The Albany register. (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, June 11, 1870, Image 1

The Albany register., June 11, 1870, Image 1

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Newspaper Page TextVOL. 2. ALBANY, OREGON, SATURDAY, JUNE 11, 1870. NO. 40 SIM jpfaug gqjisto- PUBLISHED ETERT 9ATUBDAT BT COLL. VAI CLEVE. ernci ox corneu op pekht axd first-sts. TERMS IN ADVANCE. One Tear.. ....Three Dollars ix Months Two Dollars Single Copies i-r....Ten Cents ADVKSTISIXO RATES. Transient advertisements per Sqnare of ten lines or less, first insertion, $U ; eacu subsequent Insertion, $1. Larger advertisements inserted on the most liberal terms. JOB WORK. Slaving received new tpe. stock of colored talis, cards, a G onion Jobber, etc., we are pre pa ed to execute all kinds of printing in a better manner aud fifty per cent, cheaper tnaa erer be tfore offered in this city. A greats far the Register. The following gentlemen are authorized to re ceive and receipt for subscription, advertising, etc., for the Register : HIRAM SMITH, Esq ITarrisburg. Judeo S. H. CLAlTOUTOX. Lebanon. PETER HUME, Esij -Brownsville TV. R. KfRK. ' E. E. WHEELER. Eq .:.Scio. T. H. REVXOLDS, Esq Salem. Geo. W. CANNOV, Esq Portland. L. P. FISHER, Esq 'Frisco. BUSINESS CARDS. A. WHEELER, o t ii 1 y I ii b 1 i c BROWXSVILLE, OUEGOX. LEGAL INSTRUMENTS OF ALL KINDS made an ' attested. Conveyances ami col lections attended to. I2'6i BUItMESTER Sc BELLINGER, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELORS AT LAW, Albany. Oregon. Uepicb In the Parrish Brick. 23 J. IIAXIYOJV, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, ALBANY, OREGON. o FFICE On Main street, opposite Fosters Brick. 1-09 KUtabidcl & Co., DEALERS IN GROCERIES AND PRO vUions, Wood and Willow Ware, Confec tionery, Tobacco, Cipar. Pipes, Notions, etc. .Main street, adjoining the Express office, Albany, Oregon. I E. A. Freeland, DEALER IN EVERY DESCRIPTION OF - School. Miscellaneons and Blank Books, t-tationery. Gold and Ste 1 Pens, Ink, etc.. Post office Building, Albany, Oregon. Books ordered from New York and San Francisco. I S. IX. Claug-hton, XTOTART PUBLIC AND RE AL ESTATE X AGENT. Office in the post 05co building, rebttnom9 Oregon. Will attend to making Deeds and other convey ances, als to tho prompt collection of debts en trusted to my care. I J. H. XtTCBEM. . S. tOLrn. A. SMITn. , Mitchell, Dolph & Smith, VTT0R3TETS aso COUNSELLORS at LAW. Solicitors in Chancery and Proctors in Ad miralty. Office over the old Po.t Office, Front street, Portland, Oregon. I JAMES A. WARNER, Civil Knjjineer Sc Surveyor. IS PREPARED TO DO SURVEYING AND Engineering. Uses improved Solar Compass. Orders by mail promptly attended to. Residence -on 4th St., opposite Dr. Tate's residence, Albany Oregon. nI9-6m POWELL. L. TLI-fX. Powell Sc Flinn, ATTORNEYS COUNSELLORS AT LAW and Solicitors in Chancery, (X.. Flinn, Notary Public,) Albany, Oregon. Collections and conveyances prom ply attended to. I P. M. BKDriEI.D. P. W. SPINK. P. M RED FIELD A CO., CONSTANTLY on hand and receiving, a large stock of Groceries and Provisions, Wood and Willow Ware, Tobacco, Cigars, Con fectionery, Yankee Notions, Ac, &o., Wholesale and Retail, opposite R. C. Hill & Son's drug store, Albany, Oregon. 5oct9 ST. CHARLES HOTEL, Corner First and Washington Sts., ALBANY, - , ... - OREGOX. 11. BRENNER, Proprietor. WITH A NEW BUILDING, NEWLY Furnished throughout, the proprietor hopes to give eutire satisfaction to the traveling public. ' The beds are supplied with spring-bottoms. The table will receive the closest atten tion, and everything the market affords palatable to guests will be supplied. jan29-2I FRANKLIN MARKET, Main street, - Albany, Oregon. Meats or All Kinds, and OF THE VERY BEST QUALITY, Constantly on hand. 30-6m : .O. B. HAT-OUT. ALBANY SHAYINQ SALOON. THE UNDERSIGNED, HAVING OPENED a New Shaving Saloon, on First street, Al bany, Oregon, invites all those wishing a Clean Shave, Hair Dressing, or Shampooing, to give him a call. J. H. BACESNSTO. Albany, April 2, 1870.-30 ALBMV IIATII HOUSE. THE UNDERSIGNED WOULD RESPECT fally inform the citizens of Albany and vi cinity that he has taken charge of this establish ment, and, by keeping clean rooms and paying strict atlintic ) to business, expects to suit all those who may favor him with their patronage. Having heretofore earriod on nothing bat First-Class Hair Dressing Saloons, he eznee's to give entire satisfaction to all. , . fi&f Children sod Ladies' hair neatly ent and shampooed.- JOSEPH WEBBER. eeT9y2 , PORTLAND CARDS. E. F. RUSSELL, Attorney at Law, C. P. FERRY, Notary Public. RUSSELL & FERRY. Real Estate Brokers & Collectiiig Agents, Portland, - - Oregon. SPECIAL ATTENTION GIVEN TO THE Sale 'it Real Estate, Real Estate Litigation, and the Collection of Claims. Office, North-west corner of First and Wash ington Streets, Portland, Ogn. feb26-70-25 S. D. SMITH. CEO. S. COOK. THE OCCIDENTAL, FORMERLY vV ostorn Hotel, Corner First and Morrison streets, Portland, Oregon. - - Messrs. SMITH A COOK have taken this well known house, refitted and refurnished it throughout, built a large addition, making thirty mure pleasant rooms, enlarged the Dining and Sitting rooms, making it by far the Best Hotel iu Portland. A call from the traveling public will satisfy them that the above statements are true. SMITH fc COOK, Props. N. B. Hot and cold Baths attached to the house for the benefit of guests. 50 Portland, August 15th, IS69. American i:rn v At; i, CORNER OP Front and Washington Streets, PORTLAND, OREGON. T. P. W. Quimby, - - - - Proprietor. (Late of the 'Western Hotel.) THIS HOUSE is tho most commodious in the State, newly tarnished, and it will be tbs endeavor of the Proprietor to make his gueste comfortable. Nearest Hotel to the steamboat landing. ,7?ET- The Concord Coach will always be font at the landing, on the arrival of steamships ar. river boats, carrying "passengers and tbtrir bar ga;re to and from the boats free of chnre. House supplied Kith Patent Fire Extinguishers. COSJIOFOIilTATV HOTEL. (PORMEnLT ARRIGOXl's,) Front street Portland, Oregon. THE UNDERSIGNED, HAVING PUR ehased this well known Hotel, are now pre pared to offer the traveling puKlic better accom modations than can bo found elsewhere ia tho city. Hoard and Lodging1 $2 OO per day. The Hotel Coach will be in attendance to con- ! vcy Passengers and baggnge to and "from the : Hotel ee oj charge. J. B. SPRENGER. Office Orcson Jk California Stage Company, B. O. WHrrrnotSE, Agent. " ' 2tf Xew Columbian Hotel, N"S. 1W, 120 and 122 Front street. PORTLAND, t t : OREGON ED. CARNEY, PROPRIETOR. The Largest, Best and mo-.t Convenient Hotel in Portland! Located in the center of business and near all the steamboat landings. - Board and Lodging From one to two dollars pur day according to the room occupied. Rooms newly furnished and well ventil ated. Superior accommodations for families. The New Columbian Hotel Coach will be in attendance at all the landings to convey pas sengers and baggage to and from this Hotel 17 J'S- Free) oi Charge ! -53S: 69 NEW ADVERTISEMENTS. LADIES' EMPORIUM. SIRS. A. J. DUNIWAT, . DEALEH IS FasMonalile SillinerHM Fancy Goods. Follows Dress and Cloak Making in all their varied branches. BLEACHES AND PRESSES STRAW GOODS In Latest Style and best manner. . o I. AL" KIND3, printed st the very lowest rates, as ordered, at this office. STA.VP TOR BRA ID AND E3IBR0IDER Y. Corner First and Broadalbin streets, Albany, Oregon. janlnl7-70 C. IV. E A LEY DEALER IN MANUFACTURER OP FUItNITITIl.E 1 and' CABINET WJlKE ! Oedding, Etc., Corner First and Broad Alb in .streets, ALBANY, OREGON. PA.KTICrX.AK ATTEFTIOS PAI TO -JB5 ORDERS OF ALL HINDS in bis line. October 1868-8 rvitxixc;. - - 'TURTwiivc ft a a M n a m tn DO 2 as ss 53 a H , H $ ZD .1 AV PKKPAKSD TO SO ALL KINDS OK TURNING I I ke p on band and make so order RAWHIDE.BOTTOMED CHAIRS, Spinning1 Wneols. 3&f Shop near the "Magnolia Mills." JOHN M. METZLER Albany! Sovr. 58, 1668-12 A LOVE STORY. I. " Now hush, my dearie, hash, there's a man I Your mother is a poor creature, but she can take care of her little lad yet, and she vsill. It will never be she that will sit by and see him thrashed, not for all the Langtons and all the book learning in England I" The speaker sat in her cottage kitchen, in an arm-chair by the fireside, plaiting straw; a feeble, sickly-looking woman, with a querulous face. She had fretted herself into ill health two years ago when her husband died, John Morton, the Brent fisherman, who had lost his life one wild night coming home round the head land with his laden boat; and r.he was never likely, with her indolent and repin ing nature, to be anything but an invalid now for the rest of her days. On a stool at her feet sat the boy whose unmerited whipping she bewailed a small child disfigured by abundant weep ing: The room had also one other occu pant, a dark-eyed, girl of nineteen or twenty, who eat by the window, sewing. She sat sewing, but she let her work drop down upon her knees as Mrs. Morton spoke, and raised a face that was full of a strange kind of pain. - "Mother," she said, in alow intense tone, " I could not help it." . " You didn't try to help it," Mrs. Mor ton retorted, quickly. " You wouldn't care if Langtou broke every bone in his body, as he nearly has done, bad luck to his ugly face," she cried bitterly. " Mother, hush I" As Mrs. Morton spoke those last words the girl's eyes had flashed, and her fin gers had contracted almost convulsively. And yet few others men or women in the parish would have been much concerned at a far greater amount of vi tuperation passed upon Philip Langton ; few who had had auy dealings with him would have been disposed to stand up warmly in his defence.- lie was not a popular man in Brent. He had come to the place a year ago to be master of the village school, the rector's shoul, as it was called. High testimonials had procured him the ap pointment, nor indeed was his abilities ever questioned ; they were all that could be desired, and more than were needed for the post. He was found, however, to be v'oleut-tempered, haughty, reserved, independent, and he soon got an ill name alike with rector and scholars. He had been born and brought up as a gentleman. His father and mother had died when he was a child ; at eighteen he had quarrelled with the uncle -under whuse guardianship he had been brought up, and utterly without resources of his own, "had left his house, and from that, time to this his life hnd been a restless battle aud struggle. lie was clever, am bitious, determined, and friendless. In twelve years, spite of his talents, ho had risen to no higher post than this humble one of village schoolmaster. In the same school at Brent, three months after the arrival of Mr. Langton, Margaret Morton had been appointed mistress. She was young to hold such a post but since her father's death the sup port both of her mother and brother had fallen alnrost entirely upon her; and this circumstance, when the place became vacant last winter, had given her, in the estimation of the; kindhearted rector, a strong claim to the appointment. She had besides been monitress in the school for some years ; she was a good girl, too, and clever; the rector liked her, and be fore she had occupied ber new post for a "month it became clear that the whole school was of one feeling with him. I say she was clever. In a yery short time I'hilip Langton discovered that. Presently, moved, I suppose by some feeling of kindness, he offered, if she cared for it, to help her to advance her studies. Perhaps she too had some am bition, some desire to be at a future time more than a Tillage school-teacher. Be that as it may, she accepted his offer, and she had now been his pupil for six months. He found her quick, earnest, and trusting; repaying that trust, he had made himself to ber patient, unwearied and gentle. Master .and pupil suited each other. It was evening, seven o'clock on a June day. ' Tho school had long been cleared of its throng of children ; books and slates were put away in their places; the brick floor was clean swept. At the girls' room the door was locked, but the boys' room was still open, and alone at the master's desk stood Mr. Langton, a thin, slight man, with a dark, resolute face, by no means prepossessing or hand some. : " ' ne used to give Margaret lessons usu ally about this hour, and he was waiting tor her now. To-day, however, he had to wait a quarter of an hour or more before she came. When she did come at last, ho was writing, and only raised his head for a moment as he heard her step. " You are late," was all he said. " Yes ; 1 was detained a little while at home." ' . She had brought out her books and arranged them before he moved from his desk. Coming at length in silence, he drew a scat beside her, and took the open book out of her hands. , " What have you prepared?" " " Those two pages." He began to question her upon them, forthwith. She could usually answer what he asked her, readily ; to day, how ever, b-r thoughts were evidently wander ing. He tried more than once to fix her attention, but still, in epite of that, the lesson was ill said. , . i He put down the book at last- : You are not well to-day ? " he asked. " O yes, I am well," she said, quiokly. : " What are yon thinkiog of, then? Not of your lesson ? " " No." She hesitated a moment. " Tell me." " I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Lang ton," she said suddenly. " You were very angry with my brother this morn ing." " Well ? " - " You hurt him very much." " I meant to hurt him." " He is very young.".- " Young or old j he did wrong." There was-a pause. Mr. Langton sat forward, leaning his dark face on his hand. Well ? " he said again. Her eyes had fallen. When ho ques tioned her, they, looked back to his face; she began to speak again, and gradually as she spoke her cheek flushed hot and bright. Could you not be a little gentler with them, a little less angry with them when they do wrong ? I know that Tom de served to be punisi.d -day ; but: if you could be a little gentler ! When you are angry every one misunderstands you. O, Mr. Langton !" she cried, "you do not know half what is said against you I" The tears had sprung np into her eyes; her earnest distress had tilled her faee with a look almost of passion. "I cannot attend to all the fools' tongues in Brent," was his scornful an swer. " Stand you by me, and they may talk as they please." ' But could you not bear a little with them?" she pleaded timidly. "Mr. Langton, you must not think that they can do you no harm. They can harm you; they send every complaint they have against you to the rectory. They are saying already," the poor girl's voice almost broke down," they are saying already that you will not be much longer here" " Ah? are they saying that?" and he laughed. She gave him one sad look, and then dropped ber head, and spoke no more. Her clasped hands lay on her lap ; pres ently as she sat, large tears fell down and wet them, one never- moved ; he also gat motionless. She thought he did not know she was weeping, but she was wrong rhere ; be was conscious of every tear she shed. ' Quietly watching her, he let the silence last for several minutes ; then bending to her at last, he said these words : ' If it comes to that, if I am not to be here much longer, Margaret, will you let me leave Brent as poor as when I came ? " She started as he spoke, but she neith er replied to him or raised her head. He did not withdraw his took from her; af-" ter a few moments he spoke again. " I have loved no woman before. You are my first love, Margatet. Will you be my wife ? " She answered him then.' " What am I that you should ask me this?" she said, in an agitated voice. "I am nothing but a poor, ignorant girl. O uo no S " she cried. Your wife must not be one like me ! " " Margaret 1" he said. She had not looked up till then, but at that call, as if its passionate tenderness compelled her, she raised her face. What need was there to speak again ? By her two hands he drew "her near to him, and took her in his arms. ii. They told no one of their engagement, for they knew the outcty that would on all hands follow its discovery, and, no one suspected it. . For , three months they were both infinitely happy. Even in the school during these months there was improvement. Margaret's power over Mr. Langton was great ; one word or one look from her, one touch of her hand, could subdue him in his angri est and haughtiest moods ; and, rendered pliable for his love for her, he strove, and often strove successfully, to bend his pride and curb his temper. Thus, for a time, all things went wonderfully well. But this hollow kind of peace was not a thing to last. - Margaret could not be al ways by his side, or in his sight ; and one day at length in an' unlucky hour, sud denly, without warning, the three months' tranquility expired. Mr. Langton quarreled with the rec tor. Tho rector was really wrong in the ground of quarrel, and Philip right ; but Philip, in his indignation, forgot all de ference due to him as his employer, stood up before him as equal to equal, and the end of the days business was, that when the school-house was closed in the after noon, the key of it went into the rector's pocket. He had written the sentence of their separation. Margaret knew that, but she did not reproach him. They met to gether that evening for the last time at the foot of a clifl beside the sea, which had witnessed many a meeting of t heir's before, with the calm wide water stretch ing from their feet. ' It must have coaie sooner or later," he said. " Do not grieve so for it, my darling. I was wasting time here. My going now will only bring me back to you the sooner." ; " She looked np wistfully to his face. " The future is all so dark," she cried; " we cannot see into it.w I feel as if I was holding the last link of a golden chain ; and to night to-night before I sleep it will have fallen from me." r " No j it will not have fallen ! " he an swered, cheerfully. M Your hand grasp ing one end, mine holding fast the other, it will remain stretched oat between ns until th hour that I come back. Mar garet I will work for oa : I will strug gle for you: I will rise for you you, " ha cried " wait fur ; me I And for no nnwr hnt t.h nower of God taking my life, shall keep me from coming back. " 1 will wait," she said- "I will wait years and years. If you dio before I ever see you again I will wait for you toll we meet in heaven' -in. She did wrong to keep their engage ment from her mother. Poor Margaret knew that, and was troubled by the knowledge, but she had not courage to awaken the storm of abuse which she kuew well would fall upon her head should she divulge it, so she let time pass on, and told her mother nothing. She kept her secret for two years, hearing from her love occasionally, but not often, and living on her silent trust in him. After these two years were ended, one day, a bright summer afternoon, Mrs. Morton stood at her cottage door, shad ing her eyes from the strong sunlight as she looked eagerly toward the school houje, whence the school children were coming pouring out and swarming down the road, and whence presently, with a step that was slower than theirs, came Margaret. Mrs. Morton's tongue was loosed as she drew near. , " O, dea-me ! what a time that school does keep you ! " she ejaculated. "Such ; a state as I've been in all day ; my poor head's just worn out with thinking. Margaret, you never will guess as longaa you live, but what do you think the post man brought me here this morning ? " "What, mother?" As she spoke Margaret's whole face flushed. " O, you may well ask what. I tell you you'll never guess. Why he brought a letter from your uncle Tom, in America, who might have been dead and buried, for anything I've known, these five years, and he's sent us money to go out to him. Yes, he says we're to go out to him, every one of us, and he'll keep us as long as we live. Why, Margaret!" Mrs. Morton cried. " Margaret 1 God bless the girl, are you going to faint?" " Mother, come in. Mother, come in and shut !he door." White and trembling, Margaret passed into the kitchen. She let her mother join her there, and grasping her hands tight within her own, she began to speak hurriedly, in a low, constrained, almost hard tone. " Mother, I cannot go ; I cannot leave England," she said. " If you go, you must go alone. No no don't look like that at me. 1 have had news, too, to-day. O, mother ! " she cried, all hardness sud denly breaking down as she clasped Mr. Morton's hands upon her breast, " speak gently to mc, look kindly on me. Dear mother ! dear mother ! I am going to be Philip Langton's wife." - - Mrs. Morton stood before her daughter, face to face, and caught her by the arms. "You are going to be icJutt?" burst from her lips. "Uoing to bo tchat?" she ofiud. " I am going to be his wife." Her answer came almost triumphantly now. " I promised him long before he went. He wrote to me to day to tell me that he could marry me. And he is coming I " she cried, the light flushing up in her face. It was the last flash of gladness that lighted that poor face for many a day to come. Margaret had told her secret, and what followed was a storm of tears and passionate reproaches so violent as to ex haust all the small stock of strength that Mrs. Morton had, and force her, before many hours were over to her .bed, where she lay and sobbed and moaned all night, and by morning had worn herself ill enough to make Margaret unablo to leave the house. Throughout the whole day, from morning to night, her daughter sat beside her. listening to her reproaches, and her self-bewailings, and her passion ate entreaties. For years past, indeed for well ni;h her whole life loner. Mrs. Morton had been very well aware that ner strength lay in her fretful pertinacity and ber deadness to every other crea ture's eomfort but her own. In former days she had ruled her husband by her querulous selfishness ;- for years she had ruled her daughter by the same means ; selfishness was to her her armor of proof, and she had resorted to it in countless straits before, so she resorted to it now. Margaret had worked for her, and devot hcrself to her, and humored her, and Mrs. Morton felt that it would be hard now to do without this filial care ; and feeling this, whatever a generous and noble nature could least bear to have it self accused of these things did the moth er launch at her daughter's head. She hung herself as a dead weight round Margaret's neck, and then, ringing her hands, called every one to witness how Margaret was about to throw her mother off. ; For two days Margaret bore this per secution almost in silence, sitting hour after hour by her mother's side, with her poor beurt growing cold and faint within her. What should she do ? They were all against ber, mi ther, brother, friends; she bad no one to take her part, no one, not a single one, to utter Philip Langton's name except with abuses or reproach . W hat should she do ? Hour after hour for those two weary days the poor girl's desolate passionate question went up to Heaven And slowly and relentlessly, as thce hours went on, the hope that had been her torch so long paled and died out. She fought for two days, and then the battle ended. When the evening of the second day came she knew that she must give him np. She must give him up, her love ! her life ! She was sitting when the strug gle ended by her mother's side, who, worn ont with forty-eight hour's of fret ting, was lying at last with closed eyes and shut lips. Sho had lain so for half an hoar, her thin face shrank, her pale cheeks hollowed with those two days illness, and for half an hour Margaret had sat and watched ber. Sat in the deep silence, the first moments of peace that had been given her, and watched her as she lay there, sickly and feeble and lonely, till a conviction arose within her heart that conquered her, a despairing, hope less conviotion, that she dared not leave her. - She mat when it had come, and rocked herself to and fro, crouching her head, putting out ber hands and covering her face, moaning over and over again some low unintelligible, broken-hearted words. She never changed sound or movement till Mrs. Morton's querulous' voice broke on her misery. She only changed them then to raise her white face to her moth er, and strive to utter words which at her first effort choked her and would not come. And when at last, kneeling by the bedside, with her face pressed upon her outstretched hands, the poor girl uttered them", giving her broken-hearted promise that she would go, for her reward there came this answer: -' f " Could you not have said as much at the beginning," Mrs. Morton said, "with out doing your best to kill m first? But you are still as you have been nil your life, thinking of no creature in -the world except yourself." IV. The promise was given, and from that time onward she was altogether passive. The chief object of every pne about her was to hurry her awav before Philin Langton could hear that she was eoinsr. She knew this but she never said a word. Living as they did they only needed a few days to make their preparations for departure. The rector promised, without detaining Margaret, to find a substitute for her in school. By the end of the week they were all in readiness to go.' She sat, on the last night, in her own room alone. Through all tho week poor Langton's unanswered letter had laid upon her heart. To-night she wrote to him Like one whom sorrow had stunned inte insensibility, she told him all that had been done; she told him of the promise - she had given, almost without one demonstration of emotion. And only then, when all was said, suddenly at some stray thought the chance recalling of a few words uttered lonjr before all the great agony of heart burst forth. " Do you remember'" she said, " tha. evening when we parted, how I told you that I felt as if I had hold of the last link of a chain ? " And then " What am I to do ? " she broke out wildly. " O my God ! what am I to do ? How am I to live aH my life long alone. 0 Philip, help me! Philip have mercy on me ! write me one word, or I shall die. O, if I could have seen you once more only once more only once more before I go! All day long, all night, as I lie awake, I think of it. O, Philip! write to me and forgive me, or my heart will break." She had been in her new home for a month when the answer to that appeal was brought to her. A hard and cruel answer. This was what it said : " I trusted all my happiness to you, and you have wrecked it.. From this I give you no forgiveness. From your solemn promise to become my wife, from your solemn promise to wail for mc till I should come and claim you, no power on earth had the right to set you free. You have broken those promises of your own weak choice and will.' Had 1 been by your side you had not dared to do this wronsr, tome. If vou had been faithful I would have loved you as never living man will love you now. I would have cherished you as never man will cherish you. You have chosen your own lot apart from me. And I . The letter broke off here. To this last blank desolate line there was added noth ing out tne passionate bitter cry, . iuargaret 1 a1 area ret I A pleasant room, with windows open ing mj a terrace, ana, beyond, a garden sloping to the sea. A summer day in southern latitudes. " And so after all these years," cried a lady reclining on a cushioned sofa, " Henry Fitzgibbon has come baok again.". " Ay, he has come at last." " I am so curious to see him. We must go early, Mr. Treversj and have a talk with him before the other people come. And with regard to the girls, Miss Mor ton," Mrs. Travers raised herself a little, and turned her head, " as my sister likes you to be early, you had better join us about eight." At the far end of the room Margaret Morton Bits writing, with a cheek that nine years have paled, and a figure that their hands has made more slight. All the rounded comeliness of former days is gone ; and yet the calm, refined, strong i face is beautiful now with a beauty it never possessed of old. The dreary eyes have a deep, tender look in them, some times sad, oftener composed and cheerful; for she has wrought her ; way ont of that great anguish of her youth, and it shades her years now only with a silent and subdued sadness, not any longer with passionate sorrow and revolt. Yet the face that caused that bitter suffering has been the leading star, the refining element of her life. Its influence has led her in everything that she has done, in everything that she has Strug gled to become. . She has been true to it in her whole heart and being, in spite of Philip's injustice, in spite of her own re nunciation. She has risen to the position of a gov erness in a merchant's family. Hither and thither her lot has led her, during these nine years, over that wide Ameri can continent. She is now in a pleasant Southern town on the .coast of Florida. She is all alone in the world. - The kind uncle who brought her over is dead ; the sickly mother dead, too, a year ago : her brother, the only one remaining, is a fortune-seeker in California. - n You will be at my sister's at eight o'clock," Mrs. Travers said : and at sight o'clock Margaret and her two pupils eat in Mrs.. Maurice's drawing room. - She eat before a side table strewn with books, and whiled the time away in turn ing them over. There were a few small gronps of ladies in the room, making a faint buzz of conversation, but it was not loud enough to interrupt ber. For a long while she read undisturbed, until the feeble buzz at last leapt into quicker ani mation, for the drawing-room door was opened, and new voices sounded, and new faces t ntered and filled the room. A few feet from where sjbo sat there stood a small empty sofa. Toward thia .there presently came two persons, and took possession of it Mrs. Travers. and a gentleman whose face was strange to Margaret.. As they sat down it was he who apoko first. " Begin with your own marriage, and tell me everything," he said. What has become of all my old friends ? " I can scarcely see or hear of oneof them." " I can give yon a score of histories," she answered. "Who shall I begin with?" And they fell at once in an animated talk together. It might have lasted perhaps for half an hour, when, after a momentary pause, Margaret heard these words : " In tho midst of all this," Mm. Tra ver's companion said, "how in the world have you contrived to be so little chang ed 1 To look at you I can scarcely be lieve that I have ever been away ; yet the whole morning I have been complain ing to Langton that I cannot recognize a single face I see." She looked np with an involnntary start, but it was only for a moment. Shu had beard strangers called by that name before. There were more Langtons in the world, than hers. "By the way," Mrs. Travers .said, " who is this Mr. Langton ? Where did you pick him ap?" j " Langton ? O, he is a man with some name in political circles in England. He is just now secretary! to Lord " " He is not in the room at present, is he? I am eo blind, but I don't sea him." " No ; he and Travers got into a dis cussion together, and we left them to fight it out. , They turned the talk back to their own affairs. With a low sigh Margaret stoop ed her face again upon her book. " It is not Philip, it is not Philip, she whisper ed to herself. Bending her head she shaded her eyes, and for.a minute closed their lids ; and before her attitude was altered, before ner eyes were reopened there fell upon her car the long unheard voice. . " How beautiful your open ea here is," it said. " It brings to my mind the on ly place where I ever lived before by the open sea, a little village in the south of England." .iS he looked up and saw him. That vision that nino years had robbed her of; that lover whose memory her life, with 1 1 -. . . . 1 3 ait lis struggles, successes, euuuraucco, bad been an offering. There, before her his foot within a pace of where she sat, his dark, familiar face clear within her sight ; familiar, and yet how strange af ter this absence, this silence, this abne gation of nine years. A hand was laid kindly on her arm and on her ear came the tones of another voiee i -" You feel this room very hot," it said. "Do you not, Miss Morton? I am sure you are hot, you look so pale and tired. Come away with me, and let us take a little walk upon the terrace." The outstretched hand drew her from her seat. O, this was cruel ! There leapt up to her lips ono piteous cry, one help less cry of passionate resistance, and then sho rose and went. Away she went, from where her hungry eyes had rested, to the dimly lighted terrace. " Now take my arm, we will walk for a little while here." Sho answered Yes," but she could not do it. She tried, and walked a dozen steps ; then suddenly stood still, and cried: " Let me tut down." She leant against a -pillar near her. " Mrs. Carlton, let me sit down I Here, where it is not light ? " she cried. " My dear, there is no seat : stand still one moment. T ! - " .. . . . t x Busing to asic nonnestion. rurs. uart- ton hurried to the house. She was absent for a few seconds : then sho returned. and not alone. Another arm was laden with the chair she.had gone to find, and another hand set it bv Afarc-aret's side." " Thank you, Mr. Langton. flow, my dear, sit down. You will be better soon in this fresh air." She sat down as ahe was bidden; heir lessly, without a word. She gave no thanks. Having come, he stayed.' Deliberately and at once be took the place where she had stood, and leant where she had leant against the pillar. He stood with his face partly towards her, with the light upon it. "We shall never teach this northern snowdrop to bear our southern warmth," Mrs. Carlton said. " Mr. Langton, are all your countrywomen so hard to accus tom to new climates ? Are they all such fragile creatures as this one?" He turned his head where Margaret sat, and looked at her. Following that look there came no change upon his face, no token in him of recognition, nothing but this quiet answer. " You are used to a warmer coloring here. Oar northern snows tob our En glish women of that." v " And yet England is a good way from the pole. And jou are not like a enow drop, Mr. Langton, at all." "I amaoarcely English my mother was an Italian." " Was she ? I did cot know. And have you lived in Italy ? Ah, Mr. Lang ton !" she oried suddenly, in a qoiok outburst of her southern enthusiasm. " Tell mo about Italy.: What part of it Continued on fourth jgt.