JAN. 2D 
73 
fittrarg SRsctllmtg. 
WAITING. 
With waiting and wishing our courses we i>ave; 
We wait for the port, as w f e battle the wave; 
’Tis waitiug forever from cradle to grave. 
Waiting for morn, so serene iu its light; 
Waiting for noonday, so brilliantly bright; 
Waiting at eve for repose in the night. 
Waiting for zephyrs in Springtime that blow; 
Waiting for Summer and flowers that grow; 
Waiting for Winter and swift-falling snow. 
Waiting is ever tlie bosoins’s refrain, 
In moments of pleasure and moments of pain; 
Waiting, though stricken again and again. 
Waiting in childhood for youth’s Joyous time; 
” I’m waiting,” says Youth, " but I’ll certainly 
climb 
To the top of the ladder on reaching my prime.” 
Iu manhood awaiting the time when lie may 
find reBt on a calmer, a happier day, 
When age shall relieve from the worrying fray. 
Waiting when fortune sheds brightly her smile; 
W hen choice are the pleasures the pathway beguile. 
There always is something to wait for the while. 
Waiting in poverty, anguish and grief; 
Waitiug for heaven to send us relief. 
Telling the heart that the trial is brief. 
Aye, waiting for Joys that will never appear; 
Waiting for voices wo never shall hear; 
Waiting for momeuts that never are near. 
Waiting when sinniug and worn iu the strife, 
With penitent throbbings the bosom is rife, 
Waiting the dawn of a holler life. 
tvaiting at last for the spirit’s release; 
Waiting a rest in the dwelling ol peace, 
Where waiting and longing forever will cease. 
INMATES OF LESTER HALL, 
NOTICE. 
[The installment of the story which belonged In 
the “ Cora Number ” but was crowded out to ad¬ 
mit of practical matter, was also omitted la the 
two succeeding Issues, making an omission of three 
chapters; we now insert them, “ Mistakes will 
happen la the best regulated families this is the 
consolation we give ourselves, hoping lor equal 
consideration from our patrons. k c. 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
Mr. Edgar’s house was tolerably well tilled. 
There were eight pretty bridesmaids, who were to 
follow Cecil up the aisle of the pretty village 
church, in wonderful costumes of cream and blue, 
with hats to match—the attendant groomsmen, 
and the.usual complement of aunts, and uncles, 
and cousins, who were anxious to see the bride 
and the presents, and how Ernest would comport 
himself under these trying circumstances. 
The presents, which were numerous and costly 
were arranged for general view in the dinlug- 
rooiu; and the guests went Into raptures over the 
suite of diamonds and the superb Indian shawl, 
which were the gifts of the prospective father anil 
mother-tn-law, Mr. Baton, too, had loaded his 
niece with gUta. and altogether the display was a 
very costly one; while as for the trousseau, It was 
perfect. 
Dresses from Worth, bonnets from Elise, boots 
from Plnet’s, and gloves trout Jouvln, were among 
Its beauties; tor greatly to Mattie’s surprise, Cecil 
had gone into the business of her trousseau with 
feverish energy after cool deliberation. 
It was only when the wodding-daydrcw near that 
herBplrltsHcetned to get so uncertain; although 
sue had altered In appearance, and the beautiful 
color which had made her so lovely had entirely 
disappeared, leaving her white as marble. 
prueat was to arrive on the evening before In 
time for dinner ; and when Mattie received him In 
the hall, she whispered to him that Cecil was in 
the boudoir alone, and that there was still ten 
mltmres before the dressing-bell; Ernest thanked 
her smiling to himself as he went, upstairs. At the 
bead Of the alalra he met a dainty little figure 
already dressed for dinner, and looking up he saw 
a sweet young face, which blushed under his ad¬ 
miring gaxe. 
“ An unexpected pleasure, Miss Lottie,” he said, 
gaily, as he held out his hand. “ l did not know 
you wore here." 
i* Did you not?” she answered, smiling; for pretty 
Lottie Tyrrell had battled with her feelings for Er¬ 
nest, aDd was able to give him a greeting frank 
and friendly as his own. *• Did not Cecil tell you ? 
—we are great friends, and she wishes me to call 
her Cecil—that I was to be one of her brides¬ 
maids?” 
“No, sho did not tell me, but I am delighted to 
hear It. Is Cecil la Mrs. Edgar’s boudoir ?" 
“ I think bo, some one said that she was,” said 
MlaB Tyrrel, as she went on her way, and Ernest 
went on his, entering the boudoir where Cecil 
awaited him, wlih his face all aglow with love and 
eagerness. 
“Well, my darling,” he said, as he took her In 
his arms, and turned her face to the light; then he 
Btarted back In alarm. “Cecil, what have you 
been doing to yourself?” 
She Bmlled a strange, forced smile. 
“ How ? in what way, Ernest V” she said. 
“You look so white and 111! Dearest, you have 
not been 111 ? How dared they keep It from me ?” 
he said, passionately. " What have they been do¬ 
ing to you here ?” 
" My dear, Ernest,” Cecil said, laughingly, “ try 
and he reasonable, even tf to-morrow will be your 
wedding-day. 1 have not been 111—I never was 
better —ho they kept nothing from you—and they 
have been doing nothing but petting and spoiling 
mo, and sending us so many presents, that wo 
shall be able to stock a Jeweler’s shop and a fancy 
repository'.” 
“ But, Cecil, how pale you are I” 
“Am I? well, am I not always rather livid?’ 
she said, gaUy. “Ah 1 there is the dressing-hell, 
and the bride elect must make a favorable Impres¬ 
sion to-night, you know; so a" revnir 
She loosed his grasp on her hands, and fluttered 
away out of the room; and when he saw her agalD, 
It was In the drawing-room, surrounded by her 
friends, and there was no chance of private con¬ 
versation. 
Cecil was feverishly gay all that evening—so 
gay, that more than one compliment was paid her 
on her high spirits; and Mattie’s eyes followed 
her anxiously as she moved about the ball-room- 
very pale, but. with feverishly blight eyes and 
bright smiles, which to Mattie’s tender scrutiny 
seemed forced; she grew so uneasy at last, that 
she went over to Ernest, who was standing a little 
apart from the dancers. 
“lam afraid Cecil is overdolDg It,” she said, in 
a low voice. “ Take her into the conservatory 
and make her rest a little, or she will be quite 
overcome.” 
And Ernest obeyed her request so well and 
promptly, that In a few moments Cecil found her¬ 
self seated In a cushioned armchair In the conser¬ 
vatory, with Ernest alternately scolding and ca¬ 
ressing her. 
“1 wish I had a right, to order, and that you were 
bound to obey,” he said, smiling. 
“ What would you do?" said Cecil, languidly. 
“ I would order you otr to bed,” he said, “ A 
very disinterested prescription, Is It not?" 
“ 1 should not obey you—I don’t want to go—I 
want to make the most of my freedom,” said Ce¬ 
cil, with a dreary laugh. “Ernest, are you in a 
great hurry t,o put yourself In bondage?” 
“ To such a gaoler—yes,” he answered, smiling 
tenderly. “Cecil do you know that I am very 
anxious about you ? You used to be a substantial 
little woman; now I should not be surprised If you 
were to melt away before my eyes. Just look at 
your hand.” 
“Almost like a claw,” she said, laughing. 
“Never mind, Ernest, by-and-by I shall astonish 
you by recoverl eg quickly. And now like a good 
fellow, go and get me some lemonade or something 
cold to drink—l am parched." 
When Ernest returned with the lemonade, Ceoll 
had disappeared; and In a lew moments Mattie 
told him that She was very tired—had gone to her 
own room, begging that she should not be dis¬ 
turbed again. 
And while the dancing went on down stairs,and 
Ernest was thinking of the great happiness In 
store for him on the morrow, Cecil Lester—the 
happy bride-elect, the envied, admired beauty- 
lay prone upon the floor of her dressing-room, 
burying her head In her hands, and moaning in 
an agony too deep for tears. 
How that, night passed she never knew; the girl’s 
bratn seemed on tire. She threw open the win¬ 
dow ; It was a wet night and the rain poured down 
upon her bare head and uncovered shoulders, as she 
leaned out, unheeded. Her head burned, her tem¬ 
ples throbbed; fears, recollections, burled hopes, 
surged round her like the waves of a troubled sea. 
She tried to grow calmer; she at last retired, but 
she had no power to arrest her thoughts. The re. 
membrance of her last Interview with Lawrence 
Carewe continually came before her, and the bit¬ 
ter thought of the terrible wroDg she was about to 
commit, haunted her. But It was too late to draw 
back now—she could not, she dare not do It! 
Once or twice she started up with the Intention of 
seeking her uncle, or Mattie, or Ernest, and pray- 
lDg them to put oil the marriage ; hut she sank 
hack weakly on her pillows, taint and terrified at 
the very thought. 
The dawn broke, the sunshine stole Into the 
room, hut Cecil’s aching eyes were wide open; 
sounds of the household moving about with unac¬ 
customed activity and bustle reached her faint ly, 
By-and-by her maid came In with some tea, from 
which Cecil turned In loathing, and then Mattie 
entered, on her way down to breakfast, and stoop¬ 
ed over her, klsslDg her fondly, and whispering 
“ I hope you will be very happy, my Cecil,” and 
told her, smiling, that she must not appear until 
she came down to go to the church; and went away 
with an ache at her heart, for Cecil had answered 
nothing, but her eyes had followed Mattie with an 
unutterable wretchedness, which It was fortunate 
or unfortunate Mrs. Edgar did not see. 
CHAPTER XXVJII. 
“ May I come in, Cecil? You said I might put 
on your wreath, you know,” said Lottie Tyrrell's 
voice at Cecil's door a few hours later; and Ltsette 
opened the door, admitting the young lady with a 
rather rtlssatMled countenance, as It she resented 
this encroachment on her privileges, took the 
wreath of orange-blossoms from its box, and 
handed the lace veil to Miss Tyrrell. 
Cecil was seated before her dressing-table, 
dressed In the rich white satin and Brussels lace 
that formed her bridal-robes, and she did not 
move or look round when Lottie fluttered in, look¬ 
ing •’ as pretty as a picture,” and very like one In 
her quaintly-made dainty costume. All through 
the dressing operations she had remained silent 
and passive as now, allowing the maid to have 
her will in all things—neither suggesilng, nor 
taking any heed of the Frenchwoman’s rapturous 
exclamations ot admiration. Her eyes were fixed 
on the glass before her, hut she saw nothing of the 
beautiful face reflected there; and once or twice 
Ltsette had been startled by the ghastly pallor ot 
her young mistress, and the heavy Inertness ot all 
her movements. Lottie also noticed her extreme 
pallor, and glanced at the maid with some alarm; 
then, having consoled herself by the reflection 
that brides are generally pale, Lottie took the veil, 
and began arranging it on the glossy braids of 
hair over which Ltsette had expended so much 
time and pains. The beautiful filmy material fell 
In soft, fleecy folds over the motionless form, and 
with a delighted exclamation, I.isette wok up Hie 
wreath and sen led It into Its place. 
“ Oh, how lovely!” she said, rapturously. “ Ce¬ 
cil, how beautiful you are 1” 
Cecil did not speak for a moment; then she rose 
unsteadily, lifting her hand with a troubled ges¬ 
ture to her brow. 
“ How heavy It Is 1” she said, and her voice had 
a strange, hollow sound. “ Llsette, open the win¬ 
dow 1” she added sharply; ” T am stifled here !” 
Llsette rushed to the window', too much startled 
to open it immediately; and when her trembling 
Angers were fumbling with the fastener, Cecil 
cried again, to the same hoarse, strained voice: 
“ Quick ! give me air! Do you not sec that 1 am 
choking 7” 
Her voice failed; her hand, which had been 
clutching convulsively at her throat, fell heavily 
on her side; she made a step or two forward 
towards the window; then stopped, swaying to 
and fro. 
“ Llsette! Llsette I” said Lottie, In terror, “ she 
Is 111! Oh. come, come!" 
Llsette rushed to her mistress’s side, and both 
girls tried to support Cecil as she sank back, her 
beautiful flower-crowned head falling Inert and 
heavy against Lottie’s shoulder; but their strength 
was not equal to the heavy weight of a person In 
a dead faint, and they were obliged to lay her on 
the floor, where she lay In all her bridal finery 
like one dead. 
“ Oh, Llsette, what shall we do ?” said Lottie 
Tyrrell, bursting Into tears. “ How dreadful she 
looks! Do you thlnk-do you think—do you think 
she Is dead ?” 
“ Dead!” echoed Llsette, contemptuously, as Bhe 
caught, up a bottle of salts and held It up to Cecil’s 
nostrils; “ of course not! She has fainted, mad¬ 
emoiselle ; I have seen mademoiselle faint like tills 
before once or twice. Rub her hands, Miss Tyrrell. 
Give me the cologne.” 
But all their efforts were vain; water was dash¬ 
ed on her face, to the destruction ot the soft lace 
about her throat; her forehead was bathed with 
cologne, strong ammonia was held to her nostrils 
without effect; and, thoroughly startled and 
alarmed, Llsette rushed off for Mrs. Edgar, who 
had fortunately not started for church, and who 
came hurrying along the corridors, white and 
trembling In her pretty velvet dress, and who fell 
on her knees beside ner sister’s still form with a 
little cry ot despair. 
“ Oh, Lottie, this la terrible!” she sobbed. " Run 
and flud Edgar ana tell him to send a groom for 
Dr. Collins at once. I am afraid she is very 111.” 
Lottie flew off. and In a very few momenta the 
whole house was In confusion; most of the guests 
had already started for church, but those who re¬ 
mained were full of aU kinds ot suggestions and 
advice; the maids were running about In equal 
activity and confusion, and when Edgar had sent 
one mounted servant for the doctor, and another 
to Mr. Daton, who was already at the church, he 
went upBtalrs to his wife. 
Cecil was still perfectly unconclous on the floor, 
but with Edgar's assistance she was lifted on to 
the bed. where she lay like a drooping flower, 
broken at the stalk, without the slightest gleam 
of consciousness on her marble face. With very 
gentle bands Ltsette removed her veil and wreath, 
it was but too evident that there would be no wed¬ 
ding that day. 
As quickly as it was possible Dr. Collins came 
galloping up the avenue, riding the horse of the 
man who had been sent for him; aud almost sim¬ 
ultaneously a carriage dashed up, out of which 
sprang Mr. Daton and the bridegroom-elect, both 
of whom followed the doctor into the room where 
Cecil lay. _ 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
0 BOIL'S TRIAL. 
The gray evening shadows had come, and a 
mournful silence spread over the house which 
that morning had been so full of pleasant confu¬ 
sion and excitement. The greater number of the 
guests had departed, and the very lew old friends 
who remained were gathered In the drawing-room, 
talking with grave faces and low voices of the un¬ 
toward event of the morning. Outside Cecil's 
door, crouching on a low window-scat, sat Lottie 
Tyrrell, weeping and watching and within a 
mournful group were gathered round the bed on 
which Cecil still lay. white and motionless. 
They had removed the heavy white satin robe, 
and replaced it by a wrapper of pale blue flannel; 
one hand lay by her side; Ernest, seated at the 
bedside, looking the picture ot despair, held the 
other, and now and again he stooped and pressed 
his lips to It; Dr. Collins, grave and absorbed, 
stood at the foot of the bed; and Mattie leaned 
over her sister, watching for the first sign of ani¬ 
mation on the lovely marble face. The room was 
very still and silent, and had been so for some 
time, when Dr. Collins, with a little sigh of relief, 
said, softly: 
•• She is coming to herself. Stand back a little, 
my friend, she must not see you.” 
Ernest drew back slightly as the heavy eyelids 
quivered a little, and then were lifted slowly from 
the large eyes, which looked straight up vacantly 
at the celling for a moment; then they fell upon 
Mattie’s anxious face, 
" Whattstt?” shesald, faintly. “ Wheream I?’’ 
•• Here at home, dear,” whispered Tattle, with a 
break tn her voice. 
“ with you, Mattie?” said Cecil’s white lips. 
“ With me, darling.” 
“ l am not married ?” with a quick look of alarm 
and terror. 
“No, dearest!” 
And with a faint, sobbing gasp, Cecil fell back 
on her pillows again white and still. 
11 You had better leave us. Air. Eieston," said 
Dr. Collins, quietly. “ When Miss Lester comes 
to herself she must be kept perfectly quiet, or 1 
cannot answer tor the consequences.” 
Ernest rose Immediately and left the room, his 
face pale, hla Ups qulverlug. as he paused out¬ 
side the door to rogulu some semblance ot compo¬ 
sure, a little flgure sprang up from the wtndow- 
Boat. aud put a small trembling hand on his arm. 
“ is she better ?” said Lottie. Tremulously. 
“She has spokuV'he answered hoarsely. 
Aud looking Into his white, suffering race, Lot¬ 
tie’s eyes filled as she said, softly: 
“Oh, I am so sorry for you I” 
He looked down at her sadly, and took the little 
hands In his as he stood silent, his pale face work¬ 
ing with pain ; then he moved away taking Lottie 
with him. 
“ Dear Ernest,” she said, gently, “ do not grieve 
so. she will be better soon and all will be well.” 
In a few minutes he raised his head. 
“ I feel as if I had lost her,” he said, brokenly. 
“ Thank you, little friend. Forgive me for having 
distressed you.” 
He stooped down again and touched the little 
hand lightly with his Ups, and went away, while 
Lottie ran off to her own room, excited and trem¬ 
bling. 
All that night Cecil Lester waB very 111; she re¬ 
covered from one loDg falntlng-flt, only to fall Into 
another, and the next morning her weakness and 
dehtlity were so extreme, that Dr. Collins peremp¬ 
torily forbade any visitors In the sick-room, except 
Mattie and Llsette. 
“ I have been questioning Miss Lester’s maid,” 
he said to Mattie, when they were alone, “ and I 
am not at all surprh rd. at her mistress’s illness. 
The state of exetteme tand sleeplessness In which 
she has been for days -nay, weeks past—Is more 
than sufficient to acco int for it. Extreme quiet 
is the best medicine for her now.” 
Cecil made no opposition; Indeed, had she 
wished to do so, she was too weak. She lay still 
and passive, hardly ever speaking, and taking 
nourishment from her sister’s hand without a 
word. She seemed to have lost all interest in out¬ 
ward things; but once, when Llsette made some 
lamentation about the magnificent wedding which 
had been spoilt, and the beautiful wedding-dress 
from Worth, which was damaged by the water 
which had been sprinkled over It, a quick shudder 
ran through Cecil, and she turned hastily to her 
Bister. 
“ I am too Ul to he married, Mattie,” she said, 
petulantly, “much too 111.” 
“ Yes, yes, my darling,” said Mattie, reassuring¬ 
ly, although her heart ached for Ernest, who was 
anxiously expecting a summons to Cecil. 
On the third day Cecil was able to be lifted from 
her bed to the sora In her dressing-room, and on 
the foUowlng day Dr. Collins gave permission to 
receive visitors—to Ernest’s great delight and 
CecU’s chagrin. 
“I wish he had left me In peace,” she said, pet¬ 
tishly. " I am not strong enough. Mattie, don’t 
leave me alone with Ernest.” 
Mattie made no answer for a minute or two, but 
fidgeted uneasily about the room ror a moment; 
then she came to her sister’s side and knelt down 
beside her. 
“ Cecil,” she said, gently, “ are you behaving 
quite fairly towards Ernest ? Dear, If you have 
anything to say to him, had you not better lose 
no time ?” 
Cecil's lip quivered. 
“ Mattie—If I could spare him,” she said, broken¬ 
ly. “ Oh, sister, how hard it Is that others should 
suffer for our sins!” 
“ It Is hard, my darling," said Mattie, tremu¬ 
lously, and although no other word passed be¬ 
tween them, MatUe knew that her sister would 
never be Ernest's wife, and her eyes filled as she 
saw the took of delight which flashed Into his face 
when she told him Cecil could see him. 
“He Is very young; that Is hl3 only chance of 
forgetting,” said Mattie to herself, softly, when 
she was alone. “ But as It Is, It will go very hard 
with him.” ^ 
(Concluded from patre 58.) 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
Her appearance was followed almost Immedi¬ 
ately by that ot Jenkins with the tea-tray, and 
Cecil went over to the little gipsy-table, and began 
to pour out tea in sllenee. The red gleam of the 
fire playing over the room fell upon her as she sat 
there lu her somber black dress, on the beautiful 
weary race, and on the white thin hands, which 
were moving among the dainty china and glitter¬ 
ing tea apparatus. The pretty room Itself looked 
very comfortable and homelike; Mattie, In her low 
chair by the fire, looking so bright and pretty, was 
glancing occasionally at the clock to see how soon 
she might expect Edgar, who had gone to the 
city with Mr. Daton. Ernest was standing by Ce¬ 
cil, taking his cup of tea trom her hand, when 
there was a sound of steps on the stairs, aud Cecil 
halt rose, trembling, with the red, hectic flush on 
each cheek. 
“There Is some one with Uncle Henry,” she said 
faintly, and Ernest glanced at her, surprised at 
her agitation and manner. 
“It is Edgar, dear,” said Mattie, hastily. “ You 
know they were to return together.” 
But Cecil did not answer; she stood erect by the 
Uttle gipsy table, leaning one hand upon it, the 
other pressed against her heart, while her breath 
came In quick, short gasps from her pallid parted 
Ups. The footsteps came nearer; there was a 
pause, and the sound oc talking on the landing 
without, then silence, and Cecil turned to the tea- 
table again. 
“ I beg your pardon,” she said, faintly, “I am so 
absurdly nervous!” 
She lifted a cup of tea In her weak hands to give 
to him, but at that moment the door opened, and 
Mr. Daton came in quietly, but his ruddy face was 
looking pale and agitated as he went forward to 
Cecil’s side. 
*• Cecil,” he said, hurriedly; but before he could 
oontinue, Cecil screamed out as it she had been 
shot, rushed forward, and the next moment she 
was in Lawrence Carewe’s arum, clinging to him 
and uttering inarticulate sounds ot joy; and 
while she was looking up into the beloved face, a 
blinding mist came before her eyes; the white 
Uds drooped ; the dainty head fell upon his shoul¬ 
der—Cecil had borne her sorrow, but she had not 
strength to bear her Joy—she had fainted away! 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
NOT A. OUKAM. 
Cecil’s swoon was not of a long duration: In a 
very few minutes the white Uds were lifted from 
the beautiful eyes, and che looked up quesUonlug- 
ly at Mattie as she bent over her; then her eyes 
