URAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ it rests me to see you, mother,” lie answered, 
quietly. 
I.adj' Vincent was a tall, stately woman, of 
queenly presence, with silver hair, and calm, 
restful, blue eyes. She resembled her son in the 
stately presence, and quiet, high-bred manners; 
6191 
6191 
but while Sir Alan was hot-tempered, and Jeal¬ 
ous to a fault, Lady Vincent wu* calm and quiet 
In disposition, and most Impartial In her Judge¬ 
ment. 
"1 promised that you would be kind to her,” 
continued Sir Alan. " She has no relation In the 
word, and she will be like a daughter to you, 
mother, when you know her.” 
“ I will help you to keep your word, Alan,” she 
replied, gently. 
And they drove on In silence, while the thought 
flashed through Lady Vincent’s mind that per¬ 
haps she might become a real daughter to her 
some day. 
Marianna received Lady Vincent with great 
cordiality, and the lady was pleased with the 
old woman’s courtesy, and felt for her evident 
grief. 
When she had rested a little, she asked for 
Cora, 
" I cannot find hor, mother,” said the baronet, 
coming in at the moment, •* Perhaps she is In 
her room. Will you come there now?” 
Very quietly they opened the door of the room, 
where Harold lay In silence. 
Wlthqulreringlips, Lid./ Vincent gusd upon 
the beautiful lace, looking like a marble sculp¬ 
tured l’ortn as it lay there. Some one—Alan 
guessed who—had strewn flowers upon the 
still breast and between the tlfole3i Angers, 
where they lingered In their sweet beauty, fad¬ 
ing slowly. 
“ It Is a beautiful face, Alan,” said Lady Vin¬ 
cent, her eyes filling with great tears. “ I do 
not wonder that you loved him.” 
Sir Alan did not answer, tie had glanced rap¬ 
idly over the room, and seemed a little anxious 
at rtndlag It uatenanted. Mis mother stood si¬ 
lent, gently placing some of the flowers, which 
seemed to have been thrown In a heap at the foot 
the bed, about the. still hands, and on the pulse¬ 
less heart. Then she moved round, and came 
to the other side of the bed, and Alan saw her 
start, and stoop down. 
He came quickly rouud to her side, and saw, 
lying on the floor beside the bed, a pale, still 
form, as pale and as still as that upon the bed. 
It seamed aa 11 Cora, coming la to place her 
flowers, had failed suddenly, and had fallen 
there; for the little hands were still full of gath¬ 
ered blossoms—white roses and orange-blossoms. 
Take her Into my room, Alan,” said his moth¬ 
er, pityingly. "Poor child I” 
And as her son bent his head over the pale 
face, which lay with closed eyes and. colorless 
lips against his shoulder, some transient ex¬ 
pression in his lace made Lady viucent. recall 
her supposition of that afternoon, and her won¬ 
der whether she had found a daughter Indeed. 
Cora Sinclair’s grief tor her brother waB very 
passionate and sincere; she mourned him with 
bitter tears, refusing to be oomforted, and Lady 
Vincent feared thather Borrow would materially 
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6192 
affect her health. Her ladyship was very kind 
and patient with her; but Cora seemed more at 
her ease with Sir Alan than with his mother. 
Perhaps It was that his gentle manner towards 
her, his half-serious, half-playful remonstrances 
reminded her of her brother, for she seemed to 
regard him with a curious, wisttui confidence, 
half-shy and half-trusting. 
But after a few weeks Cora seemed to rally, and 
Lady Vincent, who was weary of the discomforts 
of the old palazzo, and longed for her English 
home, proposed to return there. To her surprise 
Cora assented with eagerness, and preparations 
were forthwith commenced for their departure. 
It seemed as it the girl was animated by sotno 
new hope, ror She seemed brighter and happier. 
The color had returned to her cheeks, and light to 
her eyes, and once or twice she had spoken with 
a touch of the old wistful playfulness which had 
been so potent to win any boon from Harold. 
Lady Vincent and Sir Alan rejoiced, although 
the latter seemed to have a regret at what he 
IJiougbt denoted lightness and Instability of 
character. His mother, more experienced and 
unbiased, Baw In It only the elasticity of youth, 
and was really glad to see the Improvement In 
Cora’s health and spirits. 
But both were mistaken, It was merely a new 
hope which had sprung up In the girl’s heart, Ail¬ 
ing It with a happiness which, alas ! had no real 
warrant. A few lines of condolence from Lady 
Martyn had told her also that Lady Lucie’s en¬ 
gagement was broken off, and Cora felt sure that, 
now he was free to do so. Lord Almane would 
seek her again honorably and openly. She loved 
him too passionately not to trust him eutlrely, 
and she rolt certain now that all would be well. 
It was (bis hope which colored her cheeks and 
brightened her eyes, and though she was happy 
in It, It Buddened her to think that the dear 
brother who had been so much to her should not 
know of her happiness. 
The night before they left Rome Cora climbed 
the little hill which led to the cemetery where 
Harold lay, her hands full of flowers wherewith 
to decorate his last resting-place. The broken 
pillar of the Parian marble which formed the 
monument had been Sir Alan’s own work, and 
most exquisitely had he performed his “ labor of 
love.” It was Just completed, and Cora, who had 
to tell you what I have wanted to tell you for 
some days past. 
He paused. 
Cora waited In Bllence, wondering a little. It 
may have been that her thoughts were too full 
of another man to give her a clue to Sir Alan’s 
meaning: hut she saw that his agitation was ex¬ 
cessive. 
“ When your brother entrusted you to me,” 
he went on, speaking more calmly, “ I hoped to 
he able to take a brother’s place, and replace him 
as tar aa possible; but, Cora, that Is impossible. 
I cannot be your brother; 1 can be nothing to 
you, unless you can give me a nearer and dearer 
right to take care of you.” 
For a moment Cora did not understand hls 
meaning. Then, as It dawned upon her, she grew 
pale, and trembled exceedingly. 
“ child—child,” said Sir Alan, hls forced calm¬ 
ness giving way, “do you not understand me?— 
do you not see why 1 cannot ho a brother to 
you?" 
Cora tried to answer him, but her voice failed 
her; she liked him so well; her brother had loved 
him, and ho was so good to her. The answer she 
must give him sounded like ingratitude, and she 
could not force her trembling lips to speak the 
words which she felt would grieve him so bitterly. 
Bhe could hear the quick, heavy breathing which 
toM of hls great agitation, as he stood beside 
FIG. 2. 
not yet seen It, contemplated it with tears of grat¬ 
itude and delight. 
" How good he Is,” she murmured, softly ; and 
It was with a very softened, tender face that she 
turned to greet him an hour afterwards when she 
saw the tall, stalwart form coming towards her, 
looking grand and Imposing as It moved among 
the quiet graves In the seml-llght. 
“ My mother sent me for you, Cora," ho said, 
gently. " She was afraid of the night air for you” 
“ Yes, 1 will come,” she answered; then, sud¬ 
denly turning to him, said: "How can I thank 
you, Sir Alan? It. is so beautiful! It seems to 
remind me of him!” 
Hls quiet face lighted up. 
" I am glad you;i!ke it, Cora,” he replied, hts&ray 
eyes seeking her face with a sudden passion In 
their depths; but Cora, whose eyes were fixed 
upon the marble pillar, did not meet hls eager 
glance. 
They stood In silence for some minutes, sir 
Alan’s face had grown very pale, and hls lips 
were quivering under hls heavy moustache. 
Strong man though he was, he was trembling, 
and could hardly find courage to put the ques¬ 
tion to this young girl, who held In her hands 
his future happiness or wretchedness. At length 
with a long sigh, Cora prepared to go. She 
rose from her seat on a grassy mound, and, break¬ 
ing off a rose which was growlDg beside Harold's 
grave, bent gently forward, and pressed her lips 
to the marble In one long, lingering, farewell 
kiss. 
Then, turning to the baronet., she said, 
quietly: 
** 1 am ready. Sir Alan.” 
"Stay yet one moment,” he exclaimed, in a 
hoarse voice, putting hls hand on her arm to de¬ 
tain her. 
Cora looked up In astonishment; but under 
the passion and ardor of hls glance her own 
fell, and she saw that the strong hand resting on 
her arm was trembling. 
There was a momentary silence, which Sir 
Alan broke. 
"Itseems almost absurd,"he said, trying lo 
speak lightly, "that one should be such an utter 
coward. Dont’t laugh at me Cora. If I were 
less in earnest, 1 should find It easier, perhaps, 
her, and with a strong effort, a quick prayer for 
calmness, she bowed her head upon her hands. 
CHAPTER XII. 
** Not Now-Not Ever.” 
At length Sir Alan spoke, and hls voice had lost 
the suppressed passion of hls former tone, as he 
gently removed the girl's trembling hands from 
her face. 
“ I have frightened you, dear child. Forgive 
me, Cora; I only ask one word from you. 1 do not 
wish to hurry or distress you; only tell me 
whether the boon 1 ask can ever be mine?— 
whether now’, or ever, you can give me the love 
I crave ?” 
"No,”said Cora, suddenly mustering all her 
courage, and with a desperate effort wrenching 
her hands from hls clasp, which, In hls earnest¬ 
ness, almost hurt her from Its close pressure. 
" Do not ask me. It cannot be ; not now—not 
ever!” 
She turned; from him as she spoke, grieved to 
her Inmost soul by the expression of terrible pate 
she read upon hls face; and, choking back her 
sobs as she went, she walked rapidly homewards, 
and then, In the solitude of her own room, sor¬ 
rowed for hls disappointment with a keen sorrow. 
" J should have so liked to repay hls goodness,” 
she sobbed ; " but how could I, loving Stanley, 
and knowing that he Is free ?” 
When Sir Alan returned to the palazzo It was 
nearly midnight, and Lady Vincent, who was 
waiting for him, looked up anxiously on hls en¬ 
trance. 
“ Would you mind much It I let you go back 
to town alone, mother?” he said, quietly. "It 
seems a pity to leave my work here yet a-wlille.” 
“Not If you think It wiser to stay, Alan,” she 
answered, kindly, reading the suffering on hls 
face, but too wise to remark upon It. “ We shall 
have Charles with us, and no courier can surpass 
him, you know.” 
Alan acquiesced; but. as he sat, resting hls 
head on bis hand wearily, the light from a lamp 
on the table fell full on hls face, and Lady Vin¬ 
cent felt her eyes fill as she marked hls haggard, 
worn look. She rose from her seat, and, coming 
to hls side, passed her arm round hls neck, and 
rested her cheek against hls brow, ne tried to 
smile as he returned the caress. 
“ Is it really better for you to stay, my son?” 
she. said, tenderly. 
“Yes, mother,” came the low reply; and Lady 
Vincent desisted from all entreaty; hut she sighed 
as she bent over him to say “ Good-night.” 
He detained her gently, lifting the frank, 
mournful gray eyes to hers. 
"Mother, you will bo good to her,” he said, 
quietly ; " for rny Bake ?” 
“Yes, dear Alan.” 
No other word was spoken between them; but 
Lady Vincent, know that her son loved Cora Sin¬ 
clair, and that hls love was not returned. 
Cora returned to England with mingled feel¬ 
ings, seeming years older than when she had left 
It, sorrowing for her brother, full of hope of a near 
meeting with Viscount Almane, aud yet pursued 
persistently by the remembrance of Alan Vin¬ 
cents grave, handsome face and unfailing kind¬ 
ness. It vexed her sometimes to find how much 
she thought of him, but while she looked upon it 
almost as disloyalty to Lord Almane, she could 
not. fall to do so when every day, every hour as it 
passed, gave her some lresh proof of bis thought¬ 
ful kindness. 
Very soon she was quite at homo at the quaint, 
old-fashioned house where Lady Vincent lived, 
and which, while It was replete with comfort., had 
no luxury nor grandeur about it. The servants 
were few in number, but old and tried, and soon 
Cora was initiated Into the lns-and-outa of the 
quiet household. 
Alan’s father, the first baronet, bad been a dis¬ 
tinguished officer, and had received the baronetcy 
In return for the services rendered to hls coun¬ 
try; but lie had not been a rich man, and Lady 
Vincent’s Jointure was but a small one to support 
her position. Sir Alan also was one of The poor¬ 
est baronets in the United Ktegdom—a fact 
which troubled him little. Hla mother s prayers 
had alone prevented him from adopting hls 
father’s profession, but In the one he had chosen 
—for he had taken to hls art with as much en¬ 
thusiasm and Industry as If he had to earn hls 
living thereby—he bid fair to win both fame and 
fortune. 
For the first few weeks at The Bungalow—for 
so Sir Paul Vincent had named hts house—Cora 
was almost entirely happy. Lady Vincent’s 
gentle kindness, t.he favor with which the ser¬ 
vants—who pitied the fair young girl In deep 
mourning—received her, the air of refinement 
and peace over the house pleased her, and above 
all she had the hope of soon meet lug Lord Almane. 
Social distinctions and differences of position 
never entered Cora’s Innocent head; she believed 
firmly that now that he was Hoe nothing could 
hinder the. Viscount from openly declaring hls 
love RDd making her Ills wife; aud Marianna 
could not fall to notice tlmt, there was a kind of 
repressed exultation about her young mistress. 
The Bungalow was about ten miles distant from 
London, and from some of Lady Vincent's visitors 
she heard chance mention of Lady Martyn and 
her niece; and once she heard that Lord Almane 
was In town. 
one day came a note for Cora from Lady 
Martyn, apologizing that her Ill-health prevented 
her from calling on Lady Vincent, and asking 
Miss Sinclair to spend a few days with her In 
London. The next mornl ng she sent her carriage 
and maid for Cora, aud the young girl, feeling as 
if the fulness of her happiness was now indeed 
come, was carried rapidly to Park Lane. 
The old lady received her with all cordiality, 
petted and made much of her; but It was only 
on the second day that she mentioned the name 
Cora was longing to hear. 
"Lord Almane called a few minutes ago, my 
dear,” she said, as Cora entered the drawing¬ 
room. “ He would not allow me to disturb you, 
but begged 1 would present hls compliments to 
you.” 
“ Did he know I was here v” said Cora In a 
low tone, feeling as If she could not have heard 
aright. 
“ Yes, I think so; or rather no, for he said 
when ho came In that he would stay to dinner, 
but when he heard you were here, he said that 
perhaps you might not care to see chance visitors 
just now.” 
Chance visitors I Cora’s heart stood still. Could 
it he that Lord Almane had been only amusing 
himself at her expense, flirting with her, without 
any Intention ot carrying out the words and 
promises he had spoken to her ? Cora loved well, 
and doubted with difficulty; but It seemed even 
to her as If he had not acted faithfully towards 
her. 
" I do not think he has got over Lucie's dismis¬ 
sal yet,° continued Lady Martyn. "Icould never 
imagine what Induced her to break ltoff; but she 
was very determined about It.” 
Cora’s thoughts flew back to the time when 
she was at Mrs. Colston's, the evening of the 
ball, when Sir Alan had come to fetch her to her 
brother’s death bed. She remembered the vis¬ 
count’s passionate words t hen, and when he had 
left her, that, looking up, sho had met Lady 
Lucie’s blue eyes lull of sorrow and reproach. 
" Very determined,” repeated her ladyship 
“ And yet ir ever a woman loved a man she loved 
Stanley St. Roger. All the family are very sorry 
for It. Indeed, Lucie’s resolution took us all by 
surprise. 1 miss uer very much, and wish It had 
not happened. She Is away now, living In Paris 
wit h the Countess of Chlloot,” 
When Cora returned to The Bungalow, Marian¬ 
na, with her qutclc penetration, Immediately saw 
that a change had passed over the girl, quenching 
whatever hope had made her eyes so bright and 
her lips so often part, with a happy smile. The 
old servant was shrewd enough; she soon cite- 
