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 T?" ' i m i I I m STELLA; OE, AT CEOSS PUEPOSES. CHAPTER XXVn. {Ck)NTiNUED. •'JS IT TOO LATE " Ttey were walking slowly onward, side '^Itia very good of you, Norman, to have taken so much trouble about me,' said Stella, gently. He looked at her oddly. " Good of me " he repeated, below hw breath. "Oh SteUa, if you only knew and then they were both sUent. Presently they reached the end of the common, and got into the wood beyond it. A fallen tree lay prone by the side of the pathway. „ « Let US sit here a minute and rest, sug- gested Norman, and they both sat down upon it, ,,-. *• Stella," said Norman, very gravely. 1 know very well what you are thinkmt; ofâ€" it is of whatâ€" of the name I called you just now. Yoc see, when one is frightened, like I was, why all pretenses are cleared away, and the truth leaps involuntarily to one's He did not look at her as he said this he leant forward, making holes with his stick in flie ground at her feet, and seemed to be absorbed in contemplating Stella trembled so much, tbat she could not trust herself to speak. Presently he raised his head and looked at her he saw all the trouble. " Stella " he said hcarselyâ€" "Stella :s it too late " The blood leaped up into her face â€" her heart beat wildlyâ€" tumultuously-she could not speak to him. Then the hot words burst at last from his lipsâ€" he forgot honor, and truth, and dutyâ€" he remembered only that he was alone with Stella, and that he loved her "You know what I mean " he said broken- ly, "You know it is you ,vhom I love, and not her It has been a wretched, miserable mistake from first to last. I don't know how it came about, or how it happened, that I was so mad as to fling away the chance of youâ€"oi your love 1 1 was angry with you, I supposeâ€" hurt and sore. You wounded my vanity â€" I was piqued and offended I did not see that my very anger against you proved the all-absorbing interest that you were to me I made up my mind that since I was to marry one of you, it should not be you, because 1 thoughtâ€" forgive me, dearest â€"that I would make you feel pained by my preference of your sister And then some- now I went through tne farce of believing myself in love with herâ€" or at least of liking her sufficiently well to fulfill our grand- father's wishes with regard to her and not to you. You know how it came about â€" and now â€" and now â€" I see only you before my eyes â€" you only in my dreams and in my thoughts There is liot a flower that does not remind me of your loveliness, nor the song of a bird that does not speak to me of your sweetness Why, the very winds ot heaven seem to breathe but your name, and cry aloud to me • Stellaâ€" Stella ' and Iâ€" X am the most miserable man upon earth " "For pity's sake say nomoFe " she cried, white and trembling, half rising trom bis side but he caught her hands and held them passionately to his breast. • • No â€" no stay and hear me out Tell me, Stella, are we both to be wretched for- ever and evermore for the want of a little courage, love of a little resolution â€" a little disregard of the world's opinionâ€" are we to spoil our lives ?â€" yours, my darling, as well as my own, forever " Oh how hard it was to be so tempted by the man she loved so well; to hear his plead- ing voice, to meet his entreating eyes to be drawn towards him by the hands she would so gladly have yielded to, and yet to have to resist him Not for one minute did Stella waver or hesitate not for all the lost joys of her life would she have dallied with the temptation which he laid thus at her lest, l"ar back upon her mind there rushed the memory of the little bed-chamber in the French town by the Loire she seemed to see again the high wooden beadatead in the alcove, the quaint, foreign furniture, and through the windows the tall towers cf the cathedral, with the gray and white pigeons whirling about it, and the chimes that struck merrily all through the weary hours and within, the dying woman on the bed, and the thin hands that held her own and once again she seemed to hear the faint voice that had bidden her to be a mother to her sister in her place. And she had vowed that she would be so. And now she was to take her own happiness at the expense of Cecily Was she to wreck her young sister's life in order to make good her own Was that the manner in which she was to fulfill that vow spoken to her dying mother? Heaven forbid? What sweetness would life contain for her forever, if she wtre to be guilty of so base and so treacherous a thing Gently and slowly she withdrew her hands from Norman's grasp. " Alas " she said sadly " if it were only my own happiness, do you suppose that I should hesitate? But there is Cecily " He was silent, looking gloomily down- wards then, with almost a ^roan, he echoed her words " Yes, there is Cecily I had forgotten her." " It would break her heart " said Stella, in a whisper, " I would sooner die I Yes, it has been a mistake but you will live it down. You will forget what you have said to me to-day. Oh I Norman, I am sorry you have ever said it â€" it will make it so much harder for jou to bear." "And you?" he said, quickly â€" "do you not feel it hard as well? Stilla, tell me truly just this once â€" say that you- love me, and then I will forget this mad- ness, and do my duty to Cecily â€" ^poor Cecily I yes, I had forgotten her 1 â€" but tell me once that yon love me 1 You do, do you not?" And then for the space of half a minute she was quite silent. A shadow of white despair passed over her face, and a great and noble resolve came over her heart. For his own good and for Cecily's that they might be happier together that the past might not stand forever before the yonng husband's eyeSAwnen ne ciaspea m- wife to Ms hcart-for his sak» Stella spoke words that were nntrae. „j •_ "I love you as a brother I" she answwed in a low, hard voice. *i«» He rose to his feet there was » great rage in his heart against her, and a wild de- spair. "And you have let me pour out my whole soul to you 1 Forgive me and forget what I have spoken " He looked harsh and angry as he strode along by her side but Stella said to herself "He will get over it sooner It is better that he should believe that I do not love him it is easy to bo misjudged by him now, so that he may be the happier for it by and by After awhUe he will learn to love Cecily â€" who is gentle, and sweet and better tem- pered by far than I am â€" and will be happy together; and as to meâ€" well, it will be no worse for me 1" But presently, as they neared the house, he stopped again and spoke to her "I do not believe what you said just now, Stella If it is true, you are more cruel and heartless than I could have imagined I will not ask yon again if you love me " " Pray, do not I" she interrupted hurried- ly for Trho knows whether her fortitude might not have given way before a second trial " I will take you at your word, then " he said, coldly "'but this may be the last tin:o we may ever be alone together When I ara your sister's husband, Stella, I shall not dare to come near you do not be afraid, whatever may be my weakness and my misfortune, I will not fail to do my duty towards her And â€" and â€" I see you are right I am bound to her even if you loved me " â€" Stella winced at the word â€" "if you loved me, I must have kept my troth to her The wrong I would do her in deserting her would have been too foul and dishonorable but, Stella, ere we part to day, grant me one boon 1 Do you remem ber that I kissed you once â€" the night of the fancy ball at Valency, when you wore the pretty little costume, and you turned my head with your lovely eyes â€" do you remem- ber that I kissed you " "Can I ever forget it!" she murmured, not daring to look at him. " Ah if you knew how often since then the memory of that kiss has sweetened my dreams and haunted my waking thoughts It was a light kiss that I gave you, Stella and do you remember what you told me the next day, when you flouted me out of your sight with such indignant fury â€" do you not remember that you told me that you con- sidered a kiss a sacred and solemn thing " She bent her head in assent. "I told you I would remind you of that some day. S tella, before we part â€" before a gulf, worse than death itself, is fixed for- ever between us â€" give me that sacred and solemn pledge â€" if not of love, at least of forgiveness â€" give me one kiss_l" She cast one terror-stricken glance up in- to his face â€" a face so sad, so serious, that the boon he craved seemed almost like the prayer of a dying person â€" and then she covered her face with her trembling hands, "I cannot â€" I cannot do it " she wailed. "Oh, do not ask me â€" it would kill me I" She turned and fled from him and Nor- man, in spite of her denial, knew that she loved him. iTe girena to have avoided the meetiBg-mdeed, "he ReotOTj^ aoort that she "bad ventured forth for a little It was ^^ when thS three girlslS-enter the Beo*oSf doon " red forth for a little they would come out CHAPTER XXVIIL LADY HONOBIAS SPRAINED ANKLE. The singular chance which brought Lady Honoria Rosett at this juncture to the very remote seaside village ol Sandy port, was an accident, fraught with the most important consequences to more than one of the char- acters of my story. Lady Honoria came down to the Rectory for ^o days only â€" she brought with her her maid, and two large trunks, and a collie- dog â€" and before she bad been a couple ot hours in the place, all Sandyport seemed to have become aware of her presence. Her large, well-made figure, walking across the sands towards the sea, was instantly descried by the major portion of the population, and created amongst them a distinct thrill of interest and excitement. The sound of her large, cheery voice, the ring of her hearty laugh, and the loud bark- ings of the delighted collie, as he scampered about wildly over the wet sands after the swiftly-vanishing flights of seagulls, seemed to inspire a wholesome and reviving exhil- arance in the utter stagnation of the dead- alive little town. Even in a crowd Lady Honoria was not a person to pass unnoticed far less, then, was she likely to be unobserved in such a tranquil place as Sandypoint. Ot course, on the very day of her arrival the Miss Nortons, who were shy of her, and also somewhat overpowered by the mingled grandeur and good-nature of their distin guished guest mentioned the name of their quiet little friend, Lily Finch. "Lily Finch " cried Lady Honoria. "Oh! I know her very well. She was governess at Lady Dyson's, Sir Edgar's motaer, you know â€" poor little thing I heard she had been very ill." '•So she has," answered Marion Norton, "and she is staying here to get strong It ia very dull for her alone in lodgings, and so she comes ever to us a good deal. Yes, of course, we knew she had been a governess, but she never told us where it was. It is singular that she did not speak of Lady Dy- son, for she heard us talking of your en- gagement to Sir Edgar and she must of course, have known you," "She is an odd, retiring kind of girl," said Katie, "She has never told us any- thing about herself â€" she is so reserved.that we always imagined ahe had been crossed in love " she added, laughing, " I wonder she has not been here to-day," said her sister. "She generally comes over in the morning. Perhaps she is shy of vou, Lady Honoria " " " Oh, dear me fancy anybody being shy of me " cried the Earl's daughter, laughing heartily. "But don't let us wait for herâ€" come out and unearth her in her lodgings â€" I should like to see her again." " Will you not be tired. Lady Honoria " mquired Marion Norton, politely, for they had just come in from an hour's ramble by the sea. " Me tired Oh I when yon have known me a little longer, you will find out that nothmg ever tires me, except sitting still and doing nothingl" 8o they sallied forth again, and at the comer of the street they encountered LUy The poor child blushed Finch herself. walk, not imagining aswn so soon. » j tt^-, " Halloo, MiM Finch " cned Lady Hon- oria, shaking her hand hewtUy •*â-¼Â« were just coming out to look for yon. I am so pleased to see you about againâ€" you have had a bad illness, have you not ?â€" you loot as if the sea-breezes would blow you away into froth nowâ€" but I hope you are feehng better?' u u„j. "Ohl yes, thank you, I am much bet- ter," but she could not look at Lady Mon- onaâ€" she felt that she could hardly ^e^r t^^e sight of that happy, handsome face, that had all unconsciously stolen her lover away from "Oh I how wicked I must be 1" said the poorcnildto herself, "to feel so jealous and so miserable. Why can I not try to love her for his sake, and to forgive herâ€" she who is so good and so kind to me. But there are some things that are beyond the strength of even the meekest, and the gentlest, and the most unselfish of girls. Ai'.d to feel m perfect love and charity with the successful rival who has supplant- ed her, is a thing which may be possible to an angel, but is distinctly out of the question for a woman, Well, on the second day of Lady Honoria a visit to Sandyport, after she had tramped about on the sands, and made ducks and drakes with flat stones along the tops of the waves, to the unspeakable admiration of a small crowd of Sandyportian boys; after she had run races with the collie, and eaten her till of big brown shrimps, and had declared her cold to be quite gone, and her whole self to be completely and eflfectually salted and saturated with brine, â€" after all this had been successfully accomplisned, there came to pass a most dreadful thing. At least, it would not have been dreadful for any ordinary mortal but for Lady Honoria Rosett â€" a beauty and an heiress, engaged to be married, moreover, within a month, and pledged to appear in goodness knows how many public places and responsi- ble positions, as head of her father's estab- lishment, and leader of the county society, between this and thenâ€" it was a very dread- ful thing indeed. Lady Honoria sprained her ankle. No- body knew, quite how the accident happen- ed, or whose fault it was that she and the collie were suddenly perceived by the inhab- itants of Sandyport to be scrambling along together, in an undignified fashion, upon the cop of the very dilapitated wooden break- water, which ran far out to sea upon the western side of the town but so it was, that when in this precarious condition, Lady Honoria suddenly shouted aloud for help to her friends the Nortons, whom she had left upon the sands, and who were somewhat startled by the remarkable activ- ity of this energetic young lady. When help, in the shape of a boat â€" for the break- water was suroundecl by the waves, reached her. Lady Honoria stated ber conviction, pla(;idly, that her ankle must be sprained, and that if the town of Sandypori contained such an article as a surgeon or a doctor, that gentleman had better be sent for to theRec- tory forthwith. Mr, and Mrd. Norton were beside them- selves with distress. Lady Honoria was to have gone home that very afternoon and what would Lord Alchester say "Oh, never mind 1" said Lady Honoria, cheerfully; "it can't be helped, you know, and it really might have been far worse, for I might have tumbled off into the water, and been drowned, whereas now I have only sprained my ankle," "But, my dear, what rct/Z your papa say!" reiterated Mrs, Norton, almost wringing her hands, " Ihere is your dinner-party at home to-night you were to have been home for 1" "Yes, and there are five invitations for next week I must write and put off!" "Oh, dear !â€" oh, dear Lord Alchester will think we are not to be trusted with the care of you I What are we to do " groaned Mrs. Norton, " Why, you must telegraph to papa at once, and say I cannot come home. Oh he won't mind very much, I assure you, Mrs. • Norton â€" he is quite used to my vagaries " " Is there anybody we can send for from home to nurse you, and shall we have a doc- tor Irom Colchester?" "I don't want anybody but my maidâ€" she will do everything I want and as to the doctor, your native Sawbones will answer every purpose " Poor Mrs. Norton, although inwardly be- wildered that so aristocratic a personage as Lord Alchester's daughter should designate a respectable member of the medical profes- sion as a " Sawbones." was nevertheless relieved to be spared the trouble of send- in ir to Colchester for a more eminent prac- titioner. " She is a good-natured creature," the good lady confided afterwards to her hus- band, "but a regular tom-bov and the slang she talks is quite abominable 1" It is certain that the manners and cus- toms of the «' upper ten" presented them- selves m somewhat a new light to Mrs. Nor- ton and her daughters during Lady Honor- ia's visit. The Earl's daughter was made as comfort- able as circumstances would admit of. She was mstalled upon a sofa drawn up by the window, with a full view of the sea and the road -not, by the way, a very exciting pros- pect, but still the best that Sandyport could afiord. -There was always the omnibus, going backwards and forwards to the station to be looked at; the shop-girls jwalking up and down in the sun, arm-in-arm with their sweethearts and the fishing-boats, with their broad sails, coming into the harbor, ^en with hemng and mackerel. It was the best the place could offer. At Lady Honoria's elbow stood a table covered with fresh flowers and books, care- fully selected and arranged for herentertain- ment by the Rector himself. There were no modern noveU amongst them, for circulatinB hbranes were an unknown luxury in this remote comer of the world, but there was the best that Mr. Norton's bookshelvSI '^°^t^'^°«V'J^« Vicar of Wakefield" *°^ V.*^^^ "BMweU's Life of Johnson" and " Wnthering Height.»-*U of^oh would have improved Lady Honoria's mind and education very much indeed had she taken the trouble to read them. Bat Lady '^on^^ hktid r^iwr. fd iro«£ mmo of Mr. Norton' iarefolly chosen fav- plSd with RoUo, tto *Uie-A^ i»Uted to SS^Norton girls tiU she '""o" o;jt«°i7 „d then she" took to y**""*?* Jo»f f' J?; ^tedly, and unoeMingly-w) that it was ffin thit her enforced imwtivity was the ^ront and direst punishment which fate could possibly have inflicted upon her. By the end of the second day she was at the end cf her patience. ou --.^ *« She could bear it no longer I She said to Mrs. Norton: "Mrs. Norton, would you very much mind it if I were to send for Sir Edgar Dyson '" "My dear"â€" poor Mrs. Norton's old-fash- ioned ideas were somewhat startledâ€" " your father, surelyâ€" " a„j t "Oh 1 papa would only bore me And 1 reaUy must have somebody fresh to amuse me, or I shall die of it I Besides, what would you do with papa?" jj j What, indeed I Mrs. Norton shuddered as she pondered over the very plain cook- of her heavy-handed chef de cumne. Sir Edgar might be nearly as mg But, then, bad I .. "Papa, yon see, would have to stay m the house; he couldn't go out backwards and forwards at night, because his throat is deli- cate besides which, he couldn't see the fun of sitting by roe all day, and it would bore us both to death 1 But Edgar could get a bed- room at the inn, and a mutton chop there is all he would care for. He* is not at all par- ticular and if you don't mind his coming to see me " "Of course I don't mind, Lady Honoria â€" that is to say, if you are sure it would be quite proper." " Oh, dear, yes," she answered laughing. " What an odd thing, you should think of propriety 1 That never entered my head Give me my writing-case, please, Marian, and I will write to him at once. It will be something to do." For Lady Honoria was not one of those young women who write daily journals to their lovers. She had only written one letter to Edgar since they had been engaged, and that had been an invitation note, to whici: he had duly replied. On this occasion she sent him a more lengthy epistle "Sandyport. "My Dbae Edgar: " Here I am, tied by the leg literally, having managed tA sprain my ankle as I dare say you have heard already from papa. This is the most frightfully dull place I ever was in in my life, although I liked it well enough as long as I could walk about witli RoUo. The Nortons are very kind, but of course I have nothing much to say to them. I do wish you would run down for a couple of days to amuse me. You can get a room at the inn. It will help to pass away the time, and I hope I shiU be well enough to be moved home in a wet; The old laidy is very much shocked at ii: wanting to send for you, ^e does not think it proper, I suppose she thinks you will want to sit and kiss me in public, with your arm round my waist all day long I I must explain to her that nowadays nobody does that kind of thing out of a three-volume novel it has gone out of date, like our grandmothers' nightcaps. It is very tiresome to be kept here doing nothing, I think I have never yawned so much in my whole life I am very anxious to know if you have ordered my diamonds yet. How good you are to give me such a beautiful present I I shall long to hear all you have done about them. Do come as quickty as you can. " Yours always, "Honokia," "P,S,â€" By the way, little Miss Finch is here but of course you know it, I dare say she will be glad to go out for a walk with you when you get quite cramped by sitting by my sofa." And when Sir Edgar Dyson had read this letter all through, down to the very last word of the postscript, he packed up his port- manteau straightway, and started by the very next train to Sandyport, in Essex, (to be continued.) Tbe Defect of tbe Mew Version. In the October Century, Prof. George P, Fisher of Yale, writes forcibly of " Martin Luther After Four Hundred Years," and compares the new version with Luther's translation of the Bible, to the detriment of the new, as follows " He was determined to issue not a colorless version, or a version enervated by idiomatic peculiarities of the Hebrew and Greek, or a pedantic versiouj intelligible and interesting only to the cul- tivated, but rather a translation which snould make the Bible appear to have been •written in German, He gives amusing ac- counts of the struggle it cost him to make the sacred writers 'speak German.' In dealing with Job, especially, his patience was well nigh exhausted. No one could un- derstand what it had cost him to make Job 'reden Deutsch.' But he succeeded. In his version, the apostles and prophets 'reden Deutsch.'â€" the Deutsche of the shop, the market, and the hearthstone, Luther's Bible is; a living book. If the recent Eug- revision of the authorised version, ad- lish mirable m various particulars, fails at any point, it is just here. There is a lack of freedom in the incorporation of the English idioms in a word there is an undue ser- vility. So far as a translation fails to give the force and beauty or the original, it is in- correct. Close adhesion to grammar and lexicon, in many instances, may be the cause of the greater loss than gain. We must have the spirit as well as the letter of the text. If we can not have both, then better the spirit than the letter. Car recent re- visers make the fright-ned disciples who saw Jesus walking on the sea cry out • It IS ui apparition' (Mat xiv. 26), Would such a company of fishermen, in a state of alann, use this word? If not some other should have been substituted for it. The juicy language of Luther's version, its smewf vigor, its racy idioms, and the rythmical charm which it has in common with the authorised English version, are .«;Z.*r°2? 1?' ' '"g*' kisring her M^ttearta few nights »g.. Hef mother i^i .n" !2 «»" fos wohlictions, bnt the gttl •Uenced her by this quot^tioo? •• What- •oever ye would that men ahonld do nnto ^i f?iZ5 *T2? ""J"** *^^°^" The old J^«Jted. -Memorie. of old were brought TheCAampioaaTriveHk from her usual trin tn Vt, **- She.hadonboard'ayotr Louis Lelong, who cZ ♦' about six weeks ago a,T "i« time been working for X*^" on surveying work on tk '^ak theCamikaKiJcRZ?«i?. nate young nian,whoisnoJi;- ^^ ' real House in a very w«k ^•'Jl. dition, tells the foirowin7,£S mg. He says on the '?ad7«"^i decided to leave the em^^ "" ley, he started offloSlV.^fa tanceof ten miles. Bysome^'J^i^ mg the country, he missed hU ^»«4 several days wandered thrr^J'«*U without any other f oodtt^^ '^^ country afforded in berriei. ,^.'"«4 " that neighborhood. AiSt fc^ no less than ten days irti;- i U solitary state he came to\£^^ overlooks Jack Fi,h Bal "i weak and exhausted, and ^el*"' make his way to the water'7.?^^ his thirst, when he shTj ^P S cliff about forty feet tr'n"" some workmen on the r'ailvf,^'**' posite side of the bay ZZ'A made his appearance on the ^,^1 cliff and as he did not reachT search party was next day look for him. Their efforts^wM and Lelong was found in a S\k ed condition, with his feet swoS ly twice their natural size aS."' body badly bruised. E,'^,t\ the headquarters cf Mr J J S"' foremau took charge of him"untiUW of the Champcoa on the same djl poor feUow was placed upon a i the deck of the tug, and, as staW j was brought mto town yesterday Hid been eleven dajs ,n all wilho.t and everythmg conducive to the a comfort was done by the offioenottk! and a Swede passenger who took aaiaa '.^ ^i,â„¢-„.Upon the arrival of the tok Dr. Smelhe was notified, and hei the sufferer and prescribed for him-ri der Bay Sentinel, CHOICE THOUGHrs OFTfllBJSiJ THOAS. Doing good is theonlycertainljhBinj tion of a man's life.â€" Sidney. The certain way to be cheated, is toiJ one's self more cunnins; than Chanon, The censure of those that are o us is the nicest commenlatira that tu| given us. â€" St. Evremond, As they who, for every slight ua take physio to repair their health, dan impair it so they who, for every tm!,J eager to vindicate their character, doaq weaken it. â€" Burke, To be happy, the passion miist bee and gay, not gloomy and melancholy, propensity to hope and joy is real li one to fear and sorrow, real pjrem.l Hume. A tender conscience is an ines b' 3sing that is, a conscience not onlj^ to discern what is evil, bat instantly ni it, as the eyelid closes itself sgainstii â€" T, Adams, It is very often more necessary to a contempt than resentment, the forma li never forgiven, but the latter Bometinalj got. â€" Chesterfield. To make others' wit appear more t one's own, is a good rule in conversiMl necessary one, to let others take lofel your wit, and never do it yourself.-si" Temple. Some men are a3 covctons as if they' to live forever aad others as profuKj they were to die the next momeat- totle. Where necessity ends, desireandcia begin no sooner are we supplied with 'jl thing nature can demand, thanweata to contrive artificial appetites.-Joiii^ It is certain that eitherwiseb norant carriage is caught as niM ^1 eases one cf another therefore, le.t»" heed in their company.â€" SliakspeaK- Nothing is so great an »^1 manners as flattery. I' 7°" "ffoi ' ' company, you please none, it T only one or two, you affront tae res.- A shrewd obsever once said thato ing the streets of a slippery morajy might see where the good n^vmr lived, by the ashes thro^vn on tneit^ the doors. â€" Franklin. There are a set of malicious praW dent gossipi, both male and ie»^,] murder characters to kill 'f '^y, a young fellow of his good name has years to know the value of it. If you cannot be happy " ""f ^T another, and this facility oj^ wants but little aid from phj health and good humor are 'iff'^M affiir. Many run about after W^Jl absent man hunting for his nv, in his hand or on hia head.-S'^^^j^ If Satan ever laughs 't ffj beJ crites. They are the grf^^f^jM They serve him better "^*°*°/i, still " receive no wages. Nay, ^^^i extraordinary, they ^^^^"%:^sii fication than tbe Oolton. sincerest Gut-Edged ToVS- â-  ,1 at SH^l At a children's carnival a'^^ie,^ At a cniiurtuo i.»'â€" -gseBO" little girl was dressed to J-^e mine, and she looked jastaDO pound nugget. Her «^f 7herP?» Stockings of gold-colorei sl»^_^ were bordered with baU.onir^.p^ one mass of gilded si k. banc^ BO that it looked like a rou^„„te. chunk of gold. Withb^fJ^j almost covering them, STZ^a^i^- her neck and a crown o»wr ,^ dust powdered tl"?^ S° ery Pjff hair, the little one look%^' deed. One elderly maaj-^tbeo the child needed ^J°%^r^ was to have a rmg ^^^^^^^^^ A Maine woman U a»^^ herj. for breach of pro^^.'^f ,TVry**' husband, who promised Wpjd, but Who appears to hare es \r)fli ^i^^^^ :;a^^ai£;x.