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CHAPTER XVII. A'as life's p-.it Is ma}- be unsmootli Her way moy iie through rough riiiir>;fs Tlieu who her pitriss sin! pains will soothe j Her sonTiw- slune and m*h». them le« ?" "She must have been a mere obiJd when, that "iilain Denison tricked her into a marriage with him. Think of her position—a friend- less girl, left alone in a foreign city, without a sou! to look to except the hound who basely | u ed h';< advantage as her appointed guardian to imm "e on her innocence ,nd oaiole her < into sharing his ruined name and reputa- tion." The speaker was Claude Maclean, who was expatiating to Lady Falconridge with honest warmth on the wrongs of the deeply injured wife of Sir Reginald Denison. The scene was the breakfast-room of Claude's residence on CampdenHill. It was a terrible blow to Claude Maclean when he made the unlooked-for discovery of Winifred's marriage. But his sorrow over his vanished dream of happiness was swallowed up by his anxiety occasioned by Winifred's fl igh t. and the uncertaint/that hung over her fate. His anxiety became aggravated when several days elapsed witKout bringing any tidings to allay his fears. Hence Lady Fal- conridge, reading between the lines when Claude wrote to her for any information com- municated by Winifred whilst at Glen-Orlooh that might tend to throw light on her probable place of retreat, hastened to Kensington to comfort her son in the great trouble that had befallen him. It is a very piteous story," said Lady Fal- conridge, and f feel very keenly for Wini- fred, but it is most unfortunate for you." Don't trouble yourself about me, mother," I cried Claude impulsively, I can only think of her. Help me to find her, and then shield her from the persecution of a scoundrel. I ask no more than that." "But I must think of you," said Lady Fal- conridge with a warm glance of affection. It will quite spoil your life, for yours is not ,1 shallow nature. Vou are not one to forgot quickly." No, mother, I shall never forget," said Claude with mournful emphasis. You will Claude with mournful emphasis. You will tell me that I ought to try and forget her, re- membering the barrier that stands in the way of my happiness. But that is impossible. Love is independent of volitions. I cannot by any act of my will cease from loving. My affection for'Winifred will outlast my life. It is different from my love for you, but it is like it in this. No other can take its place." And Claude stooped and kissed his mother. I do not esteem you less because you can- not quickly change," said Lady Falconridge, after a pause, but I must think of what is most for your good." That is soon settled," cried Claude. When I know that Winifred is safely sheltered I shall learn how to bear my disap- pointment. I shall find a solace in my work and in the kuowiedge that she is safe, but whilst this anxiety continues I am too dis- tracted to think of anything beside her." II If I could only believe that," said Lady Falconridge doubtfully. ^1 mean that if I felt assured that you would be satisfied to know that Winifred WM with me I would wil- hngly go to her, when you have discovered where she is hidden, and ask her to make her home with me at Glen-Orloeh." That is all I want. When once she is I placed out of his reach and is able to order her life in her own way I shall be satisfied." But you could not come to Glen-Orlooh if •be were there," said Lady Falconridge. Why not? What is to hinder me I coming ?" exclaimed Claude, hotly. Ii You have taught me to despise the oonven- tionalisms of an artificial society, and I mean to do so. We can be friends, I suppose." The position would be one of danger to j both," said Lady Falconridge. I There is nothing to fear," cried Claude. J I have had my hour of temptation, but it is past. Winifred shall not suffer in reputation on my awoutit." But you cannot speak for her," continued j Lady Falconridge. Yon tell me that she knows of your love and returns it. How can she endure being thrown in your company without parn ? If seeing me gives her pain, I will not come to Glen-Orlocb," returned Claude prompUy. J For a moment there was a struggle in the mind of Lady Falconridge, éiod how intense j was the struggle was shown by the nervous working of her pale, thin lips. Iier affection for her son was the supreme joy of her life, and his visits to Gien-Orloch bad hitherto constituted the main souroe of her happiness. How she welcomed his visits. They were the one pure ray of bliss that fell on her in the lonely secluded life that had been her lot since her widowhood. How could she give up this happiness? She felt that to submit to be debarred from the society of her son was a heavy sacrifice to make, and she visibly shrank from the ordeal. I When she looked at his handsome facp, so pale and resolute that the exquisite chiselling of every feature was thrown into stronger relief by the strong emotion that mastered I him, her heart misgave her. She thought, too, of the overthrow of his happiness, and how the wreck of his hopes was made more bitter to him by the knowledge that the woman whom be loved with a futile passion j might be in sorrow, with no one at hand to help her to bear her load, and her lips fal- tered, enable to refuse the boon for whiott he asked. Her mother's love oonquered her reluctance. She was ready to sacrifice her one gleam of happiness to bring peace to bis heart, and she was rewarded by seeing the tension of his features relax when she gave him the promiso be asked for. Meanwhile Lady Falconridge was unable to render Claude the assistance he hoped for, to enable him to solve the mystery of Winifred's retreat. She re-called, one by one, the various incidents of Winifred's life, as she. had heard them at Glen-Orlocb, without affording any- thing in the nature of a clue to her present whereabouts. "Then you know nothing more than tbat her father died in Paris, and that she subse- quently came to Lngland and wen1; into train- ing as a hospital nurse f" queried Claude, anxiously. "Jhat is all," answered Lady Falconridge. "She was always very reticent, yoa remem- ber, about her life after her father's death. Now, of course, her silence is explained. She must have been married when she came to England." "True; and that affords no clue whatever," said Claude. It is impossible she can have friends in England to whom she would go." Claude relapsed into silence, and sat with knitted lJrows pondering the problem, when a servant entered the room bearing a carbon a silver salver. Claude took the card eagerly, and read, Mr. Van Be Wetkh, Private Inquiry Agent. Show Mr. Van De Weyer this way," he said to the servant, and then, turning to Lady Falconridge, he explained, he is the detec- tive who has been watching Denison." Mr. Van De Weyer's appearance raised no suspicion of his calling in life, an advantage possessed by few of his fraternity. He was well and cleanly built. His bearing was smart I and soldier-like, a circumstance explained by the fact that be had served in the conscrip- tion, and at his age—he was not more than tive-and-thirty-he might still look forward to military service in the cause of Father- land. He was a Teuton every inch of him. as indicated by his tall, well-set frame, and his phlegmat c countenance. Impertur- bability was stamped on every lineament of hi* face, though his quick, restless eye denoted great shrewdness and intelligence, 1 hope you bring good news," said Claude, after exchanging greeting# with the detec- tive. That is for Monsieur to decide," said Mr. Van de Weyer, withont moving a muscle of his face. Sir Reginald Denison has left London by the Paris mail from Charing Cross this morning." Claude Maclean and Lady Falconridge exchanged a quick glance of intelligence. Has he obtained tidings of the lady P" asked Claude eagerly. That is impossible to say at present," re- turned the deteotive. What do you mean by 1 at present asked Claude. "Madame Van De Weyer has accompanied him to Paris and will continue her surveil- lance." Is your wife a detective, too ?" asked Lady Falconridge smiling. Madame Van De Weyer is what is called in England 'my better half, replied the detecttve with a bow of respect. If Mon- sieur intends to interfere for the lady's pro- tection I think he should follow," he added, addressing Claude Maclean. "I think so, too," said Claude. "You can accompany me, I suppose ? If Monsieur thinks it neoessary. Madame Van de Weyer has full instructions how to proceed, and may be thoroughly depended upon to do her duty. All tbat is really required is that she shall be furnished with the time of your arrival in Paris." You may be of use if you can come," said Claude. "As Monsieur pleases, I am entirely at your servioe," replied the detective, with another bow. "May I suggest that if your preparations can be made quickly you can take the boat this afternoon from New- haven to Dieppe ? The journey is tedious, but we can arrive in Paris at midnight, which will not give Sir Reginald too long a start." I. A very capital suggestion," exclaimed Claude enthusiastically. What do you say, mother? It depends on you. Will that hurry you too much ? I have no preparations to make," replied Lady Falconridge. "I have not unpacked yet." Then, that is settled," exclaimed Claude. Ii You will meet us at Victoria, Mr. Vande Weyer." If Monsieur pleases," said the detective, rising to take his leave. And soon after midnight Lady Falconridge and Claude Maclean arrived in Paris. (To be continued,)'

The Downward Step. Some four miles from the centre of the busy manufacturing town of 13- there is a row of small cottages, very simple in con- struction, and having little attraction except- ing the low rent demanded for them. They are far from town, and there is no public con- veyance to shorten the distance, so that only those who are compelled by poverty to choose a cheap residence reside there. Bat each house has a little garden attaohed to it, with hedges between, and some of these I wee domains were bright with flowers. One day two children sat ander one of the hedges, busy in building a house of chips. Close enough to touch them, but separated by the hedge, a man crouched listening to the baby I prattle as eagerly as if it held important information. If we touch any of old Bates's posies he'll eat us. Hannah says so said the younger of the children, a bright boy, three years old. The other one, a grave-looking little maiden of five, answered seriously :— Men don't eat boys and girls. Mamma says we must say 'Mr. Bates,' not 'old Bates.' And she says perhaps he's not cross, but sick or sorry. He looks cross '•Mamma aays not to touch his posies, 'cause it'lJ.øtealing!" W e\(g.ot someF said the litilo girl; but njamraa's so busy, she can't have posies." And, indeed, there was a strong contrast between the few poor plants in Mrs. Grey's garden and those that met the eye in the next one. The old man who lived there alone, ragged and forlorn, seemed to have but one pleasure, and that was working in the tiny garden, making every foot of it beautiful with choicest flowers. That he always listened intently to every voice from his neighbour's cottage, drawing as close as the hedge per- mitted to the open windows, none knew but himself. He bad been three months in the poor House, and listened eagerly to any scrap of gossip about Mrs. Grey. He heard the ser- vants pitying her "come duwn" when her husbands failure in business was followed by his death. He bad heard Hannah, the one servant, tolling another from across the street of the luxury her mistress bad enjoyed only one year before, and bewailing the poverty that made her walk to town, day after day, to give music lessons to support her children. Ever shrinking from notice, Mr. Bates was as watchful of his neighbour as a detective. He was a tall man, bent over as if crippled by age or pain, and his face, deeply lined and very stern, was shaded by gray hair, soft and abtui- dant. Green spectacles concealed a pair of large, dark eyes that softened strangely as he listened to the children. Many times he had seemed about to speak to them, starting forward, but always draw-1 ing back with a muttered "Better not! better not!" But on this day he went from bush to bush of his rarest flowers, until he had his hands tilled, when he tossed the whole fragrant mass over the hedge into thel.ip3 of the astonished children. When they looked up a face over the hedge amazed them still more, for the old man was smiling. This was the beginning of their friendship, 1. and everyday saw it grow stronger, livening j found Mrs. Grey at home, and at bed-time there was always some new story of baby prattle, telling how xYfr. Bates had let the children wander about in his house and garden in perfect freedom. But he avoided her, giv- ing her no opportunity to thank him. She would have been glad, out of her scanty means, to offer some neighbourly help to his greater poverty, but there was something re- pellant in his face and voice that held her back. She wondered even that the children were not afraid of him. It was in September that for the first time sho, too, crossed the boundary of his- garden, timidly, for she was a shy, gentle little woman. Only twenty-five years old, she looked, in spite of her heavy mourning and pale, sorrowful face, even younger. Widowed and an orphan, her life was cen- tered in her children, and she could not be ungrateful for kindness phowii to them. bo when they told her their eccentric friend had hurted his foot dreadful bad," she con- quered her sby timidity, and went to offer assistance. •< It was nothing," he told her gruffly, as she entered the bare, mean sitting-room, where he lay upon a sofa, but he let her bring him some dinner and wait upon him, owning that the pain of a bad sprain had pre- vented his cooking for himself. The children trotted to and fro, delighted to wait upon him, but he was not very gracious, and said bat little, until Mrs. Grey said :— Cyril, dear, get mamma another slice of bread." What did you call the boy?" he asked, sharply. "Cyril. Oh, you have only heard his pet I name, I Birdie.' Birdie, come here and tell Mr. Bates your name." "Cvril Preston Grey," said the child, Cyril Preston said Mr. Bates, harihly* "I knew a man of that name once." Every shadow of colour left the widof* face, and she looked for a moment as if she would faint. Then, conquering this by a violent effort, she said: You knew him ?" I knew no good of him," was the qui*3* reply. He was a thief She tried to speak, but her white lips madØ no sound. The man I mean," continued Mr. BAWI was a defaulter from the B-- Bank, gø had been cashier there, and he stole money. The blood rushed to the widow's face, her voice trembled with anger, as she said Since you know that, you should also know that Cyril Preston has re-paid e*er £ dollar, principal and interest, to the bafl* five years ago." You knew him, too ?'* He was my dear brother." Dear ? You surely do not hold a brothef dear who disgraeed you "CyriJ," the mother said, what do yofJ pray for every night ?" The child repeated a baby prayer, and added, God bless dear mamma and N annIe, and bless dear Uncle Cyril, and bring hi10 home to mamma." There was a moment of silence, and the" Mrs. Grey sent the children away. When she was alone with her neighbour she said: II Yon say you know my brother. Call you tell me anything of him P Oh. if yoø could know how I long to hear I" Is it not better to know nothing of a who was only a curse to those who him ?" You are a harsh judge. If he sinned, he atoned. He has repaid everything." Killed his parents ?" Not so. If they sorrowed for his sin they rejoiced in his repentance. His name never harshly mentioned in his home, aitf* earnest prayers were daily offered for bin* Where is he ? Tell me all you know of hico. And then, with a sudden movement, Mrs, Grey bent her head an4, broke into a pa*' sion of tears, sobbing: 1\1y brother! My brother!" She had wept violently, but when her sobi grew more quiet, a gentle hand was put upol' her bowed head, and a low, tender VOlet said: Anna!" She looked up. A gray wig lay on illo floor, and on that a pair of green spectacle but the face bending over her was that of » man of thirty-five or six, with brown bJJr and soft, dark eyes. It was ten long since she had seen that face, and sorrow made it far older than the years would b*v* done, but sbe knew it at once. Cyril! Cyril!" she cried, kneeling beside him, with her arms around bis neck. 0* my dear, dear brother!" You are glad!" he said in a low voico Of amazement. Glad to see me!" Glad, for I love you! Who was alw*?? the kindest brother to his little sister. C/r' could you think ever I did not love you!" A thief! A forger he said bitter' I have no excuse f»r my sin, Anna, that mean one only too often pleaded, that meant to replace the money. It was lost io gambling! My feet were on the bigbvrsy to ruin, when I saw that disoovery of Of theft was inevitable, and 1 fled. Bat punishment began at once, and never remorse more gnawing, penitence more si0' cere." You were never out of our prayerS, Cyril." t "Darling, that was as the bitterness .o! death, that certainty that I had brought d' grace upon ray home—made my father's o*1" a reproaoh." But you did all you could to atone." Is Yoa can never know, dear, tbrolJg what privation and toil I earned the to pay the bank, 1 went hungry, half-clotb and half-frozen, working early and every dollar. But when the debt was paid tune smiled on me. My employers were men, and they gave me an opening in factory. Do you remember, Anna, how laughed at because I thought I could inv 1 think, even now, if father had let me my dearest wish and study machinery I n»' £ j never have fallen. Bat I hated the bank,*11 any temptation is doubled to escape fr°- drudgery. My love of machinery 0 laughed out of me at home, but it bec* t my friend when I needed one. In the [ intervals of leisure I had at the factor^i ( perfected a patent tbat my employers adop-jv and helped me to introduce into other f* £ j ries. It has made me a rich man, Anna- I craved a sight of my old homp, and the faces there, and so I came to B parents were dead, and you a widow and pO to Dear, do you guess how I have longed f help you since I came to be your neighbor and yet feared you would curse M, If spoke r" A "Hush 1" she said softly. "I am of sorry you are rich, Cyril. I was thinking (J" the joy it would be to me to work for ,0Ø' i'ou vriil go with Aie, Anna, to my home, I cannot stay here. Every face j B would 6eem to reproach me. have a home where you and your chil^^ can be happy, and where you can fold 1°^ hands in idleness, if that will please you. 00 is a lonely, desolate home now, Anna, but will brighten it for me ? "Gladly." 4 Iier held her in a close embrace for a | minutes; then he said, whispering: Anna, tell me where Lena is ?" She shivered a moment, and her voice full of sorrow as she said Lena is in Boston. Married P" Yes." She did not forgive me f No she was very bitter." > 1 deserved it. I had no rignt to risk happiness as well as my own name. I could ask her to marry me after I becaII,^) shame to all who loved me ? Yet I loved & Anna." I know, dear, but Lena was proud." J "She was right to forget me. I sinned was justly punished. But, oh! if I c°lit make all young men, all boys, realise 4 importance of the first step in dishonesty would gladly give my life. Only a fived"^ bill, Anna, at first, but the remptatioll repeated, the strength to resist grew we,& until the end. Can you—dare you trust,, dear, to those young lives so dear to yoo • ( Yes; more willingly than I would to 1 who did not know the bitterness of sin penitenoe." J So two cottages were vacated and io brother's beautiful home Annie Grey trIeS J make the life of a repentant sinner peace and usefulness. Cyril Preston, and penitent, thanks God daily for the that could not die, even when bitter came to crush it. He is a prosperous, ell man, but ever in his heart is the sorrow shame that will follow sin, no matter & deep the repentance. And ever his that Cyril, his nephew, may learn from J1 to avoid that first downward step that leg sin.—2Cew York Ltdgev. I

Ito I MAX Gkeger's CARMwrrz."—Three fact8 be remembered about Carlo wit z, the celebrate* Claret of Hungary :-It is peifeotlv pure. It > improveddijestion. It is pronounced excellent, .¡ØiP better light dinner wine than Max tireger's OafloLt> is not in the market. Piiceafrom 21., p r Greger (Limited), 66, Sunnier-street* li.C. ri' A WORD TO MOTHSKS. — Kt r'uck a NWl''eKf Fomu-ite" Tuetbirig Fowden Vivvelit an«»^ w