Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 3, 1897, Page 7

CHAPTER XIII—(Continued.) Fulke Greville w: now a ae man, and when he w in the orth he had the entree into the best society where he had le the acquaintance of a rather large circle of young ladies many of whom he much admired, and several of whom he could have loved. So he never even dreamed of little, pale. yellow-haired Daney as a bride. But poor Daney saw no other young man except him. Anl he was hana- some, spirited—and everything he was not. The island was a paradise, but when Fulke > was there it seemed heaven. And when a y his memory was kept v by the constant conversa- of the captain, to whom the praises of his nephew were the favor- ite topics. And thus little. pale Daney learned to love her tall, splendid fos- ter-brother, with all the strength and fervor of a soul as impassioned as ever burned in the bosom of a Sappho. The captain, biassed by his precon- ceived opinion that Greville loved Da- rey and t Daney was averse to his suit, was very long in discovering the true te of the case. But at length even he could no longer be blinded to the truth. when Greville timidity in his depression when he w “o'er true tale.” “Why don’t the young fellow speak out? Ie loves her, and has at length won her love! Now, why the dee don’t che ask my consent to their marr Ah! Is how it is. He thinks should tur ewel parient’ and make arow. Well, if he doesn’t make up his mind to speak to me when he comes home at Christmas, I will save him the trial by speaking to him,” thought the captain. And when young Greville came home at Christma the captain acted upon this resolution. Daney’s irrepressible joy ume home, her blushing presence and her tearful ‘as gone, told the CHAPTER XIV. One day when they were sitting over the wine after dinner, he opened the subject 1 ing: “Well, your comt 't you spe “Speak out, sir?” replied Greville, in So you have Now,why and to the point! Oh, I dare say that you think I shcvld be throw- ome obstacle in your way! Noth- se me better.” “Indeed, I do not understand you, sirt Speak out? Upon what subject, sir?” “Upon the subject of Dane ‘ou happy dog!” exclaimed the captain, rising in the excess of his good-humor, and ¢ »ping his hand upon the young noulder, ‘ Daney? Really, my dear sir. I am more puzzled than ever! What—of what am I to discourse converning Da- mey?” our marriage with he man! Your marriage with her!” chuckled the cap- tain. “My marriage with Daney! !" “Oh. yes! you sly dog! You thought the old man’s eyes were blind, and you were afraid to open them! You thought I would turn Turk and forbid you to meet! turn you out of doors; lock the girl up in her room, and all the rest of it!) And so you kept mum! But, ha! ha! you dog! I saw it all the time! And now I tell you that nothing would delight me more! And you may marry her to-morrow, if you like!” ex med the captain, rubbing his hands with glee, and fully expect- ing that the youth would be transport- ed with joy. “But there must be some mistake, sir. I have not the least intention of mm: ing Daney,” said the young man, gravely It was echo now the captain’s turn to re- the words of Greville. And it sad to see the look of Blank disap- ointment that settled on his face as je did it. “‘Not the slightest intention of mar- ing Daney!’ Was that what you said?” “Tt was.” “Then, in the name of all that is just and true and honest and honorable, what were your intentions in seeking her affections?’ sternly demanded the captain, returning to his chair, sitting down, and gazing steadily into the young man’s face. “Indeed. sir, I never sought to win her love! There is some serious mis- take,” protested Greville. “Don’t tell me that, sir! falsehood to inconst: But if you ave changed your mind- you have Seen some new face that you like bet- ter than he y so! and if you have east off my child for some new favor- ite, why, black as the sin is, confess it! Do not make it blacker by lying!” exclaimed the captain, indignantly. Fulke Greville flushed © Don’t add signally punished them. From hi and kind benefactor he was not even at liberty to resent them. But he had ‘to recollect the captain’s venerable age and his disinterested benvolnce before he could sufficiently control his anger to reply coolly. “Uncle, I do not remember ever to have been guilty of falsehood er un- faithfulness in my life. And, so far from having cast Daney off for some new favorite, I have no favorite. old or mew, except Daney.” “Then why the deuce, sir, do you not marry her?” The young man smiled faintly as he paid: Because I do not wish to marry her.” “Then, sir, I derand again, why did you try to win her love? “And I repeat, I ne her love.” tried to win “This is too base!” cried the old maa, throwing himself back in his ch looking sternly upon Greville— Jainous. Do I not Have I not watched you, sir? po vil- know better, sir! When- ever you have been home, have you not CONDEMNED —TFOm WEALTH. devoted youself to her? Have younot F “{neie, it must be.” rode with her, boated with her ,walked with her, and read, sung and sketched with her? Sir—sir—” Here, in the ex- cess of indignation and sorrow, the captain’s voice broke down. “Uncle, yes, I have done all this,” said Greville; “but I have done it as a brother for a dear little sister. I liked Daney. I told you so. I was fond of her. And it gave me great pleasure to please her. It was half the ht of my holiday to see what a holiday my presence made for her. Yes, I was very fond of little Daney.” “Ten thousand devils! then, as the Dutchmen say, why can’t you marry her?” demanded the captain, emphat- ically. “Because, well as I like Daney, I feel the utmost repugnance to doing so,” snid the young man, very firmly. “But why? I ask you why? You give me no reason for this silly repug- ance.” What reason can I give you,, sir Who can explain his own likes or dis- likes? I confess that I cannot.” “But then, you don’t dislike Dane) like ‘ “Humph! I think I know where the shoe pinches! Your lordship considers her too poor to be your grace’s bride! too humbly bern to be your maj consort!” said the old man, in a sm. , uncle, that is not the reason; although I should consider her humble birth quite a sufficient cbjection to our marriag “You coxcomb! Let me assure your sublime highness that I believe her to be well born—the daughter of some French nobleman—and I have good reason for believing it! Come, now, my boy!” said the old man, suddenly changing his manner, “I see it all now! You are fond of Daney, but your Nor- man blood 9s up against the idea of marrying a nameless, portionless girl! That is natural. It wrong in you to win her affections without a distinct purpose of ma’ your wife; but, @ ! that was ne 1, also! for boys will be boys, an fellow their own feelings, regardl where they lead them! I should not have stormed out upon you, my lad. and stiM less should I have mocked yeur inherited pride, for which you are po more accountable than you are for mur hereditary hair! I should have asoned with your folly, as I am about to do now. Shall we reason to- gether, my boy “With all my heart, dear uncle! be- lieve me. it gives me great pain to be at variance with you.” “We will not be at variance any longer, Fulke!_ we will come to an un- derstanding. Now to the point! since you are fond of Daney yet do not like to marry a namel and portionless girl, I'll tell you what T will do. I will legally adopt Daney and give her my tame, I will also bequeath to her this island and ate. ‘Then, surely, in so- eal position, she will be nearly your equal. Even your pride could not re- volt at the idea of marrying Miss Ful- the sole heir of Fuljoy's Isle! Id it, now-" t could not.” id so! Oh, it will come right!” “Uncle, do not misapprehend me! I told you that it was pot Daney’s po: tion that I most objected to. And no change in her position could affect my feelings teward her. I love her a rt; but I could not tolerate her as a wife! and I could not if she were the heiress of an earldom!” per- sisted the young man. “Pulkel Fulke!” said the captain. ing his rising anger and betr sorrow in the liquid depths of tones; “consider, boy! you admit t you are fond of her! You have al- vi shown that fondress! Whether you intended it or not, you have won her devoted love! Oh, bey! boy! take your own heart that you have won! w her close enough to yourself to fearn how excellent a thing 1 true maiden’s love! Take the rich gift that heayen has offered you, and learn its worth! Take her, boy! You mn to love her as devotedly as she loyes you—more than that you can- rot love! Take her, Fulke! You have won her hea Give her your own!” “Uncle,” began the youth, slowly and sorrowfully, “if this be true—if I have unintentionally won Daney’s love, I am deeply grieved to hear it! It will low my whole life with re- But not even for this can I myself and sully my honor one whom as a wife I ce of “Boy! boy! how know you that could not love her? She is very lov Oh, Fulke, listen to me. She is my child; not the child of my flesh, but the child of my I will be sworn, than ever was a daughter to a father before. As a baby she came to me of her own sweet will, and she loved me, and made my lonely home luminous with her presence. She is all ove, my—precious child! Pulke! Fulke! my life is centered in her hap- piness. If she were to be wretched I should die! Oh boy if ever I have been kind to yeu, be kind to my child! “Uncle! friend! benefactor! that ad- juraticn weuld serd me into the jaws of death to serve you, but not into dis- honor! Oh, can you not see, sir, that it is shameful to wed a woman without loving her? Do you not feel that you are doing a grievous wrong to Daney by making this appeal to me? And would you really have me wrong Da- ney so much as to marry her for mere es! for I could trust Daney to in- spire you with a higher sentiment in a month. “Why does she not inspire it now?” “Because she is just the sort of wo- man to be more passionately loved as a wife than as a maiden. It would re- quire the close intimacy of married life to develop all her worth! Marry her from any motive you like—only marry her, and I would trust in heaven and Daney for the result.” “Uncle, I cannot! It is best to bring this painful interview to a close. Let bowrweeyewr'Ss | ffections; dearer to me, | “Don’t uncle me, you villain!” cried the veteran, the suppressed fire of his anger bursting into flame. “I am no uncle of yours, and never was. No, thank heaven, not a drop of my blood Fulke Greville, if you are Mr. Fulke Greville! (for I begin to doubt that questionable fact), I must beg you, at your earliest convenience, to seek quar- ters in some house more worthy of your honorable presence, and more agreeable to your fine feeling than, I fear, I can make this.” Fulke Greville arc fore his guardian, ng, sorrowfully: “Sir, you have spoken angrily, and, therefore unjustly. But I agree with you, that for all reasons I had better leave the house at once. I shall en- deavor to forget the painful scene of this evening, and remember only the great kindness I have received at your hands, and the happiness I have en- jeyed in your house. And 60, sir, I and stood be- ‘wish you good-by!” The captain-was shaken by a variety of contending emotions—shame, pride, sorrow, anger, loye—all warring togeth- er in his heaving bosom. “Fulke!” he uttered, {n a choked voice, “I cannot ask you to stay; but— if—at any futvre time—you should change your mird—and come here and ask me for Daney—I will try—to for- e you!” The young man bowed deeply and thdrew. In crossing the .entrance 1 he laughed softly to himself, ex- ming: “Why, if I could possibly be weak enough to marry that girl for her fort- une, I should certainly be wicked enough to murder her for my free- dom!’ Ah! how little did he think that, soft- ly as these words were murmured, they were overheard !—that, lightly as they were uttered, they would one day fall heavily upon his own doomed Tead! The same night he packed up his port- manteau, and left the nd by the “Busy Bee,” that passed at 9 o'clock. Daney was amazed at the suddenness ef his departure; ‘but was told by the captain that he had gone to Washing- ton to see about the lieutenant’s coin- mission that he expected to receive immediately. And this was true so far as it went. Zarly in January Fulke Greville re- ceived a lieutenant’s commission in a regiment ordered for active service on the Indian frontier. And when Fulke Greville departed for this distant pest of duty without ever having returned to bid her good- by, Daney’s tender heart was almost broken. She wept in secret, never ap- pearing in the presence of her guardi an until she thought all traces of te: were washed from her face. But her grief could not be hidden from the eyes of love that were watching over her. “Too pale,” said the captain, look- ing at the fair, drooping human blos- som, who, though sixteen years of age, was still all of one color—pale face and pale yellow hair. “This must and shall be amended. She must have a change of air and something, also, to engage her thoughts.” And, acting upon this resolution, the captain packed up, left the house under the care of s Hit and the servant and took the child up North to the State of Vermont, and placed her in a firs class establishment for young ladies, situated in the Green Mountains, and celebrated equally for the excellence of its educational system and for the salu- brity of its atmosphere. The captain, who was confined to no spot, whose home was ever where his heart was, took a little cottage in the immediate vicinity of the school, so that he could sce his child whenever he pleased, and she could have a home of her own to come to every Saturday afternoon to stay until Monday morn- irg. And once established in his pret- ty cottage among the mountains, the captain’s spirits rese mightily. “If Daney’s mind and body don’t both gain strength here, the deuce will be in it,” said the captain. And then his heart relented toward hi nephew. “And, poor boy,” he said, was wrong to have quarreled with him so rashly, and he alone in the world! I should have trusted to time to bring all right. But ah, dear me! old age brought me gray hairs without dom, it appears.” nd so he wrote to his nephew. ng his regret at their Ww cl misunderstanding, retracting all preten- sions to his hand for Daney. d beg: ging that they might unconditionally resume their old relations of uncle aud nephew. In due course of time came Lieuten- ailt Greville’s answer, full of affection- ate gratitude. And thus the correspondence was re- sumed. Daney’s name was _ seldo mentioned, “How is my little siste Fulke would sometimes inquire. And “Daney is quite well,” would be the an- swer. CHAPTER XV. Three years passed away. Ful Greville spent them among the frontier forts. It was a period of comparative peace, when there was nothing more stirring than an occasional skirmish with the disaffected Indian tribes, and when, consequently, promotion was very slow in the army. Yet, for some signal service rendered in a perilous encounter with the r nowned Comanche chief, Wickahonic- kah, and his fierce warriors, our hero was so highly commended by his sups- rior officer, in his dispatches to the sec- retary of war at Washington, that bis friends soon had to direct all letters in- tended for him to Colonel Fulke Gre- ville. The young officer was himself made the bearer of the dispatches, giving an account of this affair, and recommend- ing him for promotion. He arrived in Washington early in February, at the height of the fashion- able season, when the city was over- flowing with the elite of the whole na- tion. Fashionable amusements were ures, balls and masquerades daily and nightly offered themselves to the choice of the embarrassed visitor. Colonel Greville’s dispatches were a suflicient introduction into the best so ety of the metroj® And as soon as he had concluded his business at the war department and established him- self comfortably at “Browns,” he gave quimself up to social life, with the in- tense enjoyment of a young man long absent from its pleasures. In the midst of this round of fashion- ible dissipation, however, he found ime to write to his uncle, who was iow living upon the island, informing iim of his recent promotion, and ask- ng, carelessly, “How is my little foster- sister?” And in a few days he received Qn answer, warmly congratulating him 'pon his rise in rank, which the writer declared had been bravely won, and would be gracefully worn; and an- swered his question by saying—“Daney is well.” One night Colonel Greville went to the National Theater to see a celebrat- ed Engdish tragedian who was fulflil- ing an engagement in Washington, and upon this occasion was to appear in the character of King Lear. The house was full and the dress cle was sumptuous in its display of well dressed women in all the splendor of velvets, silks and satins, feathers, flow- ers and gems. Colonel Greyille’s glance roved over this parterre of beauty as a bee over a field of flowers, uncertain where to rest. Suddenly his roving eyes became fixed, riveted, spell-bound to the face of a young lady sitting with the French minister's party in a private box, on the right-hand side of the stage. Who is that radiant creature sitting between Monsieur and Madame de Couey!” he inquired at length, turning to an acquaintance who had just taken a seat beside him. “T have been around the house asking that question of everybody, and nobody knows. This seems to be her first ap- Pearance in society. She is some new arrival from Paris, I faney- Probably a daughter, or niece or younger of Madame. If I had the slightest ac- quaintance with the French minister's lady, I would drop into her box. with the hope of being presented to Made- moiselle,” said Captain Gedney, the party addressed. Colonel Greville was more fortunate. He had a slight acquaintance with Mad- ame de Coucey, and he had in his pock- et at that very moment a card of invit- ation to a ball to be given by her on the following Wednesday. But he would have hesitated long before intruding into her private box. But this was only the scruple of a very fastidious nature. And, although his gaze was strongly drawn toward that box, he was careful to withdraw it before it was observed by the oceupants. And she upon whom he gazed was in- deed, a “radiant” creature. He had used exactly the right word in describ- ing her. Some beautiful women are like flowers. This girl was like a star! Her form was the pleasing middle height, but softly rounded out to the fullness of health and beauty. Her features were faultless as ever were those chiselled by Grecian artist as his ideal of perfection. Her complexion was of dazzling fairness, kindling into a vivid bloom upon her cheeks and lips. Her deep blue eyes radiated light! She wore a dress of rich moire-antique, and diamonds blazed upon her snowy, rounded bosom and arms, and amid her golden hair. Tn all his life he thought he had nev. er seen, or read, or dreamed of such re- splendent beauty. And by an ssocia- tion of contrasts, his mind reverted to Daney—the little, pale, dim girl that his uncle would have forced upon him as a bride—and he laughed! The play was about to commence. The curtain slowly rose, and the court of King Lear was revealed. The great tragedian who assumed the principal character for the evoning was greeted by an enthusiastic round of appl:use- As soon as the tumult subsided and the performance commenced all eyes were turned toward the scene except Colonel Greville! I fear the great artist received but little notice from him. For now that the beauty w gazing upon the stege, he could gaze at her without offense. When the curtain fell upon the tirst act, the box of Madame de Coucy was surrounded by gentleme nwho lounged there with the evident intention of be- ing presented to Mademoiselle. And the “star” was encircled by a galaxy of satellites. She received all who bowed before her, with the dignity, grace and self-possession of a queen. In truth, she looked like a queen, accepting the homage of her court. Colonel Greville’s heart burned with envy. Yet, as a too-recent acquaintance of Madame De Coucy, he would not venture to go around and join the cir- clecle. This, as I said, was only the fastidious hesitation of a young man who had been rusticating in the West- ern wilds for three years past . When the curtain rose upon the see- ond act, the gentlemen surrounding Madame De Coucy and her fair com- panion bowed and withdrew—only to resume their attendance at the next in- terlude of the drama. And Colonel Greville breathed a sigh of relief, and again feasted his eyes upon the beauty, while she fixed hers upon the stage. And thus it weat on through the whole evening. At length the curtain fell upon the death of Lear. The successful arfist was vociferously called cut and made his speech, received his meed of ap- plause and bowed himself off. Then Madame De Coucy and her party re- tired from the house. “Heavens! She is gone! And I feel as if all the gas had been turned off!” exclaimed Captair Gedney. Colonel Greville turned _ fiercely around. He felt as if he would like to annihilate the speaker. To him it seemed as if the sun had set. He had gazed upon this radiant beauty until he was dazzled, bewildered, intoxicated. The pleasure of the evening was wll over—the past was a dream, the pres- ent nothing, the future, the golden fut- ure, everything, as offering the one transporting hope ef meeting her again —meeting her at Madame De Coucy’s ball on Wednesday evening! Like one walking in his sleep he left the theater and strolled down the snew-clad, moon- lit avenue to his lodgings. CHAPTER XVI. Wednesday evening came. All the rooms on the first floor of Madame De Coucy’s house were thrown open to her company. The saloons were beauti- fully decorated, brilliantly illumined rife, and phys, operas, concerts, lect- 4 and well filled. Not crowded, for the \alldiiicsemeeniememananel hostess had tso much good taste to in- vite more guests than she could agree- ably ‘entertain, and thus turn an occa- sien of p! ure into one of discom- fort. The rooms were cool and sp cious. The elegant toilets of the ladies were displayed to advantage, for they were not lost in a confused press. The dances were delightful, for there was space to move about in. At 10 o'clock Colonel Greville was an- nounced, and he immediately advanced to the spot where Madarre De Coucy stood to receive her guests. He made his bow, and was graciously received by his hostess. Near them, with her back turiied, stood his angel! Her face was quite averted; but he knew her by her spark- ling, golden hair, and the ineffable “ace of her head and ‘n and falling shoulders- She was rec ng the hor- age of a bevy of admirers. Madame De Coucy laid the tip of her white-gloved finger upon the beauty’s arm, saying, in a low voice: “Ma belle,” and the young lady turned. “Permit me to present to you Monsieur le Colonel Greville. Mon- sieur, Mademoiselle Astrea De € . There was a low bow on the gentle- man’s part and a slight curtsy on the lady’s, before they looked up at each othe Yes! there she stood, the glorious young creature! more radis ful than ever, her dress mo elegant than before. It w: transparent white lace, over a skirt of shining white satin. Wreaths of lilie gemmed with dewdrops of small di monds, festooned her skirts and rested on her bosom, and crowned her glori- ous ha As their eyes met ihere flashed into her lovely face a look of— ? Recognition? This w ly possible, yet it seemed very What could it mean? In a veice, low and vibrating with emotion, he asked if he could haye the honor of Mademoiselle’s hand for the quadrille that was then forming. She was engaged for that and for the next half-dozen. But she would prom- ise Colonel Greville her hand in the eighth dance. She had s ely given him this un- satisfactory answer before her hand was claimed for the present quadrille, and she was led off to the head of the set. And as he watched her floating, light ly fleating through the dance, it seemed to him as if her motions made the mu- sic, and she herself were some fair s>ir- it wafted down from a brighter world, or some seraph ready to ascend to heayen. So, you see, he was very far gone in the madness called loye. Dance after dance! Her hand was never disengaged nor her feet we: Would she never be free?) And was he to wait there forever, attend! upon Madame De Coucy, and watching the beauty floating away with other gentle- men? At length, at the end of the foath quadrille, there was an interlude for re- freshments. She v led back to the side of her chaperone by her partner, Captain Ged- y, Who had somehow maneuvered! fully to get a late invitation to the ball, with the espec purpcse of seeing the beauty- He now lingered by her side, ofli- ciously fanning her and talking a d¢ of rubbish. At least so thought the asperated Colonel Greville. At length, however, the band struck up the music for a waltz, and the cap- tain bowed himself off to tind his part- ner. for that dance. Then Mademoiselle De (¢ ing to Colonel Greville, saic “You met me quite a stranger. And I really do not think you know me yet.” He looked at her in astontshment. And all the blood rushed to his heart as she said: “I am Dancy.” You might have levelled him with a feather! Daney? What This beautiful, resplendent creature; this blooming and radiant Hebe, w.th the fair, roseate complexion, her full, ruby lips her shining golden hair, her sparkling sapphire eyes—was this the ence pale, dim, faded littie Daney? This glorious girl, arrayed in all the splendor of rauk and wealth and sur- rounded by the elite of the town—was she the lately poor, obscure and name- less little Daney? This reigning belle this queen 6f love and beauty, for whose beaming smiles the brightest in the land were suing-- could she ever have been the wretched little Daney whose love he had de- spised, and whose hand he had re- jected? “Oh, what an error! overwhelmed and he could not find a word to say; he heartily wished the earth would open and swallow him! he was even glad when, the instant after she had spoken and before there was need of ‘le, turn- a confoundes his reply, a gentleman stepped up and, | apologizing for unayoidable delay, claimed the honor of her hand for the quadrille then formed, and waiting only for her to begin. “I see you did not recognize me,” smiled Daney (or Astrea, as we must henceforth call her), as she moved away to join the dancers- Recognize her, indeed! How on earth should he recognize one so entirely transformed in person that neither out- line, form, color nor expression were the same? The outline of Daney’s features had been sharp; those of Astrea were curyed. Daney’s complexion had been as pale as a crocus; Astrea’s was blooming as a rose. Daney’s form had been fragile as a fairy’s; Astrea’s w softly rounded out to the fullness of health and beauty, like a Hebe'’s. Daney’s expression of countens had been subdued and saddened; trea’s was beaming and joyous. Daney had been a miserable little beggar, rescued from an Irish shanty; Astrea bore one of the haughiest names of Normandy! Hy had left Daney in the most secluded all rustic homes; he found Astrea amid the blaze of fashion in the metro- polis! How, indeed, should he recognize her until she revealed herself to him? Then truly, through all these external trans- formations, he did recognize the same frank, warm, pure, and good-hearted | little Dancy! But whence came these transforma- tions! It was time and training, of course, that had developed and im- proved her person. But whence the change of name and position? Could the old captain’s romantic conjecture, that she was the child of some nobie French family, true? Yes! that must be the solution really have proved} at this satisfactory conclusion, when the quadrille was finished, the music hushed, and Mademoiselle De Glacie was led back to her place. He had now quite recovered his self- and what helped him to y was the instinctive feel- ing that Astrea could not possibly know anything about his rejection of Daney. He was, therefore now able to address her with his usual suave ond stately courte: “This has been a delightful surprise ~~ to me, Mademoiselle,” he said. Astrea bent gravel! in acknowledg- ment of the compliment. Then looked up arehly, saying only with her speak- ing eyes: “you did not seem so very much de lighted, Monsieur?” He understood that humorous glance, and replied to it: “I was indeed, speechless with as- tonishment.” ‘hen, slightly changing the subject, he said: “I hope Mademoi- selle, I may congratulate you on a re- union with your family?” “My family?’ she puzzled look. “I presume the favorite theory of my uncle, in respect to yourself, has proved a true one?” Still that perplexed, unconscious look. “You surely know to what I allude? —the early reminiscences, the chateau, the grandpere, the flag tower— = A ray of intelligence illumined her dancing ey a silvery laugh parted her rosy lips, as she answered: “The chateau-en-Espagne! Oh, 10, you are not to congratulate me on any thing of the kind!” Then, gravely and coolly, she added: “But this is not the scene in which to revive those sub- echoed, with a S- Jne word—you have not, then dis- covered”—he paused and Astrea re- plied: “I have discovered nothing—except that Colonel Greville is quite unconsci- ous that he is submitting me to a cross- examination. Rebuked, the world was 3 “Mademoiselle, yeu will kindly little Daney! Truly le down! par- don my rudeness. I have been in the backwoods for some y Lp and may have lost what little of ¢ ation id, with freez- I ever possessed,” he sa ing politene Daney Vv s by no means frozen by this coldness. She bowed and smiled in good humored acknowledment of the correctness of his observations, and the ‘ant gave her hand to a for and a half long, who & hard claim her hand for the schottische, 2 the tripping down the room in that most provok- sador and and scon they—the amt beauty—were entwined, ing and perating of all da pecially when it is danced by you lady-love with some other gentl very dear fellow, what ails va ill? what is. it, tooth ia? come into the refres' room, and take a $ ay relieve you, opming to his the fierce anguish of jealousy that Gre- ville was unconsciously betraying in his ingenuous countenance. “Tam not ill?) Who——” “Then never scowl like that in eo- ciety. The melodra matic is at present out of fashion!” “I do not pretend to fashion: T am just from the backwoods. But who is that insufferable puppy walzing with Mademoiselle De Glacie?” no Ma de lo: “There! that will do— “Terros, Ambassador and Minister Plenipotentiary urt of Brazil to the cabinet at Wash- ington! You with to know who he is There, that’s who he is at full lengt “I wish he were garroted!” bu forth Greville. And so do I! but it will not do to express that wish in such energetic language. By the way, I have heard this evening that he is affianced to Mademeo'selle De Glac'e. I should think it quite likely. Those gipsy-lookin Spanivrds do wonderfully 2 haired blonde bezuties. Oh! I 1 ly, now you must-have the face-ache! Let me bring you something.” Colonel Greville turned abruptly. walked. It v too hot in the reom. He went into the cor It was too close there. It was and close everywhere! He felt suffo- cated. He rushed out into the to calm himself under the quiet stars, to cool his fever in the fresh air. So she v to be married! She whom he nowleved so passionately that idea of her union with another gested suicide as the only self from the torture of living to k: it! She who had once loved him s truly that he might have made her his very own, had he had the serse to value her. She whose love he had slighted and dispised until it was 1 to him forever. Truly he was the swine of the Scripture parable; the chanti of Esop’s fable. Like that beast and fastidious bird, he had away 2 precious pearl, not knowing its priceless worth. He would have left the scene of fe vity at once, only he was bound by agreement to dance the eighth quar with her. Astrea was conducted thither by nor Don, ete. Of course, that w be expected. With a profound he gave his arm to Madame De Coucy, and followed in their wake. The weary supper was over The promised quadrille with was daneed—the first and last that ever he would dance with her, he secretly swore! What! trust himself to dance with her again, amid all the delirious fascination of melodious sound and motion, and she the promised bride of another? Never, the trial was too great. At the close of the quadrille he led her to the side of Madame De Coucy, lingered only so long as eti- quette prescribed, and then bowed and retired. He resolved never to see her again, but, despite the attractions of the metropolis, and his own long leaye cf absence, he determined to return (0) the fiontier fort where he held com: - To Be Continued. His Idea of the Town. Oates—I gosh, times is so hard in Chicago that it ain’t safe to go on thes streets after dark, for fear of giti’n robbed. ear of giti Hayes—You mean times ts better, ac- cordin’ to that. Last time I was there they didn’t even wait till it got dark.— t last. of the mystery! He had scarcely arrived | Cincinnati Enquirer H i i — : sti? = Trill He therefore returned to the house, where he found the company all moving toward the upper room.