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«ttmrnie<3 and fallen, but had risen arain, and both were now leaning against a wall, clinging to each other, a picture of abject terror. Brandon ran to the girls, but by the time he reached them the two men on horseback were there also, hacking away at him from their saddles. Bran don did his best to save hlm «elf from, being cut to piece* and th<9 girls from being trampled un der foot by the prancing horses. A nar- j row jutting of the wall, a foot or two in width, a sort cf flying buttress, gave him a little advantage, and up Into th« slight shelter of the corner thus formed he thrust the girls and with hi3 back to them faced his unequal foe with drawn sword. Fortunately the position allowed only one horse to attack them. Two men on foot would have been less In eac»*. other's way and much more effective. Ihe men. however, stuck to their horses and one of them pressed the attack. striking at Brandon moat viciously. It being dark and the distance deceptive, the horseman's sword at last struck the wall, a flash of sparks flying In It* trail, and lucky It was, or this »tory would have ended here. Thereupon Brandon thrust his sword Into the horse's throat. causing it to rear backward, plunging and lunging into the street, where It fell, holding Its rider by the leg against the cobblestones of a little gutter. A cry from the fallen horseman brought hia companion to his side, and gave Bran don an opportunity to escape with the girls. Of this he took advantage, you may bo sure, for one of hia mottoes •was. that the greatest fool In the world is he who does not early In life learn how and when to run. In the light of the sparks from th<» Fword-stroke upon the wall, brief as it was. Brandon recognized the face of Buckingham, from which the mask had fallen. Of this he did not speak to any one till long afterward, and his silence waa almost his undoing. How often a word spoken or unspoken may have the very deuce In it either way. The girls were nearly dead from fright, and in order to make any sort of pro gress Brandon had to carry the Princess and help Jane until he thought they were out of danger. Jane soon recovered, but Mary did not seem anxious to walk and lay with her head upon Brandon's shoulder, apparently contented enough. ,_^ In a few minutes Jane said: "If you can walk now. my lady. I think you had better. We shall soon be near Fishmon gers' Hall, where some one la sura to be standing at this hour." Mary said nothing in reply to Jane, but, aa Brandon fell a step or two be hind at a narrow crossing, whispered: "Forgive me, forglv© me; I ¦will do any penance you ask; I am unworthy to speaK your name. I owe you my life and more —and more a thousand times." At this she lifted her arm and placed her hand upon hi3 cheek and neck. She then learned for the first time that h» was wounded, and the tears cams softly as she slipped from his arms to the ground. She walked beside him quietly for a llttln time, then, taking hia hand In both of hers, gently lifted It to her lips and laid It upon her breast. Half an hour after ward Brandon left the girls at Bridewell Jlouse. went over to th« brldse -where he had left his horse at a hostelry, and rode down to Greenwich. So Mary had made her trip to Grouche's. but It waa labor worse than lost. Grouch* had told her nothing sha wanted to know, though much that h« supposed she would like to learn. He had told her she had many lovers, a fact which her face and form would mak» easy enough to discover. Ha Informed her also that she had a low-born lover, and In order to put a little evil In with tha good fortune and give what h« laid an air of truth, he added to Mary's »tat© ot unrest more than he thought by tolling her that her low-born lover waa false. He thought to flatter her by predicting that she would soon marry a very great prince or nobleman, th» Indications be ing In favor of the former, and. In placw of this making her happy, aha wished the wretched soothsayer In the bottom less pit — he and all hia prophecies; herself, too. for going to him. His guesses were pretty shrewd; that la, admitting he did not know who Mary was, which sh« at least supposed was the case. So Mary wept that night and moaned and moaned because she had gone to Grouche'a. It had added Infinitely to the pain of which her heart was already too full, and made her thoroughly wretched and unhappy. As usual, though, with the blunders of stubborn, self-willed people, some one elsa had to pay the cost of her folly. Bran don was paymaster In this case, and when you see how dearly he paid, and how poorly she requited the debt. I fear you will despise her. Walt, though! Be not hasty. The right of judgment belongs to her— you know whom. No man knows another man's heart, much less & wo man's, so how can he Judge? ¦ We shall all have more than enough of Judging by and by. So let us put off for as many to-morrows 'fts possible the thing that should be left undone to-day. CHAPTER IX PUT NOT TOUR TRUST IN PRINCESSES. I thought the king's dance that night would never end. so fond were the FrencB men of our fair ladies, and I was raort than anxious to see Brandon and learn the issue of the girls' escapade, as I well knew the danger attending it. All things, however, must end. so early in the morning I hastened to our rooms, where 1 found Brandon lying In hM clothe3. everything saturated with bloo<l from a dozen sword cuts. He was very weak, and I at once had In a barber, who took oft his shirt of mail and dressed hi3 wounds. He then dropped into a deep sleep, while I watched the night out. Upon awakening Brandon told me all that had happened, but asked me to say noth ing of his illness, as he wished to keep the fact of hia wounds secret In order that he might better conceal the cause of^ them. But. as I told you, he did not hpeak of Buckingham's part in the af- I saw the Princess that afternoon, and expected, of course, she would inquire for her defender. One who had given such timely help and who waa suffering no much on her account was surely worth a little solicitude; but not a word did sh*> ask. She did not come near me. but made a point of avoidance, as I couiil plainly see. The next morning she, with Jane, went over to Scotland Palace with out so much as -a breath of inquiry from either of them. This heartless conduct enraged me: but 1 was glad to learn af terward that Jane's alienee was at Mary's command— that bundle of selfishness fear- Ing that any solicitude, however carefully shown upon her part, might reveal her secret. It seems that Mary had recent Intelli gence of the forward state of affairs In the marriage negotiations, and felt that a discovery by her brother of what she had done, especially In view of the dis astrous results, would send her to France despite all the coaxing she could do from then till doomsday. It was a terrible fate hanging over her. doubly so in view of the fact that she loved another man; and looking back at It all from the vantage point of ume I can not wonder that it drove other things out of her head and made her seem selfish In her frightened desire to save herself About 12 o'clock of the following night I was awakened by a knock at my door and. upon opening. In walked a sergeant of the sheriff of London with four yeo men at his heels. The sergeant asked If one Charles Bran don was present, and upon my affirmative answer demanded that he be forthcom ing. I told the sergeant that Brandon was confined to his bed with Illness whereupon he asked to be shown to hHi : room. . It was useless to resist or to evade, so I awakened Brandon and took the ser- They had not been walking more than five minutes, when, juat as the girls turned a corner Into a secluded little street winding its way among the fish warehouses, four horsemen passed Bran don In evld»nt pursuit of them. Brandon hurled forward, but before he reached the corner heard screams of fright." and as he turned Into the street distinctly saw that two of th#men had dismounted and were trying ' to overtake the fleeing girls. Fright lent wings to their feet, and their short skirts affording freedom to their limbs, they were giving their pursuers a warm little race, screaming at every step to the full limit of their voices. . How they did run and scream! It was but a mo ment till Brandon came up with the pur suers, who. all unconscious that they In turn were pursued, did not expect an at tack from the rear. • The men remaining on horseback shouted an alarm to their comrades, but so Intent were. the latter in their pursuit that they did not hear. One of the men on foot fell dead, pierced through the back of the neck by Bran don'* u sword , ; before either ,was aware of his presence. The other turned, but waa a corpse before he could cry out. The girls had stopped a short distance ahead, exhausted by their flight. Mary had "Sir,' said she. "forgive me; It was not my fault: she had just said—" Slap! came Mary s hand on Jane's mouth; and Jane was marched oft weeping bitterly The girls had started up toward East Cheap when they left Grouche's, intend ing to go home by an upper route, and now they walked rapidly in that direction. Brandon continued to follow them, not withstanding what Mary had said, and she thanked him and her God ever after that he did. Jane, who had called him up, and was the cause of his following them, began to weep. She was nut uu*».v. ..„ ,. that the danger w^s over, and feareil no new danger with Brandon at hand to protect her. for In her heart she felt that to overcome a few fiery dragons and a company or so of giants would be a mere pastime to him: yet see how she treated him. The girls had stopped when Jane called Brandon, and he was at once by their side with un covered head, hoping for. and, of course. pxpectlng 1 , a warm welcome. Rut even Brandon, with his fund of worldly philos ophy had not learned not to put his trust in Princesses, and his surprise was be numbing when Mary turned angrily upon him. "Master Brandon, your Impudence In following us shall cost you dearly. We do not desire your company and will thank you to leave us to our own affairs as we wish you to attend exclusively to yours." This from the girl who had given him so much within less than a week! Poor Brandon! So she turned upon Jane angrily. "Jane Bollngbroke, you shall leave me as soon as we jet barV ?« r— -r-r| c h for this bc trayal of my confidence." Now this disclosure acted in two ways. Brandon's presence 'was. It Is true, just what Mary had so ardently wished, but the danger, and, therefore, the need, wa3 gone when she found that the man who was following them had no evil intent. Two thoughts quickly flashed through the girl's mind. She was angry with Brandon for huvlnsr cheated her out of so many favors and for having slighted her in love, as she had succeeded in convincing herseif was the case, all of which Grouche had confirmed by telling her he was false. Then she had been discovered In doing what she knew she should have left un done, and what she was anxious to con ceal from* every one; and. worst of all, had been dltcovered by the very person from whom she was most anxious to hide It. - ¦ , brown head to the Up of her little pink heels. '"Oh, if I had only taken your advice, Jane, and had never come to this wretch ed place; and to think, too. that I came here only to learn the worst. Shall we ever get home alive, do you think?" They hurried on, the man behind them taking less care to remain unseen than he did when coming. Mary's fears grew upon her as she heard his step and saw his form persistently following them, and she clutched Jane by the arm. "It Is all up with us. I know. I would give everything 1 have or ever expect to have on earth for— for Master Brandon at this moment." She thought of him as the one person best able to defend her. This was only too welcome an opportu nity, and Jane said: "That is Master Brandon following us. If we wait a few seconds he will be here." and she called to him before Marv could interpose. mi come, her angT cooled, as usual, and suf-ain her heart began to ache; but her «er se fit Injury grew stronger day by day, and -«i;e thought, phe was. beyond a doubt, the most ill-used of women. The other matter I wish to toll you is that the negotiations for Mary's mar riage with old Louis Xll of France. were beginning <o be ,an open secret about the. court. The Duc.'de Lungueville" who bad . been held by Henry for some, time as a surt of k hostagv from the, French King, had opened neKotiailons by inflaming the flickering passions of old. Louis with de scriptions of Mary's beauty. As there was a piospeet for a new Kmperor soon) and: us the imperial bee had of late buen mak ing a moiit vehement buzzing in Henry's bonnet. lie encouraged De Longueville.and thought it would-be a good time to pur chase the r.e'p of;France at the cost of his beautiful sister and a handsome dower. Mary, of course.* had. not been consulted, and although shohad coaxed, her brother «>ut of other marriage projects, Henry had gone about this as if ne were in' earnest, and it was thought throughout the court lhat Mary's coaxings would be all in vain —a fear which she, herself, had begun to chare, notwithstanding her usual self-con-' lidence. She hated the thought of the marriage, and dreaded it as she would death itself, though she paid nothing to any one but Jane, and wan holding her forces In re serve for the grand attack. She was pre paring the way by being very sweet and kind to Henry. .- 5 Now all of this, coming upon' the heels of her trouble with Brandon, made her most wretched indeed. For. the first time in her life she began to feel suffering; that great broadener,/ln fact, maker, of hu man character, t . Above all, there was an alarming sense of uncertainty In everything. She could hardly bring herself to believe that Bran don would really go to New Spain, and that she would^ actually lose- him, al though she did not want him as yet; that Is, as a prospective husband. Flashes of all sorts of wild schemes had begun to shoot through her anger and- grief. when she stared in the face the prospect of her double separation from him— her marriage to another and' ;the ; countless , miles •; of fathomless sea that would be between them. . She could endure anything better than uncertainty. A menacing future is the keenest of all tortures for any of us to bear, but especially for a girl like Mary. Death is not so terrible as the fear f cf It. I Now about this time there lived over in Billingsgate W aid— the worst part of l/jn- c don — a Jewish soothsayer named Grouche. a lie wus aiso an astrologer, and had of 1 late Mown nito yrt?at fume as prophet ot t the future— a fortune-teller. * H's fame rested on several remarkable j predictions which had been fulfilled to the l letter, and I rea'ly think the man had ] Komo wonderful powers. They said he whs { half Jew. half gypfiyi and. If there is a!- < chemy in the mixing of blood, that combi- \ nation shou d suiely produce something f peculiar. The city folk were sad tb have • visited him in great numbers. an«l, n H t- | wlths-taiidne th^ n;ie:-t- hi ¦ ; condemned him as an imp of sultan and a follower of witchcraft, many fine people, j Including sjme court ladies, cuntlrued to ( jto there by stvullh in order ro t:ik' a , dangerous, inquisitive peep into the fu- ¦ i turo. i say by Hlealth: because his nsten- ; s'ble occupation of soothsuylrg a- d for- , tune telling was not his only biis'nees. ¦ His house was rea ly a place of >V'v t ) meeting, ar.d the soothsaying wj;s often but an ejtci'«* f r going there. Lacking tl.'n esters hie <ir -curj>tlor. he WoU.d nol l'ave. bet ii allowed to feprp hs hou:-c within tie vail. iTt woii'd have been re'- ' egalnl to' his proper uiuce — Bridge Wnrd , Without. • ¦'¦-".' Mary hail lorg wanted to see tit's Uroivhe. at liisr rut of mere curlo.4 ty; l;tit llerry. who was v€ry moral-witli < tlier pet j)'e'x Ci>' cierc.as'— '[•' I tltnk cf p- rmittirg it. Two lad'ea: In'y ('liestcrtie'd and I^wdy Orrnord. both sronci and virtuous women, had been detected in such h vit-'t. nH had been dlacrn.cfd and *xpel'ed ftom court In the most truel manner by order of the Kitig h'mse.lt. • Now. added to Mary's* o'd-t'nie desire to Ff<> Groi:cbe. came a longing to know thp r>u*c rne of the pn-iiPt-t moment "iis co r u ptVflfton <;f affairs that touched her so < l'-se.'y. F.hp fouldnot wait for Time to u-fold liiniseX ard ilrop p ; ss budget of events as he. traveled, but *hn must (plunge attend of him. and know, beforehand, the stons cf the fates — an Inttus'on they usually resent. 1 need not tell you that was Mary's only ob.i«et In going, nor that her heart was -8<» nure as a babe's — quite as chaste, and almost as Innocent. II is equally true that the'larso prnpir iion of persons who visited Grouche macle" his soothsaying an excuse. The thought of how wretched life would be with lxju's had put Into Mary's mind the thought of liow swwt II would be with Brandon. Then eam,« the wish that Brandon had been a Prince, or even h great English ' nob'eman: and then leaped up. all raln bow-hueu\ the '.hop.' that he might yet. by reason of his own virtues, rise to all r,f these ard she. become his wife. But attjie threshold of this fair castlo came knocking the thought that perhaps he d'd [hoi cure for her. and had deceived her to pnin hr-r favors. Then she flushed with at-trer and swore to herself she hated h*m. and hoped never to see his faca again. And the castle faded and was wafted away to the realms of airy noth ingness. . ¦;?- .'-".j'_ -. ¦ Ah! how people will sometimes lie to ¦themselves; and sensible people at that. So Mary wanted to see Orouche; first, through curiosity, in itself a stronger .motive than we give it credit for; second, to learn if she would be able to dissuade Henry from the French marriage and -perhaps catch* a hint how to do -It; and last, but by no means least, to discover the state of Brandon's heart toward her. By this time the last-named motive was strong enough to draw her any whither, although she would not .acknowledge It, even to herself, and In truth hardly knew it; so full are we of things we know not of. . . • , ' So she determined to go to see Grouche secretly and was confident she could ar range the visit' in "such a way that.it would never be discovered. One morning: I met Jane, who told me, with troubled face, that she and Mary •were going to London to make some pur chases, would lodge at Bridewell House, and go over to Billings gate that evening to consult Grouche. Mary had taken the ; whim Into her - willful head, and . Jane •could not dissuade her. i The court waa all at Greenwich and no ; . body at Bridewell, so Mary thought they • could disguise themselves as orange girls ! and easily make the trip without any one ' being the wiser. , ... .._,, u;7lt was then, as" now. no safe matter. for. • even a man to go unattended through the i best parts of London, to say nothing of i Billingsgate, that nesj of water-rats and > cut-throats. But Mary did not realize the full danger of the trip, and would, as usual, aitow nobody to tell her. She had threatened Jane with all sorts of vengeance if she divulged her secret, and Jane was miserable enough between her ieais on either hand; for Mary, though the younger, held her in complete subjection. Despite, her fear of Mary, Jane asked me to go to London and fol low them at a distance, unknown to the Princess. I .was to be an duty that night at a dance given in, honor of the French einoys who had just arrived, bringing with them lomm sa.on of special Kmuas sadcir to Tie Longueville to negotiate the •- f n-urrjf> tr e fird it was impossible for me to-g'». Mary was going partly to avoM th.s ball, and her willful persist >i.u n.nue. i.fi.iy very angry. I regret tt-d that I could nr» go fcut I n'om'sM jane 1 you d s*mh1 Brandon in my place ar d he roulti answer the purpose ot pro tection far better than I. I suggest- d that Brat.don take with him a man. but Jane, who was in mortal fear of Mary. wouM not !st*n to it. .So It was agreed that Brandon should meet Jane at a given place and earn th*» particulars, ana this plan was carried out. TJrar.don wt nt up to London and saw June, and before the appointed time h'd nms.lf bphnd a hedge near the private' j. r ate through which the gir's intended to take tbeir departure from Brldewelt. They would cave about duak 'and re turn.'so Mary paid, before il grew dark. The citlzei s of London at that .time IMfd verv little attention to the law. re quiring them to burg nut their lights, and when it was dark it was dark. FcareeJy was Brandon safely ensconced 1:» hind a" clump of arbor vitae. when whom fliould he, see coming down the path toward the gate but his Grace, the. UtiVo iif Buckingham. He was met by <»no of the Bridewell frvants who was in Htter-darc upon the Princess. "Ws your GracoJ this la the gate." sa'ri th'p r rl. "You tan hid* yourself and watch item as they ro. Th«y will pass out on th's path. As I said. I do not know where they ate going: I only over he.ard them s;iy they would go out at this gate Just before dark. - I am sure they go on some errand of gallantry, which your Grace will soon learn. I make no doubt." He replied that he "would" take care of that." Brandon did not spe where Buckingham hid himself, hut soon the two Innocent adventurers came down the path, attired in the short skirts and bonnets of orange girls, and let themselves out at the gate. Buckingham fo'lowed them and Brandon quickly followed him. The girls passed through a little rostern j n the wall op posite Bridewell House and walked rap idly up Fleet Ditch: climbed Ludgate 11111; passed Paul's Church: turned to ward the river down Bennett Hill; to the left on Thames street: then on pant the Bridge, following Lower Thames street to the neighborhood of Fish-street Hill, where they took an alley leading up to-, ward East Cheap to Grouches house. It was a brave thing for the girltd do and showed the determined spirit that dwelt In »her soft white j breast. Aside from the real dangers, there was 'enough to deter any woman. I should think. • Jane wept ail the way over, but Mary nev-;r. flinched. . * There were great xnudholes where one sank ankle deep, for no one paved their streets at that time, strangely enough preferring to pay the sixpence fine per square yard for leaving It undone: At one place. Brandon told me, a load of hay blocked the streets, compelling them to squeeze between the houses and the hay. He could hardly believe the girls • had passed that way, as he had not always been able to keep them In view, but had sometimes to follow them by watching Buckingham. He. however, kept as close as possible and presently saw them turn down; Grouche's alley and enter hia house. . ¦ Upon learning where - they had stopped, Buckingham hurriedly took himself off, and Brandon waited" for the girls to come out. It seemed a very long time that they were in the wretched place, and darkness had well descended upon London when . they emerged.- . ' ,./¦'- Mary soon noticed that a man was fol lowing them, and as she did not know who he was. became greatly alarmed. The. object of. her Journey - had been ac complished now, so the spur of a strong motive to keep her courage up waa lack ing. .¦¦-¦,, ;.,. ¦ ¦ . ¦ . - ;; "Jane,^ some one • Is following us," ? she "whispered."' "*-¦ ' " • " "Yes." answered Jane, with an uncon cern that surprised Mary, for she knew Jane was a coward from the top of her to amid this, and if you had helped *me it would never— " But he remembered liow ho had always despised Adam for LbrowlnS the blame upon Kve. no matter how much bhp may have deserved it. ami continued: "No, 1 do not mean that. It is all my fault. 1 should have gone away long ago. 1 could not help it; I tried. Oh: 1 tried." Mary's eyes were bent upon the floor. and tears were falling over her flashed checks unheeded and urn-hocked. "There i? no fault in any one; neither could 1 help it," !-hc murmured. ">>'o. no; it is not that there is any fault In the ordinary bense; it is like suicide or any other erc-at self-inflicted injury with me I am different from other men. I shall never recover." "£ know only too well that you are dif ferent from other men. end— and 1. too, am different from ether women — am I not?" "Ah. different! There is no other woman in all this wide, lo'.iz world." and they were In each others arms again. She turned her shoulder to him and r?s=ted with the support of his arms about her. ller eyes were cast down in silence, and the was evidently thinking as she toyed wit'i the lac- of his doublet. Brandon Icnew her varying expressons well That he saw there was something warn ing, so he asked: •Ms there something you wish to say?' "Not I," ehe responded with emphasis cn the prcnoun. "Then is it something you wish me to tay?" • She nodded her head slowly: "Yes." "What is it? Tell me and I will say it." She *hook her had slowly: "NV •"What is it? 1 cannot guess." "Did you not like to hear me say that — that I — loved you?" "Ah yes; you know it. But— ch!— do you wish to licur me say H?" The head nodded rapidly two or thre-» times: "Yes." And the black curving Sashes were lifted for a Jlteting. lum'nuus instant. K "It is surely not necessary. You have known it so long already, but I am only too glad to pay it. I love you." She nestled closer to him and hid her face on his breast. "Now that I have said it what is my reward?" he asked — and the fair face came up, red and rosy. with "rewards." any ont of which was worih a King's ransom. "But this is worse than Insanity." cried Brandon, as he almost pushed her from him. "We can never belong to tach other; never." "No," said Mary, with a despairing shake of ike head, as the tears began to flow again; "no! never." And falling upen his knees he caught both her hinds in his, sprang to his feet and ran from the room. Her words showed him the chasm anow. Khe saw the distance between them ev»n letter than he. Evidently it seemed fur ther looking down thin looking up. There was nothing loft row but flight. He sought refuge in his own apart ments and wildly walked th» floor, ex «:laiming, "Fool", fool t'.at I am to lay up this store of agony to last me all my <iays. Why did I ever come to this court? <Jod pity me — pity me'." And he fell upon ltis knees at the bed. burying his face in his arms, his mighty man's frame rhaking as with a palsy. That same night Brandon told me how he had committed suicide, as he put it. and of his intention to go to Bris tol and there await the sailing of the ship, find perhaps find a partial resurrection in New Spain. \ Unfortunately, he could not start for, Pristol at once, as he had given some challenges for a tournament at Richmond 8nd could furnish no good excuse to with draw them: but he would not leave his room, nor again see "that girl who was driving him mad." It was better he thought, and wisely. t<>o, that there be no leave-taking, but that he should go without meeting her. "If I ever see her again." he said. "I shall have io kill some one, even if it is only myself." 1 heard him tossing in his bed all night, and when morning came he arose looking haggard enough, but with his determina tion to run away arid see Mary no more stronger than ever upon him. But providence, or fate or some one, ordered it differently, and "there was plen ty of trouble ahead. CHAPTER VIII. . THE TROUBLE IN BILLINGSGATE WARD. About a week after Brandon's memora ble interview with Mary an incident oc curred which chanced everything and came very near terminating his career in the flower of youth. It also brought about h situation of affairs that showed the dif ference in the quality of these two per rons thrown so marvelously together from their far distant stations at raeh end of the ladder of fortune, in a. way that re flected very little credit upon the one from the upper end. But before I tell you of that I will relate briefly one or two other matter? that had a. bearing upon what was done, and the motives, prompting it. To begin with. Brandon had kept him self entirely away from the Princess evor since the afternoon at the King's ante chamber. The tirst day or no Khe sighed. r>ut thought little of his absence; then she wept. ;ind as usual began to grow piqued and irritable. What was left of her judgment told her It was better for them to remain apart, but her longing to see Brandon grew Ftronjser as the prospect of it grew les*. Mnd Ehe became angry that it could r.«it 1>»» gratified. Jane was right: an unsat isfied desire with Mary was torture. Even her sense of the pr»at distance between them had begun to fade, and when s!:e so wished for him and he did not come, their positions seemed to b* reversed. At the end of the third day she Bent for him to come to her rooms, but he. by a. mighty effort, sent back « brk-f note saying lhat he could not and ought not to g<». This, of cours-e. thr«-w Mary into a great passion, for she judged Mm by herself— h. very common but dangerous method of judgment — and thought that if he felt at all as she did. h>- would throw prudence to the winds and come to her. as she knew she would go to him if the could. Jt did not occur to her lhat Brandon knew himself well enough to be sun.- he. would never go to New Spain if he al lowed another grain of temptation to fall into the balance against him. but would remain in London to love hopelessly, to try to win a hopeless raufe, and end it all by placing his head upon the blcck. It required all lite strength, even now, to hold in line his determination to go to New Spain. He had reached his limit. He had a fund of that most useful of all wisdom, knowledge of self, and knew his limitations; a little matter concerning which nine men out of ten go all their lives In blisslcss Ignorance. Mary, who was no more given to self ar^iysis than her pet linijet. did not ap preciate Brandon's potent reasons, and was in a flaming passion when she re ceived his answer. Rage and humiliation completely smothered, for the time, her affection, and she said to herself, over and over again: "I hate the low-born wretch. Oh! to think what I have per mitted!" And tears of shame and repent ance came in a flood, aa they have come from yielding woman's eyes since the world was born. Then ghe began to doubt his motives. As long as she thought she had given her gift to one who offered a responsive passion, she was grlad and proud of what she had done, but she had heard of man's pretense in order to cozen woman out of her favors, and Ehe began io think she had been deceived. To her *h« logic seemed irresistible; that if the uine motive lived in Ms heart, and prompted him. t!iat burned in her breast, and Induced her, who was virgin to her very heart-core, and whose hand had hardly before been touched by the hand «'f man. to give *o much, no power of prudejice could keep him away from her. THE SUNDAY CALL. So she concluded she had given her gold for bis dross. This conclusion was more easily arrived at owing to the fact that she had never been entirely sure of the state of his heart. There had always been a love-exciting grain of doubt: and when the thought came to her that ehe had been obliged to ask him to tell her of his affection, and that the advances had really all been made by her, that con lirmed her suspicion. It seemed only too clear that she had been too quick to give — no very comforting thought to a proud girl, even though a mistaken one. As the days went by and Brandon did 2