They made no reply, hut hastened on. 
“ Wouldn’t you like an escort?” continued the 
man—a huge, hulking fellow, who had evidently 
paid more than one visit to the alehouses upon 
his way. “Only too happy to he of use to you 
ladles.” 
So saying, he put his hand on the housemaid’s 
arm, and stooped to look Into the girl’s face. She 
attempted to disengage herself, hut In vain. 
“ pray allow us to proceed,” said Cora, haugh¬ 
tily. “ We are anxious to return home.” 
“ Are you Indeed 7” he answered, with a coarse 
laugh; and Cora’s courage almost failed her at 
the Insolence of hls tone. 
“ Let us run, Jane,” she whispered; and they 
set off swiftly.” 
“ Two can play at that game,” laughed their 
tormentor, quickening hls steps also. 
Cora glanced back In despair. There was not a 
house in sight, and their only chance of assist¬ 
ance consisted In meeting any passer-hy. 
The man was gaining ou them rapidly. Cora 
could hear hls footsteps close heslde her. She 
turned despairingly. 
“ How dare you molest us?” she said, trying to 
steady her voice. “ You shall be punished If you 
do not desist.” 
“Punished!" he said, laughing, “Give me a 
kiss, my pretty one—that will be my only punish¬ 
ment to-night I” 
“ will It 7” said a low, stern voice, and the man 
felt himself seized hy the collar, lifted off hls feet, 
and thrown into a heap of furze and brambles 
In the bottom of a dry ditch which skirted the 
common. 
THE SWEETER MUSIC 
A brooklet, playful flowing 
A flown the rooky steep 
Where ferns are greenest, growing 
And forest shades are deep. 
Makes mnsic. wild and Bweet, 
Among the trees’ rough feet. 
The forest warblers, singing 
With many a happy trill, 
Their gay notes outward flinging 
As careless as the rill. 
Through all the summer heat 
Make music, gay and sweet. 
Yet, not the brooklet, going 
Its winding, wandering way; 
Nor breath of breezes, blowing 
Amid the leaves at play; 
Nor birds on pinioDS fleet, 
Produce the tones most sweet. 
A baby’s laughter ringing, 
A sound of pattering feet, 
The lips of childhood singing, 
Makes music far moro sweet 
Than brook, or breeze, or bird 
That mortal ever heard. 
[Boston Tran script , 
CHAPTER XIX. 
It had been the work of a moment, and Cora 
hardly discovered that assistance had arrived 
when she heard Sir Alan's voice speaking In low, 
deep tones or indignation. 
“ Lie there, you scoundrel!” he said. “ I can¬ 
not wait to give you your deserts now ; but 1 owe 
you a hiding, and If we meet again you shall have 
It with Interest.” 
“ i’ll pay you out, my One swell,” shouted the 
other, foaming with rage. “ It's your turn now ; 
but mine will come, and then we’ll see.” 
Sir Alan laughed as he turned from him, and 
came back to the two girls. 
“ 1 am afraid you have been annoyed, Cora,” he 
said, quietly. “ It was fortunate my mother sent 
me to meet you. You must not take these long 
walks unattended for the future. Charles should 
accompany you, or I am at your service whenever 
you like.” 
How the quiet, cold tone jarred on Cora’s ex¬ 
cited nerves as they walked on. She was pale 
and trembling, and already wearied by her long 
walk, had some difficulty In keeping up with Sir 
Alan’s hasty strides. 
When they came Into the lighter village streets, 
he perceived her agitation. 
“HarcT been walking too fast for you?” he 
asked. In the same quiet tone. " I have been 
unused of late to walking with ladles. Will you 
take my arm ?" 
Cora thanked him coldly, and declined. 
Blr Alan glanced down at her In some sur¬ 
prise. 
“ You had better, I think," he said. “You must 
be very tired.” 
She shook her head impatiently, tears of anger 
and mortification at hls cool manner rising in her 
eyes; and when they arrived at The Bungalow, 
she thought more of him now. On every side she they had has 
heard him spoken of lu the highest terms, and dusk when t 
she recalled often and often the tender consider- almost dark 1 
atlon which had marked bl3 conduct to her at the * common 
Rome. She thought of hls kindness, hls womanly The maid hai 
tenderness, towards her sick brother; she re- and Cora wai 
membered bow, even after her own, Harold had a little, and c 
sought hls taee with a last gleam of re ’.ognltlon rather unsU 
and love; she recollected many a proof of hls un- thick, husky 
selfish ne.S8, his unfailing goodness towards her- “Itlsratln 
self; arid then, with a thrill of joy and pnin. | be out alone, 
there would come 
back to her that 
last interview, 
when he told her 
how much he 
loved her, and 
had prayed lor 
her love In re¬ 
turn. She felt 
now, as then, un¬ 
worthy of that 
love; and yet, 
were it offered 
now, Cora knew 
that her answer 
would be a very 
different one, and 
that the honor, 
the reverence sho 
entertained for 
Alan Vincent 
would want but 
little to chaDge 
them Into love. 
Christmas was 
drawing near — 
the second Christ- 
mus since Cora 
had oorne to The 
Bungalow; and 
one morning Lady 
v l n o e n t came 
down to break¬ 
fast, her face ra¬ 
diant. 
“ W hat good 
news have you 
written on your 
face?” said Cora, 
coming lu from a 
walk round the 
lawn, with bright 
eyes and glowing 
cheeks. 
Lady Vincent 
kissed her and 
laughed. 
“You shall 
guess," she an- 
Pours tcladuess through the mo tonus air 
And Helds are groen, and skies are fair. 
Away cold winter, and dark nbrht! 
The world awakes to life and light. 
To otiaiie the mists that limrer still 
Adown the stream, or oil the hilL 
The woods with happy voices ring, 
The fragrant breath of burstimr spring 
A -MAY DAY SOKNK. 
May comes strain, bright, sunny May ! 
To 11 k lit the earth with purer ray, 
