318 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
proved; so that, as jb often the case, when once 
the turn came our tide of prosperity rose high 
and rapidly, and In a very few years’time our 
circumstances Justified us In resuming and even 
exceeding our early style of living. Since then 
my life has been a prosperous and happy one, 
shadowed only by the one great sorrow of ray 
life, which left me a widow, and, but for Claude, 
childless. But of this r cannot bear to speak.” 
The last sentence Mrs. Hamilton spoke so sadly 
that Maggie’s eyes ailed with tears, and for the 
first time Mrs. Hamilton drew her towards her 
and pressed a kiss upon her cheek. 
“And now rua away and dress," said Mrs. 
Hamilton, “for the second bell has rung, and we 
shall be late." 
“ I shall not be long," said Maggie; “ and thank 
you, dear Mrs. Hamilton, so very, very much.” 
The next day was the last of Maggie’s week, 
but, to her great delight, Mrs. Hamilton asked 
her to prolong her stay, saying, “ I expect Claude 
home to-morrow." 
“Oh do you?" exclaimed Maggie, but with a 
look and tone almost of disappointment. 
“ Why, my dear child,” said Mrs. Hamilton, 
laughing, “ how grave you look ! Most girts 
would receive the announcement In a very differ¬ 
ent manner.” 
“ Oh, I beg your pardon," stammered poor Mag¬ 
gie ; “ 1 did not meau—that Is, I was only think¬ 
ing that we shall have no more such nice quiet 
evenings.” 
But Maggie was mistaken, and soon learned to 
think the evenings quite as nice, or more so, than 
they were before Claude came; and her cheek 
began to flush, and her heart to beat at the sound 
of his voice or footstep. And one day when they 
returned from a long walk together there was 
something so new, so happy la her whole look 
and maimer, that Mrs. Hamilton, taking both her 
hands in hers and looking earnestly In her blush¬ 
ing face, said softly, “ I must call you Margaret 
now, I think.” 
Maggie's engagement was duly announced to 
the Harrisons, and received with very mixed feel¬ 
ings. Sophy was inclined to resent It; Harriet 
professed extreme disgust at what she called 
“ Maggie’s dreadful slyness;” and Fanny declared 
all that vexed her was that she had not entered 
the lists herself. Mrs. Uarrlson, however, was 
delighted at the prospect of being so nearly con¬ 
nected with “the Hamlltons of Deanloy Manor,” 
and Immediately began to plan various schemes 
of aggrandizement for iter daughters, none of 
which took effect; and long alter Maggie had 
been a happy wife and mother, the Harrison girls, 
who had been engaged a dozen times, at least, 
were still unwooed, unwed,—a circumstance that 
did not Improve either their looks or temper. 
Eventually, however, Sophy, growing In despair 
at her faded cheeks and scanty ringlets, which 
even bloom powder and hair-restorers failed to 
renovate, accepted an ancient lover, who made 
her an offer under the combined effects of unlim¬ 
ited flattery and an extra glass of brandy-and- 
water. Harriet took advantage of a weak mo¬ 
ment to entrap an unsuspecting curate, and 
Fanny turned devotee. In the forlorn hope of en¬ 
snaring a popular preacher. 8illl, however, as 
Sophy sometimes owns, when In a desponding 
mood, it is a most aggravating thing to be out¬ 
done by a simple Country Cousin. 
4 4 »-- 
OORA. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
Three Years Later. 
“ Bend your head a little more forward, Cora 
and draw the child more within your arm. Yes; 
that is better. I am afraid I tire you, dear wife.” 
“ What nonsense, Alan; you know 1 delight in 
sitting for you.” 
And Cora glanced over at her husband’s tall 
figure and bearded face with a bright look of 
loving pride In her lustrous eyes. 
They were In Sir Alan’s studio, a large and 
lofty room In the handsome mansion to which 
they had removed from The Bungalow about a 
year alter their marriage—Sir Alan finding It 
better Tor his Interests that ho should he In the 
metropolis Itself, at any rate, during the greater 
part of the year. His name was not unknown In 
the art world now; Iits love for Cora, aud his 
happy married life, had not damped his energies 
or his Interest In the arc he loved, and he had 
won fume, and was winning fortune, with fils 
chisel, and with his strong, true right hand. 
The ball was at his foot now; he had modelled a 
bust ot some great Court beauty which had cre¬ 
ated a sensation, and Sir Alan awoke one morn¬ 
ing to find himself “ famous.” A royal foreigner, 
an enthusiast la sculpture, had had bis statue 
chiselled by the young baronet; then a great 
national piece of work had been offered to him 
and accepted; so that Cora’s husband was a 
great man now; and as his father had been 
famous In fils career, so did the son promise to 
make his name glorious by nts art. 
Much as Cora had loved her husband before 
their marriage, greatly as hla many noble quali¬ 
ties and high character had made her reverence 
and esteem him, she loved him doubly now, and 
no married life could have been happier, mors 
full of domestic bliss, than Sir Alan and Lady 
Vincent’s. They had been married nearly three 
years, and little Harold Sinclair Vincent was 
almost two years old, but Cora's beauty seumed 
only lightened by passing time. At, twenty- 
four sbe was as lovely as at, twenty; and people 
said that the quaint artistic dress, which Sir 
Alan liked her to wear, though It would have 
tried most women, was simply the most becoming 
costume in tbe world to ber. 
“Lady Vincent always looks as If she had 
stepped out of au old picture,” people said: and 
while her own drawing-rooms were always well 
filled with great people and celebrities, Cora was 
a welcome arid .sought-after guest In the salons 
of the great upper ten; and " wno Is that beau¬ 
tiful creature in that quaint Vandyke costume ?” 
was a frequent question at fashionable reunions. 
It seemed to Cora sometimes as If her life was 
too happy and too blest, as If some day It must 
be paid for by some great unhappiness; but Sir 
Alan laughed at the idea, and whenever she 
mentioned It, teased her out of the “morbid 
creed," as he called It. 
Hla wife was Sir Alaus most frequent and 
favorite model, and more than once he had 
modelfed her rare loveliness under various forms. 
When we find them again, on a fair spring morn¬ 
ing. when even in “stnoky London" one might 
obtain a glimpse of blue sky, Cora was sitting to 
him, with her boy, and Sir Alan was busily at 
work on a group representing Charity assisting 
little children; and the lovely face of hts wife 
showed that, as she said, she “ delighted to sit 
for him.” 
" That’s a dutiful wife,” said Sir Alan, 9mlllug 
over at her. “ Dou’t look so bewitching though, 
love, or I shall come and spoil the group by kiss¬ 
ing my ‘Charity.’ ” 
“ I wish you would,” laughed Lady Vincent, 
“ I shall begin to charge so many kisses an hour. 
I think,” she added, laughingly; but I must be 
paid In advance. I tbluk some one knocked at 
tbe door, Alan.” 
“ Come In,” said the sculptor-baronet, turning 
a little Impatiently. 
The door without was opened, and the heavy 
curtain concealing the entrance luto the studio 
drawn aside. A tall, stiongly-bullt man. evi¬ 
dently an Indoor servant out or livery, appeared, 
with a note lyingou a sliver salver. 
“ What is It Marks ?” said Sir Alan. 
“ A note for my lady, Sir Alan. There Is no 
answer.” 
“Very well,” and Sir Alan took the note, and 
with a bo w the servant disappeared. 
“ IIow 1 dislike that man,” said Cora, a little 
impatiently. 
“ Why ?” asked sir Alan, as he brought the 
note to her, 
“ Read It, Alan, please. I might disturb the 
boy.” For Cora held the child jin her arms, and 
he was sleeping. 
Btr Alan opened the note ; It was elaborately 
scented, and bore a wonderful monogram on 
heavily cream-laid note-paper. 
“ Dear Lady Cora,— 
“ Will you and Sir Alan think me very 
troublesome U I make a morning call In about.an 
hour after you receive this ? An old friend hav¬ 
ing returned from abroad, after a long absence, 
wishes to see Sir Alan’s great work before It goes 
to St. Petersburg, and I want a glimpse of the 
bust of tbe Prlncesse de PlncetaUle. We will try 
and not take up too much of sir Alan’s time; but, 
you know, he must suffer the penalty.of fame. 
“ Sincerely yours, 
Helen St. Maur.” 
Sir Alan did not look enchanted at her lady¬ 
ship’s pretty billet, and made no comment upon 
It, except; 
“Good-bye to our quiet morning, Cora," as he 
returned to hts work. 
“ By-the-bye, my ohlld," he said, In a few mo¬ 
ments, “ why don't you like Marks 7 He seems 
to me the perfection of a servant, and Is evident¬ 
ly rather a superior person.” 
“I detest superior people," exclaimed Cora; 
“ but I always have tbe feeling with him that we 
have met before. I don't think he Is honest.” 
“Are you afraid he win steal the spoons, Lady 
Vincent ?” asked Sir Alan, merrily. 
“ No, Alan, 1 don’t doubt his honesty In that 
way. 1 mean, I don’t think he la true.” 
“ Foolish girl: he seems to me particularly 
plain and aboveboard.” 
“ Well, dear, he is your especial property, you 
know,” she answered; “but bis eyes always seem 
to be foUowing one about whenever he Is In the 
room.” 
“ Perhaps he Is an admirer of the beautiful, 
wlfie.” 
“ Don’t be absurd, Alan,” said bis wife, petu¬ 
lantly, pouting ber pretty Ups. 
“ Am 1 absurd, sweetheart? Most men are 
where pretty women are concerned,” 
There was a long silence, broken only by Sir 
Alan’s chisel, until Lady Vincent began, a little 
plaintively: 
“ We never have a quiet morning, Alan.” 
“ The penalty of fame, my child.” 
“ I shall begin to wish you were not so famous, 
Alan,” she replied, looking over at him with a 
proud light lu her eyes. 
At this moment the drapery of the entrance 
was drawn quickly aside, and Marks announced: 
“ The Countess of St. Maur; Viscount Almane.” 
Sir Alan put down his chisel, and turned to re¬ 
ceive hts guests with the quiet high-bred ease 
and courtesy which distinguished him. 
Cora sat still, almost unconsciously retaining 
tho attitude In which she had been sitting for 
ber husband; tho color receded slowly from her 
beautiful face, even her Ups paled la the surprise 
of the moment. Maries, as he dropped the cur¬ 
tain, noted the fair face, and he saw that there 
passed over It an expression of horror and fear. 
“ 1 must apologise, Sir Alan,” began tho Coun¬ 
tesses she came in her rich robes of velvet aud 
fur, with her proud beauty and haughty bearing; 
“ but, as l said, you must bear the penalty of 
fame. Allow me to present to you Lord Almane.’ 
Sir Alan bowed, as he relinquished the Coun¬ 
tess’s little gloved hand, aud turned to the vis¬ 
count who uttered some facile compliment, with 
his usual easy grace; and tho sculptor’s artist 
eye was struck at once by the rare beauty of his 
face, bronzed as It was by the hot suu of eastern 
lands, the haughty grace of the proudly-set head, 
the languid grace 01 movemont and manner. 
“ Oh, Lady Cora,’ wont on Lady Helen’s gay 
voice, “ are you doing ‘ model ?’ Nay, don’t stir." 
Then, In a slightly lowered voice, she went on : 
" I have brought an old friend to see you." 
Cora had risen, but her face was almost su col¬ 
orless as tbe long, loo se, white Grecian robe she 
wore. 
“ You flud me in strange attire,” she said, qui¬ 
etly. “ Pray excuse it, Lady St. Maur.” 
“ Nay, It Is most becoming,” laughed tbe Coun¬ 
tess. “ I wish tbe Earl had artistic tastes, and 
would allow me to dress In that fashion. But you 
look pale, Lady Cora. Are you not well 7” 
“lama Uttle tired,” she answered, quietly, as 
she went forward, still holding the boy, and met 
Lord Almane. 
“ Lady Vincent and I are old acquaintances—I 
might almost say friends, Sir Alan,” said the Vis¬ 
count, as he took Cora’s hand In his, and looked 
down at her with a melancholy sadness In his 
dark eyes. 
Sir Alan expresssed his surprise, and glanced 
rather inquiringly at Cora. 
“ We have not met for some years,” went on 
Lord Almane In a sad, sweet voice which touched 
Cora like the echo of some old, well-remembered 
song ; “ but you are little changed. Is this your 
son?" 
He stooped over the child for a moment, and 
Lady 8t. Maur claimed Sir Alan's attention. He 
went towards her, and Cora stood with Lord Al¬ 
mane bending over her son, trembling with some 
undefined fear. 
“A beautiful child,” went on the viscount, 
quietly, as the boy awoke, and looked up at him 
with big, surprised gray eyes. “ He has your eyes, 
Lady Cora.” 
He stooped over hlrn again, touched his brow 
lightly with his lips, gave her a lingering glauce 
of sadness and reproach, turning away with a 
long, low sigh. 
A minute or two, during which Cora seemed 
occupied with the child, enabled her to regain her 
composure, and to overcome the emotion which 
the sudden meeting had excited ; but the flood of 
recollections which Lord Almane’s presence 
brought back to her had almost overcome her, 
and she still trembled. 
“ Will you excuse me for a few moments, Lady 
Helen ?” she said. “ I want to give Harold up to 
his nurse.” 
“Harold!" exclaimed Lord Almane, softly. 
“Your brother's name? How well I remember 
him,” he added, with a sigh. 
“Are you cold, Cora?" said Sir Alan, taking 
the boy from her into his strong arms. “ Why, 
my dear, you are trembling; run away and get 
on some warmer garments. I ought not to have 
kept you so long.” 
And as the mother and child disappeared he 
turned to his guests, and during half au hour 
they were occupied with the studio and art talk. 
Both the visitors made themselves moat agree¬ 
able. Lady Helen, with her great beauty, set 
herself to charm Sir Alan, leaving Lord Almane 
free to devote himself to Cora, who soon came 
back, having changed her dress. 
“ It seems hardly possible that it is nearly five 
years since we met," said the Viscount, as they 
paused before the French princess’ bust, and 
seemed to comment on Its beauty. “ I heard of 
your marriage when 1 was at Smyrna.” 
And agalu the low, regretful sigh. 
“ I lost sight of you completely,” he went on, 
" after your visit to Mrs. Colston. You remember 
It? 1 could bear my chains no longer then; 
but when I was free I found that you-pardon 
me, I know old associations arc disagreeable, 
Lady Cora. May I tell you how much I rejoice la 
your happiness now, although-” 
He hesitated; but Cora said nothing, and In a 
moment he went on : 
“ You believe me, do you not?” he satd, In the 
musical voice of bygone days. “ Yon know that 
your happiness, your welfare, must always be In¬ 
expressibly dear to me. for the sake of ' Auld 
lang syne.’ ” 
“ Luncheon Is ready, my lady." 
Whether It was that both Cora ;and her com¬ 
panion had been too absorbed to hear steps com¬ 
ing along tho gallery, or that Marks had been 
even more noiseless than usual, certain It is that 
both started when the voice sounded close beside 
them ; and Sir Alan, who was standing at tbe 
opposite side, listening to the Countess’s gay 
chatter, noticed Cora’s quick movement. 
“Are you not well, my dearest?” he whispered, 
as she passed him ou their way to the dining¬ 
room. “ You look so pale." 
“ I am quite well, Alan.” 
But her husband noticed anxiously that she 
ate nothing at luncheon, and grew a little 
alarmed; although she was gay as usual and 
chatted with her guests. When they had gone 
he came back to the dining-room. 
Cora was standing at the window, watching 
Lady Helen’s barouche drive away. He went to 
her side, aud put his arm round her. For once 
Cora did not move, and made no answering mo¬ 
tion towards him. 
“I am afraid I tired you this morning, love,” 
he said, gently; “ you have been looking bo pale.” 
" I am not tired, Alan,” she answered, quietly. 
“ I did not know you knew Lord Almane,” he 
went on, after a momentary pause. Was it Im¬ 
agination, or did the Uttle hand lying In his give 
a start, as if something hurt It 7 
“ Uarold knew him,” she answered In a low 
tone. 
“ He is a handsome man," said Sir Alan, care¬ 
lessly. “ What are you going to do this afternoon 
Cora?" 
“ 1 don’tkuow. Will you drive with me, Alan ?” 
“ I would like It, dear; but I have an engage¬ 
ment.” 
“ Then I wUl go and lie down. My head aches.” 
“ And your hand Is very hot, doar child. I 
thought you were not well.” 
“One may have a headache without being 111,” 
she satd, pettishly. 
“ You are certainly cross, pet, and you are not 
so whou you are well,” said her husband, smiling. 
“Co and have a nap, and be your own bright 
self by dltmer-llme.” 
She moved towards the door; then came back, 
aud lifted ber face to bis with an expression of 
sweet contrition. 
“Forgive me, Alan,” she said, soitly; “1 was 
very cross.” 
He bent, and kissed her fondly. Cora went 
away, and, m the solitude of her own room, threw 
herself on a couch, and thought over the visit of 
the morning. 
It was not that Lord Almane’s sudden appear¬ 
ance had awakened any of thB old feeling towards 
him; it was not that even a spark of that love 
lingered in her heart. 
Cora was loyal to her heart’s core to her hus¬ 
band; but the sight of the Viscount remi nded her 
of a passage In her girlhood ol which she felt Sir 
Alan ought to have been apprised, and Of which 
she had, fearing to lose his love and knowing his 
jealous nature, purposely kept him in Ignorance. 
It by any chance It should come to hls knowledge 
now, he might imagine that there was more ln lt 
than there had been, and It might sow dissension 
In their happy home. Cora felt that she must 
avoid Lord Almane In every way—that, II possi¬ 
ble, she must keep from any chance meeting with 
him; but bow do so without arousing Sir Alan’s 
suspicions ? The viscount’s looks and words had 
been significant, and she trembled at the thought 
that her own emotion might have been noticed. 
Cora, with her keen impulses and sensitive na¬ 
ture, was quick to show what she felt, and had 
difficulty lu suppressing outward signs ot agita¬ 
tion; but she determined to school herself to 
order to meet Lord Almane as any chance ac¬ 
quaintance. But It gave her a pang of sharp pain 
when she recollected that she had a secret from 
her husband—from the honorable, noble-minded 
gentleman who had loved her so passionately, 
and who had filled her life so toll of happiness 
and peace—the father of her ehild. 
Some day, she told herself, she would find cour¬ 
age and tell him all—some day. But would ho 
forgive her ? Was It likely, for such a long de¬ 
ception? 
Poor Cora bowed her hoad upon the cashions 
as sho thought of hls anger. Until now she had 
never felt her sin against him; he had trusted 
her 30 entirely she ought to have told him. And 
as she thought, her tears fell fast upon her 
clasped hands, and she mourned over the first 
shadow which had fallen upon her Life since her 
marriage. 
CHAPTER XVII. 
A Const ant Visitor.—A Gathering Tempest. 
“And so, M. le Yicomle, you really think of 
forcing yourself Into that domestic paradise, and 
spoiling the pretty tableau of such a devoted hus- 
bandand wife?” 
And Lady 8t. Maur lifted ber dark eyes to Lord 
Almane’s face with a curious expression—halt- 
mocking, half-resentful. 
They were sitting to her boudoir, an exquisite 
room, hung with pale blue satin and old lace, 
where the beautiful Countess received ber iotl- 
rnate friends, and those favored Individuals with 
whom she condescended to flirt. 
“ Why should I spoil such a pretty tableau, my 
dear Countess?" answered the viscount, to low, 
languid tones, without lifting hla eyes from a 
dainty Sevres vase he was examining. “ It would 
be very awkward of mo to do so. For example, 
my dear friend,” he added, lightly, “I am a con¬ 
stant visitor here, and yet. I have not, I hope, tn- 
teifered in any way with the picture ot domestic 
bliss wblch you aud Lord 8t. Maur represent.” 
The Countess laughed, but colored. The Earl 
of St. Maur being as devoted a politician as his 
wife was an accomplished coquette, and neither 
caring sufficiently for the other to Interfere with 
their vocations. 
“ But It seems that Sir Alan is aB jealous eb a 
tiger,” she went Oh. “He looked furious last 
night at Lord Muucastcr'a because you took Lady 
Cora into dinner, and were so devoted." 
“ Did he?” Bald Lord Almane, a flash of triumph 
crossing hls ha ndsome face. “ That would make 
It still more exciting. No woman is so easy to 
win as the wife of a jealous husband," 
“ And why, pray ?” said the beauty, glancing at 
her little Jeweled hands, and noilclng the effect 
of her dainty lace cuITb. 
“ Because it he la Idiotic enough to scold her or 
sulk, It will naturally make her more anxious for 
some one who will sympathise with her and not 
sulk." 
So saying Lord Almane rose slowly from hlB 
cushioned fauleuU, and replaced the Sevres vase 
on a little buhl table beside him. 
“That vase is an acquisition, Helen: I con¬ 
gratulate you. Shall t see you at the opera to¬ 
night?” 
“Yes, I am going in for an hour before.the 
Countess Stelnmarck's ball. Come to my box, 
Stanley.”—To be continued. 
- 4-*-4 - 
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