors in the strange drama that bad shadowed his life. Then Beatrix wrote to her parents, inmbly acknowledging her faultand praying their pardon. She loved them dearly although she had deserted them tor ber landsome, adoring young lover. She had t faint hope that they would forgive ber and Jynl ana bid them eome home. Sbe onged for her father's kiss of welcome, her mother's clasping arms. oh' bow impatiently she waited for the answer to that letter I How eagerly ihe oaged to be pardoned for the girliah con- spiracy that had ended so diastronsly to Laurel Vane I Bbe began to see ber fault n a darker light now since tbe tragedy at Kden. Tbe shadow of Laurel'* grave seemed ta fall long and dark across her wedded bsppines* ! An answer oame at last from her out- raged father inch an answer u withered all the springing hopes in ber breast. They would never forgive ber her fault. Tbey lad BO longer -a daughter. Their Beatrix was tbe same a* dead to them, and they wished never to hear from Oyril Went- wortb'i wife. CHAPTER XL Vll. I want that rose so much would take tbe world baek there to the night When I law it bluen in the graae, to tooob I once in that fair fall light; Aad only onee if I might. Never any rose before Wan like thai rase , very well I know Never aaotlMr rose any more Will blew as that loss did blow. St. Leon La Roy *at alone in hi* hand- tome, spacious library. He had been read- ng, but tbe book of poem* had fallen from IIH hand, and he wa* dreamily repeating some line* that had touched an aching chord in his heart : I want that rose so much, would take the world back thorn to tbe night When 1 saw itbluth in the grass, to touob It once In that fair fall light , And only ones it I might. Memory was busy at bis heart, for time bad not healed, it had only seared, the wound of years ago. Eight year* had come and gone since that terrible night when his bitter anger and hard judgment bad driven hi* erring childish wife out into tbe darkness ot death. Scarcely an hour ago b* bad itood by tbe broken marble shaft that marked ber grave and seen tbe gray moss creeping over the sweet simple, name LAUIUL. Beloved wife of St. Leon Le Hoy. Hrimtd I Ye*, be had carved it on her tombstone when all too late to save the broken heart that bad loved him with a madness that proved it* own destruction. Beloved ! ah, he never knew bow well until the slow years coming and going, " barren of all joy," had shown him how empty and hollow was all the world measured with what b* bad lost. All hi* life wa* a long regret, an echo of the poet'* plaint : Ob, to call back the days that are not I The year* bad marked bi* faoe with the story of their sadness. Handsome as AI o.lo still, tbere were lines of pain about tbe cold proud lips, tbere were silver threads clustering in the raven looks tossed carelessly back from the white brow, there were shadows always lying ptrdtu in the splendid dark eye*. For year* he bad been a lonely wanderer by land and sea, but now that he had come home again to Eden and to his mother, and to Laurel's grave, b* found that he had not forgotten that b* never oould forget. He bad been standing by her grave where she had rested for tight long yean, he bad read ber name carved on the cold, white marble, but back here in the room where be bad wooed ber for bis wile, where she had promiseu to be hi*, it seemed to him Ibat he could cot make her dead. She haunted him not in The i Dripping like eerement, in which she bad been drawn from her watery grave ; but bright blushing, beauti- ful, as in those dayi forever p%*t when *be had com* to Eden first and made herself his fate. , His fata I Ye*, it bad come to that. The one woman who had atirred hi* heart to ita depth*, who had loved him so blindly, and deceived him so terribly, bad made henelf hi* fate. He bad not forgotten her, he never would forget. He remembered the dark, wistful ye*, the trembling smile of tbe crimson lip*, the curling golden hair, the warm, dimpled, white bands. Ah t only to clasp them again, only to kiss tbe lovely re*pon*ive lip*, what would be not have given I Bat that rose is not Anywhere just now <iod knows Wbere all the old sweetness goes. " If only I had forgiven her," he said te himself a* b* had laid it over and over in the long, weary yean. " Bb* was only a child and tbe temptation was so great. I waa bard and cold. I thought only of myself, my own injuries. Poor little lov- ing Laurel, driven to ber death by my hard judgment. Ah, that my sorrow, my love, my repentance could bring ber baekl" He bent his head wearily down upon his folded bands heedless of tbe light, gliding step that oame to bis tide, tbe *efl touofc that tell npon hi* hair, the voice that breathed in leving sympathy, " Mv son." It wa* hi* mother. Sbe knew wbere he bad been, and her heart was full of gritd and sorrow for hi* hopeless pain. Yet aha knew that word* were powerless to soothe the agony of nmorae and pain that filled his heart. Bbe only came with ber silent sympathy to be near him because she loved him and shared his grief. He looked up at last, trying to seerr cheerful for ber sake, tor she, too, waa sadly changed by the progress ol the years. The sot t wave of hair that clustc red on her brow had grown snow white, the high-bred patrician faoe was pale and sad, ber voice had always a tone of unconscious pathos in its low, clear modulations. " I am sorry yon have found me thus, mother," he said, seeing tbe sorrowful tears shining in her gentle eye*. " Yean should have taught me to b* brave and strong. But yon know wbere I have been. It brought the past all back, and tempora- rily unnerved me." " Ye*, I know. But yon will feel better by-and-bye," she said, limply, feeling that silence wa* better than words before anon grief a* his. It was a subject on which they never converged. Sbe bad fell it a cruel and unkind act when she first learned ol the interview that St. Lton had ri fused to allow between her and Laurel that tragic night. Bhe had reproached him moet bitterly for it one*, but ever lino* she bad held ber peace. Then was that In hi* lace, when sbe looked at him, that told of a conscience never at rest, of a heart whose self-reproaches were harder to bear than word* of ben oould hav* been. Bhe grew to be sorry for htm, and never, by word or sign, added to bis pain ; for the proud, lonely, disappointed old woman idolised ber stately son even yet, although by hia hard, unforgiving course toward Laurel Vane be had shattered tbe dearest hope of her life. II waa too late now. BI. Leon would never marry, would never forget. With a mothered sigh, she tried to put the vexing thought out of ber mind, and with the same laudable intent toward Ht. Leon she roused benelf and laid, quietly : " I do not believe I have told you yet, Ht. Leon, that we have new neighbors at Belle Vne ?" Bell* Vue wa* the country house next to them, and one almost aa beautiful as Eden. It wa* scarcely a mile away, and Hi, Leon looked up with some littl* interact, as ha inquired : What? Hav* tbe Armistead* told oat or gone sway ?" " Both. Robert Armiiteed failed in hia banking business, and it involved tba lorn* of hi* whole private fortune. He sold out everything, and went West with bis family to seek bis fortune again." " I am orry for Armistesd," laid HI Leon Le Roy, in that vague conventional tone, in whioh on* i* usually sorry for the misfortunes that do not touch himself. ' And so there an new people at Belle Vne?" Ye*, they hav* been down about a month." " Are they new rich people ?" St. Leon a*k*d, with some little disdain. " Indeed, I do not know. -I hoold aay not, however, *aid hi* mother. " People lave taken them up very sociably. There m an old gentleman, a Mr. Ford, quite a travelled man, I am told. Ht* niece live* with him, and ber son. Bbe is a widow, and literary. " What baa tb* written ?" he inanirea, with faint interest. " Several novel*' Ermebgard*,' ' The Curse of Gold,' ' Sacrificed,' and some otben. Mr. Gordon is her New York pub liaher, but I think sh* ha* been in Enrop* lately with Mr. Ford. Some little excitement gleam* in hia ye*. " The author of ' Sacrificed' our nearest neighbor 1" he exclaim*. " Why, mother, did yon not know that her book* bave made quite a stir abroad a* w*ll aa at bom* ? They an quite the fashion." " I am sure I liked them myself the style is very fresh and pun. Do yon think we ought to call at Belle Vue, Bt. Leon ? I have been thinking that it is my duly to do so." " I'crhariN it ,. I will go with you, if yon wish, some day. I am just a littl* oariouB over the blne-ttoeking, but I dare say ahe i* old, and wear* cap* and spectacles," he answers carelessly enough. (To be continued.) A Richmond, V., judge fined a refrao tory lawyer leveral times for contempt of court, and when the lawyer made t final settlement of bi* fine* it waa found that the court owed him 13.75, supposed to b the balance due on a small game of draw indulged in tbe night before.