“ I insist upon your allowing me to know Pest!” 
he answered. And so, alter breakfast, she drove, 
off In Sir Arthur’s carriage, leaving my lady and 
her daughter stupetled. 
“ I wish we knew more about the dear girl's 
family and antecedents," said the Baronet, almost 
mournfully. “ Somewhere have 1 seen the face 
before, but It. is as It were In my dreams. It 
awakens memories, as does the voice, and yet 1 
cannot give them a name.” 
“ You suspect nothing wrong?" asked Royston. 
“ No, noiking. That noble brow reveals a soul 
within glorious and good; those, eyes beam with 
truth and beauty," ho went on; “ and strangely 
do they move me!” 
Royston stared at his uncle. He had never 
seen bis usually phlegmatic and grave relative so 
excl ted. That he was pleased with the girl or his 
heart was most agreeable, but he could not un¬ 
derstand the curious and extraordinary interest 
he took In her. 
Meanwhile, IflOth Marshall had driven to l lie 
house of Mr. Linton, who was delighted to see her, 
and appeared no way surprised at'he carriage. 
“And sir, sir,” she said, assuming a playful 
mien, “ you knew that Sir Arthur was Royston 
YorIce’s uncle?” 
“So you havo found It out!—what then?” Un¬ 
answered, with a chuckle. 
“ Was H fair?” she answered, In a tone of gentle 
remonstrance, “to thrust me on them? The 
uncle might have thought, me a scheming, de¬ 
signing adventuress, who went there to curry 
favor, win his regard surreptitiously, and then 
marry his nephew.” 
“As you knew notblDg of the matter,” lie an- 
swrered, “ he cannot blame you. Rocs he know 
all?" 
“ Ue knows all, and wishes me to marry his 
nephew—to supplant his own daughter; and, 
in the days to come, be Lady Tresseder,” she 
sighed. 
“ All of which you will be,” he said. 
“ Never!” was the quiet reply. “ I will enter 
no family under false pretences. Knowing what 
he thinks he knows, p wronlzed hy you, he takes 
everything for granted; but, knowing the truth, 
he would reluse me with scorn.” 
“Rut he never must know,” replied the man of 
the world ; “ It would be moral suicide.” 
** lie must know all, and that this very day !” 
was her Urm answer. 
“ you are a noble girl,” he said, fervently, “and 
shall have your own way. But heark’ee, girl; 
If you will tell your mother’s secret, oblige me la 
one thing—mention no names. I have reason lor 
keeping out of It. Tell h Im a story-” 
“Yes; U he Anally asks lor the names?” she 
argues. 
“ You must give them to him,” sighed the 
other, “ and reter him lo me for farther explan¬ 
ation.” 
Edith agreed; and. In a hurry to end all doubt 
and perplexity, hastened back to Eaton Square. 
Mr. Linton rubbed bis hands together. 
*• Nmv, we sUall know at last! Truth Is mighty 
and will prevail 1” he said. 
E 11th hastened h ick, and reaching the house, 
asked to see sir Arthur alone. She was at once 
ushered iuto the library, where the Baronet was 
readtug. Riyston. had gone to his club; the ladles 
had visitors. 
“You want to speak to me," he said, gaily. 
“ I do, sir Arthur,” she replied, accepting a 
proffered seat near him. 
She had round great difficulty In mustering 
courage to tell the tale. It was her mother’s 
secret, but sbe could not enter a family uuder 
false colors. 
“ You have spoken kindly to me—very kindly ; 
you have admitted the addressesor yournephew; 
you have”—low, sweetly, tenderly, sbe said this 
—“ treated me like a daughter.” 
“ I regard you as such,” he said, kindly. “ But 
why all this preamble ?” 
“You know nothing of me. Will you let me 
tell you a story ?” she asked. 
“ It It pleases you, my child,” he went on. 
“1 do not even know my father’s name,” she 
began, never looking up once ; “ and hence not 
my own.” 
It was well for her she did not see the nervou3 
start he gave, or she could not have gone on. 
“ There once lived a young lady,” she con- 
tlnued, and told her mother’s story. 
Not once did her eyes see the listener, whose 
agony was terrible as the words worked their way 
into hts brain, flxlug themselves there In marks 
of Ore. But he never spoke until she had quite 
finished. 
“ Girl,” he said. In a voice so hollow and far off, 
she sfcartbd up, and saw an agonized man star- 
gat her with eyes that nearly started from 
Ids head, •• in mercy give me the names 1”—To be 
continued. 
MAGDALEN'S LOVE STORY. 
VIOLET FULLER. 
“Now hush, my dearie, there’s a man; your 
mother’s a poor creature, but she can take care 
of her little lad yet. It will never be she that 
will sit by and see him thrashed, not for all ihe 
La no levs in England!” 
The speakers ft In her cottage kitchen in an 
armchair by the fireside, plaiting straws—a fee¬ 
ble, sickly woman, with a peevish expression on 
her thin face. She had fretted herself Into ill 
health two years ago, when her husband died, 
Jack Maksden, the Tramley fisherman, who hud 
lost Ids life coming round the headland one wild 
nl-ht, with hls boat heavily laden with fish. 
On a stool at her feet, sat the hoy wfiose un- 
merlhPd whipping she bewallrd, hls small face 
disfigured ' y abundant weeping. 
The room bad also one other occupant, a beau¬ 
tiful, dark-eyed girl of nineteen or twenty, who 
sat sewing. 
Sbe let her work fall on her lap as Mrs. Mars- 
pkn spoke, and said In a low, intense tone, “ Moth¬ 
er, I could not help It ’’ 
“ You didn't try to help Itthe other retorted. 
" You wouldn't care If Lanc.let broke every bone 
In hls body—as he nearly has done, had luck to 
hls ugly face!” 
“O hush, mother! please,”said the girl,Im¬ 
ploringly. 
And yet few others, men and women, In the 
parish of Framley, would have been much con¬ 
cerned had a far greater amount of blame fallen 
on the head of IIcon Langley, the village school¬ 
master. lie had come to the place a year ago, to 
be master of the “ rector’s school,’’ as It. was call¬ 
ed. High testimonials had procured him the ap¬ 
pointment., and indeed hls attainments were all 
that could be desired mid more than were needed 
for the post. But be was not a popular man with 
the people, being vlolent-tempored, haughty, re¬ 
served, and Independent, lie was no favorite 
therefore, with either rector or scholars, lie was, 
however, of gentle birth, and had the misfortune 
t.o lose both parents at an early age. But lor this 
perhaps, Hugo, as hls Italian mother called him, 
might have been different In mlud and manners. 
As it. was, he seemed to be at war with all the 
world, having quarreled at eighteen with the 
uncle who was his guardian, leaving the house 
utterly without resources and utterly friendless, 
lit- was clever, ambitious, and determined; and 
yet, in twel ve years, In spite ol' hls talents, be 
had risen to no hlgUer post than that of a village 
schoolmaster. 
Magdalen Mausden had been appointed mis¬ 
tress of the girl’s school some three months after 
the arrival of Hugh Langley, allbough she was 
young tor the position. But. the death of her 
father had tbiown the care of the lamlly on her 
shoulders, and the rector, thinking her sufficient¬ 
ly well qualified for the sit uation, gave It to her 
on the death or the former mistress, she, like 
the new master, was clever and ambitious; and 
he soon became aware ol the fact, and offered to 
assist her in her studies. 
rerluips the beauty and grace of the girl had 
something to do with this offer, as sbe possessed 
a natural refinement, quite at variance with her 
surroundings. She thankfully accepted the offer, 
and lioGii found hls pupil quick, earnest and un¬ 
wearied In her efforts to learn. To her, he be¬ 
came a patient and gentle master; so these na¬ 
tures, so dissimilar, suited each other In this re¬ 
spect. 
It was a lovely Juno evening, and the children 
had been dismissed for some time. The boys’ 
room w as open, and at his desk the master sat, 
alone. Ills dark, resolute face, w lth Its handsome 
eyes— the only beauty of hls countenance—wore 
a softened expression as be sat waiting for hls 
pupil, who generally came at this hour. Re was 
probably thinking of the beaulllul girl who, for 
six months, had been tils almost dally companion. 
She carte at length, In her plain stiff dress, 
which showed every curve of the young, graceful 
form, and flushed like a June rose, as the master 
turned and looked at her. 
“You are late,” was all he said, although hls 
eyes w ere lully conscious of every grace which 
she possessed. 
“ Yes, 1 was detained at home—” 
Sbe. opened her hooks on the desk before him, 
and the lesson began, but the master saw that 
her attention wandered. At last he laid down the 
hook. 
You are not well, to-day ?” he asked. 
“ Oh, yes, 1 am quite well,” she said, quickly. 
“ What are you thinking of, then? Notof your 
lesson.” 
She hesitated. 
“ No,” sUe said, at length. 
“ What or then, tell me ?” he asked. 
“Iwaut to speak to you, Mr. Langley,” she 
said, suddenly. •• You were very angry with my 
brother this morning.” 
•• Well ?” was the reply. 
“ You hurt him very much." 
“ 1 meant to hurt him.” 
“ But he Is so young!” she pleaded. 
“ Y'oung, or old, he did wrong,” And Mr. Lang¬ 
ley leaned hls face on hls hand as he spoke. 
There was a pause. 
“ Well," he asked, at length. 
The girl's cheeks flushed as she answered— 
“ could you not be a little more gentle with them, 
Mr. Langley. Tom deserved punishment I know, 
but when you are angry every one misunder¬ 
stands you, and If you only knew what they all 
say of you J” The tears sprang Into ber eyes as 
spoke. 
“ I can’t attest to all the fools’-talk that goes on 
In Tramley,” he answered scornfully. “ If you 
stand by rue I don’t care who Is against me.” 
“ Rut. cuuld you not bear with them v” she 
pleaded. “ 1 hey ean harm you because they send 
all their complaints to the rector; even now, 
there are people who say you will not. be here 
much longer.” 
•* Ah, are they saying that 7” and he laughed, 
well, perhaps it is true.” 
She ga ve him ©ne sad look, and then sat with 
bowed head and clasped bands. Presently, large 
tears ran down her cheeks and dropped on her 
Lap, hip she never moved ; she did not wish hlrn 
to know Unit she wits weeping, he would only 
despise her tor It. Rut he was conscious ol every 
tour she shed. Ue silently watched the glittering 
drops as they fell over the fair, round cheeks; 
then he bent and whispered : 
“ Ii It should come to that, if I am to live here 
no longer, Magdalen, will you let me leave Tram¬ 
ley as poor as when 1 came ?” 
She started, but neither answered nor looked 
up. At length ho spoke again. 
“ I have never loved a woman before; you are 
my first love, Magdalen, my pupil. Will you be 
my w ire ?” 
She looked up. “ What am I that you should 
ask me this7” she cried. “I am DOthlngbuta 
poor. Ignorant girl. Tour wife must not be such 
a one as I. 
He stooped closer; “Magdalen,” be whispered, 
“ Look at me !’’ The passionate tenderness of hls 
deep voice drew ber face up like a call. What 
need was there for words ? He took her In hls 
arms, aDd held her to bis heart. 
For three months they were Infinitely happy. 
They told no one of their engagement, and no one 
suspected It. During these months everything 
went well at the school. M agdalkn’s power over 
Mr. Langley was very great; one word, one look, 
or one touch from her hand would subdue lilm In 
Ids angriest mood. But she could not be always 
by hls side, and one day the peace came suddenly 
to an end. linen quarrel'd with t he rector. The 
rector was In the wrong, aDd Hugh, forgetting 
the deference due to one in the rector's position, 
stood up before him as an equal, and the end of It 
was, that when the school-houso was closed In 
the afternoon, the key went Into the rector’s 
pocket. 
Magdalen did not reproach Hugh, although 
she knew that limy must part. They met that 
evening for the last tlmo at the loot of a cliff be¬ 
side the sea, wblch had witnessed many a meet¬ 
ing of thelr’s before tbls, 
“It must bavo come to th's sooner or later,” 
said Hugh, as they stood hand In hand, with the 
great mass of water stretching away at tlielr feet. 
“ Do not grieve for It, my darling,” he went on ; 
“ 1 was wasting time here; now that you have 
made a better man of me, lam worthy of better 
tblngs. And going now will bring me back to 
you the soouer.” 
She looked up wistfully In hls face. 
“ The future Is all so dark 1” she cried. “ I feel 
as t hough I were holding the last link of a golden 
chain ; and te-nlght, It will have fallen from me." 
“No, It will not have fallen,” he answered. 
“ Y’our hand grasping one end, mine holding fast 
the. other. It will remain stretched out between 
us, uni 111 come back. I will work for you, strug¬ 
gle for you, and rise for you. And you must, wait 
lor me, for no power bave that of God shall keep 
me from coming back I” 
“ I will wait,” she answered; “ I will wait years 
and years. 111 tile before we meet again on earth, 
I will wait until we meet lu heaven!” Thus were 
their farewells spoken. 
Magdalen kept, her secret for two years, hear¬ 
ing from her lover at long Intervals, and living on 
In silent trust in hls truth and faithfulness. 
.After these two years were ended, one bright 
summer afternoon, Mrs. Maksden stood at her 
cottage door, shading her eyes irom the sun, as 
she looked eagerly towards the school-house, 
whence the children were swarming, and 
whence presently Magdalen came, with a slow 
step, but a glad light In her sweet eyes, which 
had long been absent irom them. 
“Dear me, what a time that school does keep 
you!” said her mother, In a vexed lone, as sbe 
drew near. “ Such a state as I have been lu all 
day! My poor head’s just worn out with think¬ 
ing. Maggie, what do you think the postman 
brought mo this morning ?” 
The girl’s face flushed. “ What was It, mother?” 
she asked eagerly. 
“ Oh, you’ll never guess. lie brought a letter 
from your T'ncle Jack, In America, who might 
Have been dead and burled, for anything I’ve 
known these ten years; and he has sent us 
money to go out to him,—every one of us,—and 
he’ll keep us, as long as we live. Just think of 
that: Why, Magdalen! God bless us! Are you 
going to faint?" 
“ Mother, c me In and shut the door,” said the 
girl in a faint voice os, white and trembling, she 
followed her mother into the kitchen. Here she 
grasped the old woman's hands, and said, Ln a 
hurried, constrained voice, “Mother, don’t he 
angry; 1 cannot go with you—J canuot leave En¬ 
gland. Please don’t, look at me like that. I have 
had news too, to-day. O mother!” and she broke 
down suddenly, and clasped her mother's hands 
to her breast. “ Speak kindly to me, dear mother. 
I am going to be Hugh Langley’s wile!" 
Mrs Maksden dropped her daughter’s hands, 
and took her by the arms. “ Y'ou are going to be 
what?” she cried. 
“ I am going to be hls wife,” she answered tri¬ 
umphantly. “I promised him, long before lie 
went away. And he lias written to me now, to 
tell me that he Is able to marry, and he is coming 
for me!" she cried, the light of a great gladness 
flashing up Into her face. It was the last, flush of 
joy that Irradiated tho fair face lor many a day 
to come. 
Magdalen had told her cherished secret, and a 
storm of reproaches followed—reproaches and a 
flood of tears so violent, as to exhaust. Mrs. M ars- 
den's small stock of strength, and force her to 
take to her bed, where she sobbed and moaned 
all night, making herself so 111 that when morn¬ 
ing came her daughter could not leave her to 
attend to her duties at the school. 
For two whole days this wont on and Magdalen 
borett all In silence, boro the wallings and pas¬ 
sionate entreaties not to go away from her, to 
stay with her poor mother, to whom she owed 
more duty than to a strange man. The girl's 
heart died within her. What should she do? 
Oh that God would show her where her duty 
lay! For two days the struggle went on, and no 
light came. She looked at her mother on the 
evening ol the second day, as she lay with closed 
eyes and lips, utterly spent and worn out with 
fretting, and felt that she must give nuGH up. 
Give him up? her love, her life. But she dared 
not leave that poor sickly Invalid, who needed all 
her care. Her duty was clear. 
She bent over her mother as she made the re¬ 
solve, and whispered a broken-hearted promise, 
that, slic would go lo America. Her reward came 
ln the answer: 
“ Could you not have said as much ln the begin¬ 
ning? Instead of doing your best to kill me. 
But it’s always the way, you never think of any 
one but. yourself!’’ 
The promise was given, and by the end of the 
week all was In readiness for departure. Huon’s 
letter, announcing hls arrival, had lain on her 
heart, unai swcml all that dreadful week, and on 
tfielr last night ln England she sat down alone, to 
answer It, as best she might. 
“ Do you remember,” she wrote, “ What l told 
you on that evening when we parted, that 1 felt 
as If I held the last Link of a chain ? And now It 
has fallen from me !” 
She told him how she was forced by the duty 
she owed to her mother to glva him up, and 
begged hls forgiveness. 
“What am 1 to do?” she broke out wildly at 
the end. 
“ How can I live all my life without you ? It I 
could only have seen you once before I go, I could 
bear It better, Rut to part thus! Oh, Hugh, 
write to me, and forgive me, or my heart will 
break!” 
To tbls appeal sbe received a hard and cruel 
answer. 
“I trusted all my happiness to you, and you 
have wrecked It,” he said. “From your solemn 
promise to wait, until 1 should come and claim 
you, no power on earth had right to set you free. 
You have broken these promises of your own 
weak choice. If you had been faithful I would 
have loved you, as never man on eeitli will love 
you. I worked ror you, b«ve thought of nollilDg 
else since we parted, and you have chosen your 
lot apart from mine. And 1-” 
The letter broke off here, there was nothing 
added hut the bitter cry “ Magdalen, Magda¬ 
len.” 
A summer day, ln southern latitudes. In a 
pleasant room with windows opening on a terrace 
and commanding a view of a pretty garden slop¬ 
ing to the sea sat a lady reading. Presently she 
dropped her book and turning her head slightly, 
remarked to a younger lady, who was seated at a 
table ln a distant purl of the. room. 
“ I forgot to tell you Miss Mabsden that ray 
sister, Mrs. Ross, expects some company this 
evenlDg, and wishes my daughters and yourself 
to be there; you will like it I think as there are 
some foreigners to be present. Please be ready 
at eight o'clock as Mrs, Ross wishes us to be 
early." 
Miss Marsden bowed in acquiescence of the 
proposed visit, and went, on with the writing on 
which she was engaged. 
Magdalen is changed, but her face has gained 
rather than lost in heauty during the nine years 
which have passed siuce we lust saw her. The 
rounded comeliness of former days has gone, but 
her dark eyes have a deep, tender look ln them, 
and intellect sits enthroned ou the broad, white 
brow. She lias wrought her wuy out of the great 
anguish ol her youth. The love that caused t hat 
hitler suffering has been the leading star, the re¬ 
fining element of her lire. She has striven to be 
what. Hugh would have had her be, and has suc¬ 
ceeded. No ratrer, more Int elligent, or more ele¬ 
gant woman, lu manners and appearance, will 
enter Mrs. Ross’ luxurious parlors to-night than 
Miss Marsden, the governess of Mrs. Tracy, 
whose husband Is a rich, retired, Southern mer¬ 
chant. 
Magdalen is alone in the world now. The uncle 
who brought her over Is dead. The sickly mother 
is dead too, arid her daughter had her reward for 
her self-sacrifice ln being with berln her last 
moments, and receiving a blessing for her good¬ 
ness. Her brother Toji Is seeking hls fortune in 
California. 
At eight o’clock Magdalen and her two pupils, 
Impetuous Southern girls devoted to their English 
governess, took t.helr places ln Mrs. Ross’ parlor. 
They sat at a side table strewn with books, and 
Magdalen whiled away the time ln looking them 
over, for but few guests had yet arrived. 
At length the room filled, and a small sofa near 
her was taken possession of by Mrs. Tracy and a 
gentleman who seemed a stranger. 
"By the way,” said the lady, lu tho midst of 
their talk, “ where 13 .Mr. Langley ? And who is 
he ? a foreigner, or course ?" 
“ Langley ? lie Is lu the other room, I believe. 
Hets quite distinguished In political circles ln 
England. At present, ho Is Secretary of Legation 
at Washington." 
Magdalen started, “It canuot be IIuun,”slio 
thought: “ t here are. other Lang lets ln the world 
heebie lilm.” And she bent again over her books. 
n How beautirul your open sea Is here I" said a 
voice hehlud her. “ It reminds me of a place 
where 1 oa.ee lived by the sea, a little village in 
the south of England." 
She did not move; but she knew the voice, 
those deep rich tones which had so often breathed 
the story or love Into her ear. 
At this moment a hand was laid kindly on her 
arm. “Come with me,” said her hostess; “you 
look very pale; this Is too hot for you. Come out 
with me, aud let us take a walk upon the terrace.” 
Away she went as In a dream, from the only 
presence the world held for her, out on the dim¬ 
ly-lighted terrace. Rut she could not walk—she 
coukl scarcely stand "Let me sit down,”she 
cried, as she leant ugaln&ta pillar near tier; “ let 
