Upon the ground he lay spluttering, writhing, and giving vent to an occasional shriek till there was a hurrying of feet in the mansion; then the meek and jaded traveller moved gently away till his person was hidden in the pines. Standing against a giant bole the traveller thus soliquized:

'To please Roland I promised to be good; and I felt much good in my heart. I was goeen to find some way of deceiveen my mates; but the old Christeen was too uncharitable, and I shall pick his locks. He would not care if I was dyeen, starveen on the very snow before his eyes. Yes, I'll pick his locks; and what comes to my share I'll give to the poor.'

Now which of these two men, that robber or the respectable old miser Christian, finds more favour in God's sight, think my readers?

Well, The Lifter decided to rob him, and I am glad that he did. I am not dealing with a case in the moon either. I know this old man well; and I am acquainted with some others of his kind.

About an hour after the soliloquy above recorded had taken place a weak set of knuckles rapped upon the back door of the miser's dwelling. The fairies had put, in crystal Chinese white, many ferns and much delicate but tangled tracery upon the panes of the kitchen, yet through them the flaxen-headed stranger saw a round face, and a pair of bright blue eyes. The door was then opened and the head asked:

'Who are you?'

'A poor wretch, tired, ill, lame and hungry. If you will but let me go into the kitchen a rug will serve me for the night.'

'You're the same one, bad luck to you, that so irrithated the masther?'

'I merely asked him for shelter. I said nothing else,' replied the Lifter, in his very softest and, meekest tone. 'I am a poor Catholic boy, and the Protestants about here have no mercy on us.'

He had guessed Bridget's religion from her tone.

'Divil a bit of me blaives you're a Catholic. Not one.'

'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, etc.,' said the Lifter, piously crossing himself. 'And I can give it to you as the priest does in the morneen at the mass, "In nomine Patris, et Filio et Spiritu Sancti!"' again crossing himself. 'And I have been at confesheen, and said this,' striking his breast, "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."'

'O begorra, you're one right enough, God bless you; come in out o' the cowld, you poor cratur.' Now the truth is that The Lifter was not a Roman Catholic, but he made himself acquainted with a little of everything to serve him in his diabolical profession.

Poor Bridget tended him as she would a weakly infant, and made many enquiries touching his friends, pursuits, etc., all of which he answered promptly, in his smooth, insinuating voice. Indeed, before he was in Bridget's company an hour he hobbled over and kissed her, whereupon she blushed, put up her apron, and said that he was 'revivin' purty fast since he got into the hait ov the fire.'

'My, but your poor knee must be very sore,' she said, looking at the huge swathing that enveloped that part of his body. 'What's the matter wid it? An evil?'

'Ah, yes, Bridget; a runneen sore. My life has been ebbeen through that hole since I was a child of twelve.'

Poor Bridget looked with moistened eyes upon the smooth-faced sufferer; and he struggled to his feet again, and saluted her wholesome lips.

The reader, of course, is not imposed upon by The Lifter. Inside these ostentatious wrappings our convert carried his skeleton keys, picklocks and screw-drivers; instead of a 'runneen sore' upon the knee, he had an entire tool chest there; yea, little files with teeth so fine that the noise they made would not be nearly so loud as the gnawing of a mouse.

Wonderful stories did the converted robber tell to Bridget before the glowing fire that winter's evening; and when the last sounds of the retiring inmates had died away he was not yet ended. Neither was Bridget willing to part from such sweet and interesting company. The sleek rascal saw this, and looking slyly into Bridget's delf-blue eyes, he said,

'Only for my affliction I think I might get some girl to marry me.'

Bridget sighed and looked down upon his amber hair. Indeed, if The Lifter is to be believed, she passed her fingers caressingly through these insinuating locks.

When the visitor was certain that everyone was asleep, he arose, and looking about him, said,

'This must be a very large house. Many rooms in it?'

'Oi; a morthal large number.'

'I have never seen the house of a rich man. Would you show me through? My eyes are acheen to see the valuable furniture and things.'

'Aisy, till they get asleep, my lammie.' He was so gentle that he suggested a lamb to her Milesian imagination. He therefore told her some new version of the banishment of frogs from the Island of Saints by St. Patrick, and expounded the trinitine mysteries of the three-leaved clover. She was delighted; and I believe that had he 'popped the question,' she would have said 'Yes, me darlint,' straightway.

Presently the two are making a tour of the lower part of the house, and The Lifter expresses his wonder at the luxury by a series of aspirated 'Oh's!'

'This is his library; that place beyant.'

'Let me see it,' quoth the Lifter; and the two went silently in.

'And that little room at the far end; what's that?' said the visitor.'

'Oh, I couldn't show you that at all, at all. It's locked; bekaise he keeps all his money there.'

'Ah; he's a miser,' The Lifter said in a low voice. 'Show me where I am to sleep.'

She would put him in the attic, but he refused. The kitcheen was good enough for him, if she'd just bring him a pillow to put under his head, and a rug to throw over him.

This at last she consented to do; then stooping down she sturdily hugged his green, hypocritical head, kissed him square on the lips, and went to bed.

'Don't go till I give you some breakfast, me poor dear,' she said as the went. He looked his gratitude.

'I shall be waiteen when you come down—(to himself) for the capteen to divide the plunder. But I'll divide mine with the poor;' and he laid himself across the rug to listen. For an hour or better he remained there, and then set up a low but regular snore. For this cunning invader had a notion in his head that Bridget might possibly be hovering still about the lower regions. For five minutes the monotonous, low-rolling snores went up, and then there was a creaking upon the stairs. It was quite plain, and evidently near at first; but The Lifter was soon satisfied that the listener had gone to bed. He had no doubt that it was Bridget, whose honest heart perhaps misgave her after leaving the house at a stranger's mercy. But she was evidently off her guard now, and had retired in good earnest.

Upon the kitchen table stood a candle, and this, after the lapse of another half-hour, the convert took into his hand. Moving noiselessly as a cat he entered the great drawing-room, but did not yet venture to light his candle. Once into the library he breathed more freely, for light could not be seen or sound heard from this retired and distant part of the mansion. The glare from the dip was small in circumference, and yellow as tarnished brass, but it revealed plainly enough the locks of the door to the secret room. Unwinding the bandage about his leg he laid his tools upon the carpet and then began operations.

At first he introduced a long key hooked a little at the point, and with this he began to probe, and feel, and measure. A gleam came into his eyes as he drew it forth. Then he selected two keys and looking first at one and then at the other, decided, in a second or two in favour of the larger. This he inserted; and in a moment a bolt turned back with a slow, dull sound. Turning the knob, he pushed the door, and was inside the secret chamber. This room was certainly a 'Camera obscura;' for it had no windows or any outlet save the door by which the robber had entered. In the most distant corner was a vault, the door of which was fastened by heavy clamps of steel and padlocks. But the padlocks were of the very kind with which The Lifter was most familiar; and ere a minute elapsed the heavy bolts were let down. But it took all the muscle of which the robber was master to open the ponderous door; and when it did move out, snowing the dark cavity through the yawning mouth, it gave no squeak; for the operator had deftly placed a few drops of oil within the hinges.

'Fortuna favet trepidis,' he said, never having heard of an accusative case.

The next moment he was kneeling before the safe and studying the difficulties that lay in his way. The combinations that so completely defy the pick-lock in these modern days were not known then; so that after five minutes' operations, the convert had the heavy metal door open.

He expected no doubt to find the coin in one great glittering heap, but he was mistaken; for the cautious miser had twelve compartments in the safe, each one of which was secured by two locks, no one of which resembled the other.

'This,' thought the prying gentleman,' reminds one of the story of the Sleepen Beauty—it was so hard to get near her. Drageens, serpents, firey horses, and terrible birds with steel bills. But here goes.'

One compartment was soon opened, and from this our friend drew a little tin box which was also locked. It was very heavy, but The Lifter had no mind to carry away possibly a bit of lead. So he opened the box, and found a mass of sovereigns, shining as if they had just come from the mint.

'All right,' he muttered, and laid them upon the floor.

At this instant, a mouse ran across the floor, and then about a dozen others, shrieking like a sharp blast of autumn wind. The Lifter rose to his feet and glanced about, and then shaded the feeble glim with his hand.

Many of the locks that he found were very intricate, and more than two hours passed away ere he secured the contents of five of the lockers. Then it seemed to him as if he heard a noise outside, indistinct at first, but very soon audible enough. The noise resembled the cry of an angry bear, and this he knew to be a signal from the chief calling him forth.

'I will not go till I get one more locker open,' he thought; and then set at work again with his pick-locks and skeleton keys. This compartment was the easiest of all rifled; the box of coin was secured and put into his sack. He then carefully closed and relocked the doors, hoisted his bag, now extremely heavy, upon his back, and retraced his steps.

The door of the secret room he likewise carefully reclosed; then passed through the library, the drawing-room, and into the kitchen. There was no stir, and he laid his bag of booty upon the bed which poor Bridget had so kindly spread for him. The cat, a great male tortoiseshell, came from the corner with tail erect and back curved, and he rubbed his handsome side, against The Lifter who calmly proceeded to put on his boots.

The robber did not show the least anxiety but calmly proceeded, by the light of his candle, to tie his boots and prepare himself for a start. When tightening the lace in his last boot, he thought that he heard a noise upon the stairs; but it ceased and he went on with his work. Then there was a sudden rush as if somebody were descending many steps at once; and simultaneously with the rush a loud cry.

'Buglahs! Buglahs!'

'The d—d nigger,' the Lifter ejaculated, and seizing his booty he made a plunge for the door, which, with his usual precaution, he had unlocked before going upon his exploit. Through the door he escaped safely enough, but he had scarcely reached the yard before the negro —the same, by the way, to whom my readers have already been introduced—was upon him.

'Help, mates, help!' shouted The Lifter, as he felt the hand of the darkey tighten about his throat.

'Help, buglahs, buglahs!' shouted at the same time the faithful negro; and in response to the alarm, there was a hurrying of many feet inside, and much hallooing.

But it was too late with the Ethiopean; for as the word 'buglahs,' issued the second time from his lips, he was struck upon the head with a club and knocked senseless.

'Here,' said The Lifter, 'take this,' handing the bag of booty to Murfrey.

In an instant the band of desperadoes were making their flight through the pines; but not before several bullets had been sent whizzing among them. At the roadside stood the horses, and each man vaulted into the saddle.

'Here, Capteen, you better have the shiners,' the Lifter said, taking the heavy and rather clumsy sack from Joe, and flinging it across the croup of his father's saddle. 'It is worth carrying, and worth fighting for.' Then the robbers were away over the frosty road like a sudden blast of a wintry wind.



CHAPTER XII.

THE CAPTURE OF THE 'MOST' BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN.

The ride was a most furious one and there was not the ghost of a chance, had the sun been at the meridian, of overtaking those fleet-footed beasts. When they were many miles beyond the old farm-house the Captain pulled rein and waited for his son to gain his side.

'What has been your luck? I think that it has been good.'

'I am thinkeen the same myself. I eased him of half what he has.' Then the Convert entered into a careful detail of the robbery, the circumstances of which my reader already knows. When he was ended the robber chief extended his hand.

'Well-done, boy; this is worth all the house-breaking we have had since we came to the swamp.' As he said these words he turned half towards Murfrey, who, despite his jealousy, and his anger at the remark, was, nevertheless radiant as he contemplated his share of the booty.

'You have done bravely, and like a man. I do not think that your loyalty will be any more called in question.' Another sidelong glance at the glowering bully; but he uttered never a word.

'You never boast, my son, and you never bully,' the Chief went on; 'but when a delicate measure and an important one is on hand, you are to be trusted. There is no other man in my band in which I can place such faith.' Still another malignant glance at the ruffian with the dogged face. But that villain was bent upon keeping his temper and holding his tongue; and he rode along in glum silence.

'By the Eternal,' shouted the robber chief, 'if slur is ever again put upon you, I will shoot the coward who offers it.' It did almost seem as if the Captain were courting a quarrel with his ally. But he really was not. In the intensity of his satisfaction his imagination went back to all the indignities that had been put upon his son—whom he really loved—by Murfrey; and he remembered how patiently it had all been borne.

'Hush, father!' The Lifter said, putting his hand upon the chief's arm. 'We all try to do the best we can. It would spoil everything if we quarrelled now.'

To this the chief agreed; but he had made up his mind that there should be no more persecution of his son.

The money was divided upon the return of the band to the camp, the Captain taking a double share, one going to Murfrey, one to Rev. Mr. Jonas, a half to the old woman, and a fourth to each of the girls.

'I have reserved half a share for you, sir,' the Captain said, addressing Roland, who had been a spectator of the division, 'although you have not chosen to give us any assistance in our enterprises.'

Roland arose.

'I have to thank you for your offer; but you must know that its acceptance is impossible.'

'Well, be it as you say. I think The Lifter is entitled, then, to this extra amount, for the skill and cool-headedness that he has displayed in the matter.'

The sum that fell to the robber chief was a few shillings short of 3,000 [pounds] stg.

Several days passed away, during which there were many slight snow-falls in the wood. The snow, it may be added, was always kept removed from the covering of that portion of the tunnel over which the intruder must pass before he could reach the open-air rendezvous of the robbers.

One evening, as Roland sat in his room reading, Nancy entered with fight tread, and took her seat beside him.

'I think that the chief will soon require your services.'

'How comes this?'

'To-morrow I think he sets out upon the expedition of which you have already heard some mention. The girl is to be brought here to-morrow night; and he believes that you can assist him in two ways, first by turning your knowledge of the district to be visited to account: and second, by acting as a decoy for the young lady.'

'I shall die before he force me into such a work.'

'As I expected. Of course you will refuse, and he will rave and rage. See to it that you are armed, for he would shoot or stab you as he would a dog when he finds that you thwart him in a matter that he has so much at heart.'

'I shall be prepared, Nancy. When do you think he will make his request?'

'I should judge to-morrow morning.'

'Nancy, it seems to me that the time is not far away when we shall escape from this pit of infamy. If it lie within my power this girl shall be saved from her odious abductor. We can depend upon The Lifter—you of course will not flinch.'

'So far from flinching,' the girl replied, 'I should be delighted to lay down my life in helping you in the noble resolve which you have formed.'

'Be it so, then. Can you use firearms?'

'I can; indeed since a child I have been expert with pistols. I know what you can do; The Lifter is brave at the proper time, and you will not find me useless. I think that we need not despair.'

'Still, it will be five against two.'

'Oh, to-morrow is Sunday, and the Rev. Mr. Jonas is to preach at the Don. In fact he is holding a series of revivals there, and will not be back before Tuesday next.' Then she bade our hero good-night.

The next moment The Lifter entered. He corroborated what Nancy had told, and declared his willingness to join Roland.

He may try to shoot you to-morrow morneen when you refuse; but remember you will have a friend standeen by your side who can shoot too.'

Thank you, and God bless you, my friend,' Roland said, giving his hand to the robber. It was the first time that he had ever used such a term toward the outlaw. The poor outcast felt that one word, 'friend,'—uttered as it had been with such peculiar emphasis—more than any other experience in his whole chequered and evil life. His face quivered with emotion, and his eyes became moist with tears. Yes, that word strung his nerves up to cords of steel, and set a seal upon his resolutions that nothing upon earth could move.

The morning broke cheerfully enough. Troops of shining white clouds held themselves shyly aloof in the liquid blue sky. The ice upon Silent Lake gleamed and sent out radiating lines of light, fine as the threads of a spider's net. Troops of blue jays went in silly procession from tree to tree, and some of them came about the camp of the robbers and began feasting upon the morsels of fish and meat scattered around. Roland was early astir; and he saw the sun through the pines, its face seeming as if covered with blood. This was not an auspicious sign; and little as our hero was given to belief in omens, he could not help being impressed by the spectacle.

But when the great orb got above the tops of the trees its face changed from quivering crimson to brass; and with the change the foreboding passed from the mind of our hero.

'How my beautiful Aster used to glory in the spectacle of the setting or rising sun,' he thought. 'I have ridden through York [now of course Toronto, AUTHOR] when the whole west was a mass of crimson fire; and once grasping my hands pointing to cloud-specks in the arc of red, she said, "See the spots. They look like drops of blood," while her beautiful eyes grew larger and shining with poetic fervor. Alack-a-day! I wonder if I shall ever see my love again?'

His reverie was ended by the appearance of Nancy, and immediately afterwards of Silent Poll, both of whom busied themselves preparing breakfast.

When that meal was ended the chief sauntered about smoking, and at last stood before Roland.

'I have to talk seriously with you this morning,' he said, in a tone that was intended to be conciliatory as well as authoritative.

Roland had placed his back against the trunk of a large pine, with his hand—carelessly, as it would seem—in his hip pocket, and he looked the chief steadily in the face, as he replied:

'I am ready to hear what you have to say.'

'It is soon said, I purpose now to bring all those plans of mine to fruition. There is a young woman whom I purpose carrying here to-night. I do not know anything about the interior arrangements of the house, nor of the habits of the family. But you may sometime have met the lady, and could therefore help my plan. Will you consent to do this?'

The look of mingled indignation and scorn upon Roland's face was simply beyond description when he heard this barefaced and monstrous request.

'So far is such an act from me,' he replied, looking into the eyes of the libertine robber, 'that I refuse to discuss a proposition so odious and full of infamy.'

'That is your answer?'

'Aye, it is.'

'Dog! is it for this that I have spared you?' and he drew hastily from his sheath a knife with a long, keen blade, and raised it.

But Roland was equally as quick as the desperado; and holding his pistol in the very face of the robber, he said:—

'Move that hand, villain, if you dare!' and as he said these words he moved gradually back, for Murfrey was coming towards him.

The chief saw that there was no glory for him in such a scene as this. He lowered his arm, and beckoned Murfrey back to his place.

'I was in a rage,' he said, looking at our hero,' because you refused this favour; but I did not mean to strike.' His looks, however, as he spoke, belied the declaration. 'I will need you,' he said, nodding to The Lifter; 'and you come, of course,' to Murfrey. Roland said nothing, but sat apart, his weapon in his pocket, ready for immediate use. But he did not need it, as the three robbers speedily left the den and passed out into the wood.

As the evening fell that day, the robbers, disguised as three log-choppers, with axes upon their shoulders, approached a large, comfortable and rather imposing residence. In this house, to judge from the cautious looks of the party, dwelt the object of the expedition. How to obtain the girl was the problem that now presented itself.

At first it was proposed that The Lifter should go in and enquire the distance to Sloan's tavern, a well-known rendezvous for lumbermen in the neighbourhood. But this plan was rejected. These desperate men would have no hesitation in boldly forcing their way into the house with axes uplifted, but the girl might not be there; and the enterprise, for the future, would be rendered more difficult.

The robbers, as has been said, were standing in a group among a pine-clump that stood a couple of perches from the road. In this same clump stood two horses saddled and one harnessed to a sled. The latter was the chiefs horse, and of course the vehicle was intended for carrying away the prize. While the villains stood together, planning a way out of the dilemma, the jingle of sleigh-hells was heard upon the road leading down to the dwelling.

'Suppose she should be in this,' exclaimed the chief. 'Let us down to the roadside. I know the old chap's pair, a dappled gray and a chestnut.' By the roadside they posted themselves, the sleigh moving swiftly along to the merry tune of the bells, made far more merry by 'the icy air of night.'

The moon was nearly full, but while it waded through the heavy cloud-masses half the world was dark. It would seem that Diana ought to keep her fair, chaste head in nubibus when any of her maidens stand in danger. But she has often been known to suddenly illuminate a dark place, and show the assassin a victim.

On the memorable night which I am describing she must have been in one of her heartless fits. Perhaps she was thinking of some of Endymion's flirtations with the rosy-cheeked mountain lasses, when ranging among the pastoral hills. Be this supposition correct or not, just as the approaching sleigh reached a hundred paces of the gate by which the robbers were concealed, a flood of moonlight burst upon the road.

'The very pair, by heavens!' exclaimed the Chief, excitedly. 'Three persons; she is there, too!' The sleigh had now reached very near the roadside; and one of the men jumped out to open the gate.

'You attend to him,' the Chief whispered to Joe; 'you gag the girl's mouth with this handkerchief,' to The Lifter; 'Come.'

The robbers rushed out and Murfrey felled his man to the ground with a blow of his axe-handle. The chief pinioned his man and stopped his mouth, not before he had cried out twice:

'Highwaymen! Help!'

The Lifter was not so dexterous in his work, for the girl gave several shrieks before he succeeded in stopping her mouth. At first he had not the heart to bind this beautiful girl, who looked at him with such frightened, appealing eyes. But in spite of the hesitation on The Lifter's part, the terrible business was despatched with wonderful swiftness. The chief seizing the girl in his arms bore her lightly as if she were an infant to his own sled, and placed her upon it, holding her there with one arm, while with the other he held the reins; then giving the word to his followers, the band was speedily flying over the frosty road towards their lair. When they reached the edge of the swamp, the dawn was breaking in chilly, silver streaks, and the robbers dismounted.

'Why am I torn away from my home?' the girl asked as soon as the bandage was removed from her mouth. 'Where are you taking me?'

'To my home, to be my bride,' the robber replied, bending suddenly down to kiss her. But she evaded his polluting lips, and stood looking from one to the other of the rest for help. The Lifter turned away his head; for he was sick and sore at heart.

'Now, my dear girl,' the Chief said, 'we have to get to my home immediately. It lies in yonder bush. Will you walk, or shall we be obliged to carry you. I do not care to take my horses to the wood.'

'God have mercy upon me! God have mercy upon me!' was all that the unfortunate girl could say.

'Do not lament so. You will not find me such a tyrant.'

But despair had now chilled her heart. She did not hear the words he spoke, and looked about her bewildered and helpless.

'We had better be moving, Miss,' Murfrey said, walking to her side; for it was arranged that the Captain should stay behind to blind the track made by the single sled, and, with the deaf-mute, put pursuers on the wrong scent. He was very skilful at this sort of thing and the rest were not. Hence his remaining behind.

The captive did not seem to hear the words addressed to her, but stood there most hopeless and distrait in the opening dawn, tears streaming out of her beautiful eyes.

Murfrey turned away for a moment to speak with his leader as to what he ought to do. This gave The Lifter who was standing near an opportunity to whisper in her ear, for he had drawn quite close to the girl.

'Fear not! I am your friend. Another captive at home. He will help to release you. I'm forced now to act like this. Fear not! and don't speak.' She looked into his face, and by the earnest, anxious gleam in his eye, she felt instinctively that he told the truth.

'Why should he tell falsehoods about it?' she mused, they can carry me whether I want to go or not.'

'Come,' The Lifter said, and meekly she followed him.

'This augurs bad for you at the beginning,' Murfrey said with a chuckle. 'Your son seems to have the inside track already. She is following him tamely as a poodle.' 'He's the devil at coaxing,' the robber replied. 'You can't tell what yarn has prevailed with her. Be off now, and take good care of my pretty bird. Don't you think she's a beauty; a what 'ill I call her? a Diana! yes, that must be her name. Now go and take care of Diana of the Swamp.' The chief had become jocose; for here was the lovely prey safe within the toils. A minute later he called.

'Here, Joe' and Murfrey came. 'If you get a chance to make an end of that d—d fellow Gray, do so. I do not, want the two to begin coddling. He does not know her, I suppose, but if she found him with his handsome face, bad luck to it, likewise a captive, it would be "love at first sight" with a vengeance.'

'If the thing is possible, rely upon me.' Then the ruffian sped away through the woods.

When Roland arose that morning The Lifter came to him.

'The hour is come,' he said, 'if you are to save the girl.'

'Is she here?' he asked with astonishment,

'Yes; she is now upstairs among the women. Nancy is trying to give her some comfort. O, she is so beautiful and innocent lookeen that it pains my heart to see her here.'

'Rely upon me. Here she will not remain if you be true. I swear it before the God who made me,' and he fell upon his knees while he made the oath. Then he arose. 'I will send Nancy to you, though I think she is also ready for a start.' In a moment Nancy was beside Roland.

'Is the hour come?' she asked with the slightest tremor in her voice; but it was not a tremor of fear. She was simply quivering at the thought of freedom.

'It is. The chief is absent, and we may reach the road before he enters the bush. Joe, I learn, is sleeping.'

'Yes, but the shriek of a mouse will awaken him.'

'I am prepared for that ruffian. Silent Poll and her mother we must gag.'

Both then ascended into the upper air, and Roland stepped quickly forward to see the intended victim of the libertine outlaw. She was sitting with her head upon her hands, and the tears were still streaming from her eyes.

'All merciful heaven, it is Aster!' and looking up, the poor girl saw her lover. She had only power to rise and throw herself into his arms, when she swooned there.

'Water, quick,' and he stretched her upon a lounge and dashed several handfuls upon her beloved face. She speedily revived, and opening her glorious eyes looked again upon her lover. But she seemed unable to realize it She believed indeed that her reason had forsaken her or that it was all a dream.

'Is it you, Roland,' she exclaimed, taking his hand. 'Where is this, and what are you doing here.'

'This, Aster, my love,' he replied, 'is a robbers' den. This is the head-quarters of the miscreants of Markham Swamp. On the day of the duel I was captured and brought hither, and watch has since been kept upon me. I resolved many timed to leave and endeavour to reach the United States, till the feeling over my crime had subsided.'

'What do you mean?' Aster enquired, laying her hand with its crooked little finger upon his.

'The duel, of course.'

'Why, haven't you heard? Why, he recovered from his wound.'

'Merciful heaven, then I am free to stand up among my fellow men, in my own place again! No; they told me nothing of it, though the villainous chief must have heard, for nothing passes without his cognizance.'

During this conversation the hag looked as if the world was coming to an end, that such language should be used by the upstart in the very midst of her stronghold.

'Poltroon,' she shouted to The Lifter, why do you not strike him down?'

'That is all over now,' Roland said, suddenly seizing the old woman and forcing a handkerchief into her mouth. This act was the signal for The Lifter, who at the same moment accorded similar treatment to Silent Poll. Roland bound the old woman, and The Lifter secured the young one.

'Granny,' The Lifter said, bending down to her ear, 'I am going to leave and to try to be an honest man. I shall watch constantly in the papers for news of your hangeen. As for you,' stooping down to the ear of Silent Poll, 'I believe the devil will carry you off before the gallows gets you. I know you must always have been a great favourite of his.'

Silent Poll replied by spitting in his face.

'Are you ready, my friends?' Roland said, looking at his confederates.

'Yes, yes,' both had answered.

'Come, my darling,' giving his arm to Aster, 'we go from this spot: these two are faithful; but there will be some hot work before we get out.'

She only replied by a fervent pressure of his arm and a glance of proud confidence in her lover.

'What is this?' thundered a hideous voice. 'Where going? Where off, Lifter?' This was Murfrey, with rage, hate and apprehension written in his face.

'I am away from the bush forever. If nothing better happens, Joe, I'll give myself up to the law.'

'And where are you off, Nancy?'

'To seek an honourable life. In a way, I leave this place stainless, and I go to give myself back to my father.'

The terrible oaths that this foiled ruffian swore, I could not repeat here. He resembled a devil fresh from the infernal regions. His flaming eyes were turned anxiously along the path, expecting the captain; then he drew near with a brace of pistols in his belt.

'Nancy,' our hero said, 'you lead off with the lady and we shall cover your retreat. Keep a sharp look-out ahead.'

Blinded with rage, Murfrey drew forward, hastily raised his pistol and fired. The ball grazed Roland's cheek and left a pink streak across it. But he had no sooner fired than Roland discharged his weapon, and with a loud cry the robber drew his remaining pistol with his left hand, our hero's shot having broken the right arm a little below the shoulder. 'Put down your pistol or I will shoot you without mercy,' Roland thundered; but the fellow was insane with rage, pain and disappointment, and heeding not the warning, he took new aim upon Roland. But he had not time to fire before he fell, shot in the leg.

'On now,' cried Roland, 'we have only one other to deal with'. Aster, with Nancy leading, made slow way through the deep snow and tangled bushes. Nancy had a quick ear and an eye of unusual sharpness, and this was well; for about three hundred yards distant, she saw the robber captain coming towards her.

'This way, miss, this way,' she whispered to Aster. 'We shall keep in shelter of that duster of cedars yonder. The robber chief comes this way.' Aster followed her guide without question; but she turned her head every few minutes to look for Roland. He was now far in the rear, but he was following the lead of the girls by their tracks.

Suddenly Roland and the chief found themselves face to face. The robber's brows grew dark as the night.

'What is this,' he demanded of his son.

'We are both leaveen the place.'

The villain was simply struck dumb with amazement. When he did speak, he asked,

'Where is Murfrey?'

'We just have been disableen him.'

'Where are my mother and Poll?'

'We have just done gaggeen them.'

'Where is Nancy; where is the young lady?'

'They are cleareen out of the swamp.'

'Hell and—' he did not finish his pious ejaculation, but felt for his pistol. It was not there; and he gave a cry like a baulked lion.

'Here's at you,' looking at our hero who just then remembered that he had no charge left in his pistol; and like a jaguar he sprang at Roland's throat. But this brutal robber had no child now in hand; our hero was slight, but his sinews were elastic and reverberant; and they were as enduring as twisted steel. A fair hold was taken on either side, and it was a nice test of the respective powers of the combatants.

The robber was the heavier man by far, but the activity and the skill were upon the other side.

'I would put a pistol to his head,' the Lifter said,' but bad as he be he is my father.' There is no need to describe the rencontre, further than to say that After about a minute's fierce strife the chief vent down and Roland's knee was planted in his breast.

'Cords now,' he cried to the Lifter.

'I'll help to do the bindeen,' The Lifter replied cheerfully, and he did so. When his father was bound he stood before him and thus spoke:

'Father, I leave you to the mercy of the laws which you have all your life been a breakeen. I will try to get out of the country and go to the States; there I hope to become an honest man. I do not think that I deserve to suffer, because in breakeen the law I did not know I was do'een wrong. You deserve to suffer because you broke them knoween it was evil, and you brought me up to break them, which was worst of all. So I leave you, capteen. In a little while the law will come here and catch you. I will not cry when I hear of your swingeen.' The unfilial convert then joined Roland and the two quickening their pace soon overtook Nancy and Aster.



CHAPTER XIII.

'ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.'

When the turmoil and the hideous danger was over, it was very sweet for these two lovers to sit alone and talk about the past. She had received his letter, and marvelled what he meant when he spoke of being detained in some place 'so near and yet so far.'

'Did you, my darling,' he asked her, as he held her hand, with its crooked little finger—which small deformity I always take as a sign of gentle blood—in his, 'care for me on that day that separated us for all this bitter time?'

She put down her head, and looked at him very archly.

'Well, I don't care, my beloved, what you say in answer, but do you think you love me now?'

For answer, she put her beautiful head upon his breast. I do not know what they said, but when they stood up—she to answer the door bell, for the servant was out—they were engaged; and she had his ring upon her finger.

He was at Aster's own house, sitting with her during the anxious hours of her father's illness. The shock of the abduction had actually over-set his reason; and it was not till he saw his daughter standing over his bed, and felt her hand in his, that consciousness came back. In a little while he was able to listen to a recital of the entire story from her lips. When she had ended, tears stood in the old man's eyes.

'I have treated that young man with cruel injustice. If he wanted to wed you now, my love, it would give me great joy to say "yes," and bestow my blessing.'

'He has asked me, papa;' and she hid her head to cover her blushes. 'He now wants only your consent. He is in the house.'

'Send him to me, dear, at once.'

In about a quarter of an hour, Roland returned from the room, radiant with happiness and leading Aster by the hand.

They were sitting before the cheerful winter-fire, when he asked her,

'What has become of Mr. Ham?'

'O! a fearful vulgar girl named Lydia Estabrooks, a Yankee lass, is about to become his bride. She covers herself with chains and ribbons, and her fingers blaze with stones. He has given it out in an underhand way that he has thrown me over.'

'What?'

'O! pray, love, do not look fierce like that. Nobody but Lydia believes him. Now that you are back again, I am sure that he will retract.'

'He shall be notified to do so.'

'There now, surely, darling, you are going to have no more quarrels. Had I thought this, I never should have told you.'

'Be easy, love, be easy,'—he kissed her between sentences—'there shall be no more parting for us.'

From all that I can learn, Roland was thenceforth a constant visitor at the house; and speedily a day was fixed when she was to drop her maiden name.

'On the first day of sweet May,' she said to herself, 'I shall be Aster Gray; what a pretty name!' It was agreed that Roland should come back to Oatlands after his wedding tour and reside there; for on the marriage day, Mr. Atwell had resolved to endow his son-in-law with all his houses, every acre, every beast and every head of cattle that were his.

As for Nancy; Roland accompanied by Aster, went with her to her father's house, and Roland told the old man the story of his daughter's life. He at once forgave her and took her to his heart. I may bound a couple of years ahead and state that Nancy married a respectable farmer who was pleased enough to get a handsome wife and a valuable homestead. This couple had a family of four children afterwards; and one of these is now a member of the Legislature of Ontario. I shall not say whether he is a Grit or a Tory, for that would be getting upon too dangerous ground. Nancy died a few years ago and she sleeps now under the shade of a weeping willow.

Roland induced the officers to shut their eyes while The Lifter passed over to the States. In that country the smooth-tongued convert rapidly amassed a fortune. His son is a partner in extensive car works now, not a thousand miles from Detroit. I have met his grand-daughter and she is a most bewitching blonde.

The old woman and Silent Poll were caught; and they perished in prison, to which they were condemned for life. Murfrey was taken, tried and hanged, and went to his grave without a 'pax vobiscum' from man or woman.

But when the officers came to the spot in the woods where Roland had left the captain tied, they found not that robber. There were marks of a violent 'personal' struggle, and it was concluded that he had freed himself. Thereafter he went to another wild place in Upper Canada, where he gathered two or three desperadoes about him, and the fame of his doings in that region went far and near. To his actual deeds were added many legends, and stories imported from English books, till the man's name was wrapped around by amazing web of history. I may, some day, sift the grain from the chaff, and make a book. There is certainly fact enough there, from which to create a thrilling story.

On the day of Aster's rescue, the magistrate came to Roland.

'I understand,' he said, 'that one of these robbers is at large; the fellow who goes masked as a Wesleyan preacher.'

'Yes; he is holding "revival" meetings at the Don. I shall go with you and your posse, if you wish it.'

When they reached the church door, a little church looking upon the Don River, they found a great number of people assembled. On enquiry they learnt that the Rev. Mr. Jonas had not yet arrived, but that he was expected every minute. Roland stood behind the door, and the magistrate and the constables mixed for the nonce with the crowd.

Presently a murmur went round.

'Mr. Jonas is coming;' and peeping out, Roland saw that saintly individual in a pung, sitting in pious state beside the foremost class-leader of the church. He bowed cordially to all as he drew near, and as he passed through each knot of people he gave some such salutation as:

'I hope God is blessing you,' or 'Is the good work improving?' or 'Shall many declare for Emmanuel to-day?'

He passed into the pulpit, and stood there, his eyes closed, while he uttered some silent prayers.

The magistrate and the police had obtained a position directly under the pulpit, and just as Mr. Jonas opened his book, and after the usual notification read the line:

'God moves in a mysterious way.'

The former jumped upon the dais, and holding a large sealed paper in his hands said:

'Jud Sykes, I arrest you for murder, robbery, and divers other crimes.'

No thunderbolt that ever fell could have created sach a sensation as this.

Not one in the congregation believed the charge. Indeed, amazement had stupefied everyone, and there was no reasoning about the matter. They simply believed in their gifted and saintly preacher.

Roland now stepped forward.

'I know this man;' then turning he looked Mr. Jonas full in the face. That stare was as fatal to the preacher as a musket ball. He said nothing, but folded his hands, which the next moment were bound together affectionately with wristlets of steel. There is no need to chronicle anything further respecting this event. Three months afterwards this pious servant of God was publicly executed at the town of Little York.

Mr. Ham was anxious to proceed at law against Roland for having challenged and wounded him, but the lawyer to whom he applied said:

'By the way, Ham, Gray was wounded, too. They also say that you fired first. Besides, your acceptance makes you equally culpable with the challenger.'

Mr. Ham went away and continued his preparations to marry the glittering Miss Estabrooks.

When news reached the Hams that Roland and his beloved Aster were wedded, Lydia, who was by this time likewise a wife, said:

'I don't envy that 'ere one her bargain. You would never now, would you, dear, ask anybody out to fight a dool?'

Lydia, at least, told the truth.

Aster lived very happily with Roland, and she still retains the beauty for which, in those olden days, she was so noted. Before handing this manuscript to the publishers, I went to her dear, cosy old home and read the sheets.

'Why,' she said,' you have it all down just as accurately as if you had been with us during that dreadful time. But you make me too beautiful; that is the only fault. I want you to look up my grandson; he attends college at Toronto.'

Kissing her dear hand, I said good-bye; and I beg likewise to say good-bye to my readers.

THE END.



MARY HOLT'S ENGAGEMENT

BY CATHERINE OWENS

'And I am really engaged! I can hardly believe it. How often I have thought and wondered who my husband would be, or if I ever should marry. But I suppose all girls have the same thoughts; at all events my future is now settled. I wonder if Tom will always care as much for me as he does now?'

Mary Holt sat in the bright firelight, watching the flickering flames, and thinking of her new position.

She was very young and inexperienced, and Tom Cowell's declaration of love and somewhat masterful wooing had taken her by storm. She had hardly realized that he was dear to her beyond friendship, when he asked her to be his wife, and, in spite of the suddenness of her betrothal, if the bright, dimpling smile and sunny eyes might be taken as a sign, she was a very happy little woman indeed.

Tom had not been very long in Mapleton when he met and fell in love with Mary, who, for her part, much as she liked his great broad shoulders and honest, handsome face, was long before she could believe that she, who was said to be the prettiest and most admired girl in that part of Pennsylvania, could ever love such a very different man from the one she had pictured as her conquering hero.

Her ideal had been such a very superior creature—quite unlike good-natured, handsome, but, to Mary's eyes, who judged by the Mapleton standard, somewhat common-place Tom Cowell.

He had seemed to her, too, to have an unpleasantly good opinion of his own people and his home, which was Limeton—as every one knows, much behind Mapleton in culture and refinement, although it could boast of its greater wealth; but wealth in such a sooty atmosphere lost all attraction for Mary. Yet he quoted Limeton, and, what the Limetonians did, thought, and intended to do, and the effect of their intentions on the coming election for President, which was exasperating to Mary, who, like all loyal Mapletonians, was quite sure their own city was the brain of the State, even if Limeton did represent its wealth; so that what the former said and thought was of far more importance to the country, and she would smile at the purse-proud ignorance of Limeton.

Even when she saw Tom's honest admiration for herself, and found that she enjoyed his visits and attentions, she believed it was only the magnetism of his good humour, and breezy, healthy nature that pleased her; she was sure it was nothing more.

And yet the day came, as we see, when she had been brought to know that she loved him, and to look forward to being his wife as her greatest good. But then, in his growing affection for her, and his absorbing anxiety as to its being returned, he had left off quoting 'my mother' and Limeton quite so often; and Mary flattered herself it was because he was beginning to see the superiority of Mapleton, and thus tacitly acknowledged it.

A few days after her betrothal she received a letter from Mrs. Cowell, inviting her to go and stay with her for a few weeks, in order that they might become better acquainted.

The letter was kind and motherly, and Mary felt that it was so: but although there were no actual faults of spelling, it was evidently not the production of a cultured woman, and she thought with some dread of her future mother-in-law. It would all be very tolerable if Tom did not think so over much of his own kin, but he evidently looked on his women-folk as the most superior of their kind.

However, she had to meet them sooner or later, and as Tom was so anxious, it was best to go.

Tom was delighted when she told him she would accept his mother's invitation. His face glowed with satisfaction as he expressed his thanks.

'You will like my dear mother so much, Mary, and Louise will be a delightful companion for you, darling. She is such a sweet, sensible girl, and a prodigious housekeeper. You will learn a great deal from her.'

'I have no doubt I shall like your mother,' says Mary, not very enthusiastically, it must be confessed.

Tom's face falls.

'And Limeton, Mary; it's such a splendid city—quite different from this place.'

Mary fancies she detects a slight deprecatory tone in the way he says 'this place.'

'Yes, I suppose it is very different. Horridly dirty, isn't it?

'Not more dirty than a prosperous manufacturing city must inevitably be, and within a mile all round there is the loveliest scenery you can imagine. Our place is about a mile from the city, so the dirt will not annoy you; and you will meet such pleasant people there that you will not mind the smoke. I am sure, Mary, you will come away quite in love with Limeton, and prefer it to this prim old place.'

'Prefer it to Mapleton? Never.'

'Well, well, we'll see;' and in his proud confidence he kissed her and left her.

Mary felt indignant.

'I'm sure we shall never get along if Tom remains so wrapped up in his mother, and sister, and Limeton. A great deal to learn from Louise, indeed!'

Mary could not get it through her little Mapleton head hut that she was about to honour Limeton infinitely by going there, and that her Mapleton manners and dress would be envied and copied by its unsophisticated people and now to be told that she was to learn from Louise!

Of course, she had a little cry, and made several foolish resolutions, and then set about her preparations for an early departure with a heavy heart.

A week later Mary was whirling along to Limeton, wondering what Tom's relations would be like, and whether they were like him— unpolished diamonds. Could he think so much of them if they were not very nice? And although the people she knew from Limeton except Tom, had been suggestive of smoke and petroleum to her, they surely would be exceptions.

Mary's heart sank within her as the train neared the depot; such miserable shanties formed the outskirts, such gloom hung in the air, that she shuddered at the thought of having to stay even a week in such a place. Her spirits did not revive when she saw Mrs. Cowell and Louise, who were waiting to receive her, and welcomed her with much cordiality.

As they rode home in the dusty 'carry-all,' Mrs. Cowell was evidently studying Mary's elegant and expensive travelling-dress, from her Russia leather satchel to her dainty boots and gloves, while Mary had taken in at a glance the terribly dowdy appearance of Louise and her mother—the old lady's black alpaca suit, made evidently at home and Louise's Scotch plaid dress, and dyed, and too scant silk overekirt; and yet, with such toilets, it was a relief to her to find they were not coarse.

As they passed through the town Mrs. Cowell and Louise pointed out some of the attractions, which they considered must astonish their visitor, and were evidently disappointed at the equanimity with which she regarded them. Mary, however, could be very sweet; and, although an idea was forming in her mind that Mrs. and Miss Cowell could never become relatives of hers, she exerted herself to charm them, and succeeded. The old lady thought she was a giddy young thing, quite unused to travelling, or she would never wear a dress beautiful enough for gala day attire on the cars, but that when she became toned down by Louise's example all would come right; but at the same time she determined herself to give her a few hints on extravagance, especially on the folly of wearing an Irish poplin dress to travel in.

The Cowells lived in a large, comfortable house, with fine old trees around it, and Mary began to hope, when she saw the wealth of sylvan beauty, that her visit might not be so unbearable as she had feared.

The interior was not so promising; it was Mrs. Cowell and Louise over again—plain, sensible, thrifty, but perfectly unendurable to luxurious Mary, who was accustomed to elegance and loved it.

She sighed as she sat on the hard, hair-cloth easy-chair, and trying the harder sofa, found it utterly impossible to adapt her round little figure to its angles.

No wonder Louise was so prim if she had been brought up amid such furniture! And then her thoughts turned to Tom. He was not prim. But even in that short time she had come to the conclusion that he was not like the rest of his family. Then why, oh! why, did he quote them so often? Could it be possible that he would expect her to live in a similar fashion? Perhaps that was why he had told her she could learn housekeeping from Louise.

Whatever Tom's idea on the subject may have been, it was evident that his mother meant to make her visit an apprenticeship to the future life she expected her son to lead.

Conversation had not been very brisk hitherto, and when tea was announced, Mary, determined to make talk, praised the biscuit, the cake, and the delicious butter.

'Yes, my dear, Louise's butter is excellent, although I say it. I suppose you know how to make butter? But I could take a hint myself from Louise, and it will do you no harm to learn some of her housekeeping wrinkles. Tom has always been accustomed to fine butter, and I hear in Mapleton they churn up the milk with the cream.'

'I am sure I know nothing about it,' said Mary, forgetting her resolve to be amiable.

However, Mrs. Cowell seemed almost pleased to know that Louise's instructions would be given where they were most needed.

'Never mind, my dear; you are quick, I'll be bound, and we'll soon make a good housekeeper of you. There's one thing to begin on: if you travel in your handsome dresses you will never have anything decent to wear. Get yourself a nice, neat black alpaca, that will never show dirt, and last for years.'

Mary listened for a moment in speechless indignation, and then said:

'But I wish to be as well dressed when I travel as at home; any lady must do so.'

'Ah! you will soon lose that notion when you are married. Limeton ladies are much more sensible.'

Mary was prudently silent. It was evidently useless to argue with the old lady. After tea Mrs. Cowell went to sleep in her chair, and Louise took her visitor to Tom's own room, showed her his wonderful juvenile achievements in drawing and calligraphy, and seeing Mary was somewhat silent, said suddenly:

'You most not mind what mamma says, dear Mary; she is old-fashioned in her ideas, and I have been brought up to be something-like her, but we can't expect every one to be cut out after our own pattern. Tom is not'

The intention was, no doubt, very kind, but the tone seemed to Mary one of tolerance. She fancied Louise meant to patronize her, making allowance for her short-comings, and she could not brook that in her present mood, so she answered, somewhat tartly:

'I am afraid I should not meet the expectations of any of you, not having been cut out by any pattern at all, that I know of.'

'There, you are offended, and I am sorry. But mamma meant well, and so do I,' she added, after a pause.

Now, Mary prided herself upon being exceedingly reasonable, and so she reflected that Mrs. Cowell and Louise had acted according to their lights. It was not to be expected that they should understand her, so she graciously said:

'Don't speak of it any more. We see things from such different points of view that it is scarcely likely we could agree on such a subject I can see that you are very kind, Louise,' she added, putting forth her little white hand, which Louise clasped in her shapely brown ones; and then they joined Mrs. Cowell, who had just awakened from her nap.

During the next few days Mary learned to appreciate the character of Louise, without being in the least desirous of emulating her housewifely virtues. Limeton did not meet with her approval. She could scarcely repress her disgust as she walked the grimy streets, saw the pretentious, over-dressed people, who thus flaunted their wealth in the faces of their less fortunate neighbours, and then thought It might have been her home. To change clean, beautiful Mapleton for Limeton!

Tom had told her he would like their home Limeton, but had said that if she would be happier in Mapleton he would forego his wish. His business permitted him to live in either place. Not to be outdone in generosity, Mary had declared her happiness was to be with him, no matter where. The subject had not been renewed, but Mary had now quite decided that Limeton could never be her home. She had, indeed, balanced whether Mrs. Cowell could ever be her mother-in-law, but as she thought of Tom, she felt that infliction could be borne— away from Limeton.

Tom was to come the following Saturday, and spend a few days at home before she went back to Mapleton, and she awaited his coming with eagerness. She wanted to let him know that she could never make her home in Limeton, before he could make any plans with his mother.

When Saturday came, she told Louise she thought of going to the depot to meet Tom; and Louise, with more delicacy than Mary had given her credit for, said:

'Oh! that is just the thing. I have so many things to see to that I would rather not go, and yet we could not let him arrive without some of us going.'

She also managed to keep Mrs. Cowell at home, feeling sure that Tom would enjoy Mary's company alone better than with them.

Mary almost forgot all about Mrs. Cowell in the pleasure of meeting Tom, but after he had asked her a dozen questions, about herself, he said:

'And how do you like Limeton, Mary?'

'Oh, perfectly detestable! I cannot think how anybody can live there.'

'Ah! I see you have still those Mapleton ideas, Mary. Now, I hate Mapleton, and am always glad to get out of it, the people are such snobs. You are the only pleasant person I ever met there. Limeton people are substantial, true-hearted, and—and, in short, Mary, I am much disappointed that you don't like the finest city in the State.'

'Finest city in the State, indeed!' says Mary, stung by his disparagement of her native city. 'It is a most unpleasant place, smoky, grimy, and unhealthy, and the people, as far as I have met them, may be substantial enough, but they are dreadfully tiresome and uninteresting. I don't mean you, Tom,' she adds, seeing him glare down upon her in angry astonishment.

'I am much obliged, I am sure, that you make an exception in my favour, but I cannot take credit myself at the expense of my mother and Louise.'

'Oh! I like Louise.'

'And not my mother, I infer?

'No.'

Mary had not intended to tell him this point-blank, but he had taken such a line with her for not liking Limeton that she felt indignant, and not inclined to mince the facts at all. The result was what may have been expected: Tom stalked on in solemn silence, while she, all of resentment, held her little head very much in the air.

When they arrived at the house, Louise saw, notwithstanding Mary's unusual animation, that something had gone wrong between them, but chose the wise part of silence. Mrs. Cowell saw nothing but that her son was not much in love, as she feared he would be, with Mary. She had not found the latter as tractable as she had hoped in the way of imitating Louise, and had discovered that she had not that admiration of frugality and thrift, that befitted the future wife of her son; therefore she was contented to see that son's cool politeness to Mary, which she took as a proof that he was not likely to be led away by her caprices.

The next morning Tom joined Mary in the garden, and said:

'Under the impression that you would like Limeton, I had written about a place here I wanted to buy, but from what you said last night I conclude that any plan of that sort is useless.'

'Quite useless,' said Mary decidedly; 'and I really think, Tom, that you had better decide your future without reference to me. I—that is —there are several things that would, I think, prevent our being happy together.'

'In short, you are tired of our engagement?'

'If you take it that way, yes.'

'Oh, you women, you women!' said Tom, bitterly; 'but Mary had walked off, and he did not follow her.

Later that day Mary said she thought her presence was required at home. Louise looked sad, but no one made any remark on her sudden leave-taking. Only Tom, when he drove her to the depot, talking painfully small talk as they went, to avoid past and gone topics, wringing her hands as the train moved off, said:

'Heaven bless you, Mary; I hope one of your Mapleton fellows will make you as good a husband as I should have wished to be.'

'Thank you; I must take my chance,' says Mary, forcing back her tears till he is gone; then, dropping her veil, she cries her way home.

* * * * *

A year later Mary is alone in the world. She has lost her father, and as she sits in her mourning dress she thinks of the past, and is not afraid to tell herself now, that but for her own folly she might have had good, true-hearted Tom Cowell to help her in her trouble; that, grieved as she would have been at her father's loss, she could never have been alone in the world as long as Tom had lived; and now she would be alone for ever, for, disguise it from herself as she had tried to do, she knew she loved Tom still; all other men seemed poor, weak things to her, and for Tom's sake even Mapleton did not seem such a very superior place as it had done, and in consequence, Limeton was not so horrible. She knew in her heart she had been somewhat prejudiced, and told herself that the unpleasantness of it should have counted as nothing compared with Tom's love, All this she had seen long before she confessed it even to herself; probably, but for the grief that had lowered her pride, she never would have so confessed.

She sat musing in the firelight as she had done a year ago, when a card was brought to her.

'Mrs. Henry Carlton! I know no one of that name. Show the lady in.'

A lady, dressed handsomely, but with Quaker-like simplicity, then entered, and Mary recognised Louise Cowell.

After the first embarrassment of meeting had passed, Louise told Mary of her marriage with one of the 'dearest men in the world,' that they had just returned from their wedding trip, and had so timed their arrival as to meet Tom on his return from Europe.

'It was only last night we heard of your father's death, and then, dear Mary, I could not refrain from coming to tell you how sorry I am.'

'Tears filled Mary's eyes at the mention of her father.

'I am very much obliged to you, Louise, and heartily glad to see you. Are you going to stay here long?'

'Yes, we shall pass the winter in Mapleton, and being a stranger here, I shall often inflict my company on you if you will have me.'

'The oftener the better, dear Louise,' replied Mary, sincerely.

She liked Louise. At the same time, she thought with some trepidation that these visits from Louise must result in her meeting Tom again, which she felt very reluctant to do; but pride came to her aid, and she asked herself why she could not meet a man with indifference, who could so meet her?

And so she resolved to avoid neither Louise nor him.

Perhaps Louise had a little project of her own. At all events, she appeared to have much satisfaction when she found Mary did not shrink from the mention of Tom's name, and accordingly he became her chief topic of conversation. She even hinted at his unhappiness, and her fears that his disappointment would be a life-long sorrow.

'Ah! you dear, innocent Louise. Shakespeare knew men better than you, and he says:

"Men have died from time to time, And worms have eaten them, but not for love."'

Mary said, with forced gaiety.

At last Tom and Mary did meet, and then Mary found all her fortitude necessary, for Tom evidently had no intention of carrying matters off with dignity, but rather showed her in every word and look that she was the one woman in the world for him.

Can't everyone guess the end? That Tom took an early opportunity of calling himself a fool and begging Mary's forgiveness, and Mary contradicted him, and with many tears shed on his vest declared herself an unreasonable little vixen, not worth his love, and that she was willing to live in the very heart of Limeton if necessary.

'Too late, my dear,' says Tom, merrily, 'for I have my eye on a lovely little nest in Mapleton, and I am not going to have my plans upset a second time.'

Then Louise came into the room.

'Blessed are the peace-makers,' said Tom, going to his sister and kissing her.



THE END.