,;i;auitssecrep
Jnthar of "Vanity flardwai .., - uc tn
Girts," tc
BOOK OXK.
Commenced (Sunday, Hay II
Tl story is not finished yet," he cried, im
yrtaously. "But you are right in one thing:
you ran fini.-h it Look, thu m the picture of
St sill I Jove."
"iu bent to look, and u she did so a tear
be could nut keep back dropped on the card
hoard. The next instant she ottered a cry
and started to ber feet 8he bad seen herself.
A moment the looked at him, and rich was
the struggle of surprise, delight, modesty and
fear in ber face that be was now as far from
ker secret as a moment before the had been
Jrom his. He thought she wa angry.
"Mis Temple Sophia," he said, "don't be
angry. If I have offended you, I did not
amui it. Surely you won't be angry.'"
dtiU she made no answer, but only looked
at him, for speech and action had forsaken
1st together; and he, foolish fellow, grew
ertain that she was displeased.
"I loved it so," be said, pleading. "I could
sot help it: and I wanted to tell you myself
Before I spoke to others about it I wanted
too to hear the story first from my own lips."
Be hung his head, ashamed to look at ber.
know I am presumptions. I feel sure al
xeady that you will tell me I am not the man
too can love. I wish I had waited a little be
fore speaking; the dream was so much bet
ter than this awakening: but I could keep
myself silent no longer. Perhaps it is as well
So know it at once. It will save "
But as he spoke, her che:-k came close to
lis own, and her little hand fell on his
shoulder. Too womanly for coquetry or
oyneas, she gave her answer at once, and
with such readiness that neither Percival nor
Bophia were uble to settle that night which
kissed the other first.
CHAPTER It
CAROLINE AND SIBYL MARRIED,
And so the third Miss Temple was engaged.
Mamma made no objection. She did, indeed,
when business came to be talked, remark
to Mr. Brent that her daughter's fortune
would not be large, and- that she hoped he
would be able to provide handsomely for his
ton. At this he waved his band in a confi
dent way, nodded and said: "That shall be
ail right" He did not at that time enter
Btto any particulars, but Mrs. Temple, from
what she knew of him, was quite satisfied
with this assurance and the matter dropped.
It was soon known to the whole town that
Sophia Temple was engaged to Percival
Brent, and the announcement a little relieved
or disappointment at the mysterious disap
pearance of the rector's flirtation with the
widow. Indeed, some of us started the
hypothesis that what we superficial investi
gators had mistaken for a flirtation was in
nality nothing more than the settling of the
f reliminaries of the present affair. We said
it must have been very pleasant for the two
seniors to make the arrangements in that
snog way; and thu we explained the little
iitimacy between them.
Pleasant was the early courtship of this
iappy pair. The very Ucies smiled' on it
Sever, 1 believe, was there such a February.
Jtay followed day in the softest beauty.
Mornings crisp with frost, soft, balmy noons,
evenings with red skies and frosty air again.
Their love making was full of satisfaction,
Sophia found hiiu an ingenuous young fellow,
with real enthusiasm, lull of active resolu
tions for life. Time, she found it hard to be
sary warm over geology ; but his general no
tion of living to use and honor delighted her.
1 think she would have been better pleased
Bad he talked of getting into parliament or
entering the church, rather than of achieving
triumphs at the British association, an insti
tution which at that time had not emerged
from the age of weakness and scorn. Still,
she was fully satisfied with him, and gave
aim all ber love. And he, for bis part it
eould not be otherwise was entranced with
lar. Warmth, purity, tenderness, principle,
all the finer parts of character were hers;
teste and no lack of humor, ready speech,
Brely fancy. As to her face, he worshiped
i He always said that her face was beauti
ful, because it was the image of her mind.
Why narrate lovers' raptures! They were all
in all to each other these happy days of early
spring.
In March the two weddings came off; first
ear's, and then Sibyl's. Egerton Doolittle
fad made a special request that the two
should be celebrated on the same day; but to
ajg request tho great Goldniore declined to
eomply possibly a lurking suspicion that the
thing might look ludicrous led him to say no.
Accordingly, we married Caroline and Eger
ton first; and a pleasant wedding it was,
everything being done In most elegant style;
and little Mi's. Barbara Temple looked not a
day more than forty. And Rector Brent,
between the occasion, the champagne and
his own amorous disposition, cast so many
glances at her, and these so warm, that it
seemed as if he was being captivated anew.
Car, I must say, looked splendid that morn
ing; flashing with wit, fire in her eyes, and
her attire faultless. She wore a bridal dress
of brocaded satin, and her head-dress, which
was somewhat original those girls had a
tasteful way of being slightly out of the corn
won pleased all the ladies; the men, I be
lUrre. looked more at the head which carried
St Her veil, streaming over her suparb
shoulders, made her dress complete, and
we all pronounced her a lovely bride. She
went through the service without any ner
vousness; indeed, I thought with slight
audacity, as if sho would challenge anyone
Id say she had made a foolish choice. Eger
ton Doolittle lisped his responses, and the two
were man and wife together. Breakfast, as
I said, went oS well. Little Mr. Brent pro
posed bride and bridegroom, to which, with
Biarty a blush and titter, and hand sidled to
kis nji.crti, Egerton responded. He thanked
them a.. He believed that be u-ai a very
fortunate man. Here came a long pause.
Fact was confidentially it bad been his
' great aim in life to find a tremendously
clever woman a woman who would be able
to point out whether any given work was
erroneous or not. He did not like erroneous
works. He might read an erroneous work
without knowing it, and got his mind upset
He had married a wife who could and would
tell him if a given work was' erroneous, and
ha was very happy. He thanked everybody,
sad wished everybody In the room would
seen be married like himself, except those
who were married already. There was
mo need to wish them married, because
with a sly expression they were married al
ready. (Here champagne effecte became
slightly prominent) .He believed he had
married a tremendously clever girl woman
be meant wife he meant and he was very
thankful. He hoped his wife would try to
aiake him happy he meant he hoped he
would try to make her happy no, he meant
that he would try to make her happy, and
e hoped he would do It Man was strong.
Woman was weak. The man should use bis
strength to make the woman comfortable
and happy, you know. As the poet had said,
st was tyrannous to have a giant's strength,
is it was excellent to no, that was not it
aartly. He forgot which came 8rst Hs
wuld look it up, and send Ufem the exact
! i'; :n by Anyhow, wbstowr the
t hid sail, if it wa a mtnly art, be
?lw!Kd hiiiuw f fc do it, Hit not otberwUa,
U)4 he beliHvl that wan the safiwt way to
'cave it Here he sat down with a kind of
Movement as if he were going to piece, and
we all applatvbd heartily.
Sibyl's wedding came a fortnight later,
nor swlate, and even more splendid. Archi
bald Goldniore loaded his young bride with
presents so cw'lv that I think, to have had
them, some of the girls would have married
Methuselah. Goldmore looked dignified
enough during the service, and not old ; and
lie walked down the aisle with a vigorous
tread, so that, on the whole, the disparity in
years did not appear so great as we expected.
Sophia had been chief bridesn aid, of course;
ind, in spite of her sister's faultless beauty,
n my eyes she looked the lovelier of the two.
While they were kneeling, a sunbeam fell on
her, and when it touched her bead, heaven
Kerned choosing ber a a bride at the same
moment Wonderful it was how the posture
of prayer became that girl the warmth and
wriousness of her face seemed framed for
worship, or for pure exalted love. But are
the two sentiments alien?
No blunder about Goldmore's speech, you
may be sure All sober, proper, truly ele
phantine, and thoroughly Great British. The
language in which his revered friend had
proposed the health of himself and his wife
was in the highest sense gratifying. On his
wife's part and his own he thanked them sin
cerely. He felt, indeed, that the lady who
bad that morning bestowed her hand upon
him was all, and more than ail, that bis rev
ered friend had called her. He felt the honor
she had conferred upon him. He could as
sure his wife, and her friends, that whatever
lay in his power should be done to make her
the return which she deserved. It was a sat
isfaction to them both to know that marriage
would not part them from their friends, nor
from that locality. It would not be long be
fore they should be among themasneighbors;
and he could only say, as one of the pleasant
est incidents in that propinquity, that his
wife and himself looked forward to seeing
the present company gathered round their
own table.
One thing was noticed at tho wedding
feast; little Mr. Brent, usually the loudest
laugher in every company, appeared grave
and abstracted ; indeed, more than one per
son remarked a strange pallor about him
which suggested a suspicion that he was
struck with illness. Percival, hapny with
his Sophia, and with a thousand tender
thoughts awakened by the ceremony of the
day stirring in his breast, was not likuly to
observe anything except what enforced at
tention; and no cloud dimmed the brightness
of the lover's joy. Had Percival noticed his
father's face he used to its expression
would have perceived that it was not illness
which was impending. But Fate was kind to
these loving two. It was for them a day of
tender and undimmed delight not a cloud,
not a breath, not a doubt only playful
railery , soft looks, gentle touches, signs and
all the train of lovers' little pleasures. Their
love increased wonderfully that happy day;
and it was well, for trouble was at baud.
CHAPTER IIL
ABOUT MISFORTUNE.
It was dark as father and son drove home,
and Percival was greatly startled when,
almost as soon as the horses began to move,
the rector threw himself upon him, and, sob
bing like a child, called out:
"I am a ruined man, Percy a ruined man I"
The explanation -which followed this an
nouncement was in all its main features new
to Percival, who had never known any par
ticulars of his father's affairs. The facts,
which may be briefly told, were these: Brent
senior was the son of a father who had mar
ried twice, and the rector had now a half
brother nearly twenty years older than him
self. This brother, under his mother's mar
riage settlement, had inherited all her prop
erty, which was very large. The father had
a life interest in it, but at his death the whole
passed absolutely to her only child. Rector
Brent's father had ever been a careless and
imprudent man, who, having married for
tunately, lived on his wife's money. After
her death he married again, as has been said,
and his second wife died in the same month
as himself; but his reckless and improvident
character was plainly seen by the state in
which his affairs were left He might easily
have saved, and saved handsomely, for the
education and maintenance of his second son,
our rector, but as a matter of fact he died so
deeply in debt that even his furniture had to
be sold to satisfy his creditors. Young Brent
was then at Oxford preparing for the church,
but it seemed as if his whole future must be
altered. At this time his brother caine for
ward, and although he had never been kindly
used by the second Mrs. Brent, he now, with
great generosity, resolved to help his brother;
and he made him an ample allowance for his
university expenses. Under these circum
stances a very cordial friendship sprang up
between the two, and this friendship had
hitherto been unbroken. The elder brother
did not marry, being studious; and if not
a woman hater, certainly not a woman
hunter. As time went on, and the younger
brother's position and requirements grew,
the elder increased the allowance he
made him, and now for several years he
had been giving the rector fifteen hundred
per annum. This, he promised, should be
continued to his death, when an ample pro
vision would be made for himself and his son.
This arrangement had gone on for many
yean undisturbed,, but a short time before,
to Rector Brent's great astonishment, his
brother, then over seventy, told him he
meditated marriage. The facts were soon
out A strong-minded Irish widow, of ged
family, with a file of tall, hungry, penniless
sons, had marked him for her own. There
followed, in the usual artful sequel, flattery
and amiable persecution. The old man was
cajoled, managed, and, in the last stages of
the affair, bullied, until, without his brother's
knowledge, he was actually married to the
triumphant widow, who wrote to the rector,
explaining the haste and secrecy of the tran
saction by the state of "our dear Henry's
nervous system." The ek.er brother assured
his junior that the marriage would make no
difference in his allowance or his subsequent
prospects; and for twelve months this prom
ise was kept. But the old man was growing
feeble, and his wife impatient. Hor sons
were expensive, and she wished to secure
everything for them. By what means could
not be ascertained, but she spirited her hus
band away to the south of Franca Under
the plea of bronchial disease and nervous
prostration, she shut him up from society;
and when, a few months before, the rector,
growing uneasy, had gone to Cannes to see
his brother, he was not admitted to the heuse,
being comforted by the assurance that every
thing was being done to restore, or at least to
compose, "dear Henry's nervous system." To
tell the rest in a few words, on the morning of
Sibyl's mar riage the poor rector received a
letter, written by his brother himself, in
which, after some vague sentences about "loss
of money," "failure of investments," and "in
creasing expenses," he plainly said that he
Inclosed the lost check which he would ever
be able to send The letter closed with a
postscript, in which the rector was reminded
that already a great deal had been done for
him, which genial stroke was due to the dic
tation of the accomplished Mrs. Brent So
our unhappy rector found himself placed in
the position of the holder of a benefice worth
scarcely a hundred a year, after outgoings, a
costly establishment, luxurious habits, de
clining years, and a son who had been led to
expect fortune as his inheritance.
The little clergyman behaved with singular
dignity and straightforwar In ws. He told
the whole story frankly, and -leemed to de
velop fortitude for the trial. We were
pleased to bear now from his lips some of
those phrases about trust in God and resigna
tion to the dispositions of providence at
which we had sometimes felt inclined to smile
when the sleek little fellow spoke them in the
pulpit. Indeed, so deep was our commisera
tion for the rector's misfortune that we who
are neither a church nor, I fear, a very chari
table people summoned a meeting of lead
ing parishioners, at which we resolved, by
annual subscriptions, to raise enough to pay
the curates; and thus, without directly pau
perizing our clergyman, we hoped to enable
him to hold his living. In this way Rector
Brent was put in possession of about three
hundred a year not a bad allowance, you
may say; but consider how he had lived
hitherto. The carriage must be put down;
the gardens must be laid out in grass; the
cozy dinner parties must be given up; Rector
Brent must, for the rest of his life, walk the
ways of genteel poverty.
Among the first to hear the bad news was
Mrs. Barbara Temple. That excellent little
woman had n maxim for every change and
chance, and upon hearing the tidings she re
marked that such was the world up and
down. "If the hips' were always up," she
continued, straying for an inttant into philos
ophy, "the downs would never have a chance.
There was only so much money, so much ease,
so much luck, going. What one lost fell to
the lot of another." At the same time th? ex
pressed and felt genuine sorrow for Mr. Brent
and for bis son, who had always appeared to
her a most promising young fellow.
Shortly after hearing all this, Mrs. Temple
rang for her maid, and sent for Sophia, who-
came in with a light dancing step, rare with
her: her face was full of glee.
"I know what it is, mamma; you want me
to look at your dress. But I saw it before you
did. Frightful, it is! You shan't wear it,
dear; not if I wear it myself."
"Sophia, you look very pretty this morn
ing," the mother said, with much fondness
and admiration, and a touch of sorrow too,
as she thought f the disappointment the girl
was about tokave. "Nevermind the gown;
I have something to say to you."
Sophia looked wondering into her mother's
serious face, as she took a seat beside her.
"Life is full of trials, Sophy." I he kind'
hearted little wordling began. "No one is fit
to live who is not ready to meet small vexa
tions and disappointments, that perhaps at
first don't seem small, and meet them with a
cheerful face. One great thing is to remem
berwhat is undoubtedly true that most
disappointments have a bright as well as a
dark side. Indeed, if one looks over one's
life, It is surprising to notice how many mis
haps which we either cried over or felt we
would like to cry over, only we restrained
ourselves, become on review matters of con
gratulation. Do you know, Sophy, I think
sometimes, when I look back over my life,
that what I called my misfortunes have in
three cases out of four become either directly
or indirectly sources of happiness aftr a
year or two. I don't wish to talk boastfully,
dear; but I think some of that is due to my
own good common sense."
She drew herself up with a self-satisfied
air, but instantly resumed her compassionate
tone, while Sophia looked a little anxious,
not knowing what was coming. She saw
that her mother' watched her closely, as she
delivered herself of these philosophic morsels.
"I shall not delay what I have to say," Mrs.
Temple went on, stroking her girl's hand
kindly. "I have heard something this morn
ing which renders your marriage with young
Brent impossible."
"Mamma!" Sophia cried, in great agitation.
"These things happen, Sophy," the mother
continued; "these things often happen. I
never told any of you girls before, but I as
sure you the first man that proposed to me
and to whom I was on the point of being
married had to fly from England to avoid
transportation."
"Mamma!" Sophia cried again, but now
springing to her feet, with a face white with
fear and pain. "Tell me; what is it He
can't, 0, he can t have done anything
wrong!"
"Nothing wrong, dear," she answered "I
only mentioned my case as in some respects
like yours. No; the Brents are honorable
people, but they are beggars this morning,
Sophy beggars. "
Then, in as few words as she could use, the
little? woman, with most perfect lucidity, told
the story of the disaster, remarking, when
sho came to the maneuvering widow, that the
rector ought to have kept a sharper eye on
his brother.
"Because we all know, Soph y , that there are
always widows who will do these things if
they can. I should as soon think of leaving
my jewel box all night open on my front
doorstep as of leaving a rich relation un
guardedif it was my policy to get hi
money. Now, don't cry, dear," sho added,
seeing her girl's team flowing fast; "things
might have been much worse."
"I am not crying now, mamma," Sophia
said, sobbing, however, while she spoke. "I
was frightened at first by what you said. At
least, these are tears of relief, I mean. I
really felt afraid of I don't know what But
it is only money Percival has lost not char
acter, not honor."
"0, no; bis honor is untouched," the mother
replied "His character is as good as ever;
and that will, of course, stand by him when
he goes in search of employment. Besides, I
am glad on your account, dear; for even the
most transient connection of your name with
a person who had done anything wrong would
be disagreeable."
Sophia said nothing. She was drying off
her teal's with great brisknsss and assiduity.
It is a pleasant sight to see a pretty young
woman wiping her tears away, and feather
ing herself into cheerfulness again.
"Excellent good sense, Sophia," the mother
said, looking at her with great approval. "I
always knew, with your sound judgment,
J'ou would come to this view of the matter;
but I was prepared for a little temporary re
luctance and a little girlish romance, and I
was prepared to bear it kindly, dear, and to
wait for the return of good sense, which I
knew would not be delayed long. But you
nre a wise girl, Sophy, nothing like facing
the inevitable boldly, and at once."
"But, mamma," Sophy said, "it is not such
a great trial. Percival can work. We can
both wait."
"O, then I have mistaken youl" exclaimed
the mother. "Now, Sophy, my dear, you
must not be absurd. This marriage is simply
impossible. Wait as long as you may, the
young man cannot make a fortune such as
you should expect and requfre. You will see
this some day."
"I promised him I would love him always,"
Sophia said, with artlessness which hi an
other woman might have seemed affected;
"and am I to break my word because my
poor fellow is unfortunate? He has done
nothing. Is he to lose his money and and
me too?"
At which dreadful prospect Sophia began
to cry again, and worked at her eyes with
her pocket handkerchief, which she bad
twisted into a sort of ball, as crying women
do.
"It is a very nice, kind way of talking,
Sophy," the little diplomatist said; "and it
does you credit, dear. I almost think I lik
you better for it, sweet, sweet girl!" with a
kiss at each adjective. "But we must be
prudent, dear. Believe me, Sophy, nothing
that is Imprudent is ever kind in the long
run. It may appear so; it never is not
kind even to those it seems most to bene
fit In life, dear, everything depends on
prudence."
"Mamma," Sophia cried, rising from her
chair for the second time, "if you had told
me that Percival had been disgraced, I think
I should have died. If you had told me that
the man who spoke to me as he spoke hail
any secret dishonor, I think I should have
killed myself in grief and shame. I know the
world would never have been the same to me
again. But bis fortune, his money what is
that! Mamma, I promised to love him and
to marry him, and nothing but his own fault
shall make me change. Not if he lost ten
fortunes! It would be hard on him," she re
peated, with another rub of her eyes, "to lose
his money, and then to lose me."
Mother and daughter, there they sat. The
mother was not angry, scarcely disappointed,
quiet, confident, fully assured that the vic
tory would be on her side at last Were not
time and money with her, and who with such
auxiliaries ever lost a battle) And there sat
the daughter, tearful, flushed, affectionate,
longing to have her Percival beside her to
console him. Ah, sweet Sophia Temple,
some there were as well as Percival who for
a few of those tender dewy kisses then bud
ding on thy lips would have lost half the
world, and scarcely sighed as it slipped
away!
CHAPTER nr.
RTILL ABOUT MISFORTUNE.
Percival called upon Sophia that afternoon,
and, for some wise reason, Mrs. Barbara Tem
ple allowed him to see her alone. Indeed, the
little woman was never other than kind to
her daughters, and, being sure that Sophia's
madness could not last, she resolved not to
seem tyrannical. lSo she let the boy and girl
have it all to themselves.
Percival, impulsive in his wretchedness,
told Sophia everything in a breath. He was
stout-hearted enough to hide his grief pretty
well, and he hastily assumed, as a kind of pos
tulate of the whole conversation, that Sophia
would think of nothing but of giving him up.
Thus he raised in her n light sweet petulance,
which caused her to leave his dark illusion
unscattered for a while.
"I shall go out to Australia again, and be
gin life," he said with a manful air.
She could not look at him, or sho would
have been in his arms, so she stood half
turned from him with downcast eyes, and he,
watching her, felt his heart sink. He had
faintly hoped for other things.
"Yes, I shall go out to Australia again," ho
repeated, so sadly that Sophia could hardly
even for an instant bold herself back. "It is
a fine climate," he added, trying to seem un
concerned again.
"You will meet some girl out there," she
answered in the very exultation of her hy
pocrisy, "and yf u will like her very well."
"I shall never love any one again," he said
gravely; and his voice grew unsteady at the
last word. "Only you," he added, in a yet
more shaking voice. That bit of unsteadi
ness finished Sophia off.
"Never do!" she cried "never do. I ask
nothing more of you; and then go round and
round the world, and I shall wait here faith
fully till you come back."
So her little bit of deceit was over, and she
was sobbing in bis arms, telling him that he
was ten thousand times dearer to her now,
because she could show her love to him; and
that no other man should ever call her
his own, with twenty other of those silly
speeches made on such occasions; some of
which, as declaring the nobler impulses of
the heart that God has made, will be remem
bered, I doubt not, when ten thousand human
frailties are blotted out of the book of his
remembrance. And Percival, holding the
lovely girl in his arms, felt how little he had
lost, and how much he had gained in that
very lo.is; and he realized something of the
truth of Him who knew the human heart, and
said that there are times when, in the very
loss of life, we find life anew life which can
not perish and which cannot be defiled.
There ! They spoke no more, not another
sentence for many minutes, but stood folded
in each other's anus, mingling tears, enrap
tured, exchanging by a thousand fond pres
sures, heart against heart, emotions, vows,
protestations, which the narrow channels of
speech can never convey.
"You are all the world to me," he said at
last.
"All the world, am I J" she answered softly.
"0 Percy, Percy!"
"And you will go on loving me, Sophia?"
"For ever and ever."
"Better or worse richer or poorer?"
"Yes, till death us do part nothing eflS
shall never, Percy!"
So it went on, silence and speech alternating
for full an hour. Mrs. Barbara Temple was
a wise woman, but I somewhat doubt the
astuteness of her policy on that particular
aiiernoon.
CHAPTER V.
"OOOD-BY, SWEETHEART, OOOD-BY."
The two married sisters returned from
their honeymoons about the same time, Sibyl
looking haughty and discontented, but Caro
line cheerful and well pleased. As to the
bridegrooms, we could see no trace ot change
for better or worse in Goldmore; but Eger
ton was decidedly stouter, in excellent spirits,
and, from an accession of confidence, more
apt to make a fool of himself in company
than ever.
The sistern soon met, and Sophia could not
complain of any lack of sympathy on the part
other elders. They were both at first in
clined to take prudent mamma's view; but
when Sophia told them of her love and his
constancy they were touched. The world
had not yet got complete mastery over them,
and they commended Sophia, kissed her, com
forted her, and said some day she would be
happy.
Commander-in-chief Mrs. Barbara Templo
took care to have an interview with young
Brent. She was kind and sympathetic, but
she said it was her maternal duty to point out
to him that whatever Sophia might say he
was injuring her prospects if he kept up any
understanding with her. "Engagement, of
course," the little woman said, "is not to be
thought of. But even an arrangement a
promis that each will secretly wait for
each would be a pernicious snare, full of
danger to Sophia's prospects."
"Not," added Mrs. Worldly WIsewoman,
"that these promises are ever kept Facts are
too much even for lovers. I have seen fifty
of these understandings made in perfect good
faith, and from motives that were quite
pretty, but none ever came to anything.
Still, I object to arrangements."
"Your daughter is as free as if she never
saw me," Percival said. "I have made her
promise that she will consider that there is
not a shred to bind her to me. She is to feel
that she may engage herself and marry, and
never think that there is any intimation to
be sent to me, except through the news
paper." "And may I ask dont think me rude, Mr.
Brent, I am simply doing my duty if you
are as free on your side? If you marry,
shall she hear of it through the newspaper,
too?"
She looked at him sharply, almost humor
ously, as she put this penetrating question.
0, we must pay a tribute to our little
mother who had a tact that in wider fields of
action might have smoothed the feelings of
ruffled empires.
"Yes, I am quite as free as she," he an
swered "We promised each other that we
should feel so."
It was quite true. They bad promised ex
actly in these terms, only the four lips that
exchanged the treaty were immediately after
ward engaged together sealing quite another
sort of bond, Was this what Bhakespears
meant by "plain and holy Innocence," I won
der? And yet possibly Mi Barbara Temple
guessed the time state of the case, but she was
satisfied. There being no engagement, she
felt sure that time, fickleness, and her great
ally, this present world, would do all she
wanted.
"I regret what has happened," shs said grace
fully, "and 1 regret it not alone on your ac
count, but on my own. I should have been
pleased with the connection. I hope you will
prosper and be happy, for I am sure you de
serve it"
Egerton Doolittle, having, after careful in
tellectual filtration, so to speak, got the facts
of the Brents' case fairly deposited in his
mind, expressed great commiseration for the
two men, as ho called them. He told Car
that "we ought all to give our minds to the
thing," and see what can be done. And after
a long period of cogitation he informed his
wife that he had hit on a plan which would
restore the fortunes of the Brents, and of
this he made a great point without their
undertaking anything that could not bo done
"with clean hands."
"A gentleman under no circumstances should
soil his bands," Egerton said; "and the great
merit of what I propose is that it can be done
with clean hands."
Car at flint thought that this implied that
the pursuit Egerton had in his mind was one
morally defensible, or not felonious but it
appeared that ho referred only to aristocratic
notions and traditions.
"Mvplan is this," Egerton said, after three-
quarters of an hour of preamble which nan
nearly fidgeted his wife into a fit "I hear
there is a new joint stock opera company
going to be started. Let them take shares in
that. It will be a gentlemanly, musical kind
of thing, and tho great point is it can be done
with clean hands."
Caroline, not being able to see the practical
value of this suggestion, Egerton resolved to
open his schi mo to bis great brother-in-law,
Goldmore. That elephantine millionaire was
forced, for courtesy's sake, to listen while
Doolittle, in a speech of extraordinary length
and maddening circumlocution, brought out
his preface; but, vexed as he was, he could
not restrain his laughter when the young
man wound up with the recommendation
that Brent senior and junior should take
shares in tho forthcoming Italian Opera
Joint Stock company.
"My great point is, Goldmore," said Eger
ton, "that it is a gentlemanly musical sort of
thing, and one that can be carried on
with clean hands. I think a gentleman
should never soil his hands, Goldmore, don't
you"
"The difficulty is," replied the great
man, overlooking this question, "where ore
the poor men to get money to buy their
shares!"
"Get what?" Egerton asked.
"Money to buy their shares," repeated
Goldmore. "Shares are not given away; you
have to pay for them in hard cash. Now in
the present case the difficulty is that there is
no cash at all."
"Then I suppose you don't approve of my
scheme!" answered Egerton, with some irri
tation. "Very well. One can only suggest
I withdraw the proposition. Still, I repeat,
Goldmore, it ip not every day of the week
you can find a gentlemanly musical under
taking that can Le carried out with clean
hands."
So ho took his leave. But his visit had
some result, after all; for that afternoon
Archibald Goldmore called upon young
Brent, and asked for a little private conver
sation with him. Goldmore was very kind,
inquired what his young friend was going to
do, nodded his head approvingly over the
details of tho Australian scheme, and marked
the young fellow out as a man that would
rise.
"Let me say one thing to you, Mr. Brent,"
ha said, as ho rose to go. "I am in most re
spects a self-made man. I know the difficul
ties which even industrious and clever young
fellows have to face who start without capi
tal. Now, from what my wife tells me, you
have gained the affections of my sister-in-law;
and I may add that from what I have seen of
you I am not surprised at it. As a member
of the family, I take an interest in all that
concerns them. Now, Brent, if a few hun
dreds will help to start you I can lend you
the sum, and I shall require no security but
your word. You shall, pay me" this he
added pleasantly "when you are half as rich
as I am."
Brent colored very red with gratitude and
pleasure ; but for all that, his reply was not
what the great man expected.
'I don't know how to thank you," he said;
"it is so kind an offer. But I have already
saved enough to start me. I had a liberal al
lowance, and never spent it all."
"A few hundreds extra will bettor your
chance," remarked the other.
"Thank you a thousand times," tho young
fellow replied; "but if 1 can accomplish what
I wish out of my own resources, I had rather
do it. If I ever marry Miss Temple, I should
like to feel that it was my own doing from
first to last."
Goldmore looked at him with admiration.
"I respect tho feeling, Mr. Brent," he said.
"Only remember this: if your capital should
run short, write to me, and you will find me
no bad banker when the account has to be
overdrawn."
"Thank you again," the young fellow an
swered. "And that offer I do accept You
understand me, don't you? If I can manage
without any man's help I should be glad; but
rather than fail, I should most gratefully
avail myself of yours. I hope you don't think
me proud to the point of silliness."
"Confound it," cried Goldmore, "I wish you
w ere my son !"
And the great man marched away down
the street as like the Tower of Babel as ever,
only in a silk bat and other human fittings.
But Goldniore is on the right side of things,
for all his pomp and seeming hardness.
Little Mrs. Barbara Temple showed a singu
lar mixture of astuteness and good feeling in
her management of the affair from this time
until Percival's departure. She took care to
impress on the lover the fact that all engage
ment, understanding, hope, and whatever
else could bind himself and Sophia together,
was utterly at an end She repeated several
times that her duty as Sophia's mother was
to see that her future was not embarrassed
by foolish obligations hastily taken up, and
perhaps retained from a sense of honor when
inclination would cast them off. She told
Brent that in all human probability Sophia
would marry some one else in twelve months.
Thus she put herself in the position of being
able, with perfect honesty, to assure Sophia
at any future day that Percival Brent neither
did nor could expect her to wait for him.
And having thus made her position good,
with rare moderation, or rather far-sightedness,
she did not prevent the young couple
meeting occasionally during the few weeks
that intervened between the breaking of the
engagement and Brent's departure for Aus
tralia. Mrs. Barbarba Temple went yet further in
the way of good-natured concession. On tho
day when Brent came to take his final leave
she continued to be out of the way, sending
an apology by Sophia for her absence. It
was a courageous act, but worldly wise, I
presume, like all she did I believe to the
day of her mother's death Sophia never for.
got this particular concession It showed
such trust in her daughter, such kind desire
not to deprive her of any secret comfort
which the parting might give. In fact.it
was an act of womanly generosity and cour
age of which tew mother would have been
capable. But have I not said already that
ur little mother was as truly queen of
women as Agamemnon was king of men?
Sophia tried to be cheerful that dull May
ifternoon; for she saw that he poor fellow's
heart was breaking. Indeed, be could hardly
ipeak one word She had to tell him ot a
magnificent present which she bad made to
him in secret, and which was now waiting for
him in London. This was a set of foreign
traveling boxes, furnished with everything
the good little creature could think of as be
ing possibly of use to ber dear when be was
far away. I wish I could give a catalogue
of the articles in leather, glass, steel, silver;
how she bad sljnrjedjnto one jrta Bibleapd
f I'k be Continued
A Personal Collision Threatened
Between Cen. Cordon and MaJ.
Bacon, Candidates for Georgia's
Gubernatorial Honors.
Courier-Journal.
Atlanta, May 19. The joint dis
cussion between Gen. John B. Gordon
and Maj. A. 0. Bacon, candidates for
the Governorship of Georgia, which
was opened at Eatonton on Monday,
and continues in the leading towns all
week, has already developed features
of strong personality. Maj. Bacon,
who was for ten years Speaker of the
Georgia House of Representatives, was
one of the strongest supporters of
Gen. Gordon in both his canvasses
for the United States Senate. The re
tirement of Judge Simmons from the
Gubernatorial race left what was sup.
posed to be a wak-over for Bacon.
The sudden appearance therefore of
Gordon in the race, backed by his ap
peals to the soldier element, was a sore
trial to Bacon, who regarded Gordon
as being under political obligations to
him. Bacon has made two previous
races for the Governorship. AVhen,
therefore, at the Eatonton meeting
Chairman Nesbitt, in introducing Ba
con, declared himself a Gordon man,
and further declared his belief that
Ba;on had the right "to run as often
as he pleased," this was regarded as an
insult which Bacon resented with a
warm display of temper. Nesbitt tried
to explain, wt ti Bacon said: "I have
not been accusiomed to such treatment
at the bands of gentlemen." Nesbitt
replied: "Then you are not accustom
ed to the society of gentlemen." As
quick as said, Bacon reiterated: "I
have lived among your own blood, and
associated with them that are of it."
In Gen. Gordon's speech he referred
to the fact that Bacon resigned from
the Ninth Georgia regiment and kept
clear of bullets during the war. Kit
con, in an excited manner,declaimed :
"Who asserts it, who insinuates it, who
repeats it after hearing me today, that
I ever resigned any public trust, either
in peace or in war, when I was physi
cally able to serve, lies." All through
the discussion the greatest feeling was
exhibited. When the two gentlemen
met in Sparta yesterday .there was mubh
curiosity to see what course Gordon
would take. Bacon opened by attacking
the resignation of Gen. Gordon from
the United States Senate, GordoL'j
turn now came to hurl the lie, which
he did by saying: "There was a time
when I did not resign: there is a rec
ord that is unsullied even in the esti
mation of the gentleman who has tried
to blacken my name before you. It
was made in a time that I didn't resign,
for my country needed me." Gen.
Gordon repeated the charge that Bacon
had left the army during the war, and
wound up by declaring that "I am
going to be elected, and my friend will
then get sicker than, he did in 1862."
Here Maj. Bacon interposed and said:
"Since he has lent himself to my ene
mies to betray me, I absolve him from
all friendship." It is not believed that
this debate can go on without a per
sonal collision, as the two men are full
of mettle.
A Tough Story.
Cleveland Leader.
A young man staggered into the
central police station last night shak
ing as if palsied. He leaned against
the railing of the otliae and had to be
carried to the turnkey's room, where
he asked for lodging. lie gave his
name as John Sullivan, a native of
Ireland, aged twenty-eight years. He
said he had arrived in New York, a
few days ago from the Isthmus of Pan
ama, where he bad worked upon De
Lesseps' canal until he contracted the
Panama fever, the scourge of that land.
His home is in Chicago, and he was
making his way thither by aid of the
poor authorities in the cities along the
road. His condition was such that Lieut.
Johnson, summoned the district phy
sician, who ordered the ambulance and
sent the man to the Uty Hospital.
Sullivan said that he had sailed from
New Orleans with a gang of 350 men
for Aspinwall, from whence they were
sent thirty miles into the interior and
set at work excavating for the canal.
The fever broke out among the men
and three hundred died, Sullivan and
forty-nine others only surviving the
ravages of the dread disease. Sullivan
and two comrades walked to Aspin
wall, took a steamer to Kingston, Ja
maica, and walked to Port Antoine,
where they became stowaways in the
hold of a vessel bound for New York.
For six days they had nothing to eat
and drank the bilge water that lay in
the hold.
The Creamery.
Aberdeen Kxaininer.
Mr. S. M. Johnson, superintendent
of the work, has a force of laborers
busily engaged upon the excavations
for the creamery, while brick and lum
ber are being piled upon the premises
for the building. The location is on
North Meridian street, in the vicinity
of the compress, the Adams manufac
turing establishment, the Illinois Cen
tral shops, the ice factory, Berg's saw
and planing mills, and the stave fac
tory. There are steam whistles all
around it.
The Steamer Nipslc Safe.
Nmv York, May 22. T ie United
States steamer Nipslc, lrom South
America, which was thought to have
met with an accident passed Sandy
Hook inward bound at 6:30 o'cloak
this morning.