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Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru

Cuddio Rhestr Erthyglau

8 erthygl ar y dudalen hon

T—orctrr-^M^Tww——•**—•*—'1f".:;:....…

Newyddion
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Rhannu

T—orctrr-^M^Tww——•—•*— f AT THE OF THE SILVER FLAGON. -+- BY B. L. FARJEON. (Author of "Grit," Blade-o'- Grass," "Jessie Trim," Golden Grain," King of No-Land," &c.) Published by Special Arrangement with the Author. All Rights of Publication Reserved. PART THE SECOND—THIS END OP THE WORLD. ^— CHAPTER VIIL-" SHE NEVER TOLD HER LOVE." Old Mr. Weston, a great magnate in his neighbourhood, a wealthy man, the owner of a fine estate, a justice of the peace, and what not, had been surprised out of him- self by the sudden meeting of his friend, Gerald Hart, from whom he had been separated when they were almost' boys, or at all events before either of them had ex- perienced those trials and temptations, the reception and handling of which give the true scamp to a man's cha- iMcter. Our dear friend, Mr- Hart, had passed through the fire unscathed. His line, honest nature shone steadily In the midst of every temptation it never flickere(I or havered when brought into contact with opportunity Which by dishonesty or trickery could be turned to his advantage ah another person's expense. His con- Science was a touchstone, and he was guided by it; rogue could never bo written on the sleeve of his jacket. 1 hat lie wis occasionally wor»led by knaves distressed him, but did not embitter him; nor did it cause him to swerve. He was-to use a phrase I once heard from an American, who was speaking of one he admired—emphatically a straight man. "l'o all outward appearance, Mr. ivestozil when lie ll,* a young man, bade fair to rival his friend in genuineness aud honesty of cluv.ctcr; but the result falsified the promise. Money had spoiled him as it 8i>oils many a thousand men and women every. Jear of our lives, :\nd it is .strictly true to state that he would have been a better man bad he been less prosperous. I sometimes think what a dreadful this would be if every person in it had more money than was neoded for IIH requirements. Gi- it is a heavy burden, and one can keep one's moral balance Inuch better alLie: the storms of mi-fortune than when .\11 his worldly desires are satisfied. More men are wrecked upon s/ol !en sands than upon sterile rocks of I\t()n. So, in course oi time, the young man who had ,on the love and esteem of Gerald Hart became o vor. weighted by prosperity, and over all the finest qualities Of his nature crept a crust of worldiiness which hardened 3 grew firmer with his yea is. These changes in char- acter are common enough. 1 have in my eye now a young whom I have known for a. few years a meek, quiet lad he was, with a mild and gentle face, advancing ids Opinions, when he c iiiUl muster sufficient confidence, Wita a timid and unassuming air, which seemed to be the Natural outcome of a kind and modest s')ul. This young tnan. having had a in life, is fast developing beneath observation into a solemn humbug, and he is already, W'-tlii a seriousness which would be laughable if it were iiinontabie, dealing very largely in a certain of stereotyped milk-and-water religious sentiment, winch parades (h <• the opportunity) with a long, Sedate, end ,]y luce. with all the au- wority of a boion. b -fore men and women who ,u'8 gi'uwa g-'ay in the s?rvice of the years. H I nave .IP good foilune to live a dozm years, and then to meet ll" fetched prig (for I know exactly what he will g-'OW 111t,,) dealing out his milk-and-water platitudes, I dare iaY 1 shall wonder what lli,s btcoino cf the meek, modest « whose gentle fa.ee lhsc attracted my notice, and won favour. Ay, in the same way, shall Mr. Ilart presently wonder '*t has become of the fi.-ank aud generous friend lie Qew in li £ s youth, and whom he has cherished in his tart for so manv. manv venvs. Hoy. then, to account; for the part Mr. Weston P'aJ'ed iu the interview which took place k sweet Devonshijo lane, where the fairy -e ]°f the feather-grass were swinging to and Iro e,-i e c^car wafers of the brook ? As I have at the commencement of this chapter, he was sar- t!fe^ Cl1^ ^im?elf by the strange and sudden meeting; d memories had penetrated tiio crust of worldiiness lich now1 overlaid the better part of his nature, and for a little while the present w,(s forgotten, and uncon- 80"1"21,y set aside, He found it, indeed, a pleasant sen- sation to yield to the sweet waves of youthful remeia- aace which the appearance of Gerald Hart had con- ned up, and worldly as he was, he honestly resolved to f^ip his friend a little. Still when, iu the latter part of the day, he thought over the interview, he confessed to himself that it would Lave been much more agreeable o Uim jf friend had been well-dressed and well- to-do. Nevertheless, he gave Mr. Ilart a cordial welcome to bls house, a great part of his cordiality arising from a sense of satisfaction at being able to show his friend how Well he had got on in the world. t And this is your daughter," 119 said, taking Lucy a band I may use on old man's privilege." ^Vlien lie took her liai-,cl, Lucy gave a little start of sur- prise, which only one per. cn noticed. Then he turned to Mai p tret, and shook hands with her. At her own request, she was introduced to him by her nvuden name. I don't to be known yet as Mrs. Rowe," she said. It did not occur to iri.. Hfrt that there was any change in the nature of his (ld friend, as they stood gazing into each other's faces, where lines and wrinkles were. It was one cf his tiicks to judge others by himself. You look ten years ycungei' t; an I," observed Mr. GStou. B I have not. been harassed by the cares of property," replied Mr. Hart "ih a smile, in which there was no envy. A^r' sighed—an eloqueLtsigh, which expressed, you little know how harassing those cares are a, the same time a proud sigh at the possession 01 them. Then said Margaret, fch:> tactician, after a few minutes during which sh j had be; n acting apart towards the entlel11an e ^0u old friends must have a great deal to say to J1* °tlier and the presence of two foolish women will help yon." 1 > Would not hear your enemy say so," said Mr. Sa; what r Tlat you are a foolish \v "'ell quoted, Gerald, well quoted," acquiesced Mr. s-jiy. larf?aret made a demuro courtesv, and continued, 'essiag Mr. ^Y'eston, A3 we are to spjad the day in your beautiful «< -jvr aJ>' he interruled, TOU are to spend a week or two With me." < ^h," rejoined the wily ?,I:\rg-\ret, to make Iter ground 10) 'but you did not eoui,{ upon au additional ineum- ';«Tice e,QAi:,e c'4 --e'" .■an mcumbiance*, ii<y de.u- young l.rly rx- j Jlr.Wcs' eooo'ct dy won over, as she intended "if l'^ b°—3'1- -bvo been a t actress for nothing. a- lior With e.iv/.her quotation, Gerald If .f u have five thousand weicune- .-aid Mr. iJ rea'lfy> without tl>3 fivoncncii, Margaret." f. i V0 b.ravo clIed Weston. My ftiend's /-nu. are mine. I shail be deU.Uited with your so- V;cty.J' J .Indeed, he wa? xn\c^K:i\ly pla^d with the two tuey were wed dressed, and bote themselves like lii'i"03 aS 10^ Wol'J ~au 1 this gratified the old wor-d- ^aeiv'" ilargaret, with a bewitching n-iw'h^f vmX f n°S 8ay, no on l13rs'iasion. So I pro- le ''<> T.'iJ. r ° ,»cnt ->tuon r"-in away and chat, and to "trust us 1 J a 'U a ic °ur.ielves, it you tire not afraid Mr._ Weston, tl.iiikieg to hhmelf, "Really a very U;mmg creature made a gallant replv, and taking his '-id s arm, waked with him into the garden. ^uargarat and Lucy sat or strolled in the balcony which uiged the windows of the timt tioor of the house. Margaret, in her tet i der watchfulness of Lucy, had observed the littIe start of y.irprise which Luay had given on ;ng Mr. Weston, ami found a difli;:i'ty in accouut- lhg for it. f '"Lucy," she said, "I.r/e you met Mr. Weston before to-clay r (No, Margaret," \vv? L iey's auiwer. "Wliat wik^a J'\n a."k ¡" SomethiDg in your f >CT—tlint's all." ^0re was somci'iing in LUCY'S I ICE wlille these few were being uttered—a bir.sii, which quickly died \,p ^ea^ing her piler than before. Margaret instantly gnu puttmg two tut 1 (wo to go titer. An easy task, some .Jna, tlll.nk. are much mistaken. It is a -V which requires, and often defies, abstruse calculation, whore a man will succeed in it 0:lc,, a woman will recced a hundred times. There ai-e three great dis- ho-61163 11 in tiie Avot-ld—perpetual mo ion, to square the circle, and how many beans make five, -pend upon it, if t ever are discovered, they will be lJllced to tIle credit of women. .Lass difficult, certainly, than any of these, was the O" uPon which Margar- t 'v.s at present eugaged. But 33 s'ie was> p"ie -iXr f''otn seeing her way The sum w, l- ) .r'l •'dy set before her. Wf*s a figuro wa tu -1 don't quite know. t-.m> she said, whether I like M'- Weston faii uc7 lool^d at Margiret reproachfully. ITot 1'ke her tlii \V- 8 friend J \Viiy, what couid Mar.arct be li-1,1r1,1'nS a.h°u^ But Margaret, had site pleased, could obse- herself. She had, of fancied she had, fj0 iVe<* an expression of uneasines? an I drssatisfac- on i. -°n "^•r- Weston's face when his eyj3 rested jje^. 13 friend's clothes. They were decent, bat not fine ^hey had been new Uiey would not have been hatj' ^his uneasy glance lasted but an instant, "but it he e^ac'° an impression on -M argaret's mind not easily to gr Trifie.s light as air are to the jealous con- Was °n strong as proofs of holy writ aud Margaret th. Woman who judged by trilles. It is strange that hoi,. I,ou^ be rare when the waving of a straw proclaims °[t ^e wind blows. Whi .t^aS a lovely summer's day, and the beautiful grounds colour Up0Unded Ml\ Weston's house were bright with enj0_. Every material comfort that could make life k°Use Was °. he found within this pretty estate. The fujjy luxuriantly furnished; the gardens were care- y uded; and evidcnccs of good taste met the eye on e very side. N oticiDg these ntial sigus of comfor I e very side. Margaret lioticed, also, that Mr. f-s 1itn(I of his friend to the wts directing the atton beauty of the place, To her eyes there was ostentation in his manner. proud of his wealth," he raid, and fell again to the *°f^d"jed t0 Lucy's face. It was thus employed, h J f j^atl played the part ef mmd she never told her Jove, put jet roec-ilment. like a worm I1 the bud, Feed on her dunwk chock she pmed.n thought. A T riinine now. Margaret, from her woman s As Lucy w^ PfuU Jell that a gecret sorroWi born of love, wns preying on the heart of this tender girl, and she w^s f'1 J™ to find a way into her friend s confidence, when, ? momZt! Ctonc. b,frieaded her. the due r t,Vh he was seeking was put into her hands. A SK&teShW face, 3uddeii glad Iicht iu her eves a sudden exclamation of pleasure in which her misery seemed to die, a sudden uprising of the girls form towards the framework of the balcony, and the secret was revealed, and the sum was done. CHAPTER IX.-Lucy's PHINCE APPEAES ON THE SCENE, Following the direction of Lucy's eyes, Margaret saw a T,)inJfr o-cntleman walking toward the two old med m the grounds below. He paused, and Mr. Weston spoke some words; the next moment Mr. Hart and the young gentle- man shook hands warmly. "Ah," thought Margaret, with secret satisfaction, "here is our prince. Now all the rest is easy. 'na3 vainfully confident of her powers. So, my dear, s e ISd aliul to Lucy, «wi b.ve dbcovored the p-and Theil une in Lucy's cheek grew stronger, and she hid her blushes on Margaret's shoulder. You will not tell ?" she whispered. Not I," replied Margaret, with tender caresses rir, vnn know mv dear, you have been making me very unhappy ? Keeping a secret, and sucn a secret, from me! '■ Whv, Marsjaret ? You did not suspect me Oh r.o, oc course I suspected nothing, be:in0 natura y dull-witted, and.not being a, woman. Well but now it is all ri-'ht. I shall know everything—I n.u?tknow e.ery thin ° from A to Z. If you keep a single letter of the alphabet from me, I shall run and tell them ail about There was but little to tell. Chance had token the youti" gentleman, Gerald Weston, to the house m which Lrcv°lived before her father's return home, and having s -eu Lucy, something more than chance had afterwards directed his steps thither very frequently. I am afraid there had been secret meetings out of the house girls and young men mil do these things nowadays. Ah, nonsense What do I mean by nowadays ? Have they not done them from time immemorial ? Think of the delicious secret meet- iligs that must have taken place between Jacoo and Laban's daughters in the old patriarchal times 1 And vou, my dear laay, whose eyes may haply light on these lines can not you look back upon such-liko stoicn minutes ? So these two young persons met and met again, and Cupid led the way with his torch. Gerald Weston's love for Lucy wa3 an honest love, and it was not lon<* before he confessed it, and received in return a, confessfon of love from her lips. The simplest ot stories. .„ But since my dear father has been home," said Lucy, "I have never seen Gerald." -4nd then her joy at lie- holding her hero vanished, aud with sad sighs she said, He has forgotten me, Margaret." That is a discovery I must make for myself, Lucy. I'll wait till I see him closer then I shall be able to judge. I can tell the signs, and I can read honesty. As for you, not having seen him, you darling how was that possible except by some strange accident, when our dear stupid father never told the persons you were living with where lie was taking you to ?" Lucy's face grew bright again. "Az-a you sure of tbat-sure ?" "Sure, you little simpleton exclaimed Margaret, affectionately. "Am I sure that I am speaking to you now ? Am I sue that every thing will come right, aud that my darling Lucy will be a happy wife btefore long- as I was once, alas But never mind me; some- thing else to think of, and I must put my sorrow by for a time. Lucy, Lucy he's coming this way, not know- ing that you are here, of course Well, I declare he is a handsome young fellow Shall I go away ?" "No, no, Margaret; don't leave me." For all that, Margaret contrived to slip out of the room the moment before Gerald Weston entered it. Her intention was to keep guard outside, and to prevent either of the fathers eii- tering aud disturbing the lovers. With tins aestgn,^ne, stationed herself at the door of the house which led to tha.grounds, and presently Lucy's father came toward her. Mr. Weston was not with him. "Where is he? where is he?" inquired Margaret eagerly. He!" echoed Mr. Hart, smiling at her eagerness. "Which he are you anxious about ? The young he must have passed you on the staircase. Did you notice him, Margaret? A fine young fellow." "Yes yes," cried Margaret, impatiently; "but I mean the old'he. Is there a back way by which he can get in?" Margaret really had the idea of running to the back of the house and taking old Mr. Vi eston captive. She was a faithful tiler -a word I use not with reference to building-tiles, but m Freemason sense. Ladies who do not under- stand it had best ask a Freemason friend for an explana- You enigma exclaimed Mr. Hart. My old friend has been carried off by a man of business. He is over- whelmed, my dear, by the cares of property. By the way, Margaret, I have accepted an invitation to stay here a month. It will do Lucy good." i That it will," said Margaret, with a quiet little laugn to herself. Am I included in the invitation ?" Of coarse, my dear. Mr. Weston is charmed with you. You've a trick of winning hearts, Margaret, old and young. But I shall have to run away every night to the theatre." "Have you told him that ?" No, but I shall presently." Will you be guided by me But what a question to isk Yo i must be. There cannot be two captains i T one ship, and I am captain here—absolute captain, mind you." "Very well, mv dear." Therefore you will not inform Mr. Weston that you are an actor, and are engaged at the theatre. You will invent some other excuse for your absence every night; or if you are not equal to it, I will invent one for you. No remonstrance I am captain, and I will be obeyed. I have my reasons, and you will approve of them when vou them—which you will not till I think fir." Ty rint he cred. I must obey you, then. Now wc will join Lucy." Well do nothing of the sort. Dou t bother yout* head about her she is quite safe and comfortable. I nccept all responsibility." (Which sounded very like GreektoMr. Hart, but he had full confidence m Mar- garet, and his anxiety about Lucy was lulled by her gay tone ) Noiv tell me everything you two old iogies have been talking a ™ut. i 1 « CTiicTfy cf eld times. I have heard some strange things from him. He has had at least one very strange incident in his life; and he [^3 iuojiao your lic"d, my denr—a jji-uebeciiu 3 room in the' house, a room that no ono entet'3 b it himself. Now, don't you wish you had the key ? <• No • Bluebeard's room can wait. I want to hear something more. You talked of yourselves and your P1<0;Nnluriili/, my dear ;'and eack d.lated upon the sub- ject nearest to his heart.' << And Uhe°upoa^Gerald, his son. My old friend has great views for that young gentleman, who has been Siviii"- hint deep cause for anxiety lately. An, these children, those children J how they do vex and gladden l3Vti' o\l I'jolibil hCiU'lS .TIL ''Deep cause for anxiety! Dear me In what way, U' Well it im'fc a secret, Margaret. No, I am wrong there, lb must be a sccret, ^for it is almost a family U1:Ltel' sa l' H not mention it." But vou will! You will!" cried Mat gatet, vehemently. I'll not have any secrets kepu uom me. Now promise me, conceal nothing from me. ai-ii pru. ebnee itself, though I am a woman. I must blOW every 1 Have you not yet learned to tiust me ?" rdr.'Lled by her earnestness and vehemence, for whica he iind no cause, lie replied that he had trusted her w'uh w. at was most dear to him. il(t(I liG- ii')t, ia nr ivire, placed his diughter's happiness in her hands 1 Yoa have," fhc replied, "and I hope you will live to the day that you put such trust in iiie. There, now; you called me an enigma a moment ago. Think nil. one if you like, but you will know better by and by, and you will find there's method in my madness. I tell you t' at as you value what you have intrusted me with you nutst hide nothing from me." Seeing still some signs of irresolution in him, she stamped her foot im- paticntlv, and said, I should not expect even Mr. Nathan to tr eat me as you are treating me, and there would be an excuse for him, while there's none for you, for lie belongs to a still-necked race. You are a thousand times worse than hr. I ask you a,, you trust a woman who loves you as I do ?" lIe was overcome by her torrent of word?. You will have your way, I see. I yield." New you are sensible again. Well, chen, as you were (lee, young gentleman has been giving his father deep cause for anxiety lately. A love affair, of course I You are a witch, Magraret," said ír, Hart, ad- miringly. You see, I know things without being told. Go on." It seem v, my dear, that young Gerald has entangled hlmself ill s :mc way; that is to say, he has entertained some sort of a fancy for a young girl far below him in station-" Stop Are these your words, or your friend's ? My friend's." I am glad to hear that. Some sort of a fancy, indeed, for a girl below him in station I Oh, if I But go on, go on "And in every way unworthy of our Gerald—" His words again ?" His words again." Wait a moment—let me get my breath." Margaret, indeed, required time to cool herself. Had Mr. Weston witnessed her condition, he would have said, « This young person I thought so charming has certainly an ungovernable temper." She turned presently to Mr. Hart, and bade him proceed. "But, fortunately," continued Mr. Hart, much per. plexed by Margaret's proceedings, the little affair ha* some to an end by the sudden disappearance of the young "^Indeed The little affair has come to an end, has it Pray did your friend mention the name of the young i idy ?" He doesn't know it, Margaret. In consequence of some warm words used by his father, the young scape, grace wouldn't disclose her name. They had a bit of a uuarrel over it. Lat me bring her to you,' said young Oerald and you will see that she is goodness and mod- esty itself.' The father flatly refused to see her. In that case,' said Gerald, I will not even mention her name to you unless you consent to receive her here as your daughter. # Bravo, young Gerald," cried Margaret, with nods of" approval; bravo I begin to like you. If you were here, I would throw my arms round your neck, and i kiss you." Mr. Hart stared at her Margaret laughed at him. I- You think I am going out of my senses, I dare say. But your story isn't finished yet." Yes, it is the sudden disappearance of the young Luly finishes it." It isn't finished, I say," said Margaret, gaily "it is only the end of the first chapter, and is to be continued in our next. Shall I turn ever the page ?" Well, you are right, Margaret; it isn't finished. There's the other young lady to be brought into the story." "The other young hely," exclaimcd Margaret. "Oh, the Don J nan "You don't understand. I mean the young lady the father intends Gerald to marry. A young lady of for- tune, with great family influence, and I don't know what all. But putting her out of the question-" c, Put her out, by all moans. I'll see to that. A young lady of fortune, indeed "There i3 something still I have not told you. My old friend asked for my opinion as to whether he had acted rightly." Which opinion, interrupted Margaret, eagerly and vivaciously, "you didn't give." "I did, in one way. He put it to me in this fashion < Gerald,' he said, 'say that it was your daughter' -hc was only putting a sUpposltitious case, Margaret say that it was your daughter my boy had fallen in love with, or taken a fancy to, I am sure you would not allow her to receive his attentions against the wishes of his father [ am sure you would not alloy. her to many him unless he obtained his father's consent." Wei!, Margaret, know- ing that all my old friend's hopes and aspirations are bound up in his boy, and knowing that my Lucy's happiness was not involved in this imaginary case (see how selfish we old fathers are, my dear f), I said that I certainly would not allow my daughter to marry his son without his consent." (( Margaret threw up her arms iu dismay. xou said that!" she cried. Yes, my dear. He rather pressed me for an answer, and I gave it in decided terms, to soothe him, for he was much agitated. What is the meaning of that expression in your face, Margaret ? For Heaven's sake, don t torturo me any longer with mystery He turned from her with quivering lips and moistened eyes as he made this appeal.. I don't want to torture you," exclaimed Margaret; but I can't help my wee telling what is in my heart- that is, when I'm taken off my guard, as I am at this moment. Whv, oh why, did you give that promise Why did I let you out of my sight ? No man is fit to be trusted alone—no man, no man. If I hadn't left my Philip's side on that fatal night we should have been to- gether to-day. My darling my dailiiig 1" Her tears began to flow here, but she checked them sternly, and said, I mustn't wander. I have something else to think of-omething else to do. I have to repay you for all your goodness to me and him, and if a living woman can do it, I will. Courage, Margaret, courage. Set your wits to work, and prove yourself a match for the wily old woiidiing." She paced to and fro in her excitement, and Mr. Hart waited with gnawing impatience for an ex- planation. She gave it him presently. Listen. This girl for whom your old friends son entertains some sort of a fancy—" Yes ves, Margaret." « And who is far below him in station, and in every way unworthy of him Ves, yes go on." "Is roar daughter Lucy. Is our darling girl Lucy, whose heart has been very nearly broken because she feared her lover had deserted her." CHAPTER X. THE THEORY OF FRIENDSHIP. Margaret was not prepared for the manner in which her words were received by Mr. Hart. She thought he would have been dismayed and staggered at the dis- closure, and she was ready to comfort him, and instil coinage into him. But the radiant face that met, her eyes astonished her. Why then," cried Mr. Hart, with oright looks and in a blithe tone, all is well-all is well. If your news is true-" "It is true," she said, in calm wonderment "they are together now. I ca-ne to the door to keep guard, so that no one should disturb them." Then am I the happiest man and the happiest father in Christendom Why, Margaret, if I had been asked which man in all the wide world 1 should wish my daughtei to marry, I should Felect the very man who has won her heart God bless them Now, indeed, my mind is at rest, and I care not what happens to me. My business with the world is over. All is well with Lucy. We shall see the roses on her cheeks again, my dear- we shall Kiss me, Margaret, and wish me joy." She kept him back with her hand, and in her eyes dwelt a look ia which pity and admiration were equally blcii'.ted. It is my turn now," she said, "to ask for an ex- planation." An explanation of what, my dear ? Is not every thing as clear as the noonday sun, as bright as this beautiful day ? Ah, it is a good world, a good world Thank God for it, and for the happiness this day has br"Igwouhlbe ungenerous to pretend to misunderstand vou said Margaret, in a gentle tone. You think there are' no difficulties in the way o £ Lucy's union with Gerald." „«, Think he cxclaimed, in a reproachful tone. JNay, am I not sure that matters could not have turned out more happily 1 Difficulties, my dear child What difficulties ? Here are we two old aen who pledged our faith to each other when we were young- who ex c'tan^ed vows—who- were and are the most faithful of friends-who, if circumstances had not parted us, would have walked hand in hand through life, cheering, con- soling, encouraging each other. There is no envy in our friendship, and r.o selfish feeling mars it. How often in my wanderings have I thought of him ? How often have I lived the old days over again, and recalled themcmo- rV,'of happy times we spent together? Margaret, I'think that even loy.? pa?»^e?ore the beauty qt a faifhful friendship. There is .CJlheciilng holy in it; it is a pure sentiment, fit for the hearts of angels. You can not con. ceive what comfort and consolation the mere memory of the friendship between me and Richard_ Weston has brought to me- it has brightened hours winch otherwise would have been very dark. And now, when we are old m„u aft'i" so long a parting, are so slrangeiy re- miitad', our children fall in love with each other One might almost say it is the reward of faithfulness. So spoke this old man, whom the world's trials and disatv^intm^ni s had been unable to sour, And Margaret felt- humbled and abashed as she listened to this noble v. rl ovnl ^5 she listened she debated within hcrelf whethcr she should plunge the dajrger of doubt iU'We shSl change places,she said; "you are younger A, J T „ri 0ld calculating, unbelieving; you are i ffni Ah if men aud women were all fite'roll how much better and happier the world would i in „cn r"-Mtce for iov, I see cause for EOI- \Vl>°cre vcu believe, I doubt.' Your heart is like a I f where fresh flowers are always grow- bank of sweet moss here n fr x nig; mine is a heat tot nmu more every day that I know you." Pleasant words to hear, dear child but you shall not „ Twill not have you speak in tf".™ Y« r St >v».;k y°™selfB0°' this sad ku-jiour, for aiy to L«o, < j me there is sweetness m lite tot you ing your great sorrow. All is c.ear sai i g now. Lucy and Gerald will marry, louw g Silver Flagon, and take your proper place as ^■1)> daughter and we shall all live pleasantly oge • "How happy I should be if things turned u [ way exclaimed Margaret, having now re.soivcd vip ii ln»" Pinr^e of action "'But in the meantime you will not toke the helm out of my hands. ) am still captain, and I'll have no nrntiueering. So I give Not a word of what we have said must pass your lips, nor must you speak upon this subject to any person but me for at least a for: night from this day. But why, my clear, why "I willllot be que3tionetl; I want to make surc the stake i3 a s-rious one, and we must not ruu the risk of Sg I/acting Least oi all -I I»» whisper word to old Mr. Weston." • You mistrust him, Margaret; I can seo thau clcaily but you are mistaken in him." 111 fervently hope I may be. At all events, I have made up my mind to be obeyed in this matter. Let things work their wav naturally. "But 'if Gerald or his father speaks to me about LU«ThIt will alter the case entirely; then you will act ac- °°ItRequired? however, a great deal of Margaret before Mr. Hart would agree to her stipulators BuUnthe end she had ber way, as most women have W Later2the dav^M^rgS said to Mr. Weston, You do not know, I suppose, that we met an oW friend almost on the first day of our arrival in Plymouth No he replied, "I have not heard of it. We did and Mr. Ilart has business with him every night for two or three weeks, which will deprive us of his society from seven o'clock every evening. That is a pity, isn't it ?" -ii V.A Yes," said Mr. Weston, but your presence will ba some compensation." ■, "That is a very gallant speech. Upon my word, I thiuk only old gentlemen know how to pay a graceful compliment to a lady." In this way she tickled Mr. Weston's vanity, and con- trived to account for Mr. Hart's absence during the night without disclosing the cause. Margaret, indeed, was in her element, and every moment of her time was busily occupied, now in wheedling Mr. Weston, now in screen- ing the proceedings of Lucy and Gerald from the old gentleman's observation. I am the watch-dog," she said to herself. She waited for a fitting opportunity to speak to Gerald privately about Lucy, and also concerning another matter the letter which poor Philip had given into the charge of Mr. Hart, and which she had requested him to give her. An hour with Gerald had made a wonderful change in Lucy all her sadness was gone, and the joy of her heart was reflected in her face. She introduced Gerald to Mar- garet, and said, i- • \0,1,1 mus^ hn'e her, Gerald. She is my dearest friend. Do you hear, sir?" cried Margaret, merrilr "you are to love me." 03 j ) j „ n_°k be difficult to do that," he replied, after what. Lucy has told me about you. But how wonderful all this is. I have not yet recovered from my astonishment. "Luc{>" sajd Margaret, "will you spare Gerald for to him1" 1 haV<! S°methi"S VCIT particular to say Lucy smiled an assent, and Margaret, taking Gerald's aim, bade him lead her somewhere where they could flirt undisturbed. He led her to a retired part of the gardens. r No one will disturo us here," he said, wondering what this strange young lady could have to say to him. If he had entertained any idea that she was serious in asking him to flirt with her, he was soon undeceived. They were no sooner alone than all her light manner vanished, and a sad expression caifte into her face. I am going to confide a secret to you," she said; I may, with confidence, may I not ? What I say to you now you will not speak of without my per- mission? J A Certainly not, if You wish it," he replied, wondering more and more. t & She paused for a moment, to master the emotion she expeilenced at the very thought of Philip, of whom she was about to speak. "Don't think my questions strange," she said, you will soon understand them. You hav^ been to college?" Yes." At Cambridge.' "Yes." You had friends there ?"' Yes." (jelily thoiie fricnds was there one who left sud- dcnly lie caught her hand. Of whom do you ppeak ? I had a friend who went from u. suddenly—a frLnd whom I loved more than all others." "Oh, my heart! Nay, do not mind me. Speak his name. l Philip llotve Good heavens what have I said ?" (rr-; f and, amidst her tears and h 1 f t n'1'! J:lt i,rlove(! Maine, she kept fast li l f Wul that ^:Sht leave her ana call tor assistance. it" £ .,Eha111f bfttei; P^sently. Ah, Philip, my darling! £ VP I" C,eraW> and often spoke of you with tears. a&ctiou' "be could not piececd for her "JJ"as your husband » he echoed. He is (but-my darling, your friend, is dead Keep close to me I shalisoonbe welL And you loved him moie than all the others .Bless you for saying it. But Jn hv -«!? i p fring tIlat 1!0ble heart' 1 v«iU you rV." ^eSG W01'ils between us arc in sacred confidcucc until I unseal your lips. They were both too aflected to speak for several letter which had liven into Mr. ILlrt's charge, He opene.1 it in her Hungering to' Plulips writing, .he looked over There was no writing Gerald drew cut a. packet of bank-notes which he held in his hand with a bewil- dered air. They looked at each other for ¡;1 explana- tion. "1 Nay, it is you that must unriddle it," said Mar- garet. He counted the notes they amounted to a large sum, four hundred pounds. Marg,ret saw, by a sudden flash ill Gerald's et es, that he could explain the mystery After much Persuasion he told her briefly that when ho x t^-U- PfVC1f ,°° ft^e together he had signed bills for Phiup for four hundred pounds, which he had to pay. "My Philip repays you now," said Margaret, in a grateful tone And yet when I spoke of him you used no word of reproach toward him others to whom he might have owed the money would not have been so for bearing. 1 "A6- 8aid Gerald, "and I lo\ed him Poor dear I lnlip i" She took hand aml kissed it; then she thought of Lucy. kissed it; then she thought of Lucy. • << ri°W Tl1? to,sPeak you about Lucy," she u If your rather knew that it was the daughter of his oldest friend you loved, would he give his consent to your engagement V The words in which he answered her were a sufficient confirmation of tier fears. I can marry without my father s consent. The voice of Mr. Weston himself, who bad approached them unseen, suddenly broke up their conference. "Don't lose your heart to him," said the old gentleman to Mar- garet; lie hasn't one to give you in return. See how the rascal blushes <( was making love to him," said Margaret, archly; but as you tell me it is of no use, I had better emplov my time more profitably." And she took the old gentleman's arm, and straight war commenced to flirt with him in the most ou tragcou., manner. (To be continued.)

THE LATE MR. THOMAS MATTHEWS.

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