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TT * .' .y Oyp TJTTr'TT'Q T n^T'Q lM«n>«<itolarebimon, wttbtbeMdUodina io hit faoe th»t m»<ie Fern throw her arme OXXll XlUVJXl O ijVJ V £lO> •>(-• thkt ha renmaibored bo well; »b<u, roaud his neck. with the contrariety of m*u ever uagvr fur â- ' Ob. it in hard," iihe Bobb< d ; " I know the uuattctiikbtn, he b«|{au to loug njoie how hard'it is for jou to hemr DM Hty tbii, bat iiba» to be Uoed. She ot-ver deceivMi you, dear â€" lihe never let yon hope for a single moment; ahe wan alwa)H tme to htrtielf and you. Try to bear it, Puroy , try to be i^lad that her onhiippiiieHa iaover. aud that ahe is married to the man alit- lovea. It is the ouly tbiug that will b«li> jon." "Nothing will help me," he retnrned, in the name muffled voice ; but uhe would niti be r>-pulited. 8he awrpt back the darlt hair from his fonbead and kiised hiui Did Bhe not uhare hia bufferiniiB? " Uh, il '"* niothrr were only here," bheuixhed, feeling *"â- ' her inability to comfort bi'n. " Mother io And be learnt yet another thing, as hii aoijar alowly burnt itaelf out and ouly profound wretobttdoeaB and intolerable ••apeuae reuiaiiied aa to his wife'a fate â€" •otut thing that Btartled him with a Benae of sweetueaa, and y«t atnng ^im with infiiiiie Cin; K ban the haaulioK preaauoa of his It wife iMined ever with him aud would not let biM rebt ; wbeu hia remorse was terrible; aud when he would have ^iven up all he had in the world just to hear her Bay in her low fund voice that ahe forgave him •u. Vor he knew now that he had wrouKed her and that his neglect and culJneBB bad driven her from her kAme. '1 he anoertainty of her fate BometimeB â- early drove him wild. Uow could uhe have laid her plana bo accurately that no tracea of her and the child could be found? Gould evil have befallen them ? God help bim if a hair of thoae innocent bead%bad been touched. In hia weakneBB be oMld not alwaje control the horrible iinaOBa- lionb that beH«t him. Ufttn he woulU&ke from Bonie ghautly dream and lie till dawn, anable toahaku off hia deadly terror. Then all of a BUilden he would remember that basty poBtbciipt, â- ' Do not be auxiuuB about me. 1 am Kuiug to Bome kind people who will be Kood to me and the boy ;" and he would fail nHleep a)<ain while vainly trying to recall if he bad ever heard Fay vpeak •( any fiieuiU of her childhood. Itui though Brie and Miaa Morilauiit tried to help him, •o name oicuned to any of them. It wau an added burden to bim that Erie oonld not come to him ; but there waH Iroable in Kelgrave House, and the Bhadewx were cloning louiid it. Krie could iiui Itiave hia uncle, but wrote very kindly to pouroon- .^'ieuce atri> ken Hugh, ana aaid all he could tocomiort liiui. It WBH in thoHe bears ut dreary holpleas- IM>88 that ilu^b learnt to miaa his Wee Witie. In lliiae long buumier afternooiiK, while hid foreign nurue nodded drowsily beei'le lilm, and the hot air crept sliiggiiihly in at the u|H^n winilow, how he longed (or the small i;<>ol hand that us<xl tu be laid S(i aoftly on biB temples, or put the drink to bit parched lipa before they could frame tbeir waiit. He remembered the hours she bad sat b<-4iil« him, finning the tlies from hia pillow or bathing his ai:hing head, bbe had never left hint- never aeemi>d tired or iinpai lent, though her (ace had grown so p»le with watching. Oilieni would have apared her; others told him that ahe waa spent and weary, but he had never noticed It. " And, brute that I was," he thoaght, "I left her alone in her trouble with ouly strangers and liirelingB about her, to flght and more to sea her; when his ang>r rvived aud impatience with it. And, tliungh hardly own< d it to himaeif, both anger and impatience were born of love. OnAPTEB XXXVII. Valin«S TINRATIS. And Is tb're In â- â€¢od's wurlit so drear a place, Where the luud lii tur cry is tais* d lu \alu , Wtiere learH uf peiianL-e cume tuo late for grace As uu Ike upro.j.b4l Huwli llie genial jain St Lake's little sammer was over, ripe golileu daya that October binds in blieaf, the ricbeal and rar»at of the year's harveai, had been followed by ohill fO|{s â€" dull sullen dkyBâ€" during which flaring gaH- , li(,hta burnt lu Mrs. Watkius' bb'ip even at noonday, and Kern's bu>-y fingers, never willingly idle, worked by the light of a lamp long before the uiutliu boy aud milkman made their afternoon romida in Klysian Fielda. { An> thing farther removed from the typii^i idea of the Elysian Fields ooold scarcely be imagined than on such an after- noon. It was difficult, even for a lighb | heat ted person, to maintain a uniform' cheerfulness where damp eiuded every- 1 g„e,j^ ,„ b* built up across his path, and where, and the moist thick air Beetned to he oorld see nooullet. •• I cannotstay now," doae roand one in vaporous folds. Some- [ ^e said, and his voice Bouqrttd strange in his where, no doubt, the sun wa lity I so sorry for you, sbeoriedabontit the other night." " Yes," he answered, " mothers are like that;" and then waa silent again. What was there he couKi say â€" he was in no mood (or sympathy. The touch of Fern's soft arms were torture to bim. His idol wsh gone in another man's pibseasion. He should never see again the daik 8>nibern loveliness that had so enthralled his imagination ; aud the idea was madden ing to him. In a little while ha rose, but no speech seemed possible tg bim. A wall of ice might possibly shine again; but it was bard to realize itâ€" hard to maintain outward or inward geniality under such depressing oir- cumatauces. Fern had turned from the window with an involuntary shudder. Then she lighted her lamp, stirred the tire, and sat down to her embroidery. As her needle flew through the canvas bur Hpt eeenied to close with an expression uf patient sadmss. There were soriowful curves th«t no one ever saw, for Feru kept all her thoughts to her- self. Nover since the night when she had sob- bed out her grief on her mother's bosom, when the utterance of her girlish despair and lontjiiig had tilled that mother's heart witli dininay, never since then had Fern spoken uf her trouble. " We will never talk of it again," she had said, when the outbarnt was over; "it will do do good ;" and her mother had sorrowfully ac<|uic8oed. ilrn. Trafiford knew that only time, that Ixuielii-ent healer, could deaden her child's pain. Fern's gentle nature waa capable o( <|uiot but intense fueling. Nea's faithful and ardent alTeciions were repro- duc hI ill bur child. It was not only the lohM of her girlish dreams over which Fern mixinied. Her woman's love had oncon- air seemea to j,e oorld see nooutlet. •• I cannotstay now,' folds. Bom«)- . jje said, and his voice souilrird strange in hi B shining, and ^j^^ ears. " Will yon give my love to m; the very Valley of the ' Krnjiis.y root 'd itsel', and could not be torn her wa> throngh Mhadow uf lleaili.' and sinooihe<i it out - il waa a trick of his when he tijuught no one wouhl see him. He had read it over until he knew it ufl by heart> Ah ! if Heaven would but spare bim this once and ^ivn hiiii btck the atrengih h« had niiauaed, that he might find III r, (Ktor <'liilil, and bring liur home, and comfort her as only he crmld comfort her. Hit would love her now, he tbrn^t;^ yea, if slia wunll only bear with him 4fi'l give him time, he know from the detp pity aud tenderiiess which h*(i't that Im ^V^jld love h'T yet, for the merciful l'ioviqeiic« that had laid I lie erring man low was teach- ing him lussonn that no other diHcipliiie oohIiI have inculcated. The cold December wind was whirlini^ my mother. Fern?" " Oh, do not go," Bhepleaded,and nowthe (ears were rtmuing down her face. "Do stay with me, I'ercy." "Not now; 1 will come again," he answered, relessing himself impatientiv ; but as be mounted bis boise, some impufae made him look up and wave his hands. And then he rode out into the gloom. It waa too early to go home ; besidea, he did not wish to face people. The fog seemed lifting a little. His mare was fresh, and she might take her own road, ami follow her own pace â€" a few miles more or less would not matter to him in this mood. lilack care was sitting behind him on th I saddle, and had taken the reins from his haiuda; and a worse gloom than the murky atmosphere was dosing round bim. Hhe had told him that his life waa before himâ€" that be could carve out his own future; but as he looked baok on his past liteâ€" on the short tale of bis four-aiid- twenty years- bis heart was sick williin bim. What a pitiable part he had played. Was it possible that such a woman as Crystal uuuld ever have loved him ? Had not hia cowardly desertion of bis mother lie took out her letter up without sull. ring. An unerring instinct o„)y ,»„„ her silent contempt ? And now told hi-r thiit Krlu had not always been iiiilifTeient to her; that once, not BO very long ago. his fru-iiilsoip had been true and ill! |i. Well, Hlie hail forgiven niu ttckleiii sb. No bilteriU'SN rankled'in his heart against him. He had Ineii very kind to her; he wuiilrl not wiith. her to be unhappy. ll:il she was very brave. 8li« Would not Took Hi tha futni.. The cohl bUnkm „8. I^im. "Unlv he him*eli knew bow he haii the ..arr.i>vgiiiow, w.Hil.lhave ohilled hrr I ,,.j„p,p^i ^^^^ ^grf the subterfuges to whi.ih UeMct. bUauuly look lauh >lay asH came. 'l. i*^ i i n i. . i _ , \.- aiiil iiii-il to ill} hi-r hi bl with it. it was too late to redeem himself in her eyes. liiH fate was frowning on hiin. His pobilioii at llelgravu Uouae had long been [ irkH.xiie to him. llix grandfaiherlovedhim, bill not as he loved Kile ; and in hix heart ; he war< au<;retly jealous of TTrl*- if it had I been poaaihl* he would have supplanted With her u»ti4l linm-inithneHH •\\\u ileter- mini'it that ijo One pise should suffer through her unhappineHH. Her m:>ther's hi ief hourti of ft !«t should bt< unshadowed. Tt WHS a pale little sunbeam whose sioih through the bam bramlies of I ho oaks and ' gnwted her of an eveping ; bat it was still betMihes ill the Uedniund avenue when Hir Hugh came home, a changed and nad. dened man. Yea, ohnngnd ontwanlly as well as in- wardly. Good Mrs. Heron cried when she saw hini enter the hall on Haville'a arm, looking ao thin and worn and leaning on hiH stick. Bis youth seemed to have passed away ; his amnoth forehead was already furrowed like that of a middle-aged man, and hia fair hair had worn olf it slightly, making bim look ten years older; and yet there was that in Hugh Kedmond's taoe, if Margaret •oold have seen it, that would have ttlled b«r purs heart with axoeediog thankful- K sunbeam. The sweet looks and words aiiU loving attention werestillslwaysrvady. As Niia watched her child bur heart would Bwoll with pride and reverence. She recog- nised the innate strength and power of self- saorificH that Maurice had loft her as his legacy. " Uf all my children. Fern is most like her father," Mrs TrafTord would say ; " Hhiiis stronger than she looks â€"she would rather die than tell nis again that she is Unhappy." | But Pern would not have owned that her life was unhappy as long as she had her mother to love her. Hhe was taking her. self to task this aftarnoon as she sat alona _ _ â€" for FlulT had esoaped as usual to Mrs. too lata. he had stooped, lie had encourageil Erie's visita to Uaulaib I'laoe from uiotivea of aelf. iutereat, aud bad baan foiled by Erie's eiii;».<eiiient to Evelyn Selby. How he li«thed himself as he Ihouuht of it nil. Oh, i( he conlil only undo the past. Voniig SH he was, nun seenifil staring him iii the (ace. He lia<l s<|iiandersil his handsome allowaiiie. his ileiits were heavy. He had heard his grandlatlier say that of all things he abhorred gambling ; and yet be knew be waa a gambler. Only the preosding night he had staked a large sum and had lost ; and that very morning he had ap|>eaUd to Erie to save him from the conat-iinence o( his own rashness. .\s he rode on, bis tlioaghts seemed to grow tangled and confused. His life was a failure; how was he to goon living ? AH these yeari he had fed on husks, and the laste was bitter in his mouth. Oh I if he ixiuld make a clean breast of it all. And then he repeated drearily that it was For thoagh tha pallor caused by suffering waa still there, and those who saw him said that 8ir Hugh was a broken man, yet thero was a nobler expresaiuu than it had ever worn in happier days. The old fretful lines around the mouth wore gone ; and, though the eyes looked aadly round at the old familiar faces, as though missing the truest and best, still, there was a chastened gravity about his wboln mien that spoke of a new and earnest purimne ; of a heart so humbled at last that it had fled to its best refuge, and had found strength ii* the time e( need. Many years afterwards he owned, to one who was ever hia closest friend, that a whole lifetime uf suffering had been compressed faito those few short years that had followed bis father's death. I'he whole plan and parpose of his youth had been marred ; his heart wasted by a paasion that was denied satisfaction ; and lastly, just as he was beginning to turn to his neglected wife with a sympathy and interest that promised well for her future happiness, suddenly be found his name untraged and his home forsaken, and the load and terror of an unbearable remorse laid heavily upon him. That was a strange winter to Hugh Red. mondâ€" the strangest and saddest he had ever passaii ; when ho spent long, solitary days fn the old Hall ; and only Erie -generous, kindhearted Erie came i^aw and then to break hia solitude. Ah I he missed her then. 8ome:imes, as he wan lered disnnnsolately through the empty rooms, i^ sat by his lonely flreside in tha twilight, the fancy would haunt hiin that ah» would come back to hlin yet that tha door would open, and a little llgure come stealing through the darkness and run into bis arms with a low, glad cry. And sometimes, when he stooil in her room and Hiw the empty cot over rl 1 :h she used to hang so fondly, a longing jesting Watkins' and was blaming herself for her disoontent ; and then she sang very softly a vetse of her favorite hymn- lio tbsl thuii Iflusiesl in our |Ood. Vud uiiliiest il'>ud Is 111, .iiid all la r glit that iieemn most wrong If It IxTliy swMt will, Hia reins were hanging loosely on bis horso's neck. Uis high-spirited little mare had been following her own will for more than an hour now, and had relapsed into s walk, as Percy roused himself to see where he was. He found himself on a bridge with the river on either side of him. but almost before she bad tluiahed the last ' He was miles away from Belgrave House; line, she waa startled by her brother's and for the moment he was perplexed, abrupt entranoe. ,nd drew up to ask a boy who was •' Percy I oh, I did not hear you," she loitering on the footpath what bridge it faltered, and she turned a little pale, and wag. her heart began to beat more quickly. It I There was a steamer passing; and a little wae foolish of her, but she never heard Ud had clambered on the parapet to see it Percy's step without listening involuntarily ^o by. Either he overbalanoed himself or for the quick light tread that used to fellow grew giddy, bat, to Percy's horror, there it. but that never oamenow. ] „,„ , sharp scream, and the next moment " Yon are alone," he said rjuiokly, with a the child had disappeared, keon glance round the room. "Well, it is | In an instant Percy was off bis horse, best, because 1 wanted to speak to yon. ' and, with the agility of a practised athlete. _ _ _„...ly r Ilave you heard from Miss Davenport lately, had swnng himself on the parapet. Yes Fern V" i he could see the eddy where the " Yea," she Btsiiunored, raising her soft ohild bad sank; and in another moment he eyes to his face with a pitying expression ; had divod into the dark water. " I had a letter tho other dav." | .. u was a plucky thing to do, sir." " Well, " impatiently, " does she say observe*! a navvy who had seen the when they are coming back ?" proceeding, and who afterwards detailed â-  In another fortnight at least they U to Erie Huntingdon ; ' I don't mean to start then; "and thero she stopped, know aa ever I saw a pluckier and looked at him very piteously. " How thing in my whole life. Ay, and the poor I wish mother would come ; shs will not be yonng gentleman would have done ittoc.for very long, and -and 1 would rather that any onecouldBeeheknewwhathewasabout; you heard It from her." ' for be dived in straight after the ohild " Do yon mean that you have anvthing »nd then, that dratted ateamer-you will special to tell me ?' he asked, struck by her excuse me, sir, but one's feelings are strong '"'"''?'â- â-  . . , . - what must it do but back to pick "" '»>" Oh, I wish you had not asked me," she ohild ; and the poor fellow, he mu returaed, clasping her hands ; •' you are bo gtruk his head against it, (or ho we fond of Crystal, and it will make you ,^,i„. oh yes I the ohild was all ri. terribly nnhappy : I... .11 ---„ ''"* "O'her Baid we the young geiitioman"'v»ouid have" 'been"aii ought to tell you, I'eroy, dear. There was riohi too hnt f„,tl,.» ...ai„ Ki,^,., itij:.„,«^ never any ho|>e for always told yon so; married." Married!" he almost shouted, and was right too, but for that nasty blow, itstanned you -you know she him you see." and now Crystal is •• Married 1 he almost shoated, and his God for anchor as ho went down kto h tmlsome young face seemed to grow sharp watery grave '? Who knows what ory ' ami pale. " Married I Pshaw I you are up to heaven .' The old epitaph that lesting, burn. ' .,..,„. ..^ „., .i.. 4-_.i. -i'. ^ ." . would siuitA hiin for the hoy whom he had never held in his arms. ily and by when tha spring returned. Dear Percy," she answered " do you think I would jest with you on siirh a subject. Indeed -indeed it is true. aome of his old strength and vigor came Hhe was married some ten daya ago to Mr. baok, and ho waa able to join personally in | Ferrers, the blind clergyman, who was the search, wheua new nust and excitement staying at Itelgrave House. He had co.iie seemed added to bli life; and in the there to look (or her. He had known her ardor of the cliBie he learnt to (orgi t from a ohild, and they had long loved each Margaret and the shadows o( a too sorrow- other." fuJ past. I " Marrtad I" he repeated, in the simo Wben the sweet faoe of bis Wee Wide dull, hard voioe, and there was something Yes, it ha<l stunned him ; the young ill- spent life waa over. Did he call upon hia God for ancMr as ho went down Into his went that was engraved on the tomb of 'a nolorions ill- gnntly, Jiyer speaks quaintly of hope in suoh oases, HtttwUt tha raddia aud the Rrouiid He niuny sought and muroy found, and Uaby quoted them softly to Crystal as she wept over the fate of her unhappy lover. " His last sot waa to try and save another ; God only knows how far this wonid go to redeem a faulty pastâ€" God only knows. Do not cry bo bitterly, darling. Let Qs trust him to tha All Meroifnl ; and, as the good bishop said to theiaother of Ht. Angusline, ' the child of so many prayers csimot be lost.' ' Erie Hunting Ion had paM«d an anxiooB, uncomfortable day. Percy's coufessiuo o( his gambling dtbts had made hiui seriously uneasy. It was in his power to help him this ouoe, he had said, with anusual stern- ness, but he wonld Boon be a married man, andthen Percy mu-.t look to himself ; aud Percy, nettled at bis tone, had wiswered Homewhat shonly, and iu epiie of Erie s generosity they had not parted friends. But this was not all. After luncheon Mr. Uuiaingdon bad called Eris into bis study, md had shown him a letter that he had just received from some auonyrnouB corres- p<mdent. Some unknown friend and well- wisher had thought It advisable to warn Mr. Huntingdon of his grandson's reckless iloingB- Erie looked deaiifully ehoiked as he read it; and the expression of conceu- 1 rated ani<er on Mr. Huntingdon's (ace frightened him still more. " ii'erbapa II IS not Hue," he stammered, and then the remembranoe of hisconverss- tion with Percy silenced bim. " True." returned Mr. Huntingdoo, in his hard rasping voice ; " do you not see that the writer says he can prove every word'.' And this is niy grandson, whom 1 have taken out of poverty. Well, well, I niixht have known the son of Maurice Trafford wonld never be worth anything." Strangely unjust words to be s|x)keu of Nea's idolized Maurice, whose pure soul would have revolted against hia boy's sins. Erie felt the cruelty of the speech ; bat he dare not contradict his uncle. What were the Traffords to him now ? There waa to be a large gentlemen's dinner-party at Belgrave House that even- ing. Some East Indian director was to be feted, and several city magnates were to honor it by their presence. Erie wondered that Percy did not make his appearance, for be was always punctual on such occa- sic^iB ; but Mr. Huntingdon did not seem to DOtioe his abeeoue. Thegmsts thought their host looked greyer and more bowed than usual, and that his step was feebler. He was getting an old man uow, they said to themselves ; and it would not be long bef jre there would be a new master at Belgrave House. Any one could see he was breaking fast, and would not last long. W«ll, hehad done well (or himself; aud bis heir was to be an vied, (or he would bea rich man, and scarcely needed the spleHdid Howry that Evelyn Selby would bring him. "itie banquet was jntt drawing to its cloae when there weresigns of soma disiarb- anue in the boosebold. The butter whia- jiored to Erie, who immediately led the zoom, and a few minutes later a message waa brought to Mr. Huntingdon. Bomething had happenedâ€" something dreadtui had bap[>eiied, tiuy told him, and he must come with them at once ; aud be had nhiiddered and turned pale. He was growing old, and his nervrs were not as strong sb they used to be, and he siipporled himself with some difficulty an h^, bowed to his gu»aM with old. fashioiieil {â- olilwiiess, and exi'UMiig himself, begged his old friend Sir i'redeiink lirummond to Uke h<> pUi;«. B'lt as tlM door closed bebuad hii'. and lie found himself sur rounded by frightened servanta, he tottered aud Ilia fai^e grvw gray. "Yon wiir kill me among you," he iniittered. '• Whore is my nephew ? Will none of you (ooU tell me what is the matter." " He's in there, " retnrned the butler, who was luokiug very euared, and pointing to the librarN ; ana the ne.\t nionieiil Erie came out with a (ace as white as death. "Oh! uncle, uncle, don't go in lilt they have told you. I'ercy is there, and ~ -" but Mr. Huntingdou only motioneii him aside with his old pereniptori ness, and then closed the door upon them. He knew what he should And there â€" he knew it when they whispered into his ear that Honietbing bad happened ; and then he walked (eebly across the room to the couch. where something lay wiih strange ritiid lines ander a satin coverlid that had been flung over it; and as he drew it down and looked at the face of his dead grandson, he knew that the hand o( death had struck bim also, that he would never get over this â€"never I CHAPTEB XXXVIII. VKA «WP nSB FATRtR MKBT AOAIM. WheDca art then MDt from us? Whither thy goal? How art th.n rent from as Thou that werswbola? A> with severlug uf oyeliJi and syas. aa wlui autiderlDg of iH>dy and soul. Whushall raiaothes Prom the houao of tbedead ? Or what man i-hall praise thee That thy pralsv may lie aai i 7 Alaa thy lieaut) I alaH thy l>od> I alas thy head I What wiltikiiu leava ms Now this thing It done? A utan wilt tbou five me. A son fur my son, K'lr the light el my eyes, ibsdaalre of my lite, the desirable one AXQKmon C. Hwinburn*. Erie had followed hiari into the room, bat Mr. Huntingdon took no notice of him. If he could, he would have spoken to him and implored him to leave him, bat his tongue seemed to oling to the roof of bis month. He wished to be alone with his grandson, to hide from every one, it he uoold, that he was stricken down at last. He had loved him, but not aa he had loved Erie â€" the Benjamin of bis old age; his sou of consolation. He had been stern ith him, and had never sought to win his oonfidenoe; and now the blood of the unhappy boy aaemed crying to him from the ground. And it was for this that he had taken him from his mother, that he .should lie there in the prime of his youth with all the measure of hia sins full to the brim. How had he diedâ€" but he dared not ask, and no one told him. Erie had indeed said something about a child ; but he had not nnderstood any more than he under- stood that they had sent to tell the mother. Erie's voice, broken with emotion, had cer- tainly vibrated in his ears, but no sense of the words had reached him. If he had known that that mother waa already on her way to claim the dead b<«ly of her son, he would have hidden himself and his gray hairs. What a beautiful face it was, hethonght ; all that had marred it in tifo was soltentd now ; the sneers, the hard bitter lims, were Binooihed away, and somothiiig like a smile rested on the young lips. Ah, surely he was at rest now I Some stray hairs clung damply to his temples, and Mr. Hunting- don stooped over him and put thorn aaide with almost a woman's tenderness, and then he sat down on the ohair hnsiitn him and bowed his grey head iu his hauda. Ue was struck down at Isiat I If tt^ idolixed Erie bad lain there in' Percy** place he could have borne it better. But Nea's bo> ! What if she should come ami require him at his haiidsl " Come bom* with your own Nea, (ather " had he ever ceased to hear thoae words 7 Had he ever forgotten her standing thea* in the suow with her baby hidden uudar her shawl, and her sweet thiu face raised to his? Had be i ver ceased to love her aud yearn for her when bis anger was mosk bitter agaiiiBt her? hurely the demomi muHt have leagued together to keep posses- sion of his soul, or he would never have ao hardened himself agaiost her ! He had taken her boy from her ; he had templed his }oathful weakness with the sight o( wealth, aud then he bad left him to hia own devices. Ue had not taught bim to -' wash his hands in innocency, or to tak» heed to the things that were right.'' Day and night that boy's dead face, with it* likeness to bis mother, would haunt hi* memory. Oh, Heaven I that be were indeed obildlesB, that none of these things might, have come upon bim. " Uncle Kolf, will you not come away with me?" implored Erie; " the huuse is quite quiet i.ow, snd all tbo people hav« gone ;" but Mr. Hantiugdou ouly shu*k his besdâ€" be had no strength to rise (roai his chair, and he could not tell Erie this. The poor boy was terribly alarmed at hia uncle's looks ; be did not seem to ander- Btand sujthing he said; aud what it MrB. Trsfford should take it in her hesid to comeâ€" if only be coald get hia unol* away. But even as be framed the wish the door opened noiselessly, and Mr. Unolingdon raised his eyes. A tall woman with grey hair like bis, and a pale, beautiful face with an expression that almost froze his blood, looked at him for a moment, then silsntly passed ap the room, and wiih her ilres* bi ushing him as he sst there motionloaa, paused beside the couch. And it was thaa that Nes and her father met again. Boi she did not notice him; there was only ana object for her eyesâ€" the still tnute b^ureof her boy. tiileutly, and still with that awful look of woe on her face, she drew the dark head into her arms, and laid ths dead cheek against her breast; aud aa she felt the irresponsive weight, the chilled tooob, herdriedtip misery gave way, aud the tears streamed from her eyes, She waa calling biiu her darlint; laer only boy. bbe had forgotten his cowardly deMrtioa of her ; ib« faulta and follies of his youth. Living, he had been little to her, but ahe claimed the dead as her own. She had for gotten all ; she wss the young mother again, as she smoothed the dark hair with her thin Angers and pressed the cold (ace to lier bosom, as though she cuiild warm the deadly chill of death, " Nea," exclaimed s feeble voioe in her ear. "Nea, he waa my boy too." And looking up she saw the tall bowed H||iire of her lather, and two wrinkled hand* stretched out to bar. Ah, she waa back in the present again. 8li« laid her boy down on the pillow, and drew the quilt lenderly over him; hut alf the beauty and Boftneaa seemed to die out of her face, as she turned to her (ather. '•My boy," she answered, "nolyonrv; for )ou never loved him as 1 did. Yoo tempted him frgui me, and made him despise his mother; but he is mine now-. Oml took bim from )ou who were mining him soiil •nd body, to give him baok to me." " Nea," returned the ohl man with » groan; •' I have sinned â€" I know it now. I have blighied your life; I have besu a hard cruil f»tber; but in the presence of the dead there should be peace," " My life," she moaned ; '• my life. Ah, if that were all I could have forgiven it long ago; but it wan Manrioe â€" Maorios whom you left to die o( a broken hear*, though I prayed you to come with me. It was my busbaud whom you killed ; and now, but for yoo my boy wonld be living." " Nea, Nea," he wailed again ; " my only ohild, Nea ;" but as she turned, moved by the concentrated agony of hia voioe, he fell with hia (aoe downward on the oouob, acroas the feet of hia {««d grandson. â-  * ft • , The doctors who were summoned aaid that a paralytic seinare had long been im pending; he might linger (or a few weeks, but it was isipoeaible to say whether be would ever recover fall oonaoioasnea* again. MUHf Erie heard them asdly ; he had been very fond of the old man in spite of thetyrauni- cal sway that bad ruled him from boyhood His ancle bad been hia generous benefaotor, and he oould not hear of his danger without emotion. Mrs. Trafford had not left the hooae from the moment of her father's alarming aeiz are ; she bad taken quiet possession of the sick-room, and only left it to follow her boy to the grave, Feru was there too, but Brie did not speak to ber; the crape veil hid her (ace, and be ooald ouly see the gU am »( her fair hair shining in the wintry sunlight. The two women had stood together, Fern holding her mother's hand ; and when the Borvicie was over, Mrs, Trafiford had gone back to Belgrave llouae, snd acme kindly neighbor had taken the girl home. Erie would gladly have spoken some word o( sympathy, bat Mrs, Trafford gave bim no opportunity. Neither o( thnm knew how sadly and wist(ullytbe poor girl looked after them. Erie's changed looks, hia paleness and depression made Fern's heart still heavier ; she had not known that he had loved Peroy so. Hhe had no idea thai it waa the sight of her own slim young flgnre mov- ing between the graves that madeKrle look so sad. She was dearer to him than ever, he told himself, as they drove away from the cemetery ; and be hated himself as he said it. He had not seen Evelyn since I'erov's death. She was staying at some oonotry house with her aunt, Lady Maltravers, where ho was to have joined them ; but of course this was impossible under the oir- cumstanues ; and though he did not like to own to himself that her absence was a relief, be took the opportuuity of telling her not to hurry baok to London on his account, as his time was so (ully occupied with necessary business and watching his poor ouole that he would not be free to oome to her. (To tiSMBtlaoad.)