The Merthyr Express

fOETS CORNER. TO MY OLD WIFE. And come ye East or come ye West, Or oe'r the seas, my Sadie, There's not your like in all the land, My little love. my lady. Your eyes like speedwells wet. with dew, Your smile sweet as the morning, In,- The colour flushing in your cheeks, The pink of dog-rose scorning. A sea of green m that dear June, Now brindled patches cover, The fields where walked this many yeary My lass with me, her lover. But in our hearts no frost has come, Nor fears we wintry weather, In fields where we, for forty years, Have walked, we two, together. THE FLORAL MESSENGER. A single rose is all I send, Yet will it say for me; "A thought lies deep in every lea4 Of joy that is to be." And though this little rose may face, A fragrance 'twill exhale, And sing to you a song so sweet Of love that will not fail. So now this little fragrant flow'r Upon its errand goes. Oh, may it tell what's in my heart! "Good-bye, dear little rose!" ONLY PHYLLIS. In my grandmother's garret. I remember years ago, ,When I was but a little chap, of six, or seven, or eo, An oaken chest, both deep and wide, In whose capacious black inside I did my childish treasures hide, That none might see, Save Phyllis, bless her heart, aged five; She held the key. My odds and ends I now must guard in more exposed places. The good old chest now overflows with sheets and pillowcases. But in my heart, down buried deep, A priceless treasure still I keep, .Where prying folk may come and peep, But nothing see, Save Phyllis, bless her heart, aged-well-- She holds the key.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABBAXGBMENT. The Road to Love BY MADAME ALBANESI, Author of "Capricious Caroline," "The Strongest of All Things," "Susannah and One Other," "Lov* and Louisa," "The Way to Win,' etc., etc. COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XVII. When Miriam went upstairs to her room El- len went with her- She was, however, dismissed. "You had better go back; Evelyn may want you," she was told. So she went downstairs again, and for about an hour she and Varley and Lady Evelyn r-t talking most naturally and pleasantly. news from Lord Norchester's room was mdet gratifying He was sleeping peacefully, and liio mother was Jess anxious. Richard Varley frcJIy said "good-night" to the two girls, and th-,y went upstairs together. Lady Evelyn slipped her arm round Ellen's waist, and gave a l-ttle sigh as they progressed towards her room. I feel tired," she confessed. "It has been Such an exciting day. How I should have got through without you, Ellen, I don't know, dear! I hope you won't think I'm gushing too much," Lady Evelyn added the next mo- ment. "but really and truly I do care for you, Ellen; I've always wanted a sister, especially of late. It would have made such a difference in my life. You are just the kind of sister I should like to have had." She kissed Ellen as she spoke, and Ellen re- turned her kiss. "If you think I doubt your words," she said, "you are very much mistaken. I am sure that you are in earnest; sure, too, that we shall be friends. If it means so much to you how much more does it mean to me? For I lost everything when daddy died." They stood a while at the bend of the stair- ease, and they made plans for the next morn- ing. "Mother never leaves her room till quite late, and I suppose she will be with Harry all day. Could you get up quite early, and come for a walk. I want to show you all the places I like best in the grounds. Miriam will not want you quite early, will she ?' "I never know when Lady Norchester will want me," Ellen answered, ",ihe changes her arrangements every day; but if I can come I will." Lady Evelyn induced Ellen to stay a while Wth her in her sitting-room. "I hear that you have been occupying these rooms," she said. "I feel so mean turning you out and yet I am so glad to be back in them. I can almost pretend that I have never been away from Wynche. Don't hurry unless you are very tired. Look what a beautiful night it is! Let us sit here by the window and I watch the moon—shining through the trees. Aren't they beautiful trees? I don't believe there are such trees anywhere else in the world to beautiful as these dear old trees at Wynche." They ensoonced themselves in two chairs, and were as happy as possible, when suddenly the door was burst open, and Miriam appeared. She had taken off her white gown, her hair was rough, and she wore one of her old soiled robos. "I have come to see if you have everything you want," she said. Her voice was rough, her manner rough, too. Lady Evelyn got up very quickly. She was startled; something about Miriam made her nervous. "Oh, thank you," she said, "I have every- thing. It is very lovely here. How good of you to have kept my rooms untouched all this time. I was just telling Ellen when I am here it &ecms as if I had never been away. Miriam laughed. "And I suppose you have been thanking dear Ellen! Miss Milner, why are you not in your room? When you left me just now you told tne you would be going to bed directly." Ellen winced. "I am going to bed," she said, "I only came here because-" "LJmow perfectly well why you came here," said Miriam, "because you want to sit and talk about me and—and make fun of me! If any- body stays with Evelyn and talks to her I am the person to do that!" Ellen dared not look at Lady Evelyn. It was e moment of real suffering with her; but with ready tact she made as little as possible of the dlfiiculty; with a smile she held out her hand to Lady Evelyn. "I am afraid I have been keeping you up, t-nd you must be very tired. Please forgive rre. Good night. Good night, once more, Lady Norchester." She did not stretch out her hand to Miriam. but moved easily across to the door and passed out. As she went Miriam stood looking very fixedly •t Lady Evelyn. "I don't want no strangers coming between you and me," she said. "Now that you are

on time. I Grape-Nuts I porridge. I Serve direct from paeket with H E cream or milk (hot or cold), 8 -uw

FUN AND FANCY. The ivorld will not listen to a very young man because he is usually ignorant, or a very old one because he is usually selfish. Mrs. Gramerey What do we need for din- ner ?—Bridget: Shure, mum, I tripped over a rug. an' we need a new set of dishes. "ilenry," said Mrs. Peck, "I am going to get a bicycle." "Dear me," said Mr. Peck mildly. "Isn't one man enough for you to run over?" "My eyes bother me a good deal, doctor. Do you think I need stronger glasses?" "No; I think you need weaker glasses—and fewer," was the blunt reply. "Are you waiting for me, she said, coming downstairs at last, fixing her hat. "Waiting?" exclaimed tho impatient man. "No; not waiting—sojourning." "Say, grandpa, make a noise like a frog," coaxeo. little Tommy. "What for, my son?" "Why, papa says that when you croak we'll get five thousand dollars." She: "Told me he could live on bread and cheese and kisses."—Friend: "What then?"— She: "I found out that he expected papa to furnish the bread and cheese." Mrs. Stubb: "This paper says that an Ox- ford M.A. is blacking shoes in Bradford." Mr Stubbs: "Gracious! That proves that a man with a college education is of some use after An American newspaper says:—"We have re- ceived a notice of marriage for insertion to which was appended the original announce- ment 'Sweethearts at a distance please accept this intimation.' Minister- "Yes, I will have pleasure in chris- tening the child, Donald. But in rejoicing over this worldly blessing, I hope you haven't for- gotten the spirit!" Donald "Not a wee bit, parson. I brought twa bottles of whisky home last night." "Hullo, old man," exclaimed Dubley at the Literary Circle reception; "it's a pleasant sur- prise to meet you here." "Good of you to say so, old chap," replied Brown. "Yes; you see, I was afraid I wouldn't find anybody but bright and cultured people here." "I am surprised, Bobby," said his father, re- provingly, "that you should strike your little brother Don't you know that it is cowardly to hit one smaller than yourself?" "Then why do you hit me, father?" inquired the boy, with an air of having the better of it. "Look here, you critter," exclaimed a Ho- boken man the other night, as he brought his hand down on the place where a mosquito sat, "do you take me for a lunch-counter?" The mosquito, by this time sitting on the far side of the room, was very respectful and made no re- ply- Bobby: "I've been an awful good boy since I started going to Sunday-school, haven't I?" Mother: "Yes, dear, you've been very good indeed." Bobby: "And you don't distrust me any more, do you?" Mother: "No, dear." Bobby: "Then, why do you continue to hide the pie?" "When I was in Paris," said a certain noble lord, "I had a dancing-master to whose instruc- tion I did small credit. The man was very civil, and, on taking leave of him, I asked him if I could be of any service to him in London. 'Yes, milor,' said he, bowing. 'I should take it as a particular favour if your lordship would never tell any one of whom you have learned to dance." The rattling of silver spoons awakened the lady in the dead of night. "Who's there?" she cried, as she leaned over the Balustrade, and peered down into the darkness. "Who's there? And what are you doing in my house at this hour?" The stranger in the dining- room replied with startling candour: "Bill Sikes, ma'am, at your service." And, gathering as much of the latter as he could, he fled has- tily. A man who was sent to gaol recently for three days for a minor offence was, the "Glas- gow News" states, greatly impressed with the precautions taken to prevent the prisoners en- gaging in conversation. There seemed to be a warder everywhere, and no one was allowed to utter a word. On the Sunday he was in the church. The Psalm given was the Old Hund- redth. Beside him were two old "goal-birds," and instead of the orthodox words, beginning "All people that on earth do dwell," this pair sang a hymn of their own, in conversational style, which went something as follows: First convict sings:— "How long are you in for? I am doing sixty days. I nearly broke a copper's jaw; Sing low or else they'll maybe hear." Second convict replies: "You are a lucky pie-can. I've got twel-elve months to eerve; Tried to break into a house; Some'dy must have gi'en me away.' By this method they exchanged histories during the singing.—"Westminster Gazette."

FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS. A SOLDIER BOY Five years ago Mrs. Jones's house was as quiet as a mouse, because Mrs. Jones and Mr. Jones and Bridget were the only inmates. But new! There is Percy Jones, and while he is a very little chap with yellow curls and big blue eyes, he loves noise and fuss and play, and the Jones's nursery is constantly in such a com- motion that an outsider would really imagine there was war going on there. Perhaps, if the outsider would take a peep into that nursery he would see the necessary articles for warfare, for there, strewn on the nursery floor, is a whole regiment of soldiers, while Percy, rigged out in a newspaper outfit of soldier cap, belt, and epaulettes, is strutting the floor, waving his papa's cane high in the air. "All attention!" he crtet. "Shoulder arms! Forward march!" and in marches his mother, with a tray on which are cakes and milk, and Percy becomes a little boy again, who is eager for a "party." bang! bang! go the tin soldiers all over the floor, as Percy rushes to his mother's side. "Where is the general?" asks Mrs. Jones, as Percy settled himself at her knee. "I's tired of playing soldiers, please, muv- ver; may I be your own plain little boy?" And mamma, with a smile, sings her baby boy to sleep. A LITTLE ACT OF KINDNESS. A white man who lived in a part of America where many Red Indians were encamped once made a small present to an Indian woman. It was only a very poor gift, and very likely he soon forgot all about it, but the Indian woman did not forget it, and some time afterwards she was able to pay back that white man for his kindness. For one day the bad Red Indians who lived in tha.t part of the country decided to kill all the white men they could find, so that they could get all the white men's property and goods. When the Indian woman heard of this she told the white man. the one who had given her the little present, about it, and, taking him into her tent, she hid him beneath a lot of skins in a corner. All the white men .in the district were killed, but the one whom the In- dian woman hid in her tent was able to es- capt.

USE BOOT POLlSR- 1

FOR MATRON AND MAID. START THE WEEK WELL. Keep ahead of your work, whether you are a home woman or a business woman. The one who makes a success of things works regularly, not spa<!llodiully. *and she never deludes her. soit by the beFef that she is justified in taking things easy to-day because after a good night's rest or a change in the weather she can work with double energy on the morrow. One busi ness woman who makes it a rule to keep ahead of her work, on being asksd to lunch on a Monday, shook her head "Make it any other day in the week and come with pleamre, but on Monday I stick hard ac it except for a short brisk waik and a quick lunch by mvself. If we go to lunch together, we are very likely I to dawdle, and I'm a bit superstitious about Monday If I do not accomplish a lot that day and start the week right, everything goes wronir the other five davF. If I have a Monday big in results, somehow the whole week is big." This is one worker's experience. Keep ahead of your work is evidently her motto. NOVELTIES OF FASHION. Pretty little waist-belts with bows and tassels at the back come with lacy gowns for mid- summer. Spotted net, glinting occasionally with jewels, is seen on dinner frocks. Huge hats are draped and hung with lace veils. Flounces of lace a.re found on some thin summer skirts. Three rows of roses encircling the crown of a. leghorn hat is the full trimming. Gold net like a wide-meshed wire netting crinkles around some hat forms lacked with wide ribbon. White chiffon hats of the beefeater style carry two rows of big jet beads. Coarse straw hats of creamy tint are trimmed with ribbons of blue and dead pink roees. Sleeves that are lace at the top, laco below the elbow, and showing rather a. full puff of soft material between are seen in Paris. Long plain linen or tussore silk coats some- times have bands of embroidery down cither side, back and front. Similar trimming also extends the length of the arm, and the single button for fastening is a fancy one. The coat slashed at the sides and laced to- gether with betasselled ribbon is still seen. Among effective and up-to-date combinations of colouring are a strong blue and a dead ame- thyst shade of purple. In new linens appear copper shades, cachou, tilloul. and French and powder grays. Dark tobacco and a delicate champagne serce are trying to rival the ever-attractive and fash- ionable dark blue. SHINE BEST AT HOME. Away from home people are generallv "on parade," the real character is always more or less concealed, and the influence of that char- acter more or (ess diverted by the effort to make one's better self prominent. In the home we are our true unaffected selves, and our real influence upon others has fullest play. And it is in the home that we are with tr10se who are. dearest to us, and upon whom we would like our influence alwavs to be for the best. Yet how often do we let our unworthiest selves crop out there, because at home we are loved and "understood," and know that faults will be overlooked and forgiven ? This is true enough, but that fact does not undo the harm that the influence of these fail- ures is sure to work. The home really deserves the best. THE CHILDREN'S CHUMS. The wise mother will allow her girls and boys to bring their young companions in at any time, no matter how it may "get on her nerves. She will always be prepared for the great truest at the family table, always have the bedroom ready for the "chum" to be made ,weloome if occasion suggests it. She will not consider the matter as trouble- some in the least. The girls and boys who arc less fortunate than her own will look up to her with love and reverence, will come to her with their small troubles, and she will receive her reward in the sweet, tender companionship of the youthful friends of her loved brood. TEACH YOUNG ONES TO HELP Children often are unjustly punished by their unconscious parents. Injustice in punishment is always a result of impatience due to physical fatigue or mental anxiety. Many trifling of- fences on the part of the children, which could be overlooked when the home conditions were favourable, become fuel for the ill-humour of grown-ups of the household. If the boy slams the door when mother or father is suffering from an aching head, the act may seem an affront, but he didn't mean it; it was just the noisy natural act of a regular boy, and the best way to rebuke him is to call him to your side and tell him of your pain and suffering, and ask him to keep the house quiet. He will go away proud and important with his responsibility and your confidence, instead of with a bruised and smarting sense of injustice I that will be the result of sharp words. THE LAUGHING CURE. Laugh and bo well is the new science. It teaches its followers what they have to do if they are afflicted with that baneful disease- nerves: that if they wish to regain health they must "Iau".h regularly every day, laugh until the tears run down the cheeks." When one is suffering from a severe attack of nerves, it is not the easiest thing in the world to laugh, yet the doctor who is pushing forward the laughing cure says that one can so school their risibilities to the point that they a.re able at command to break forth into peals of laughter. What the nerves require when they a.re run down, no matter from what cause, is good, wholesome laughter, and what the tired body and sluggish organisms need is the exercise you get when you laugh from the bottom of your heart. For a good, deep laugh you have to use vour lungs, and the sooner you acquire the habit of laughter, the sooner the battle over tho nerves is won. POEMS OF THE PROSAIC. Some time, perhaps, when poets are putting aside thouirhta of the Woman Decorative, they will sing some song of the Woman Prosaic. It is she who keeps the whole machinery of every- day life in running order. This field of sub- jects is new and as yet unworked, though tho matter is varied and eminentJy proper. Get away from the tradition that physical beauty is the onlv theme. and it is not difficult to behold in tha unromantic work of head and hands a beauty that is far beyond all bodily charms. HINTS FOR THE HOME. To Clean Straw Hats.—Mix two tablespoon- fuls of flowers of sulphur with the juice of a lemon and apply to the hat with a stiff nail brush. Rinse in cold water and hang in the shade to dry. Mackerel.—Wash clean, stuff with veal stuf- fing, and bake three-quarters of an hour in hot oven with 1 oz. of butter.—Take a. large mackerel, stuff in the same way, then enfold in a suet crust. Tie tightly in a cloth and boil well for an hour. Very good and cheap. Souffle Pudding.—Beat 2 oz. of fresh butter to a. crea.m, add to it 3 oz. of castor augar, 3 oz. of fine pastry flour, two well-beaten egge, and one pint of milk, beating all the time. Fla- vour with vanilla essence, pour into a greased fancy piedish, place in a good quick oven and cook for half an hour. Green Butter.—Nice for sandwiches. Two ounces parsley boiled till tender, one small tin of sardines skinned and boned, i lb. fresh but- ter. Well strain the parsley and pound and mix all well together. Pass through a fine sieve,. press into the shape of cream cheese and keep in a. cool place till wanted. Bath Buns.—Rub £ lb. of butter into 1 lb. of flour, add four beaten-up egg3 and a glassful of yeast. Set this before the fire to rise, then add 4 oz. of sifted sugar and a, few caraway seeds. Mould the paste into the shape of buns, strew a, few sugared caraways over the top, and bake them on tins in a fairly hot oven. Feather Cake.—Five oz. of flour, 5 oz. oi castor sugar, 3 oz. of butter, two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, two eggs. Melt the butter, mix the flour, sugar, and baking powder, then add tho butter, beat the eggs well, and add them with two tablespoonfuls of milk. Bake in a, shallow tin. When baked cover with icing sugar and sprinkle cocoanut over it and cut into squares. Brown Bread.—This can be made from pure wheaten flour coarsely ground, or from a mix- ture of wheat barley and rye flour, in the pro- portion of two pounds of good wheaten flour to one of each of the others. Oatmeal may bo substituted for the barley flour, or added to the barley rye in the proportion of one-third. When making brown bread use a larger quan- tity of yeast and less water than for white, and knead for an hour. Brandy Pudding (original).—Line a pudding mould with stoned raisins a.nd sponge cakes (cut into slices), next to which put ratafias and macaroons, then a layer of raisins and a layer of sponge cakes, ratafias and macaroons in sue- cession, until the mould is full, sprinkle it at times with two glasses of brandy and 1 oz. su- gar: beat four whole eggs, add to them a pinch of almond milk, the grated peel of half a lemon and half a grated nutmeg; pour into the mould. Let the liquid sink into the solid part; then put tho lid of the mould tightly on, and boil it for half an hour, the right side up. This pudding is much liked.

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back here I want you to treat me as your I sister. If I ain good enough to be Harry's wife, I am good enough to be your sister." In an instant all the delight and happiness which had crowded Evelyn Wvnch's heart wis blotted out. She saw before her difficulties which she had never realised till now. She saw, too, the impossibility of ever shaping this woman to play a real part in the drama of her life. Lady Evelyn lacked that depth of sympathy which brought to Ellen the pathetic side of Miriam's character. She only realised those things which were so obvious; she only saw the ugly; and there was coldness in her voice as she answered Miriam: "I think you are making a mistake. You— must not expect too much. and you are quite wrong to imagine that Miss Milner stands be- tween us; on the contrary. If you are gJlld to Me me here, then you ought to bo grateful to Ellen, for it is very largely through her that this has come about." Miriam caught her breath, and her heart beat wildly As Lady Evelyn turned away from her. as she heard that cold, haughty voice she shivered. "Oh! don't be angry, if you could only know what it means to me to have you hfOa.r! If you only kneiv how—how miserable I have been!" She'drew a little neareT, nnd she stretched out her hands. "Dcaau forgive me, and give me a kiss," she said, hoarsely. Lady Evelyn put, her hand to her forehead. "I am *erv tired," she said, wearily. "Of course—of course, I forgive you. I don't want to quarrel." "Then kite mf," said Miriam, her voice still a littlo hoars*. "Kiss mc a* you ki.ssed lior on the stairs just how. I—I MW von. Why should she have your lovo and your kisses &ó\d I get nothing?" It was a new situation for Lady Eveiyr, and it roused in her a sense of anger which was not normal with her: but to cut short a painful scene she played a part. "I beg of you not to think foolish things," she said, trying to speak lightly, ".[—there is nothing to be jealous about in my friendship for Miss Milner It does not affect my feeiing for you. How could it,? If I did not wish to lie friends with you, Miriam, it is hardly likely that I should have been so eager to come back here. This—this excitement will do you no good." Lady Evelyn added, "I think you ought to go to bed; let us say 'good-night. She went forward and held out her hand, but she made no effort to kiss Miriam, and the other woman stared at her for an instant, and then turning sharply on her heel, roughly, almost wildly, she raJI out of the room, and as she went she banged the door violently after her. Lady Evelyn stood a moment and i/rembled just a little (for in truth there had been some- thing savage about Miriam's expression); then with a little sigh she crossed the room and turned the key in the lock. "Perhaps, after all," she said to herself, slowly, "mother was right, and it would have been better not to have come here." CHAPTER XVIII. Back in London, Richard Varley plunged himself into the arrears of his work. He was kept very late at his office, but he was rather glad of the extraordinary stress of business, since it prevented the possibility of too much thought, and there was one subject of thought which had grown to be both a delight and a trouble to him. It might be truthfully said that there was scarcely an hour of the day in which Richard Varley did not ponder the subject of Ellen Milner. Each time t-hat he saw her she grew dearer and sweeter to him. He had charg- ed himself with very delicately instituting cer- tain inquiries about her family, for though he now recognised to the full how valuable her services were at Wynche, he yet never ceased to deprecate the necessity for the girl to accept such a position as she now held. Somehow, it was a happiness to him to feel that he might in this far-off way take upon himself the duties which her father would have done. The thought of her father indeed mingled very closely with 1 this thought of Ellen. He had been irresistibly drawn to Sir Patrick, and had rendered full homage to the charm of Ellen's father. He recognised in Ellen herself this same charm, but he found in her qualities which, he could shrewedly guess, had been lacking in Sir Pat- rick. That brief interview with Walter Bar- neith had left Varley uneasy, he had taken the measure of the other man very shrewdly. and ho had eummed him up as pre-eminently undesirable. That such a man would do his best to worry Ellen was a pretty sure fact. He only hoped that she would at all times confide in him when any such difficulty as this should arise. As a matter of fact, one morning about a week after the Dowager Lady Norchester and lxer daughter had gone to Wynche, Varley's clerk, brought him the information that a young lady wished to speak to him. "A young lady!" said Varloy. and be frown- ed sharply. "Ask her name;" but as the clerk was leaving the room he stopped him. "No, never mind—show her up." He was standing with out-stretched hand when Ellen was announced. "I guessed it was you," he said; "some tn- stinct, I suppose, must have told me that you were here." Then he queried quickly: "What has brought you to London? Is anything wrong? When did you come?" "I left early this morning. Nothing is wrong. I am here on a personal matter," Ellen said. "I—I do not know how to act in a certain diffi- culty, and I thought I would ask your advice." Sit down," said Varley, and he pushed for- ward the one comfortable in the room. Then he laughed "Don't look: round every- thing is dusty and dirty, we are too busy here to keep up a reputation for neatness." He spoke almost gaily, in fact, his pulses were thrilling at sight of her. He was thinking how -veet the girl looked. It was a hot day, and Ellen had put on a white gown. She wore a black hat, and she had on a black belt round her slim waist. These and other little touches denoted the mourning that she always wore, but though she was so plainly and so simply dressed shje was very lovely. Her stay at Wynche had brought back the colour to her cheeks; under her bather beautiful hair gleamed like gold; she had grown from a girl into a young woman. There was a certain gravity in her de- meanour, which gave her the suggestion of be- ing older than she was. "Do you know, I believe I can guess why you have come," said Varley. "It is about your cousin, Mr Barneith, isn't it?" Ellen nodded her head with a look of surprise, and asked: "How did you guess?" "Well, I am a. little quick at reading char- acter, and Mr. Barneith is not a difficult pro- blem to solve. What does he want 1" "He wants two things," said Ellen; "money and a wife; and he expects me to provide him with both." Quite involuntarily Varley bit his lip, and his hands lying on his knee clenched themselves to- gether for an instant: then he said "He is modest! On what ground does he ask you for money ?" "He wishes to live," said Ellen, "and for some strange reason he seems to fancy I can help him." Richard Varley laughed, then he leant for- ward. "Has he seriously proposed marriage to you?" There was just a. little gleam of amusement in Ellen's eyes. "Yes," she said, "it is too ridiculous, isn't it?" If Varley had spoken the words which trem- bled on his lips they would have been of a very different significance. For an instant he I did not answer Ellen, then he said: "What do you wish to do?" Ellen's smile faded, and her eyes looked trou- bled. "I don't know wha.t to do," the said. "I don't want to be bard; I know Walter has had a great deal that is depressing avd trying in his life, and I can't forget that his motnei^was mv own mother's sister; but my own position does not permit me to do very much for him." "Miss Milner," said Varley, "you must put out of your mind once for all any suggestion of giving your cousin any material help. In the first place he is a. man, he must work for him- self in the second there are various reasons for declining to-assist him." Ellen nodded her head. She sat looking thoughtfully out of the window for a moment, then she said, with a little colour in her cheeks: "I have grown to regard you as a person who can smooth out most troubles," she said, "and I that is really what brought me to you to-day, but after all, I have no right to expect you to be bothered with my small affairs." There was restraint in Varley's manner as be answered: "I feel honoured and glad that you have come to me. What have you in your mind?" "I wondered,"»eaid Ellen, "if you could know of any sort of post which Walter could fill. I don't really know what he is capable of doing; but I fancy that he has ha.d a. fair education and perhaps if he had a chance She paused. "I will do my best," said Varley, with his ready and delightful smile. "I don't say that I shall succeed, because it is not easy to find lucrative posts for young men of Mr. Barneith's stamp; but I will try;" then he spoke about herself. "You know every now and then," he said, "I continue to reproach myself for having sent you to Wynche. I must once again entreat you to promise that if you at any time find the position very trying, you will let me know at once. You have been most successful, but your success has not been brought about easily." "Since Lady Evelyn has come," Ellen said, "everything is so very different for me; al- though," she said this reluctantly, "although I am afraid that Lady Norchester is just a lit- tle bit inclined to be jealous of our friendship; at least that first night of Lady Evelyn's arrival, she certainly showed signs of objecting to any- thing like intimacy between Lacly Evelyn arid myself. During this last week, however, since she has been permitted to take her share in I nursing her husband, things have been alto- gether better." "I am told that Harry is mending rapidly," Varley said, and then he laughed. "It was A clever move on his part, for now whatever hap- pens in the future he has broken down the high- est and the strongest barrier. He has brought his mother to Wynche; he has forced her to receive his wife; I feel less nervous for the future." "Miriam and Lady Norohpster meet rarely," Ellen said; "and to tell you the Irut' Mr. Varley, there are moments when I »ro j awfmly anxious. Miriam's temper ia her one I great danger. You soe she really has no con- fidence, no belief in any living creature." ¡ "Surely she does not doubt you?" "Oh! yes, she doubts me, she is always a little suspicious of me. I have done my best to let her feel that I am absolutely loyal to her, and that my only aim in remaining at Wynche is to be of real service to her; but sometimes Ellen did not finish her speech—she rose. "I am afraid I have taken up too much of your time, Mr. Varley," she said, "I must go." "Are you returning at once?" She shook her head. "No; I want to see Mrs. Chadwick, and I want if I can to -0 down to my own hoIT.c, it is a long time since I saw my father's grave. I asked Lady Norchester's permission to have this day to myself, and she very kindly gave it to me." "It is a long and trying journey," said Varley "I wonder—I wonder if you would let me corne with you? I-I don't exactly like to think o" you travelling about the country by yourself." Sho laughed a little at this.. "Oh! but you know, Mr. Varley, I a.on a very independent person, and I have to take care of myself." She stretched out her hand. "I don't think I shall let you come," she said. "I am not afraid of being alone." Richard Varley took her hand in both of his tenderly and then the passion in his heart found expression in words, almost unconsciously. "Only to sorve you," he said, "Only to do some little thing," he broke off, and with a great effort restrained himself; then he said: "Shall I take you downstairs, have you got a cab? I think you had better have a cab," he added. He had reverted entirely to his old easy man- ner, and with a sigh of relief Ellen followed suit. "I walked here," she said. "I a.m not afraid of walking." "No. but you have so much to do to-day. Mrs. Chadwick ought to take you out, and give you somn lunch." As they stood in the door- way whilst ho whistled for a cab, he said: "I supper you havon't soon Harry yet?" EJI en ebo"k head. "No. I—I tuc afraid I am a little nervous of seeing him." "Are you, why?" "I am afraid he must hare resented my very frank criticism." said Varley, "frank criticism is just what Harry needs." He put carefully in the cab, and held out his hand a little nervously; but Ellen slip- ped hora into it, and looked liim franklv in the eyes. "It was very good of you to wish to come with me. Mr a Vrley," she said. "Please don't think it unkind of me if I don't accept your offer. I hope I shall see you again very soon. When are vou coming to Wynche?" "I shall be down in a day or two. Good-bye don't get tired; remember you have & long way to go." She smiled at him, and as the cab moved away she realised that she was sorry to leave him. In this. moment, she realised more than this, she knew that Richard Varley stood in her life now for something that was both strong and dear. She was deeply grateful to him for his consideration and his tender thought, and the knowledge that he loved her moved her deeply. Further than this she would not let herself go; it would be a matter over which she would ponder for many a. day. She paid a flying visit to Mrs. Chadwick, and then took herself out to the old places and went on her pilgrimage to her father's grave. She had shrouded her face with a thick veil, and she avoided going through the village or even to t he Rectory. She did not want to be recognised. Though she was brave and strong yet this iourney exhausted her. When she was in the train travelling back to Wynche she could do nothing but lie back in the carriage, and try to get some rest for her aching head, some solace for her aching heart. When she alighted on the platform of the small station, to her surprise she was greeted by Lady Evelyn. "We were getting so anxious," Lady Evelyn explained. "I have met three trains already and oh Ellen, dear, you look so ill! Fortu- nately I came in the motor, and we shall be home directly." The tears which Ellen had kept back so stren- uously all the day flowed freely now. It was so sweet to lie back in the motor and have her hands held in Evelyn's, so sweet to feel that there was some ono full of anxious thought for her. Truly if she had lost so much, much had also been given to her. Lady Evelyn whispered ail the news of the day. "Our great excitement has been Harry's com- ing down. He suddenly appeared, said he wa-s quite all right; he even took his arm out of the sling. Of course mother was terribly anxious, but I do really think he is ever so much better,' Ellen." "I am glad," said Ellen, in a low voice. Then she asked for Miriam. In the dusk Evelyn's face could not be seen, but there was an ominous hesitation before she answered • "I am sorry you were not there to-day," she said. "tbing3-things have not gone very well. Mother, of course, will never understand Miriam; but you are not goine: to be worried to-night, darling," Evelyn added quickly. "I am going to take you upstairs, and put you to bed myself. I have had my orders," she added with a little laugh, and then she explained fur- ther. "I had a teleeram this afternoon from Dick. He told me that you were going to your old Jo and that he was afraid you would be very tired, and he hoped that I would look after you." I Ellen said nothing, for it was not easy to I speak, and in a. little while the motor had stooped and she was back at Wynche. I The big doors were flung open widely, and the servants came hurrying forward. Some one else came towards the door. Evelyn ad- dressed this somebody by name. "Here she is, Harry, back again safe and sound; at least she is back again, but I am afraid she is not very sound, because she is fearfully tired. Lord Norchester held out his hand. "I am very glad to see you, Miss Milner," he said. "My sister has been in a kind of a fever; she thought you were lost altogether when you disappeared this morning. I hope you are not really very tired," Norchester added. "I was very tired," Ellen answered, "but now—now I am better." She spoke with some confusion, and she was conscious also of another feeling, a touch of contrition. She was so sorry she had spoken those harsh words; now that she was face to face with him she felt again tha.t charm of his personality, which she had realised so surely the first time they had met. He looked so young, he had such sweetness in his smile, euch delightful eyes. It was hard to reconcile this vision of youth with all the complications, the difficulties and the misunderstandings which his marriage signified. "I am going to take her straight upstairs," said Lady Evelyn, "and I am going to make her go to bed." But her brother contradicted this. "I want Miss Milner to come downstairs again," he said. "We are going to have dinner together, and after dinner I want some music. A little bird has told me that Miss Milner Bings like an angel." "Harry, dear," said Lady Evelyn, "you mustn't ask for musio to-night." "Mustn't I?" queried the young man, but he did not look at his sister, he looked at Ellen. And with that hot colour in her cheeks, Ellen answerod: "I shall be delighted to sing if you wish it. Lord Norchester." As the two girls went upstairs Lord Nor- chester stood and looked after them. There was a little frown on his face, he was frowning at himself. "I say. that sounded as if I had given her an order," he mused. "What rot! as if I should order her about. I leave that sort of thing to Miriam." The pleasant expression which had lit up his face when he had been speaking to Ellen faded away, and a moody troubled one came in its place. Despite Lady Evelyn's protestations, Ellen in- sisted upon dressing and going down to dinner. Before doing this, however, she made her way to Miriam's room. At the first glance she realised that Lady Evelyn had not given her the full truth. Miriam was at her very worst. She looked sullen and untidy. Her eyes were red, she was crouching up on a sofa, and did not move as the girl entered. "I hope you have not wanted me," Ellen said. "I am so sorry to have been away so long. I had to wait about so much for trains." "I haven't missed you," said Miriam, "and I don't want you," she added. As Ellen re- mained standing near her, she added: "I tell you I don't want you." "I am sorry," Ellen paused a moment, then said very gently: "I came hoping that you would want me. I was so eager to tell you how glad I am to know that Lord Norchester is so much better. He is dining downstairs; what gown are you going to wear?" "I am not coming down," said Miriam. Ellen's lips trembled. "Dear Lady Norchester," she said. "Don't be cross with me." Miriam flounced round from the sofa to her feet. and faced Ellen. "Go out of this room," she said, "unless you want me to tell you things you won't care to hear." Ellen's heart sank. "If I go out of this room," she said, "that means that you are sending me away alto- gether." But Miriam laughed a harsh laugh. "Oh, no, it doesn't, and you know that very well. "You've got them all. I'm not the per- son in authority; and if yon do go away from here you'll take Evelyn with you." A sigh broke from Ellen's lips. She had had a very trying, a very sad day, she was not 80 strong as she usually was. Tears rushed down her cheeks, she turned to go, but Miriam seiz- ed her by the arm. "What are you crying for?" she asked. "I am crying because you are so very unkind, and unjust, too." cry on, then," said Miriam, "and then p,-o down and show your eyes to the others. They'll kiss the tears away." I "Dear Lady Norchester," she said, "you are paying very wronp things; you know why I left you to-day. I-I went to see my nrave. Oh! if- was not a H'fY happy visit, and I was so glad to get back here. I have been so rlad i'or mauj things OH your account this we-ekt". 1 "You have been to see your father's grave," she said, "what luck for you! My father will never dIe. It is no use your saymg, 'Hush,' sho added, passionately. "If it's wicked, I don't care. We have had a big scene to-day, Hiirry and me; all about my wretched father. Harry thinks that I keep him here. Why, I'd give everything I've got in the world if only go away It's cruel to me to have him hprl\ my very gates, drinking and disgracing ine." "1 wonder if I can help you," said Ellen. "Dear Lady Norchester, do dress and come downstairs, and to-night after dinner you shall tell me just what you think can be arranged, and I will see what I can do." Miriam looked at her keenly. "Yes, you're clever enough," she said "Per- haps you could do something; but I don't want to come downstairs. It's all w stiff and stuck i up, and I'm sure to make mistakes, and then TTarry will look wretched, and the servants will laugn." "Nothing of the sort will happen," said El- len, ",y01\ only imagme that you make mis- takes. No one can look more beautiful than you, and I want Lord Norchcster to see you looking your very bed. This is a. great occasion, you know—you must do honour to it." And once again her influence had sway. To- gether the maid and she dressed Miria.m. The masses of wonderful hair were picturesquely arranged, and Ellen chose this time a black dinner gown. In the gleaming sheath-like folds of this gown Miriam's figure looked superb, and Ellen pinned a cluster of dark red roses in the front of the corsage, and then on impulse put a cluster also at the side of Miriam's head. "You are beautiful," she said. "Come and look at yourself." She led her to the long giass, and with a laugh Miriam glanced a.t her reflection, and then turned away. As Ellen followed her into the sitting room, there was a little knock at the door, and almost immediately Lord Norchestor entered. "J came to bring you this old comb, Minam," he said. "I picked it up in Normandy It struck me you would like it, and I think it will suit you." Ellen's heart was beating aimost wildly There was something extremely pathetic to her in the way in which Miriam looked at her hus- band, in the eager way in which her hands went out to receive his gift. "Let me put it in your hair now, Lady Nor- chester," she said. "It will go splendidly" She pushed Miria.m down into a chair, gently and deftly she put the quaint old comb into the dark wavy hair. "Oh, it is lovely!" she said. "What a charm- ine thing! Lord Norchester, don't you think it looks lovely?" "Yes, quite lovely," saia Ncrchestcr in a low voice. Miriam had risen, and was looking at her- self in the mirror over the mantelpiece, but as he said this the young man was n >t looking at the comb in his wife's hair, he was looking instead at Ellen Milner. (To be continued.)