The little launch in which we were to make our lengthy journey of probably more than one thousand miles up the river Ucayali and its tributaries, was only sixty feet long. She was designed especially for this service, and was well adapted to it. She was provided with an armament of Remington breechloading rifles and revolvers, and was ordered to have provisions sufficient for four months. Besides the members of the hydrographical commission on board, and in charge of the exploration, there was a crew of fifteen or twenty Indian sailors and firemen. Thus, from the small size of the vessel, we were very much crowded, but, as we were dependent upon our own force to cut wood for the engine, it was necessary to have this number.

After leaving the high bank on which is situated the small station of Yquitos, and passing the opposite bank of Tamshiyacu, the river widened out, and the vast expanse of inundated forest and floating drift-wood, that, with the exception of a few knolls, was for so long to weary the eye, opened upon our view. In consequence of our unnecessary delay in starting, and of the extra consumption of fuel, we were unable to reach, as was our intention, the little village of Nauta, near the mouth of the river Ucayali. A few hours before night we stopped to cut wood, with which to continue our voyage the next day. Although the general impression seems to prevail that the banks of the river Amazon are covered with the finest specimen of trees suitable for timber and fuel, there are really in this part of the valley but one or two varieties that will serve as fuel for steamers. The commonest and most attainable tree for this purpose is the caparona. It is a tall, straight tree, with dark, smooth bark, very small leaves, and, strange to say, very crooked and gnarled limbs, and indeed it is not only in every point unlike our own forest - trees of the United States, but even bearing no resemblance to its surrounding brethren of the tropics. It cuts and splits well, and when perfectly dry is reported by the firemen to be almost equal in its steam-producing properties to coal. This tree is found on very low lands. A few moments after having made fast to the bank, night set in upon us, and at the same time we were attacked by myriads of hungry mosquitoes. Then came the necessity of rigging up our mosquitobars on board, a problem that at first seemed utterly impossible of solution. After finally turning and twisting them in a hundred different ways, we found that we could arrange them all after a fashion, but that they would occupy the entire vessel, and thus compel us all, from lack of room, to retire at the same time. We found the fatigues of the day so much increased by the continual slapping and fighting of these little pests (which pervade the atmosphere of this part of the country, and which seem to be as important an element in its constitution as either oxygen or hydrogen), that we gladly sought an early refuge under the protecting folds of our nets. There intrenched, we blissfully smoked ourselves to sleep, listening in the mean while, with infinite delight, to the many and varied tunes sung by our enraged enemies, who, in millions, and gnashing their teeth in a per

fect buzz of fury, flew in all directions around us. Only when the boat, swung by the current, either came into contact with the limb from some tree, or else was touched by a piece of floating drift-wood, was our enjoyment at all marred. When such was the case, we were attacked by hordes of red ants that, like so many pirates, swarmed down upon us.

Early the next morning, having taken on board a supply of wood, we hoisted anchor and got under way. And, although our erratic genius of an engineer treated us to another test of his skill, and of our nerves, not to mention the strain upon the boiler-iron, we soon passed the mouth of the Ucayali River, and a few moments later reached the old Indian settlement of Nauta, situated six miles above the confluence of the Ucayali and Marañon, and on the left bank of the latter (the Marañon is the name given to that part of the Amazon River from its head-waters to the Brazilian frontier at Tabatinga). Our object in thus running by the mouth of the Ucayali, and up to this point, was to take on wood.

Nauta is situated in latitude 4° 31' 30" south, longitude 73° 27' west of Greenwich.

Distance above the Brazilian frontier fort at Tabatinga, three hundred and seventyone miles. Elevation above sea-level, 97.534 metres. Average thermometer, 97° Fahr. Average current between Yquitos and this place, three miles per hour. It is situated on a range of low but abrupt hills that run at right angles to the direction of the mouth of the river Ucayali, and seem to bar its further progress, and turn its waters into the Marañon. After the inundated country through which we had passed, it was, indeed, truly refreshing to behold these little elevations, which reminded one of oases in a desert. The site of this town is remarkably good for this portion of the valley, and, should the country adjoining the river Ucayali and the upper Marañon and its tributaries ever be developed, the place must become an important city. We found the village, even for an Indian one, in a most miserably dilapidated condition. At present there are about one hundred houses, two stores, and a church. These are built of mud and thatch, and their ruinous condition presents a very melancholy picture. The plaza in front of the church is covered with high, rank grass, which is the usual resort of a few stunted cattle. These at noon retire under the protecting shade of the porch to the old, tumble-down church. The cura in charge of the settlement is much more earnestly engaged in the saving of turtle, fish, and soles (a Peruvian coin worth about one dollar in our currency), than in saving the souls of his flock. The trade of the place consists in salt-fish, wax, sarsaparilla, and rubber, that are obtained from the Ucayali and the adjoining rivers. The trade, though, is not so important as it was twenty years ago possibly owing to the establishment of Yquitos, sixty-five miles below. Lieutenant Herndon, of the United States Navy, in his explorations of the valley of the Amazon in the year 1851, made quite a lengthy stay at this place. At that time he reported a population of one thousand souls, but now

there are only some five hundred. Dom Bernandino Cauper, the wealthy old Portuguese merchant, mentioned by him, is now dead, and it is said that he buried his wealth without telling his children of its whereabouts, so that now they are miserably poor.

Early the next morning we left Nauta, and were borne by the swift current of the Marañon down to the mouth of the Ucayali. As we turned into the broad and rapid stream, that, at this peculiar season of the year, is almost as large as the mother-river, and as our speed was gradually "slowed down" by the mighty opposing volume, and we thought of the im mense distance through which we had to painfully toil our way, so did our spirits fall. The width of the river at this season could not be estimated, as the tongue of land lying between it and the Marañon was overflowed and intersected with many deep quebradas (creeks) and lakes. But between its ordinary banks the river is very wide. Here all signs of life, such as Indian huts and occasional clearings, almost entirely disappeared. Nothing but one dreary expanse of muddy water, interspersed with islands and floating driftwood, confronted our view. The scene was monotonously gloomy, and only enlivened by the occasional sight of a few dirty-looking water-fowl, or by the splashing of some sleepy old alligator as he slowly rolled his huge carcass into the yellow river. Just as night set in we reached an Indian settlement, called Sapona, consisting of a few miserable huts. Here the number of mosquitoes was so fearful as to cause us to take refuge very soon under our nets. Our Indian crew, however, not being so sensitive to their bite, threw over a few fishing-lines; and, before we had finally gotten to sleep, we knew by their es pressions of delight-sundry smackings of the mouth, etc.-that they had been successful; and very soon we heard them hauling on board a large fish. It proved to be about seven feet long, of the kind called here so gara. It resembles in appearance our eatfish, and for eating is considered one of the

best in the river.

The next day, just before dark, we reached quite a large Indian village, called Curahuaite. The Indians had been previously notified of our proposed coming, and had cut wood to sell to us, which they immediately began to bring on board. It was too dark to examine their physiognomies; but the next morning our eyes were greeted with a motley group of half-naked savage men, women, and chil dren. Their leprous hides were smeared with a blue, vegetable paint that, put on to keep off mosquitoes, helps to produce this loathsome disease. This blue dye, called huito, does not altogether cause the affections of the skin so commonly seen, but partially contributes to it by interrupting a free transpira tion through the pores. The men wore pantaloons, and, in some instances, a kind of gown, somewhat resembling in appearance the pictures seen of the old Roman toga. Their wives weave these gowns from a na tive cotton that grows around their huts.

The women wore a cloth of similar manu facture and texture. This, woven around the body, hung loosely from the waist to the ankle. The children, however, seemed utterly regard

less as to whether or not they wore clothes.

All hands, though, evinced the strongest passion for ornaments, and wore huge strands of beads, monkey-teeth, and snake and lizard skins around their necks, arms, and ankles. Most of the girls wore, instead of chignons, live monkeys perched on the tops of their heads. These, looking very fat and comfortable, clung on in the most remarkable manner. With one consent the Indians christened the launch the " Tambo-wawa," meaning the Tambo's baby. The Tambo was a large steamer that they had once seen. They were very suspicious; and, having embarked their wood, stood off at a respectful distance until the whistle sounded for our departure, when they all made one headlong rush for the

bushes.

March 3d.This evening we stopped to cut wood, in water up to the men's waists, this being, though, the nearest approximation to any land. All day we have been vainly steaming to find some point sufficiently above water to admit of this. The river increases daily in its desolate appearance, both banks being wholly submerged, and there being a great scarcity of animal life. Even the waterfowl have almost entirely disappeared, having gone to the lakes and lagoons formed in the forests. The only thing to break the silent monotony is the shrill cry of solitary pairs of macaws, and occasional flocks of parrots that, rising up

from the forest, dazzle our eyes for an instant with their brilliant plumage, and then, startled at the appearance of this tiny harbinger of civilization, fly screaming far away over the mighty wooded expanse.

March 5th.-Started early this morning, and anchored for the night at Pucacura. This is the largest chacra (clearing) owned by one man, on the Ucayali River, and at that does not contain more than six acres of cleared land. It is situated on the shore of a little lake, about half a mile from the river; latitude 6° 4' 45' south; longitude 75° 1' west of Greenwich; distance from Yquitos, three hundred and fifty-six miles; elevation

above sea-level, 114.908 metres; current from mouth of river to this point, two and onetenth miles per hour. It belongs to a Peruvian ex-army-officer, who, taking the wrong side in one of the numerous revolutions, found it expedient to retire to this lonely spot, where he has made this clearing and collected around him some hundred Indians. Early this morning we passed a canoe belonging to the owner of Pucacura, and on its return - trip from Nauta, where it had been to carry salt-fish. Made from the trunk of a single tree, it was sixty feet long, with four and a half feet beam, and was propelled by cen Indians, with poles and paddles. It was fitted aft with a

VEGETATION AT NAUTA.-THE OLGUAJE-TREE.

thatched roof, that furnished accommodations for both passengers and cargo. Pucacura in English signifies red ant; but these are by no means the only pests peculiar to the place. Millions of mosquitoes fill the air; and, although Señor M- has growing around him, in the greatest profusion, the most magnificent oranges, lemons, citrons, pineapples, alligator-pears, bananas, sapotes, and almost every other variety of tropical fruit, still it is incomprehensible to me how he has existed for so many years among these torments. His house is a large one, and built of cane and thatch. It is surrounded on three sides by similar ones for his dependents. Al

though the highest ground in this vicinity has been selected as the site of this little chacra, the water is within a few inches of the door-sill; and the alligators, with which the lake was alive, could easily, while their tails were in the water, have poked their noses into the house. We remained here all night, and partook of the señor's hospitality. I was awakened before day by hearing music, and found that the canoe that we had passed the morning before was just getting in. As they paddled, the crew sang a wild kind of melody, very sweet, and sounding very like some of our negro tunes. In the morning, I heard the master dispensing

justice to an Indian fellow, whose face and hands were tattoed. All hands assembling to witness the punishment, he ordered him to be tied, and hit one hundred lashes with a piece of raw-hide. As we got under way, we could hear the poor fellow's cries. Notwithstanding this severity, the Indians seemed quite attached to their master.

At

old settlements of Tierra Blanca and Sta. Catalina. the time of Lieutenant Herndon's visit to this country, these places were Indian towns, connected with the missionary station of Sarayacu, and under the government of monks of the Franciscan order, who belonged to the College of Ocopa, in Peru. And it was from these villages that the lieutenant vainly attempted to raise recruits to enable him to prosecute his further voyage up the Ucayali. Since then, the padres have removed to Cashiboya, a position farther up the river. All these places are in a ruinous condition.

soon

rent between Pucacura and this point, two and nine-tenths miles per hour. The Indians came down to the bank, swarming around us, and insisting upon our drinking masato with them. But, being familiar with the way in which they concocted it, we declined the honor. We returned the hospitality by offering cachaça, and succeeded in making one old dame quite drunk. This masato is a drink made from the root of the yuca, which is reduced by the teeth of the old squaws of the tribe to the proper state of trituration during their leisure moments. These chewed-up mouthfuls of root are deposited in an earthen pot and allowed to ferment.

An Indian came alongside, with a musical instrument made from pieces of reed of different lengths, and played an air that I had heard the men down the river sing. All these Indians speak the Inca language; and possibly this was one of the old national airs, by which perchance kings had been crowned and victims sacrificed. We went up to see the old settlement of Sarayacu, and found all the Indians drunk, who again insisted upon our drinking masato with them. This was one of the oldest missionary stations on the river. It is also remarkable for being the highest point reached by Lieutenant Herndon in his explorations of the river Ucayali. On account of his not being able to induce the Indians to accompany him farther, he was forced to return. They were afraid to encounter the rapid currents, bad passes, and the numerous savage tribes with which, report said, they would have to contend above this point. After having gotten this far, and having endured so much, it must indeed have been a serious disappointment to him to be compelled to give up his expedition. And he doubtless would have given a great deal in this dilemma for our little steamer. For he says in his report: "I felt, in turning my boat's head down-stream, that the pleasure and excitement of the expedition were passed; that I was done and had done nothing. I became ill and dispirited, and never fairly recovered the gayety and elasticity of spirit which had animated me at the start until I received the congratulations of my friends at home."

We found living here three white families. These are engaged in trading with the Indians for salt - fish, rubber, sarsaparilla, etc., which articles, when procured in sufficient quantity, are embarked on balzas (large rafts made from wood of that name), and floated down to Nauta and Yquitos. We were shown the old church, which, considering its material-mud and thatch-is in a tolerable state of preservation. They told us that this station was founded by Jesuit priests about two hundred years ago. Also they told us the marvelous story that two thousand soldiers and fifty priests lost their lives before it could be finally established. The whole place, of some fifty dilapidated houses, is rapidly going to ruin. The priests have abandoned the mission, and established one higher up the river. In 1851 Herndon reported a population of one thousand; now there are not more than three hundred souls.

a point of mountains belonging to the range of mountains called Canchaguallo. They were very abrupt, and beautiful in their tropical verdure. At this point the river is contracted, and the current very strong. We stopped for the night at an Indian settlement called Bipuanco. The Indians here are the wildest I have ever seen. They had their war-clubs, bows, and arrows, arranged in their huts, and ready for instant use. They had just caught a fat, young wild-hog, which they offered to sell to us. But our nautical paragon, who prides himself on his skill in bargaining, thinking that they would come to better terms by next morning, offered them only forty cents for it. This they refused, and, during the night, all getting drunk, they "went," or rather "went for," "the whole hog." We remained there all the next day, to cut wood, At night one of the Indians came on board drunk, and with only his trousers on; be brought with him a calabash of masato, which he insisted upon our drinking. As the only means to get rid of him, we gave him some cachaça, which he took and left. It proved too much for him; and, during the night, we were awakened by a noise, and found that he had gotten perfectly crazy with drink, and was prancing up and down the bank. He had slung around him an Indian tambour (a section of hollow log with monkey-skins stretched over the ends), upon which he was beating and making the most horrible noise imaginable. He finally improvised a gangboard out of some large cane and came on board, but he was again put off in a hurry.

it would be Anita's aunt that would come off with flying colors.

"My nephew left me this morning," said she, at last, abruptly, feeling that politeness required her to say something.

"I am very sorry," said Anita, softly. (Had he confided in his aunt? Anita ventured to look at Mrs. Basil with a sidelong glance, and felt assured that he had not confided in his aunt.)

"Oh, I resign myself to such contingencies," said Mrs. Basil. "Arthur has been educated to carve his own fortune" (she couldn't endure the thought that her nephew should be accepted for any possible wealth he might fall heir to). "The pursuit of his profession must often take him away from home; and any woman who marries Arthur will have to make up her mind to that."

"How very fortunate that I am not going to marry him!" said this wicked Anita; and she looked so superlatively innocent, that Mrs. Basil was at a loss to understand her. She hoped, she trusted-with a blind belief in her nephew's irresistibility, that was cred itable to her heart, if not to her head-she trusted that Arthur had not been guilty of trifling with this fair young girl's affections.

"Oh," she stammered-" you know Iwas speaking in the abstract. I don't suppose that Arthur is thinking of marryingjust at present."

"No; I don't suppose that he is," answered Anita, carelessly. "Can you be so good as to put me down at Mrs. Carl Tomkins's? I must see her about these charades, you know; and you needn't wait for me. I don't know how long I may be detained; and I'll walk home; I sha'n't mind a walk."

"Here we are now," answered Mrs. Basil, poking old Thurston in the back with her

it ever served her. This was not an elegant way of arresting her coachman's attention, but it was convenient, and Mrs. Basil had found it expedient to renounce many of the little elegancies of life. "I would be happy to send the carriage back for you, Miss Anita, but I am not very sure that it will be in my power to do so."

"It is not necessary-thank you," said Anita, as she sprang out.

Mrs. Carl Tomkins was in her parlor, a fanciful room, that loudly proclaimed her taste and culture-and thus obeyed an important canon of domestic art. There were brackets in profusion and variety; there were vases and statuettes, ditto; and pict ures, ditto; there were so many crowded knick-knacks, that visitors were in perpetual danger of stumbling over some footstool, or tipping over some stand. Anita, however, showed herself a marvel of dexterity; she avoided every obstacle with an easy grace, and met Mrs. Carl Tomkins in the middle of the room.

And Mrs. Carl Tomkins had been just wishing to see her; she had so much to say about the charades and tableaux, and the small but portentous clouds gathering on the

yourself. Nobody will thank you, of course; but you will have the consolation of knowing that virtue is its own reward. And you must do this; you must propitiate everybody --begin, now, by propitiating me. You've forgotten to invite my sister Joanna."

Mrs. Carl Tomkins stared a little, and colored; but she saw that Anita was in earnest, and, quickly recovering herself, protested that she thought she had invited Joanna.

"No, you forget," replied Anita, quietly. "I know it was an oversight, but I cannot come without the child; at least I would not like to." She spoke most sweetly and amiably, but it was plain that she meant to carry her point.

She shall come," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins. Her list was swelling fearfully, but it would never do to refuse so important a member of her troupe as Miss Anita Hawkesby. "I commission you to make my apologies and invite her for me."

"Thank you," said Anita, with real warmth, as she rose to gc.

Oh, stay, just one moment longer!" cried Mrs. Carl Tomkins. "I wish to consult you about my dress; you have so much taste! I won't make you go up-stairs; I'll bring it down here, if you'll wait."

Anita consented to wait; and Mrs. Carl Tomkins went to bring her dress. She did not return immediately; indeed, she was gone so long that Anita was beginning to be impatient, when the servant ushered a gentleman into the parlor-an event for which the restless occupant was totally unprepared, for the very faint tinkle of the door-bell had not made itself heard beyond the kitchen-entry where it hung.

It was Basil Redmond. He came in dazzled by the light, and, nearly stumbling over a footstool, was by Anita's side before he recognized her.

Anita could neither speak nor move; the world seemed to be going round and round with her, and she felt that if she attempted to rise she should fall; if she attempted to speak she should utter a cry; but outwardly she was calm-until he called her name. "Anita!" he cried, stretching out his hands; and it would be hard to say whether he was glad or grieved.

And then Anita began to tremble visibly. In vain she knit her fingers in order to steady herself.

"Yes, it is I, Anita," she faltered.

The silence, though it lasted but an instant, had become intolerable. She felt that she must speak; but she was frightened at her own voice, and she turned away and covered her face with her hands.

"You and I cannot meet as strangers, Anita-you know it," said Redmond. "I have not forgotten, and you have not forgotten."

"I promised my aunt," said Anita, brokenly, "that I would never see you again."

"I made no such promise," said Redmond; "but twice this day, when I have not sought you, when I have not expected to meet you, I have found you. Heaven wills it, Anita."

"There is Mrs. Tomkins, I hear her coming," said Anita, hurriedly, and struggling to

speak calmly; meet her, oh, rise and meet her; don't let her notice me."

Basil obeyed, wondering in his heart why women were so much afraid of each other. It was very easy to keep Mrs. Tomkins from noticing Anita; she was so glad to see Mr. Redmond; so kind of him to call! And had he brought her the book she wanted?

Yes, Mr. Redmond had called purposely to bring her the book. He was very sorry that he had not received her note until too late the evening before to attend to her request; and all the morning he had been with Mrs. Stargold. He was now on his way to Basilwood, and stopped merely to deliver the book, and to point out to her a certain passage. By the time all this was done, Anita had recovered herself.

"Mrs. Tomkins," said she, rising, "I suppose you cannot show me that dress now; but I will call again."

"Oh, my dear Miss Anita, I beg a thousand pardons!" cried Mrs. Carl Tomkins, with effusion. "Mr. Redmond-excuse me; but you know Mr. Redmond."

"I know Mr. Redmond very well," said Anita.

"You know," said Mrs. Carl Tomkins, "I was dressing in my costume; I thought you could judge of the effect so much better; and just as I was ready to come down, the servant told me a gentleman had called; of course I had to dress again. I do hope you will excuse me."

"Oh, certainly," said Anita, must go now."

"but I

She looked at Redmond as if she would have him remain behind; she even shook her head slightly; but he would not see, he would not understand.

"I promised my aunt," said Anita, when they were outside the gate, "that I would never see you again."

"So you told me a little while ago," said Redmond. "But you are bent upon returning to Basilwood, and it is high noon of summer day; you have no parasol, but I've an umbrella, and it is too heavy for you to carry; do you not see that I must go with you?"

Anita laughed rather nervously.

"Besides, Anita," he continued, eagerly, was it just, was it reasonable, in Miss Hawkesby to exact any such promise? She noticed me in the most flattering manner, you know that she did; she was obliged to foresee the consequences, yet she encouraged me, only to disappoint me cruelly at last."

"You say that because you do not know my aunt," replied Anita. "She never encourages poor young men; but she always notices them flatteringly if they are at all clever. She likes clever young men, even if they are poor; but not for me. Did she not warn you over and over again that she would not see me wedded to poverty? My aunt is very conscientious about that; she deceives no one."

"She deceived me," answered Redmond, indignantly. "She did worse-she almost destroyed my faith in you. She might at least have let us have an explanation. I never should have understood; I should have thought you as cold, and selfish, and calcu

lating as herself, but that we had friends to set the matter right in my eyes."

Ah, Mr. Redmond, don't condemn my aunt by wholesale," said Anita, with something of her natural lightness. "You don't know what cause she has to rage against you. Before you came I was engaged to old Colonel McHenry. He was a very nice, middle-aged gentleman, you know he was; he had nice manners and a handsome wig". Anita was beginning to be herself, or rather her other self, again-" and a very respectable barytone voice, that was so useful in a duet whenever by any chance he could hit the right key; and I never saw such horses! I never rode in such a carriage! They suited my aunt and me perfectly, and I promised to marry him. I didn't think ill of him; and he was desperately in love with me. Oh, I know what that means! He was able to show it. He gave me such a ring, and sent me every day the most costly flowers, cut by a florist, sir; and my poor aunt was so happy! I might have been Mrs. McHenry, glittering in diamonds, and riding in the easiest carriage that ever rolled an indolent woman over the beach at Galveston-and I should have been at peace with my aunt!"

"Poor Anita!" said Redmond; "what a pity that ever I crossed your path!"

"But you came," continued Anita, and her voice trembled and broke, "and-andI found out that I did not wish to marry Colonel McHenry. I found out—"

"Anita, my dear Anita! three years have not changed you!"

"Yes-three years have changed me; you do not know. Three years ago I was at heart too true to marry Colonel McHenry when I found I did not, could not love him. I told him so; and he said he would take the risk. I told my aunt so, and she said I was a fool. I was only nineteen, and of course I was a fool!" she broke out passionately. "But," she immediately resumed, more calmly, a fool may have a head too strong for the feeble body. My aunt is not badhearted; she desires my good, provided she may choose it. She became alarmed for my health, and we effected a compromise: shc absolved me from my engagement to Colonel McHenry upon my giving a promise that I would never see you again."

66

"I do not think you are bound to keep it longer; if you were a child, then, in experience, you are a woman now. Anita, I am not a rich man; in all probability, I shall never be a rich man; but, in marrying me, you would not be wedded to poverty; I am young and strong; I could always secure you a comfortable home. Why should you submit longer to your aunt's tyranny?"

"You mistake," answered Anita, quietly; "my aunt does not tyrannize over me. She is very generous and indulgent to me; but we don't always agree. And then, again, I am not the same woman I was three years ago. You knew me very well then; would I have told you as much about myself then as I do now? You see I have learned not to care. Three years ago I could not bring myself to marry Colonel McHenry without love -not all his wealth could tempt me. But to day-"

ly.

"You would?" asked Redmond, bitter

"No," said Anita, very low, "I don't think I would. But don't misunderstand me," she added, quickly. "I would hardly be so frank if you were the cause. Do you know my little sister Joanna?"

"Yes," answered Redmond, rather stiffly. He thought the question irrelevant, and he was beginning to fear that, after all, this Anita, whom he thought he knew so well, was as heartless and as vain as the world believed her to be.

Anita brushed away a tear. "That child," she said, in a voice trembling with feeling "that dear child loves me as no human being ever loved me. Nay; don't make protestations; I never doubted you. But you had some provocation; Joanna had

none.

I may have been gracious and charming to you; Joanna I utterly neglected; for years I forgot her; but, when I came, she received me with open arms. She has given proof that she could make any sacrifice for me; she has faith in me-she has restored me to my better self-if I have a better self."

"Joanna, then, is to be my rival?" said Redmond, with a hesitating smile.

"I rather think, if Joanna knew all, she would be your warmest advocate," said Ani-| ta, with a vivid blush.

"For Heaven's sake, then, let her know all!" cried Redmond, eagerly. "Has she any influence with Miss Hawkesby? What are you going to do about that promise? Anita! Anita! I cannot give you up! Think what it is to have found you again so unexpectedly."

Anita sighed, but was silent.

"We are at the gate," continued Basil Redmond, eagerly. "Shall I go in, or shall I turn back? Are you going to adhere to your promise?"

"You shall go in," answered Anita, promptly. "I will have no concealments. As to my promise-"

"It is broken already!" cried Redmond, exultantly.

"I will consult with Joanna. And see! there she is now, in the piazza, up-stairs, watching for me."

They had come round the bend in the walk, that brought them in view of the house; and Anita, looking up, kissed her hand to Joanna, who turned immediately and ran; but she was at the front-door when Redmond and her sister came up the steps

"O Anita!" she cried, "Aunt Hawkesby has been so worried about you. She set me to watch; and I just stopped one moment to tell her that you've come, and Mr. Redmond with you, and a big umbrella. You haven't a headache, have you, Anita?"

"No, child," answered Anita, with a kiss. "I stopped this morning to see Mrs. Carl Tomkins, and I am commissioned to invite you to the charade-party."

"O Anita! this is too good to be true!" cried Joanna, clapping her hands. "And I did so wish to go!"

"Have you no word for me, Joanna? asked Redmond, holding out his hand.

"Oh, yes! You've seen my sister, and I

am so glad.-But Aunt Hawkesby is very impatient, Anita. She says you must go immediately to her."

"Has she her head tied up, Joanna?" asked Anita.

"Why, yes—in a silk handkerchief," answered Joanna, with a look of wonderment at her sister's astuteness.

Anita, quietly, "I could easily have prevent. ed Mr. Redmond from coming in. But you know very well, aunt, that, whatever faults I may have, I don't practise deception. Yes, I have broken my promise, and you shall judge whether or not I did it willfully. When I knew that he would be here, I staid away purposely; you can't suppose I did that for my own pleasure. You know how gay and agreeable the Ruffners are; when he came to see Mrs. Stargold, I came away with Mrs. Basil-"

"Yes, I sent for you," said Miss Hawkesby, tartly.

"A bad sign," said Anita, shaking her head. "She has eaten something to disagree with her. I make it a point," she continued, turning to Redmond, "whenever my aunt sends especially for me, to inform myself whether her head is tied up or not. Every thing depends upon that. Unless I particularly desire to be refused, I never make any request of her when she puts on that silk handkerchief. It is white, with a purple bor-to der, isn't it, Joanna?"

"Yes," said Joanna, with uneasiness; "but won't she be vexed if you keep her waiting?"

Certainly she will," answered Anita, as she turned to go up-stairs. "That white-silk handkerchief with the purple border is her battle-flag. I know it well.-Good-morning, Mr. Redmond; I am much indebted for the shelter of your big umbrella."

"My sister," said Joanna, sedately, seeing that Redmond looked very grave, "indulges in-persiflage, sometimes. It is a way she has; but she has often told me that all she says is never to be taken seriously. I know, by my own dealings with Pamela, that young persons cannot always please old persons; but that does not mean that there is no respect nor affection between them."

"No; I suppose not," said Redmond, absently.

"You wish to see Pamela?" Joanna asked. "I will tell her that you are here." But she did hope he would not stay long. She herself wished to see Pamela about her dress.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MISS HAWKESBY TO THE RESCUE.

MISS HAWKESBY lay on the lounge with her head tied up in a silk handkerchief, as Joanna had said. She had a book in one hand and a fan in the other, and, from her bound-up head on the pillow to her slippered feet sticking out from her flowered dressinggown, Miss Hawkesby looked stormy.

When Anita entered, "So," said she, looking at her niece over her spectacles, "you have come at last, Miss Anita Hawkesby? Well, and what have you to say for yourself?

"I should have come away all the same. I stopped at Mrs. Carl Tomkins's; could I tell he would come there, too? He happened have an errand there; he did not know that he would meet me. Mrs. Tomkins had gone out of the parlor, and we met, and we spoke alone. Aunt Hawkesby, you know the whole story that went before this; was it possible, after meeting him thus-was it pos sible for me to adhere to that promise?"

"What is he doing here? How does be happen to be here so opportunely?" asked Miss Hawkesby, angrily.

"Why should he not be here? You know that he is related to the Basils; that we were children here together for a little time; and you know that Miss Basil herself had charge of him in his childhood—”

"And I know," interrupted Miss Hawkesby, irately-" I know that he was a most unruly boy, giving old Judge Basil a world of trouble. Mrs. Basil herself has told me all about it."

"And you know," continued Anita, ber color rising "you know that, in spite of all odds against him, he is now a young man of promise. You know that he was no idle waif drifting about Galveston; you know that he was sent there on business of importance by a gentleman well known and well esteemed in California; that he had letters to the best people, and was well received every. where."

"Well, well, Anita," said Miss Hawkesby, who did not wish to quarrel outright with her niece, "you needn't wax eloquent, though it does become you. It is three years since; in that time I hope you have learned some sense."

Miss Hawkesby was very comfortable at Basilwood; she didn't care to leave just then. She had intended to remain during the greater part of the summer, and not more than three weeks had yet passed. It wasn't pleas ant to have her plans interrupted; and, besides, she doubted the wisdom of running away from danger. She hoped, she believed that she might trust to the judgment and discretion Anita must have acquired in those three years. Surely Anita must have learned "Anita, don't aggravate me," said Miss some sense in that time; but she did not like Hawkesby, sharply. "I won't be aggravat- the warmth with which young Redmond was ed!" defended, and it was no slight relief to hear "No, aunt; I hope not," said Anita, Anita say, in reply: meekly.

'Nothing; I don't feel like saying a word," replied Anita, sinking into a chair. "I'm worn out."

"You know very well that you deserve my displeasure. Where is your promise to me? Don't try to deceive me. You have seen Basil Redmond; Joanna has told me." "If I had wished to deceive you," said

"You know I always defend those who are attacked unjustly, aunt; I've gained quite a reputation in society for this amiable trait. And, for the rest, I hope I have learned some sense; I've had some useful lessons."

"Yes," said her aunt, not without bitter