dale had for twenty years been her faithful 
friend, adviser, and guide. She said to him 
laughlugly one day— 
“You will have something to thank me for 
•when I am dead.” 
“ How can l thank you when you are dead ?” he 
asked. 
She nodded her head gravely. 
“ You will see,” she replied. “You have done 
everything for me since you began to practice; 
but 1 shall not let you make my will. Tell me 
whom you would advise me to send for to do 
80 7" 
Thinking that she was in a capricious mood, he 
answered— 
“Send for George Malcolm; he Is an honest 
lawyer and an honest man. But why not let me 
make your will, Mrs. Hardman?" 
“ Because 1 am golug to leave you something In 
It; and T have not read of the glorious uncertain¬ 
ties of the English law for so many years without 
wishing to be on the safe side, i may fall, but I 
will take all reasonable precautions," 
Fig. 12. 
He laughed at the time, giving little heed to 
what she said, and soon afterwards he forgot all 
about the Incident.. Three years later Mrs. Hard¬ 
man died, and her nephew, her heir-at-law, came 
upou the scene. Daroy Lonsdale had all her pa¬ 
pers, an exaut list, or all her moneys, her deeds, 
leases, documents of various kinds—but ho had 
no will. 
“l>ld she make a win?” asked the helr-at- 
law. 
“ 1 cannot tell,” replied Darcy Lonsdale. “ I 
have certainly drawn up no will for her." 
“ Has she ever mentioned a wUl ?” pursued 
James Hardman. 
Suddenly the lawyer remembered that sbe had 
mentioned a will, and his face flushed as he 
thought ot the conversation. James Haraman 
looked at him suspiciously. 
“ She did speak of her will to me once; she told 
me that I should not draw It up for her, and asked 
me to name some lawyer. I told her that George 
Malcolm was an honest lawyer and an honest 
man; but I never heard whether she Bent, for him 
or not." 
“ You know, of course, of what her Iproperty 
consists, and that 1 am her heir-at-law.” 
** Yes,” was the cheerful reply; “ we have often 
talked about you. 1 can give you the particulars 
of the late Mrs. Hardman’s property. She owned 
the estate called Woodburn, consisting of a largo 
farm and a good substantial house; and she had, 
besides this, twelve thousand pounds in the 
funds.” 
“And that Is, of course, mine?” said James 
Hardman. 
“I know nothing as to that," replied Liarcy 
Lonsdale. “ I did not make her will, nor did she 
ever ask rny advice about 1L” 
After the funeral George Malcolm came with 
the will and the Instructions that he had received 
from Mrs. Hardman. It was read aloud; and 
tbeu It was discovered that the lady had left 
Woodburn together with six thousand pounds to 
her nephew, James Hardman, while to her true 
friend and adviser Darcy Lonsdale, in acknowl¬ 
edgment of Uls long friendship and faithful ser¬ 
vices, she bad bequeathed the sum of six thou¬ 
sand pounds. 
Fig. 13. 
On hearing that, the lawyer hurried home, de¬ 
lighted with the Intelligence, to his wife. What 
a vista of comfort this legacy opened! For the 
first time In his long and honorable career the 
lawyer felt some relief—he oould meet his ex¬ 
penses now, and when he died there would be 
something for his wife and children. 
Nor was his wife less delighted. In her heart 
Bhe had longed for the Bame luxuries that the 
wives of other professional men enjoyed—for a 
arawlng-room like Mrs. Merton’s, for a nursery- 
governess such as the Doctor’s wife, Mrs. Dalver- 
ly, had engaged, for a silk dress like the one that 
the Rector’s wife wore. But of these desires she 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
had never spoken. She knew that her husband 
did his best in every possible way, and gave her 
all the money that he could. But now she ven¬ 
tured for the first time to Indulge In such blissful 
reveries. They were no longer idle dreams; they 
would be realized. She would live In Vale House, 
that delightful residence—she would have a 
charming drawing-room, a nursery-governess, 
and a costly silk dress. 
While she sat dreaming with a smile on her 
face, her step son Felix entered the room. There 
was the warmest attachment between these two 
—kindly liking and respect for his step-mother 
on his part, the highest admiration a nd the truest 
love for her stcp-BOn on hers. She was so young 
when Darcy Lonsdale brought her to the great 
white square house In Castle Street, Lllford, that 
It seemed absurd for Felix to call her mother. As 
he grew older It appeared to him that, with her 
soft Italian beauty, the most suitable title for her 
was mmirii. He looked at her now. 
“ Madra,'’ he said, “ you are looking very pleas¬ 
ed and brignt; wnat la the good news ?” 
Mrs. Lonsdale went up to him and clasped her 
arms round his neck. She drew the handsome 
face down to hers. 
“Kiss me, Felix," she said; “I have news to 
tell you—the best you have ever heard. 1 kuow 
you will be pleased—indeed the very thought of 
the news makes me tremble with Joy. You could 
never guess It, Felix.” 
“I suppose 1 never could, nave any of the 
‘ small army' distinguished themselves ?” 
“No; It Is nothing of that kind. It Is this. 
You remember Mrs. Hardman of Woodburn?” 
“I should remember her, madre; some of the 
dreariest hours ot my life have been spent In 
copying deeds bearing her name." 
“ My dear Felix, her name must be held blessed 
amongst us for evermore. She has left your 
father a legacy ot six thousand pounds—and to 
us, my dear, that means so much. It means Vale 
House to live in, a governess for the children, and 
a partnership for you.” 
His handsome face t) ushed hotly. 
“ Aud that, madre —that means for me violet 
Haye.” 
A tender light, came Into Kate Lonsdale’s clear 
eyes. 
“ i hope so,” she said gently; “ 1 shall be so 
pleased if It is so. Now, Felix, people call money 
dross. Could you or I estimate the amount of 
happiness that lies In six thousand pounds ?” 
“ I value It because it will give me Violet," de¬ 
clared the ardent young lover. 
“ Aud l because It will give me every desire or 
my heart,” said Mrs. Lonsdale. “ And, above all, 
It will give your dear father a little rest.” 
CHAPTER II. 
Violet Haye! There Is something in a name. 
More than one man murmured this one over and 
over again, wonderlDg to himself what sweet 
magic, what wonderful sorcery lay In It. Violet 
IIaye—the very sound evoked a vision so beauti¬ 
ful, so full of witching grace, so dainty, so de¬ 
lightful, that dwelling on It proved too much for 
minds and brains not over strong. What had not 
Violet Haye to answer for? How many prosper¬ 
ous young farmers had wasted the best hours of 
the summer days, while the hay spoiled in the 
meadows and the corn grew over-ripe In the 
fields, watching In Castle Street, or waiting In 
the green lanes, ror one glance at the peerless 
face of Violet Haye ? The young doctor who had 
bought the old phyaldan’8 practice had almost 
gone mad ror love of her; and. when she told him, 
with a sweet, bright smile, that she disliked med¬ 
icine and everything connected with it, In pique 
and despair he married a prim little old maid who 
had ceased for fifteen years to dream of a wed¬ 
ding ring. Young curates came, saw, and were 
conquered; but beautiful violet resolutely reruaed 
to help In any parish work—sho would have 
nothing to do with the {schools. One after an¬ 
other the curates went away, with a bitter mem¬ 
ory of one of the loveliest girls In Loamshlre. 
The young tradesmen of the place had never 
dared to lilt their eyes to her, for she belonged to 
the class known in Lllford as the gentry; but 
when by cbancc Violet Haye did enter a shop the 
master or it had need of pailence during the next 
twenty-rour hours, ror violet Haye was a most 
beautiful girl, and rolgned queen of the country 
round Lllford. 
There was a wonderful charm about the girl. 
It was not simply for the sheen of her golden 
hair, for the wonderful light of her violet eyes, 
the exquisite tints of her face, the beauty of her 
rosebud mouth, that men loved her so; It was not. 
that she was tall and slender, with a perfect, fig¬ 
ure; it was not that she had white hands that, 
wove wondrous spells, that she moved with 
grace that was all harmony, that she spoke with 
a voice sweeter than sweet music, that, when she 
laughed, the silvery chime stirred a man’s heart 
like the sound of silver bells; It was not for this 
that men loved her. Bhe was Dot, a flirt, not a 
coquette—she never, by word or look, made any 
man believe that she loved him; but she could no 
more have helped the way she had or charming 
men than she could have helped living. She was 
the only child ul Francis aud Margaret Haye, who 
lived in a pretty villa called the Limes, on the 
outskirts or Lllford. By kind Indulgence the 
Hayes were permitted to rank with the gentry, 
They were not poor; they were not "profession¬ 
als;” they were not In trade. Francis Haye had 
an Income that kept his family In comfort, but It 
would cease at his death. He had Insured his 
life for the benefit of his wife and child, and the 
money that would come to them from that In¬ 
surance was all that he had to leave them; still 
they belonged to the gentry. It was not a nu¬ 
merous class in Lllford, and was by no means to 
bo Identified with county society; that was a far- 
off and greater glory—a world that oven beauti¬ 
ful Violet with her Greuzc-llko face had never 
hoped to enter. The gentry comprised old Colo¬ 
nel Maddox and his lady; Mrs. Brownaon, a widow 
lady.wlth.a_daughter_of uncertain age;_the late 
Rector’s widow, Mrs. Boulders; a maiden lady 
Miss Stanley, the pride of whose Itfe was that 
her second cousin had married a baronet, and 
who, in consequence, piqued herself on her high 
connections, and talked In a familiar way of the 
aristocracy; and a fow others of the same calibre. 
It was not a brllUaut circle, but to Violet Haye It 
was a world. 
Hof her numerous lovers sheprcferredone.lt 
was Felix Lonsdale. It was an old story. He had 
certainly been her lover from the early age of 
seven. He had never thought of any one else; 
to him and for him the world was all Violet. In 
the sun’s rays shone Violet; the birds sang “ vio¬ 
let” ; no sweet flower bloomed that was as sweet 
as she. Ho had lived with this one thought; he 
had studied, worked, lolled—all for Violet, hop¬ 
ing that the day would come when he would be 
able to marry her. He had devoted hts ltie to 
this one object. 
Darcy Lonsdale had contrived to send his son 
to Oxrord, he had distinguished himself as a 
scholar of no mean abilities, after;that he had 
passed some time In London; and now he was 
with his rather, sharing hla labors and toll, and 
working hard, hoping one day to secure a part¬ 
nership, aud then to marry Violet. He had once 
thought or leaving Lllford; he felt that the place 
was but small, the circle ot interests limited. 
Then he put aside the thought as a temptation; 
he must not desert hts father or leave his busi¬ 
ness to the bands or strangers, 'mere was some¬ 
thing almost heroic In the way In which he locked 
round upon the great, bright glittering world, 
with Its magulflcent battle-fields of skill and In¬ 
tellect, Its great arenas where mlud and brain 
fought mind and bralu, and then said to himself, 
•‘No, my duty lies at home, and! win work 
there." 
He was singularly gifted, this young English¬ 
man, who was brave enough to make duty his 
guide. People oltcn looked at him In wonder, 
asking themselves whence had como his clear- 
cut face—a face of tbe purest type, with dark 
clustering hair that waved back from a low 
broad brow—his beautiful mouth, that could be 
rigid and firm, yet often wore a smile as sweet 
as a woman’s ; the dark eyes that were as true 
and eloquent, as the soul they revealed. It was 
a poetical race, yet combining with the Intel¬ 
lectual and the Ideal something of the practical 
keenness of a clever man. 
Darcy Lonsdale formed great hopes for his son; 
lie had rightly estimated his abilities, and he had 
said to himself that in time the best business ol 
tbe country would be brought to him. He him¬ 
self was Industrious, honest, aud In some degree 
a good lawyer; but his son was a genius, and the 
father told himself with a sigh that in tbeae days 
a touch of genius was needed before one could 
make a mark In the world. 
As boy. youth, und man Felix lmd loved Violet 
Haye—to win her. to make her his wife, had 
been the one dream of Lis lire. lie had had no 
other; and It was equally certain that up to the 
preseut time hla love had brought him far more 
pain than pleasure, far more torment than rest, 
far more strife tbnu peace. He could never tell 
whether beautiful Violet cared for him or not— 
all the couutry-sldo kuew that beloved her. It 
seemed to him that the very birds in the trees 
and the flowers In the hedges knew that. It had 
never been a secret; but he could not guess 
whether she cared for him. If ever he felt hope¬ 
ful and augured much from a kinder word or a 
sweeter smile than usual, the ncxL time she saw 
him Violet would be cold. She was so proud 
that he could hardly extort a word from her; and 
yet he had a dim Idea, a faint conviction, that 
she preferred him to any other. 
Now was his opportunity, lie was already 
making a ralr Income by writing reviews and es¬ 
says. II bis father took him into partnership, 
hla share, though perhaps small at first, would 
be certain, and would Increase. Now was hts 
opport,unity; he would delay no longer, but would 
at once ask Violet Haye to be hls wife. 
“It Booms almost too good to be true,” he 
thought to himself, “that l should succeed In 
my profession, that I should wlu the girl 1 lo .* 
for my wife, that I should be happy ana bkssea. 
Wnat have l clone to deserve It?” He looked up 
to the sunlit skies. " Done,” ne repeated—“I 
have done nothing. It Is the goodness of Heaven 
that has given it to me. Heaven grants all to In¬ 
dustry," he thought, “ and while I work I need 
not fear.” 
In that hour no thonght came to him of the 
storm clouds that darken men’s lives—or the 
terrible tempests that, rend heart and brain -of 
the despair that looks for death as relief. He ga v 
only the bluesky and the golden sunshine. 
He Baw nothing but the beauty of the fair eart h 
and tho laughing sky When he wont to woo 
beautiful Violet Haye and asked her to bo hla 
wife, ne had been watting only until ho saw u 
prospect clear and bright before him. Francis 
Haye might have objected to a man with an un¬ 
certain future; Francib Haye would not object to 
tbe Junior partner of tho old-established house of 
Lonsdale. He was only twenty-four, and, after 
selecting a very choice flower for ills coat, was to 
be forgiven, li he looked once at hls olenr-cut 
race and dark moustache. As he quitted hie 
father's house on that lovely summer afternoon 
there was perhaps not a handsomer, truer, 
noble or gallant young lover in all broad Eng and 
than Felix Lonsdale. 
“Wish me good fortune, madre,” he said, 
bending down to kiss Kate Lonsdale's kindly race 
—“ 1 am going to the Limes.” 
Kate loooked up with a srnlle. Bhe made no 
answer. Bhe kissed him as hls own mother 
would have done, and watched him as he walked 
down the street. 
“There IB no need to wish him good fortune," 
she said to herself; “the girl does not live who 
would say * No ’ to him.” 
As she went through her round of duties, Mrs, 
Lousdale thought orten and anxlouBly that she 
would like to know how Felix was speeding in 
hls wooing. 
CHAPTER III. 
It was a glorious afternoon. The country about 
Lllford was beautiful In the extreme, with lovely 
undulating meadows, great chains of green hills 
that stretched Into the far distance, dark, shady 
woods, with some of the finest trees In England, 
lovely green lanes where wlld-llowers raised their 
bright heads. The town ltseif was quaint and 
picturesque; tho pretty, old fashioned houses 
were almost buried la foliage. The one long 
mtiln street of the town—Castle Street—might 
have been a Parisian Boulevard, It was so regu¬ 
larly planted with trees. 
This afternoon seemed to Felix Lonsdale one of 
the fairest that he ever remembered. He walked 
through the clover meadows, hls heart singing 
for joy, snatches oi song rising to hls lips. The 
hedges were all pink and while with hawthorn, 
long »pxu)« of woodbine twined round the rugged 
t runkRuf the tall trees, the clover was thick and 
odorous. He cros&ed the paih at the end of Oak- 
wcoda, where he saw most glorious vistas of light 
and shade, entered a long, green lane, and then 
he reached the fair green fields that led to the 
Limes, the home ot hls love. 
Preaehtly he saw violet. Haye. He gazed at her 
la mute wonder that earth should hold anything 
so fair. Bhe carried a llllle basket filled with 
flowers, and ou her golden head sUo wore a sim¬ 
ple garden hat. Her dress soerned to him a won¬ 
derful ’omblnation ol white and blue. A feeling 
cl humflii.v came over him—who was he that he 
should hope to win this brlL'lant young beauty 
and make her hls own? Then Uls pride reas¬ 
serted Itself; hls love ennobled him, ho could 
hope to wlu her because he lovod her ao dearly. 
Violet did not see hltn. Bho was walking In the 
other direction, and he hastened after her. 
it was no v\ under that he loved her; the smiles 
with which she greeted him would have turned 
many a wiser brain than hls. 
“ Felix," she cried, “ I did not dream of seeing 
you.” 
“And seeing you, Violet, is like a dream,” ho 
replied, “ und alter 1 have lelt you 1 think ol' a 
hundred thlDgs that I wanted to say to you, 
meant to say, and yet forgot." 
“That proves that you have a bad memory, 
Fells,” laughed Violet; “but what has brought 
you to the Limes on this warm alieruoon ?” 
“ 1 have come to sec you, Violet.” 
“I ought to be much obliged to you,” she re¬ 
plied; “but the afternoon Is a very busy time 
with me. I attend to all these flowers myself." 
“ l will help you with the flowers, aud 1 hope 
v.hat I shall be no obstacle to your pleasant 
LLoughts, Violet,” he said. 
They walked together until they reached an 
opening In the lawn; there was a bank gay with 
wlld-llowers, a hedge full of wlla roses, and haw¬ 
thorns crowned it. Felix took me basket from 
her hand and placed her on the bank. 
“1 have come to Talk to you, Violet,” he said. 
“ You must rorget your flowers for a few minutes 
and listen to me. Such a day as tills, Violet, was 
made for a love-story. 1 have an Idea that every¬ 
thing la nature Is interested In mine.” 
“ Your Ideas are not of the ordinary kind,” she 
remarked. 
“No, thoy are not, I own. Still they please 
mo. violet. I have a sweet, fancy. Bhakspere 
says all sweet fancies come to lovers.” 
“But we are not.lovcrs, Felix,’ sliesuld, gravely. 
“Then l hope we soon shall be. i have a 
fuucy, violet, that every bird singing In the trees 
knows why I am here, that the flowers and the 
sunshine know it.” 
“ Then," observed violet, “ they are wiser than 
I.” 
“ No, not wiser or Bweeter or brighter than you; 
hut It was an Idle, pretty fuuoy, Violet. As 1 
walked under the great shady trees every leaf 
seemed to stir—as I passed, the roses In the 
hedges nodded; they said, ' The sun shines and 
the earth Is fair; now Is tho time for youth and 
love.'” 
violot looked up at him with a resigned little 
sigh. 
“ Not being either a bird or a flower, I am not 
in their confidence, Felix; and perhaps when you 
have finished with them you will tell me what 
you have to say." 
“ I will tell you now. 1 have such good news, 
Violet. Mrs. Hardman, one of my father's clients, 
has left him six thousand pounds.” 
violet’s violet eyes opened wide in wonder. 
“ blx thousand pounds 1 That Is a great deal 
of money, is it not, Felix ?" 
*• Yes, a very great deal. You kuow my father 
hag an excellent business, but he did certainly 
want a little more money. This legacy has made 
him happier than 1 can tell you." 
“ 1 should not think that money would make 
any one happy,” said Violet, thoughtrully. 
“ No, 11. would not. Never hold with that Idea, 
Violot. But this Is the Important tiling—my 
father will now give me a partnership. My dar¬ 
ling. do you understand—a partnership?” 
“ Yes, Felix—what then ?” 
“1 have one hundred a year that my dear 
mother left me; 1 make quite another by reviews 
and articles for legal papers—that makes two 
hundred! then from the business I am sure to 
obtain at least three hundred more—that will 
give me five hundred a year, Violet; and, my 
darling, there is a beautiful llltlo cottage orne 
near Oakwoods; and, oh. Violot, Violet, will you 
be my wife? My darling, you know how long 
and how falthrully ! have loved you I have 
come to day to ask you to be my wife." 
Her white hands dropped listlessly; she turned 
her face to hls; no warm flush covered It, no 
j' love-light, shone In tho violet eyes. 
I “ Row cruel or you," she said, la soft, lingering 
tones- “how very cruel on this sunny day to ask 
me bucIi a question!” 
There was no anger In her race, no annoyance— 
nor was there pleasure or happiness: she looked 
rather like a child who had been disturbed at 
play. Ho was neither anxious nor dismayed, for 
he understood the expression on her face.well. 
