350 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
JUNE 1 
fitorg Ultsdlamr, 
REPLY TO A CHILD’3 LETTER. 
Over the mouutmns far and blue 
Bubble ln»a sent rue a tiny note, 
The dearest. oUarxulujreat billet doux 
That ever a little maiden wrote; 
A ecribble-scriibble of willful pen. 
Lite written cooiup of a dove. 
But in great letters round and plaio 
The dear words, " Bubble sends her love!" 
The rest I could not understand, 
'Tvvas baby Greek, for aught I know. 
Or hieroglyphs from fairy land— 
But nothing on the earth below, 
And nothing the bright stars above. 
Nor llowor, nor gem, nor pearl iu the sea 
Is dearer than the gift of love 
Little Bubble has sent to me, 
D^ar little maid with sunny hair. 
Your random shaft has touched my heart 
With happiness that, unaware, 
Your grace and inuooence impart. 
God bless you ! Hay your happy life, 
Bright as the pot name they have given. 
Float calmly free from care and strife. 
Reflecting only hues of Ilcuven. 
( Philo,. Evening Bulletin. 
- *■■*■■* - 
00EA. 
A few days passed miserably. From Indiffer¬ 
ent and cold, Sir Alan s manner became sharp 
and harsh ; many were the sarcastic and bitter 
words which fell from his lips now—those Ups 
which until then had never spoken to her save 
with loving tenderness. Cora resented It bitterly. 
It he had spoken frankly to her she would per¬ 
haps have found courage to tell him all; but he 
gave her no opportunity, and she was too proud 
to make one tor herself. Marks had been wise 
In his dlllDeatlon of both characters ; but proud 
aud indifferent as Cora appeared, she suffered 
passionately, and alas! in her sorrow, Lord Al- 
mane’s gentle words, hl3 friendship, came like a 
solace and consolation. He was too wise to touch 
directly on her grief, or to let her see that he 
suspected the misunderstandiDg which existed 
between her and Sir Alan; but he showed a 
sympathy with, and sorrow for her, which touched 
the proud, passionate, bleeding heart. 
But keen as her suffering was, It was as noth¬ 
ing to her husband’s, who felt the bitterness of 
death Itself In the thought that he could not 
trust Ms wife—the wife that he had Idolized and 
worshipped. Jealousy Is a terrible companion 
to carry about with one, and It haunted Sir Alan 
day and night. He was scarcely able to master 
himself sufficiently to meet Lord Almane with 
ordinary politeness, although not one word as to 
his secret pain passed his lips. That the vis¬ 
count was quite an couranr with the state of 
things we, who are aware of his acquaintance 
with Mr. Marks, must know, and that he re¬ 
joiced atlt Is very certain. 
“ The Jealous fool Is playing Into my own hands.” 
he said to himself, “ Cora will not stand such 
brusquerle, aud If I gtve her a hint o£ the espion¬ 
age to which she Is subject, she will revolt, and 
the day will be mine. More especially It Marks 
is sharp, and awakens none of her suspicions.” 
“ Do you know whether her ladyship has gone 
out, Marks7’’said Sir Alan, entering the sitting- 
room one morning when Marks was clearing 
away the breakfast things. 
“I think I heard Miss Spills say that her 
ladyship was going Into the Palais Royal, Sir 
Alan,” replied the servant. In his usual voice ; 
“she has but Just left the hotel, sir, and perhaps 
If you look out of the window you may ascer¬ 
tain.” 
Sir Alan strode across the room and looked 
out, drawing aside the lace curtains with an Im¬ 
patient hand. Their rooms looked out upon one 
of the entrances of the Palais Royal, and among 
the many figures hurrying to and fro Sir Alan 
distinguished Cora's graceful figure as she en¬ 
tered that “ladles’ paradise”. He stood for a 
moment, apparently hesitating whether to fol¬ 
low or not. As ho did so a cab dashel up, and 
Its occupant, a gentleman, alighted, and also en¬ 
tered the building. 
Marks, who had followed his master to the win¬ 
dow, saw his quick start, and heard the 
smothered exclamation with which he turned 
from the window, aud a transient gleam of 
satisfaction crossed the servant’s face. 
The baronet threw himself tnto an arm chair, 
and - caning his head upon his hand, appeared 
wrapped In deep thought. A long sigh from the 
man aroused him from his reverie, and looking 
up, he met the little doep-set eyes fixed upon 
him with an unmistakable air of compassion. 
He’ withdrew his gaze directly he felt himself 
observed: but an uncomfortable feeling lingered 
on Sir Alan’s mind that the man, his servant, 
noticed that hts wife was betraying him. 
Rising aud going to his writing-table, Sir Alan 
wrote a few lines, which he directed and sealed, 
then, seeing that the man had left the room, he 
rose and began pacing to and fro, evidently a 
prey to the greatest mental distress. 
“Oh ! Cora—Cora!” he said aloud, passionate¬ 
ly : "that you whom I loved so madly, tho mother 
of my child, should deceive me so cruelly. No- 
no; 1 will not doubt you. And yet, oh! Heaven, 
this Is terrible 1” 
He bowed hla head upon his hand In anguish; 
but after a few moments he raised It, proud and 
calm. 
“ I will trust her, I can do so,” he said, decided¬ 
ly; and crossing over to the bell, he rang It. 
Very promptly was the summons answered—so 
promptly, that had Sir Alan been less preoccu¬ 
pied he might, have suspected Marks’near prox¬ 
imity to the keyhole; as It, was he noticed noth¬ 
ing but the pitying expression of 1 b face, 
ft j obliged to start to town at once, Marks,” 
he said, not. turning his face to the man, but keep¬ 
ing it bent over the escritoire, “ When does the 
next train for Bouloene start 7” 
“ At 11:45, Sir Alan,” was the quiet reply. 
* I can catch that H you hurry.” 
“ But there Is an express at 12:10, sir.” 
“ That Is better; put me up some things at 
once, and tell one of the waiters to call a cab.” 
“ Yes, Sir Alan. Shall you require my attend¬ 
ance, sir?” he added, as he was about to leave 
the room, apparently struck by the thought. 
“Certainly not,” Sir Alan answered. “Lady 
Vincent could not remain here alone.” 
And without noticing the triumphant expres¬ 
sion which shone on the man's face, Alan caught 
up the Times and turned away; but he had not 
read one word ot It wbcu Marks returned, al¬ 
though quite half an hour had elapsed. 
“ The cab Is at the door. Sir Alan.” 
“ Very well, Mark..'. Give this note to her lady¬ 
ship when she returns. It contatns au address 1 
omitted to give her this morning, and,” Sir Alan’s 
voice was thick, aud he stammered a little, “ if 
you should want to write, Marks, address to the 
club.” 
“ I understand, sir Alan,” replied the servant, 
quietly, as he followed Ills master down-stairs, 
obsequiously handing him his rugs and sticks, 
and giving the direction to the cabman with the 
utmost deliberation. 
But very different was the Rwtft step with 
which he returned to the salon, and taking up his 
master's note, opened and glanced It over. The 
few lines it contained gave him no clue to the 
hurried journey. 
“Dear Cora,” Sir Alan wrote: “ 1 have receiv¬ 
ed an Immediate summons to town, and shall he 
absent a lew days. Take care of yourself; and If 
you stould want anything from home write to 
mo at the club.” 
Having sHlstled his curiosity, Marks coolly took 
another envelope from bfs master’s table, re-ad¬ 
dressed the note la a hand Anting which was a 
perlect Imitation of Sir Alan’s, and sealed It with 
a seal which lay there. 
As he replaced It on the table, he said, with a 
savage gleam of triumph In his giance: 
“ It was your turn once, 81r Alan Vincent; It Is 
mine now. Your triumph was momentary, but 
my revenge will be lasting, and my tumble In the 
ditch will be amply expiated.” 
If Cora could have heard him, she would have 
known why his face seemed familiar to her. 
Sir Alan’s favorite servant was the man who 
had Insulted her crossing the common, and whom 
the baronet had disposed of In such a summary 
manner. 
CHAPTER XIX. 
The Effect of a Letter.—The Night Mail. 
Cora’s surprise and agitation at her husband’s 
sudden and Inexplicable departure were very 
great, and the rew cold linos he had left for her 
did not tend to reassures her. 8he summoned 
Marks, but lie could give her no Information; and 
then she was angry at herself for having allowed 
him to see, what Sir Alan had not done, that until 
her return from the Palais Royal she was la Igno¬ 
rance as to his hurried journey. For some days 
she kept In her own room, restless and miserable; 
then pride came to her aid, and she tried to over¬ 
come her depression. She had denied herself to 
all visitors, and Lord Almane waB beginning to 
get Impatient, when oue day he was admitted, 
and found Cora, beautifully dressed and apparent¬ 
ly In high spirits, but without a shade of color in 
her fair face, and with hollow dark circles under 
her large eyes. 
“Good Heavens! you are 111, Lady Cora,” he 
exclaimed. “ Have you had advice 7 Your hand 
is burning.” 
And he retained the little, trembling baud In 
his, and bent his velvety dark eyes upon her face 
with deep tenderness and commiseration. 
“ What is the matter, Cora?” he went on, soft¬ 
ly. “ Are you really 111 7 Will you not tell me 7 
Can I not help you lor the sake of old times 7” 
The tender tone went to Cora’s heart, but she 
snatched away her hand petulantly, aud laughed. 
“What Is the matter with me7 Nothing but 
ennui, of eourae—If one can be annum In this gay 
city. I am glad to see you, Lord Almane; per¬ 
haps you will tell me something to make me 
laugh. Please don’t look so melancholy youreelf, 
you will only increase my blues until they reach 
the Indigo shade.” 
“ Then you are unhappy,” he said, Badly and 
tenderly. “ 1 cannot be mistaken In your tremors, 
Cora. It Is not ennui, it Is misery which looks at 
me through your sweet eyes. Oh! my child, how 
dare he marry you to make you wretched.” 
“You are mad!” cried Cora, trying to speak 
haughtily. ** I am not unhappy. My husband Is 
goodness itself. I will not hear you speak thus, 
Lord Almaoe.” 
“Goodness Itself,” he repeated, bitterly; “and 
yet he can leave you thus. Ah, Cora, had you 
trusted me i should have made your life as bright 
as sunshine; ray love would have kept every 
trouble from you.” 
“ How dare you?” flashed Cora, trembling and 
panting; struggling wltfl her tears, as she leant 
buck In her chair. 
“llow dare I? Because I love: because you 
are really mine—because you loved me once well, 
before you met him—before he stole you from 
me, Cora—Cora,” ho went on, passionately, “I 
would never have spoken thus had J seen you 
happy aud honored. Hud I known you to be a 
happy wife, I would have burled my love In my 
heart, and never by word or look would I have let 
you suspect that I love you still; but I find you 
lonely and neglected, deserted by the man to 
whom you have given the priceless treasure ot 
your love, and 1 cun keep silent no longer. I 
must tell you that 1 love you still. That l love 
you now as dearly—nay, ten times more so than I 
did In those happy, bygone days. Do you remem¬ 
ber them, Cora v” he went on in a few moments, 
bending over her with Inexpressible tenderness 
In tone wanner, <* Nay, you cannot have 
quite forgotten them, I think. I would give the 
hopes and desires of years to win one of those 
days again—an hour, even time to hold you In ray 
arms again, and to hear you whisper, as you (lid 
then, 1 Stanley, I love you—1 love you.’ Nay, I 
can hold my peace no longer; Cora, you must— 
you shall hear me.” 
He caught the little trembling hands In his, 
and drew them passionately to hla lips. Quiver¬ 
ing lu every llcnb, and almost powerless from 
emotion, she tried to withdraw them, but ho held 
her fast. 
“Do not struggle so, my love; do not turn 
from me. How can I sea you 111 and unhappy, 
and keep back the torrent ot my love,” lie 
pleaded, passionately. “ It Is not sin, Cora, It Is 
not wrong. He—that man whom you call hus¬ 
band-cares not for you. lias he not left you 
here to me?” 
She wrenched her hands away from him, and 
covered her face; but ho s ink on his knees be¬ 
side her, and hs Cora felt hts arms round her, 
her strength seemed deserting her, for she had 
not power to repulse him. 
At this moment the door opened quietly, and 
Marks appeared. The viscount sprang up and 
turned, frowning, to the door. 
“I beg your pardon, my lady, I thought you 
were alone,” Bald the man, quietly, retiring and 
closing the door after him. 
“1 am lost!” said Cora passionately. “Oh! 
Lord Almane, w hat have you done ?” 
“ Be calm, dearest child,” he murmured, ten¬ 
derly. 
“But that man7 He will tell Alan I Ah, me, 
what have I done. In pity leave me, Lord Al¬ 
mane.” 
And Cora clasped her little hands beseechingly, 
and lifted her streaming eyes to his face. 
“Leave you I" he repeated—“ leave you to the 
mercy ot a man who neglects you, and sets spies 
over you; I will not, Cora. I must rescue you 
from such degradation.” 
“Spies!” she repeated, vacantly—“spies!” 
“ Yes, that man la a spy—your husband’s spy- 
left by him here to report on your conduct. To 
tell him how many times you go out and come In, 
and what you do and what you say. Ask him, 
Cora, If It he not so.” 
“A spy,” repeated Cora, faintly. “To what 
Intent ? Why should he spy me7” 
“Listen, my child,” the Viscount said, gently 
forcing her to lean back 1 u ihefaiUeuil, and speak¬ 
ing with a grave, mournful tenderness. “ I do 
not kuow whether you love Sir Alan, but I know 
this, that he Is unworthy of your love, for he 
mistrusts you and believes you false to hunt 
Nay, I know more than this; I know that he 
would willingly be freed from tho ties wnich 
bind him to you. Your devotion, your love, 
have wearied him. He never really cared for 
you. Ho pitied your loneliness, ho says, and so 
he married you.” 
“It Is false,” said Cora passionately. “It Is 
false, quite false; he loved me—ho loves me 1" 
“Loves!” repeatediLord Alinane, scornfully. 
“ tfowV' 
“Yes, now,’’she answered. “ Why not ?” 
“ Ask yourself, my poor child. Is his conduct 
towards you the conduct of a man who loves?” 
“ But he loved me once,” moaned the poor 
young wife, recalling all the old happy days, 
and contrasting them with the loneliness und 
misery of the present. “ He loved me once. He 
will love me again.” 
“He never loved youl I have proofs, ”he an¬ 
swered. quietly. “Cora, If l thought he loved 
you. If 1 thought your happiness safe with him, 
I would leave you now, aud never willingly meet 
you a gain." 
“ Proofs! you say you have proofs! Give them 
to me,” she said, with feverish eagerness, hold¬ 
ing ont her hand In entreaty. 
• Not until you are calmer,” he Bald quietly. 
By a strong effort Cora choked back her sobs, 
and tried to assume some semblance of composure. 
The viscount took a letter out of his pocket and 
Blowly unfolded It. 
“Did you ever hear of Gcorgo LeesonI” he 
asked. "He was a friend of your brother’s” he 
added, gently,, “as well as of your husband’s.” 
“Yes, I know’’ she answered. 
“ When he heard or your betrothal, he wrote 
to Sir Alan to congratulate him on the prize he 
had won. This letter Is Sir Alan's answer. You 
recognize his writing I suppose, Cora 7” 
“ Yes.” 
She snatched It from him eagerly. As she read 
It the color slowly forsook her cheeks, her Ups 
paled, and her eyes closed. For a moment Lord 
Almane thought she would faint, and hastened 
to support her; hut by a strong effort, she ral¬ 
lied, and withdrew herself from his arm. 
For some minutes there was silence, broken 
only by the regular tick-tick of tho clock on the 
mantel. Lord Almane had turned away; the 
heart-broken misery on Cora’s face was not pleas¬ 
ant to look upon, and ho stood at the window, 
looking out at the busy, animated scene beneath 
with a preoccupied gaze which saw none of It. 
Lady Vincent still held the letter op jn beroro her, 
and was gaztng at It with dilated eyes, and a face 
whose pallor was almost livid. 
“ I cannot believe it!” she said, at last, with a 
wall ot agony. “ lie could not have deceived me 
so 1 Alan, Alan ! and I loved you as my life 1” 
She slid from her chair, and lay on the floor 
trembling and sobbing, but without tears. Tho 
Viscount lifted her la Ills arms and laid her upon 
a couch, trying by tender words to soothe her 
Buffering ; hut she appeared unconscious of his 
efforts, and moaned feebly, holding the letter 
clutched tightly between her fingers. 
" Alan! Alan I” 
Half au hour elapsed, and then Cora sat up, and 
pushed her hair back from her burning brow. 
“Will you leave me now?” she said, faintly. 
“1 think you moan kindly, Lord Almane; I think” 
—with a caught breath—” 1 think you lovo me a 
little, 1 wl|l write to you. I want to be alone. 
I think I qpj not very well. Tli(u has upaet me,” 
“ My poor child !” and the Viscount pressed her 
hands lu his, and left a long, tender kiss upon 
them. "I wish 1 could comfort you! I wish I 
could bear It for you ! Cora, you believe me, do 
you not 7 I would give half my life to save you 
one sorrow.” 
She tried to smile, but the attempt was a fail¬ 
ure ; and as Lord Almane went away she sank 
back upou the cushions, and lay there, white 
and faint, although the blessing or insensibility 
was denied her. 
When she was able to rise and make her way 
to the window, It was evening. The Palais Royal 
was lighted up ; so were the busy street, and tho 
gay shops; and carriages and cabs were hurry¬ 
ing to and fro, bearing happy people to places of 
amusement; and lady Cora stood and watched 
them with a feeling as If the brightness and 
gaiety mocked her own misery. 
Glancing at her watch, she found that it was 
half-past seven, aud that M irks would soon be up 
to prepare the table for dlnuer. That hateful 
man ! she could not see him again ; and she was 
about to ring the bell, when he opened the door, 
carrying a tray covered with sliver and glasses. 
" Send Spills to me,” said Cora. “ You need 
Dot lay the table ; T do not want dinner tbls eve¬ 
ning.” 
Marks bowed and retired. In a few minutes 
Cora's maid, a demure and starched English wo¬ 
man, entered. 
“ spills, I want you to ascertain for mo at what 
time tho night-express leaves for Boulogne. I 
want to get to town Immediately. 8lr Alan wants 
me; aud if I go by that train I shall catch the 
Folkstone night boat.” 
" But my lady,”began Sp)ll3. 
“Will you ascertain at once?” Bald her mis¬ 
tress, cutting short the remonstrance. “ 1 need 
take no luggage, nor do I require your attend¬ 
ance. We shall return to Paris In a few days at 
the longest, or send for you and Marks.” 
Much mystified, but too much awed by her mis¬ 
tress’ manner to make any remark, the maid 
went away to Impart the news to Mr. Marks, who 
did not appear much astonished. Having given 
Spills the information she required, he went up 
to hl3 room, and for half an hour was busily em¬ 
ployed. Then he went down stairs, hailed a cab, 
and drove to the hotel on the Boulevard des 
Capuclnes, where Lord Almane was staying, and 
remained for a few momeuts in close conversa¬ 
tion with the viscount. At the close of the inter¬ 
view both seemed quite satisfied; and the hand¬ 
some, aristocratic features, as well as the coarser, 
more plebeian ones, expressed unmlxed triumph 
and pleasure. Then Mr. Marks re-entered his 
cab, returning to the “Grand Hotel du Louvre.” 
“ The night train leaves at 9.40, my lady,” said 
the maid, returning to tho salon. “ It only stops 
once, at Amiens, and will be quite In time for the 
Folkstone steamer.” 
“Very well; I will change my dross now, 
Spills. Otve me a dark, warm one, and put my 
ulster and my traveling-bag ready. Then bring 
me a cup of strong coffee.” 
Cora was quite calm and sdt-possessed while 
the maid took off her dainty silk dress, and re¬ 
placed it by a dark blue serge; but her heart was 
beating violently, und her pulses were throbbing 
quick and last; and she had but one thought—to 
get to Alan, and tell him all, and implore him to 
give her back bia love and to take her to hlsheart 
again. It was a wild, thoughtless plan, reckless, 
Indefinite; but Cora's brain was in a whirl, and 
she did not pause to thluk. If Alan did not love 
her—had never done so—she would creep away 
somewhere and die, and trouble him no more; 
but at least she must know It from his own lips. 
At nine o’clock Spills knocked at the door and 
announced that the cab was waiting, and on the 
landing without Marks waited to escort his mis¬ 
tress. 
“ I require no one with me,” said Cora, sharply 
“Do you hear me, Marks?” 
“May l not accompany you to the station, my 
lady ?” 
“No; I am going alone." 
8o Marks folio wed her quietly down the broad 
staircase, and some ot the loungers In tne hall 
turned to have a second glauce at the belie An- 
Qlaise who had created no small sensation at the 
hotel, not merely on account of her own beauty, 
but for the prestige attached to her husband’s 
name. Hhewas looking pale and resolute, and 
the large hat she wore shaded her face, as she 
passed on calm and indifferent. Marks put in the 
traveling-bag, and assisted her to enter the cab, 
giving the mail the same direction as he had 
given Sir Alan’s coachman. 
And as the man drove away the servant stood 
and watched It disappear, with an evil smile on 
Ills Ups. 
“That fellow reminds me of Mephlstopheles,” 
said a youug Frenchtnau, as he passed by, to his 
companion. “ I should call that a face of the 
police-court.” 
Cora was driven rapidly through the lighted 
streets She had thrown herself back In the cab 
and covered her face, as sho began to feel the 
rashness of tho step she had taken ; but she 
would not return. She felt that Bhe must escape 
from Lord Almane lu the first place, and the 
longing to see her husband was strong upon her 
If Bhe went to him, told hlru the past, and assured 
him that her heart was his and his only now, 
ho would believe her, surely he would for their 
child's sake. 
Lord Almane’a words had aunk deep, still she 
did not believe them all. She kaew her husband 
was too noble to wish her dlshouor, but so many 
little things once unnoticed came back to her 
now. Hho recalled M arks’ constant appearances, 
especially when Lord Almane was with her; 
she knew that tho occurrence of the day had 
placed her in the man’s power; but Alan should 
know aU from her Ups, not from the servant’s; 
and if he believed him in preference to his wife, 
she must submit. 
By tin* time they reached tho Rue do Dunkerque 
she Jiad checked lior tears, »ml was abk) to dlffi 
