daughters. These were hearty, unaffected girls, 
who looked upon the gentle Edith with something 
like the affection they would have for a child. 
Hut there was one In the family who simply 
looked up to her with awe, and that was Jack, 
the only son. a youth of nineteen. During all the 
years that E Jltti nourished In Longtnead, these 
two had been playmates, Just like brother and 
sister. 
the vicarage—young Royston Torkc—has finished 
his grand tour,” be went on; “ has done the Lon¬ 
don season, and now wants to come down here tor 
three months' fishing and shooting.” 
“A young gentleman!” cried Mrs. Marshall; 
“ will he not give a great deal of trouble 7" 
" Yes, my dear madam; but not In the way you, 
In your Innocence, would convey. He will bring 
a man with him who will wall cm him. Yon v> in 
have only to prepare his meals—surely Martha 
can do that—and boo to his rooms when he Is out. 
You will find Royston Yorko a model lodger." 
“ The money will be welcome,” said the widow, 
with a stnllo. u You mast not think me a miser; 
hut every are pounds I scrape together Is so much 
for Edith.” 
"You must think of yourself,” he answered, 
“ and not forget the wine and the tonic.” 
And so It was agreed l.hat Royston Yorke 
should enter within the fortress of their peaceful 
life. * 
Edith was startled at first; but soon was recon¬ 
ciled when she found the change seemed, in some 
way, to please her mother. 
She had no thought what a link In her own life 
this was to prove. 
After some time there was a dance, and Royston 
Yorke found her quite as perfect in this way as 
In any other. 
Then catne an early supper and departure. 
Jack, who was agonized and pale, stepped for¬ 
ward to accompany her home. 
" I need not trouble you,” said Edith, gently ; 
“ this gent leman is going my way, and will see 
me safe.” 
•Tack fell back, stunned. 
Then came the business of wrapping, and the 
pleasant little parly dispersed; Edith feeling that 
something pleasant had come Into her life, while 
Jack felt that desolation and woe had come to 
him. 
That night. Edith had pleasant dream3 Indeed; 
while Jack shut himself In his room and wept 
tears of blood. 
Who was this man who had come between him¬ 
self and his darling ? 
He seemed doomed to thwart his hopes—to 
dash to the ground his beautiful day-dreams. 
But. no; It should not be. 
Edith was his—his own—darling, and no man 
should deprive him of her. 
And as this thought flashed across his mind, 
there came Into his head such savage aad mur¬ 
derous thoughts as fairly star! led himself. 
The germ of crime bad entered his soul. 
When Royston Yorke and Edith reached the 
house, Mrs. Marshall herself opened the door, 
and was not a little surprised to see these two 
together. 
" I have h ad the honor to make Miss Marshall's 
acquaintance at the vicarage this evening,” said 
the gentleman frankly, “and have brought her 
home. I hope you do not allow my presence to 
Interfere with her practice and studies?” 
"Oh, no,”replied Mrs. Marshall, as she closed 
the door; "you are out so much that she has 
plenty of time to attend to her sti dle3 without 
annoying you.” 
“ I have had tho pleasure of hearing your 
daughter slug and play,” he went on, “ and have 
not had such a treat for a long time.” 
From this time out, there came a very great 
change In the habits or Mr. Yorke. 
He easily round out that Edith, after her studies 
were over, was la the practice of taking walks. 
His servant, Prentiss, wasltivaiuablo in this way. 
lie knew everything. 
So It happened that the second day after tho 
party, Edith—not so blithe as usual, not so in¬ 
clined to smmpar along with Kit—met Mr. Roy¬ 
ston Yorko. Ho had already stmt his rod home 
by Prentiss. 
"Good evening," he said, with as much polite¬ 
ness as he would have shown to a duchess. “ I 
suppose you are going for one of your favorlto 
walks?” 
" I have been In the habit of strolllDg of an 
afternoon ever since I can remember, it Is a 
change after my studies," was the low-spoken 
reply.- , 
"May I accompany you ? ” he asked. 
" Uult‘83 you would prefer going home to your 
dinner," she said, simply. 
"Myman will see to that," he said, with a 
laugh. 
And so they entered one of those long, winding 
lanes, bordered by wild roses, honeysuckle, and 
other trees and shrubs, which are the marvel 
of English scenery, and more than one of 
which, perfect In beauty, still remains close to 
London. 
The conversation of these two young poo pie 
was very simple and commonplace. As yet they 
had nothing In which they were on common 
ground. Ills had been the life of towns, he had 
traveled much, and thought much, while Edith 
was entirely a taino bird. Her music books, 
walks, and pens monopolised her life, except her 
love for her mother. 
But hitherto never had a male voice made her 
heart beat or sept a delicious thrill through her 
velus. A new sense seemed to bo developed In 
her, which surrounded her as with a halo. All 
seemed blighter; the sun more glorious ; even 
the Irces were greener, the dowers brighter and 
sweeter. 
Little as she suspects or knows It, her heart 
has spoken, once and for all In this world. 
Royston Yorke told her amusing stories of life 
In town and adventure abroad, but she had little 
to tell herself. 
Suddenly they reached the end of a lane, and 
were near a very handsome farm-house. 
Edith hesitated, and looked at him shyly. 
" I never come out without giving them a call,” 
she said. " They are very good friends. You saw 
the son at the vicarage last night." 
" Yes. I remember. A remarkably sullen and 
disagreeable young gentleman,” replied Roy¬ 
ston, laughing. " 1 hope his family are not like 
him 1 ” 
“ I never knew him disagreeable," Edith went 
on. " We were schoolfellows and playmates to¬ 
gether ever since I was hve years old.” 
" I suppose, then, he thinks he has a right to 
monopolize you,” said Yorke, dryly. 
"Not at all,” answered Edith, blushing she 
knew not why. " I suppose he was out of sorts 
and 111. Will you come In, I shall not stay 
long.” 
Royston Yorke, who began to oe more interest¬ 
ed In the Innocent and fascinating young lady 
than he would llko to have owned to himself, 
readily agreed, and was soon being Introduced to 
tbe Claytons, very pleasant homely people, 
though Itoyston thought the girls rather stiff. 
Fruit and cream were then produced, with wine 
and ale. 
“ Where i3 Jack 7 ” said Edith, quietly. 
“ 1 don't know,” cried the rather, bluntly, with¬ 
out meaning anything ; ■* but the boy Is shy like. 
SWEET LOVE AND I, 
Sweet Love and I have strangers been 
These many years. 
So many years. 
He eatne to me when life was green 
And free from fearp. 
These present fears. 
He came, and for a little spang 
My life was gladenod by his grace; 
But sDon he fled, and Joy gave place 
To grief and tears. 
“ 0 Love, come to mo once again!" 
My lone heart sighs, 
Bo sadly sighs. 
‘Recall thy fearless nature, then," 
Sweet Love replug, 
Softly replies, 
Thou canBt not ? Then I cannot be 
The same that once 1 waa to thee, 
There’s no room in the heart for me. 
Where fears arise.” 
CHAPTER II. 
Royston Yorke. 
Fock days later a hired fly came up with tho 
new lodger, a fair young man of about two or 
three-and-twenty, with bright, blue eyes, and a 
Arm, honest mouth. He was tall and stalwart, as 
an Englishman should he. 
He was accompanied by a sturdy man-servant, 
something between a game-keeper and a valet, 
who brought in such a stock of luggage, rods, 
gun-cases, and other articles, as fairly to aston¬ 
ish Mrs. Marshall, and much more Martha. 
"I hope you will he comfortable, ' sail Mrs. 
Marshall, as she ushered her newly-arrived guest 
Into the parlor. " 1 have done my best.” 
" I have no doubt of that," said the young man, 
with a smile, " but I generally make myself pretty 
comfortable everywhere.” 
Which was perfectly true. And one can do it 
with youth, and strength, and health to back 
one, and all t he good things of this world In per¬ 
spective. 
Upon which Mrs. Marshall retired to await his 
orders. 
HER MOTHER’S SECRET. 
CHAPTER I. 
At Longmeod. 
Longmead was one of t,ho3e lovely picturesque 
villages which are so often to be found In nooks 
and corners of pleasant old England, villages 
which even yet escape the whistle and clang of 
r allways, and enable toil-worn workers to obtain 
Niutrost and calm repose which Is not to be found 
’n the fashionable watering place. 
liongmuad owned a church, a parsonage, some 
dozen houses or pretentious character, oue man¬ 
sion, owned by the Squire and lord of the manor. 
The rest consisted of the usual varied buildings 
used by shopkeepers and workmen. 
But. there was one feature of the place which 
made It. particularly attractive, and that was the 
existence, here and there, ol some lovely cottages, 
embayed m umbrageous gardens. 
In one of these dwelt Mrs. Marshall and her 
aughter. This lady, some tourtecn years be¬ 
fore, had come to live In the place with a middle- 
aged servant, and her little gin, then five years 
old. 
she was a total stranger ln the place, and gave 
no account of herself. But she always wore 
black ; and though Martha Gale, her attendant, 
did not actually break any confidence, It was gen¬ 
erally believed she was a widow. 
Be that as It may, she was very lady-like, quiet 
in her maimers, and had a competency. She was, 
therefore, readily admitted Into the small circle 
of society, the vicar and doctor’s family included- 
But, though she did not reject any of these ad¬ 
vances, she preferred solitude to society, and 
though polite and urbane to all who called, she 
never sought company. 
Her time was almost wholly devoted to the ed¬ 
ucation of her daughter. Mrs. Marshall was a 
most accomplished woman, and not only taught, 
her daughter music, singing, and drawing, but. 
Indoctrinated her mind with a love of literature, 
poetry, and art, which showed In what a good 
school she had been educated. 
So far as Edith was concerned, these sentiments 
had never changed. Jack was still her brother, 
and nothing more. She could run with him, fish 
with him, race with him. Just as when she was a 
tiny girl; but In the adolescent heart there had 
grown up a sentiment, deep, earnest, and devoted. 
She was Ills queen; but never In any way did 
he allow his sentiments to be discovered. She 
was so sweet, so frail, needed so much protection 
from the wind of heaven and the heatof sun, that 
he was content to be her protector, friend, broth¬ 
er, for an lode Unite perlol. 
He certainly did hope that a time might come— 
well, when he allowed himself to build castles ln 
the air, he blushed as roseate red as any great 
school girl being kissed f ir tho first time by a 
rough-and-ready sweetheart. 
People noticed, as time went on. that Mrs. Mar¬ 
shall grew mare reserved and retie »>ii . Once she 
went Up to London alone, and returned, looking 
pale and care worn. 
The doctor came to see her, and ventured to 
prescribe. 
“'Tinuseless,"she said; "my time 13 coming 
to an end. I hare been up to one of the most 
eminent men in London, and he tells me it Is only 
a question of months.” 
" My dear lady, he should allow something for 
our beautiful air,” remarked the doctor, cheer¬ 
fully. " You must not give way.” 
“Lite has not been so sweet,”she went on, 
‘ that 1 should rebel against, the will of Heaven. 
But my daughter—she is alone, absolutely alone, 
ln the world. Of her father's friends 1 know noth¬ 
ing—he passed through my life like a shadow— 
and I believe I never knew his real name.” 
" My dear madam," cried the other, holding up 
her hands, " how can that be 7” 
"I win tell you some day before long,".sbe 
answered, with a deep sigh. " As to my own 
people, they discarded ine long ago, because I re¬ 
fused to wed a Hi tie profligate. Now, when they 
did so, they settled my mother's money on me, by 
way of anuulty. When I die, my darling will be 
left to the mercies of the world—obliged to toll. 
True. I have plncUed and saved to the extent of 
nearly a thousand pounds; but the Interest of 
that sum is ouly sufficient to keep her from star¬ 
vation.” 
"It Isa goodly standpoint,” observed the doc¬ 
tor, "and will save her much humiliation and 
trouble. But now let me see you every week; 
follow my prescriptions, and don’t worry. Be¬ 
lieve me, there are many happy years before 
you." 
And he left her very much consoled and com¬ 
forted. 
" Not a word to Edith!” was her parting Injunc¬ 
tion. 
" Old story," ho thought to himself, as he left 
the house; “victim of some villain. But I don’t 
say a word about Mat,” be chuckled. "Let Hie 
poor woman keep her own secret, or It Is little 
she'd see of civility In Longmcad. It would be a 
case of turn up noses; always said so; sorry, and 
all that; but can't, visit her.” 
Some days later, the doctor, whoso name was 
Williams, came again, and found the widow really 
very much better. 
“ Now, Mrs. Marshall,” he said, “ you were talk¬ 
ing about saving money for your daughter. Do 
you know that tor a very large pari of the year 
you might get three guineas a week for your din¬ 
ing-room, drawing, and one bedroom?” 
The widow's pale face flushed crimson. 
" Now, don't be angry wlih an old friend,” ho 
said. “ 1 mean you well." 
“I know It. It was only my rebellious pride. 
Should a suitable person be found,” she answered, 
“ 1 should ouly be too glad.” 
" Well, a young gentleman, who used to read at 
Several days passed, and the lodger went out 
fishing, visiting, calling on people, and ln general 
amusing himself ln a careless kind of way. It Is 
to be presumed that he was comfortable and 
happy. 
One evening Edith went over to the vicarage, 
where she was often asked, to a little merry meet¬ 
ing. The farmer's daughters were there, being 
very considerable people ln the village, and .Jack, 
of course, but the event of the evening was the 
presence of Royston Yorke. 
Scarcely had lie been In the room many minutes 
when he noticed Ed'th. 
"Whois that charming-looking young lady?” 
he asked of the elder daughter. 
"Now, is it possible you do not know?” said 
Miss Hyde, with a surprised look and laugh, 
" How should I, since I never saw her before ?” 
he asked, somewhat mystified. 
“ Why, she Is your landlady's daughter 1” cried 
Miss Hyde. "Never seen her?" 
"She my landlady's daughter!” he answered, 
in quite startled tones. 
" Yea; but then, you see, Mrs. Marshall never 
did let lodgings before, 'l’nough we do not know 
much about her, we know she Is a lady,” remark¬ 
ed M1S3 Hyde; and asshe Bpoke, she made a sign 
to Edltb, who timidly approached. 
"Edith, dear,” said the young lady, as Royston 
Yorke rose, “this gentleman wishes to be lntro- 
d uced to you. Where have you been hiding yo ir- 
selt?" 
"I havo nothing to do with the house,” replied 
Edith, after blushing deeply; " mamma will never 
let me.” 
" And, now that you two know one another,” 
continued Miss Hyde, “do ask her to sing, Mr. 
Yorke. She la tho wonder of the neighborhood !” 
"You arc a set of detestable flatterers!” said 
Edltb. 
But the young gentleman cut. her short by offer¬ 
ing his hand aud laklug her to the piano. 
Soon her fine voice and admirable accompani¬ 
ment caused all to crowd arouud with the deepest 
Interest. 
Except. Jack, who stood aloof with open mouth, 
stern, sulky looks, and fierce passion raging ln 
hla heart. 
When Edith finished, Royston offered htsarin, 
and leading her to a seat, took up his post beside 
her, and commenced a deeply earnest conversa¬ 
tion. 
He was simply amazed at the accomplishments 
possessed by this modest village violet. 
He was too polite and courteous to hint how 
such a i are gem should be found ln such a poor 
setting. 
At the time of which we speak, EJlth Marshall 
was nineteen—a bright girl, with golden-brown 
hair, hanging a w'avc of natural curls round her 
well-shaped little head; sweet, rosy Ups, and 
deep brown eyes. 
Perhaps in all that country round there was not 
a happlpr child. With every wish gratified, with 
noeare, with a devoted mother, tune passed swift¬ 
ly on. She liked her studies and, when a little 
weary of i hem she felt a sense of bright, partic¬ 
ular freedom In Scampering over woods and fields 
with a ragged dog at her heels, who could blame 
her? 
One of the families with whom the Widow Mar¬ 
shall was more intimate, perhaps, than any oth¬ 
er, was that of Farmer Clayton, his wife, and 
