Mordont was a very grand woman; her parties, when she condescended to give one, were magnificent affairs. Of course it would not do to offend "my lady" by not accepting her kind invitation, still less to appear unsuitably dressed. Unfortunately, we had no chests of rare yellow laces and exquisite old silks to bring forward on this important occasion, story-book fashion.

Ett had been blessed in some remote period with a lovely blue silk; we turned, brushed, and cut it low in the neck (I never saw a prettier neck than Ett's, so white, with cunning little dimples in the plump shoulders), and covered it with fairy puffs of white tulle. It was completely modernized. I don't believe even one imagined that lovely evening dress to be, at least, ten years old.

"Now, girlie," said mamma, flushed and pleased with our marvellous success, "what will you wear?"

"My white muslin; nothing else, is there? And as an original finish you can tack on a card labelled 'sweet simplicity.""

In spite of my sarcasm the dress looked fresh and cool, with its tiny fluted ruffles, and the neck trimmed with rich old lace.

"My lady" sent her carriage. We went in state. Mrs. Mordont had several friends up from the city, and to my unsophisticated eyes the ladies seemed to be all trains and shoulders.

At Mrs. Mordont's I first met Bur Eaton, just through college, handsome as Adonis when Venus proved him. The acquaintance was followed rapidly up, and I was soon in that laud of Beulah called courtship.

Three months passed, and one evening Bur slipped the flashing diamonds on my plump forefinger, and I promised to become his wife in the fall. "That is," I had said, half laughing, "if I don't find some one I like better." And Bur had clasped my hands tightly, telling me never to come back to him "my vows forgot, my faith forswore."

I did not stop to analyze my heart, but thought it rather delightful to have an agreeable young gentleman completely at my service. And last, but not least, we were going to Europe-Europe, that land of my dreams! The last of May we received a letter from my Aunt Sherwood, desiring one of us to come and spend a morth with her.

"It must be you;" and mamma placed her plump hand on my dark braids. "My girlie must get back her roses before she leaves the old home nest for the flight over the water."

So it was decided that I should spend a month way up among the granite hills. One morning I found myself on board the express train eastward bound. Directly in front of me sat a fat red-faced woman, trying to quiet a struggling baby. I never saw such contortions, or heard such horrible howls and unearthly screams as that baby uttered. I tried to read, but gave up in despair, and resigned myself to my fate. After an eight hours' ride the conductor screamed “Earlton" in an angry voice, as if such a little out-of-the-way place was a personal affront.

As I had not stated on what day I should arrive, there was no one at the station to meet me. I took a seat in the rambling 'bus, and ten minutes after was deposited in front of a brown house.

I walked slowly up the clear gravel walk, and concluded aunt must be fond of flowers. Why, it was flowers, flowers, flowers! Wherever a rose could climb, wherever a flowering shrub could grow, there it was. I knocked several times, but no one answered my summons. In some of the upper regions I could hear a bell ringing ferociously. I opened the hall door, and walked up the staircase in the direction of that frantic bell. Everything was old and dingy, the upper hall had no carpet, and the wall paper looked as if it had been on since the year one.

"Who is there ?" asked a faint voice. I pushed open a half-closed door. "My dear aunt!" I exclaimed, as, with outstretched hands, I walked hastily up to a plump figure reposing in an invalid's chair.

"Don't! You annoy me." I felt as if I had been suddenly dipped in cold water. "I presume you are my sister's daughter Rosamond? Pray remove your hat and be seated."

I thought her rather cool, but concluded to make the best of it, so I sat down and surveyed the room.

Yon crushed brilliant summer blossoms in the mosslike carpet. A great bay window was filled with beautiful flowering plants. It did not seem possible that this luxurious room could belong to the house.

On a little round table at my aunt's side stood a fragile bubble-like glass, and a slender-necked bottle filled with golden wine, that sparkled and glowed like imprisoned sunshine, a basket of delicious fruit, and some fragrant flowers. My aunt suddenly opened her eyes.

"I presume you can make herb tea, and attend to the sick?"

"I will do my best. How long have you been ill?"

"Ill! Why, for years! Some chronic disease; never expect to get well." And aunt looked as if she rather enjoyed the situation. "I should think," reproachfully, "you could have visited me before." I respectfully hinted that our letters had not been answered.

"Robert wished to write, but I would not allow it; wanted to write myself. Dreadful bore-letter-writing!"

There was a slow step on the stairs.

"The doctor whispered my aunt, suddenly becoming limp, gasping, and opening her mouth.

I grasped the fan, fully confident aunt was going into a fit.

"How are we to-day, eh?" And the white-headed doctor eyed aunt in an odd

manner.

"Poorly, poorly!" sighed aunt.

"Your niece, madam?" nodding his head toward me.

"Yes. I am glad she is here; Robert has been so negligent!""

The doctor looked savage.

"You have one of the best sons God ever made!" he exclaimed, testily. "Young lady, just step down to the parlor with me." I followed him down to the shabby little parlor.

"Well, young lady, what do you think of your aunt ?"

I sagely replied I was not prepared to say. "Well, I am; she is just about as much sick as a cat's foot!"

"Goodness!" I exclaimed, in my aston

ishment.

"It's the truth." And he went to mopping his face with a huge handkerchief. "She had all the doctors in creationtaken barrels of patent medicine! All under the heavens she needs is fresh air and exercise! Got one of the best sons that ever the Lord made-should think she would torment the life out of him. Most dreadful woman I ever saw!"

I sat and stared in helpless astonishment. "Do you know anything?" he suddenly inquired.

I glared. He had evidently taken me for an idiot.

"I guess you do." And he grinned in a very amiable manner. "Thought I'd better tell you, so you would know how to take your aunt's nonsense. She has got an awful temper-terrible! But you must stay just as long as you can-do lots of good, if you are strong and will use common sense. Son always shabby good-tempered; takes after his father. Every child in the town loves him, every man and woman respects the pastor. It's too bad, too bad! I'd do anything I could for the poor boy." And the doctor sighed and stared at me helplessly.

Just then the bell rang frantically. I darted up stairs, the doctor trudged off.

I started down the stairs, and met,a gentleman coming up. He looked at me curiously, and doffed his hat with a polite "good-evening."

66

Why, Robert, is it possible you are so forgetful?" I exclaimed, laughing.

"Can this be the little curly-headed Rosamond I saw ten years ago?" looking at me flushed and eager.

"Of course it is, you foolish boy!" And I laughed, blushed, and tried to choke down the lump in my throat, as I looked at his tired eyes and the odd little wrinkles interlacing his forehead, and the threadbare clothes.

"Why, you have not been to your room!" looking at my dusty travelling-dress. "Come, let me show you the way."

66 Not-not just now, if you please; I am going to make aunt some cream toast and chocolate."

His face flushed.

"Do you go to your room immediately!" And with a playful show of authority he led me to the door.

I brushed my hair, bathed my grimy face and hands, donned a cool dress, and descended to the kitchen.

"Why, Robert, do the fairies help you?" I exclaimed, glancing admiringly at the

delicately browned toast, delicious poached eggs and fragrant chocolate.

"Of course they do!" And he laughed and reddened.

I had just finished my chocolate when I was summoned up to my aunt's room.

"I wish you to make me some herb tea, a mustard plaster, and I think I had better have a poultice for my left lung, and a hot footbath."

I started meekly down the stairs. "Rosamond," aunt called, "bring up

that

cure for all human ills,' the codliver oil box of pills, and the powders and -and- Well, perhaps that will do this time."

"Perhaps that would do!" I wondered what on earth my aunt was made of, and felt thankful that she was only my dear mamma's half sister.

Presently Robert and I went up laden with cups, bottles, plasters, poultices, and goodness only knows what. The herb tea was too cold, the footbath too hot, the poultice too thick, the plaster too thin, the pills bitter, and the "cure for all human ills" nasty-it certainly looked nasty enough.

All trials and tribulations must end sometime, and at last aunt was deposited safe in bed, much to my delight.

I never could have endured the next month without Robert. "I was up stairs, and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber." O, the horrible messes that I stewed up under my aunt's directions! At the end of the month I excelled in making herb tea and plasters. The parlor rejoiced in a pretty new carpet, cool white curtains, and a few pictures. Robert had lost the old tired look, and the ugly little wrinkles were fast disappearing. The last evening of my visit, the doctor came driving up with his prancing bays.

"Young lady, march and get your hat! You and Robert are going for a drive."

I meekly obeyed, and Robert and I were soon rolling over the smooth country road, past cool farmhouses and through fragrant lanes. Robert was unusually silent, and I lightly shook the ribbons.

"Gently, gently, Rosamond!" exclaimed Robert.

But it was too late; the high-mettled bays plunged madly down the rocky hill, and upset the light buggy. For the first time in my life I fainted. When I re

turned to consciousness I was tightly clasped in Robert's arms.

"Robert Sherwood, are you crazy?" I exclaimed.

"I couldn't help it, you looked so white and still! And I love you! O my darling!"

"Let me go-let me go! Don't you know that I am engaged to be married?" "O Rosamond!"

"I am. This is my ring;" holding it up rebukefully.

"Forgive me, Rosamond; I did not think of such a thing. You will not be angry with me?" wishfully.

"No, you foolish boy!"

We went silently home in the purple twilight.

The next morning I went back to B―. I found mamina and Ett deep in the charming mystery of my wedding trousseau. Nothing satisfied me; I really think I missed my daily pilgrimage up and down stairs.

One evening Ett had been reading "Owen Meredith," in her sweet low voice, and I sat dreaming over the words:

46

"My thinking of her, or the music's strain,
Or something which never will be expressed,
Has brought her back from the grave again,
With the jasmine in her breast.

She is not dead, and she is not wed!

But she loves me now, and she loved me then; And the very first words that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again.

But O, the smell of that jasmine flower!
And O, that music and O, the way
That voice rang out from the donjon tower,
'Non ti seordar di me!
'Non ti seordar di me!"

A boy came hastily up the walk with a brown envelop in his hand.

"Despatch, ma'am!" And he gave it to

mamma.

O, the merciless brevity of that telegram!

"R. Sherwood died this morning. Funeral three o'clock Thursday."

The room seemed to dance. I would not-I must not faint. With dry lips I whispered," He is dead, he is dead-dead!" I stared at the horrible flowers on mamma's fan; there never was, never would be, such impossible roses. The lamp danced, and all the ugly ugly little carved griffins on the piano sang or seemed to sing the words Ett had read but a moment before.

"And I think in the lives of most women and men,

There is a moment when all would run smooth

and even,

If the dead could only find out when

To come back and be forgiven."

"Poor

"Ett," I could hear mamma say, “you and I must go to-morrow morning. Ruby; how she will miss him!"

They go-they go to my dead darling! Never! a thousand times never!

"I must go, mamma. I shall know just what to do. Aunt Ruby will want me."

Mamma demurred at first, but presently concluded I should go, and alone.

That night I sent Bur Eaton back his diamonds. I could never marry him, I felt. The next evening I alighted at Earlton; the train had been delayed, and I walked swiftly through the purple dusk to Aunt Ruby's home.

I went up the walk into the little hall. The parlor door was open, and I could see

a bowed figure sitting at the window. "Aunt! O, Aunt Ruby!" I gasped.

The figure started up, tall-so tall! Was it, could it be? The next moment I had both arms clasped around Robert's neck.

"O, I thought you were dead-dead!" sobbing and clinging to him.

"Rosamond, my darling, what do you mean?" clasping me close, so close to his warm beating heart.

"That-that horrible-horrible tele

gram!"

"Yes, I sent that horrible telegram, young lady," chuckled the doctor's voice in the doorway. "Thought it would bring you."

Poor Aunt Ruby was dead; she had ruptured a blood-vessel the morning before.

Two days after the funeral Robert accompanied me home, and in the golden October 1 was married, and the sun never looked on a happier bride.

I.

"MOTHER dear, I've something to say to you. Promise to hear it patiently and indulgently," said little Winnie Lermont, dropping down upon one knee beside the easy-chair in which a pale weary-looking invalid was sitting, her head propped up with pillows, and her eyes closed drearily.

The thin white hand crept fondly to the graceful head, and smoothed tenderly the fluffy waves of silky brown hair.

"Am I such an ogre that you are afraid to tell me your little troubles, Winnie? Do you need my promise of indulgence?" Mrs. Lermont asked, with a shade of gentle reproach in her low voice.

"Ah, mother dear, but this is something startling-revolutionary. I never essayed anything so bold and daring before."

And the girl still kept an averted face, though nestling her head more closely to the caressing hand.

"Harry Warner has asked for my one treasure. He will take you away from me!" cried out Mrs. Lermont, a stabbing inward pang sending its sharpness to her voice. "O Winnie, Winnie, that will be a revolution indeed!"

Winnie's cheek, and what could be seen of the face pressed close against her mother's lap, crimsoned to a fiery hue beneath the impetuous tide that came surging from her heart, but she answered, hastily and proudly:

"Now you have flown very wide indeed from the mark, mother mine. Harry Warner has made no such demand. He never will, and if he were inclined, I should not listen to him."

The invalid could not restrain a deep sigh of relief, yet she returned, in an anxious tone:

"I hope you have not quarrelled with Harry, Winnie. I should be sorry to have my daughter vex by any idle caprice so kind a friend as young Warner has been."

Winnie was silent; perhaps, however, the crimsoned cheek and downcast eye answered better than her tongue could have done.

"You have quarrelled with Harry," said Mrs. Lermont, decidedly. "That accounts for the restlessness and perturbation I have noticed in you for the last few days. Little Winnie, I am afraid you have been a very foolish girl.”

Winnie flung back her head with a by no means ungraceful air of proud disdain, and laughed nervously as she returned, in a tone of forced gayety:

"Then it must be because my wise mamma has permitted herself to think up such foolish ideas, and I have caught the contagion. But, I assure you, I have been meaning to be very wise, and earnest, and grave. And if you have seen any signs of agitation, it but foretells the eruption and revolution of which I began to tell you. Hear it now, please, without any irrelevant talk."

"You are very much in earnest, Winnie, though you try to hide it under a gay tone. I see it now. Tell it, whatever it may be, my child, tell it fearlessly."

Winnie lifted her face now, and turned her eyes frankly to meet her mother's searching look.

"Mamma," she faltered, "I want your consent to my accepting Mrs. Aspinwall's offer to take me as governess for her children. Miss Simpson leaves next month, and they will give me the chance if I decide this week."

Mrs. Lermont's face showed her dismay and surprise, and she exclaimed, incoherently:

"As a governess! you, Winnie Lermont! Your father's daughter! Indeed, indeed! this would be a revolution indeed!"

Poor Winnie bit her lips fiercely to hide their tremor. She kept a brave face, though her heart was aching grievously.

"It seems the best thing, considering everything, the very best thing that I can look for," she went on, firmly. “I shall have a moderate salary, and my boarding expenses saved. They are kind people, and will not abuse me. And there is no gentleman cousin, brother or son, such as usually makes the tribulations of a governess's life in the story books. That is the bright part of it. The dark part is— and O, it makes me shudder like a coward to think of it!-that I must be separated from you. O mamma, mamma, keep up my courage! help me to bear it cheerfully, for indeed it is the only alternative before us!"

And she suddenly seized her mother's hands, and covered them with passionate kisses.

Mrs. Lermont's face was convulsed with a spasm of grief. The few words hinted,

but more the look on her daughter's face, had given her a sudden and swift revelation.

"Winnie, my poor child, have you been bearing your load of grief and care alone? Do you mean that all our money is gone? My sickness has made me heedless. I am afraid I have been wickedly extravagant. Winnie, is it to earn money that you must go?" she asked, bitterly.

"Yes, mamma," answered Winnie, wiping her drenched eyes, and smiling again, bravely, "that is the long and short of it. But indeed it's not so dreadful a bugbear as one thinks. It is only that I am such a baby about leaving you. But we must manage frequent meetings, and make the most of them. And it will be such a comfort to know you are getting well and strong up in that grand mountain air. O my darling mother! when you were so ill, and I thought 1 might lose you, every other trouble was light and trivial. We must have you well and strong again; then perhaps we shall be able to manage to have a home once more."

"This must be given up, then ?" said Mrs. Lermont, in a low voice.

Her daughter flung her arms tenderly about her.

"I have hid it from you as long as I could. O mamma, bear it bravely! For my sake, and poor little Ned's, keep up a stout heart. Dear mother, promise me you will not let it retard your recovery, or I shall reproach myself for telling you."

"You need not do that, Winnifred. I see plainly what a heroine you have been. You have kept a cheery face in my sickroom, bearing all this anxiety in silence. My dear child, I hope I am not so weak as to shirk my share now. Tell me the whole situation plainly, how our affairs stand. Are we badly in debt?"

"Not in debt yet, mother. There I am my father's daughter truly. While you were so very sick-those terrible weeks of doubt and trembling-I gave little heed, and had in Susan Weeks to help, and she ordered what she pleased. I was aghast when I learned how much the grocer's bill and the butcher's account came to. But I did not hesitate about what should be done. I let Mr. Jones have my piano, and I took Ned away from the academy."

"Your piano gone! O my poor Winnie!" groaned Mrs. Lermont.