and not sent in her way that sore temptation! | people supposed that she was in her proper She was a woman for a man to have loved to sphere now, and would never have thought of madness." associating her with self-denial or self-sacri "And yet how little can she have known of fice. love!" "I loved her." And as the old man said so he rose to his feet with some show of his old energy. "I loved her with all my heart! It is foolish for an old man so to say; but I did love her; nay, I love her still. But that I knew that it would be wrong-for your sake, and for Perry's" And then he stopped himself, as though he would fain hear what she might say to him. "Yes; it is all over now," she said, in the softest, sweetest, lowest voice. She knew that she was breaking down a last hope, but she knew also that that hope was vain. And then there was silence in the room for some ten minutes' space. "It is all over," he then said, repeating her last words. "But you have us still-Perry and me. Can any one love you better than we do?" And she got up and went over to him and stood by him, and leaned upon him. "Edith, my love, since you came to my house there has been an angel in it watching over me. I shall know that always; and when I turn my face to the wall, as I soon shall, that shall be my last earthly thought." And so in tears they parted for that night. But the sorrow that was bringing him to his grave came from the love of which he had spoken. It is seldom that a young man may die from a broken heart; but if an old man have a heart still left to him, it is more fragile. *' She sat this clear, bright autumn morningin her own room, which was shared, just then, with a guest who came the day before-her cousin Nan, from Philadelphia. The pair were a complete contrast, and therefore polarized admirably. Miss Chaloner was tall and stately, with dark hair and gray eyes, out of which the waiting soul looked honest, earnest, trustful. Her lips, except when she smiled, were a thought too thin; her brow, now that the hair was rolled back, a thought too high. Nan Darrow's brow was low; her eyes laughed even when her full soft lips did not, and her soul was all heart-a creature pretty and most winsome, but one whose good deeds would be offshoots of impulse, not principle; none the less graceful for that, however. She reverenced her cousin Gertrude as a superior being; and, after her own gay fashion, loved her dearly. She sprang up and clapped her hands as Miss Chaloner spoke. "Going to get winter things? Oh, that is charming! I always love to see you shop-you go at it royally. No shilling counters for you! It is well that your purse is as long as your taste is lofty." Miss Chaloner smiled. "I fear you'll be disappointed, Nan. I am going to buy practical, useful things this morning." "As if I did not know that your most useful gown was a French cachemire, and your most serviceable stockings were fine-spun of the silkworm's cast-off winding-sheet." "Well, I am not going to buy cachemire robes this morning, but I shall get a good many winter things nevertheless." Nan put on her dainty velvet cloak and tied BUYING WINTER THINGS. "The poor ye have always with you." OULD you like to go shopping this her French hat round a face bright with the morning?" It was Miss Chaloner who asked the question -"Gertrude the magnificent," as her worshipers called her, with more truth in their epithets than there usually is in the compliments paid to handsome women. Gertrude Chaloner was selfpoised to a remarkable degree. No world's judgment, no human opinion, had power to lay out a foot-path for her imperious feet. What she willed to do she did, and of small import was any other mortal's nilly. So far this circumstance had not hurt her popularity, for she had only willed to be the most accomplished, the most intellectual, and the best-dressed woman of her set. So, never thinking of fashion, per se, she became a leader of it. A few knew, however, that it wanted only the true electric spark to quicken that grand nature into something nobler than any of her past dreams. Meantime her powers, unconsciously to herself, waited, as the offerings used to wait upon the altar for the spark of celestial fire which was to make of them sweet incense for heaven. careless, thoughtless joy of youth. Miss Chaloner made a graver toilet, and soon they were on Washington Street. Their first stopping-place was at a grocer's. Flour and sugar and butter were purchased in liberal quantities, and sent to different addresses, which Miss Chaloner read from a card she held in her hand. Nan began to wonder, but she maintained a discreet silence. She walked on beside her cousin with her tripping footsteps till they turned into Summer Street, the more congenial region of dry-goods shops. A half-suppressed exclamation of delight escaped her as she saw the tempting array of silks in a window on the north side; and when Miss Chaloner entered the door she began to think the true business of the day was commencing. But they did not go up to the silk counter, or turn aside for the soft laces floating out mistily. Half-way up the store, where the shelves were piled with substantial cottons and warm blankets, Gertrude Chaloner stopped, and Nan made a half-unwilling pause Of course not every one knew this. Most at her side. The purchase was extensive-sev eral pieces of cotton, half a dozen pairs of soft, warm blankets, in these days when cotton and blankets are at a premium. Nan's wonder increased. But the articles were to be sent home this time, and she began to think her cousin was secretly contemplating matrimony and housekeeping. "We will cross the street, now," Miss Chaloner said, as they went out. "I saw over there some nice, serviceable winter dress goods cheap." "When, in the name of wonder, did you begin to care for cheapness?" muttered Nan, as the little door-boy let them in. The dresses were purchased-a few remnants for children, some dark calicoes and strong woolen goods in larger patterns. Then a dozen or two of coarse, warm stockings, and the list was complete. "Now, to pay you for being good, you shall look at pictures a little," Miss Chaloner said, as she led the way toward Everett's. more new fineries last winter than half my friends had a sight of. I shall not be conspicuously shabby if I wear them again. I only let you into my secrets because you are my little cousin, who loves me, and I think my example may have some weight with you. You are rich enough to do a great deal of good in the same way. It is going to be a terrible winter. Taxes are such as our country never knew before, and goods are selling at prices we should have thought fabulous a year ago. With my wardrobe full of last year's handsome dresses, I could not think it right to buy new ones, when the cry of the poor and the wail of the destitute are piercing the air on every side." "But there have been poor people always, Gertie, and you have never felt like this before." "No, I have not realized the fact of suffering as I realize it now. It is the hour of darkness over all the land. The resurrection morning will come by-and-by, but now the night is murk, and the stars are dim. I will tell you all, Nan. I have given more to my country than gold could They looked over some choice engravings for half an hour, and finally Miss Chaloner purchased one-small, but a gem of the most ex-buy. One I loved, and who loved me, went, in quisite art-a Madonna, with the Holy Child smiling in her arms, and the attendant angels looking out from the clouds around, with the brightness of another world upon their brows. She gave directions for it to be framed simply, and said that she would call for it on the morrow. With unusual reticence Nan refrained from any questions until they had reached home, and sat down in her cousin's pleasant room to rest a while. Then when the bundles began to come in, she asked, August, with the three-years' men. He came "Yes, I did it. It was a hard struggle; but what was I that I should stay at home and keep my own, and let other women's lovers and husbands march, and bleed, and die, that I and mine might shelter ourselves in a smiling home, and look out through plate-glass, and from between soft draperies, at the winter? Yes, I gave "Are these blankets and cottons for yourself, him up. He is gone. He will come again, per Cousin Gertrude?" "No." "And of course the calicoes and stockings and remnants are not. Who, in the name of common-sense, are they for? and how much money do you think you have spent this morning on this rubbish ?" "As to whom they are for, you shall see that to-morrow; and as to the money I have spent, it is less than half my usual winter allowance." "And you expect to dress on the other half?" cried Nan, with wide open, wondering eyes. "No, the other half goes for coal and houserents." "And you are to dress on-what?" "What I have. Except boots and gloves, I do not mean to have a single new article this winter." "Except, of course, your bonnet; one could hardly imagine Miss Chaloner in a last year's chapeau." "Not even excepting my bonnet. My last winter's one was black velvet. It will alter over irreproachably. I do not mean that the world shall know these things, Nan. I am not going to turn hermit, or even to give up the society in which I have been accustomed to move. I had haps; but I can never forget that other perhaps that the mouth which kissed mine at parting may never kiss again, and the eyes at whose courage I lit the fire of my own resolve may look their last on the smoky sky of some Southern battle-ground. "When I had given him up I longed to do something myself. Beside the one great sacrifice all lesser ones seemed easy, and almost his last words had marked out my path. How shall I bear it?' I faltered, clinging to him with a woman's weakness. By being always busy, Gertrude,' and I remember the pity in his eyes as he said it. There are so many suffering ones to comfort-so many wounds to heal.' "Since he went away I have been living a new life. I have been among a class of people I had never understood before-the good and honest poor. I have seen there sights to make a woman's heart ache, and, so far as I could, I have carried consolation with me. It is a small sacrifice, Nan, to go without a new cloak or wear a last year's dress for the sake of giving a shelter to the shelterless." "But I never thought you were benevolent, Gertrude, and you always seemed to me very fond of dress, in a dignified, high and mighty fashion of your own." "So I was, and so suppose I am still; but that was not all of me, Nan. I needed rousing, and I can not understand the soul which these days of dread and danger, these times of parting and praying, would not quicken to a new life." Nan Darrow looked at her cousin. Miss Chaloner's face shone as if she were inspired. Into her great, gray eyes a flood of light had broken-her pale face was flushed, her head was erect, her chest heaved. Even Nan's unpenetrating gaze could not fail to see that for that soul its hour had come. They did not talk much more. Nan's nature was impulsive, demonstrative, outspoken, but she dared not express to Gertrude the admiration which she felt-as profound as any sentiment of hers could be. "Go thou and do likewise," was the only tribute Miss Chaloner would have welcomed. night, and it did me so much good. Mother has gone out to take home some work, and I was quite cheerful sitting here alone." "You always are. It reproaches me sometimes to think of it," Miss Chaloner said, kindly. "How long is it since you have been able to stand on your feet?" "Five years this month, ma'am." "Five years of lying here in this one place, and looking at the blank wall and suffering!" Miss Chaloner's eyes grew misty, but she went on, in a tone of encouragement, "I have brought something to hang in front of you, on the wall, Martha, and perhaps it will comfort you sometimes when you are lonely." She unfolded the wrappings from the picture and held it before the sick girl. Martha did not speak. Her ecstasy was wordless, but it shone in her eyes and transfigured her face as she looked. By-and-by her tears began to fall. The next morning they took the carriage, packed with the purchases of the day before, and "Oh, Miss Chaloner," she said, at length, started to convey them to their destinations."do you mean that that is my own? I never On the way they stopped at Everett's and took saw any thing half so beautiful. I shall never in the Madonna. be lonesome again." "Surely this is not for one of your pensioners?" Nan asked. "I think one would hardly feed the hungry with pictures." "There is more than one kind of hunger, child Nan. You shall see whether my gift will be appreciated." They had stopped at three houses, leaving a pair of blankets here, a dress there, and at another a piece of cotton, as need was. At the next pause Miss Chaloner took the picture in her hand, and turned with a smiling face for Nan to follow her. They went up two flights of stairs, and then a faint, sweet voice answered "Come in" to Miss Chaloner's tap on the door. They entered a large and not uncomfortable room. Every thing was scrupulously neat. In one of the windows stood a tea-rose, a geranium, and a heliotrope. Nan knew they were her cousin's favorite flowers, and guessed how they came there. In the bed, bolstered up by pillows and knitting busily, was a young girl. She was not beautiful, and yet Nan thought she had never seen face so sweet. It was a delicate, thin face; so pale that the tracery of the blue veins shone through. The eyes were dark and full of a mournful tenderness. The hair was cut short, like a child's, and lay about the brow in sunny rings. How the pale visage brightened into smiles as she saw who was her visitor! Miss Chaloner took a chair near the bed and gave one to Nan, as if she were at home. Then she asked, "How do you do to-day, Martha? Did you have a bad night? I have brought my cousin, Miss Darrow, to see you." "Thank you. I am pretty well; no more pain than usual. I slept several hours last "Do you think my picture was a good investment?" Gertrude asked, smilingly, as they went down stairs. "The best of all!" Nan cried, with eager tones. “Oh, Gertrude, isn't she lovely? So refined, so gentle-" "And so patient," Gertrude added. "What she suffers no one dreams-nights and days of racking agony- and yet busy every moment when the sharp torture leaves her a respite. If I had made ten times more sacrifice for the sake of doing good, to have known that girl and learned the lesson of unfaltering trust, of patient submission she has taught me, would have been worth it all." Nan staid in Boston three weeks longer. She went with Miss Chaloner to buy the rest of her winter things; and when she left, at last, it was with a new purpose in her eager, impulsive, but kindly heart. Last week she wrote to Gertrude Chaloner: "I, too, have been shopping since I saw you. Hitherto I had shopped only for one. Now I am shopping for many, and the reward is proportionately larger. I do all I can—yes, Gertrude, I do believe I am doing all I can for those whose sufferings you taught me to discover. Sometime, perhaps, I shall be good enough to be called your friend. I, too, have sent one away to fight for me whom hitherto my selfish love had held back. My offering, like yours, is on the altar. Come to me and teach me how to wait." How long will these women, and many more besides them, have in which to learn that long, slow lesson? With what grand results, to them, to all, will the waiting be crowned at length? God knows. MISTRESS AND MAID. A HOUSEHOLD STORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." CHAPTER XXI. But it was no debt of disgrace or humiliation, nor did she feel it as such. She had learned T was not a cheerful morning on which to be the lesson which the large-hearted rich can al I was not a dense, yellow, London fog, the ways teach the poor, that, while there is some like of which the Misses Leaf had never yet seen, penetrated into every corner of the parlor at No. 15, where they were breakfasting drearily by candle-light, all in their wedding attire. They had been up since six in the morning, and Elizabeth had dressed her three mistresses one after the other, taking exceeding pleasure in the performance. For she was still little more than a girl, to whom a wedding was a wedding, and this was the first she had ever had to do with in her life. True, it disappointed her in some things. She was a little surprised that last evening had passed off just like all other evenings. The interest and bustle of packing soon subsided-the packing consisting only of the traveling trunk, for the rest of the trousseau went straight to Russell Square, every means having been taken to ignore the very existence of No. 15; and then the three ladies had supper as usual, and went to bed at their customary hour without any special demonstration of emotion or affection. To Elizabeth this was strange. She had not yet learned the unspeakable bitterness of a parting where nobody has any grief to restrain. On a wedding morning, of course, there is no time to be spared for sentiment. The principal business appeared to be-dressing. Mr. Ascott had insisted on doing his part in making his new connections appear "respectable" at his marriage, and for Selina's sake they had consented. Indeed, it was inevitable: they had no money whatever to clothe themselves withal. They must either have accepted Mr. Ascott's giftsin which, to do him justice, he was both thoughtful and liberal-or they must have staid away from the wedding altogether, which they did not like to do "for the sake of the family." So, with a sense of doing their last duty by the sister, who would be, they felt, henceforward a sister no more, Miss Leaf attired herself in her violet silk and white China shawl, and Miss Hilary put on her silver-gray poplin, with a cardinal cape, as was then in fashion, trimmed with white swan's-down. It was rather an elderly costume for a bridemaid; but she was determined to dress warmly, and not risk, in muslins and laces, the health which to her now was money, life-nay, honor. For Ascott's creditor had been already paid: Miss Balquidder never let grass grow under her feet. When Hilary returned to her sisters that day there was no longer any fear of public exposure; she had the receipted bill in her hand, and she was Miss Balquidder's debtor to the extent of eighty pounds. times, to some people, no more galling chain, there is to others-and these are the highest natures, too-no more firm and sacred bond than gratitude. But still the debt was there; and Hilary would never feel quite easy till it was paid-in money, at least. The generosity she never wished to repay. She would rather feel it wrapping her round, like an arm that was heavy only through its exceeding tenderness, to the end of her days. Nevertheless she had arranged that there was to be a regular monthly deduction from her salary; and how, by retrenchment, to make this monthly payment as large as she could, was a question which had occupied herself and Johanna for a good while after they retired to rest. For there was no time to be lost. Mrs. Jones must be given notice to; and there was another notice to be given, if the Richmond plan were carried out; another sad retrenchment, foreboding which, when Elizabeth brought up supper, Miss Hilary could hardly look the girl in the face, and, when she bade her good-night, had felt almost like a secret conspirator. For she knew that, if the money to clear this debt was to be saved, they must part with Elizabeth. No doubt the personal sacrifice would be considerable, for Hilary would have to do the work of their two rooms with her own hands, and give up a hundred little comforts in which Elizabeth, now become a most clever and efficient servant, had made herself necessary to them both. But the two ladies did not think of that at the moment; they only thought of the pain of parting with her. They thought of it sorely, even though she was but a servant, and there was a family parting close at hand. Alas! people must take what they earn. It was a melancholy fact that, of the two impending losses, the person they should miss most would be, not their sister, but Elizabeth. ' Both regrets combined made them sit at the breakfast table-the last meal they should ever take together as a family-såd and sorry, speaking about little else than the subject which presented itself as easiest and uppermost, namely, clothes. Finally, they stood all completely arrayed, even to bonnets; Hilary looking wonderfully bewitching in hers, which was the very pattern of one that may still be seen in a youthful portrait of our gracious Queen -a large round brim, with a wreath of roses inside; while Miss Leaf's was somewhat like it, only with little bunches of white ribbon: "for," she said, "my time of e was a le stiff, flurried, and However. I'm sected the matter with a con- mila je & tot tango hare somebody I end me body be fond of," mediAnt-dened piece of goods" -de v-amurting to Mrs. Jones (who now, I'm the use she was in the Jones's ménage, paazi and xeded in her extremely)-some ime is of womanly craving after the woman's one huge and crown of bliss crept into the poor Id-servant's heart. But it was not for the mand-servant's usual necessity-a "sweet-heart" -somebody to keep company with;" it was rather for somebody to love, and perhaps take care of a little. People love according to their natures; and Elizabeth's was a strong nature; its principal element being a capacity for passionate devotedness, almost unlimited in extent. Such women, who love most, are not always, indeed very rarely, loved best. And so it was perhaps as well that poor Elizabeth should make up her mind, as she did very composedly, that -X, I call this quite a coincidence. I g-some old city fogy who lives in F "Thank you, Tom," said Eliz They began to talk, and Tor: |