“ Ob, yes, but here — read this,” and she 
put a note hastily into her hand. “ I have 
been looking for you everywhere.” She 
spoke hurriedly and wan breathing quickly, 
and hushed with rapid walking. 
Ada glanced at the note. It was to en¬ 
treat her friend to come and see Madame 
cI’Abcy, who was taken ill in the village, on 
her way to-. “My French teacher," 
said La git a, in explanation. 
“Is ray father going with you?” 
“ No, I prefer not. The little girl who 
brought the note says they will send a ser¬ 
vant back with me. 1 shall not be gone 
more than two or three hours” 
She was gone in a moment. Then young 
Lyon and Ada walked about the grounds 
talking to many a gay group, and again 
mingling in the dance. The dinner, cooked 
by the negroes, was set out in one of the 
groves. Alter an interval of repose, the 
danciug was renewed, and Ada's hand was 
claimed by several gallants, to the chagrin 
ofC’ffAtTNcrcr. who stayed beside his mother, 
and watched the girl’s graceful movements. 
When evening cam© cm and the full round 
moon rose in the violet sky, the company 
began to disperse. Lvon hastened to offer 
his arm to Ada. 
“But where is Laura?” she cried, really 
uneasy at her prolonged absence. 
Blic was certainly nowhere about the 
grounds. Mr. W ingatje said bo would go 
on to the village, as she might be at the inn, 
and might miss them in the confusion. 
And when the others arrived, they found 
her in the parlor, waiting. She lead her 
bonnet and shawl on, and at once took her 
place in the carnage. 
Ada was full of the gay scene and the de¬ 
lightful day she had passed, and did not 
notice that her friend was more abstracted 
than usual. Him looked, however, dreadfully 
pale and fatigued. 
Several letters lay on the table at Mr. 
Wingate's, one addressed to Mrs. Vincent, 
from her aunt, announcing her father’s sud¬ 
den illness, He had long suffered from an 
organic affection which made every attack 
dangerous, and her alarm and distress were 
unspeakable. It was arranged that, she should 
start early the next morning. She trembled 
so that she could hardly stand, and Ada was 
anxious on her account for she had never 
seen her so discomposed. Her anxiety was 
not diminished the next morning when she 
saw how fearfully haggard she looked, But 
Laura insisted on losing no time in starting 
for Long Grove, and declined any attendance 
but that of her own maid with the child. 
VII. THE TEARFUL DISCOVERY, 
Mr. James .Mminxi. went hack to Ma- 
pleton with strange news, which soon set the 
town in a blaze of excitement. The papers 
had indeed forestalled him in the announce¬ 
ment of a mysterious murder at. the Blue 
Springs. Nearly a week after the pic-nie the 
body of a dead man had been found near a 
deserted cabin on the mount am slope, by a 
laborer, who, overtaken by a storm, had 
lodged in the cabin. The startled flight of a 
number of buzzards, had shown him their 
prey. lie gave notice immediately of the 
discovery, and the village magistrate with 
a party of men repaired to the spot. The 
body was lifted out of the. bushes and laid 
on the grass; but his face had been so mutil¬ 
ated by the buzzards that it could not he re¬ 
cognised. Tie had ®n loose, light colored 
trousers and hoots; under his shirt a band¬ 
age of silk, evidently part, of a woman’s 
shawl, was wrapped around his breast; while 
a roll beneath it lmd staunched the blood than 
a wound inode, with a knife which hud pen¬ 
etrated to the heart. The dress was blood¬ 
stained, and spots of blood had been found 
on the floor and walls of the cabin, render¬ 
ing it probable that the murder had been com¬ 
mitted there. In the underbrush another strip 
of the silk shawl was found, and a long 
glove of wash-leather, evidently a woman’s, 
both deeply stained with blood. 
The body had been taken, to the village, 
examined by medical men—who testified 
that death had been caused by a knife- 
wound—and sat ou by a coroner’s inquest. 
No evidence pointing to the murdered man’s 
identity was offered, except that of an inn¬ 
keeper four miles distant, who testified that 
a stranger, who seemed a suspicious charac¬ 
ter, luid lodged ■frith him two nights a little 
more than a week before, He seemed in 
bad health, and behaved oddly, drank 
heavily, and was at. times “ quite wild like.” 
He had placed some valuables in the rustic 
landlord’s charge till lie left—a gold watch, 
chain and key; a purse, and a red morocco 
pocketbook with money in it. He had worn 
two rather remarkable rings; one a plain 
hoop, the other a massive seal ring. The 
seal ring was found on the dead man’s finger 
and readily identified by the inn-keeper. 
The other articles were missing. 
In company with this stranger was a man 
unknown to the landlord. He had called 
for him when he went away. 
The Coroner’s verdict was that the stran¬ 
ger had been murdered with a knife by some 
person unknown. The body was committed 
to the village burial ground. 
Some days after the inquest, a man living 
some twenty miles from the, springs, had 
called at Squire Ely’s, and asked if any re¬ 
ward was offered for further information, 
lie was vexed that he could obtain nothing; 
but being urged, testified that avalise had 
been left unclaimed at his hotel, eotne time 
before, by a stranger answering the descrip¬ 
tion given by the other landlord. This va¬ 
lise was produced. It. contained articles of 
a man’s dress, very fine in quality, one or 
two handkerchiefs marked “II. V.” and a 
crumpled note written in pencil—the en¬ 
velope missing. The note was without, ad¬ 
dress, and ran as follows: 
“ThiB mn it not go on; the correspondence 
must cease. I have done wrong in permitting It. 
T might consent to an interview if convinced 
it would bo decisive; but I feel sure it would 
only lead to further difficulties. Trouble me no 
more. Hut it von drive me to extremity, do not 
imagine that I am altogether helpless. l.” 
There was a postscript, as follows: 
“ How can t depond on your promises? T beg 
you to follow the advice I gave your agent.” 
Ollier persons lmd seen the young man to 
whom, apparently, this valise had belonged, 
lie had a traveling companion, who seemed 
to restrain bis lavish expenditure of money. 
Suspicion began to settle ou this unknown 
companion. 
It was from Mitchell’s representations 
that the rumor in Maplcton arose, that the 
murdered man was no other than Henry 
VINCENT. 
The lawyer stated that he had been 
Henry’s traveling companion for some 
time, but had parted from him sixty miles 
from the springs. After hearing of the mur¬ 
der, he had .gone there, called on the magis¬ 
trate, examined tlie articles preserved, and 
instantly recognized them. 
Miss Helena professed to be entirely over¬ 
come by the terrible news, and shut herself 
up in the house. There she and her brother 
and the lawyer had a consultation. The 
subject was Henry’s will, which the, cousins 
agreed must be broken. His temporary in¬ 
sanity would be a plausible pretext, “In 
such case,” remarked the man of law “ the 
widow could take out letters of administra¬ 
tion, and retain possession of the child as her 
natural guardian.” 
“Is there nothing to be done!” urged 
Selina. 
“ We must give it up if we cannot put her 
aside,” groaned the brother. 
“There is a means of putting her a.ride,” 
said the lawyer, his dark face a little averted. 
“What is it? Tf it, costs thousands you 
shall have it!” cried the spinster. 
“ T will not undertake It for less than a 
third of the whole,” replied Mitchell. 
“ Thundoratlon! that is a big slice,” ex¬ 
claimed Oscar. 
“Patience, brother; let us hear what the 
plan is.” 
The lawyer unfolded his scheme in detail; 
telling of his interview with Laura, whom 
he had endeavored to terrify by a legal 
summons that had never been issued; also 
how he had urged Henry to change of scene 
for the relief of his depressed spirits; how 
they had parted, and how he had examined 
the articles produced as belonging to the 
dead man. Then he bade them remember 
that Laura Vincent was a guest at Mr. 
Wingate’s at the time of the murder. 
What if it could be shown that she was on 
the ground? What if suspicion could be 
made to rest upon her? 
“ I suspect another person,” said Oscar. 
“Who?” asked Mitchell, eagerly. 
“ The quadroon! with her dark blood— 
she may have wanted revenge.” 
“ She returned to New Orleans—she is not 
in the country,” said (lie lawyer. He went 
on with his statements. The delicate hand-* 
writing of thejiote, the fragments of a shawl, 
the glove found in the bushes, all indicated 
the agency' of a woman. A boy on the 
mountain had seen a lady dressed in brown 
silk’, with straw hat trimmed with flowers 
and a green parasol, walking towards the 
woods with a man who looked like a laborer. 
This was on the day of the picnic. A man 
who kept a saddler’s shop in the village, had 
testified that a lady so dressed had called a 
little after noon at his house, with a little 
girl; a strange man came to the gate and 
asked for her; the little girl was sent away, 
and the lady went with the man. They re¬ 
turned after sunset, and stopped again. The 
man asked the saddler’s wife to dress a cut 
on the lady’s right hand, around which she 
had wound her handkerchief. The woman 
gave her a clean, coarse handkerchief in re¬ 
turn for hers, and received five dollars for 
her services. The fine embroidered hand¬ 
kerchief left with her wa9 not marked. She 
showed it to t ho magistrate. The lady, she 
said, was pale and very much agitated; but 
when the. man whispered to her, she started 
up, said her friends would be waiting, and 
hurried away. The saddler’s little boy fol¬ 
lowed them, and saw the lady weeping under 
her veil; he heard the man say she must 
control her feelings; that tears could not re¬ 
store life; and that she might depend on his 
promise of eternal silence as to what had 
happened. The boy also saw the lady lake 
out her purse and give it to the man, who 
seemed to lake it unwillingly'. 
“I do not much liku all tills evidence,” 
was the comment of 3Ir. Thorne. “ It crim¬ 
inates nobody'.” 
Miss Selina reminded the lawyer that he 
had once said it world be easy to prove any¬ 
thing against Mu, Vincent. 
“ But tlii.-, madam, is a difficult affair,” re¬ 
plied Mitchell. “ We cannot be too cau¬ 
tious. It will not do to be precipitate.” 
“Very true,” said Selina. “We have, a 
bold game 1o play'; we must be cautious. It 
may not be so easy-” 
“ To convict an innocent person of mur¬ 
der,” blurted out Osc ar. 
“ I wonder,” said his sister, reproachfully, 
“ that y f ou can speak in that manner.” 
It was finally settled that 3Ir. Thorne, as 
the nearest relative of the deceased, should 
call on Mr. Stewart, a lawyer of high stand¬ 
ing, retain his services, and proceed to the 
investigation; Oscar accompanying him to 
the scene of the tragedy. 31 itchell was on 
no account to be mentioned in the business. 
Thorne was not to indicate tbe least sus¬ 
picion of the widow, so that it could never 
be said the charge against her emanated from 
household enemies.—[To be continued. 
—-- 
LINNET MOORE. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
We a re Duncan stood in the half-light 
made by the shadow of the lace curtain, and 
watched the two women who just now ex¬ 
erted such a peculiar influence ou his life. 
As he stood there, awaiting some token of 
recognition, t he soft rustle of silk and a sense 
of delicate fragrance, like the perfume that 
floats t hrough magnolia groves, stole nearer, 
and as he turned-his head, Uerf.nt.jk Gordon 
was close by his-side; her sweet, dainty 
face, trained in by the waves of golden hair, 
lifted to his own with fjpeh a shy, tender 
grace, that for a single moment, the tempta¬ 
tion to stoop and press a passionate kiss upon 
the velvet cheek was very strong. 
“ IIow can a man be a true knight , and not 
wear armor, Mr. Duncan ?” 
ills look of admiration changed to one of 
Surprise as he listened to her question ; per¬ 
haps she noticed the difference, for she said 
hastily': 
“ I asked you the question because you re¬ 
mind me of one of the heroes; only yen 
should have chosen a brighter spot for your 
meditations” 
“ It grows bright fast, under the spell of 
your presence.” 
“ Tiiat is,not fair; idle compliment for an 
honest question, 3Ir Duncan, is not allow¬ 
able.” 
” Per hop* »•’ id«:.Aif mine would be fair 
return for your question ; yet you might be 
able to draw something good even from a 
dull thought.” 
“ You say t hat because they call me ‘Bef.,’ 
but it is not an appropriate name, I assure 
you.” 
“ Bright and busy and laden with sweets! 
I think the name does suit you, Bee.” 
It was the first time he had ever called 
her by lua pet name, and she looked up with 
her cheeks all in a glow. 
To be, as some one lias very aptly ex¬ 
pressed it, a fisher of men, was Bkkentje 
Gordon’s greatest temptation; and aside 
from this no man had ever appealed to all 
the sympathies of her nature as We are 
Duncan did. She had resolved to win him 
if she could, and most of her friends would 
have assured her it was an easy thing to do, 
for Weare Duncan was unusually suscepti¬ 
ble to female beauty, and had long ago de¬ 
cided in his own mind that Bee. Gordon 
was as beautiful as women are apt to be in 
this world. 
But Bee knew she had set herself a very 
difficult task, for she was aware that this 
hero of her’s, loved truth better than any¬ 
thing else, and the fairest fuc-e, if it covered 
a falsehood, would be less than nothing to 
him. 
• “ As for your question, I think, Miss Gor¬ 
don, that armor does not make the knight, 
yet every one of ns who does a noble deed 
wears it.” His eyes grew thoughtful and 
wandered away from her, while a very tender 
smile lit the dark face. 
“ It was Miss Moore who made the asser¬ 
tion that, every true knight wore armor, and 
I was anxious to know' if every one else 
thought so too.” 
“ Alias AIoore’s theories are generally 
true, 1 believe,” said Weare slowly, “ and I 
judge she draws many' of her ideas from self- 
ex perience.” 
Bee laughed very merrily, and her com¬ 
panion already regretted the few words he 
lmd allowed himself to say about 3Iiss 
Moore. 
Just then 31iss Gordon was solicted for a 
song and Weare offered her his arm to go 
to the piano. When half way down the 
room he passed a group of tab' women with 
Linnet Moore in the midst, and the single 
glance he had from her dark eye made him 
take a step nearer: but she turned away in 
time to recall him to a realization of w here 
he wus and what was expected of him. 
lie stood by the piano and turned over the 
leaves of 31iss Gordon’s music; but as soon 
as possible after she left the piano he disen¬ 
gaged himself and crossed the room to w here 
Linnet 3Ioore t rill stood. 
The others kept their ground though, and 
Weare could get no nearer than the outer 
edgo of the charmed circle. He stood there 
patiently' and waited for a chango of move¬ 
ment. Finally, when his patience was nearly 
exhausted, the group broke up, and ho went 
at once to Linnet’s side. 
“ I have been waiting for you all the even¬ 
ing,” he said in a deprecatory tone; “ I 
wanted you to walk with me. Did you ever 
spe such beautiful heavens?” he continued, 
throwing back the curtain and letting it drop 
again behind them. 
“When did wo ever see a night that was 
not beautiful,” said Linnet, softly. “ W hethcr 
the stars are floating in the soft blue, or God 
has covered them with His clouds — all are 
beautiful.” 
“ I wish I could believe it,” he said, under 
his breath. 
“ You can feel it if you will, Weare Dun¬ 
can, for the truth is easier of comprehension 
to you than to most men.” 
lie had thrown, a light, fleecy shawl over 
her shoulders and would have drawn her 
arm through Ins own, but she drew back and 
said, with a little thrill of regret in her voice, 
“ Not to-night, -Mr. Duncan ; it is late, and 
T must go up stairs;” and she was gone be¬ 
fore he could offer a remonstrance, flitting 
up tbo wide staircase with a grace of motion 
that Berent.ie Gordon secretly envied. 
Berentje Gordon was an only child and 
an heiress, with no wish denied her selfish 
soul, yet she acknowledged to Miss SIoore 
that night that she was envious and unhappy. 
Linnet did not question her, for she. knew 
that Mrs. - Gordon’s governess would be re¬ 
pulsed if she did more than listen to Bee’s 
complaints: 
Linnet sighed as she readied her own 
room ; for she saw yet the steady, luminous 
eyes bent on her own, and heard the even, 
kindly voice that had such power to stir her 
pulse ton quicker beat. 
“ God give me the strength to do right,” 
she exclaimed, “yet how uncertain and help¬ 
less I feel to-night P 
Hlic stood by the window,locked in thought 
for a long hour, her memory telling her two 
stories—one sad, one sweet, and the choice 
which she would hear, no longer her’s to 
make. First, there was the record of a life 
of sorrow and trouble at home; of the dark¬ 
est time of all, when her own brother had 
lilled Ids hand against his friend, and the 
day’s dawn had soon him an exile from his 
father’s door; then the death of her father a 
month later, from despair at his boy’s wrong 
doing; thou the unhappy day when her 
brother returned to visit, his father’s grave, 
and was found by the ottoman who had seen 
him give the murderous blow. Then it was, 
and not until it was made the pledge of his 
secrecy and her brother’s safety, that she 
promised to mary George Parshalt.. 
In the light of this later memory how she 
hated the man! “God forgive me” she 
murmured over and over again, “ but my lot 
is harder than 1 can bear.” 
She had written that she could not learn 
to love him, and asked him to free her from 
tire engagement, and still respect his prom¬ 
ise; and he had written in return that his 
love was a love “ for life or death,” and he 
should come to claim his wife a week from 
that time. 
“ How she shuddered at the thought! 
Only two days more and the vow must be 
kept! The next day and the day after, 
Linnet Moore avoided Weare Duncan, 
refusing even to let her eye meet his own, 
fearful Jest it should reveal to him a love 
which it would soon be a sin to acknowledge 
even to her own soul. 
At twilight he saw her go down the path 
that led through the woods to the little town 
beyond them ; and resolving to take the op¬ 
portunity she would not grant him, he left 
the house to follow her footsteps. He lost 
sight of her, though, and was hurrying 
blindly along the path, when an eager voice 
reached his ear. 
It was a man’s voice, and the words he 
heard made his heart stand still with a great 
fear. Was the woman he had loved un¬ 
worthy, after all ? for he knew at that mo¬ 
ment that Bee Gordon had never been to 
him more than a beautiful picture, and that 
liis whole life was centered in Linnet 
Moore. 
“Darling Linnet! Yon have come at 
last! The moments shall be very few before 
you are my wife, bound so fast to me that 
no one can take you from me.” 
“ Oh, George, let me go. I cannot marry 
you!” 
“ What do you say. Linnet 3Ioore?” 
“ Be merciful, as you hope for mercy your¬ 
self some day. I do not love you, and mar¬ 
riage vows will be lies to kill my soul.” 
“ I do not care! You have given me your 
promise.” 
“ But I tell you I do not love you. God 
only can keep me from hating you !” 
“ Pretty gratitude that is! Why, at a 
word of mine, your petted brother, good 
Guy Lindley would be apprehended and 
swing for the crime he committed,!'' 
“ What assurance have I that the man 
died ? You havo not even told me the name 
of tbe man you say my brother murdered.” 
“With one bound Weare Duncan was 
beside her, holding her in his arms, close to 
his breast, while ho warned off her compan¬ 
ion with a withering look. 
“ Yon know mo," he said in a low voice 
full of suppressed passion,” and do not let 
me find you here after to-night.” 
Then he turned to Linnet, who had freed 
herself from his embrace and stood there 
white but resolute. 
“ Call him back, Mr. Duncan ; I am to be 
his wife.” 
“ He has lied to you, dear Linnet, and I 
never knew Guy Lin duty v as vour brother.” 
“ He is my step-brother.” 
“ Well, come home, and write him to come 
back. I am the man he shot; see, hero is 
the mark,” lifting the dark, curling lock* 
from his brow, “ but that villian encouraged 
him in the deed, and almost directed his 
arm.” 
Linnet sank on her knees to the ground. 
“ God forgive me! I will never distrust 
Him again!” 
Weare Duncan raised her gently and 
said: 
“ 3Iay I kiss you, Linnet ? Arc these lips 
mine ?” 
She bid her face a moment, and then 
raised it to his, glowing with a new, glad 
joy, of which the years could never deprive 
her. 
He stooped and kissed her trembling lips, 
then with thougkful care, drew her shawl 
closer about her, and said, “ Come homo 
Linnet.” 
“Oh, Weare, how good you are to mo, 
l think my heart would break if you did not 
love me.” 
“ And who should I love, and to whom 
should I be good, if not to you, my own dear 
love?” 
“ And will you always love me then ? Is 
my life to be happy now?” 
“ It shall be a happy one henceforth, dear 
Linnet, if I can make it so,” 
Then they walked slowly homo through 
the fast falling twilight, though to both of 
them the path seemed fairer than the path 
of tbe daylight , warmer than the way of the 
sunshine. 
Linnet wrote the letter to her brother that 
night, and Weare Duncan sat by the tamo 
table, now and then leaning over to suggest 
some little word of friendship and good feel¬ 
ing until the letter grew to be a very lengthy 
ono. 
Bee came hi, with a book, meantime, and 
pansod a moment by Linnets side, to seo 
what she was doing. Bhe saw that and 
something else that drove other thoughts 
quite out of her mind. Tbe heavy ring of 
frostedgold upon Li n net’s fore-finger caught 
her eye, and she turned quickly away, with 
a careless, defiant look on her face, but some¬ 
thing suspiciously like a tear glistening ou 
her golden brown lushes. 
Guv Lindley came home, ami is to this 
day a welcome guest at Weare Duncan’s 
fireside ; and Linnet Is Linnet still to her 
brother and her fond and devoted husband. 
THE PUZZLED^ CANARY. 
A very pretty incident is related of a ca¬ 
nary bird by a Georgia paper. The door of 
the bird’s cage was occasionally left open 
that he might enjoy the freedom of the room. 
One day ho happened to light upon the man¬ 
tle shell’ whereupon was a mirror. Hero 
was a new discovery of the most profound 
interest. He gazed long and curiously at 
himself, and came to tbe conclusion that he 
had found a mate. Going back to his cage, 
he selected a seed from its box, and brought 
it in his bill as an offering to the stranger. In 
vain the canary exerted himself to make his 
new-found friend partake, and, becoming 
weary of that, tried another tack. Stepping 
back a few inches from the glass, he poured 
forth his sweetest, notes, pausing now and 
then for a, reply. None came, and moody 
and disgusted he flew back to his perch, hang¬ 
ing his head in shame and Bilence for the rest 
of the day, and although the door wa3 re¬ 
peatedly open, he refused to come out again. 
-.h*-®.-■ 
Plodders. —They are laughed at by the 
world, but generally live long enough to 
laugh, if they will, at the fools who pass judg¬ 
ment upon them. Plodders are philosophers. 
They anchor on the rock of ages. They seek 
tin: good, true and substantial, and never miss 
it. They select'with caution, but hold on 
with courage. If there is merit, the}' discover 
and develop it. All honor to the plodder, 
lie may not be the sun that skine6 to blind¬ 
ness, but is that which warms, nourishes, 
builds up. 
—-- 4 4 » - - 
PewEit, writ, all human work and counsel 
corrupt faith, mislead in the Church and 
hinder the efficacy of the means of grace. 
“Wisdom, wisdom, ready understanding, 
science, learning out of a thousand books!” 
Such is the cry of the world. An evil sound 
is it in tlie churches and in the schools. Ono 
thing is needful —one Book, one Christ. 
