or privation. His boy would be an earl's grandson, not the half-starved child of a pauper-ah, a thousand times over it would be better if he were dead!

Why not die to them? He might live out the remnant of his days and yet be dead to wife and child. Let Evelyn, let the whole world believe that the dead man found in the river was Lionel Carteris. Let Lionel Carteris die to the world, to love, to happiness, to fame; let him thus expiate the reckless folly of his youth.

He went to the place where the drowned man's body lay; he heard the care-taker say that he must have been a poor relation of Lord Trenham's, for Lord Trenham's solicitor had given orders for a funeral at his lordship's expense, and in the cemetery at Finchley a plain stone was to be erected to the memory of Lionel Carteris, aged twenty-two. There was no one to lament over him-his young wife was breaking her heart far away in the stately castle at Trenham. Lionel's resolve was taken; henceforth he would be dead in life.

He went back to the park, and sat down stunned and dizzy. He had no money and no food. Presently a recruiting-sergeant, noting the fine manly figure and broad shoulders, came up, and began a glowing panegyric on military life. He was startled by the haggard young face that looked despairingly into his own.

"I am quite willing to enlist," said Lionel Carteris. "I am tired of life. If, as you say, your regiment is soon going to India, I will join it. Give me the shilling."

severity as to speak kindly of the man who had been her husband. He said that "poor Lionel" had great talents, a keen intellect, and rare wit, and that, had fortune favored him, he might have made his way in the world.

But as this, the old sorrow, began slowly to die away, a new one arose. The strange sad mutiny in India had broken out, and "The Queen's Own Rangers" were ordered thither at once.

No greater blow could have fallen upon Lord Trenham. His idolized son and heir, for whom he had saved and deprived himself of everything save the most needful things of this life-this son, upon whom the fortune of his house depended-was going to certain danger, if not to certain death.

Nothing could avert the blow. As an English gentleman and a man of honor, the young captain could not exchange or sell out when there was danger in view; yet, if he should meet his death, the long and noble line of the Trenhams would end, the estates pass to another family, and the title become extinct. Moreover, for this son, for the future of his race, had Lord Trenham endured a life of privation.

The young heir of Trenham had felt nothing but pity for his sister. He forgave her imprudent marriage; he said she had suffered enough when she told him how dearly she had loved Lionel in life, and how in death she loved his memory. He caressed her tenderly, and said she should not be teased about a second marriage, but should live with him.

The earl and his wife bade a sorrowful adieu to the brave and noble young officer, who longed to avenge the murderous wrongs inflicted on his countrymen. They saw him depart with heavy forebodings and anxious heart.

For many months they heard regularly from their son. He distinguished himself greatly in various actions with the mutineers, and the name of Trenham became a household word in England. At last a letter came that changed the course of many lives.

"You may kneel, dear ones, and thank Heaven for me that I still live," wrote Bertie. "The dying and the dead lie around me; yet I am saved-saved by the brave and daring heroism of a man who is as noble as he is courageous. But for him I should have been lying here, with the sun

beams falling upon my dead face; but for him the hand penning these lines would have been cold and still-the heart so full of gratitude to Heaven and to him, so full of love to you, would have ceased to beat. Under God I owe him my life. Let me tell you my story.

"On the eighteenth was fought a battle, of which you will all hear at home. Our regiment was ordered into action, and we had to pursue the enemy. The military details of my story will not interest you; they will be painted by a far more able hand.

"In the heat of the pursuit I rode somewhat ahead of my troop. Suddenly I found myself surrounded by Sepoys-death in their flaming eyes and dark faces. It seems to me now like a terrible ghostly dream.

"I fought my way with the desperation of a doomed man. Four of my enemies were disarmed and wounded; the fifth, by a sudden blow, forced my sword from my hand. I gave myself up for lust. He struck at me with a long sharp dagger; but it fell upon another breast. My life for his! I heard some one say. A man in hot haste had flung himself before me, and received the blow intended for me. I hardly knew that I was saved until I felt his warm blood flow over me; and my men, crowding round, raised him from the ground.

"I was wounded, sick and giddy, yet not so ill as to forget his words. My life for his.' Who was he? What had I done that he should give his life for mine?

"Take care of that man,' I said to Captain Reeve-' he has saved my life at the risk of his own.'

"He is dead,' said one of his comrades. But no-life still lingered, despite the horrible gaping wound.

"I remember no more for some days. When memory and sense both returned, my first thought was of the man who had offered his life for mine. He still lived, but Iris life hung upon a thread. I asked many questions about him. They told me his name was William Lawson, and that he enlisted more than a year ago. There was evidently some mystery about him, for he had the manners, the education, the refinement of a highbred gentleman. He spoke but little, and was fearlessly brave-brave even to recklessness-seeming to court rather than avoid death.

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time to walk and resume some of my old habits, Doctor Montrose came up to me. He told me that the man I had inquired so much about was dying, and that if I wished to thank him for saving my life I must see him that evening. It was growing dusk then, and I followed the surgeon. The poor fellow lay quite still upon his bed. I bent over him and whispered my thanks. I am no coward, but tears ran down my face as I saw the parched lips, noted the short quick breath, and knew that my life was purchased by his.

"Do not thank me,' he said, faintly; 'I owe a life to the Trenhams. I only give back what I once stole.""

"I thought he was delirious, yet there was something familiar in the tone of his voice. I bent still lower, and, as sure as I live to write the words, it was Lionel Carteris, my sister's husband. I called out his name in utter bewilderment, and a crimson flush covered his face.

"I did not think that you would know me,' he said. 'Months ago when danger surrounded us, I began to watch for an opportunity. I always meant to give you my life, in return for the blight and sorrow I had brought upon your sister.'

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"In a faint low voice he told me the story of the mistake that led to the belief in his death."

This story the heir of Trenham told in simple words, just as he had heard it from the white lips of Lionel Carteris.

"It was the simplest and saddest recital I ever heard," continued Bertie. "Round his neck the poor fellow wore a locket containing Evelyn's portrait, and one golden tress of her hair. He asked me to lay it on his heart when he should be dead, and let it be buried with him. Hot tears streamed forth from his eyes when he spoke to me of his child, he said that in his dreams he saw him and heard him speak. But he did not die. Though feeble and delicate, Lionel Carteris still lives, and we are coming home together."

The letter concluded with messages to all the loved ones at home, and said that before the end of May the writer hoped once more to see them.

There was enclosed from the heir of Trenham to his father a passionate appeal for pardon for Lionel.

"Will you grant it?" asked his wife,

"Yes," said the earl, in a tone of deep emotion; "I forgive him. He has won for himself a truer nobility than the mere ac-' cident of birth or title could have given him. He has sinned, but he has done a noble deed-such as only brave and noble men can do therefore I pardon him, and will take him home as I would my own son."

No words can tell the delight of the fair young wife, or the glee of the little prattling child. Weeks and days were anxiously counted; at last came the day which was to bring the travellers home. It was a beautiful evening towards the end of May when they arrived, and the golden sun shone upon no scene more beautiful than that of the fair loving wife weeping, half with pain, half with happiness, over the changed face of her husband.

Fortune has smiled upon the Trenhams. Bertie has married a great heiress, and her wealth brought ease and competence. There are no more privations; the castle of Trenham is celebrated throughout the county for its unbounded hospitality.

Lionel Carteris has almost reached the top of the ladder. Fame and wealth have done their best for him. Lady Evelyn Carteris is one of the most beautiful and popular women in London, and no one is so proud as she of her husband's fame.

Katherine Rainsforth never married. A beautiful painting of hers hangs in the gallery of the castle; it represents the incident of the mutiny described by Bertie Trenham-Lionel Carteris shielding Bertie Trenham from the thrust of a Sepoy's dagger. The earl calls Katherine a "Radical," for the picture bears the simple title of "True Nobility."

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MISS ELSIE BRUCE was walking down Ann Street. Just at a crossing a gentleman met her.

"Miss Bruce !"

"Mr. Weldon !"

She

Then he was about to pass on. paused in a dilemma, for she had several rolls of music in her hand, and the crossing was terribly muddy. What a splendid prospect for bedraggled skirts!

Rich Weldon saw her trouble. me," he said.

Permit

She gave the music into his hand, and was a happy woman again. Rich was very much rejoiced, glad to get an opportunity of assisting Miss Bruce. After the crossing was passed, he did not relinquish the music," but continued on by her side.

Miss Elsie turned from Ann to Pike Street. A block further up was her father's residence.

"Please come in, Mr. Weldon," she said, at the gate.

"Thank you, I believe I will go in for al short time," he said.

Miss Elsie ushered him into the parlor. "Excuse me for a moment," she said. She was gone but for a minute. As she was returning there was a ring at the en-'

trance.

She walked along the hall and opened the door, not waiting for a servant to do so. A tall young gentleman with a handsome face and figure was standing outside. Elsie blushed a little and bowed. The gentleman returned her bow.

In a moment Elsie had recovered from her embarrassment.

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'Do come in, Mr. Montague," she said. She took him to the parlor. As she showed him in there was a slight twinkle of mischief in her eye. The two gentlemen who were about to meet were rivals, as she was quite confident. Further, rivals for the regard of her own pretty self. They had never met before, either, she was certain.

"Mr. Weldon, Mr. Montague," she said." "Mr. Montague, Mr. Weldon."

Instinctively they bowed a little distrustfully to each other. Each saw a rival in the other, and a man does not feel comfortable where he beholds a trespasser on the peculiar domain that he hopes to call his

own.

For an hour or two the three sat and talked. Their subjects are of no particular importance to this narrative. Any one can imagine how heartily each of the gentlemen' wished the other absent, so that the subject

of conversation might be changed to something a little more confidential. At length, by a tacit understanding, they saw that they must depart together on this occasion. We all know that rivals never give way to each other.

Mr. Weldon and Mr. Montague arose, therefore, at the same time, and, followed by Miss Elsie, went out into the hall. As it chanced a pet parrot was hanging there in his cage.

Just as the hall door swung open he shrieked :

"Call again, Mr. Weldon."

Then before the sound had died away a very similar invitation rang out.

"Call again, Mr. Montague."

Miss Elsie laughed, blushed, and bowed the gentlemen out. Then she returned to that naughty parrot.

"You wicked Varcor," she cried, "aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Kiss me, Elsie," said the parrot, in a very pleading tone.

"O, you wicked Varcor, you shall hang here no more," cried Miss Elsie.

"Fie! Mr. Montague," returned Varcor. Elsie placed her hands to her ears and ran away laughing. She found a servant. "Take Varcor's cage and hang it up stairs at the back window."

Then Elsie suddenly bethought herself that she had better do that herself. And she did, keeping her hands upon her ears as long as she could. However, she heard a mingled muttering of comical sentences.

Out on the street, Mr. Weldon had walked down toward the east end of Pike Street. Mr. Montague up toward the west end.

"I shall call to-morrow afternoon," said Mr. Weldon to himself, "and ask her to marry me, for I find that I am desperately smitten."

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"To-morrow night I shall come and tell Elsie that I love her," thought Mr. Montague," and ask her to be my wife."

It is singular, perhaps, how a prospect of rivalry will hurry up men in some matters.

Punctual to time on the afternoon of the next day Mr. Weldon called again at the Bruce residence. He found Miss Elsie at home.

It is not necessary to dwell here. Mr. Weldon stammered around a while, as men usually do on such occasions, but finally managed to state his case.

cried Elsie, in a surprised tone. "I have never thought at all upon the subject, and must have time to consider." "How much?" he asked.

"O, a week."

Mr. Weldon groaned mentally. But the result was that he had to submit to delay. He took his leave, and Elsie sat thinking. Somehow, as she thought of his offer, the handsome face of Chester Montague came before her mind.

"I believe I could have answered this afternoon," she murmured. "Why should I delay ?" She left that question unanswered, however.

It was eight o'clock when Mr. Montague made his call on Pike Street. He, too, was lucky enough to find Miss Elsie at home. For an hour they talked on commonplace subjects. At length the man reached the subject next his heart.

"I love you, Miss Elsie," he said. "Will you be my wife ?" Elsie was silent.

He took her hand, and his eyes met hers. In an instant her answer trembled on her lips. Then a woman-like idea entered her brain.

"I will not be too easily won," she thought.

"Mr. Montague, I will give you your answer in a few days," she said aloud.

And he was too much of a gentleman to insist on having it sooner than it pleased her to give it.

It was the next morning that she called her papa into the parlor. Mr. Bruce was a strict church member, a little too strict in his doctrines, perhaps, but a high-toned honorable man.

"Papa," said Elsie, "I have two offers of marriage."

"Humph!" said Mr. Bruce. "Well?" "Mr. Weldon, and Mr. Montague. Papa, I want your advice."

"Well, my dear."

"He is a church member, and you know a consistent one."

Elsie had made a mistake, from this fact. She should have allowed her father to express no preference for Mr. Weldon before stating her arguments. In that case they would probably have been conclusive and convincing, especially the last. But if Mr. Bruce possessed one peculiarity above another it was that he was very stubborn. When once he had taken a "set," it was pretty hard to move him from it. So now he said:

"Elsie, I do not think I can give my cousent to your marrying Mr. Montague." And so the matter stood.

II.

MR. RICH WELDON was walking slowly along the street upon which his home was. Perhaps he was thinking of Elsie, perhaps of something else. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of a flock of men and boys behind him, who came running toward him. He turned around. Evidently the crowd were chasing something. But what? Weldon could not see at first. Presently his gaze, however, rested on a bird flying slowly along overhead. It was a parrot.

On flew the parrot, Mr. Weldon with others, following along after it. Shortly it lighted upon the sill of an open window. Now that open window was Mr. Weldon's own, and doubtless the fates guided that bird there. The crowd yelled and the parrot hopped inside. The window was in the second story of the building, and as the bird did not appear, a ladder was obtained and placed upon the window sill. Then Mr. Weldon ascended and closed the window. The parrot was a captive. The crowd were satisfied, and dispersed.

A couple of days passed. The end of Mr. Weldon's week was approaching. But as he had not beheld Miss Elsie since making his proposal, he felt that he could not endure to remain away from her longer. It could do no harm to call upon her, especially as he had no intentions of troubling her with the old subject yet.

Acting upon his resolution, he walked up Pike Street. Just as he entered the gate, some one came out at the hall door. It was Chester Montague.

"Singular that I always meet that man here, lately," muttered Mr. Weldon, frowning. However, he cleared the frown from his brow, and greeted Mr. Montague courteously enough as he passed. It may as well be stated here that Mr. Montague had not yet received his answer.

During his call, Mr. Weldon adhered to his resolution, and said nothing about the momentous question. It is only necessary to refer to one portion of the conversation between him and Miss Elsie.

"I have had a misfortune," said Elsie, at one time.

"Why, what?" asked Mr. Weldon. "Varcor, my parrot, has made his escape."

Mr. Weldon was rejoiced. Then the parrot that he had at home in a cage belonged to Miss Elsie. Restoring it would be a small matter, but then small matters sometimes turned the current in such affairs as his.

"Why, Miss Bruce," he exclaimed, “I believe I had the good fortune to capture your bird, and I have him caged now. If I had taken a thought I might have known he belonged to you. I will bring him to you this very afternoon. He has not been happy with me, for not a word has he uttered since I captured him."

After Mr. Weldon took his departure he was not absent long. He returned shortly with a parrot.

"Is this your bird ?" he asked.

Miss Elsie took the cage in her hand. "Yes, it is Varcor," she cried. "Speak to me, Varcor."

But Varcor ruffled up his feathers and refused to utter a sound.

"I am very grateful to you, Mr. Weldon," said Elsie, turning her attentions to the gentleman.

He remained another hour and then went away.

Varcor's course troubled Elsie. He sat in his cage, seemingly angry at the whole world, and refused to give forth an utterance. This went on for twenty-four hours. Then Elsie laid her case before her papa. She found him alone in the library, and carried Varcor, cage and all, in to him.

"Papa, I believe Varcor is going to die," said pretty Miss Elsie.

Mr. Bruce adjusted his spectacles.

"Elsie, it oecurs to me that it is singular that a woman who has the consideration of her future fate in her hands at the present.