the dance is half through. I did dance with him a great deal one winter, but that's all.

Mr. M. And Percy Germain?

Mrs. O. Poor, dear Percy! I never heard anybody, not even you, repeat poetry—especially love poetry

as well

as he did. He used to give me lessons in elocution, and taught me many beautiful poems. One commenced, if I remember right:

"First love will with the heart remain
When long years have gone by,
As frail rose blossoms still retain
Their fragrance when they die."

He was very patient and kind with me, though I'm afraid I was a very provoking pupil.

Mr. M. (walking to and fro, irritably). Humph! extremely kind. And Peter Atkins, Esquire?

Mrs. O. Oh, bless his dear old heart. He took me out yachting three or four times-with a party of course - and sent me a love of a bracelet on Valentine's day. But the idea of flirting with him! (laughing). Fancy one flirting with one's grandfather!

Mr. M. And none of these men made love to you?
Mrs. O. Oh, dear! yes, all of them.

Mr. M. And you?

Mrs. O. I? I regarded them as brothers, with the exception of Mr. Atkins. I thought of him, as I said before, as of a grandfather.

Mr. M. But Mr. Ogden, whose wife you became - you must have regarded him as something more than a brother, or- a grandfather!

Mrs. O. Well, yes, Sydney-I should say Mr. Maurice— Mr. M. I am quite satisfied with Sydney.

Mrs. O. I did. Fred was a fine-looking, dark-eyed, Spanish-complexioned fellow, with an Italian voice. He sang divinely, and you know I always adored music (what a pity you don't sing! and you look so baritony), and he was here, and you were in Japan; and one lovely, moonlit, summer eve, Fred sang that loveliest of love songs, “Ah, te o cara," from "Puritani," you know, in a heavenly manner. I was completely carried away by it, and when I came back to earth again I found myself engaged. I had promised myself for a song.

Mr. M. (meaningly). He was very wealthy, was he

not?

Mrs. O. (demurely). Yes; but he lost a great deal of money.

Mr. M. After you married him? Mrs. O. After I married him. You seem to be well informed on the subject (with a little sigh). He was a very good husband, and never scolded me during all the ten years of our married life.

Mr. M. And you loved him.

Mrs. O. Certainly. As soon as we were engaged I considered it my duty to begin to love him.

Mr. M. Having totally forgotten me, to whom you had promised to remain true?

Mrs. O. (rising and crossing to R). You had not written for three months. You were angry about some one of the "brothers" or "grandfather," I forget which; and papa, who didn't like you as well as mamma did, said you weren't coming back for five years. Five years; why, that length of time seems an eternity to a young girl. And you know we were not positively engaged to each other. You never asked papa, and he was on Fred's side anyhow. And yet, now that we are old people, I will confess that i was very fond of you. I never went to gather spring flowers with any one else.

Mr. M. Nor water-lilies?

Mrs. O. Nor water-lilies.

Mr. M. Never was caught in a thunderstorm with a "brother" or "grandfather?"

Mrs. O. Never.

Mr. M. In short, you only married another?

Mrs. O. (not noticing the last remark). And you can it be possible that you are still a bachelor? I could scarcely believe our hostess-how strange that we should meet here, after being separated for such a long, long time! when she told me so. Are you quite sure you have left no almond-eyed wife in Japan?

Mr. M. Quite sure. I don't like almond eyes. I like well opened, large, brown eyes that glow in the light like rare old sherry (crossing R., to her). Melicent, for your sake I have remained a bachelor. Your image alone has reigned in my heart. You see how much more constant a man can be than a pretty woman.

Mrs. O. (with much animation). Sydney, Miss Rallston's a nice girl a few years past her teens, but very girlish— and she's awfully fond of you. She knows all of your favorite dishes. I can only remember you have a fancy for poached eggs and peaches. She ordered your breakfast before you came down this morning, to save you the trouble she said, and you fairly beamed when the waiter brought it to you. She reads Macaulay mornings to talk him with you evenings. She practices oh, heavens, how she practices! -when you're away, the two songs you like so wellDrink to me only with thine eyes," and " Believe me, if all those endearing young charms." She is pretty. You needn't shrug your shoulders; she is. True, the blue of her eyes is somewhat faded, and the gold of her hair is not so golden as it might be, and her upper lip is a little too long. Mr. M. I never admired fair hair and blue eyes.

Mrs. O. She would be constant. I know she would. I never saw any male body paying her the slightest attention, I mean I never saw her coquetting with any one. She never could be sung away from you. Never! I'd stake

my life on that.

Mr. M. (absently). What fools we men are!
Mrs. O. Have you just discovered it?

Mr. M. We forgive everything to the woman we love, and we love bewitching, careless, faithless flirts, when there are many true hearts.

Mrs. O. And long upper lips to be had for the asking. Why do you do it?

Mr. M. Because we are fools, I suppose. Melicent, have you any charity for a fool?

Mrs. O. It depends upon what "fool," and the manner of his foolishness.

Mr. M. He stands before you, and his foolishness consists in the fact, that in spite of your faithlessness, he loves you still. Will you marry him?

Mrs. O. (looking anxiously). If it were not too late in the season I should fear we were threatened with a thunderstorm.

Mr. M. (extending his arms). If you are at all frightened, Melicent, come to your old refuge. I am as ready to receive and kiss you as on that summer day, sixteen years ago.

Mrs. O. (nestling in his arms). Sydney, to become your

Pause, before you

wife will be a fearful punishment. inflict it upon me; for, remember, innocent as you are, you will have to share it with me. And remember, also, there will be no more spring-flowers, no more summer-blossoms for us, nothing but autumn-leaves.

Mr. M. (kissing her). My darling, I thank God for them. For in the sunshine of your love the autumn-leaves will keep their gold and crimson beauty while life itself shall last.

"HARK!"

HARK!

She sat upright in her bed,
The gold hair from her head
Crisping, coiling, wandering low
O'er her bosom cold as snow.

For the heart in her breast stood still,
And the blood in her veins ran chill,
At the sound she heard in the dark.

"Hark!"

It sounded like the scream

Of a dreamer in his dream.

Yet her eyes were wide and blue,
Piercing midnight through and through:

Her parted lips were white

With the terror of the night,

And her arms spread stiff and stark.

"Hark! "

66

Wakened the mother mild:

Why dost thou call, my child?

The kindling morn is not yet red,

The night is silent, the winds are dead.

To-morrow thou art a bride:

Sleep, darling, at my side."

But again she whispered, "Hark!"

"Hark!

Hear the slow steps that bring,
Stumbling, some dreadful thing!
Hear the low, hushed voices calling!
Hear the sullen water falling!

The creeping shadow is there:
He is coming up the stair,

Coming! Stumbling steps and slow
Up the stately staircase go.

Low, hushed voices,

66

Bring him here.
Softly! now set down the bier."
Dripping waters dropping fall
On the flagstones of the hall,
It is this she heard in the dark.

Hark!

The tolling bells ring low,
And the mourners come and go.
Whiter than the palest bride,
Low she lieth at his side:

For she looked out on the dead,
And her life was smitten and sped.
She will nevermore say "Hark!"

ROSE TERRY COOKE.