that we are waiting to see whether he will get better. I want to marry him now, because you see I shall always love him just as well, whether he is blind or not. Indeed I am not sure whether I don't love him rather better for being blind." or if you do not, she does. But it seems so horribly selfish. Is it right?" "Right!" said Farmer Ashow, "of course it is right. You love her, and she loves you; any accident that happens to either of you doesn't matter, so far as I can see. I advise you to "You are a curious little girl," said Farmer make up your mind at once. The child loves Ashow. you now, and will do any thing for you; but, "All women are curious, they say, father. if you treat her indifferently, very likely she'll But will you let me have my way ?" think she's made a mistake." "Why, Mary, you know I will. I look upon John as my son already. him when you will, I'm content. I'd rather you should marry him, blind, than any other man I know with a dozen pair of eyes." You know "I love your daughter most heartily," said Marry poor John Grainger, "but you must forgive me for not wishing to draw her into trouble. Darling Mary! the most loving and lovable creature in the world! Yes, Mr. Ashow, I love I her very much, and it is for that reason I hate the idea of her making a sacrifice for me. But "Well, father, you'll have to tell him. can't, you know." "All right, my dear. I have no doubt he if it is no sacrifice-if she can indeed love me in will be quite willing." my blindness-I shall be the happiest man in the world." Farmer Ashow was rather out in his calculation. When he found John Grainger in a listening humor, and told him that his little sweetheart wanted to marry him at once, John wouldn't hear of it. 66 Why?" asked John Grainger. "Why! You love my daughter, and my daughter loves you; but, because you happen to be blind for the time, you won't marry her. Suppose 'twas the other way. Suppose she had the small-pox, and it spoilt that pretty face of hers you'd want to marry her still, wouldn't you? And what would you think of her if she refused ?" "It's quite different," said John Grainger. "It's exactly the same," said Farmer Ashow. "I'm a plain old south-country farmer, but I think I know what true love means. If my old wife had had the small-pox, I should have loved her every bit as well, and perhaps have pretended to be a little bit kinder to her; and if I had been struck blind, or had my leg broken, or any thing of that sort, my old woman would have loved me all the more for it. Now, don't you make any pretense to being different from other people." I see her coming this way. But remember what women are; they love a man all the better because he is in trouble and unhappy." I wonder where the old farmer learned this fragment of wisdom. I wonder where he learned the tact which induced him to get quietly out of the way. This he did, for which he deserves commendation: and John Grainger and Mary Ashow were alone for a while. And Mary ingenuously said, "You will have me, John, won't you?" And John said, "My darling! I am so unhappy. What can I do?" And Mary replied, 66 Marry me, my own, and then you will have my eyes to help you. Then I shall be with you always, in all your troubles." "Do you really wish it?" said John Grainger. "And And upon my "I do indeed," said Mary Ashow. you ought to know that I do. word I think I ought to alter my mind at the very last moment, considering how cruel you have been to me." "You must have your way, Mary," said John Grainger; "but it seems horribly selfish of me to consent." "Selfish! You foolish boy! It is you who are selfish, in trying to deprive me of happiness. Do you think I should be happy if I were obliged to leave you alone in your blindness, with nobody to help you or comfort you? If "I make no such pretense," said John Grainger, "but it seems hard that my darling Mary should marry a man who is good for noth-you loved me as well as I loved you, you would ing.' not think of such a thing for an instant. The idea of expecting me to desert you at the very moment when you want me most!" Well, it was settled, of course, and when Mary Ashow heard the banns published in the little dark church where the funeral service had been read for Henry Grainger, she rejoiced at heart. No longer had she any doubt whether she loved John Grainger-no longer any yearning for somebody of a type more elegant and refined. She had acknowledged John's excel lence before the terrible accident occurred; that | scarcely visible for the mists of the lake; but accident made her understand how dear he was to her. And it brought her closer to him, making her necessary to him. When a woman finds that she can do for the man she loves what he can not do for himself, what a delight it is to her! Don't you think Portia was a happy woman when she started for Venice to plead in that remarkable case, Shylock versus Antonio? in summer it is a very pleasant sunny little place, with cool shade of lofty laurels and hollies on its lawn, and mountain ash dipping its red clusters of berries into the very water. Madame de Longueville chanced to see this place advertised in the "Times," and, looking at the map, was enchanted to find that it could not be very far from Sir Alured Vivian's residence; so she went to town, called on the house-agent, and took the villa at once. So, one hot afternoon, the three ladies, weary and dusty with long travel, reach It may well be supposed that Mary's unselfish and unwearying love was to her lover a great consolation. Yet he had periods of bitter despondency. He had no great faith in the ocu-ed the margin of Blackwater in one of the queer list's prediction that he should regain his sight. He pictured to himself long dreary, useless, sightless years; he saw himself growing prematurely old, unable to do the active work he loved, unable to see the country sights or the faces of his wife and children. Who can wonder that John Grainger, notwithstanding Mary's perfect love for him, was often moody and restless? Mary herself did not wonder; her kindness never varied; she forgave him all his irregularities of temper, and tended him with a pity more than angelic-the pity born of woman's purest love. So it came to pass that the quaint old church which witnessed Henry Grainger's funeral witnessed also his nephew's marriage. Nor was this marriage unattended by the statesmen and farmers of the district. But of the concourse of wedding guests, of the wrestling and running matches, of the bride's sitting in state to receive in her lap the nuptial gifts, of the rustic festival and the dances which followeddances not unaccompanied by innocent kissing -I must not yet speak. For there came to that wedding an unbidden guest, who somewhat surprised Farmer Ashow. Whence he came, and who he was, shall be made known in due time. CHAPTER XXXV. A VACATION IDYL. 'Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer echoes, dying, dying, dying." BLACKWATER, the lake into which Hawksmere Ghyll descends, though wondrous will at its upper end, becomes softer in the character of its scenery as you go southward. A couple of miles down, on the side opposite to Hawksmere, there is a beautiful lawny opening; and at this point some speculator has built what he calls a villa-a comfortable eight-roomed cottage, with fantastic gables and chimneys and balconies-which he lets furnished during the season at a tremendous price. Prices have enormously increased in this beautiful district since first I knew it, twenty years ago; for there has been an ever-augmenting influx of "swells," since the railway times, into the poetic region where poets could once find loneli ness. The villa of which I speak is in the winter ugly conveyances which are specially contrived for the hilly, stony Cumbrian roads. Right glad were they to take possession of their chambers, and cool and refresh themselves. Madame, having superadded to her bath a cigarette and a glass of curaçoa, felt in high spirits when she descended to the parlor. "This is really charming!" she exclaimed, as she came through the open window to the lawn, where the two younger ladies were already established. A handmaiden had brought a table out under a drooping ash-tree, and on a white cloth were the materials for the manufacture of tea, together with a mutton-ham, and plates of crisp thin oatmeal cakes, and cool butter, and a great bowl of wild strawberries, and another bowl of the thickest cream. "Yes, it really is oharming," echoed the little American. "Your choice does you credit, Louise. If we don't have a good time here, it will be our own faults - don't you think so, Cecile ?" Mademoiselle de Castelnau had not yet quite made up her mind whether to like or dislike this vivacious Miss Sheldon. She had no notion that she was an actress, and supposed that her easy, familiar manners were usual in American society. She gave languid assent to Miss Sheldon's question. So they sat down to their refection, this curious trio, and enjoyed it immensely. To the Southern epicure, oatmeal cake, smoked mutton-ham, mountain strawberries and cream may these three ladies found them very nice indeed. appear any thing but ladylike luxuries; but And to sit on a sunny lawn, with a lake dancing and sparkling a few yards away, and huge fells rising into the air on all sides, and a sweet sequestered silence everywhere, was a pleasant change from the Sydenham school-room and the Colossus drawing-room. "We want only one thing," said Madame, laughing. "We want a few gentlemen to drop in upon us occasionally." 66 Aye, indeed," exclaimed Miss Sheldon. "But I'm afraid there are none in the neighborhood. I declare I shall forget how to flirt by the time we go back again, What in the world shall we do all day? It is charming just at first, but we shall certainly quarrel if we don't find employment. Can you fish, Cecile ?" "No, indeed. I shall read Tasso, and sketch a little." "Oh, I shall fish," quoth Miss Sheldon, "if I can get a rod and line anywhere. And oh, I do hope there's a punt to be had. It is so jolly to sit in a punt in the water all through a summer day catching fish." She ran down to the water's edge, and then came rushing back in a state of delight, clapping her hands. "Yes, I declare there is a punt, and a pairCan you row, Louise?-can you, Cecile ?" The replies were negative. oar. "Oh what muffs! I must teach you. Then we can get into the boat and explore all the neighborhood. And of course you can't swim. I can, like a mermaid; and I've brought down a delightful bathing-dress. Come, Madame de Longueville, you are deposed. I shall be schoolmistress now, and teach you both to swim, and to fish, and to row." "I will be your pupil," said Madame. "And so will I," said Cecile, who was exhilarated, in spite of her hauteur, by the American's sprightly chat. "You had both better set to work and contrive yourselves some bathing-dresses," she said. "You shall see minc." And away she ran to find it. A charming costume. A blue tunic, with sleeves reaching about half-way to the elbows, and gray trowsers-Emily called them pantalettes-reaching to about the knees. “Every lady her own tailor!" she exclaimed. "This is the sort of thing, Louise. Come, you must both manufacture something of the kind." Carried away by Emily's enthusiasm, Madame and Cecile both instituted a search for materials and that evening was busily devoted to making dresses for the water. Both ladies wanted to make the sleeves and the trowsers longer but Emily declared that she was mistress, and wouldn't allow it. : "You must learn to swim," she said. "You can't swim with a lot of loose damp drapery coming down to your wrists and ankles." "But this style exhibits a good deal more than the ankles," remonstrated Cecile. "Why, there is no one to see it in this lonely place. Except for the name of the thing, one need not dress at all. Now don't be nonsensical, but make the things so that you can use them." They complied, and the costumes were made. Next morning, at about six, Madame de Longueville, who loved her bed, was awakened by Emily Sheldon's throwing stones at her window; looking out, she saw the little actress, her round arms and shapely legs white in the sunshine, towel in hand, ready for the water. "You and Cecile come down as soon as you can, and I'll give your lesson. I'm going to take a header myself first." Away she ran down the lawn, punted out into the lake in as workmanlike a way as if she had been educated at Eton, and sprang from the punt Madame and Cecile watched her from their windows with admiration. into the water. By the time they, clad in their new costume, came down to the water, Miss Sheldon had enjoyed her swim, and was waiting for them. A shore of fine shingle and small shells lay beyond the turf; the lake deepened very gradually; never was easier or safer place for a swimminglesson, even on Southsea Beach itself. Emily did not find her pupils at first very successful: Madame de Longueville was rather too thin, and Cecile de Castelnau a good deal too tall. Still, it was a pleasant romp in the water, if nothing more. Whoso has ever visited Trouville-sur-Mer, or any other French watering-place, has seen costume-bathing many a time; and highly picturesqué it is. For my own part, I certainly prefer getting into deep blue water, and enjoying it without any encumbrances of apparel; but when the weather is sultry, and men, women, and children have nothing in the world to do with their time, why should they not spend a few hours in the water-dressed like mermen and mermaidens of the very first fashion? Miss Sheldon's suggestion gave great satisfaction, and the ladies breakfasted with terrific appetite after their dip. Breakfast over, what next? Madame made herself a cigarette, which the little American at once begged of her. "I can't make cigarettes," she said. you teach me ?" "Will Cecile had already established herself on the lawn with her Tasso. Emily came running over to her, with her cigarette between her saucy lips. "I am mistress here," she said, "and I don't allow Italian this morning. You are going to have a rowing lesson. Get your widest straw hat and your coolest dress." Cecile obeyed. Meanwhile, Emily was off again to inquire of the servants whether fishing tackle could be obtained in the neighborhood. "Hurrah!" she exclaimed, returning. "There's a little village a mile down the lake, and a little shop where I can buy what I want. We can get there by water. Now then, ladies, you'll have to work." "Isn't it dangerous?" asked Madame anxiously. "If you're born to be hanged, you'll never be drowned," exclaimed Emily, little thinking how terribly apposite was the adage. Soon they got into the boat, Emily pulling. stroke, and Cecile taking the other oar, while Madame was taught how to steer. The lake lay in a trance of calm. They got well out; and Cecile, after catching a crab once or twice, and falling into an undignified position, at which all three laughed immoderately, began to do her work very fairly. So in due course they reached the little village, a mere cluster of houses, and landed, and found their way to the village shop-an emporium of every thing in general, kept by a little shrivelled old man. Miss Sheldon purchased a rod and tackle, and selected flies with great judgment, and exclaimed, "Now we'll soon have trout for breakfast." “If ye want trout, my lasses, ye should get leave to try the tarn above Hawksmere," said the old man. "But ye'll scarce get leave, now the master's at home." "Who lives at Hawksmere?" asked Madame. "Old Sir Alured Vivian," he answered. "He's been there only a while, nursing his son that's ill." Sheldon. When they reached home, there was the little yacht, with its sail furled, lying at their landing-place, and a fierce little otter terrier was keeping guard over its cargo, which consisted of a silver bugle and the huge meerschaum aforesaid. But the yachtsman - where was he? As the The question was quickly answered. "What sort of a place is it?" asked Miss boat ran upon the shingle, a tall gentleman in a blue serge coat and white flannel trowsers came down the steps to help them ashore. Every body recognized him at once. It was Colonel Trafford. 66 "Oh, a wild place. Every body goes to see the force. You'll find it a very pleasant row across the lake." Among the contents of the old man's shop was a small circulating library, and Madame, who had with her but one book, "Mademoiselle de Maupin," thought she would see what English novels were like. But, as in that remote corner they had not heard of Mudie, the literature to be found there was not of the newest. Madame carried away with her "Tom Jones" and "Pamela." As they sauntered back to their boat, the little American said, Madame had of course expected to see him, but not so soon. She had kept her promise, and written to him on taking the villa. He, having nothing to keep him in town, started at once for the north, took up his quarters at the Ferry Inn at Hawksmere, and had been on the lake ever since watching for their arrival. Thoroughly amazed was Cecile de Castelnau to see her gallant lover. Somewhat surprisedand not entirely pleased-was Emily Sheldon to “Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll | discover that there was a previous acquaintance take the punt out into the lake, and you shall between the Colonel and Cecile. read, Louise-and you shall sketch, Cecile-and ،، Will you give me some luncheon, Madame ? I'll catch trout. That's the programme, lasses | The world is full of coincidences, you see; we --for it seems we're all lasses up here. So now part in London, and meet on Blackwater. Who let's us row home and get some lunch. Cecile, is going to catch trout?" he asked, handing out you will steer this time. Louise must have her the fishing-rod. lesson." Cecile was a good deal surprised at Madame de Longueville's having so completely laid aside the manners of a schoolmistress. She was unaware of Colonel Trafford's compact with her, for that gentleman looked forward with a certain amount of pleasure to taking his lady-love by surprise. From the commencement of their excursion Madame had thrown away her Sydenham dignity, and treated her pupil as an equal. Even had there been no understanding with the Colonel, I do not quite see how she could have done otherwise in the society of the free-andeasy American. A capful of wind had sprung up while the ladies were ashore; and, as they rowed towards the villa, they saw astern a white sail caught by the breeze, and a red flag flaming against the green hills. "Ah," said Emily, resting on her oar, "I wish we had a sailing-boat. That's the way to fly along the water. But I expect the winds down from those hills are dangerous." "It looks very pleasant," said Madame ; " and really rowing is rather hard work." The tiny yacht overhauled them pretty fast, and they could see, as it passed them, that there was only one person on board, who lay back in the stern smoking a mighty meerschaum. The boat passed them on the Hawksmere side of the lake, then suddenly made a tack, and shot across their bow, apparently towards their own villa. "I declare," said Miss Sheldon, "I believe we are going to have a visitor. Pall away, Louise : don't be lazy. I am quite curious to know who it can be." "I am going to try," said Miss Sheldon. "Will you punt us out after luncheon? Louise is to read, and Cecile to sketch, while I fish." "And what am I to do?" "Smoke, I suppose, or else play airs from Der Freischütz on that wonderful bugle I saw in your boat. Of course there must be an echo among these hills." "A million. When I play a note or two, there come such a multitude of ghostly bewildering sounds as would frighten any body at all nervous." "Come, Emily," cried Madame, "let us go in to lunch." "How in the world did you find us out, Charlie ?" asked Cecile, the moment she got a chance. "Why, your severe instructress told me, of ،، I said she was not course," said the Colonel. such a very bad sort.” "I don't like her," said Mademoiselle de Castelnau, thoughtfully. "Do you like Miss Sheldon ?" "I hardly know. Pretty well, I think. She is very lively and cheerful." "Did you know that she is an actress ?" "No, indeed. I should think she would make a very good actress in comedy." "Very fair," he replied. "And now, Cecile, tell me you are glad to see me.' "No need for that," she said, with a happy smile. "How you got over Madame I can't think, for I am sure she is a spy upon me." "So am I," he said. ،، Never mind. My little school-girl has got her holidays now, and I am going to help her spend them pleasantly." Luncheon over, Colonel Trafford got out the punt, and the party were soon in a state of busy idleness. Madame was deep in "Pamela ;" Cecile tried to sketch the villa; the Colonel smoked; while Emily Sheldon threw her fly with much “skill and dexterity." Nor was she unrewarded. In about half an hour she got a bite, and it was evidently a biggish fish, for the rod bent to its utmost. The Colonel put down his pipe, and picked up a landing-net: the other ladies gave up their own occupation, and watched the battle between the angler and her fish with immense interest. "I fear I can't land him from the punt," said Emily. 66 No," said the Colonel. deep here: I can wade." as at Sydenham. When it was known that Colonel Trafford was there also, what would happen? Madame began to regret that she had so easily given way. She dreaded hourly an encounter with the stealthy Vionnet. She had now no correspondence between Cecile and her lover to forward to him, and its absence would certainly awaken his suspicion. Should she invent such a correspondence? It would not be safe. Colonel Trafford's being in the neighborhood must inevitably be discovered, in which case her supposititious letters to him would at once prove complicity against her. Hence every day poor Madame was in a state of nervous apprehension, and could not thor"The water's not oughly enjoy the bathing and boating, or the calm lotos-life in the punt, when Emily caught trout, and Cecile sketched, and she herself en So he got overboard and took the rod, and finished the hapless fish. It was a splendid fel-deavored to follow the virtuous Pamela in her low. struggles to escape from her wicked persecutor. Every figure on the distant shore assumed for her the shape of Vionnet. She partially con"This is a fa-fided in Colonel Trafford, who did his best to reassure her, declaring that if any one appeared to annoy her, he would throw him into the lake. "What a beauty!" cried Emily, delighted. "He'll weigh ten pounds, at least." "More," said the Colonel. mous beginning, Miss Sheldon." "Ah," she said; "but the honor and glory is half yours. I wish I had landed him." "He might have pulled you into the water," he said, laughing. "Oh, I'm not afraid, I can swim. But it is so inconvenient fishing in petticoats. I must invent an angling costume. Then Colonel Trafford played on his bugle a jubilant air in honor of the big trout; and the hills were suddenly filled with a mad mockery of the music-as though the nymph Echo had married, and become the mother of a numerous family of boisterous children. When the afternoon's indolent enjoyment was over, and the sunset was turning the lake into a sheet of molten gold, Colonel Trafford took leave of the ladies, and his tiny yacht was soon a mere white speck in the amber mist. But he was to come again to-morrow, and stay all day, and dine with them upon the famous trout. The three ladies watched his white sail till it vanished in the distance; as it vanished, they heard the clear note of the silver horn, sending across the magic mere a cheery farewell. Not quite cheerful was either of the three. Miss Sheldon of course perceived her mistake about the Colonel, and was cross with herself for having made it. Clearly, he and Cecile understood one another, and his flirtation with her meant nothing. She was heart-whole, since she hadn't any particular amount of heart; but she was a little disgusted, notwithstanding. Cecile, on the other hand, was somewhat disposed to be jealous of Emily. She wanted to have her lover all to herself, which was quite impossible with the vivacious little actress in company. A sail in Trafford's Lilliputian yacht was a great delight to the ladies; and many a time they passed beneath Hawksmere, and Emily looked up towards the quaint old house, and wondered when she should see Sir Alured. She wanted to meet him accidentally, and judge by his conduct of his feelings towards her. This seemed altogether unlikely; he was still shut up with his son, she heard, and never left the grounds of Hawksmere; and she did not feel the slightest inclination to intrude upon the old man's solitude. However, she did not worry herself; she was happy enough, bathing and fishing, rowing and sailing. Cecile, doubtless, was happier still with her Colonel. She was a quiet child, and, if he were present, was content, without caring for much interchange of talk. Emily chattered enough for the whole party. Meanwhile, the Colonel himself was trying to hit on some method of marrying his lady-love without causing a deuce of a row, or getting Madame into any great amount of trouble. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE CHICARD EXPERIMENT. "Whither is fled the visionary gleam?" THAT Dr. Chicard was an empiric can not be denied in this veritable history. Are not all physicians empirics? Did not a learned member of the order commence at Paris a course of lectures on the science of medicine with the words, "Gentlemen, there is no science of medBut Madame had the best reason for being icine?" Can it be otherwise, while we are dissatisfied. She knew she was in peril. wholly ignorant of the nature of life-an ignoObeying orders, she had reported to her supe-rance which will last as long as life itself? riors what she had done; and she felt sure that Most of our specifics have been discovered enshe would be watched at Blackwater as strictly tirely by accident: it was not by any scientific |