Trenholme crossed the path and strode through flowery tangle and woody thicket like a giant in sudden strength, snapping all that offered to detain his feet. He sought, he knew not why, the murmur and the motion of the river; and where young trees stood thickest, as spearsmen to guard the loneliness of its bank, he sat down upon a rock and covered his face, as if even from the spirits of solitude and from his own consciousness he must hide. He thought of nothing: his soul within him was mad.

He had come out of his school not half an hour before, rejoicing more than any schoolboy going to play in the glorious weather. For him there was not too much light on the lovely autumn landscape; it was all a part of the peace that was within him and without, of the God he knew to be within him and without—for, out of his struggle for righteousness in small things, he had come back into that light which most men cannot see or believe. Just in so far as a man comes into that light he ceases to know himself as separate, but knows that he is a part of all men and all things, that his joy is the joy of all men, that their pain is his; therefore, as Trenholme desired the fulfilment of his own hopes, he desired that all hope in the world might find fruition. And because this day he saw—what is always true if we could but see it—that joy is a thousandfold greater than pain, the glory of the autumn seemed to him like a psalm of praise, and he gave thanks for all men.

Thus Trenholme had walked across the fields, into these groves—but now, as he sat by the river, all that, for the time, had passed away, except as some indistinct memory of it maddened him. His heart was full of rage against his brother, rage too against the woman he loved; and with this rage warred most bitterly a self-loathing because he knew that his anger against them was unjust. She did not know, she had no cause to know, that she had darkened his whole life; but—what a fool she was! What companionship could that thoughtless fellow give her? How he would drag her down! And he, too, could not know that he had better have killed his brother than done this thing. But any woman would have done for Alec; for himself there was only this one—only this one in the whole world. He judged his brother; any girl with a pretty face and a good heart would have done for that boisterous fellow—while for himself—"Oh God," he said, "it is hard."

Thus accusing and excusing these lovers, excusing and again accusing himself for his rage against them, he descended slowly into the depth of his trouble—for man, in his weakness, is so made that he can come at his worst suffering only by degrees. Yet when he had made this descent, the hope he had cherished for months and years lay utterly overthrown; it could not have been more dead had it been a hundred years in dying. He had not known before how dear it was, yet he had known that it was dearer than all else, except that other hope with which we do not compare our desires for earthly good because we think it may exist beside them and grow thereby.

There are times when, to a man, time is not, when the life of years is gathered into indefinite moments; and after, when outward things claim again the exhausted mind, he wonders that the day is not further spent. And Trenholme wondered at the length of that afternoon, when he observed it again and saw that the sun had not yet sunk low, and as he measured the shadows that the bright trees cast athwart the moving water, he was led away to think the thoughts that had been his when he had so lightly come into those gay autumn bowers. A swallow skimmed the wave with burnished wing; again he heard the breeze and the rapid current. They were the same; the movement and music were the same; God was still with him; was he so base as to withhold the thanksgiving that had been checked half uttered in his heart by the spring of that couchant sorrow? Then in the sum of life's blessings he had numbered that hope of his, and now he had seen the perfect fruition of that hope in joy. It was not his own,—but was it not much to know that God had made such joy, had given it to man? Had he in love of God no honest praise to give for other men's mercies? none for the joy of this man who was his brother? Across the murmur of the river he spoke words so familiar that they came to clothe the thought—

"We do give Thee most humble and hearty thanks for all Thy goodness and—loving kindness—to us—and to all men."

And although, as he said them, his hand was clenched so that his fingers cut the palm, yet, because he gave thanks, Robert Trenholme was nearer than he knew to being a holy man.

THE END.



THE ONE GOOD GUEST.

A NOVEL. By L.B. Walford

Author of "Mr. Smith," "The Baby's Grandmother," ETC., ETC. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.

"It is a delightful picture of life at an English estate, which is presided over by a young 'Squire' and his young sister. Their experiences are cleverly told, and the complications which arise are amusing and interesting. There are many humorous touches, too, which add no slight strength to the story."—BOSTON TIMES.

"A charming little social comedy, permeated with a refinement of spontaneous humor and brilliant with touches of shrewd and searching satire."—BOSTON BEACON.

"The story is bright, amusing, full of interest and incident, and the characters are admirably drawn. Every reader will recognize a friend or acquaintance in some of the people here portrayed. Every one will wish he could have been a guest at Duckhill Manor, and will hope that the author has more stories to tell."—PUBLIC OPINION.

"A natural, amusing, kindly tale, told with great skill. The characters are delightfully human, the individuality well caught and preserved, the quaint humor lightens every page, and a simple delicacy and tenderness complete an excellent specimen of story telling."—PROVIDENCE JOURNAL.

"For neat little excursions into English social life, and that of the best, commend us to the writer of 'The One Good Guest,'"—N.Y. TIMES.

"The story is bright, amusing, full of interest and incident, and the characters are admirably drawn. Every reader will recognize a friend or acquaintance in some of the people here portrayed. Every one will wish he could have been a guest at Duckhill Manor, and will hope that the author has more stories to tell."—PORTLAND OREGONIAN.



BEGGARS ALL.

A NOVEL. By Miss L. Dougall.

Sixth Edition. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.

"This is one of the strongest as well as most original romances of the year.... The plot is extraordinary.... The close of the story is powerful and natural.... A masterpiece of restrained and legitimate dramatic fiction."—LITERARY WORLD.

"To say that 'Beggars All' is a remarkable novel is to put the case mildly indeed, for it is one of the most original, discerning, and thoroughly philosophical presentations of character that has appeared in English for many a day.... Emphatically a novel that thoughtful people ought to read ... the perusal of it will by many be reckoned among the intellectual experiences that are not easily forgotten."—BOSTON BEACON.

"A story of thrilling interest."—HOME JOURNAL.

"A very unusual quality of novel. It is written with ability; it tells a strong story with elaborate analysis of character and motive ... it is of decided interest and worth reading."—COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER, N.Y.

"It is more than a story for mere summer reading, but deserves a permanent place among the best works of modern fiction. The author has struck a vein of originality purely her own.... It is tragic, pathetic, humerous by turns.... Miss Dougall has, in fact, scored a great success. Her book is artistic, realistic, intensely dramatic—in fact, one of the novels of the year."—BOSTON TRAVELLER.

"'Beggars-All' is a noble work of art, but is also something more and something better. It is a book with a soul in it, and in a sense, therefore, it may be described as an inspired work. The inspiration of genius may or may not he lacking to it, but the inspiration of a pure and beautiful spirituality pervades it completely ... the characters are truthfully and powerfully drawn, the situations finely imagined, and the story profoundly interesting."—CHICAGO TRIBUNE.

LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 15 EAST 16th STREET, NEW YORK.

KEITH DERAMORE.

A NOVEL. By the Author of "Miss Molly."

Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.00.

"One of the strongest novels for the year.... A book of absorbing and sustained interest, full of those touches of pathos, gusts of passion, and quick glimpses into the very hearts of men and women which are a necessary equipment of any great writer of fiction."—STAR.

"A story with originality of plot and a number of interesting and skillfully drawn characters.... Well worthy of a careful perusal."—BOSTON BEACON.

"The few important characters introduced are very clearly and well drawn; one is a quite unusual type and reveals a good deal of power in the author. It is a live story of more than ordinary interest."—REVIEW OF REVIEWS.

"A novel of quiet but distinct force and of marked refinement in manner. The few characters in 'Keith Deramore' are clearly and delicately drawn, and the slight plot is well sustained."—CHRISTIAN UNION.

"The author of 'Miss Molly' shall have her reward in the reception of 'Keith Deramore.' If it is not popular there is no value in prophecy."—SPRINGFIELD REPUBLICAN.

"The story is strong and interesting, worthy of a high place in fiction."—PUBLIC OPINION.

"Its development can be followed with great interest. It is well written and entertaining throughout."—THE CRITIC.

"An exceptionally interesting novel. It is an admirable addition to an admirable series."-BOSTON TRAVELLER.

"It contains character-drawing which places it much above the average love story, and makes the reading of it worth while. It is a fine study of a normally-selfish man. There is humor in it, and sustained interest."—BUFFALO EXPRESS.



A MORAL DILEMMA. By Annie M. Thompson.

Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.00.

"We have in this most delightful volume ... a new novel by a new author. The title is happily chosen, the plot is thrillingly interesting, its development is unusually artistic, the style is exceptionally pure, the descriptions are graphic. In short we have one of the best of recent novels, and the author gives great promise."—BOSTON TRAVELLER.

"A novel of rare beauty and absorbing interest. Its plot, which is constructed with great skill, is decidedly unconventional in its development, and its denouement, although unanticipated until near its climax, really comes as an agreeable surprise.... As a literary work, 'A Moral Dilemma' will take high rank."—BOSTON HOME JOURNAL.

"The story is well written and gives promise of the development of a writer who will take place among the ranks of those of her sex who are supplying what is much needed at this time—entertaining, wholesome literature."—YALE COURANT.

"The author writes with vigor and earnestness, and the book is one of interest and power."—PUBLIC OPINION.

"The story is strongly told."—INDEPENDENT.

"A strong story which leaves the reader better for the perusal. A touchlight as Barrie's carries one through the successive scenes, which are fraught with deep interest."—PUBLIC LEDGER.

LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 15 EAST 16th STREET, NEW YORK.

SWEETHEART GWEN.

A WELSH IDYLL. By William Tirebuck,

Author of "Dorrie," "St. Margaret," ETC.

Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.

"Very charming in its depiction of a simple country life giving several piquant studies of quaint and attractive character, and not wanting in the flavor of that romance which all good novels must possess—the romance of love.... The book is written with knowledge and power, and has the idyllic flavor."—BOSTON BEACON.

"It is an idyll, a lovely one, conceived by some one whose childhood has been happily impressed on him.... The reader lives amid the pastures and the orchards of Ty-Cremed, and eats the brown bread and drinks the milk there, and Auntie Gwen, with her white teeth, cracks filberts for him. This sweet, impulsive woman, with her blue eyes and her russet hair, bewitches you, as she does her little nephew, Martin. Mr. Tirebuck's literary faculties are of an exceptional kind. Those who love to read of child life will find here a perfect picture. There is, however, much more than this."—N.Y. TIMES.

"It is a vigorously told story of rural and child-life in Wales, and most tenderly, imaginatively, simply, it is done ... has humor, pathos, fancy, courage, deep human feeling, and admirable descriptive power."—PROVIDENCE JOURNAL.

"This is a delightful romance ... a charming description of Welsh country life, with quaint and picturesque studies."—BOSTON TRAVELLER.



DORRIE. By William Tirebuck,

Author of "St. Margaret," "Sweetheart Gwen," ETC.

Second Edition. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.50 O.

"A really notable novel. Dramatic and profoundly pathetic. A psychological study of great value."—GRAPHIC.

"Mr. Tirebuck is a novelist of undoubted courage and fertility of imagination. The story is interesting beyond all question. He unquestionably knows how to draw a picture."—ATHENAEUM.

"'Dorrie' is an extremely touching and realistic picture of Liverpool life. Mr. Tirebuck writes vigorously, and his story is certainly one of profound human interest."—G. BARNETT SMITH, in The Academy.

"Mr. Tirebuck has the root of the matter in him. 'Dorrie' is really a strong piece of work—a decidedly interesting story."—SPECTATOR.

"Mr. Tirebuck has a real gift of story-telling to begin with. And he has other greater qualities than that.... His latest novel possesses a broad human interest as a really imaginative study of life."—RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, in The Star.

"This story possesses unusual powers of attraction, and gives unmistakable evidence of genius."—MANCHESTER EXAMINER.

"She (Dorrie) seems to myself the most absolutely original, and, in her way, the most taking figure in recent fiction. She is unique. To one reader at least she remains among the friends of fiction, the beloved of dreams."—ANDREW LANG, At the Sign of the Ship.

THE END