But a stouter heart than our young friend might well have groaned under the weight of difficulties that pressed upon him.

What with the management of his household, the hours of office work, and the hours devoted to his classes, and hours of anxiety and care, the young student was oftentimes depressed and wore a look beyond his years; but he never once swerved from his duty, and trudged manfully onward his eyes ever bent upon "the strait and narrow path." Lottie the pretty child, full of life and hope with her sweet winning ways imparted warmth and sunshine to the snug home; and the merry high-spirited Tom, a blue-eyed youth of fourteen, gave life and freshness to the surroundings.

It was indeed a pretty sight that greeted a visitor as he entered the plain but neatly-furnished parlor, in this quiet home. It is the hour between tea-time and that prescribed for evening work. It is the only hour of leisure during the day, and it is generally devoted to the boy and girl at his side, the latter sometimes sitting upon his knee looking into the face that in these moments wore a smile that oftentimes belied the conflicting and agitated thoughts within.

Such was the history of Phillip Lawson previous to the opening of our story. A period of six years had elapsed since he commenced life in the city and now we find him an honoured barrister, with sufficient practice to meet the expenses of the pretty residence to which he had removed some months ago and to which we referred in the previous chapter.

We now see the reason which prompted Evelyn Verne in associating the young lawyer with "hayseed'" It is only shallow sordid natures as hers can indulge in such meanness, but thank heaven the venom has only a momentary sting, a resting place in proportion to the superficial source whence it springs.

In respect to other members of the Verne family it must be said that Phillip Lawson had received much kindness and hospitality within the walls of their princely residence, and if the spoiled beauty indulged in spiteful taunts it was because she saw in the young man that ability and soundness of principle which placed her set of worldings at painful disadvantage.

Montague Arnold with his waxed moustache, Adonis-like form and studied hauteur, minus the brains, amiability and that true politeness which constitutes the real gentleman cut a sorry figure when contrasted with Phillip Lawson.

Mrs. Verne was in every sense a votaress to the world's caprice, yet she was not devoid of insight. She could see the noble traits of character in Phillip Lawson; but she must bow to the mandates of fashionable folly.

Mr. Verne, deeply absorbed in stocks and exchanges, seldom took respite in the gaieties of the drawing-room; but in his business hours he saw enough of young Lawson to convince him of his character.

A slight circumstance happened one evening which had a tenfold effect upon Marguerite Verne; but the girl kept her own counsel, and cherished the thought as a happy talisman through all the months and years that followed ere events brought about the consummation of her fondest hopes. Mr. Verne was seated in the library. Brilliant rays of light were reflected from the highly-burnished chandelier. "Madge, my girl, come read awhile," exclaimed the former, as he espied his favorite across the hall with a delicate bouquet of hot-house plants in her hand.

"I will be with you in a minute, papa, dear," was the response, in a sweet, childlike voice, as the speaker ran up the broad staircase with elfin grace and gaiety.

"So the flowers were not for me, you naughty girl. Well, well, times have changed since when, in the eyes of the august peers of our motherland, it was considered 'an atrocious crime' to be a young man."

"Oh, papa, you see I do know a little history—enough to accuse that 'young man' of being guilty of sarcasm in the highest degree."

"Well done, my Madge! Here, take the paper—read me the rest of that speech of young Lawson's. It is a clever defence, and goes to prove my words—that he is a young man of sound judgment, and every day gives proof of greater force."

It was well for Marguerite Verne that the newspaper hid the blushes that, despite her efforts at self-control, played hide-and-seek upon the soft, fair cheeks.

"I am waiting, Madge."

The sweet, silvery tones were the only response, and though the maiden knew it not, there was a tender chord of sympathy that united father and child more firmly, and bent their thoughts in the same happy direction.



CHAPTER VIII.

HUBERT TRACY'S DILEMMA.

As Phillip Lawson sat silently poring over a formidable looking volume, bound in heavy parchment, he was accosted by a familiar voice.

"Working as usual, Lawson?"

"Yes, sir; I generally find something to keep me out of mischief," said the barrister, smiling, in the meantime clearing the proffered seat of a pile of documents that had been cast aside as useless.

"What's the news?" demanded Hubert Tracy in his indifferent and careless style.

There was a restless, wearied look upon the face of Phillip Lawson, as he glanced towards his interrogator. "To tell you the truth Tracy I've heard nothing startling to-day. I might for your amusement give you some of my own afflictions. In the first place I have a headache that I would gladly part with."

"For heaven's sake don't wish it upon me," cried the visitor, thinking no doubt of the unsteady hand and nervous headache of the previous morning.

But this was not the kind of news that Hubert Tracy sought. He wished to draw out some well-timed allusion to the northwest and he had not the courage to do so.

He had been a frequent guest at the Verne mansion of late, but the fact did not add to his felicity. Marguerite Verne could not play the coquette. She was attentive to her callers but nothing more.

Montague Arnold, who was on the eve of declaration to the imperious Evelyn, had now gleaned much of the affairs of the family. He learned that Mr. Verne had a high regard for the rising young barrister and he knew well that there was strong sympathy between father and daughter.

"That little dame has plenty of grit to fight the battle, but if I can manage it she will have to give up, if not she is a match for the old fellow."

The above remark of Montague Arnold gave his companion some assurance yet it did not satisfy him.

"I tell you what Mont, the only chance for me is to get the fellow out of the way, then you can influence the old lady and if she puts her foot down we are all right."

Hubert Tracy was far from being in a settled state of mind. He had a continual dread of his suspected rival, while a strange fascination possessed him—a something which attracted him to the latter with a force in proportion equal to the dread.

It was this state of mind that forced his steps to the barrister's office at this time, and as he turned the burning subject over and over he felt more confused.

"It is madness to give up—it will kill me;" were the thoughts that rose half framed to his lips and then forced themselves back with renewed energy.

But of the forgoing conversation which we interrupted.

"Don't be alarmed my friend," cried Phillip "I can get rid of it sooner than you, and judging from your looks this morning one would imagine you too had been battling with some of the 'ills that human flesh is heir to.'"

Hubert Tracy winced under this remark but the fact was lost upon the other who innocently exclaimed, "Any trouble in the shipping business just now."

The young man laughed.

"Thank heaven I'm right on that score and don't even expect much trouble unless the world would get turned upside down."

"Which is an unlikelihood," said Phillip adroitly. And much as we speak of the uncertainties of this world, the latter remark might be accepted as a truism in regard to the pecuniary affairs of Hubert Tracy.

He was the heir of a rich uncle—a modern Croesus—a man who had amassed a princely fortune by his wonderful success as a manufacturer and speculator.

It was this circumstance which gave the nephew such value in the eyes of good society. Hubert Tracy was fully aware how matters stood. He knew that money was the only screen to cover up all the shortcomings and glaring deformities of our nature. He well knew that he could haunt the abode of dissipation and vice and fill up the intervals with the gaieties of the fashionable drawing-rooms. He well knew that a young man of pure morals with strong determination to rise to the highest manhood would have no chance with the heir of Peter Tracy.

And the young man was right. He was sought after and courted by fashionable mothers who saw only in this beau ideal of a son-in-law—fine houses, fine carriages and in short everything that wealth could give.

The worldly Mrs. Verne was not without her day dreams on this subject. She never let an opportunity slip when she could show Mr. Tracy that patronage which his prospects demanded.

But this woman of the world did nothing rashly. She was always acting from motive and though apparently unconcerned was keenly alive to the situation of the hour.

Such was the tenor of Phillip Lawson's thoughts as he chatted to Hubert Tracy for more than half an hour, when the latter departed less satisfied than when he entered. Then the former set to work upon some important business, and being a rapid penman, soon finished the job. Finding time for a short brown study, or more properly speaking a soliloquy.

"If I go out there and be dissatisfied it will be worse than ever, and there is Lottie, I cannot think of taking her with me. The poor child would break her heart if I left her behind, and our cosy home would be broken up—perhaps forever."

Home had always been the oasis in the dreary waste of Phillip Lawson's late eventful life. After the monotonous round of office-work he always anticipated with delight the hour and circumstances so truthfully depicted by the poet.

"Now stir the fire and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steaming column and the cups That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in."

Therefore the thought gave much pain. "But life is made up of such struggles," murmured Phillip, "and it is our duty to be happy wherever we are—in Winnipeg as well as St. John." The last words were repeated in a tone of determination and the speaker arose hastily, took down his overcoat and shortly afterwards was to be seen walking along the north side of King street with a rapid but regular step. Having gained Charlotte street the young lawyer is greeted in an artless and unaffected manner by Marguerite.

The graceful and sylph-like form had sufficient power to cast all the high minded resolutions to the four winds of the earth. In the maiden's presence Phillip Lawson was bound body and soul, yet he would not allow himself to think so.

"I am quite fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Lawson, as I am saved the trouble of sending a note." Marguerite emphasized the word trouble in a manner altogether peculiar to herself and a manner which infected the banister with a certain degree of gaiety that was unusual to him.

And no wonder that our friend felt the influence of the maiden's smiles. Marguerite Verne was indeed a pretty picture to study. Her rich costume of seal brown, plush with ruchings of feathers, the coquettish hat to match with the jaunty ostrich plume were becoming in the extreme and gave an air of richness and refined elegance.

"Is it any harm to inquire as to your wishes Miss Marguerite?" said Phillip, glancing inquisitively into her face.

"I don't think I shall tell you to-day."

There was a look of arch mischief accompanying the words—a spirit of banter that was truly fascinating.

Phillip had escorted his companion as far as Coburg street, where the latter was to call upon some of her friends.

"Mr. Lawson, I am not quite so dreadful as you think. Come this evening and I shall gratify your curiosity at once, and you know papa always likes to see you."

"I shall go," exclaimed the barrister to himself, as he had turned down Paddock street on his way homewards. "Her papa will receive me; why did she not say Evelyn?"

Marguerite was sensitive on the subject of Mr. Lawson's reception, and she had a modest intuition of her friend's feelings, and, as is too often the case in trying to smooth matters, only made a greater blunder.

"Why did I not let well alone," exclaimed the girl, as she stood on the broad stone steps leading to the elegant home. It was six o'clock and the first bell gave the warning that there was barely time to dress for dinner.

"He will be here without fail, for I know his word is inviolable," cried the girl, as she hastily re-arranged some lace on the sleeves of her pretty dinner dress—a combination of silk and velvet in shade of ash of roses.

"Dear me, there is the bell, and my hair not presentable."

But Marguerite was mistaken.

"Why, Madge, where have you been?"

"I have been out making calls," said she, with an air of surprise.

"Well, my dear, I advise you to go every day if you can bring back such roses."

Marguerite blushed as deeply as if the compliment came from an admirer—aye, more so; for the girl well knew that those from her fond parent were from the heart.

"There now, don't spoil them, ma belle," cried Mr. Verne, his eye resting with fond admiration upon his daughter.

Children are oftentimes de trop, and Charlie Verne proved no exception.

"Papa, I was one day with Madge, and she had two big red spots on her cheeks as big peonies."

The precocious youth was on the eve of explanation, when Mrs. Verne's—"Children should be seen and not heard" put an end to the subject.

It were well for Marguerite that her elder sister did not grace the festive board that evening. Evelyn's keen and penetrative eye would have taken in the situation at a glance. The light in the soft, deep, violet eyes would tell the tale that the maiden would strive to conceal; and the bright flush, heightened by fond anticipation, would have accomplished its deadly work.

But Marguerite was granted further respite.

She gave Phillip Lawson a quiet reception, and much to the relief of the latter, they were allowed to chat at their ease the greater part of the evening, uninterrupted by a guest.

Mr. Verne, having returned from one of those Board of Trade meetings, on hearing that Mr. Lawson was in the drawing-room, immediately made his appearance, and from his warm greeting, one might see that the young lawyer stood high in his favor, and that his prospects were indeed fair as any suitor might wish for.



CHAPTER IX.

MR. SPRIGGINS GETS INSURED—THE DOMINION SAFETY FUND.

As Mr. Spriggins is a gentleman of no mean pretensions and occupying a prominent place among our characters we will again introduce him as he is seated in the office of the Dominion Safety Fund.

The general agent greets Mr. Spriggins in his usual gentlemanly and unassuming manner—a fact which is not lost upon the applicant. "Well, Mr. Agent, spose you'll think it a mighty queer business to see a feller comin' here without a bein' asked, so to make a long story short, I might as well till you all about it."

With this remark the speaker pulled his chair closer to the desk and with an assumed business air began—

"You see, Mr. Agent, I'm not a married feller but have a terrible good mind to hitch on one of these days and that's the reason I'm here to-day."

"A poor place this to come to look for a wife," remarked an elderly gentleman in a gruff voice, who had just entered on business as the last words had been repeated.

A happy smile illuminated Mr. Spriggins' face as he rose to retaliate.

"Oh, indeed sir, I'm posted on such affairs. When I want a pard'ner I know mighty well where to go—none of yer peeaner players for me—give me the girl that can make butter and boil a pot of tatters without havin' em all rags and mush."

Mr. Spriggins became more and more eloquent upon the necessary qualifications of the future Mrs. Spriggins, and then once more addressed the gentleman behind the desk.

"Well, now, Mr. Agent, suppose you don't mind me a askin' a few questions on this eer bisness."

"Not at all sir, that is our pleasure Mr. ——"

"Spriggins sir. I'm Moses Spriggins of Mill Crossin', but they allus call me Mose to hum for short."

Mr. Spriggins would have added further explanatory remarks but was interrupted by the official:

"Now Mr. Spriggins, I wish to hear from you—"

"What do you say the name of this consarn is Mr. Agent?"

"The Dominion Safety Fund Life Association."

"Well now, that's a terrible long name. Hanged if that doesn't beat Uncle Amaziar Wiggleses family, for their oldest gal's name is Samanthy Eunice Esmereldy Jerushy."

At this speech Mr. Spriggins burst into a fit of laughter, affording sufficient proof to the company that there was little need of the necessary medical examination to testify that the applicant was of sound health.

"Why do you call it the Dominion Fund?" queried the applicant looking intently at the title.

"Because it is the only one of its kind in the Dominion sir!"

"All right, Mr. Agent. Safety Fund—that's a queer name. Would you mind explainin' that. You musn't think hard of me sir if I want to know all about this business, for you know people have been so taken in by so many humbuggin' consarns that it makes a feller keerful."

Within a very short time Mr. Spriggins was led to see the beauty of the Safety Fund. How that the longer he was insured the more favorable his position; how persistent members of the class received the benefit, etc.

"That's just the thing I've been lookin' for," exclaimed the applicant, his face aglow with enthusiasm.

A few more preliminaries were discussed to the entire satisfaction of Mr. Moses Spriggins, and arrangements were made that he should present himself before the medical examiner on the following morning at ten o'clock.

"Nothin' could suit better, Sir, for one of our naber's girls is a'stayin' in town now, and there's enough attraction there, sir, to keep me here for to-night."

Mr. Spriggins cast a knowing glance at the official as much as to say "you understand me."

On his way up Princess street the veritable Mose might be heard soliloquizing at a wholesale rate—"Well, now, its mighty cheap, too, and a feller is gettin' sich profit; better that than raisin' tatters and lettin' the bugs eat 'em—on a thousand, too. By George, it's next to nothin'; let me see: four times $1.44—4 times 4 are 16. 6 and carry 1; 4 times 4 are 16 and 1 are 17; 4 times 1 are 4 and 1 are 5—576, that is $5.76, and $3.00—$8.76—and next year less—then lesser, and then I'll be a makin' right straight along— won't Melindy Jane be astonished." A dashing turnout for the nonce arrested Mr. Spriggins' attention, and as he gazed at the richly caprisoned steeds, and fair occupants, exultingly exclaimed, "Yes, ye think yer a mighty fine crowd, but there's not one I'd swop for Melindy Jane."

And Mr. Spriggins had not changed his opinion when, at the appointed hour, next morning, his good-natured face wreathed in smiles, made its appearance before the official, hailing all with delight, and full of conversation of the most animated style.

The entrance of the medical examiner now claimed attention, and when the said Mr. Spriggins had passed the fiery ordeal his delight knew no bounds.

"What did I tell you—sound as a bell—no kinsumption among the Sprigginses."

This and corresponding remarks fell from the lips of Moses as the papers were being filled. Silence was the order for a few moments when our friend rising quickly to his feet exclaimed:

"But, hold on, here's sumthin' I've not seen afore. Is it part of the agreement?"

Mr. Spriggins then drew attention to the motto—

"non mihi sed meis vivo."

The medical gentleman very quietly allayed Mr. Spriggins' fears by convincing him that it was the motto—the principle which governed the working of the institution, and also, gave the literal meaning in our mother tongue.

"The very words I told Melindy Jane last night. Well, if it don't seem, like magic. If it don't suit my case to a tee—not for myself but others—well, there is just one mistake in it. I would say not for myself—but mine."

Mr. Spriggins directed his remarks to the follower of Aeculapius with an air of importance, and then began a vigorous onslaught on the pronunciation of the foreign words.

"And that's Latin. Well, I never had such liken' for Latin afore. If I wasn't too old would try to learn it yet—by jimminey, doesn't it say nice things though?"

The forms being filled in and payments being made Mr. Spriggins reluctantly arose to depart, but another glance at the motto and he broke forth afresh. "It's just the thing that old Parson Simes was speakin' of last Sunday—gracious me—who'd a thought there was so much religion in the insurance business. Well, sir, I feel like a different man already; and now folks, if you see any more fellers from the Crossin' you'll know who sent 'em that's a sure case. I tell you what the crossin's not the worst place to come to, and if any of yous would happen to come our way don't forget to give us a call."

Thus ended Mr. Spriggins' speech and as he made his exit through the doorway at a two-forty gait a smile was visible upon the occupants of the office. But ere business had been suspended for the day Mr. Spriggins again appeared on the scene with the following exclamation:

"I could'nt go back to the Crossin' without seeing you and tellin' what I heard. Of course I wouldn't like it to go outside as it is a kinder secret but thought it too good to keep, eh Mr. Agent."

Mr. Spriggins threw himself into an arm-chair and then in lively tones continued:

"You know them ere Verneses that live in the big house on that high bank near the Square—well that's where Melindy Jane is hired, so of course when I left here I went up there and as I was a showin' the paper to Melindy Jane and explainin' it who should walk in but one of the young ladies.—(Now between you and me and the wall I believe it was a put up job of Melindy's to show me off and have the young missis' idees of me.)"

At this point Mr. Spriggins became very confidential and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, then, no doubt bethinking himself of the importance of the subject added: "Howandever its no matter here nor there, so as I was a sayin', the young missis came right over and I had to say sumthin', so I ups and tells her where I had bin and you never seed anyone more delighted. She seemed to know all about it and told me it was the best insurance consarn in the dominion."

At this remark the agent smiled and said that he was pleased to know that young ladies were interested in the Institution.

"Well, sir," continued he, "but that was not the hull of the conversation. I was a'telling her about that ere young lawyer, the young feller that gave the advice for Josh Jones (I declare it makes me bile over while I think on it), and she listened quite attentif and took great consarn in it, and said she was sure I would get justice, as Mr. Lawson was an honest lawyer, (and between you and me, Mr. Agent, that's more'n can be said of most of 'em)."

"You are rather severe on the legal profession, sir," ventured a voice from the other side of the room.

Mr. Spriggins having confided his affairs, and seeing that business absorbed the attention of his audience, finally took leave, with the parting injunction to give him a call if they happened his way.

It did, indeed, seem a strange coincidence that while Mr. Moses Spriggins drew Miss Marguerite's Verne's attention to his legal proceedings that Phillip Lawson should be turning over certain facts in his memory in order to elucidate some important problems as regards his relation to this fair being.

Could he then have seen the respectful manner with which Marguerite greeted the son of toil, he would feel more deeply impressed with the beauty of her character, and could he have heard her modest eulogium upon himself, an emotional chord would have vibrated to the musical tones of her soft and well-modulated voice. But our young friend was not to be thus gratified. It is contrary to the laws which govern the order of the universe that an eternal fitness should adapt itself to our circumstances.

Ah, no, my young dreamer, much as we would wish it otherwise, we must sit patiently and see you suffer much mental agony in trying to discipline your mind for the trying ordeal through which you must irrevocably pass.

Nor did the sweet-faced Marguerite, as she chatted in her quiet happy way, for one moment dream that the brawny and muscular hand of Moses Spriggins should be yet held in friendly grasp, and that she would ever cherish this sturdy son of toil in grateful memory.

Standing there on that uneventful morn with the rays of sunshine playing hide and seek through her silken hair, could she have looked beyond the surrounding of the present, and cast her eye along the dim and shadowy perspective, what sorrow might have been averted; what heart-throes might have been quieted! But let us not be carried away by such thoughts. Let us not seek to penetrate beyond the airy nothings of every-day life.

Marguerite Verne went back into the presence of the other members of the family. She chatted, laughed and sang blithe as a bird carolling its earliest matin.

Marguerite's pure and transparent soul finds shelter in the daily acts of goodness emanating from her loving heart, and if she feels a momentary pang she struggles bravely and lives on. She could ill repress her feelings when the peerless Evelyn, radiant in convenient smiles and blushes, went to be congratulated on her engagement to Montague Arnold.

"You never did seem like a sister to me Madge, and you act less like one now. I did not come to tell you that I was going to die."

Evelyn's manner was anything but amiable. She could brook no opposition to her will, and she was piqued to the highest degree that Marguerite did not break forth with the wildest terms of extravagant congratulation. But it matters not. Marguerite is not a hypocrite. She pities from the bottom of her heart the woman who will wed an unprincipled man like Montague Arnold.

How her tender pitying nature went out to the first-born of the family but the girl knew well the stubborn haughty spirit and looked calmly on without reproach.

Mrs. Verne had accomplished much in her own eyes. Her daughter was to revel in the comforts and elegancies of life. And when once the grand event had taken place she would have further opportunity to turn her attention to Marguerite. "I must get rid of Evelyn first," was her comment as she bent over a piece of embroidery designed for a mantle drapery—bunches of delicate ferns and golden rod on garnet plush, and intended for the home of the future Mrs. Montague Arnold.

But there was one who took a different view of the matter. Mr. Verne looked on in grave disquietude. It may be sacrilegious but we cannot refrain from intruding upon his inmost thoughts and with heartfelt sympathy grieve for the indulgent parent who sees his fair first-born sacrificed to the world and mammon. The man of far-seeing penetration knows too well the great mistake and with painful intensity contrasts the sweet girlish wife of his youth with the fashionable woman of the world who presides supreme over his household—he sighs deeply and plunges deeper into the ponderous folios before him.

Presently a smile illuminates the grave face. A graceful form is at his side, and as the maiden holds up a pretty bouquet arranged by her own fair hands, the fond father draws her towards him and tenderly kisses the white, smooth forehead earnestly hoping that his favorite child may have a happier prospect before her—that she may be happy with one she loves.

"A guardian angel o'er his life presiding Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing."



CHAPTER X.

HELEN RUSHTON AT THE "CELESTIAL."

A few weeks had rolled by and Helen Rushton once more entered "Sunnybank."

Marguerite receives her visitor with open arms.

"I am so glad to see you, Madge," exclaimed the quaint little maiden, as she threw aside the pretty wrap, worn carelessly around her shoulders.

"I ought to be angry with you, you naughty girl," returned Marguerite, playfully, shaking the former by way of punishment.

"Oh, please don't say a word, like a good old dear. I did intend to write, but you just know how we spend the time running around, and I had so many demands upon me."

"Well, this time, I shall 'take the will for the deed,' but remember the second offence will be dealt with according to law."

Madge emphasized this threat with a hearty embrace and turned her eyes in the direction of the door.

"Well, if that is not too good to keep," shouted Josie Jordan, rushing in pell-mell, and seizing the pair with a lustiness peculiar only to a maiden of athletic pretensions.

"Oh, you nuisance," exclaimed Helen. "How did you know I was here?"

"If that is not ignoring our hostess I should like to know what is. Indeed, Miss Helen, I came intent on weighty business matters, but Madge's allusion to the law drove it out of my head."

Josie shrugged her shoulders and gave way to fits of laughter, then exclaimed, "But you know, Helen, why Madge should be interested in legal matters."

"Josie Jordan, I believe you are the greatest pest I ever met, just to come in when I was going to entertain Madge with my visit."

Helen Rushton had adroitly commenced an attack upon the former to conceal her friend's embarrassment. She saw that Marguerite liked not the badinage of the thoughtless Josie, and she was determined at her own expense to turn the conversation.

"Just as if I am not as much interested in hearing celestial gossip as our worthy hostess," exclaimed Josie, making one of her most stately bows and assuming a very mock-serious air.

"We can both listen, you saucy puss," said Marguerite, drawing a pair of pretty ottomans close to the sofa on which Helen sat.

"Indeed I am not going to listen—I can't wait—I am going to ask questions, and then we will hear more in the prescribed time—as the teachers say.

"As you wish," said Helen, patting the mass of golden curls that were as antagonistic to all order as the fair head they adorned.

"Did you go often to the House, Helen? Now for my questions.

"Yes, I went when there was anything worth going to hear."

"And I suppose that was not often."

"Hard on the M.P.P.'s, Josie," said Marguerite, smiling.

"Not half hard enough!" said the girl, vehemently. "They go there and sit and have a good time at the expense of the Province, and show off a little with a passage-at-arms now and then that suggests more of a gladiatorial arena than that of a body of august law-givers!"

"Oh, mercy! hear the girl!" cried Marguerite, raising her hands in tender appeal.

"I tell you it's the truth; I will ask Helen if it is not so," cried the speaker turning to the latter for answer.

"I must confess that to a certain extent Josie is not far astray. I have seen exhibitions of cross-firing not strictly in accordance with one's ideas of a gentleman. But I suppose sometimes they forget themselves."

"A gentlemen never forgets himself, Helen. Although you have high-toned notions of the Capital, and granting that you have been lionized right and left, it does not excuse you from exercising a sense of right and wrong."

Marguerite could not but admire the brave girl with such an earnest look upon her face. The laughing, romping hoyden was capable of sound sensible argument, her character was made up of opposites; and Helen Rushton, clever in many things, was almost baffled.

Marguerite soon poured oil on the troubled waters.

"You told me where you were going to stay Helen but I have forgotten," ventured the latter.

"I did not happen to find my friends in the Belgravian district, but what matters it?" returned Helen.

"Up town or down town, that is the burning question always uppermost in Fredericton," cried Josie.

"It was that part I believe they call the West End, but unlike London and other cities it is not a locality habitable by the fashionable or good form of the pretty little city. But the residence of my friends is, notwithstanding this drawback, the home of culture and refinement, nay more—it is the home of generosity, for never did I see more genuine true-heartedness than in this truly happy home."

"You doubtless have found many such people during your visit, for the hospitality of Fredericton is proverbial," exclaimed Marguerite in a soft and gentle manner.

"I did indeed," exclaimed Helen, "the people are very much conservative, but that gives them all the more favor in my eyes."

"Ah, you precious daughter of the old school," cried the vehement Josie, "it were well that you went to the Celestial ere you started for Halifax, in order that you might, to a certain extent, have re-acquired that amount of red tapeism which you must have almost forgotten amid the more liberally-inclined citizens of our fog-begirt city."

"Quite an orator, Josie," ventured Marguerite. "I will not interrupt you again, Helen, only to assist your memory by questions. Were there many young ladies in the family?"

"There was just one of the loveliest and sweetest girls in existence," cried Helen, enthusiastically.

"Be careful now, we are jealous already," said Josie, holding up her forefinger, menacingly.

"And two young gentlemen, lately enrolled as professionals."

"At which?" cried Josie, in mock gravity.

"Where's your promise now?" ventured Marguerite.

"Never mind, Madge, I can manage," replied Helen, smiling. The latter then gave an interesting description of her visit from general to particular. She had listened to the speeches from the government and opposition; admired the pretty surroundings of the Parliament buildings; glanced over several of the volumes in the neatly-kept library, and in the meantime formed opinions upon many of the representatives of our Province. Government House also received much notice.

"I've never been there yet," cried Josie, in a half-regretful tone.

"Then you have something in store worth going to Fredericton for," said Helen, "it is such a grand old place. The conservatory is charming—a spot where you can dream that you are in the land of perpetual summer and golden sunshine. Standing upon the threshold of the blue drawing-room you are almost spell-bound. Really my eyes were dazzled with the array of lovely pink and white azaleas that were arranged at respective distances. And the camelias—really, I had to hold my breath—then came the endless group of calla lilies— pure, transparent and beautiful."

"Oh, Helen, I should have been tempted to pluck a stray one and say, 'old conscience, it is public property.'"

Marguerite laughed at the amusing look depicted upon Josie's face, but Helen disconcerted went on. "But what made the scene more effective was the soft and velvety carpeting of luxuriant grass growing in the centre of the conservatory—nothing to be seen but lovely flowers, foliage and verdure."

"Suppose great care must be bestowed upon it," said Marguerite.

"Truly, I could have lingered there for days and not been wearied."

"And in the meantime live upon the effervescence of your beautiful thoughts," cried Josie, bursting out into a wild ringing laugh.

"You mentioned the blue drawing-room, Helen," said Marguerite, anxious to prolong the conversation; "is it not very pretty?"

"Pretty is indeed the term suitable for it, Madge. There is no elegance, but it is sweet and inviting, pretty draperies, pretty bric-a-brac, and pretty effect.

"Did you notice anything different from other drawing-rooms, Helen," queried Madge.

"Yes, I did," replied Helen. "The entire absence of so many silly knick-knacks oftentimes heaped up in ordinary drawing-rooms. How my eyes gloated over a few pieces of quaint and rare old china!"

Helen's keen, scrutinizing gaze had taken in the whole situation, doubtless without any apparent effort; good-breeding was the innate principle which actuated the speaker's every-day life; and it was now from a desire to speak in high terms of life in the capital, that she wished to entertain her companions. "I have heard Louise speak so many times of the kindness she received there, that I seem to know all about it," said Marguerite, her dark violet eyes aglow with earnestness.

"And yet you never went with her?" queried Helen.

"Something always happened to prevent my going then, yet I have some pleasant associations connected with Fredericton."

"Pleasant anticipations you should say," chimed in the irrepressible Josie.

"Miss Jordan, please do not misconstrue Madge's words, you saucy girl!" retorted Helen, tapping her toes upon the stool near, by way of calling the other to order.

A brilliant description of a ball at the Government House then followed, also several parties and other indoor amusements.

"That is all very nice Helen," cried Josie, "but I want to hear about the people. There is always so much talk about the celestials, their culture, refinement and all that sort of thing, now you can give us your opinion."

"That is a delicate subject for Helen to handle," said Marguerite with a slight shade of embarrassment heightening her color and making more pathetic the soft speaking eyes.

"Indeed my peerless ones you are all good and lovely in my sight and the fair Marian is among the number."

"Is she pretty, Helen?"

"Not what the world would call pretty, but she is neat and graceful, has a pretty form and graceful carriage and carries her head like a queen."

"What of her brothers—are they blonde or brunette?"

"Neither, but tall, straight and rather inclined to be fashionable young men."

"Then I cannot bear to hear of them; for anything in this world I despise is a dude," exclaimed Josie with an expression of disgust upon her face that was in accord with her speech.

"Anything in moderation is tolerable," returned Helen, "I cannot say that I admire the extremely fashionable young man but I must say that I cannot appreciate the young man of antediluvian aspect."

The latter then settled down to a lengthy detail of her visit in particular, the different characters she met and the pleasant hours enjoyed in their company.

"How different your visit has been to some who have gone there. Why, I have heard the girls say all you could do was go up and down Queen street for a few times, hear remarks passed upon you by the loungers at the hotel doors, and then stow yourself away to be scorched to powder in summer or be converted into a tolerable sized iceberg if it happened to be winter."

"Like all other places, Josie, one's impressions are always formed according to circumstances and I must say I never will forget the happy hours in Fredericton."

"But you never told us of the 'head of the family,' Helen?"

"That thought was uppermost when you spoke, Josie. I never can fully express my gratitude to the esteemed couple who so kindly invited me to their house.

"Marian's father is fat, fair, and slightly over forty, with the most happy and frank countenance that you ever met. He has a good story always on hand, can entertain clergy or laity, and never wearies in contributing his store of amusing anecdotes, which oftentimes are at the expense of his nearest relatives."

"How I should like to listen to them; it does me so much good to laugh," cried Josie, her eyes beaming with fond satisfaction. "Kingsnook" (for such we will name this happy professional's abode) is of all others the place for a good hearty laugh. No simpering, silly affectation is allowed much reception within the neat and tastefully arranged parlors, or tempted to display itself on the shady verandah, cool, leafy shrubberies, or spacious garden.

"Did you see much military life there, Helen?" asked Marguerite, who had been for some moments apparently engaged in deep study.

"That is the beauty of it, my dear. The study, the drawing-room, and in fact, every inch of 'Kingsnook' reminded one of the true spirit of patriotism which ruled its master, who could look with pride back to the sturdy and high-spirited ancestors who wore the uniform of the British army. I am not the daughter nor grand-daughter of a British officer, but I could look with pride upon the arms and accoutrements adorning the study walls, and feel a wave of emotion break over me and fire my soul with a pride that can only be experienced by one of Britannia's children."

"Hear, hear," cried Josie Jordan, springing to her feet, and seizing the speaker by the hand. "Helen, I am with you heart and soul. Remember, we New Brunswickers are true loyalists. I am proud to belong to that good old stock which gives our Province so much of its prestige."

The bright romping girl had now changed into a whole-souled woman. There was a dignity in her bearing worthy the mother of the Gracchi.

But an unlooked-for event put an unceremonious end to the conversation and Helen Rushton took leave promising to tell them much of the friends she made during her late visit.

The unlooked-for event was the arrival of Cousin Jennie Montgomery.

"I thought it best to surprise you, Madge!" cried the bright sunny-faced maiden as she was folded in the arms of the outwitted Marguerite.

"I suppose it is best to forgive you," cried the latter and putting an arm around Cousin Jennie led her into the family parlor to receive greetings from the rest of the family.



CHAPTER XI.

PHILLIP LAWSON HAS GAINED AN ALLY.

It is needless to say that Cousin Jennie was a welcome visitor at "Sunnybank." Her bright presence shone everywhere from the drawing-room to that particular spot dedicated to the sports of the romping, noisy boys.

"We will have the jolly times," was the password of the latter; "Cousin Jennie is the girl to help us fellers along."

And there was the usual stir and bustle necessary for the equipment of Evelyn Verne's trousseau. The beauty had scarce time to think of anything but the different styles of dresses, pretty bonnets, delicate laces, and the most costly trifles, from the gorgeous fan to the delicate tiny slippers.

"Dearest Eve, I should think you would be tired looking over such a lot of things," exclaimed Cousin Jennie in her cheery tone, "really my eyes would get sore in less than no time."

"What a speech, Cousin Jennie. Indeed, you are not so unsophisticated as you confess to be," said the dark-eyed fiancee, with a tinge of sarcasm accompanying the words.

"Well, fair cousin, much as I may lose caste by my confession, I cannot help it,—you know the country folks never see grand weddings, and I may say truthfully that I never expect to see so much finery again."

"Then you ought to make good use of your eyes now," was the rather ungracious reply.

As Evelyn stood amid the heap of boxes, arranging and rearranging the delicate fabrics to her heart's content, she was not an object of envy. She was flattering, herself that she was moving a grand marriage and she never let her thoughts wander beyond that well-defined boundary line. Hers was a nature seemingly devoid of feeling and incapable of fine thought, and when she artfully feigned such in the presence of her lover, it was only from a desire to make him more completely her slave.

Jennie Montgomery was not many days at "Sunnybank" ere she saw a glimpse of the world from a fashionable society standpoint.

"Oh, Madge, how can Eve marry that man? You surely do not like him either?"

Jennie Montgomery had favorable opportunity of passing judgment upon Montague Arnold the previous evening, and now she had directed her appeal to her favorite cousin.

"I will be candid, Jennie. You know I never could admire, much less respect, an unprincipled man—I mean a man who lives for his own sordid pleasure—and my sister will have cause to repent the rash step. Poor Evelyn; she has faults, but really she has many good traits of character if her pride would not stand in the way."

Sweet, confiding Marguerite. She fain would shield her sister from censure, and hoped for her a brighter future than she durst picture.

While at "Sunnybank" Jennie Montgomery saw much to like and dislike. She met many kind-hearted women whose mission on earth was to do good. With the keen, discriminating acuteness peculiar to this maiden, she could sift the wheat from the chaff—she inherited this gift from her far-sighted mother, and was happy in such possession.

But there was one who claimed due attention from Cousin Jennie.

Phillip Lawson of late had made several calls at the Verne mansion and had received a more than hearty welcome from Mr. Verne.

The latter held young Lawson in high respect and took no pains to conceal the fact—which was not lost upon the deliberating Mrs. Verne; but she was cautious, knowing well that moderation was the surest way to overcome opposition.

Within a short time the young barrister and Cousin Jennie became the best of friends. They chatted together without interruption and to the evident delight of Mrs. Verne seemed happy in each other's company.

Jennie was of a quick, decided turn of mind and had a dash of sentiment in her nature that might have been considered dangerous on this occasion; but her whole-souled sense of honor would have saved her from taking a step from the path of right.

"It is the best thing that ever happened, mamma," exclaimed Evelyn Verne as she stood arrayed in an elegant velvet reception dress which she was admiring before the large plate-mirror in her dressing-room.

"I will forgive Jennie of all her rudeness and country ways if she will only rid us of this importunate suitor," said Mrs. Verne, giving the lengthy train a few more touches to add to its effect.

"He seems very much in love with her at present," replied Evelyn, "and indeed they are just suited for each other. It is to be hoped Mr. Lawson will find one more congenial to his rustic manner than Madge."

"Of course, my dear, you don't think Jennie very rustic in her ideas, but she has a certain odd way about her that is not the highest mark of good breeding."

"Common sense, as her wise-headed mother terms it," remarked Evelyn, with a scornful curl upon the otherwise pretty lips.

On the following evening Mr. Verne entered the small back parlor adjoining the library. Mrs. Verne was seated at a daintily-carved ebony work-table. A piece of silk lay upon her knee and many shades of crewel were spread out before her.

"Busy, my dear?" queried the husband, greeting his wife in a pleasant, quiet way.

"Really, Stephen [Note: hand-written, 'Richard' inked out], have you found time to venture in here? Surely there must have been a mistake somewhere," returned Mrs. Verne, in an affected and patronizing manner, that from a quick-tempered man would have forced a hasty and perhaps disagreeable speech.

But Mr. Verne sat down and commenced asking such stray questions as came into his mind.

"Where have the girls gone to-night, Matilda?"

"Jennie and Marguerite, you mean?" queried Mrs. Verne, dexterously weaving the bright silks into a pretty many-hued flower.

"It is the night of the concert, and they have accepted Mr. Lawson as escort." A slight frown accompanies the speech.

"Indeed," said Mr. Verne, with a knowing look upon his face, then turning abruptly towards his wife, added, "It seems to me that Jennie has made an impression upon Mr. Lawson."

"I hope so," was the only reply.

Mr. Verne was bent upon forcing from his wife the true state of her feelings towards his young favorite.

"Jennie will be a lucky girl if she can win such a prize," said he, with considerable warmth of expression.

"He is, indeed, a very suitable husband for Jennie," replied Mrs. Verne in icy chilling tones.

"He is a fit husband for any young lady in St. John, my dear. If he were to look with favor upon Marguerite I should say she, sweet child that she is, would be honored by the proposal of marriage from such a man."

This was too much for Mrs. Verne. It aroused her temper and gave opportunity for many harsh, bitter sayings. Then she found relief in sarcasm.

"I am pleased to know that Mr. Lawson occupies such a proud place in your esteem. No doubt you have been making a few encouraging suggestions to this second Gladstone." Then changing her tones to a higher key exclaimed, "Remember, I will not oppose you in this step, but If will never sanction my child's encouragement of that upsetting, half-starved lawyer."

"Please bear in mind, Matilda, that Mr. Lawson has never once spoken to me upon the subject and it is very foolish to suppose that he wishes to pay any attention to Marguerite otherwise than any young gentleman might."

"You need not think to hoodwink me, I can see for myself, and it seems too bad that when a mother expects her children to become well settled in life that she is sure to be disappointed."

Mrs. Verne within a few moments entirely changed her course of action. She was almost moved to tears and her manner seemed to say, "Well, I suppose it is all for the best, come what will I am prepared for it." But might we not quote the words of the Psalmist, "The words of his mouth were sweeter than butter but war was in his heart."

A clever thought had entered Mrs. Verne's mind. She is already armed for the occasion hoping that she will come off victor.

"Well, my dear, we will not quarrel over this matter. It seems so foolish, knowing it is only conceit on our part, for I believe that Mr. Lawson is very much interested in Jennie Montgomery."

"Jennie has grown to be a fine girl," remarked Mr. Verne, in a matter-of-fact way.

But the fact did not change his opinion as regards the preference for Marguerite.

"It would perhaps be better that such would be the case," exclaimed the parent, as he was once more closeted in his private apartments looking ever the list of bills and documents awaiting his signature.

In the meantime Mrs. Verne had found her way into the drawing-room, where she was soon after joined by Evelyn and her distinguished betrothed. What a smile greeted the seemingly happy pair! In languid, drawling tones the beauty was relating her adventures of the previous afternoon—the calls made, and the making of a new acquaintance.

"A gentleman from England, did you say, my dear? How delightful! I shall be most happy to meet him."

"And so you shall, dear mamma, for he intends calling upon us very soon."

Mr. Arnold seemed not to notice the radiant smile which illuminated the countenance of his betrothed. Yet it gave him annoyance.

He bit his upper lip and bent closer over the new song that lay open before the piano. "She will sing a different tune before long," was his comment.

In truth Montague Arnold possessed not that feeling which can only be cherished by true, unselfish love. He openly admired Evelyn Verne for her beauty. His sole desire was to make her his, and bend her to his will. His nature was too superficial to harbor jealousy, but his stubborn vanity answered the purpose.

Ah, my peerless Evelyn! you may blush and smile at the well-timed compliments of your admirers now, but your reign seems nearly at an end!

"What a grand opportunity to give a party," exclaimed Mrs. Verne, glancing at her daughter for approval.

"It would be just the thing, mamma," said Evelyn, in her nonchalant and dreamy sort of air.

"You are already settled my dear and now I must try to do my duty towards Marguerite. Really, dearest, you have no idea of the anxiety I have about that girl. She is so much like her father that I am at a loss how to act. You know that she secretly adores that good-for-nothing lawyer and if it were only on her part I would not care, but I am certain that he is head and ears in love with her. Dear me! What a world of trouble we poor mothers have to endure. Why do not our children see as we do?"

Poor Mrs. Verne! She seemed in much distress and assumed a woebegone appearance.

Dear mamma—I think you ought to feel less uneasiness just now for I verily believe that Cousin Jennie has designs upon our unfortunate visitor."

"God grant that she may be successful," was the reply.

"You must encourage it in every way, dear mamma," said Evelyn, with more earnestness than usual.

"Yes; I was just thinking of a plan which doubtless by clever management, will succeed."

"Let me hear it, mamma," said Evelyn, raising her jewelled fingers, cautiously.

Mrs. Verne glanced in the direction of the smoking-room, (whither her future son-in-law had retired to enjoy the delightful weed,) and finding that there was no fear of interruption for the next ten minutes, cleverly sketched out her plan of action.

We will not give the outline of this cleverly devised speech, but merely say that from this time Cousin Jennie was honored to her heart's content, and was induced to remain much longer than she intended.

Mr. Lawson was a frequent visitor, and to the great delight of Mrs. Verne signified his intention of accepting the invitation of Mrs. Montgomery to spend part of his summer vacation at "Gladswood."

"That will certainly put an end to all your fears, mamma," said Evelyn, standing before the bronze mantel shelf admiring a pretty and rare vase which had arrived from England as a wedding present from an old school mate. And so matters went quietly along.

Mr. Verne kept his counsel and worked away amidst his folios, And when his pet daughter shed a ray of sunshine over the matter-of-fact apartment, he felt a tinge of sadness and fondly hoped that no darkening clouds should burst over this idolized treasure.

"What a pity that such a being should ever know the meaning of the word sorrow. In one way, my darling, I can save you, in another I cannot."

Mr. Verne was almost convinced that Cousin Jennie had supplanted Marguerite, and he well knew the proud nature of the latter.

"Perhaps it is all for the best. My pearl could never outweigh all difficulties like the self-reliant Jennie." Such murmurs escaped the lips of the fond parent as he glanced up and down the long row of figures balancing his accounts with a rapidity only acquired by long experience and constant practice. But what of Marguerite?

The girl was not unhappy. She lived on cheered by her happy, dreamy nature, and as it was far above that allotted to ordinary mortals, it sustained her and kept her mind above all sordid thoughts.

"Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp to deaden its vibrations."



CHAPTER XII.

EVELYN'S BRIDAL MORN—FESTIVITIES AT "SUNNYBANK."

. . . "To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the moon, all heaven, And happy constellations on that hour Shed their selectest influence, the earth Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill, Joyous the birds;" —Milton

Such is the glowing description of the appearance of nature on the morn when, in the presence of God and the host of white-robed angels, was celebrated the nuptials of our common ancestors— nuptials whence sprang the ills of our humanity.

Could the fair and beautiful Eve have foreseen the future that to her seemed so promising, would she not have given up to despair and remained aloof from sound of tempting voice?

But God's decree willed it otherwise, and the fair Eve, whose beauty and submissive charms had power to influence her lord and master, became the mother of mankind.

It would be unjust, uncharitable, to intrude upon the feelings of the pair to participate in the present festive ceremony at "Sunnybank."

Evelyn Verne emerges from her boudoir "a thing of beauty." Was ever bride more enchanting, radiant or beautiful? Were ever bridal robes more graceful? Perfect beauty, queenly beauty, dazzling beauty. It is needless to expatiate upon the shimmering train, mist-like veil or conventional orange blossoms. Reader, we will allow your imagination full scope. Let it rest upon the radiant bride until the eye becomes familiar with the minutest arrangement of the elegant costume.

And then the bridesmaids! Five lovely maidens—St. John's fairest daughters. Five bewitching forms with grace in all their movements, claim our attention; and on all sides—"How pretty!" "How sweet!" "How beautiful!"

Two sisters are exquisitely dressed in India muslin and antique lace—one in pale-blue and the other in pink.

Marguerite Verne is radiant in pearl-colored satin and ruchings of delicate pink azaleas.

Two younger girls are becomingly attired in cream lace and soft filmy crepe of the same shade.

Each maiden carries a bewitching basket of flowers, and imparts to the senses the most delightful effect. Indeed, it is seldom that historic Trinity ever witnessed a grander pageant within its sacred walls.

As the handsome and distinguished-looking bridegroom stood before the altar awaiting the entrance of his bride, it were almost sacrilege to utter a word deprecatory or otherwise.

Hubert Tracy supports his friend with an air of interest. He seems more impatient than the other, and has a look of ill-concealed uneasiness upon his slightly furrowed brow. He hears not the remarks of pretty maidens or dignified matrons, else the slight frown would have given place to a smile.

"Mr. Tracy is as handsome as the groom, mamma."

"Handsomer, my dear."

There was still a chance to ensnare the uncaged bird, and this fact was alone in the mind of the anxious mamma. But the entrance of the bridal party put an end to all talk concerning the sterner sex.

"Isn't she lovely?" "What a magnificent dress?" "She is so composed." "Really, Marguerite is as pretty as the bride." "Oh, indeed; fine feathers make fine birds." "If our girls could have all the money they want and nothing to do I bet you they would look better than any one of them." "Well, well. The world is ill divided." "Isn't Miss —— gorgeous in that lovely lace." "If we had some of the money that has been spent upon them dresses we wouldn't have to work any this summer."

Such was a brief outline of the speeches made upon this important event, but they were lost upon the wedding party.

The guests comprised the wealth and beauty of St. John and as each guest was ushered in one could not fail to exclaim: "St. John has wealth, beauty and refinement."

The scene was an imposing one. While the choir sang,

"The voice that breathed o'er Eden,"

a young man entered and took his place among the guests. He had been detained but arrived in time to tender his congratulations to one more important to him than the radiant bride.

Why does Hubert Tracy instinctively cast a glance towards the new comer, and feel a slight shudder through his frame?

It matters not at present. Let him enjoy the benefit of his thoughts while we turn to our old friend.

"Mr. Lawson is growing better looking every day," is our verdict, as with genial warmth we grasp him by the hand.

An intelligent face can never remain long in obscurity, and when a generous soul and kind, true heart are also accompanying graces there is a beauty that is unfading. But it is only the higher side of humanity which can discover this beauty. And perhaps on this festive morn many of the worldly minded would fail to recognize this superior style of beauty.

But proudly Phillip Lawson stands with the consciousness of having tried to act well his part and live in obedience to the dictates of his God.

It was only when the guests had assembled in the spacious drawing- room at "Sunnybank" that our friend found opportunity to have a short conversation with Marguerite, who with sunlit face took no pains to conceal her delight. She chatted with Phillip Lawson with a familiarity that led the calculating mother to think that she had no further troubles from that source.

And Cousin Jennie's presence heightened the effect of this illusion.

Clad in draperies of soft nun's veiling Jennie Montgomery was, if not pretty, quite interesting, and her bright, fresh face was refreshing as the air of her native vales.

As in truth every wedding boasts of the time-honored conventionalities, toasts and speeches, that of "Sunnybank" formed no exception, and we will not weary you with the endless list of compliments and amount-to-nothing-in-the-end talk which is current at such times.

It was only when the hour for departure had arrived that a sense of loneliness crept over Marguerite.

The elegant presents had been inspected, luncheon served, and the bride, attired in a superb travelling costume, stood in the doorway awaiting the carriage.

Montague Arnold wears all the necessary smiles that are expected of him, and as he takes his place beside his bride a new responsibility dawns upon him.

A large number of the party accompany the newly-wedded pair to the Fairville Station, and Marguerite is assigned to Mr. Lawson and Cousin Jennie.

The latter is cheerful and witty and strives, under cover of her remarks, to divert her cousin from the sadness that is common to such occasions.

Phillip Lawson sees with gratitude the girl's kindness and thanks her in a way that is tenfold more valued than the counterfeit everyday thanks passed around in common life. If the young barrister could have seen the true state of Cousin Jennie's feelings towards him he would have fallen on his knees and thanked God for such a friend.

But Phillip Lawson was not a mind reader. He could not divine the thoughts that were passing through Jennie Montgomery's ready and active brain. But one thing he did know, that in this warm-hearted girl he had a true friend.

When Marguerite returned to her home a vague, undefined feeling took possession of her, and gladly would she have given herself up to this feeling, and indulged in a good, old-fashioned, time-honored cry.

She felt a sudden pang of remorse. She thought of the lost opportunities when she might have had a stronger hold upon the sympathies of her elder sister.

"Poor Eve," murmured the girl, "she was less to blame than I. We have never had each other's confidence. I hope she will try to love Montague as a woman should love her husband. How I should like to ask mamma what she thinks; but what is the use. She will say it is one of the best matches of the season, and no doubt she will end by advising me as to her anxiety—on my behalf. Oh, dear! why cannot we live in a state of blissful oblivion?"

The miniature bronzed clock on the mantel-shelf caused Marguerite to look up.

"Four o'clock—dear me; I wish this afternoon was over. The house seems as if a funeral had left it. Poor Evelyn."

"You naughty Madge, where are you?"

The speaker was Jennie Montgomery. She had been busy over the arrangement of a number of bouquets for the dinner-table, and assisting Mrs. Verne in many ways, and now made a hasty transit towards Madge's favorite retreat—a pretty boudoir adjoining her mamma's dressing-room.

"Just as auntie said, you old offender. A pretty time for day-dreams when everybody is head over ears in business."

"I have not been here an hour, Jennie," said Madge, in an apologetic manner, putting her arms caressingly around her cousin's waist.

The latter, though apparently preoccupied, could not fail to admire this quaint and pretty nook—just such a spot as one could sit in and dream their life away; a sort of lotus bed, where one inhaled the beguiling odors, and cast all worldly cares to the shores left behind.

And little wonder cousin Jennie gazed in admiration.

The walls were of the most delicate rose color, tinged with gold; the carpet, a ground of white velvet pile bestrewed with delicate roses; the furniture of delicate pink satin, with setting of quaintly carved ebony.

But the "seat of state," as Jennie termed it, was the crowning feature in this pretty retreat.

This seat of state was a raised dais, curtained with costly lace and surmounted by a canopy of pretty workmanship. In this alcove was an antique chair or fauteuil, and beside it a small cabinet, inlaid with mother of pearl, while opposite stood an ebony writing desk, strewed with fragments of exquisitely perfumed note paper.

It was evident that Marguerite had been penning down some stray thoughts, for the pen stood in the inkstand, and traces of ink were to be seen on her fingers.

This seat of state was just such a place as our sweet-faced Marguerite looked to advantage, not as a queen upon her throne, but as a type of the spirituelles—of the pure-minded maiden with a slight shade of melancholy, giving interest to the soft, fair face.

"You remind me of a madonna, my saint-like cousin," said Jennie, placing her bright red cheek against the purely transparent and more delicate one of her companion.

"What a contrast, Madge. Just look at your country cousin—a blooming peony, and you, my most delicate blush rose. Ha! ha! ha!"

Cousin Jennie's laugh was one of the genuine ring—untrammelled by affectation or repressed by pain or languor. She gave vent to her feelings and exercised such influence upon Cousin Madge who now joined in with a clear silvery peal of laughter, sweeter than the most bewitching music. Nor was this "sweetness lost upon a desert air."

Mr. Verne had been engaged in his apartments for some minutes. He had entered unobserved in company with a friend and a few minutes later a gentleman bearing some legal looking documents entered and without ceremony was ushered in. It was while the latter was taking leave that the well-known tones of Marguerite Verne's voice rang out its silvery sweetness and caused the listener to start. But it matters not who the latter was—suffice, a man

"of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, served no private end, Who gained no title, and who lost no friend."

"Come with me Madge and see what I have done. Indeed, I am not going to put my light under a bushel. Everyone must see my good works," exclaimed Jennie, drawing her arm through that of her cousin and leading her out to the supper room where a sight worth seeing presented itself.

The tables were arranged with an eye to the beautiful. Everything that art and taste could suggest was there.

Epergnes costly and rare almost overpowered the senses with the exhalations of their gorgeous exotics. It was a difficult matter to determine from what source came the most assistance, the caterer or the decorater, but all harmonized and all made up one perfect adaptation.

"Jennie I am ashamed of myself," cried Marguerite, standing before an exquisite combination of roses, heliotrope, lilies and smilax which occupied a central place on the supper-table, "you can do anything. How I envy you."

"Beware my little coz, I have read a little line somewhere throughout the course of my extensive reading—

'Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise.'

Now be governed accordingly and escape the fearful condemnation."

Marguerite smiled at the bright cheery girl and wondered if it were possible that such a life might ever feel the weight of care. She was thinking might it be possible that the girl would give her heart to the whole-souled friend who always seemed brighter in her presence.

Is it possible that jealousy finds a lurking place within so fair a soul—that it may take root and grow and bloom and scatter the noxious weeds peculiar to its growth?

Ah no, pure minded Marguerite. We accord thee a higher mission upon earth. Thy nature is too exalted, too ethereal, too much of the divine.

"I verily believe if I were not here to arouse you, Madge, that you would be off in another dream in less than no time. I believe some day in the not very far future if one happened to stray as far as Boston that on looking over the Herald the first notice that will greet us is:—

"Madame Marguerite DeCoeur—Clarivoyant. Predicts past, present and future. Much attention given to maidens seeking a husband. For particulars see circular. Advice sent on receipt of postage stamps. No. —— Court Street, Boston, Mass."

"What's all the fun about, I'd like to know?" chimed in none other than Master Fred. Verne with an eager curiosity common to his youth.

"Some time you may feel interested my young man, then you may consult your big sister," was the reply of Cousin Jennie.

Four hours later Marguerite Verne was, as Cousin Jeanie said a perfect picture—a being born to be admired and loved. Never had she appeared more bewitching and as the clear-headed Jennie watched the effect produced upon a pair of thoughtful grey eyes she felt a sudden relief, murmuring "he will love but one 'my Marguerite.'"



CHAPTER XIII.

MARGUERITE AT "GLADSWOOD."

Reader, another glimpse of life at "Gladswood," and in this inviting retreat imagine Marguerite. Great indeed, was the delight of Jennie Montgomery, when, on a shining, bright May morn, she set forth from "Sunnybank," accompanied by her favorite cousin.

"Take good care of my Madge, Jennie. You see she is of two-fold value now. I cannot afford to lose my second daughter for a very long time."

Mr. Verne had arrived at the railway station in time to see the girls off, and his parting injunction to Jennie was playful, and partook more of the nature of a brother than that of a parent.

In the companionship of sympathetic natures he was warmhearted, affectionate and familiar, but in ordinary moods thoughtful and reserved, and at times gloomy.

"Jennie, do you think it possible for any girl to love her father as much as I do mine," asked Marguerite, as she leaned forward and waved adieu, then throwing a kiss sat down beside her companion.

"What a question," cried Jennie. "I hope you don't imagine I care one straw less for my dear old man than you do for yours, my sweet, saucy coz. You really must be punished."

Cousin Jennie gave her companion a hearty shake and the subject dropped.

Friends and acquaintances coming in at Torryburn claimed their attention and when they arrived at Rothesay a greater reinforcement came—a party of pic-nickers going to Hampton to feast upon the beauties of that pretty rural town, and divide the remainder of the day between the delicacies of the luncheon baskets and the more delicious bits of gossip common to such gatherings.

"Miss Verne, I really did not expect to see you to-day!" cried a sprightly miss, springing towards her at no gentle rate.

The girl was Lottie Lawson, her bright young face beaming with excitement and happiness.

"I have been at Rothesay for a week, and just think, Miss Verne, Phillip has not found time to come and see me."

Lottie's manner expressed that of a deeply-wronged maiden, and Marguerite broke forth in a ripple of silvery laughter. Cousin Jennie also joined, and the infection spread to the aggrieved sister, whose child-like, musical tones were refreshing to all.

"How I should like to go as far as Sussex! but my visit ends to-morrow, and Phillip will expect me," said Lottie, in a half regretful tone.

"But you can come with Mr. Lawson during his vacation. He has promised me to come to 'Gladswood' then."

"How funny that everything seems to come contrary! I have promised to go to Woodstock."

Having reached the Hampton station Marguerite glanced out of the window.

It was fortunate that Cousin Jennie was at that moment deeply engaged in conversation with a lady in the next seat. A blush mantled a maiden's cheek, then left her a shade paler than before.

"Brother Phillip—" In another instant the child was in her brother's arms. "You bad brother, you did not come to see me, I was just telling Miss Verne."

The young barrister then espied the latter and holding his sister by the hand walked to the front of the platform.

"I must soon steal her away for a few days, Mr. Lawson. If business did not interfere, I should feel like making a second raid and secure another citizen."

Cousin Jennie spoke in a way that one seldom hears. Her artless, heartfelt manner, was acceptable to our friend, and with true gentlemanly grace, he bowed acknowledgment.

One of the picnic party—a vinegar-faced woman of forty-five, with two eligibles at her side—declared to a very intimate friend that she thought it very queer that Miss Verne should be following at Mr. Lawson's heels all the time. "For the life of me I can't see why girls will make themselves so ridiculous. Why, I often see her cutting across the Square to overtake him."

"Oh, indeed; the girls now-a-days don't have much modesty. Just see how she is laughing and talking now," exclaimed the confederate.

"Yes," retorted the first speaker "and that country-looking cousin is just a cloak for them. She is watching a chance to catch some others of the firm."

"Nice looking, did you say? Not a bit of it. For my part, I think she is homely; her face is too round and red."

The last remark was made by a saucy-looking maiden of sixteen, who owned to nothing being good that did not belong to herself.

Marguerite was utterly unconscious of the comments made upon herself and companion.

In the minutes that Mr. Lawson remained they found much to say, and there was an absence of coquetry that was gracious to see. The thoughtful, yet bright, expression of Marguerite's eyes had power to magnetize the most callous-hearted, and on this morn they were truly dangerous. The graceful form, attired in pretty travelling costume, could not fail to attract notice, and we see her repeatedly acknowledge the recognitions of many of the sterner sex with her quaint rare smile.

Just as the train was starting a voice exclaimed, "Miss Verne here are some violets, I brought them purposely to match your eyes." The fairy-like child placed the treasures in Marguerite's hand and bounded away without further comment.

"She is a good child," said Phillip, waving adieu to his companion and hurrying towards the carriage awaiting him.

Cousin Jennie now came forward demanding a share of the violets.

"Mr. Lawson thinks so much of her that I almost love him!" cried she vehemently. "And she is so cute, I'm sure her brother cannot pay such pretty compliments, Madge!"

Marguerite smiled and glanced far away over the distant hills, crowned with trees and foliage already flaunting themselves in holiday attire.

At that moment Phillip Lawson was thinking over a host of compliments, which if repeated would have caused Marguerite Verne's spirituelle face to glow with maiden blushes.

But let us believe—

"One truth is dear, whatever is, is right,"

and leave each to the free range of thought indulged in at the self-same moment.

The lovely views of nature on this lonely morn soon claimed Marguerite's attention.

"If the world were all so fair! Oh, how charming!" exclaimed the latter rising from her seat and drinking deep of the glowing beauty of hill and dale, beautifully undulating expanse of green carpeted fields lying in the distance, the purple mountain tops glowing with regal splendour and above all the ethereal dome of heavenly blue with fleecy clouds in fantastic shapes and trooping along in gay and festive march across the boundless field.

As the spire of Apohaqui Church gleamed in the distance Jennie caught her companion by the arm exclaiming, "Madge, I cannot realize that we are going to have your dear old self for three long weeks. I hope papa will be at the station to meet us."

"If not what matter; I love to take good long walks."

"And so do I, my pretty coz; just wait until I trot you out over the hills and far away," said Jennie, giving her companion a pinch on the ear that caused it to assume a crimson dye. Sussex Vale, in all its loveliness now came within sight.

"My own, my native land," cried Jennie, in high glee, as she eagerly looked for the guard of honor that would be awaiting the arrival.

"I thought so. Look Madge."

The latter saw a group of merry children, a respectable-looking man, whose good-natured face could belong to none other than Uncle William Montgomery.

"Wasn't it lucky that you came on a Saturday, Cousin Marguerite; it is just lovely in the fields now."

The bright-eyed urchin had claimed a seat beside the delighted maiden with all the airs of a gallant, and jealously guarded all access from the other unfortunates.

"Hal is not going to ride beside Cousin Marguerite to-morrow, for I will get in first," whispered a younger lad to his confidante— Jennie.

"Yes, Jimmie, you shall have fair play. Count on me as your champion," whispered the former in conciliatory tones.

It is needless to speak of the beauty of Sussex Vale. Did ever passenger travel along the Intercolonial "with soul so dead" as not to be stirred with a sense of the beautiful as he neared this delightful spot.

On this golden May morn Marguerite was indeed intoxicated with delight. But she could not remain in silent admiration, for Master Hal's attentions demanded recognition, and after chatting gaily for half an hour the phaeton deposited its smiling load upon the terrace at "Gladswood."

Truly "Gladswood," for upon every side arose some sight to make glad the heart.

There stood the warm-hearted and energetic mistress, her genuine soul stamped upon every lineament of the plain but inviting face.

"And you did make out to come, Marguerite!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery giving the girl a warm, hearty kiss.

"Yes, we've got her now and the city folks can do without her until we are ready."

At this ambiguous declaration the gallant Hal gave his head a defiant toss and gathering up an array of sundry feminine indispensibles made towards a side entrance where he deposited the said articles.

"Cousin Marguerite come out and see the calves." We have two of the loveliest little creatures with large eyes and such pretty white spots! And you would think they had their foreheads banged!"

"Well, they must be very pretty, Jimmie," said Marguerite, laughing heartily at the lad's description.

"Now children do let Cousin Marguerite have time to draw her breath before you tease her to death about your stock," said Aunt Hester with an amused look upon her face.

"Cousin Marguerite will excuse herself to the company," cried Jennie, motioning Marguerite to follow her and the latter was soon snugly ensconced in the cosiest and most inviting chamber that one ever beheld.

It was not the spare room but a smaller one adjoining that of Cousin Jennie.

The walls, contrary to fashion, were covered with a delicate paper, a white ground sprigged with pale lavender, the paints were pure white and the hangings and draperies were transparent in their whiteness.

The neat furniture was also of a dazzling white relieved by stripes of gold and pale lavender. The old fashioned window was formed in a kind of recess which was filled with pots of the choicest flowers, while just within reach stood a large lilac bush which on the least provocation forced its branches into the room.

"Cousin Jennie, the grandeur of St. John cannot boast of a spot like this. Can it be reality." cried Marguerite, pushing aside the lilac branches and glancing out upon the enchanting landscape, which gave such effect to the pretty room.

"It is so cool," broke from the girl in rapturous tones as she eyed the bare floor with its coat of soft tinted lavender and deeper shaded border. "You know it would be such a disgraceful thing to have an uncarpeted floor in the city."

The last remark was in tones slightly ironical, and showed that Marguerite Verne held views not in accordance with good form and fearlessly regarded the consequence.

"Of course, mother would not have a carpeted chamber in the summer season, and now, I really like it, but I fear that some of our guests are very often surprised."

It being past the noon dinner-hour a luncheon was prepared and the girls were interrupted by the indefatigable Hal knocking lustily on the chamber door.

"Really, Jennie, I would rather sit here than eat," said Marguerite, going to the mirror to re-arrange the mass of silken hair that crowned her prettily shaped head.

"I am going to take Cousin Marguerite down to luncheon," cried a voice from without.

This set both girls in a fit of laughter.

"You can't say that you did not raise a beau while in the Vale," cried Jennie, with a roguish twinkle of her eye.

"Indeed, Cousin Marguerite will hare no city chaps skulkin' 'round while I am here," cried our twelve-year old with all the airs of a dude of twenty.

Next in turn came a tramp around the proud old domain of "Gladswood."

The stately elms seemed to extend a kindly welcome. All nature seemed to say "welcome, to Gladswood." The birds seemed to have been practising some of their latest melodies, for never did grander strains issue from their sylvan orchestra.

How pleasantly the hours glided by in this charming abode. Truly it hath been said—

"How noiseless falls the foot of time That only treads on flowers."

"It is a fortnight to-day since I came to Gladswood," said Marguerite, one bright, sunny afternoon, as she came up the broad avenue, crowned with lovely wild flowers and such trophies as the neighboring wood afforded.

Cousin Jennie had remained at home to assist in some extra duties, and as she greeted the "spirit of the woods," as she playfully dubbed Marguerite, she was worthy of notice.

A neatly fitting light colored print wrapper, spotless in its purity; a linen collar, fastened by a silver horse shoe pin; a long, plain, white muslin apron; a neat and substantial shoe, tied with black ribbon, and high over all a crowning mass of purplish black hair, in beautiful and striking contrast.

"You radiant country maid," cried Marguerite, "stand until I admire you awhile."

Jennie was playfully turned around as an automaton in a shop window, and at length breaking forth into a merry laugh, exclaimed, "You saucy minx, please turn your wit upon some other object."

And thus amid fun, frolic and gaiety, Marguerite's visit came to an end, and on the last eve to be spent at Gladswood, the girls are seated in the old summer house enjoying an uninterrupted chat—that blissful recreation peculiar to each and every maiden.

"Madge, I am almost sorry that you came," said Jennie, taking the pretty white hand within her own. "Promise me that you will come while Mr. Lawson is here," cried the girl in a vehement and almost determined manner, while the large, brown eyes had a far-off look that she tried hard to conceal.

"It is impossible, Jennie; besides, you must not mention the matter again."

Marguerite's voice was clear and bird-like, but Jennie Montgomery fancied she felt a slight tremor in the last words uttered, and with that intuitive caution characteristic of her mother pressed the subject no further, and the warm-hearted maiden felt keenly her utter helplessness to render her companion any sympathy.

"Let us go in, Cousin Jennie," said Marguerite, in tender tones that seemed as reproach to the high-minded girl, but she heeded not, and playfully putting her arm around her companion's waist, led her into the parlor, where the rest of the family were seated around awaiting their appearance.

"Marguerite is too proud," murmured Jennie, as she sought her own room on returning from seeing her fair cousin aboard the down accommodation train which was to carry her homewards.

"Oh, my loving Marguerite, I know more than you think. I could indeed tell you much that you little dream of, but why is it thus?" and humming an old-fashioned air Jennie mechanically went back to her household duties, as if all the world were sunshine and brightness, and not a troubled thought had ever found a resting-place within her mind.



CHAPTER XIV.

AT THE NORTHWEST.

The scene is changed; and we find ourselves transported beyond a doubt to the far-famed city of Winnipeg—that emporium of wealth, enterprise and industry which arose from its prairie surroundings as by the magic of the enchanter's wand.

It is a bright, cheerful day in leafy June, and as one jogs leisurely adown Main street, there are to be seen many happy smiling faces.

But we are bent upon important business, and yield not to the more leisurely inclined side of our nature. A large four-story building is our destination. Its door posts, windows and available space are decorated with the inevitable shingle that sooner or later ushers the professional into the notice of his victims. And this building was not alone in such style of decoration.

"Dear me, I believe every other man in this place is a lawyer! Sakes alive—it's worse than being among a nest of hornets." Such was the exclamation of an elderly lady who had recently arrived, and was out taking a survey of the town.

And the old lady was not far astray, as Winnipeg has proportionately more of the legal fraternity than any other city of the Dominion.

But to our subject. Having arrived at the end of a spacious corridor we stop directly opposite a door bearing a placard—the letters are of gilt upon a black ground:

N. H. SHARPLEY, Attorney-at-Law, Notary Public, etc.

A medium-sized man is seated at the desk busily engaged over a lengthy looking document which he has just received from the young copyist at the further end of the office.

"All right, Ned, you are at liberty for the next hour. Wait: You can in the meantime run up for the ink," said Mr. Sharpley, Attorney-at-Law, in an impatient tone, as though he wished to enjoy the delightful communion of his own thoughts.

And while the scion of the law was wending his steps towards the Hudson Bay Company store—that mammoth collection of goods from every clime—the father, yea rather grandfather, of variety stores— the disciple of Coke and Blackstone takes out of his breast pocket a letter, which, judging from its crumpled state, must have claimed the reader's attention more than once.

"Five thousand dollars—not bad, by Jove," muttered Mr. Sharpley, in firm set tones, then began whistling the air accompanying the words:

"Never kick a man when he's going down the hill."

Before going further let us take a survey at Nicholas Sharpley, Esq., Attorney-at-Law, as he sits with his right arm resting on the desk and his left supporting his very important head. He is about thirty-five years of age, or perhaps less. His face is long and his chin sharp, so that his name is no misnomer. A pair of glittering, steel-like eyes, play a prominent part in the expression of his face. A sinister smile plays hide-and-seek around the thin, pale lips, while the movement betray a flexibility of mind that is not nattering to the possessor.

There is about the man a striking combination of Uriah Heap and Mr. Pecksniff; which, to an honest-minded man, rendered him intolerable.

But Nicholas Sharpley had his followers, and thrived and shone bright among the legal luminaries, and was always ready to do the most unprincipled jobs to be met with.

A cunning leer passed over the greyish countenance as the dazzling vision protruded itself before Mr. Sharpley. He drew his fingers convulsively through the mass of bristling hair (which might be designated by that color known as iron grey), and then suppressing a yawn, muttered: "It's worth the trying. The fellow's good for another five—that's a bonanza these devilish hard times."

The attorney then glanced over the contents of the prized letter once more and evidently experienced a fresh sensation of delight.

"Tracy beats the devil—all for the sake of a girl too; bet my life she's no better than the rest of them. Well, Mr. Tracy, my humble client, you will pay a good price for the enchanting dearie, who has caught you body and soul—fools—fools—men are fools."

Poor Nicholas made the last assertion with much force of manner, betraying his own feelings more than he would have dared to acknowledge.

Dame Rumor had not been sparing in circulating the love affairs of our attorney-at-law, and when she fearlessly came forward and declared that a certain maiden with more pin money than beauty, rejected his suit, there went forth from the four walls of the bachelor's apartments an edict ruthlessly vowing vengeance upon the whole sex, and comforting himself with the thought that he loved a good horse better than anything in this fluctuating world.

"Ten thousand out of it; not a bad speck—and that in the eight per cent—a thousand times better than the other side of the bargain. Eh, Moll?" The latter part of the sentence was addressed to the pretty animal that was reined up before the court-yard just as the speaker rose to his feet.

It was four o'clock and Mr. Sharpley, taking the ribbons from the boy with all the importance of his position, rode down Main street towards the old fort, and afterwards through the different streets lined with the most imposing and stately residence so characteristic of the southern portion of the city.

Have patience, reader, while we give another thought to the crumpled letter. Its pages make mention of one very dear to us. Phillip Lawson is on the eve of being the dupe of two unprincipled schemers.

Hubert Tracy knew well where to look for an accomplice. He possessed money or the means of getting it, and he knew that for the precious dust the high handed and unscrupulous soul of Nicholas Sharpley was his only help.

"Ten thousand—not bad—and more to follow," were the words that rose to Mr. Sharpley's lips and which he muttered incoherently as he sat over a rubber of whist in a private apartment of the hotel on the self-same evening, and as the many-sided character of the attorney-at-law presented itself, we can see in bold relief a placard bearing the mark "$10,000—not bad—and more to follow."

And there is another on the eve of happiness—a rival is to be set aside—that other is Hubert Tracy, and the rival is Phillip Lawson.

Within a few hours from the time that Mr. Sharpley had made up his mind, there lay on the office desk a letter addressed:

W. CLARKE CONNOR, ESQ., Barrister, Portage, La Prarie.

Barrister at Portage La Prarie. Yes, my friend; barristers at the northermost corner of the earth.

Mr. Connor was a man of fifty years or upwards. He had formerly practised in Winnipeg and in his office Nicholas Sharpley first entered as a law student. Doubtless the quick-sighted lawyer saw in the former much in common with his own sordid nature and liked communion with kindred spirits, for Nicholas Sharpley rose high in Mr. Connor's esteem, and when the latter started out for "greener fields and pastures new," he was in full confidence of the affairs of the younger lawyer.