Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 30, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 January 1877 — Page 6

For vuu and Noll, you see. The nights are gel tin' oug to us, Our years are getting few \V- like to have our Nellie near

Until she's Wt to you.

The farm has got too large for mo— The hands wants leadin' well. Bo vou can take the for'ard plow

& jPaper for the People.

LiTrLE NELL.

i: v- little Noll! «od bless tho child Joha, j:ou Urn# home Ve been

drcadlu' all fUong

r,i s«« this hnnr tc eomc. For Sell's oar ba'oy John she ^all i'bat'n left to wife find mo— Onr tKMinlP 1«m»! without her here \Vimt would the old homo be?

Dn't mind, Jobfe I'm womanish .Vbdut my llHle Sell, Yi*a, yea, 1 know, 1 know you will,

You'll always nse her well, fine's lender, John—a M#wy lamb I've carried on my broust, That's kept r«iT old heart warm so long,

Been fondled aud caressed

And sheltered from the storms so well, •he'll nead a love-kept, fold, I Unow It, John, you are good and true,

And we aren't lngold. She'll need asuong arm by-and-Dy Perhaps 'Lisjust as well Tuat she should go away from us,

As we from litile Noll.

I/'t'K see! The house is roomy, John, Aad only wif- and nn There's plenty room and welcome, too.

And I'll stav back with N U. God bios* vou. then como right along, Mv little Nell Is yours You'd betU-r go «ud tell Her, John

I'll see about th chords. HUM llUHf

Ho came in, talkin*, in the highest sp rit*, of the womb rful change for the be. wr tiiat had he.ui wrought in his nisue by tho affectionate message which he Lad taken to her on the previous 6vcni"g. He deuhnod tb.tt it had made hei- look haouisr, stronger, younger, all in a moment hat it ha given her tho ion»/9Jit,oaietOKt, sweetest night's sleep •lio'liad* enjoyed for years and years pi. and, last, best triumph of all, that ft, rood, infiuanoe had been aclcnowleoi id, noi £u hour binco, by the doctor hinir cif. Rosadou'J listened thankfu ly but it wac with a wandaring attention. y?.- a i:}'nd ill af-eane. When she hail tc''m loavo of her husband, and when sl and Orclo Joseph were out in the str «t together, there was something in th prospect o: the approaching inter vi uv between her mother and herself, w-h, in spite of her efforts to resist tho sc. .ati#n, almost daunted her. If they cci'l have eoina together, and have rcc..£n'zed \ch other without time to tb'nk what should lo first said or done on nither side, the mooting would havo bt e»i nothing more than the natural resu of the discovery of the Secret. But, as ii was, tho waiting, tho doubting, the moarnful story of tho past, which had filled up the emptiness of the last day ol au. ien.ss, ail had their depressing effect on 'RoPRiEond'a impulsive disposition. Without c. thought in her heart which wa kna£ tender, compassionate, and true tovvards hor mother, she now felt, noverthtilof'S.V ^-ague-onse of embarrassment which increased to positive uneasiness tho nearer she aud the old man drow to th('.r short journey's end. As they stopped at last At tho house door, she was shockod to £nd herself thinking before hand, of what first words it would be t, to say—of what first things it would be boat to do, us if she had been about to vi it a total strainer, whose favorable opinion she wished to secure, and whos readiness to reoeivo her cordially was a matter of doubt.

Tho first person whom they siw aftor the door was opored, tho doctor. Headvanood towanlr. them from a little empty room at tho end ol the hall, nnd asked permission to speak with Mrs. Frankland for a few minutes. Leaving Rosamond to her interview with the doctor, Unele Joseph Rayly ivscouded tho utairs to tell his niece of her arrival,with an activity which might well have been envied by manv a man »f half his years.

Is she worse Is th«re any danger in my seeing her?" asked Rosamond, as tho doctor led her into the empty room.

Quite the contrary," he replied. "She is much better this morning and the improvement, I find, is mainly due to

the

composing and eheoring inllueuce on her mind of a message which sho received fr^m vou last night. It is tho discovers' of this which makes me anxious to speak to you now on tho subject of one particular symptom of her mental condition,wh.ch surprised and alarmed mo whon I ttrst discovered it, and which has perplexed me very much ever sinae. She is suffering—not to detain you, and put the matter at once in the plainest terms—under a mental hallucination of a very extraordinary kind, which, so far a* I have observed it, affects her, generally, towards the close of iav, whon the light getsobecure. At such tim««s there & *n expression in her *»ves, as I/oho f&uciod some person had walked suddenly into the room. She looks t.nd talks at perfect vacancy, as you or I might look or talk at some one who was really eUnding listening to us. The old man, ber uncle, tells me that ho fir*t obsoi ved this when she oame to «e« him (in Cora wall, said) a short t'.uie .•*. =. Sho was speak• ing iin tin no P.Cairo of h^r own, when aho ?.i aly toppedjust as the ev, Btartled him hr .' -stlon ou old euparsti-.i-.n aftk* wrfl uoo of the

tiou dead an owed cor at it—tff.r and: abe ap: I HlOI that wrao

-a*

?h*

#188

:3"

THE MAIL

The Dead Secret.

SY WILKIE COLLINS.

IThis intensely interest Ingserial was commenced in The Mail of September 23-Vol. 7. No. 1H. B'acu nu nbers of the paper can be procured at the office, at the news stauds

or'hey

will be sent hy m«il on tbereeeipt live cents for each copy desirei}]

CIIAPTE XXVI. Til 12 CLOSK OF DAY.

Tl»e night, with its wakeful anxieties, wore away at last unci the morniug light, dawned hopefully for it brought -vn'th it tho promise of anendtoRosamoncKr. sucpouse.

Tne fn*t ev.nt of tho day woro the arrival of ttr. Nixon, who had received a not.3 -n tho previous evening,written hy I/eonard'n desire, to invite htm to breakfast Before the lawyers withdrew, he hue.settled with Mr. and Mrs. Fmnklanc all the prelimnnrv arrangements that •vr, ntM^rt^ary to c(i"-t the restoration of the pur-jluwe money of Porthgenna Tow er, 'iisd had dispatched a messenger with a iV-tv-er to Bavswater, announcing his in ton-ion «f calling upon Andrew Treverton thai atternuoa, on private business of importance relating to the personal estate of his !c.te brother.

Towards noon, Uncle Joseph arrived at the hutoi to tul Rosamond with him to itio house where b-r mother lay ill.

'T^.'s\ '"A*.

i, A S-

!--n

h^r lv

:La r,I I

-1. W hn'...T

P* i'tr^.nad i-'" an O? •-•i' be living p«i"sKn isnt-e.» her

mat vuiuu w«iu0 .. room at certain times, ia more than

I can say and the c'd man gives me no bolp in guessing at the truth. Can vou throw any lisht cc tho'm-i'.tcr 7

441

hoarof it now for the first time, answered Rosamond, looliitg at the doctor ia aumzoinent nn air "Pcrhanc." he rejou.^d, be mora co. iraunicafcive with yon than sho ic with me. If you could to be by her hedside at desk

f-"

ycr to

morrow, end, if you think yon are not likely to bo frightaaed by ]». I should very much vzish you to oeo and hear her when she ia under tho influence of her delusion. I have tried in vain to draw her attention awav from it, at tho time, or to get her to speak of it afterwards. You have evidently considerablo influence over her, and you might, therefore, succed wfcoro I have failed. In her state ef health, I attach great importance to clearing her mind of everything that clouds and oppresses it, and especially ef such serious nallucination as that which I have been describing. If you could succeed in combating it, you would be doing her ho greatest service,and would bo materially helping my ettorts to improve her health. Do you iiynd trying tho experiment?"

Rosamond promised to devote herself unreservedly to this service or to any other which was for the patient's good. The doctor tnanked hor,ami led the way back into tho hall ag.\in. Uncle Joseph was descending the stnirs as they came out of the room. "She is ready and longing to seo you," he whispered in Rosamond's ear.

I am sure I need not impress on you again tko veryserious necessity ol keeping her composed," said tho doctor, taking his leave. "It is, I assure, you no exaggeration to say that her life depends on it."

Rosamond bowed to him in silenco, nnd in silenco followed the old man up the stairs.

At the door of aback room on the second floor, Unele Joseph stoppe-1. She is there," ho whispered eagerly. 'I leave you to go in by yourself for it is best that you should bo alone with her at first. I shall walk about the streets in the lino warm sunshine, and think of you both, and come back after a little. (Jo in and the blessing and the mercy of God go with y?u!" He lifted her hand to his lips, and softly and qu'ckly descended the stairs again.

Rosamond stood alone before the door. A momentary tremor shook her from head to foot "as sho stretched out her hand to knock at it. The same sweet voice that she had last heard in the bedroom at West Winston, answered her now. As its tones fell on her ear, a thought of her child stole quietly into her heart, and stilled its quick, throbbing. She opened the door at once, aud went in.

Neither the look of the room inside, nor the view from the window neither its characteristic ornaments, nor its prominent pieces of furniture—none of the ojects in it or about it, which would have caught her quick observation at other times, struck it now. From the moment when she opened the door, she saw nothing but the pillows of the bed the head resting on them, and the face turned towards hers. As sho stepped across the threshold, that face changed the eyelids drooped a little, and the pale otieeks were tinged suddenly with burning red.

Was her mother ashamed to ], ok at her? Th9 bare doubt freed Rosamond in an instant Irom all tbe self-distrust, all the embarrassment, all the hesitation about choosing her words and directing her actions which had fettered her generous impulses up to this time. Sho ran to the bed, raised the worn, shrinking figure in her arms, and laid the poor weary head geutly on her warm, young bosom. "I have come at last, mother, to take my turn at nursing you,' she said. Her heart swelled as those simple words came from it—her full eyes overflowed —she could say no more.

Don't crj'!" murmured tho faint, sweet voice, timidly. "I have no right to bring you here, and make you sorry. Don't,"don't cry." "Oh, hush! hush I shall do nothing bu' cry if you talk to me like that!" said Rosamond. "L us forget that wo have ever been parted—rail me by my name—speak to mo as I shall speak to my own child, if God spares mo to see him grow up. Say 'Rosamond,' and— oh, pray,—tell me to do something for you Sho tore asunder, passionately, the strings of her bonnet, and threw it from her on tho nearest chair. "Look here is your gbiss of lemonade on the table. Say, 'Itosamond, oring me my .emcnade say it familiarly, mother! say it as if vox knew that I was bound obey yoK J"

She repeated the words lifter her daughter, but still not in steady tonesrepeated them with a sad, wondering smile, and with a lingering of the voico on the name of Rosamond, as if it was a luxury to iier to utter it. "You made me so happy with that message, and with the kiss you sent mo from your child," she said, when Rosamond" had given hor the lemonade, and was seated quietly by the bedside again. "It was such a kind wa of savins: that you pardoned mo It gavo mo all tho courage I wanted to speak to you as 1 am speaking now. Perhaps my illness has changed me—but I don't feel fright enpd and strange with you as I thought I should, at our fitst meeting after you knew tho Secret. I think I. shall soon get well enough seo your child. Is he like what you wero at his age If he is, ho must bo very, very she stopped. "I may think of that," she added, after waitine a little, "but I had better not talk of it or I shall cry, too and I want to havo done with sorrow now."

While she spoke thoso words, while treyes were fixed with wistful eagerrss cm her daughter's face, the old inof npa'.r.eas was stiP mechanically work, in her weak, wasted fingers. Rosamond had tossed her gloves from her on the bed but the minute before and already her mother had taken them up, and was smoothing them out care fully and folding them ueath together, all tho while sho spoke. "Call me 'mother' again," she said, as Rosamond took the gloves lrom her and thanked her with a kiss for folding them up. "I have never heard j'ou call me'mother' till now,—never, never till now, from the day when yon were born!"

Rosamo/id checked the tears that were rising in her eyee again, and repeated the word. "It ia all the happiness I want, to lie hero, and look at y*»u. and hear you say tliht! Is thore any otuer woman in the world, my love, who has a face so beautiful and so kind a« yours?" She paused, and smiled faintly.

I can't look at those sweet rosy lips no«r,M she said, •'without thinking how many kisses thev owe me!"

If vou had only let ma pay the debt r'Wl" said Rosamond, taking hor iii' Uier's hand, as she was accustomed t- her child's, and placing it on her if 3k. Ifyoa had only spoken the /i. ne wa met, when you came to me! How sorrowfully I have t! cr'jtnfth".:. ^nfje I Oh,mother, did I di. r-v-w J«:u mucu, in my ignorance? Pi n:: •. ory when yoa thought Ci UIO "T

Distress me! All my distress, Rosa

mond, has been of my own making, n»t of yours. My kind, thoughtful lovo! you anid, 'Don't be bard on her-^do you remember? When I w*s wing gent away, deservedly soat away, dear, for fr'atoning you, you said to your 1, 'Don't be herd on her Only fivo words—but, oh, what a comfort it wna to mo, afterwards, to think that you s&idthem! I did want to kiss you so, Rosamond, when I was brushing your btnr: I had such a hard fight of it to keep from crying out loud wheu I hoara von, behind the bed curtains, wishing vqur littlo child good night. My, 'was in my mouth, choking me all •nat timo I took yeur part afterwards,when I wont back to my mistress—I woulu hear her say a harsh word ol you. I could have looked a hundred mistresses in the face then, and contradicted them all. Oh, no, no, no! you never distressing My worst grief at going away was voars and vears beforo I came to nurse vou at West Winston. It was when 1 left my place at Porthgenna when I stole into your nursery, on that dreadful morning, and when I saw you with both vour little arms around my master neck. Tho doll you had taken to bed with you was in ono of your hands and your "head was resting on the captain's

bosf

m—just as mine rests now—oh, so happily. Rosamond !—on yours. I heard

the

last word# ho was speaking to you! words you werojtoo young to remember. 'Hush! liosio, dear,' he twid, 'Don't cry any more lor poor mamma. *.hiiir. poor papa, and try to comfort him!' There, my love—there was tho bitterest distress, and the hardest to bear! I, your own mother, standing like a spy, and bearing hiui sav thiit to tho child I dared not own! 'Think of poor papa!' My own Rosamond! you know, now, what father I

thought'of

Rosamond was still speaking on these topics her mother was still listening to her with growing interest in every word that she said, when Uncle Joseph returned. He brought in with him a basket of flowers and a basket of fruit, which he held up in triumph at the foot of his niece's bed.

I have been walking about, iny child, in the line bright sunshine," he said, "and waiting to give your face plenty of time to look happy, so that I might see it atrain as I want to sec it always, for the rest of my life. Aha, Sarah! it is I who havo brought the right doctor to cure you!" he added gayly, looking at Rosamond. "She has made you better alread wait but a little while longer, and she sh ill got you up from your beU again, with your two cheeks as red, and your heart as light, and your tongue as fast to chatter as mine. See! the fine flowers, and the fruit I have bought, that is nice to your eves, and nice to your nose, and nicest of all, to put into your mouth. It is festival time with us to-day, and we must make the room bright, bright, bright, all over. And, then, there is your dinner to come soon I have seen it on tin) dish—a cherub among chicken fowls! And, after that, there is your fine sound sleep, with Mozart to sing the cradle song, and with me to sit for watch, and to go down stairs when you wake up again, and fetch you your cup of tea. Ah, my child, my child, what a fine thing it is to have come at last to this festival day!"

With a bright look at Rosamond, and with both hia hands full of flowers, he turned away from his niece to begin decorating the room. Except when she thanked tho old man for the presents be had brought, her attention had never wandered, all tho while he had been speaking, from her daughter's face, and her first words,when he was silent again were addressed to Rosamond alone.

While am happy with my child," sheeaid, "1 am keeping you from yours. I, of all persons, ought to be the last to paityou from each other toe long. Go back' now, my love, to your husband and your child and leave me my grateful thoughts and my dreams of tetter times." "If you please, answer Yes, to that, for your mother's sake," said Uncle Joseph, 'before Rosamond could reply. "The doctor says she must take her reposo in the day as well as ber repose in the uight. And how shall I get her to close her eyes, so long as she has the temptation to keep them open upon you

Rosamond felt the truth of those last words, and consented to go back for a tew hours to tho hotel, on the understanding that she was to resume her place at the bedside in the evening. After making this arrangement, she waited long enough in the room to see meal brought up, which Uncle Joseph had announced, and to aid the old man in encouraging her mother to partake of it. When the tray had been removed, and when the pillows of the bed had been comfortably arranged by her own hands, she at last prevailed on herself to take leave.

Her mother's arms lingered round her neck her mother's cheek nestled fondly against hers. "Go, my dear, go now, or I shall get too selfish to part with you even for a few hours," murmured the sweet voice in its lowest, softest tones. "My own Rosamond! I havo no words to hless yon that are good enough no words to thank you that will speak as eratefally for me as they oueht! H«ppif ts# has been lone ia reaching me— bat, oh, how tnercifuuy it has oome at iaSt!"

Before she passed the doer, Rosamond

-•I

TERRE TT ATTTTD SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

when lie said those

words How could I toll him the Secret? how could I givo him the letter, with his wife dead that morning—with nobody but you to comfort him—with the aw'ful truth crushing dowu upon my heart., at eveiy word he spoke, as heavily as ever the rock crushed down upon the father vou never saw!"

Don't speak of it now said Rosamond. "Don't let us refer again to the past: I know all I ought to know, all I wish to know of it. We will talk of the

future,

mother, and of happier times to

corue. Let uae tell you about my husband. If any wortis can praise him as ho ought to be praised, and thank him as he ought to be thanked, I am sure mine ought—lam sure yours will! Let me tell you what he said aud what he did when 1 read him the letter that I found in the Myrtle Room. Yes, yes, do lot me

Warned by a remembrance of the doctor's last injunctions trembling in secret, as she felt under her hand tho heavy, toilsome, irregular heaving of her mother's heart, as she saw tkg rapid changes of color from pale to red. aud from red to pale again that fluttered across her mother's face, she resolved to let uo more words pass between them which were of a nature to recall painfully the sorrow and the Buttering of the years that were gone. After describing the interview between her husband and herself which had ended in the disclos ure of the Secret, she led her mother, with compassionate abruptness,to speak of the future,of the time when sho would be able to travel again, of the happiness of returning together to Cornwall, of the little festival they might hold ou ar rivisg at Uncle Joseph's houeein Truro, and of the time after that when they might go on still further to Porthgenna, or perhaps to some other place where new scenes and faces might help them to forget all sad associations which it was best to think of no more.

.'• *t S t* Vf ^rt-i

stopped and looked back into the room. The table, the mantel pieoe, the little framed prints on the wall were bright with flowers the musical box was just •laying the flirt sweet notes of the air .rom Mozart Uncle Joaeph was seated already in his accustomed place by the bed, with the basket of fruit on hiB knees the pale, worn face on the pillow was tenderly lighied up by a wcile peaco and obmfort, and repose, all mingled together happily in the picture of the sick room, all joined in leading Rosamond's thoughts to dwell quietly on the hope of a happier timo.

Three hours passed. The last glory of the sun was lighting the long summer flay to its rest in the western heaven, when Rosamond returned to her mother's Iwdside.

She entered the room softly. The one window in it looked towards the west, and on that side of the bed the chair was placed which Uncle Joseph had occupied when she left him, and in which she now found him still seated on her return. He raised his finger to his lips, and locked towards the bed, as she opened the door. Her mother was asleep with ber hand resting in the hand of the old man.

As Rosamond noiselessly advanced, she naw that Unc!o Joseph's'eyes looked dim and weary. The constraint of the position that he ©«-oupied, which made it impossiblo for iin to move without the iisk of awakening his niece, seemed to bo beginning to fatigue him. Rosamond removed her bonnet and shawl, and made a sign to him to rise aud let her take his place. "Yes, yes!" she whispered, seeing him reply bv a shake of the head. "Let me take my turiij while you go out a little and enjoy the cool evening air. There is no loir of waking her her hand is not claeping yours, but only resting in it^let me steal mine into its place gently and we shall not disturb hor."

Sho slipped her hand under her mother's while sho spoke. Uncle Joseph pmiled as he rose from his chair, and resigned his place to her. "You will have your way." he said "you are too quick aud sharp for an old man like me."

ITas sho been long asleep?" asked Rosamond. Nearly two hours," answered Uncle Joseph. "But it has not been the g~od sleep I wanted for her—a dreaming, talkinp, restless sleep. It is only ten littlo minutes, since she has been so quiet as you see her now." "Surelyyou let in too much light?" whispered Rosamond, looking round at the window, through which the glow of the evening sky poured warmly into the room. .. "No, no!" he hastily jejoined. "Asleep or awake, she always wants the light.

If I

go away for a little while, as

you toll me, and if it gets ou to be du,before 1 come back, light both those candles on the chimney piece. shall try to be here again before that but if the time slips by too fast for me, and if it so happens that she wakes and talks strangely, and looks much away from you into that far corner of the room there, remember that the matches and and the candles are together on the chimney piece, and that the sooner you light them after the dim twilight time, the belter it will be." With those words hestolo on tiptoe to the door and went out.

His pa'i ting directions recalled Ro rnond to a remembrance of what had passed between the doctor and herself that morning. She looked round agai anxiously to the window. The sun was just sinking beyond the distant house tops the close of day was not far off. As she turned her head once more towards the. bed, a momentary chill crept over her. She trembled a little, partly at tho sensation itself, yartly at the recollection it aroused of that other chill which had struck her in the solitude of the Mvrtlo Room.

Stirred by the mysterious sympathies of touch, her mother's hand at the same instant moved in hers, and over the sad peacefulness of the weary face there fluttered a momentary trouble- the flvine shadow of a dream. Tho pale, parted lips opened, closed, quivered, opened again the faint breaths citwo and went quickly and more quickly the head moved uneasily on the pillow: tho eyelids half unclosed themselves low, faint, moaning sounds poured rapidly from tho lips—changed ere long to halfarticulated sentences—then merged softly into intelligible speech, and uttered these words:

Swear that you will not destroy this paper! Swear that you will not take this paper away with you if you leave tho house!"

The word« that followed these were

The worusi tnat iouoweu

iubsbwbib

whispered so rapidly and so low that which she could restrain no longer, to catch them, she wiped them away the• first nS Rosnmond's ear failed to catch them They were followed by a short silence. 'Then the dreaming Voice spoke again suddenlv, and spoke louder. "Where? whero? where?" it said. "In tho bookcase In the table drawer? —Stop! stop! In tho picture of the ghost

TIjp )«ut words struck cold on Rosamond's heart. She drew back suddenly with a movement of alarm—checked herself the instant after, and bent down over the pillow again. But it was too late. Her hand had moved abruptly when she drew back, and her mother woke with a start and a faint cry—with vacant, terror stricken eyes, and with the perspiration standing thick on her forehead. "Mother!" cried Rosamond, raising her on tho pillow. "I havo comeback. Don't vou know me?"

Mother?" she repeated, in mournful, questioning tones. "Mother?" At the second repetition of the word, a bright flush of delight and surprise broke out on her face, and she clasped both arms suddenly round her daughter's neck. "Oh, my own Rosamond she said. "If I had ever been used to waking up and seeing your dear face look at "me, I should have known you sooner, in Hpite of my dream! Did you wake me, my love? or did I wake myself?"

I am afraid I woke you, mother." Don't say 'afraid.*' I would wake from the sw'oetcst sleep that ever woman had, to see your face, and hear you say 'Mother' to me. Yon have delivered" me, my love, from tho terror of ono of my dreamful dreams. Oh. Rosamond, I think I should live to be happy in your love, it I could only get Porthgenua Tower out of my mind—if I could only never remember again the bedchamber where my mistress died, and the room where I hid the letter

We will try and forget Porthgenna Tbwer now," said Rosamond. "Shall we talk about other places where I havfe lived, which you have never aeen? Or shall I read to you. mother Have you got any book here that you are fond of?"

She looked across the bed, at the table on the ather side. There was nothing on it but some bottles of medicine, a few of Uncle Joseph's flowers in a glass of water, and a little oblong work box. She looked round at the chest of drawera behind ber—there were no books placed on tho top of it. Before she turned tpwards the bed again, her eyes wandered aside to the window. The snn was lost beyond the distant house tops tho close oi" day was nearer at band.

osdofaay was nearer at nana.

jiiSf

only forgxi!" said her mother, sighing wearily, and beating her hand on the coverlid of the bed.

Are you well enough, dear, to amuse yourself with work asked Rosamond, pointing to the little obleng box on the table, and trying to load the conversation to a harmless, every day topic, hy asking questions about it. "What work do you ao? May I look at it

Her face lost its weary, suffering lo6k, and brightened once more into a smile. "There ia no work there," sho said. "All the treasures I had in the world, till you came to see me, are shut up in that one little box. Open it, my love, apd look inside."

Rosamond obeyed, placing the box on the bed, where her mother could see it easily. The first object that she discovered inside, was a little book, in dark, worn binding. It was an old copy of Wesley's Hymns. Some withered blades of grass lay between its pages, aHdon one of its blank leaves was this inscription "Sarah Leeson, her book. Tho gift of Hugh Polwheal."

Look at it, my dear," said her mother. "I want you to know it again. When my time comes to leave you, Rosamond, lay it. on my bosom with your own dear hands, and put a littlo morsel of your hair with it, and bury me, in the grave in Porthgenna church yard, whero he has been waiting for me to come to him so many weary years. Tho other things in the box, Rosamond, belong to you they are little stolen keepsakes that used to remind me of my child, when I was alone in the world. Perhaps, years and years hence, when your brown hair begins to grow gray like mine, you may like to show these poor trifles to your children when you talk about me. Lon't .mind telling them, Rosamond, how fyour mother sinned aud how she suffered—you can always let these little trifles spoak for her at'the end. The least of them will show that she always loved you."

She took out of the box a morsel of neatly folded white paper, which had been placed under the book of Wesley's Hymns, opened it. and showed her daughter a few faded laburnum leaves that lay inside. "I took these from your bed, Rosamond, when I came as a stranger, to nursayou at West Winston When I heard who the lady was who was staying at the inn, the temptation to risk anything for the sake of seeing you, and seeing my grandchild, was too much for me. I tried to take a ribbon out of your trunk, love, after^I had taken the flowers—a ribbon that I know had been round your ueck. But the doctor came near at the time,and frightened me."

She folded the paper up again, laid it aside on the taolo.and drew from the box next a small print which had been taken from tho illustrations to a pocket book. It represented a little girl, in a gypsy hat, sitting by the water side, and weaving "a dais/ chain. As a design, it was worthless as a print, had not evet the mechanical merit of being a good impression. IJndorneath it a ine was written in faintly pencilod letters,"Rosamond when I last saw her." "It was never pretty enough for you," she said. "But still there was something in it that helped me to remember what my own lovo was like, when she was a little girl."

She put the engravings aside with the laburnum leaves, and took from the box a li t»f of a copy book, folded in two, out of Which there dropped a tiny strip of paper, covered with small printed letters. She looked at the strip of paper first. "The advertisement of your marriage, Rosamond," she said. "1 used to be fond of reading it over and over agiin to mj'self when 1 was alone, and trying to fancy how you looked and what dress you wore. If I had only known when you were going to bo married, I would have ventuied into the church, my lovo, to look at you and at your husband. But that was not to be—and perhaps it was best so for the seeing you in that stolen waj might only have made my trials harder to bear afterwards. I havg had no other keepsake to remind mo ol you, Rosamond, except this leaf out of j-our first copy book. Tho mirso maid at Porthgenna tore up tho rest ono day to ligbtthe fire, and I took this leaf when sho was not looking. See you had not got as far as words then—you could only do up-strokes and do -vn strokes. O me! how many times I have sat looking at this ono leaf of paper, and trvi:is to •aneytliatl saw your small child's hand traveling over it, with tho pm held tight in the rosy littlo fingers. I think I haVe cried oftener. my darling, over that first eppy of yours than over all my other keepsakes put together."

Rosamond turned aside her face towards the window to hide tho tears As

she wiped them away tho first sight of the darkening sky warned her that the twilight dimnoss was coming soon. How dull »nd faint the glow on the west looked now! how near it was to tho close of day!

When she turned towards tho bed again, her mother was still looking at the leafof the copy book. "That nurse maid who tore up all the rest of it to light the fire," shesstid, "*'as a kind friend to rae, in thoso early days at Porthgenna. She used sometimes to let me put you to bed, Rosamond and never asked questions, or teased me, as tho rf.st of them did. Sho risked th^ loss of her place by being so good to me. My mistress was afraid of my betraying myself and betraying her if I was much in the nursery, and sho gave orders that I was not to go thore, because it was not my placa. None of the other women servants wero so often stopped from playing with you and kissing you, Rosa mond, as I was. But the nurse maidGod bless and prosper her for it!—stood my friend. I often lifted you iato your little cot, my love, and wished you good night, when my mistress thought I was at work in her room. You used to say vou liked vour nurse better than you liked me, but you never told me so fretfully and you always put your laughing lips up' to mine whenever I asked you lor a kiss!'

Rosamond laid her head gently on the pillow bv the side of her mother's. "Try to think'less of the past, dear, and more of the future," he' whispered pleadingly "try to think of the time when my child will help you to recall those old days without their sorrow—the time when you will teach him to put his lips up to yours, as I used to put mine."

I will try, Rosamond—bdt iny only thoughts of the future, for years and years past, have boon thoughts of meeting you in heaven. If my sins are forgivon, how»hall wo meet there? Shall you be like my little child to me—tho child I never saw again after she was five years ol-f I wonder if the mercy of God will recompense me for our long separation on earth? I wouder if you will first appear to me in the happy wcrld, with your child's face, and be what yon should have been to me on earth, my little angel that I can carry in mv arms? If wo pray in heaven, shall I teach you your prayers there, as some comfort to me for never having taught them to you here."

She paused, smiled sadly, and closing ber eyes, gave herself in silence to tho dream-thoughts that wero still floating in her mind. Thinking that she might

u4,,m#

If I «ou!d forget! Ob, mo,|if I could aink to rest again if she was left undife-

turbed, Rosamond neither moved nor spoko. After watching the peaceful fiaoe for some time, she became conscious that the light was fading on it slowly. As that conviction irapres ed itself on her, she looked round at the window once more. The western clouds wore their quiet twilight colors already the close of day had come.

The inomont she moved in the chair, she felt hor mother's hand on her shoulder. When she turned again toward the bed, she saw her mother's eyesopea and looking at her—looking at her, a's sho thought, with a change in their expression. a change to vacancy.

Why do I talk of heaven she said, turning her face, suddenly towards the darkening sky, and speaking in low, muttering tones. How do I know I am fit to go there Aud yet, Rosamond, I am not guilty of breaking my oath to my mistress. You can say for me that I never destroyed the letter, and that I never took it away with me when I left the house." "It will be dark soon, mother. .Let me get up for one moment to light tho candlcs."

Her hand jrept softly upward, and clung fast rouud Rosamond's neck. "I never sworoto give him the letter," ske said. "There was no crime in tho hiding of it. You found it in a pictuie, Rosamond? They used to call it a picture of the Porthgenna ghost. Nobody knew how old it was, or when it came into the house. My mistress hated because the painted face had a strange likeness to hers. She told me when first I lived at Porthgenna, to take it down from the wall and destroy it. I was afraid to do that so I hftl it away, before ever you were born, in the Myrtle Room. You found the letter at the back of the picture, Rosamond? And yet that was a likely place to hide it in. Nobody had ever found the picture. Why should anybody find tho letter that was hid jn it "Let me get a light, mother! I am sure you would liko to have a iight!" "No! 110 light now. Give tho darkness time to gather down there in the corner of the room. Lilt me up close to vou, and let me whisper

The clinging arm tightened its grasp as Rosamond raised her in the bed. The fading light from tho window fell full on her face, and was reflected dimly in her vacant oyas. "I am wailing for something, that comes at dusk, before tho caudles are lit," she whispered in low, breathless tones. "Down there!" And she pointed away to. the furthest corner of the room, near the door. "Mother! for God's sake, what 19 it! what has changed yon so?"

That's right I say 'Mother.' 15 she does come, she can't stop when she hears j'ou call me'Mother,' when she sees us together at last, loving and kuowing each other in spite of her. Oh, my kind, tender, pitying child! if you can only deliver mo from her, how happy I may live yet!—how happy we may both be!"

Don't talk so don't, look so! Tell mo quietly—dear, dear mother—tell mo quietly "Hush! hush! I am going to tell you. Sho threatened me on her death bed, if I thwarted her she said sho would come to mo from the other world. Rosamond I have thwarted her, and she has kept her promise—all my lifo since, she has kept her promise! Look Dow* there!"

Her left arm was sti'l clasped roui Rosamond's neck. Sho stretched her right arm out towards the far corner of the room, and shook her hand slowly at the empty air. "Look!" she said. "Thore sho is as sho always comes to me, at tho close of day—with the coarse, black dress on, that my guilty hands made for her— with the smile that there was on her face when sho asked

hio

ykup

if sho looked

like a servant. Mistress! mistress! Oh, rest at last! tho Secret is ours no longer Rest at last my child my own again! Rest at last and .come between us no more!"

Sho ceased, panting for breath and laid her hot, throbbing cheek against the cheek of her daughter. "Call me 'Mother,' again sho whispered. "Say it loud and send lier away from me forever

Rosamond mastered the terror that shook in every limb, and pronounced tho word.

Hor mother loaned forward a little, still grasping heavily for breath, and looked with straiuing eyes into the quiet twil:ght dimnoss at tho lower end of the room,

Gone!! she cried snd-lonly, with a scream of exultation. "Oh, merciful, merciful Grd! gone at last!"

The next instant sho sprang up on her kn^es in the bed, For mo awful moment her eves shono in tho gray twilight with a radiant unearthly beauty, as they fastened their last look of fondness

her daughter's face. "Oh, my love! my angel!" she murmured, "how happy we shall be together now As sho said tho words, she twined hor ams round Rosamond's neck, and pressed her lips rapturously ou tho lips of her

The kiss lingered till her head sank forward gently on Rosamond's bosomlingered, till the time of God's mercy came, and tho weary heart rested at last.

[TO UK CONTINUED.J

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