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THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 17, 1881.
Fair were the dreamful days of old,
"When, in the sleepy summer shade,
Beneath the beeches on the wold,
The shepherds lay, and gently played
Music to maidens, who, afraid,
Drew all together rapturously,
Their white, soR hands like white leaves laid,
In the old, dear days in Arcady.
Men were not then as they are now,
Haunted and terrified by creeds;
They sought not then unceasingly to know
The end, that as a magnet leads ;
Nor told with austere fingers beads,
Nor reasoned with their grief and glee ;
But rioted in pleasant meads,
In the old, dear days in Arcady.
The future may be wrong or right
The present is distinctly wrong;
For life and love have lost delight,
And bitter even is our song.
And year by year, gray doubt grows strong,
And Death is all that seems to dree;
"Wherefore, with weary hearts we long
For the old, dear days in Arcady.
Glories and triumphs ne'er will cease,
But men may sound the heavens and sea;
One thing is lost for aye the peace
Of the old, dear days in Arcady.
THE WHITE LAM OF HILLBURY,
BY MRS. C. DESPARD.
This was the letter, "which may he said to have
been the beginning of the whole matter, and, it
must be confessed, that to a young girl like Ellen
Montague, brought up as quietly as a nun, the
chief events in whose life had been the coming
and going of an only brother, it would appear
sufficiently extraordinary :
"If on the night preceding the first day of the
New Year, at twelve o'clock, Miss Ellen Montague
should see on the terraee below her window the
ghost who, on that particular night, is said to
haunt it, the writer of this letter begs her not to
be alarmed. A most unhappy lady may, under
the disguise of the ghost, claim her sympathy and
help. Miss Montague is entreated in the first
place to trust no one with this communication ;
in tne second place, u she decide to give the
ghost a hearing, to act as her true heart will
doubtless prompt. She is warned that on the
decision and action she will take in this matter
much of importance to her, and those nearest to
The letter came on Christmas Eve. It was
thrown in Ellen's lap by a man in workman's
clothes as she was returning from a solitary drive.
She read it over twice. She was not so bewil
dered as a young lady who knew something of
the world mighthave been ; for knowing social life
chiefly through the medium of poetry and fiction,
Ellen was of a most romantic turn of mind. Ever
since she was sixteen years of age she was now
nineteen she had been expecting something to
happen. This mysterious note seemed very like
a forewarning of that barely-defined probability.
She sat down in her quiet room to try to de
cide how she should act. "Of course, it's a
trick," was her first mental comment she was
looking at the incident with the eyes of her
brother "Somebody means to dress up and
But the little romantic self of her persisted in
using its own senses. " That's a hasty decision,"
it said; "who out of the house, or, indeed, in
it" Ellen smiled as she thought of her mother
and the old servants " would take the trouble
of -frightening poor little me? Hut if not a
ofherlimbs, she rushed to the window. What
she had expected to see, though she had lived
many times in imagination through this moment,
she did not exactly know. But certainly this
.that she saw was so marvelous as to take her
It was a woman's form tall, slender, and clad
in a robe of dazzling whiteness. It leant against
the parapet of the terrace; it had streaming hair
of ruddy gold and a white upturned face, the
eyes fixed wistfully on her window, which was
at that moment the only point of light in the
whole frontage of the house.
Ellen Montague was before all things a tender
hearted girl. Acting on her pitying impulse, she
threw up her window.
" Wait a moment," she whispered to the strange
visitor, who gazed at her with a changeless face.
"I will come to you."
Then, with a beating heart, she ran along the
passage, opened silently the door of the large old
dining-hall, and flew across it. Oh, how cold it
,wass ana tne ray ot pale mooniignt straying
through the shutter-chincks how ghastly ! But
for the interest pity Ellen would have run back
shivering to her room.
But she was a brave girl, and she never actually
hesitated for a moment. With trembling fingers
she lifted the shutter-bar, and presently she was
standing outside upon the terrace, half-expecting,
almost hoping to find the apparition gone. But
no! There was the White Lady, leaning against
the parapet ; her eyes, which Ellen saw now were
the most beautiful eyes in the world, fixed still
upon the lighted wiudow.
She was so beautiful, strange, and unearthly,
that the young girl shivered. Could this really
be a being of the upper air? It was necessary
to find out
figure to unusual advantage. Indeed, I could
not look at her without a feeling of intense sur
prise that a woman so accomplished and hand
some and wealthly should throw herself away
upon a gentleman more than twice her age, and
who would have better suited the relationship of
father to her, than of husband. But these were
all matters with which I had nothing practically
to do ; and after our first brief salutations were
exchanged fori was not in a mood to converse
much I proceeded to business.
Having meanwhile dismissed the maid who
was to be afterwards a co-witness with myself to
the signing of the contract I read the document
aloud. The Squire and Madame Favre both ex
pressed themselves satisfied with its provisions.
I thought I could detect the Squire rubbing his
hands together under the table, as I read the
clause which made him absolute owner of the
forty thousand pounds which constituted Ma
dame Favre's fortune; and I was sure that 7ierc
and nowhere else, lay the world-loving old man's
pleasure in the marriage he was thus contracting.
When I had done reading the paper, Madame
Favre's maid was re-called, and the Squire pro
ceeded to subscribe his name in due form. The
lady rose, and was
forward to do the
Ellen felt she must fight down her
timorous awe, so she went quite close to her
same, when, just as I was placing the deed in
jmsition to receive her signature, the quick rattle
of wheels was heard upon the gravel outside, and
in another minute a carriage passed the window,
and drew up at the door. The lady's glance
turned towards the window, and I thought, as
the vehicle passed, that a peculiar, wild gleam
came into her eyes but whether of fear, surprise,
or annoyance, or all three combined, I was unable
to determine. She, however, took the pen in her
hand, and was proceeding to sign, when the ser
vant entered the room.
Here, however, her mind wandered forth upon
flights so immense and bewildering that we dare
not attempt to follow. The one 'result of that
evening's meditations was that she resolved to
keep her unknown friend's counsel. But, indeed,
in whom could she confide ?
Her brother Harry was away from home,
vaguely supposed to be traveling on the Conti
nent ; her mother, Lady Montague, was delicate
and highly nervous; she would suppose the thing
a device of burglars, and have the house sur
rounded day and night with armed defenders ;
the servants would certainly take very much the
same view. On the whole Ellen thought she
could trust no one. "I will be brave," she said;
her heart thrilled as she spoke with a sense of
joyful fulfillment of a myriad dreams ; " if there's
a ghost I will face it." No doubt this was very
fine; yet, on the 31st of December, when, at
about half-past ten o'clock at night, she bade her
mother good-night, she could not forbear a
nervous tremor, it sue were wrong, after all
if her concealment should bring trouble on the
"But there is no necessity for me to let any
one in," she said to herself, as she went slowly
up the broad stone stahease.
Fortunately her room was cheerful. Old Anne,
the maid, had piled up her fire with knots
of pine-wood; wax candles stood lighted on
mantel-piece and dressing-table; the blinds were
down and the crimson curtains drawn. Ellen
seated herself in an arm-chair before the fire and
fell into a waking dream. She did not undress,
and her nerves were in too excited a state to allow
of her sleeping. At eleven o'clock she rose, drew
up one of her blinds, and looked out. It was
a moonlight night, intensely cold, the atmosphere
clear; the shadows of house and trees dark and
" distinct in outline; not many stars visible on
account of the brilliancy of the moon, but those
few flashing like fire-points; below, on the
ancient stone terrace, it was almost as light as
The whiteness of everything made Ellen shiver,
and she returned to her fire; but she left the
blind up, and during the hour that followed (she
was trying to interest herself in a book) she went
backwards and forwards many times. At last,
it was nearly twelve o'clock, and her senses were
on the alert, she heard sounds of movement.
There was something terrifying in the fulfill
ment of an expectation which our own dread has
prevented us from completely admitting. Ellen
sat for a few moments spell-bound. She might
be the dupe of her fancy. She heard the sounds
again footsteps and the rustling of garments on
the terrace below. And now, recovering the use
mysterious visitor, and touched her on the arm.
Then the sorrowful eyes were turned from the
window to her face, but they expressed neither
surprise nor curiosity.
"Why are you out here in such a night? Can
I do anything to help you ?" said Ellen tremu
lously." " I am tired. I want to get away to hide to
rest," was the answer, given in a voice of the
most thrilling pathos.
"Have you come far?" asked Ellen. "Where
do you live?"
"Live! I live nowhere. I am dead. Have
they not told you ? I died on that dreadful night.
Oh, God! The flames how they hiss! Hide
me! hide me!" The voice had risen to a
shriek : it dropped suddenly into a soft, pathetic
"I am looking for a grave," she murmured.
"I told him I hated the dark, and he said it
should be light there. I want to have light in
my grave." As if unconcious of Ellen's presence,
she turned her eyes upwards again towards the
Ellen's teeth chattered with cold and nervous
ness. What was she to do? Beyond a doubt
this was a poor distraught creature who had
escaped from her attendants. It might be dan
gerous to take her in. But to leave her out
there would be death. It took Ellen a moment
only to form her resolution. Laying her hand
upon the stranger's arm, she drew her with gentle
force towards the window of the dining-hall.
" Come to the light," she said soothingly. " You
can rest there. I will hide you. Yes," as the
lady shrank from her touch ; " you need not be
afraid of me. Come."
"Will you take nie there?" said the stranger,
pointing to the lights.
"Yes; that is my room. Good heavens! how
cold your hands are. You might be dead. Come
in ; come quickly."
Then her guiding touch was followed, and
presently they two were by the bright wood-fire,
and Ellen in her tender ministrations forgot her
superstitious fears. Her strange guest was
gentler than a child. It was impossible to fear
her. She accepted Ellen's attention in a toueh
ingly passive way, and now and then she gave
utterance to words such as those she had spoken
on the terrace with little apparent significance
or sequence; but she was perfectly calm now.
One might have fancied she had found the refuge
for which she had long been seeking.
And meanwhile the Old Year tolled itself out,
the New Year came into being. "A strange be
ginning for my year," said Ellen, as the first
stroke of twelve tolled out from the deep-voiced
clock in the hall ; she was busy at the moment,
stirring some milk which he had fetched from
the kitchen in a little soucepan on the fire, for
she was sure her guest must be famished. " But
perhaps it is not a bad beginning," she added.
Before the first hour of the year had run its
course the White Lady was in Ellen's bed, sleep
ing as peacefully as if Hillbury Manor House had
been her home for years.
To be continued.
It was with a strange sense of something un
expected going to happen, that on the Friday
morning I alighted at the door of the Atheling
Manor-house, and followed the servant into the
library. The Squire was there, and received me
with a degree of cordiality Avhich to me seemed
but affectation in the love-entangled old man.
Madame Favre, and her maid along with her,
were there also ; and she returned my bow
with a graceful inclination of the head, and a
patronizing air, as if she were already lady of the
house. Yet I could not help bein less favorably
impressed with her appearance than when I was
first introduced to her in her own house; and
there was a certain furtiveness in her look, some
thing half-sinister in the expression of her face,
which I had before remarked, though not so
strongly; yet on second thought I was disposed to
lay these bad impressions at the door of my now
liersonal prejudices against the lady, as having
been instrumental, though maybe unconsciously,
iii the unnatural separation of father and son,
both of whom I had long known and loved, while
she was but the stranger of a day.
She was certainly a beautiful woman ; and the
taste and elegance with which she had attired
herself for this occasion, set off her fine face and
upon a salver.
" Why Jack Silverton ! " exclaimed the Squire,
as he took up the card and looked at it; "what
can have brought him here at this time ? Tell
the gentleman," he continued, addressing the ser
vant, " that I shall see him very shortly."
'Please, sir," said the man, "he says he must
see you at once, as he has business as is of im
portance." "And so have I," remarked the Squire, with a
look and smile towards Madame Fare; "and
Mr. Silverton, though an old friend, must bide
his time. Deliver your message."
Madame Favre, who I could see was not a lit
tle agitated for a fevr minutes, appeared to regain
her composure ; and standing with pen in hand,
she heard the Squire explain to her that " Jack
Silverton," as he called him, was one of his oldest
and best friends, whom he had not seen for many
years,"owing to his residence on the Continent.
He was going to tell of their early friendship and
some of its events, when the servant again enter
ed, with a scrap of paper on the tray, on which
were penciled a few words. The Squire read
them, and with an expression of impatience on
his lips, begged the lady to excuse him for a
minute, until he had spoken with Mr. Silverton,
whom he would presently beg leave to introduce
As the Squire left the room, Madame Favre
laid down th """ "" ietly resumed her seat.
I watched he U- I could without mak
ing my atten ' T,,r- n and I was certain she
did not feel under this interrup
tion. Nothm r either of us. I bus
ied myself, o lO .busy myself, with
the other papers I had brought along with' me.
The minutes seemed to pass with tenfold te
dium. The great marble clock on the chimney
ticked with redoubled loudness, and no other
sound was heard about the house. It struck me
as being like the silence that precedes death, or
the hush that foreruns a thunderstorm, or the de
ceptive lull that ushere in some great catastrophe.
I felt painfully uneasy ; and, rising from my seat,
walked forward to the window, and looked out
upon the pretty lawn, in the hope of diverting
my attention from the gloomy spirit of forebod
ing that somehow or other had settled down upon
The Squire had been absent about ten minutes
possibly not so long, for each moment seemed
a minute to me when the servant returned to
the room, and said his master wished to see me.
Taking the precaution of refolding the deed and
placing it in my pocket, I followed him, wonder
ing within myself, as I crossed the long hall,
what was to be the upshot of this day's singular
As I entered the drawing-room, my eyes fell
on the Squire. What had come over the man ?
Seated in a large arm-chair, his whole demeanor
betrayed nervous agitation. Near him stood a
gentleman whom I had not before seen. This
was Mr. Silverton. Opposite to the Squire sat
a tall, middle-aged lady, with a matronly aspect,
and dressed in mourning. What was my aston
ishment when I heard her introduced to me by
the name of Madame Favre !
"Madame Favre!" The exclamation was oil'
my lips l)efore I was aware.
"Yes, Mr. Woollaston," said Mr. Silverton;
" this is Madame Favre ; and my old friend here
has, I fear, been led upon very thin ice, from
which I am thankful to have been able to rescue
him in time."
The Squire sunk his head in his hands, and
groaned as if in humiliation and agony. I asked
Mr. Silverton for some explaaation.
"Only a few words are necessary," said he.
"The woman whom you know under the name
of Madame Favre is an impostor a mere com
panion, I believe, who, among other misdeeds,
after robbing her mistress in Paris,, abruptly
decamped, to prevent the disclosure of a scan
I was so astonished as to be scarcely able to
speak. At length I asked, had we not better
secure the woman ?
By all means," said Mr. Silverton. "Order a
servant to take up his position at the door of the
library, and let us know in the case of her wish
ing to leave the room."
I did as suggested, and was back to the room
m a minute. The Squire still sat with his head
sunk on the table, utterly overcome with shame
and mortification. His temporary triumph over
his son had beeu bought at an awful price to his
feelings at this moment.
I shall now explain in a few words how Mr.
Silverton and the real Madame Favre so oppor
tunely arrived upon the scene. It was, I am
thankful to think now, through my letter to
Tom. A few days before he received it, he had
seen in the list of those , attending a grand fete,
the name of a Mr. Silverton, and he remembered
this as the name of whom he had often heard his
father speak of as one of his earliest friends. He
resolved to search him out; and in this was suc
cessful. He found Mr. Silverton extremely kind,
and much distressed to hear of the breach that
had taken place between him and his father.
"I feel all the more regret," said he to Tom,
"because in my younger days, I joined with
others of my family in repudiating a brother who
had married, as we judged, beneath him. I ilever
saw his face again, and he must, I fear, be long
since dead; and for years I have diligently
sought to find some later traces of him on the
Continent, but in vain. I trust your father will
never feel the remorse that I have often felt."
On the receipt of my letter as to his father's
engagement, Tom again waited upon Mr. Silver
ton. The latter gentleman read the letter care
fully till he came to the name of the lady whose
name Tom had not in his former conversations
with him happened to mention when he at once
exclaimed : "Why, I know the lady. I saw her
in Paris within these few weeks."
"That can scarcely be," replied Tom ; "she has
been at Atheling for some considerable time."
"There is some mystery then," said Mr. Silver
ton. "Let us go at once and see into it." And
they thereupon got a conveyance, and drove to
Madame Favre's residence.
It was, as had been suspected, and as related
above. The woman whom Tom's father had
pointed out to him as Madame Favre, was an
impostor ; and Tom determined that immediate
measures must be taken, or his father might be
made the victim as he was in reality very nearly
being made of the woman's deceptive and prac
ticed wiles. The woman's real name was Miss
Emma Farthisg, and had no connection with
Madame Favre, except that she had once been
that lady's companion, and had robbed her, and
All this was told to U3 in a few minutes by
Mr. Silverton ; but still the Squire gave no sign
of recovery from the stupor of agony into which
the revelation had cast him. He only groaned
as the character of the woman who had deceived
him was repeated in his hearing.
" But are you quite sure," I asked with lawyer-
like hesitation, " that this person we have known
as Madame Favre is the Miss Emma Farthing
whom you refer to ? "
"The best way to settle that," said Madame
Favre, who had not hitherto joined in the con
versation except by occasional tokens of assent to
Mr. Silverton's statement " the best way to set
tle that is for us to confront the lady, and see for
" Yes, that is right," said Mr. Silverton ; and I
led 1 he way to the library. The Squire, however,
rtmained seated where he was.
Outside the library door, the servant was stand
ing as directed, and he opened the door as we
approached. I entered first, but only to find the
room empty 2 The birds had flown ! But how ?
A glance at the half-open lattice showed that
while the footman had been keeping watch out
side, the two ladies had quietly stepped out and
escaped by the lawn. This was proof sufficient
of the identity of the lady with Miss Emma Far
thing. I could now understand the wild, con
fused gleam that had lit up her eyes half an hour
before as" the carriage passed the window she
must then have obtained a glimpse of the lady
she was personating, and knew that her destiny
was sealed. Further. I was now able to appreci
ate the lady's extreme liberality in making an
absolute conveyance of all her pretended property
to her prospective husband; and her cleverness
in arranging that her income should be secured
upon the broad acres of Atheling. My blood rose
against the sleek and supple deceiver, as I pon
dered upon all that had taken place, and especi
ally upon the fact that for such an adventuress
'he Squire should have turned his only son out
of doors and executed a deed of disinheritance
My first impulse was to give orders that the
woman be iollowed and detained till she could
be handed over to justice. But Mr. Silverton,
wisely as I now think, said : "No; let the wretch
ed creature go. Her apprehension would only
render the matter public, aud my old friend the
Squire is already humiliated enough. But it
would only be prudent to see that she leaves her
present place of abode on the estate as she found
it ; and for that reason, it would not be amiss
were you to step thither and see to this, while I
L,o back to the Squire and make some endeavor
to alleviate his present anguish of mind."
Acting on this suggestion, though an hour had
by this time elapsed, I took my way to the dower
house where the spurious Madame Favre had
hitherto basked in the sunlight of her temporary
good fortune. I felt that I also had been imposed
upon, and was consequently in no pleasant frame
of mind as I walked towards my destination, and
was prepared, if I found the impostor there, to
speak some very sharp words. But my prepara
tions were unnecessary. As I might have thought
the lady was too much an adept at her trade to
linger long on the skirts of detection. Her maid-of-all-work,
the village girl formerly alluded to,
was now sole occupant of the house. Her mis
tress and the maid, she told me, had hurriedly
collected together whatever was portable and of
value, and were now off! " Bold-faced minx ! " I
exclaimed, as I picked up from the floor the min
iature of the soldier her " dear dead husband "
that had stood on the mantel-piece. I need
not add that the discarded portrait had been
stripped of its expensive frame; and the little
phaeton which had been placed a week ao at
her service by the poor cozened Squire, had been
put in requisition to bear her and her spoils to
the nearest railway station. I could not, how
ever, help feeling glad that she had escaped ; for
now, thought I, nothing will surely intervene to
prevent the old man from being reconciled to his
son, unless and this was still a serious question
the fact of his marriage with a penniless and
friendless girl should be more than the father
could ever forgive.
On my return to the Manor-house, I found tre
Squire somewhat recovered from the first shock
which the revelation had given him. Mr Silver
ton aud ho were conversing together ; the former
having taken the method that is often the best
to restore the mind of the despondent to some
thing likeanimation he had engaged him in
conversation about matters quite foreign to that
which had given him pain. Mr. Silverton at
once addressed me.
"I have just, Mr. Woollaston, been telling my
old friend some of the passages of my life during
the many years which have interval c; t
him last; and in the meantime, as he insists that
I should remain with him for a few days, I have
foTelT r11 the CnVeyanCe "back
to the Milage for my wife and daughter, whom I
had left behind me till I found how things Zl
situated here Madame Favre has also returned
with the carriage; as she is afraid this impostor
may have been making use of her name in Lon-
fhTalTrt" mCS tllUher t0 Put her aents
The very reference to the woman who had so
befooled the Squire gave him, I coul(1 8ee tfa
greatest uneasiness, and he sat for a minute with
downcast eyes, but without speakij g a word At
last, as if anxious to divert the conversation into
other channels, he said: "You mentioned your
wneanu eiaugnter, jacK; itnought you had no
"Nor had I till lately," said Mr. Silverton
with a smile. "And I well tell you how an
old couple like my wife and I come to have a
daughter now. You have often heard me speak
of my brother Charles. You know he was wild
and foolish, and that in his youth he made a
marriage abroad which so annoyed and irritated
his father, and, I must admit, the whole of his
relations, that we discarded him forever. I can
not now think of our harshness towards the poor
fellow without remorse ; for, with all his faults
he was still one of ourselves our own flesh and
blood and no such violent rupture ever comes
to good, or gives us peace, however much we
may think ourselves justified at the time in
making the breach."
At these words, I thought I could see the old
Squire wince. "He must," I said to myself, "be
thinking of Tom." Mr. Silverton went on:
"A few years ago, after we had long lost siht
of my brother, and being ourselves childless a
strong desire took possession of me to take some
steps to try and discover whether he might still
be alive, and what condition he might be in.
After a weary, and for a long time fruitless
search, I succeeded in discovering the small town
in the north of Italy where he had been married,
but found that the marriage had been carried
out under an assumed name. He had dropped
the name of Silverton and taken that of Cleve
land. I ascertained the name of his wife also
but yet it was long before I could trace him with
any certainty ; and at length I found that he had
lived for a few years within twenty miles of
Paris, where he died. From this point all traces
of him were lost till very recently, when, by a
happy chance, I found a family of the same name
in Paris, among whom was a sister of my brother's
wife, who had in her possession the proofs of his
marriage, and what was of still more interest to
us, was acting as the gnardian of his only child,
now an orphan. This child, a lovely girl, who
had inherited her fathers handsome features,
was like a restoration to us from the grave; and
after satisfying ourselves as to the fact of her
relationship to us, my wife and I resolved to
adopt her as our daughter, and make her the
inheritor of our possessions. All this happened
so very recently that it almost seems to me more
of a dream than a reality; for you may be sure
we are very proud of our young charge. But I
need not say more, for I hear the conveyance ap
proaching with them."
As he said these words, he walked quickly out
of the room, in order to receive the visitors in
the hall. The Squire rose from his chair also,
and made a step or two forward, as if to bid them
welcome. At thafc moment Mr. Silverton ap
peared at the door of the room, leading in a
young lady. Close beside him came an elderly
lady, whom I rightly took to be Mrs. Silverton,
and I could not help observing that there was
an arch smile on her happy face. When I looked
aain at the young lady on Mr. Silverton's arm,
I almost cried out with surprise. It was Jessica !
"Mr. Atheling." said Mr. Silverton, as he
came forward towards the Squire "this is our
daughter Jessica Tom's Wife!"
For a second or two the old man stood as if
in bewilderment ; but as the beautiful girl ap
proached him and sank on her knees at his feet,
he took her by the hand and raised her up, and
I could see there was a tear upon his cheek.
"My dear," he said "I have been a foolish old
man ; but God bless you ; and tell my boy to
try and forgive his deluded old father."
Before she could answer, a step was heard
entering the room, and Tom himself stood before
us. His father advanced to meet him, took both
his boy's hands in his, and it could be seeu that
he was making a strong effort to control his feel
ings. In this he only partially succeeded ; his
words were but few, and uttered in
voice. "Tom," he at length said,
never leave me again."
I need not dwell upon the happiness of this
reconciliation. In answer to my subsequent in
quiries I discovered, what Mr. Silverton did not
fully state to the Squire in his first conversation,,
that it was through his finding of Tom, and that
the name of the lady whom Tom had married
was Jessica Cleveland, that Mr. Silverton regained
the dropped clue in his search for his brother's
child. J-ssica's mother had never been aware
of the fact that Cleveland was only an assumed
name on the part of her husband, and died with
out making the discovery.. This was left for Mr.
Silverton to accomplish ; and by it, as we have
seen, happy results followed. Father aud son at
Atheling once more understood each other; and
next to his love for his boy is his affection for
the sweet and unassuming girl, whom the old
man delights to speak of as "Tom's Wife."
To every man upon this earth
Death conieth soon or late,
And hotv can men die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods?