Genre Romance. Page - 12

icture had flashed across her brain, and there were two figures in it sitting together under a great trailing wisteria that stretched across the branches of a tree she didn't know, and it was herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot--she saw them--she saw them. And behind them, bright in sunshine, were old grey walls--the mediaeval castle --she saw it--they were there . . .She therefore stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot and did not hear a word she said. And Mrs. Arbuthnot stared too at Mrs. Wilkins, arrested by the

m, andjudged them with the contemptuous lucidity of nearly twentyyears of dependence. But at the present moment her animositywas diminished not only by the softening effect of love but bythe fact that she had got out of those very people more--yes,ever so much more--than she and Nick, in their hours of mostreckless planning, had ever dared to hope for."After all, we owe them this!" she mused. Her husband, lost in the drowsy beatitude of the hour, had notrepeated his question; but she

miled slowly, showing a row of very white, strong teeth."I know, auntie," she said. "No; I shouldn't think Laurie'll mind much. Perhaps he'll go back to town in the morning, too." "No, my dear, he's staying till Thursday." * * * * * There fell again one of those pleasant silences that are possible in the country. Outside the garden, with the meadows beyond the village road, lay in that sweet September hush of sunlight and mellow color that seemed to embalm the

self as if I was cruel in going to be married and not helping you. It ain't kind. Now, is it kind, Poor Thing?""Sally! Hear me, my dear. My entreaty is for no help in the future. It applies to what is past. It is only to be told in two words." "There! This is worse and worse," cries Sally, "supposing that I understand what two words you mean." "You do understand. What are the names they have given my poor baby? I ask no more than that. I have read of the

ll the knowledge of good and evil that God had perhaps given her, but that no one had ever thought of developing. I shall always remember her, as she passed along the boulevards almost every day at the same hour, accompanied by her mother as assiduously as a real mother might have accompanied her daughter. I was very young then, and ready to accept for myself the easy morality of the age. I remember, however, the contempt and disgust which awoke in me at the sight of this scandalous

new trail had not been noticed. It ran deep and well marked through the heavy brush of a gully to a place where the brush commenced to thin, and there it branched into a dozen dim trails that joined and blended with the old, well worn cattle paths of the hillside."Somebody's might foxy," observed the man; "but I don't see what it's all about. The days of cattle runners and bandits are over." "Just imagine!" exclaimed the girl. "A real mystery in our lazy, old

gish insect food that I felt the moment degrading.Kitty was, I felt, being a little too clever over it. "How is he wounded?" she asked. The caller traced a pattern on the carpet with her blunt toe. "I don't know how to put it; he's not exactly wounded. A shell burst--" "Concussion?" suggested Kitty. She answered with an odd glibness and humility, as though tendering us a term she had long brooded over without arriving at comprehension, and hoping that our superior

rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have