Genre Romance. Page - 8

ger whether they were beauties or not. The Misses Gresham were made in the de Courcy mould, and were not on this account the less dear to their mother.The two eldest, Augusta and Beatrice, lived, and were apparently likely to live. The four next faded and died one after another--all in the same sad year--and were laid in the neat, new cemetery at Torquay. Then came a pair, born at one birth, weak, delicate, frail little flowers, with dark hair and dark eyes, and thin, long, pale faces, with

n purple ink beneath the name and address of Mynheer van Urutius ... that was all.My heart sank with disappointment and wretchedness as I read the inscription. Here is the document: * * * * * Herr Willem van Urutius, Automobilgeschäft, Nymwegen. Alexandtr-Straat 81 bis. Berlin, Iten Juli, 16. O Eichenholz! O Eichenholz! Wie leer sind deine Blätter. Wie Achiles in dem Zelte. Wo zweie sich zanken Erfreut sich der Dritte. * * * * * (Translation.) Mr. Willem van Urutius, Automobile Agent, Nymwegen.

laugh from without seemed to answer my unasked question in the negative.But as well as the laugh I heard another sound--the tones of a sweet sad voice in despair coming across the room. "Oh, alone, alone! is there no human thing near me? No hope--no hope. I shall go mad--or die." The last words were spoken with a gasp. I tried to jump out of bed, but could not stir, my limbs were bound in sleep. The young girl's head fell suddenly back upon the pillow, and the limp-hanging jaw and

ess worse than death.Recognizing, therefore, that in this cultivated age a wall ofscepticism and cynicism is gradually being built up by intellectualthinkers of every nation against all that treats of the Supernaturaland Unseen, I am aware that my narration of the events I haverecently experienced will be read with incredulity. At a time whenthe great empire of the Christian Religion is being assailed, orpolitely ignored by governments and public speakers and teachers, Irealize to the fullest

st she see the deep red flood of shame which had suffused his face. Poor little skinny, homely, orphan kid, thrown out to buck the world for herself, and stopping in her first flight from injustice to help a stranger, only to have him think her a possible criminal! He was glad that his back twinged and his head throbbed; he ought to be kicked out into the ditch and left to die there for harboring such thoughts.He was a cur, and she--hang it! There was something appealing about her in spite of

d by no means avoided her noble relatives, nor did she at all avoid Alice Vavasor. When in London she was persevering in her visits to Queen Anne Street, though she considered herself, nobody knew why, not to be on speaking terms with Mr Vavasor. And she strove hard to produce an intimacy between Alice and her noble relatives--such an intimacy as that which she herself enjoyed;--an intimacy which gave her a footing in their houses but no footing in their hearts, or even in their habits. But all